Long Vive Poems
Long Vive Poems. Below are the most popular long Vive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vive poems by poem length and keyword.
The breeze blows the somber summer screen away,
the silken sky revives to radiate the argentine allure,
clumps of cloud turning white cotton from canvas grey,
sail shapeless across the span of seraphic azure.
The ambiance prism reflects the vive of autumn
in the lucent threshold of the sun-soaked horizon,
splitting the surreal sunbeam in VIBGYOR spectrum,
hypnotic hues pour out of palette, painting the dawn.
The bowed down slender grass blades with tawny tops,
sway in the crisp air on the lap of the maroon meadow,
wear the crafted crown of shining topaz dew drops,
sparkling with the floating flair of chalcedony glow.
Lining the sun-burnt blazing cinnabar garden pathway,
the dry wrinkled trunks of sepia trees still stand tall.
In the rhythmic rustle of the blushing leaves' splay,
they hear the melody of autumn’s aureate footfall.
The sky turns into inferno of lilac sunset splinter,
making the torrent of twilight in my heart to flow.
I hold its radiance for my time in the looming winter,
to feel the touch of warmth from autumnal afterglow.
Flights of angels surely led her to her rest
Of all our monarchs, she has proved the best
Her example ,there for all to see and her heir to follow
As we reflect upon her reign in this sad time of sorrow
Right to the end publicly she fought to do her duty
In private her witty mimicry was a thing of beauty
Her Christian faith burned brightly throughout her life
To keep her composed in the darker days of strife
Her love for her corgis, horses and offspring saw her sane
And that necessary balance helped to prolong her reign
Where others might well have cracked and lost the place
She rose serenely above all troubles with majestic grace
And now that she has gone to her just reward
Let our memories of her be the last word
The seamless sky called life shined in boundless beauty,
on the rippling breeze flitted a butterfly free,
on its wings I painted lattice of my being,
flowers in the garden bloomed all seasons for me.
The dawning horizon splashed the spectrum of bliss,
as on the wings of dream I was on course to fly,
euphoria took me to realm of fantasy,
I didn’t see storm clouds gather at the edge of sky.
Splintered in the flickering vive of tinged twilight,
in the vortex of spasm I saw my sky decay,
crumble with my crushed dreams in the abyss of void,
in its dark depth I found the end of my pathway.
The flushing garden turned to withering debris,
wilted flowers didn’t see the new sunrise in spring.
Surge of winter storm carried away the petals,
the butterfly lost motif of its broken wings.
____________
August 5, 2022
Syllable count : 12 per line
Contest : A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsored by : Brian Strand
Marianne (Bearer of Tricolour)
Marianne, the Goddess of Liberty and bearer of Tricolour,
Triumphant French Republic revolutionary figure,
Evokes solidarity with breasts exposed and barefooted,
Wearing a Phrygian cap and armed with a bayoneted musket.
Personifier of liberty and reason for the French citizen,
Symbolizing wife, mother, and emancipated feminist.
From atop dead Parisians, she leads victory’s charge;
« En avant les citoyens, la guerre n'est pas finie:
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité; la démocratie prévaudra! »
(“Onward citizens, the war is not over:
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity; democracy will prevail!”)
“Sing! Let ‘La Marseillaise’ reverberate throughout France!”
Le 14 juillet, la Fête Nationale (Bastille Day, the 14th of July);
« Vive la France libre! » (“Long live free France!”)
***
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Translations
Allons-y = Lets go, pronounced similar to Alizee
Magasins = Stores
N'est pas is written on sound should be "N'est ce pas"
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri = Eat your macaroon cookies my love"
C'est ton droit et ta liberte = Is your right and your liberty
Pensei hoje de manhã
Pensei:
que trabalho delicado fez o céu?
para amanhecer hoje
com cara de maça?
Pensei hoje de manhã
onde será que nascem os ventos?
Para viverem assim
Hora aqui
Hora lá...
Pensei hoje de manhã
que nuvem é igual
aos sonhos
deveriam ser...
saindo andando
sem parar.
Pensei hoje de manhã
Nem o mar
vive sozinho
parado sonhando:
trás e leva
mares de pedidos.
Pensei hoje de manhã
que tudo na terra
é como você vê,
que tudo vive amando:
céu,
nuvem,
vento, idéia, maça...
