Long Vocabularies Poems
Long Vocabularies Poems. Below are the most popular long Vocabularies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vocabularies poems by poem length and keyword.
Mental Toughness
Written: by Tom Wright
6/16/2018
Mental toughness drives tough old birds,
It sums up our lives with just two words.
An optimistic attitude is what we bring,
And motivates us beyond issues that ding;
Our glass is half full each minute of time,
We march lockstep to our own paradigm.
This defines who we are and who you see,
I happily say, tough old birds, includes me.
We never surrender but will fight to the end,
No matter what warning realities might send.
Believers view give up as being unusable words,
And no shows in vocabularies of Tough Old Birds;
When people comment
on the style or way
I write and the words
I use to express and convey
my thoughts and views.
I tend to stop and ponder
my road less traveled .
Acknowledging, appreciating ,
admiring the authors, teachers
scribes of many nations
and the outer regions of the universe ,
who have inspired , guided encouraging ,
me to develop and advance
my writing skills along the way.
People like Manly P. Hall
Socrates, Plato, Thales of Miletus ,
Thomas Aquinas , The Apostles ,
Sigman Freud , Carl Jung , Galileo Galilei,
Benjamin Franklin , Thomas Edison , Nikola Tesla ,
William Shakespeare , Homer , Aesop
and other well known Philosophers and
critical thinkers in the world's history.
Authors like Dr. Edgar Cayce
Dr. George Brown ,
Literary genius and artist such as James Joyce ,
Walt Whitman and of course some of my favorite
Authors George Orwell , Robert Frost , with their
extensive and vibrant vocabularies
and their ability to bring words to life.
The most impressive author
with the ability to put you in the room
And stimulate our sensations such
as aroma and taste and sound to make you feel
as if you are sitting in the cat birds seat.
An author with incredible and fascinating
writing technique , a man with a colorful and sparkling array of words , and superlative writing flair and talent
that tickles the imagination.
Capable of painting a scene with words ,
bringing it to life ,
like no other author has ever done before or since.
A story teller who can magically ,
create a vision so vivid so profound ,
one just might forget and step away
from reality for a brief moment in time.
An individual who can descriptively describe
the Animation of his imagination
like no man or woman in the history of recorded time.
Creator and contributor
of some of the finest sculptures
in the world of literary works of art.
Born into reality in the year 1809 , on the 19th day of January.
He would go on to reside
in the harts , souls and minds ,
intricately woven into universal fabric of time
October 7 Nineteen Hundred Forty Nine.
The individual who put the authenticity of Poe
Into Poetry
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Edgar Allan Poe.
Michael E.Harris
10072024
(my friends i wrote the piece below in one long exhale. i did not change a word but
rather let it sit as it fell. could the writing be improved. yes it could but why try to
create a masterpiece when finger painting is so much fun. you have greeted me with
wide open arms. you have been a great support at a stressful time in my life. so here
it is from my heart to yours.)
they are those who ride us on their backs
send us on journeys to places they built
one chess piece at a time
they put into words
what we knew
but could not say
why am I telling you this
there are wonderful poets here
choose a dish
visit their buffets
taste more than one feel
give it a whirl
experience worlds you'll never find on a mac
visit their vivid dreams
drive one of their soap bubbles
ski on the end of a needle and thread
discover the barely open doors
the naked flesh between the creases
displays lined in scrap paper
that one can absorb eyes closed
crawl under and over the sea
tunnel the milky way to a brand new galaxy
witness a sky that like curtains part
peak at what is on the other side
life is short play nude
spend a bitty bit of time
with bitty bits of folksy folks
on a striped colored blur
they are special the poets who live here
so do yourself a flavor
put on your roller blades
and go for the tricycle ride of your life
here is the best part and get this
(i hope your holding your breath
and turning red white and blue)
some of their poems rhyme
some of them even use styles
here comes the huge reveal
( unlike me who is not really a poet
and doesn't actually know it)
they use good grammar
extensive vocabularies
and here's the kicker
capital letters
and proper punctuation
go figure
which they also use
well that figures
there are great poets here
you do yourself a disfavor
if you're only here to write
and not here to read
It arises
From a tangled emotional mind
through crazy tongues inane
from intellectual brain sane
or may be straight from heart
It dons
Rich vocabularies to enrich content;
Rare adjectives, the special add-ons
And at times archaic words to adorn
or sometimes just a simple verse
It comes in
Perfect meter to look perfect
Proper rhymes that read better
New forms which form trend setter
or sometimes goes just with the flow
It boasts of
Podium win and the adorned crown
Top placement, shared with people around
Honourable placement, stated down
Or umpteen n numbered N/As
Be it a serious content or hilarious limerick
Either a Short tanka or the longest writing
Every words we pen come from within
Ain't that bad to categorize: best and worst
Are not every poetry and poets' word(s)worth???
