Long Versions Poems
Long Versions Poems. Below are the most popular long Versions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Versions poems by poem length and keyword.
Dreaming,
When a peach smile hangs on moonbeam
How the roses become your christened lips,
While I hold my restrained gleam
My sleepwalking queen.
Pearl dew,
Let’s douse in slow-drags, made for two
While curls of tossed hair perfumes air of bay
I feel the blue night of you
Blue night so, so new.
...And when grasses breathe long
Just linger by my side,
Let time not wait...
For you are my one song;
Here, stardust abides
On wisps of soft jazz rides...
Come, love
Dusk bears new morns ; I’m yours, love
As glow of whispers light fireflies
Sweet talking , I’ll leave no more sighs
No, no goodbyes.
*inspired by musical versions of Johnny and Santo,
Ventures, and Jeff Beck
Sleepwalk Contest of Craig Cornish
by nette onclaud
You threaten me…
like intimidation is a skill you mastered.
Even in Purple Month,
when women are supposed to be celebrated,
protected,
uplifted—
you still choose violence
like it’s a personality trait.
To you, our pain is just a concept.
A poster.
A speech someone else must give.
Never you.
You open fake Facebook accounts in my name—
wearing my identity
like a stolen jacket.
Posting pictures of me
like you bought me,
like you own me,
like my face is something you’re entitled to.
You spread lies about me
because truth has never loved you back.
You scam people in my name
because your own name
is too empty
to stand on its own.
You threaten to kill me
for leaving.
You promise to send gangsters my way
because freedom—for me—
feels like disrespect to you.
But every morning
I whisper to myself:
“It can be done.”
And every night
I thank myself
because I’m doing it.
Without you.
And that—
that’s what burns you the most, isn’t it?
That my life gets better
and better
daily,
even without you.
Still I grow.
Still I rise.
Still I get thicker,
stronger,
happier—
without you.
Our “love” died the day I said hubby
and you replied,
cold as metal,
“I’m not your hubby. I didn’t marry you.”
That’s the day I knew—
I was pouring love into a grave
and calling it a future.
So go ahead.
Threaten.
Lie.
Create a hundred stolen versions of me online.
Do whatever helps you pretend
you still matter in my story.
Because the real me?
The woman who walked away?
She is untouchable.
Unbreakable.
Reborn.
Engaged
Purple. Powerful.
Protected by her own strength.
And no gangster,
no fake account,
no whispered threat
will ever dim the light
I reclaimed.
Life is an endless journey—
not a straight road,
but a winding path
where dust and diamonds share the same ground.
We begin as whispers in the wind,
tiny sparks wrapped in fragile skin,
learning the language of light
before we understand the weight of shadows.
Mountains rise before us—
some we conquer,
some conquer us.
Yet even in defeat,
the soul gathers strength
like a traveler storing fire for the night.
There are seasons when the sun crowns us with glory,
and seasons when rain baptizes us in tears.
But both are teachers.
Both are necessary.
We lose people.
We lose certainty.
We lose versions of ourselves
we once swore we would never outgrow.
Still, the road stretches on—
patient, unending, calling us forward.
Life is not about arrival.
There is no final bus stop of perfection.
No permanent applause.
No everlasting storm either.
It is about becoming—
again and again—
stronger after breaking,
wiser after wandering,
gentler after pain.
Every scar is a milestone.
Every failure, a compass adjustment.
Every dawn, a reminder
that endings are only disguised beginnings.
So walk.
Even when the night feels too thick.
Even when your feet are heavy with doubt.
Walk.
For life is an endless journey—
and the miracle is not in reaching the end,
but in having the courage
to keep going.
EMBLEMS
exhilarating
renowned
themes
to hand
patches
of
light
the
curious
hung together
to
evoke&
perhaps
appropriately
encountering
harbingers
of beloved
modern art
in exploded
versions
saved
from
obscurity
to re-emerge
deploying
the immediate
&
simultaneously
ensuring
a virtuosity
conscious
of all
the intricate
shimmering
&
adorned
replicated
in
the
memorable
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
I always thought that twilight
belonged to those who are old
to hand that once held too much
and to stories long ago told
but now I see it's not so
twilight is at every age
when one world fades behind us
and another flips the page
I have buried deep some versions
of the girl I used to be
watch the rainbow fade to gray
then return brighter than the day
If I stood in front of younger me
I would say "it's ok to stumble some courage is handmade"
Do not let the bitter breeze
teach your heart to close
even the sun when leaving
remembers how to glow
so, if this is a twilight
left find me wide awake
still gathering the specs of light
that almost made me break
The various versions:
1) The wind teased the waves, diffracting the civil twilight.
A crimson lily has shed some petals, staining the cobblestone path.
Thoughts meander among memories - a fresh headstone in the lee.
2) The gusty wind teased the waves, diffracting the civil twilight.
A red lily has shed some petals, staining the cobblestone path.
Thoughts meander among memories—a fresh headstone in the lee.
3) The gusty wind teased the waves,
diffracting the civil twilight.
A red lily has shed some petals,
staining the cobblestone path.
The sweeping meanders break free—
a fresh headstone in the lee.
Poe was always revising his prose between publications. Here are the longest extended versions of sentences he shortened for their final publication in his lifetime:
"We loved each other with a love that was more than love, more love than fit in an empty grotes bag, more than the love of worms if you were a hungry, hungry catfish."
"I became insane, with long intervals of sanity, then more insanity, then sane for a while, then my brain got all twisted up and went mad, then I got better. I've lost track."
