Long Vincent Poems
Long Vincent Poems. Below are the most popular long Vincent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vincent poems by poem length and keyword.
“There is no death! What seems so is transition;
this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian,
whose portal we call Death.”
-Henry W. Longfellow
A single tick in time, that’s all
our life on earth is meant to be,
but souls transcend upon death’s call
while lifting up, God’s face to see,
and lasting an eternity.
“I believe there are two sides to the phenomenon known as death,
this side where we live, and the other side where we shall continue to live.
Eternity does not start with death. We are in eternity now.”
-Norman Vincent Peale
August 26, 2019
Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. - Norman Vincent Peale
May the beautiful star, shining so bright
Bless your heart and soul with His sweet light,
Breaking through the darkness and doubt
Revealing the wonder, what Christmas is all about
May the gentle whisper of joy in His song
Bless you with assurance that you belong,
Here in the wonder of a Christmas story
Where light and love remember His glory.
May the heavens reveal the glow of hope
Bless your life with a promise you can cope
With every fear, each tear and all the sorrow
Beneath the worries of the impending morrow.
May the love of our Savior delight your life
As you recall the amazement of His sacrifice,
And, as we celebrate the dear Savior’s birth
Don’t ever stop rejoicing because of His great worth!
May this Christmas bring you so much love
Love that comes from the miracles above,
The peace and faith, the amazing grace
That comes from the hope we’ll never erase!
May this Christmas mean more than just a gift
May this Christmas stir the music who’ll ever uplift!
Keep thinking, keep interested, keep praying, keep dreaming. Be mentally sensitive at all times so that the magic word that motivates you may one day speak to your deep inner self. Norman Vincent Peale
____________________________________________
Keep faith and brace to initiate your wave.
Stay resilient—reject to succumb or cave.
Dwell directly down the desire you have set.
Venture for your ambitions without regret.
Strive to weather any obstacle or spree.
Undying faith and clear aims are success key
Implies sacrifice, commitment, and skill too
These are critical to an edge or breakthrough.
Fulfill your goals, none is vain if you believe.
No drag can be dealt and no dole can deceive.
After exertion—there is no desultory vitality.
Never settle for a skewed version of reality.
I was supine simply—staring at the wall.
Blinding lights shatter the glass hall.
Growing an overwhelming feeling of fear.
I still close my eyes and dream of sheer
Strolling in a dense woodland as it gets dark
Bright stars and an orange moon draw a spark.
Anything in my close vicinity is lively and alive.
Soaked and at peace, with no drive to strive.
The faded history will be right in our grasp.
The faults and lofty goals no longer unclasp.
In the deepest, darkest world, there is no fear.
I am presently unfettered, resistant, and clear.
Living this way would have been flawless.
Relishing the splendor, peace, and aweless.
Realizing that our destiny is in His control.
Trusting His epic might bestow souls console.
Embrace the light of faith—let fears starve.
Dreaming, wishing, and aiming may carve
That's why I keep trying; it's due to one desire.
A dream of freedom and justice never conspires.
If you have faith, your dreams will come true.
And boldly uncover the potential inside you.
Thus, resist the urge to cave up and cave in.
Keep your faith and let your adventure spin.
She flickers in the glass—
a glitch of golden déjà vu,
The paint strokes—bright, wild yellow,
but no warmth leak through.
I sometimes reach
for her dimming leaves
that hum against my skin then disappear.
I pull back and smell
ash, when nothing’s charred.
There were twelve petals yesterday,
now, only eleven.
I wake up and count again.
Still eleven,
or maybe
none.
(I’m not sure if I’ve woken,
even though I know
I tasted salt from my tears.)
Mother says we never got a dog.
But I remember—
the texture of his leather collar,
the white fur tickling my nose.
The sky runs—
watercolor pulled too far.
I check the time:
9:42 AM.
Then I open my eyes.
4:08.
She’s still there,
scorched
into my nightstand—
brushing mirage into my vision.
_______________
Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's sunflowers, which I cannot seem to stop thinking about.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
From
The Harp-Weaver and
Other Poems
(1923)
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
"What a big book for such a little head!"
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you my watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you you still, and all of that
I never again shall tell you what I think.
I shall be sweet and crafty soft and sly;
You will not catch me reading any more:
I shall be called a wife to pattern by;
And some day when you knock and push the door,
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
Dying
Sara Kendrick
November 03, 2009
Dating, oh! so much fun doing new things
This person is perfect in every way
Movies, popcorn shared, touch, a brush, heart sings
Just want that caress, the arm around stays
Now awaken to another day, no play
No brushes, that gentle caress gone, left
Control norm, making demands, no sun rays
No! I will not go to a movie, daft
Dying spirit on the inside daily
Longing for love, acceptance, fun again.
