Long Voyage Poems
Long Voyage Poems. Below are the most popular long Voyage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Voyage poems by poem length and keyword.
Finally, I kissed you in the air
The air shook a placid realm
Realm above the firmament
Firmament unbolts as I boosted
Boosted your closeness into a blessed hug
Hug and kisses became so deep
Deep affectionate to generate promises
Promises bred heat in our hearts,
Hearts drumming with soft enjoyment.
Enjoyment acted as our eyes encountered
Encountered in bursting craving
Craving twisted our magic coiling breath,
Breath causing warmth in the air
Air flowed with stolen kisses
Kisses as your hair brushed my cheek with a smile
Smile brightened enough to launch
Launch several tour dreams on a wild voyage.
Voyage conveyed us on whispers
Whispers of courage into an elated commotion
Commotion of two souls interwoven in songs
Songs only our hearts desired
Desired in breathless moans
Moans that kindled our appetite into bliss
Bliss beamed every minute we shared,
Shared and promised uending love.
Poem by Mugisho N.
In lengthening slumberous reposes lies
Dickens' sterling pen under bluish skies;
And through them gloats deathless sun,
Taunting all that under his embers burn.
No more savoring of Oliver’s twisty trials
In doleful dints and extra-nuanced miles;
Nor shall of tested Nell all posterity hear,
Cooed in sweetly plaintive rhythms dear.
Nicholas Nickleby's adventures now
Must halt and take a somnolent bow,
And leave us at Muse’s orphan gate,
Slow to hug our stark bereaving fate.
Whence comes a defter pen to tell
Copperfield's youth and pupil spell,
By stingy virtue ridden through cry
And toil with dismal affection nigh?
Stung reader must content themselves
With ancient writs mute on dull shelves,
And with relish cherish and revive tales
Mid-voyage drowned by muffling gales.
All my life’s moments unite and resound
All that I was, all that we are
One bright spirit is homeward bound
Once heartbreak and loss, now eternal love found
Time can’t be measured, not close, not far
All my life’s moments unite and resound
The return voyage seemed bleak with no one around
No hand to hold, no guiding star
One bright spirit is homeward bound
It’s late, they’ve poured the final round
It’s time to close the bar
All my life’s moments unite and resound
Trees don’t bear fruit in rocky ground
Dreams cannot take root in tar
One bright spirit is homeward bound
The last New Year’s has passed, a last champagne downed
The final door is slightly ajar
All my life’s moments unite and resound
One bright spirit is homeward bound
Seventh Place
An Original Villanelle Contest- L MILTON HANKINS
2/27/22
First Place
Brian Strand Poetry Contest
3/5/22
I, (though ye feel averse associating
with birth father) attest,
perhaps undeserving your vicariously quest
regaling, surmounting, and triumphing
storied Penn ultimate academic conquest
affirms his pride and joy at
stellar success no credit to this beastliest
inept papa, who winces with tragicomic,
woe how animosity toward me increased
smoldering rage at actual/
perceived paternal transgressions,
and do not expect to receive forgiveness
within your wounded breast,
but please allow this opportunity
to suspend any smarting rancorous
loathing, and bitterest
emotions that still sting from deep
seated psychological wounds
indelibly piercing chest
within eldest daughter,
whose unconditional boundless love
spurs whim to express
optimism at Edenic future blest
with praiseworthy largesse of commendable
laudatory, and noteworthy brainiest
accomplishments driven by ambition,
doggedness, perseverance, cleverest
ploy, plus revulsion emotionally costliest
psyche rent asunder courtesy yours truly,
he will not challenge, nor counterprotest
thee, asper his (i.e. mine) crassest
peccadillos, and significant damnedest
accursed personal weaknesses thee detest,
and unintentionally unpleasantly
impacted impressionable offspring, I dust
regret, and thus
figurative figleaf extended
without any expectations, though earnest
sincerity to accept culpability, asper
your anger, animosity, antipathy
maybe ranked as evilest
person on Earth, nonetheless,
and perhaps futile attempt feeblest
against affecting, sans fondest
best wishes despite scathing foulest
faux pas, I abhor lament ghastliest
inflicted upon an innocent progeny,
whose truevalue impossible grandest
to assess preciousness bestowed,
and wisdom proffered as biological guest,
now on her way to glory with handsomest
eminent beau linkedin heading toward happiest
days awaiting as ye embark
on destination unknown - honest!
