Long Volume Poems
Long Volume Poems. Below are the most popular long Volume by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Volume poems by poem length and keyword.
REVERSE MIDAS TOUCH
You’ll have heard about King Midas,
His gift was legendary.
Whatever he touched would turn to gold,
The ultimate in alchemy.
But me? I have the Sadim touch,
That’s Midas in reverse
And anything that I touch
Will turn to dirt, or worse.
I keep away from betting shops,
For me that’s common sense.
If I put money on a horse,
It will fall at the very first fence.
I invested all my savings
In a company abroad.
I’ve seen on the news that the owner
Is serving ten years for fraud.
I married my childhood sweetheart,
For richer or for poorer.
But when I told her I was broke,
That was the last time I saw her.
As I said I have the Sadim touch,
Every venture’s sure to fail.
And that, you’ll be relieved to know,
Is the end of my touching tale.
20th December 2022
This or That Volume 15 contest
Title - Reverse Midas Touch
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
As the last leaf falls,
Time opens a new door.
The book closes its volume,
And the symphony fades into oblivion.
Another season emerges from its chamber.
Nothing is eternal in this world where we feel perplexed and pursued,
Confused by the mysteries that each day unfolds,
Chased by the night and its elements.
We perpetually seek redemption,
Even as we sometimes soar on its wings.
Life is a Ferris wheel of gloom and bloom.
There’s a process of gaining and letting go.
Nature teaches us to consider the two sides of dawn,
The stillness of the night echoes the duality of eternity.
There’s a highway in the nothingness beyond the physical body.
A constellation of stars heralds our arrival,
They scatter to signal our departure.
Our souls journey to the beyond,
Flights as transcending lights,
Lights in Zion bring delight.
March 6, 2025.
Palm Sunday
Shopping and hawking,
purchasing and vending their wares;
the observant noticed;
the indifferent paid no mind;
the powerful perturbed by all the noise
make their way to confront
and charge the man
some call anointed.
Loud and raucous singing
disturbs the quiet of the status quo.
Those who should be seen and not heard
are making the utmost clamor;
appreciated by some;
angering others
insisting they turn the volume down.
Boulders will sing
while trees will give their branches
to welcome the mighty
if the lowliest of participants
are muzzled by the powerful,
but they sing in applause;
an affront to the self-made mighty.
Shaking off the winter greys and
waving springtime green,
a shout welcomes the anointed one.
Thrown off fashion lines the path
covering eager rocks
postponing the clearing of their throats.
Join the cavalcade
and raise the benediction;
awaken the sleeping alleluias
and the slumbering hosannas.
Join the lowest of the low
and applaud the highest of the high.
But beware,
the shoppers are eager to buy,
even if the cost is high.
And the hawkers are ready
to sell their merchandise.
Depart from your accustomed
typically usual routine.
Specialize in being a generalist.
Immerse yourself fully in the whole entirety
of the complete volume.
You’ll be surrounded on all sides
by a myriad and multitudinous plethora
of permanent and long-lasting linguistic verbiage.
Feel like a pedagogical school teacher.
Have an impactful influence on events.
Fly above the earth.
It’s deceptively mendacious,
and fine as French champagne!
Here’s a sneak peek advance preview of
Colonel J. D. Waxwood's Harmonious Concordance
of Repetitive Redundancies, Sufficient Enough Tautologies,
and Irrational Non-sequitors, from BadSeedPress:
AKBAR THE GREAT
AMERICAN INDIAN
ATM MACHINE
CENTRAL CORE
CHICKEN COQ AU VIN
CONCISE SYNOPSIS
CORRUPT POLITICIAN
FLESH COLORED
FREE GRATIS
FRESH FROZEN
GUEST HOST
HAWAIIAN LUAU
MORE PERFECT
ORIGINAL COPY
PIN NUMBER
PIZZA PIE
PRE-REGISTRATION
SELF-CENTERED NARCICIST
SILENT MUSICAL
TINY LITTLE [ANYTHING]
TUNA FISH
WISE-ASS SOPHOMORE
can you tell me ...
where have true hearts gone -
bosoms that heave
with thrums of passion and mystery?
could it be these antediluvian
eyes are just shortening shadows -
daubing change and momentum with
the dark shades of what was?
