Long Virginia woolf Poems
Long Virginia woolf Poems. Below are the most popular long Virginia woolf by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Virginia woolf poems by poem length and keyword.
Capturing my illuminating glow the essence of my infamous smile wild wonder of my laughter gathers a gentle breeze tangible meaningful gestures opens the balance of selfless energy as I move to the beat of a kindred drum highlighting mystical memorable moments gliding and warm oils over my Cocoa brown skin I'm awakened by the sunlight beaming in a distant chatter glorifying my untimely hue I'm needed to create a daily psalm in the wandering minds of the free spirits the free thinkers gather tasting my nubian elegant lyrical self crafting beauty through prose enhancing vintage thoughts boldly holding on to hidden treasure that captivated Virginia Woolf my wondrous gift continue opening hearts everywhere I chant be moved adoring my being with ease watching Maya Angelo grin with awesomeness wondering did I go to school reading the fine arts of Gwendolyn Brooks when my heart and mind invite my soul over for tea an elegant dance to simply bestow magnificent things began to happen trees sway kneel clapping their hands before me the sky opens night blends with dawn a mauve moon rising while the tides quiet down as I find myself feeling high on the people feeling high on myself filled with excitement whilst resting peacefully reading hymns thinking I just adore the wonder of me the wonder of self love a beautiful gift to behold indeed
“If you don’t tell the truth about yourself, you can’t tell it about other people”~ Virginia Woolf
'Say who am I'
is a great challenge hurled on me,
necessitating great introspection
and clarity of thoughts.
I am learning to find who I really am.
Though never perfect, am without serious flaws.
I wish to improve with each step,
as I know, if I’m not growing, I am dying.
I'm a poet,
and a true aspiring artist.
I try to be a beautiful person,
kind and compassionate.
More than anything, I am a sweet child of God.
A teacher from hilt to heel and proud to be so.
An erudite soul with vision,
A sculptor who sees an angel within a rock!
“Remember, You”
This one is for you,
when you forget to remember
why, what and who
This one is for you,
when you understand
the why and what you do;
This one is for you,
when you search for words
buried deep within your hidden heart
elevated Shadow in skies of lapis lazuli blue, when
clouds of poetic mists distract your heady lofty view
This one is for You,
when you forget to remember
why, what and who.
Poet -
Remember, You.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"The poet gives us his essence, but prose takes the mold of the body and mind."
Virginia Woolf
"A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."
Percy Bysshe Shelley
"At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet."
Plato
"A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman."
Wallace Stevens
(hmmmm, that could be good or bad).
"50 Words for Poe: Wolf"
He watches the Asylum.
Silently soft paw bides his time and grins
He doesn't dig Haiku
Impromptu is more his thing
Give a dog a bone
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/iPXKzHBTSA4
Pit Stop/Loveage
“The wolf said,
"You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."
She said,
"I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid, worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way.”
https://youtu.be/PO6R0UtLpnU
Set the Grass on Fire/Elysian Fields
The wolf said,
“Of course you aren't scared of me. I'm not the wolf. You are.”
“There's no limit to you, is there?”
Edward Albee, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Popcorn?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL2TYoBYsnY
of course, there's more than one wolf in the woods
Being driven by others
who just don't see your illness
since it's not a broken arm or leg
keep saying I'm special I can win
the being disqualified because
you never attended college.
nor because you suffered injury
or illness being told you just.
cannot compete struggling.
because someone said you
and your mind cannot write.
its own thoughts searching.
finding real hope within
The Special Olympics
where you are among
your own peers why one
must believe writing poetry
is no different that being able
to express yourself through
poetry and song is a gift no one
has the right to take it away
from you the feeling being free
in your mind to be challenged to soar
in spite being quote unquote broken
silencing yourself words unspoken
Maya Angelou wrote of great suffrage
depression and abuse as did Virginia Woolf
during her madness mental disease her best
poetry was created including Emily Dickinson
Edgar Alan Poe William Shakespeare
many great writers mentally disabled persons
think write read and sing teaching us about
mental illness why they have a lot to say
well in my book I think that it's okay
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
(for Virginia Woolf)
She wanted to buy some flowers but drowned Herself instead,
drifting along the ebbing flow of time, with warm
water cracking Her slim figure and airless lungs.
‘will I freeze the river?’ She thought, wondering if the trees
would still rustle in the wind if She wasn’t alive to notice it,
thinking if Her man’s heart would still beat if She could
no longer shock its rhythmical thump-thud-stop with kisses.
the wood was chopped down around Her home. The
veranda from which She surveyed the world was but
deafened by cruel hacking chopping and sawing at the
hands of men whom took Her feminine beauty away.