What dwells in light is blind to darker shades,
Unfixed by boundaries, yet tethered close;
A circle turns without a start or edge,
Electrons hum, the cosmos stirs and wakes.
Though shifting tides govern the starry floor,
All nature rests content in what it is;
Why thence man strains from being to become,
And miss the quiet grace of what he holds?
The world calls forward in march of progress,
Man hungers for the new, yet dreads the shift,
Resisting every turn of time's design.
Instead of marvelling at the passing road,
He counts the miles carved onto the stone,
When true joy moves inward, quiet, uncaused—
A welling spring that needs no earthly rain,
A state of grace that flows without a source.
Instead, man barters peace for tinkered toys
In search of fleeting joys that never last.
The human mind is split by inner stir:
The ego wants to claim the mountain crest,
The heart aches for the valley and the stream
To dip tired feet or walk on cooling grass,
And in this conflict spoils man’s present peace,
Thus losing the pure joy of simply being.
When days are cool he chases summer sun,
When they turn warm, he dreams of winter snow.
A lifetime spent in chasing there from here,
Voyage trapped in dreams of destination.
In reaching there—a phantom on the hill—
He misses quiet joy of travelling on.
The endless war of being to become,
When here and now holds the truth of his life.
And yet, how sad, the road to reaching here—
The quiet place of simply being still—
Gets clear only when the traveller tires,
Weary and worn out from the endless road.
The fruits of labour ripen when they please;
Alas, man muddles blindly through the dark,
Trapped in the space becoming and to be,
A conflict born of heedless head and heart.
______________________________
Reflections |18.07.2026 | creation, god, journey, joy, perfection, Blank Verse
Without a shadow's kiss
How blooms a hidden rose?
Without a storm's embrace
How does an oak repose?
In Twilight's waltz, secrets unroll
the mystery it bestows.
Yet in its gently budding leaves
tales of resilience compose.
How should I yearn to climb
I lack the precipice's call?
Cragged visions of distant peaks and
fallow mind
a darkened silent beckon enthrall.
Oh, to forge within,
Oh, why, doubt cloaks my inner child.
In solitude's chains
I hear the introspective thrall.
Yet, tremors are in my soul
and yet a lonely seed begins to climb
A combination of growth
harmonizing with each chime.
Nourished by tears that sow
the fertile sands of time.
My garden of emotions still hints
at a poet’s
paradisiacal paradigm.
Suddenly, a sunlit coast where dreams
unfurl in storms
A canvas painted by aspirations
that gently adorn.
With hopeful brushstrokes
life-captivating stories that plume.
A gallery of memories
a child’s kaleidoscope.
Once upon a solitary,
darkened
locked room.
Perhaps a gardener’s gentle hand
can stir the fallow ground
Fertilizing roots to depths
where true potential
once lost - begged to be found.
A dawn’s soft breath a gentle lure
perhaps to coax my dormant leaves unbound
Awakening possibilities in the quiet
yet, now fertile ground.
In stillness my thoughts emerge
unseen, a quiet vow,
An introspective voyage
on the sea of here and now.
My diamonds form from tears
not battles' echoing crown
I am a jewel of resilience
forged in the soul's darkest hour.
I sat there as yet another
refugee looked at me
and ran me down
with the statement
Your ancestors invaded
Australia your ancestors
invaded New Zealand
yet what a racist statement
what is the difference today
with the refugees coming into
Australia what is the difference
with the refugees coming into
New Zealand
are you not escaping
the problems of your own country
just like our ancestors escaped theirs
my Ancestors where Scottish
wealthy landowners drove thousands
of Scottish people, off the land
thousands of Scottish people
Who had worked the land for centuries
had their land stolen from beneath their feet
"Chieftains became absentee landlords
interested only in the extraction of rents"
Blackfaced sheep were found
to be hardy enough to live
in the harsh conditions Of Scotlands
highlands
Thousands of Scottish people
that had ploughed the fields
and tended the crops
were driven from their homes
and had to face the daunting
sea voyage in cramped and miserable
conditions to face an un-tamed country
where people had no laws
where one wrong step
could destroy a persons life
New Zealand, where the Maori
had the own warriors skills
their own type of martial arts
where the welcome of the Maori
the Harka would scare a football team today
having been driven from their land
We all need food to survive
New Zealand was known as
the cannibal Islands of the South pacific
Now perhaps you want to re-write history
Yes it was your country
you have a right to be proud
of your Ancestors
wars broke out because
both sides did not understand
each other, wars broke out
because of greed, anger, love
but we also have a right
to be proud of our Ancestors
Men and woman going out to face
impossible risks
because they had no choice.