Could be just a walk in the woods baby
Sitting close or lying on couch in den
Soon I'll be gone no longer home near
I'll go out to find myself, my soul, love
(I enjoy reading a number of poets. Edna St. Vincent Millay is just one of
them. I wrote this one after reading hers above. I have heard so many women
complain after just a short time of marriage how they are treated. Then I was
reading Millay and saw things are the same as then.)
our lady of Guadalupe stands alight in corner air
her gown emerald, cerise, gold
Don Pedro stands afore
glass to glass in an amber glow
Lowry’s beaked bird of uva descent
shadows flicker here, there
on the morrow lies the tropical carnage
the insect floor, the frogs call all night
offshore the everlasting beacon of an occultist light
humanities illusion of delusion, forevermore
calling ships to a harbor where i have none
the rain praters, the storm roars, the poet walks the floor
she stirs, i am not there, panther pillow rising
Morrison's Spanish caravans
once more the earth pulls as Don Pedro and i kneel
the carnal carnival between her naps
is when my desk finds the lines
while waiting for the sun
Abilene 6/18
“How, unless you drink as I do, could you hope to understand the beauty of an old Indian woman playing dominoes with a chicken?”
? Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano
for those of you who have attended an Arts and Madness conference know the story. Edna St. Vincent Millay, master of the sonnet, the rage of her age now collects dust in the library and no longer studied at the university. her life of addiction and the cost in the wake of self-induced destruction surrounding her. the stupor of Elizabeth Bishop cost her the chance of a happy marriage. i could go on but what is important to me is that 28 years ago i walked away from the madness and kept the art.
At birth, the journey starts its flow;
In all ways, youngsters seek to grow;
Not sure of what they truly know.
For knowledge core, their yearning;
Desire for whole-life learning.
Adulthood brings more duties deep,
Some joyful, others make us weep.
Be careful – what we sow, we reap!
One’s faith and family, more;
Defines what we are known for.
Support our loved ones – duty-bound,
To keep our families safe, sound,
That rhythm goes around and round.
Prepare next generation
With wisdom, veneration.
While sharing this connection, still,
To raise kids right is no small frill.
Our mid-life brings reflection ‘til
We seek below the surface
Some other worthy purpose.
For all things there’s a season right;
A time for peace, a time to fight;*
Day’s rhythm contrasts that of night.
Peale taught a positive mind**
Keeps words and actions so kind.
From prophets, authors, others sage,
We learn to fill then turn the page
Before we leave this earthly stage.
Life’s record is our final deal;
What will be shown by our reveal?
* Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (RSV).
** Peale, Dr Norman Vincent. 1990. The Power of Positive Thinking. London, England: Cedar Books.
20th February 1888, he left as snow fell in Paris,
seeking warmth, bright light and colour.
Provence beckoned, Arles awaited.
Cold welcome soon turned warm, Vincent keen to explore,
keen to advance painting style,
bold colours, dynamic brush strokes.
May day and the yellow house his base, hopes of a collective studio.
Daring colour adventure begins,
townscapes, countryside, ordinary people, self portraits.
23rd October, his good friend Paul arrives,
dedicates a self portrait to him.
Painting solace the quest.
But two months later, no more, their characters and artistic temperaments clash.
Friendship ends.
Collective studio shattered.
23rd December mental breakdown, absinthe takes hold,
left earlobe severed,
but still he paints.
His postman friend Roulin worried, mental strife continues.
Townsfolk complain of disruption.
Red-headed madman must go.
March 1889 police shut yellow house, what now for Vincent?
8th May, Arles ends after 300 paintings and drawings,
25 kilometres to Saint Rémy voluntary internment.
Personal demons, tortured soul, but still he paints, indeed his best,
143 paintings – Starry Night,
at the pinnacle of his genius.
On to Auvers-sur-Oise and journey’s end, July wheat fields painted,
and then its over,
suicide in that painted location.
His life came to a ruinous end
Plummeted into insanity
The red-bearded painter
With his self-hatred, despair and desperation for understanding
He drank yellow paint thinking it would make him happy
Locked up in a mental asylum that would shatter any person’s self-belief
Deceived Vincent cut his earlobe in an unforeseen calamity
But he channelled the awful torment into beauty
Immaculate and sublime
To find ecstasy in the ordinary
And in transforming the banal into a magical masterpiece
The Starry Night, Sunflowers, Self-Portrait, The Potato Eaters, Wheatfield with Crows, Irises, The Bedroom in Arles
Each a genius’s masterstroke into Eternity
A jumble of love, sorrow and rage
Painting the canvas in bold strokes as his heart and mind burst into flames
The King of colour, a whisper into the future unheard in his times
He died in a rut with voices all over his mind.
So, he picked up the gun
And the bullet went straight into his golden heart
Wonder how many colours lost their lives on that day?
The Starry Night is an oil-on-canvas painting by the Dutch Post-Impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh. Painted in June 1889, it depicts the view from the east-facing window of his asylum room at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, just before sunrise, with the addition of an imaginary village. Wikipedia
blue night
stars bright
glimmer
wonder!
window
sky glow
beam moon
dawn soon
waves swirl
glazed pearl
venus
charm us
huts sleep
hushed deep
cypress
impress
tree high
soar sky
all blue
pale hue
April 13, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Poetry Contest
Syllables checked by HMS.com
rhymes checked by rhyme zone.com
THIRD PLACE