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.
Ginsberg
Kerouac
Beat Tap
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde
W. H . Auden
Shakespeare
Wordsworth
Sylvia Plath
Virginia Woolf
Jane Austen
The Bronte Sister's
Authorities of Classic Art
Using ink instead of oils or water to paint a pallet dry
Mixing words into elix
To create book's without pictures
So as the blind can rejoice as well
In words that bind us all together
Life , Loss , Longing , Loving
Belonging , Betrayal
Power , Struggle , Death
Family , Foe's
Verses and Prose
The words that which we daily quote
When called upon to speak
Directly from the heart
While all the while never knowing
They are reciting words from a poem
Or classical works of Art
Of an Author they could not even name
Nor actually in reality know
I Do Not Know The Secret...,
Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem...
Not purposeful intent,
when tasking self (Das Scribe)
a nondescript member of
*****sapiens village people tribe
metaphorical spear in hand ready
to unbridal strong arm as vibe
resoundingly resonates, sans
(crackles, snaps, and pops)
optimal instant to expunge bribe
bing fountainhead of creativity
oft times screed or futile diatribe
no matter smug satisfaction appeased
as mental delectation on par with eclair
for taste buds, a reward dare,
I acknowledge mine appealing talent
(undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion)
with fast break for game of Solitaire,
or sink concentration matte tear
real awaiting with bated breath
comments, feedback, input...usually fair
to middling acceptable,
though frequent occasions blare
ring liberal dollop of adulation,
warms hearty cockles of this hermit
comfortably numb in his lair
which decency, humility, modesty...
of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity
as if yours truly snooty billionaire
keeps in check (ma mate)
cognitive firmae tubby beware
boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight
within me finds ego expanding square
lee out beyond outer limits
of the twilight zone, where
entire cerebral cranium
shatters temple mount scare
ring eureka temporarily
finding me unaware,
viz blinding, deafening, and
obliterating brainstorm spate bare
lee delivering tummy any appreciable,
pronounceable, noticeable... impact
relishing this devil may care
state of being if only...threadbare
tenuous consciousness endured
sustaining oblivious blissfulness
absentmindedness forever delivering cheer
full countenance of mine finding me
unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear,
and/or he who dons most powerful paw
he can render complex edifice
of democracy to disappear
thus...after shaking wordy playwear
an early plug to vote November 2020
due to here
about nine months and one year.
When wracked with suff'ring even more,
I all alone bemoan my fate,
as one who drowns in sorrows sore
which harm, harass, and maul his state.
Aggrieved for what feels like forever,
I trouble God with bootless cries
as I endure my manic fever
with tearful, red, psychotic eyes.
The minute hand lands on midnight!
I can't find clear words to express
feelings of falling a headlong height
b'neath heaven's reach 'yond grief's excess.
Inside, I feel the Reaper’s scythe
as I think out my mordant plan:
razor, pills, or a kitchen knife,
a way to end it by my hand!?
Like Sylvia Plath, if I can
plant my head in a GE gas oven,
then it’d be painless!? (But why plan
a death so cliche, and unproven?)
I think, too, of Virginia Woolf,
how she drowned her life in a lake;
I, too, feel swallowed in a gulf
of swirling misery that'd take
me to my death! Why do I feel
forsak'n, and heavy as lead now? Am
I so hopeless? Why do I feel
so worthless, and so so dead? How am
I to end my life (to kill myself)—
if all loved ones were then to miss me?
“Help yourself!” I then heard. "Heal thyself!"
I hear aloud. As angels kiss me,
I thus then found comfort in this:
that family and friends all care,
and if I'd died I would be missed;
so, I war 'gainst profound despair.
And then, Hope dawns! And soon comes peace…
And in the morn, I wake arising—
Joy breaks in, and I have new lease.
And then my state I cease despising!
"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
"And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves..." - Virginia Woolf
When sun grows stingy in the sky
melancholy wilts happy flowers
summer’s long days will be fading away
when trees announce fall’s coming
in their brightest attire
Gold and Crimson waltz
in autumn’s cooling breezes.
Pumpkins wear strange grins!
Summer’s obituary
by this time has been planted.
when rivers and lakes
solidify into ice . . .
december skates in
September 16, 2020
for Brian Strand's
Completely Your Choice (22)Any Form AnyTheme Poetry Contest
Poetry has died replaced
with raining madness cunning
thoughts battered heart
bickering minds the absence
of simplicity a calming time
the laughter of Amos and Andy
reading of Langston Hughes the
braising nesting belligerent from
Ernest Hemingway mingling with
this fondness of Robert frost
the bold sassiness of Maya Angelo
mastering the crafty sinking mental
turmoil of Virginia woolf needing to
die to be heard cradled beneath
painful sighs of Emily Dickenson
brillantly craving morbid hints of a
pastel death blooming tangible
lessonscovenant only by dramatic
hues canvases Jane Austin's youth
bestowing the missing pieces to
caressing thought of the creative
mind separating emotions embracing
thee enchantment of the galloping
Greek muses within a moment of
silence poetry is simply no more
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
growing up
my body
stopped
sane brain
chemicals
that are in
others naturally
passed by me
completely
stopped
reflecting
because
not absorb
ing i've been
reflecting
lately on
my childhood
and misunderstood
of who i was or would
become
so many factors
in making a fact
ory made human
being by being
programmed
without yet
within but not
knowing what
is missing and
so i grew up
a short history
no mystery of
what i've be
come since Mum was
always randomly turn
ing the radio dial of
reality so we grew
knowing and knew
all styles and forms
but adding more
my Dad military sworn
dictated discipline but
also liberalism since
he was an artist of many
sorts and banned books
were in our library
paint was freely fingered
for feel and application
no matter what our
family's destination
on the move from
place to place
always some
thing new to see and
taste leaving a mind
open that had already
been cracked i look
back and remember
what doctor's didn't
know then
so now here i am
in the here and now
thinking i'm a free
thinker but as music
plays continuously
in my elevator mind
i'm going up and or
down without a
ground wire
so now i am
a brain in a b movie
beaker keeping
kept in bodily
form from turning
Virginia Woolf or
Platt or perhaps
Hemingway since
i'm a man so can
relate but too late
my psychiatrist
and i have found
a proper balance
in mind meaning
my mind for what
was not provided
for if so Darwin
would have had me
extinct by now not
able or capable
to survive
so pharmaceuticals
balance my attitude
and keep me alive
then after years of
song singing i was
being bored
by the musical form
so changed my mind
to my university degree
i had for all time
then i knew not
by chance but
a strictly not
happenstance
when you were
introduced to
me, i, like a junkie
had the fix and
like an election
my votes are all in
and as i A D D
i simply need sleep
and
another
dose of
you
Form:
“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).
who isn’t you
wise readers
will know the difference
I want a narrator
more unsettling
than Nabokov created
for ‘Lolita’
I want a narrator
to cringe at
while sympathizing with
I need “milk plus”
from ‘Clockwork Orange’
while I learn the dialect
of Anthony Burgess
before I ruin Beethoven
It takes sustained energy
to hate a character
while never forgetting them
“My vanity
was the cause
of it”
I still wink at you,
Moll Flanders
a woman too clever
for shallow understanding
My “androgynous mind”
will have to be enough
for adequate love,
Virginia Woolf
I have all the worst intentions:
devious dialog
with peppered,
cutting
fashion statements
to make phantom readers
laugh and scowl
Cruella Deville
taught me everything
one late afternoon
in August
while we hunted swans
over toast points
and caviar