Saturated with fish fry smells, Bar-B-Cue smoke,
rodeo dust and sounds of deep water blues,
with teasing frothing lace spread on the shore,
Gulf Coast birth breeze blew winds
in sails to Caribbean Sea, Blue Mountain
berries, banana walk yam hills,
And coconut rain drops tapping reggae beats
on zinc roof tops on cool verandah nights,
in herb scented air, curling roast breadfruit smoke.
The tarrying there tested the soul,
matured the spirit, fulfilled long tried
attainments of deferred dreams; then
the sea recruited its journeyman again.
Pacific Coast pleaded an adopted native son home. Home
to new sea shore sands dusted in smog self negation
of urbane destruction and self nullification of community,
caught in the veiled nightmare—lurking in the promise land.
Hence, lessons learned from a gospel tower that never knew a church,
yet gave life-lived sermons that put homiletics to shame, crucifying
pipe-dream pie-in-the-sky nuances on the crosses of realities.
Atlantic waves, undulating like rhythmic buttocks, frothed
a scent of magnetism greater than the tightening hold of gravity,
attracting an uneasy soul, searching spiritual solaced sands; only
to discover that the seas all share the same shored design: Yes.
Same shared sorrowful savage slave story! Different sea: same sand.
Now awaits Guinea Coast sunsets and Cape of Good Hope
cul-de-sac early morning sunrises; then on to the sands of heaven.
Regrets are for those who fail to chase their dreams to realities.
Random Journey
Is the inception of a voyage the end of abstract nothingness?
Or the beginning of conscious life as driving to town buying the papers.
I remember a song, “Set sail at Sunset.” humming the words.
A red sun and calm sea, this not the crossing of Styx after sundown
ss it immaturity making fun of me again you can’t sail to Afghanistan?
I can sail there in a balloon and land where the Taliban shoots holes in the sky
smoke American cigarettes, we can drink coffee and have a natter.
The problem is, you can’t see any women like they do not exist.
It is like walking without crutches on a broken leg.
No one reads the “Guardian” in this part of the world.
I sit here and wait not for crossing any rivers but to sail the seventh ocean.
A UK Royal Mail Ship was RMS Rhone
A sail-steamer and a two-masted brig, she shone
Rhone had an iron hull and was 310 feet long
Her compound steam engine made her fast and quite strong
An innovative ship with a bronze propeller
To save water, she had a surface condenser
The first ship so equipped to visit Brazil port
Pedro II, the king, came to see her engine fort
Left Southampton on 9th Oct., 1865
On her maiden voyage; despite troubles, she thrived
Her next five voyages were also to Brazil
Then transferred to Caribbean route, she was thrilled
Rhone proved her worth by weathering several storms
But who can escape when Mother Nature performs?
On 19th Oct.’67, Rhone and Conway
Bunkered in Great Harbour, where they stayed for few days
San Narciso Hurricane, last of the season,
Worried both captains - ferocity, the reason
Passengers from Conway were transferred to the Rhone
Conway was too soon foundered by the storm full-blown
Rhone struggled to get free, her anchor was caught fast
It was cut loose as Captain Woolley thought it best
To escape to open sea was the Captain’s plan
Sailing ‘tween two islands, avoiding Blonde Rock’s span
When Rhone was less than 250 yards from safety
The winds threw her into Black Rock Point directly
The lurching crash sent Captain Woolley overboard
The ship broke in two, causing engines to explode
The bow in 80 feet, the stern in 30 feet,
Rhone sank swiftly, the “unsinkable”, now dead meat
123 killed, were buried on Salt Island
On 29th Oct., Rhone met her sad end, unplanned
The wreck of the Rhone is now a famous dive site
Turned into a National Park , she’s a rare sight
Today, it’s visited by hundreds of tourists
And in a way, the historic Rhone still exists.
11.05.2021
12 syllables per line
For Robert James Liguori's "A Noteworthy Ship" contest