Pensei hoje de manhã
Que a felicidade
Consiste em começar todos os dias
Em fazer mais e amar mais.
Que tal amar
A vida,
Os negócios
A pessoa próxima.
The seamless sky called life glowed with cloudless beauty,
on the rippling breeze flitted a butterfly free,
on its wings I painted lattice of my being.
Flowers of my meadow bloomed all seasons for me.
The dawning horizon splashed the spectrum of bliss,
on unfurled buds of dream I was on course to fly.
Euphoria took me to realm of fantasy,
I didn’t see storm clouds gather at the edge of sky.
Splintered in the flickering vive of tinged twilight,
in the vortex of spasm I saw my sky decay,
and crumbling with my dreams in the abyss of void.
In its dark depth I found the end of my pathway.
The flushing meadow turned to withering debris,
the destemmed flowers didn’t see new sunrise in spring.
Surge of summer rains carried away the petals,
the butterfly lost colors from its broken wings.
September 27, 2020
Syllable count : 12 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Writing Challenge-Decay
Sponsor : Constance La France
This is a song for a man, it’s a song for a boy
for a woman or girl
This is a song for the straight and the gay
It’s a song for the whole of the world
This is a song for the cheerful, the fearful
and those who must stand up and fight
This is a song for the brave and the bold
and for those who are forced to take flight
Tyrannical despots, marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek to be conquering raiders
There’s no song… so you can do one
The justice of peace shall embolden our hearts
We’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you have no tune in their harps
So you'll have to sing your own songs
This is a song for the black and the white
It’s a song for all shades in between
This is a song for the whole human race
And for you if you land and you're green
This is a song for the rich and the poor
Notwithstanding your hue or your tongue
This is a song for the peaceful at war
It’s a song for the old and the young
Tyrannical despots, marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek to be conquering raiders
There’s no song… so you can do one
The justice of peace shall embolden our hearts
We’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you have no tune in their harps
So you'll have to sing your own songs
For this is a song to be sung with a smile on your face
A song to be sung anytime, to be sung anyplace
Where ‘Vive la difference’ puts the ‘human’ in the human race
And this song should only be sung with a smile on your face
Give a chance, please
An angel blocks my way. An angel. A woman
Beautiful. From the countryside. A village girl
She brings water in cans from the brine pit
Perfect woman, shape, face, radiation, steps
I can’t, I can’t reach her. I am nothing. She
She is far. Maybe she is my last life. Chance
Hmm. What can I do?
Hmm. What can I do?
She is the Perfect. The perfect woman
Hmm. My life is spent. Just a rusty world
Oh, my past, my sinner and demonic life!
I regret my sins, my gangster life. Actions!
I need, I need help. A hand. A woman’s
Hand, a driver, a guide, a saver, a wise
Who can organise, fix, and lift my life
Yes, I need a mind, I lost a long time ago
My hoped love, my woman, look at me, look
Look at this chaos in my life. Look, look at me
I know you have a big and deep heart
What is full, full with love. Apprehension
Understanding
I need, I need to live in your only prison
I am a jail man in your heart. A captive
A prisoner
A prisoner of your love. You don’t know
You don’t know, How, how I love, love you
I want to, I want to stay your slave in the cell
Hmm, I am your heart valve. You can’t, can’t
Live
Live
Vive
Without
Me!!!
False winter—deceitful—fuels the unrest.
Paris preyed upon; men’s anger coalesced;
guns frame the debate.
Pride and despair fan the unholy flame.
The dispossessed grab weapons and take aim,
do words or actions desecrate?
Twelve dead in Paris—and a free press denied,
mourn for the loss, when faith and guns collide.
To men with no life, there’s only death.
Fathers and mothers, daughters and sons cry;
the workings of men leave no time for goodbye.
Shout, “Vive la liberté” with each breath.
False warmth stirs a hornet’s nest, of dispossessed
on Boulevard Richard le Noir, hate crests.
Guns frame the debate.
Words are warriors, oh there’s might in the pen
what do men die for—ideas council men.
Loss, want, and hate dictate.
With bombs, knives, and guns Europe-wide
strike concern where complacence was decried:
no homes, no jobs, unrest,
societal problems in oversupply.
Your eyes, open your eyes, the dead cry.
There must be more than death.
First Published in here/there magazine UK 2015