I yearn for a kindred soul
of that rare ilk -
one I could offer up a word to
in appreciation, who would need that
word ONLY to swim my intent …
a breath of "moon" to such
would bring a dreamy sparkle to the eye …
the word "ocean" would conjure
a tender smile and soft glint ...
to but whisper "kiss"
would effect a sensing sigh
and an immortal, faraway gaze
of a depth unconquered.
I plunge every ephemeral eye
that meets mine of late
yet that spark -
that knowing, congeneric gleam -
is not to be found.
have the modern concerns
drowned our fires?
does this world spin too fast for
those flames to light?
oh, please say it is not so -
that I am mistaken …
for it is the foolish hope of finding it
that still quickens my step ...
and my heart.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Choose Your Own Title Volume 7, Songs - Any Form" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
* I used song number one (#1) "Bliss" by Alpha 9 - it brought these things to mind. *
When I entered this pub,
Everything was messy,
Ladies here appeared ill mannered
And their faces old for the job.
Painted in make ups,
Shorts skirts with slits,
Exposing bleached thighs
I pitied with men here,
Spending all their fortune
The music was loud
And the smoke was choking
I said to myself,
"Not more than one glass"
Suddenly, I have lost count,
Not only of glasses, but bottles,
And money to spend
My new language-
"Waiter, one more! "
I think I am Drunk.
Suddenly, all girls are young,
Their skin is tender,
And their moves seductive.
I suddenly, love their dressing
Now they are all beautiful.
I think I am Drunk.
Suddenly, I call on the DJ:
"DJ, increase the volume! "
And to the crowd of smokers,
I shout, "Puff it out! "
I think I am drunk.
Suddenly, I feel so rich,
I move from table to table
ordering waiters to add more drinks.
And when they hail me,
I throw cash at them.
I think I am drunk.
I've Drunk my all
And people have Drunk too
On my bill
I've lost my way,
I've lost my all
And my mind too
I think I am Drunk.
As I want to leave,
I face the barman,
My phone, jacket and car keys
held in custody —
Until I pay the debt.
I Can’t feel the knives or the needles—
that absence itself is a symptom,
the nervous system dimming its lamps
to conserve what little current remains.
I make a grandness in the dark—
the mind, starved of warmth, builds cathedrals
out of shadow, rehearses importance
as a way to survive being small and alone.
Depression is not sadness.
It is anesthesia mistaken for peace.
It is the brain lowering the volume
on pain until it lowers the volume on joy.
I see it in the pauses between sentences,
in the way time thickens,
in how tomorrow stops applying for citizenship
in the patient’s imagination.
This illness speaks in negatives:
not hungry, not tired, not hopeful,
until the self becomes a series of doors
the body no longer bothers to open.
Yet even here, there is data worth trusting:
the fact that you came,
the fact that language still gathers itself
into lines, into images, into a reaching.
Treatment begins quietly—
with restoring sensation, not happiness;
with learning again how pain can be felt
without becoming a verdict.
One day the needles return as needles,
the knives as metaphors only,
and the dark—still present—
loses its authority to name you.
Until then,
this is not weakness.
This is an injured mind
doing its best to keep me alive.
REQUIEM-A STRUCTURED PROSE
Nothing moves,silence, echos of
voices,the past awakes!Faces
appear,then depart!A tear trickles
slowly,the music plays,faintly.
Emotion erupt,again!
Regret whispers,in pain!