She became the water as She died, became the weeds,
became the bark that broke her own back, the pen and the phallus.
‘this isn’t purgatory’ She realised, ‘this is revenge and reward’.
‘I am a sacrifice to literature. I am a sacrifice for the word’.
from writer to death to glory to ink
to the lies under rocks uncovered,
to god to me to the taking of Her own life,
She is the paper in our very hands.
Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things - a table, a chair, a book... and the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent. - Virginia Woolf
Breathing in the silent thoughts
Of rich, green pasture
Maples and birch
Birthed on the tail end
Of a rain shower
In spring
Whispering in the dreams
Of colors in hues
Of lavender and lilac
Promises rich
Dancing light and love
Laughter from above
On the heart of one who knows
God is alive
Soothing the heart and soul
With beauty discovered
On winds and vibrant hugs
From the stardust night
As it flickers and smiles
Bidding souls delight
In psalms and prayers
Insights
Twisting and turning
Through rays of sunlight
As it embraces naked minds
With delicious inspirations
Feelings so sweet
Compassion swells within
Warming the heart
As well as the spirit
Comforting as
Music
Little things come to life
In the eyes of a child
Who loves so innocently
Purity dripping from the heavens
On milky clouds
So soft and kind they
Deny the thunder
Has ever roared in a storm
As they caress the skies
With simple hope
Create in me a clean heart
O God… create in me a right spirit
One who knows your love
And the answers
That come from above
With faith and assurance
That your love
Will give me all I need
Today, tomorrow, forever
Throughout eternity
“The Wolf’s Pockets”
Virginia knows
what’s written
in the mass of a rock
the heaviness of words
not soluble
anchored to life
that does not float
A Wolf swallows Woolf whole
Hungry for something -
“other than” ;
Submerged,
what is not seen
is swimming below
a sharp clean surface
her dissolving shadow
found through slender fingers
wide spread and ink stained
running through shallow waters and
swaying reeds, something forgotten
like touching her child’s hair
combed with a soft brush;
free diving deeper
baptised, she touches Heaven
baby’s breath and
almond scented
Erin lilies like milk,
the sweetest let-down,
she drinks it all in
ignored by charlatans all bored
with their own faux wisdom
apathy flexes fits and moulds
around a body of work
sinks in deep and dry
a sunken treasure
to be found
some time much later
bound to tell a story
that travels down stream
The Wolf’s pockets
weighted with black treasure
open wide and beckoning
arms cast wanton alms
for plenty dreams and
sweet reckoning
infancy embraced again
the sleep of sleeps
and candour
like opium is taken in,
read, edited,
then,
silently missed
a
Final Draft is written
Read again
Read again
;
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
for my daughter
Georgia
https://youtu.be/BpyR9VxRRUo
Freefall/Robin Guthrie
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf
1. Virginia Woolf
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf
2. The Let-down Reflex.
3. https://projectsemicolon.com/
https://www.facebook.com/projectsemicolon/
https://twitter.com/projsemicolon?lang=en
4. Beyond Blue
https://www.beyondblue.org.au/
Imagine an oil stroke on a virgin canvass
an image coaxed out by a velvet hand
pas de deux artist and brush
here comes the wind
and suddenly, I appear out of nowhere
Imagine my memories invisible as air
a non violate kiss somewhere out there
here comes the image,
of a two step process, the artist and I
wonderfully etched, I pop up;
Imagine my visage, aging flower of old
existing in a turbulent rotation
eyes of a cougar, soul of a lion
I am Virginia Woolf the writer
like a binding book I appear pressed
Continued survival on a canvass of dry,
parched as a stone in a pocket, alone...
It's a Langston Hughes kind of day
filled with dutiful hints of Robert frost
within the sudden humor and vague
eccentricity of Ernest hemmingway
the quiet freedom of Nikki Giovanni
with a cunning soul shaking enlightment
of Maya Angelo tinged with the noble
excitement of John keats as the clouds
move into this rapture an intriguing sheer
fondness of William butler Yeats while
the soft dem lights over the lake hits
my minds eye just so as I'm quite
taken by the sinking thoughts of
Virginia woolf beckoning my innermost
calm peeking through wooden slats
exposing the granduer of Gwendolyn Brooks
smile mastering greatness beneath broken
planks on the sunscreen porches even so
i dare change a thing about this glorious
day this Langston Hughes kind of day