Every dream that anyone ever has is theirs alone and they never manage to share it. And they never manage to remember it either. Not truly or accurately. Not as it was. Our memories and our vocabularies aren't up to the job. ~Alex Garland
My
dreams are
stories from
which I sometimes
wake; the characters
and fascinating plot
fresh inside my mind. Wishing
to capture one with words, I trace
it, only to have it fall apart. . .
for - after all - my stories are just dreams.
Aug. 10, 2019
Writing Challenge 1, August 2019 - Just Write - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Fingers intertwined in
wondrous oneness
together foreverness
breathtaking bliss
Eye to eye in
lyrical longing
melodic memories
soul symmetry
Backs turned to
bygone brokenness
solitary sanctums
heartbroken hibernation
Face to face in
aromatic anecdotes
possibility potpourri
enmeshed essences
Voices join in
rondos of rendezvous
chorales of compatibility
madrigals of mutuality
Heart to heart in
a fulcrum of fulfillment
a seesaw of serendipities
a trapeze of timelessness
Lips engaged in
passion's pendulum
voluptuous vocabularies
intoxicating innuendoes
She is lyrics and I am music
~ harmonizing a hypnotizing love song ~
a dizzying duet of delight
She slipped into the house silently, but stealthily.
We had no idea she was there
Until we became knowing instant answers.
We are all three in college, studying to be nurses.
Words that were incredibly unrecognizable suddenly appeared
In our vocabularies, and we knew things we should not know.
I think my great grandmother is here, our housemate Vera said.
Her great grandmother had been a knowledgeable nurse.
She had worked during the Viet Nam War, overseas.
For years after her return, men wrote her letters of thanks.
Why do you think that? We asked.
Because we know so much now, and we knew so little before.
But why her?
Because I have not been able to get her out of my mind lately.
That night I could not sleep. I came downstairs to get a snack,
and maybe work a crossword puzzle.
It was not an easy task, for the hair on my neck rose.
I felt like someone was here watching me.
I turned and for one second I saw a ghost nurse.
Only half a second.
She disappeared as swiftly as she had arrived.
Two or three months later I was flipping through
Vera’s photo album and I saw her again.
It was her great grandma Vera, the one for whom
she had been named.
It was a comfort.
Before the primate known as “man” became loquacious,
With all his fishnet shenanigans, skylarking monkey shines,
And thermo-nuclear weapons,
There was a time when words among men
Had not yet become discrete utterances
Encoded with agreed upon meanings.
It was a time when disputes were rarely settled
Through diplomatic concordance.
During that long stretch of pre-history,
Our ancestors’ best efforts at verbal communication
Consisted of assorted grunts, howls, squeals, screams, cries,
And presumably laughter.
Conflict negotiation in Paleolithic times
Might have involved all these primitive sound bites,
But would most likely conclude with blood being spilled.
The development of verbal language among humans
Would require the evolution, over many generations,
of various specific anatomical adaptations.
The mechanisms that enable us to fill our lungs with air
And expel it in a gymnastic manner up our throats,
Around our tongues, through our teeth, and past our lips,
Allow us to produce all the recognizable vocalizations
That comprise all the languages of the world
With all their vocabularies and grammars.
For most of pre-history the genus Homo
Merely grunted, howled, squealed, screamed, cried,
And occasionally, it might be hoped, laughed.
The development of verbal language among humans
Would lead to the invention of promises, oaths, and vows,
But also lies, deception, and inhuman oppression.
In the end, we are all just talking monkeys.
Talking monkeys that still grunt, howl, squeal, scream, cry,
And sometimes laugh, whether it’s appropriate or not.
Talking monkeys armed with thermo nuclear weapons.
Human history may be heading to an inevitable conclusion;
Talking monkeys will never be anything other than talking monkeys.
Squabbling and shouting is our normal,
not in other’s prissy persnickety vocabularies.
Hoarders, we climb over rats to get to our clothes
Others envy us this luxury
No one bathes; the bathtub houses stacks of magazines.
You can throw a half-eaten sandwich behind the couch
the flowered one or the one with the stripes?
Who cares? No one.
There is a smell; possibly a body, lurking about.
We get used to it, my brothers and sisters and I.
Slurping our tomato soup with our elbows on the table.
Mom and Dad are nowhere, having left years ago.
We live like animals, spraying on perfume when we go out.
There is no reason for company, who needs it anyway?
There are eight of us if we need to play Monopoly.
I gather up the pieces from under the table.
The welfare people are here. I stand in front of the door.
Cautioning my seven siblings to be quiet, and they are.
No school for us; we like our hoarder world.
Shhhh!