MEMORIES-A STRUCTURED PROSE
Memories surface,a requiem of
sounds,heaving emotions realign,
words recalled speak volume from
deep within , and live again on a trail
of nows then wash nostalgia’s face
with random spontaneity from
the unconscious mind.The house
full of yesterdays,books that filled
wet Wednesdays,cross-stitched hours
upon the wall.Eclectic collected
moments,sentiments,priceless,unique
and irreplaceable,this smell of love
percolating into endless tomorrows.
ADIEU-A STRUCTURED PROSE
To write my thoughts,to listen
and to see and let these feelings
outward fly.Unfettered dreams as
white clouds upon a summer sky.
Experiences re-lived,evoked from
shaded tones,no longer trapped,
but,by you dear reader,now set free.
Adieu, no more again sweet love to
know,no more,no more will love be mine.
AFTERWORD-A STRUCTURED PROSE
We forget so easily life’s reality,
vulnerable,alone we stay transfixed
by memory,frayed.Musings of the
mind,experience,past&present
lingers long.A reality that ebbs
and flows as morning mist.Just
out of reach shadows persist
circumstance moves on,twenty-four
hours remain a day.Our times change,
inside we stay the same,as players
not spectators in the game.
Listen to me read these structured prose on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
KP: With embellishment aborted,
sidewalk and street talk wail from paper.
Tears vividly seen because cursive one's don't wipe away.
An intrinsic institution allergic to plagiarized allegiance,
we're born and bred to bleed blue from womb, and the wound.
Traits of our soul incarcerated in a pen case
presenting selfies that speak volume without an impediment.
Lingual masseuses with mischief marinating, depending on
which taste of epic we prefer.
We write to pulverize color barriers because underneath the shell
tethered laughter is majority. Lumen repair technicians
dimming differences, a cultural mend from cultured men
adjoined through their pen.
Siamese artistes with an umbilical transporting manna from our
third eye to feed the famine.
Brother of mine, break bread with your pen
RL: I too do not wish to embellish
So I place my ear upon the sidewalk of discovery
For I wish to hear the colour of your steps
Our souls are meant to breathe upon paper
The fibres of the papyrus bleed into our convoluted minds
as we give of our panicked moments
Ours is a calmed darkness
A mimicking hope
Yesterday flows over tomorrowed possibilities
as we attempt to rewrite answers to those questions never asked
Differences float above our commonality
So we choose to dive below the surface
For beneath our papered skin resides the hearts of free men
Paper converted by pen becomes flesh
The bond of brotherhood
Tethered between minds
Transported beyond societies perceived differences
For we choose to anoint our spirits in blue ink!
Thanks Keith for joining me in this creative adventure.
It is a pleasure to write with such a talented writer.
Written by: Keith Papyrus & Richard Lamoureux
September 25, 2015
A is for algebra, where numbers are represented by letters
B is for base, a base ten number system is much better
C is for circle, it goes round and round
D is for degree, in a circle, 360 are found
E is for equation, an assertion of the equality of two expressions
F is for fraction, it's the ratio of two expressions
G is for graph, a diagram showing the relationship betwen two numbers
H is for hypotenuse, a triangle's longest side, easy to remember
I is for integer, positive or negative numbers that are whole
J is for justification, proof of a solution, so I'm told
K is for kilometer, that's almost a mile
L is for line, it has one dimension and can go on for a while
M is for median, the most common value in a group
N is for numerator, its the top number in a fraction, like a hoop
O is for octagon, the number of sides are eight
P is for pentagon, it has five sides and that's great
Q is for quotient, the result of a division
R is for ratio, the relationship between two expressions
S is for square, with equal sides of four
T is for triangle, it has three sides, no more
U is for unit, a standardized quantity
V is for volume, the quantity of a three dimensional entity
W is for whole number of which there are a lot
X is for x- axis, the horizontal axis for coordinates , a plot
Y is for y- axis, the vertical axis a coordinate system brings
Z is for zero , it's not even one thing
We talked about fractions. circles, and squares
Next, we'll explore lions, tigers, and bears