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream, within another dream, within a rusty tubular tin box of sewing needles made into the handle of a doll's hairbrush."
"Believe only half of what you see, nothing of what you hear, three quarters of what you taste, one-tenth of what you feel, but the entirety of what you smell."
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night, as for example bats, yes bats, did you know you could leave the cage door open in the bright of day and your bats will go nowhere."
"Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them, also the neighbor's nippy little dog, egads I hate that dog."
"If you wish to forget anything on the Spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered, then tie it to Spot's collar, and turn him loose in some terrible neighborhood where people eat dogs."
"To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary, also those little candy root beer barrels."
"I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow, but it was Catterina that farted."
"I fell violently on my face, rolled to my side, grunted horrible grunts of gruntlyness, then flopped onto my back and waved my arms all about, still grunting."
"Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all, while Catterina licked her paws and I felt around in my pocket for my last dime but all I found was a raggedy little hole."
the sky resonates
with what’s written in the silk of stars,
in pulse-burned pensiveness,
penned in poignancy,
personifying pain
with yellow-gold dust,
where lament liquefies and softens
into an ethereal lake,
chronicling it with surging blue sparks ~
an evening elixir, enveloped
in confetti cravings…
this l o v e knows not
the ingredients of
ephemeral effervescence,
as the thriving tip of twilight
manifests the magic of want,
whilst I tremble,
engrossed in the thought
of moon-flame touch,
brimming,
brewing,
breathing
across cups of catharsis,
concocted with caffeinated calmness ~
aligning the inner innocence
still longing in loneliness,
amidst seated strangers
lost in their own appetizing lyrics,
clothed in cold cobalt colors,
unaware of the emptiness
they feed their mindless muse
from superficial spoons
filled with smoke and silence ~
like scattered illusions,
illustrated with surreal ink…
what if I hold onto forever fallacies
hiding within?
would I be promised
a peaceful plate of patience
beneath ineffable iridescence ~
for I’ve feverishly struggled
to rephrase the verdicts behind
faces phasing in the haze of life,
sipping sorrow
as if it were mocha ~
balmy, bittersweet,
burning in sync with my
Swarovski crescent crooning
lullabies to diamonds dancing
in infinite nebulae,
carrying secrets the table holds,
served in sincere oblivion…
and I am still learning and healing
the soul’s breaking lines,
to leave lovelorn reveries
without losing the light of lucidity,
letting go of their narrow narrative
of me and my ache ~
of us and our heat,
as even the routined routes
could not erase what’s
handwritten in a heart made heavy…
so wait not for the
rise of supernova sanguinity ~
I am not the warmth of woven woes.
I am a charismatic chameleon,
~ c o m p l e x ~ cautious ~
catching comet-notes,
camouflaged in melancholic versions
of humankind,
hiding vulnerability
within firm flares of vivid vibrations…
O beloved night,
on this terrace, I devour, not alone,
but evermore lonely,
i m m e r s e d
in the forlorn frequency
of stellar fire…
The tempting thought I just could not dismiss
To share with you one surreptitious kiss.
A brief, flirtatious moment of delight,
Snatched furtively and hidden out of sight.
The red umbrella camouflaged all shame
As if accomplice to our fickle game.
But passion soon subsided, like the rain
And guilty eyes could not engage again. *
You left me standing there and it was clear
That we could not betray those we held dear.
I gazed into the scarlet dome above
Ashamed that I had risked true, steadfast love.
And looking down, my faithful dog sat there.
His saddened gaze was more than I could bear.
I led him home resolved upon that day,
No more to linger in temptation’s sway.
Then, one by one the features disappeared,
I glanced outside, the stormy skies had cleared.
'Ah, there you are, I thought I'd find you here,
The gallery is closing soon, my dear!'
A painting, like a poem can inspire
Rekindling the imagination’s fire.
And both may leave a message in their trail,
For contemplative spirits to unveil.
31/10/18
‘The red umbrella poetry contest‘ - Sponsored by: Eve Roper
* Please note that in Britain and according to the Oxford dictionary, two versions of the pronunciation of 'again' are permitted and commonly in use.
One rhymes with 'men' and one with ' rain'.I have used the second version here.
Audio version at : https://dictionary.cambridge.org/pronunciation/english/again
I don't see no harm in asking questions
But somebody gonna tell you you’re outta your mind
I don't see no harm in a frame of reference
But somebody gonna accuse you of bein’ blind
I don't see no harm in quoting philosophy
Mythology, scientology, or the Bible
But somebody gonna come round and order you to burn those books
The dissident is on life support
And he’s fighting for survival
Burn those books --
They ain’t no good
We’ll tell you what not to remember
And train you on what you should
I don't see no harm in raising objections
But somebody gonna call it conspiracy theory
I don't see no harm in a little reflection
But the network censors gonna bring the flames of fury
I don't see no harm in watching our past selves --
We were masters and slaves, black-face beggars and tyrants
But somebody from the Department of Truth will burn those reels
And give you false impressions
Of everything from spirit to science
Burn those films --
They're evil pure
We’ll give you new versions of the past
So that you grow up free and sure
There were cowboys, there were Indians
There were blacks and there were whites
There were women, there were men
And some of them stayed the night
There were straights and there were gays
There were gentiles and jews
There were Pharaohs at the top of the heap
And Egyptians paying all the dues
Now the letters of history don't spell pretty words
But we gotta read ‘em, anyway
‘Cause the day those pages turn up blank
Will be our species’ final day