Long Website Poems
Long Website Poems. Below are the most popular long Website by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Website poems by poem length and keyword.
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Outbound calling is a given task.
Log in only in one website,he asked.
But this addiction don't know when would last.
this affecting my job,Oh no!
Am I losing my mind?
Dialling,communicating onshore.
Dealling and mocking by American people.
Do I have an option?
Chill ..I still need to go on.
Winter season, I met this one.
Thought it was love at first sight,
Feelings ponder,desires intensified.
I've been cheating when Boss's not around.
just to satisfy what my flesh demands.
I'm not a certified poet,
Not as good as anyone,
I just want to express my thoughts.
Make everything plain and fun.
More dramas,series of love.
This isn't about my life....
Afraid so much that this might end.
I could no longer use my hands.
No access at all ,eight hours a day.
Poetry soup,is this going to end?
Poems I used to made during work time,
I'll be missed,'cos at home its not welcome.
Signing off,Is it really an answer.
No way!..Break my bones,I'm gonna stand still.
Make this life a li'l more exciting,
Log in when the cat is not watching.
A poetaster I will always be
Renowned throughout eternity
For wonky metres and dodgy rhymes
Amongst my other versifying crimes
Like dull images and dreary words
Not to the liking of animals and birds
Whom Orpheus charmed with lyrics rare
While my efforts they just cannot bear
McGonagall is the master to whom I bow down
The man who merits the peerless crown
Of poetry so ludicrously solemn
That it earns derision in any newspaper column
His Forth Bridge production garners distinction
For drawing down mockery on its versification.
I must thank the website to which I belong
In allowing me to keep singing my song
That honour I bestow upon Poetry Soup
With its generosity towards my glutinous gloop
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg In March 2016. It's on His Website.
We Spent Two Days Together In Richmond Va. In A
Blizzard In 1982.
The day was long and no time was taken to eat.
So, I am hungry and weak like one experiencing defeat.
I see a fig tree and start to salivate. Anticipating the feast,
I say, "Please don't disappoint me as if I'm confronted with a beast".
As I am staring at the tree, I shout, "Please do not be barren!".
I reach the tree, and my hunger is welcomed by a tree of deceit.
I muse, "Must I retreat silently, or is there a lesson God wants to teach?"
Life throws adversities, but wisdom is gained if we would dare to seek.
"What's the reason for this", I ask. "What's the reason for such mask".
There were no figs today for me to eat, but only leaves looking to harass.
I am still famished, but some spiritual seeds drop in my heart as I proceed.
I must find food, I thought, as a Biblical story of Jesus filled my mind.*
Granted, we can't always please or live up to the expectations of others.
Give not false impressions, and do not attempt to mislead in any way.
If we follow The Master's lead, we will produce more than a leaf, but also figs.
4922PSCtest,This or That,Vol 11, Edward Ebeh.Title chosen: Fig Leaf.3P
*The following is noted on the website, Compelling Truth: Mark notes that "it was not the season for figs," but the tree was "in leaf," a sign that figs should have been on it. The people appeared to accept Jesus and the religious leaders claimed to follow God; Mark 11:12-14, 20-25.
The faceless book of lies and deceit
Look at my burger, looking so tasty
Inside the actor looking for adournment
How are you doing, look at this video of a dog falling over
Please see me, understand my pain, share my fears
Binary feelings sent through the ether
Truth reviled and trolled
A million meanless conversations
that could never emote to anothers touch
The soul sucking software that causes humanity to stall in its growth
Computers dont hug back
Download a film.replay a track
We all are infected.without a cure
The real computer virus that we pass with no remorse
We are humanity.
We are turned off
Please turn us back on.
Look at my life isnt it so good
then why do i upload plastic memory falsehoods
Commiting suicide by deleting my profile
And begining life by turning from the ambient light
No longer the lone fly caught in the electric web
Tell me internet where is your soul
and what will i be
404 Not Found Error on a website
So shocking was that news from France,
we stared at TVs in a trance;
no way to understand.
Those young and old without a chance
were taken down in wide expanse.
Such horror had been planned.
Who could have then foreseen the fate
upon them cast by those who hate?
Just gathered there for fun,
not knowing that their deaths await
while music played and people ate,
their lives were over, done.
Who could have thought ahead that they -
that enemy that wants its way
to change our form of life,
would sacrifice their own to say
that their belief we must obey?
Misguided thoughts run rife.
That Paris scene that fretful night
prepares us now to face the fight.
Define this threat once more
that could erupt within our sight.
Entire world must join the fight
to face this crusade war.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Rime Couee - Tail-Rhymed Verse - For France
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 01/03/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Best Sad Poem EVER
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 08/29/2016
=============================================
Rime Couee
I went with this pattern for Rime Couee as shown on "The Poet's Garret" website
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The November 2015 Paris attacks (sometimes referred to as 11/13) were a series of coordinated terrorist attacks that occurred on Friday 13 November 2015 in Paris, France, and the city's northern suburb, Saint-Denis. Beginning at 21:16 CET, three suicide bombers struck outside the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, during a football match. This was followed by several mass shootings, and a suicide bombing, at cafés and restaurants. Gunmen carried out another mass shooting and took hostages at a concert in the Bataclan theatre, leading to a stand-off with police. The attackers were shot or blew themselves up when police raided the theatre.
The attackers killed 130 people, including 89 at the Bataclan theatre. Another 368 people were injured, 80–99 seriously. Seven of the attackers also died, while the authorities continued to search for accomplices. The attacks were the deadliest on France since World War II." Wikipedia
On Reading Bertrand Russell --
A History of Western Philosophy
copyright date 1945
Trenchant treatise purchased
August 25th, 2020
at Limerick Chapel Book Sale
(in Church gym)
offered old library books
cost 25 cents apiece.
Musty tome
seventy five years out of print
found welcome home
nevertheless mine brown
myopic eyes eagerly roam
affixing knowledge
within fifty plus shades
double fisted size
gray matter with cerebral dome.
Aging long haired pencil necked geek
said storied author I effusively bespeak,
his whose pedantic trademark style
revered analogous to beholding
resplendent riches property
of selfless sheikh.
Impossible mission to describe
intoxicating sensation when
yours truly doth imbibe
superfluous words cannot oversubscribe
most august emotional vibe.
Though agog where euphoria doth alight
each word, sentence, paragraph...
metaphorical tasty bite
read outloud with deliberate delight
(tis akin to kid in candy store)
senses luxuriate across
elapsed millenniums excite
genuine fanciful flight
comfortably numbskull buzzfeeding
until time for goodnight
becoming learned about height
civilizations flourished
food for thought insight
bedazzling mental receptors
as if fingers fondle jadeite
perhaps carved as
chess piece (think) knight
phosphorescence generating light
emanating courtesy enthusiasm
powered thru awesome might
thru simple pleasure reading
me oblivious to approach of night
ever since boyhood reveled within world
printed pages poured splendor
(worth more than fine spun gold) outright
dependable catharsis to ameliorate
most any psychological plight
strong medicine agreeable with
garden variety generic bookworm quite
now if ye will please pardon me
aye venture to experience
remote contra dancing right
fully ceased going since coronavirus (COVID-19),
if curious just access
https://www.thursdaycontra.com/
virtualDance.html website.
I am not a writer, not a poet, not a literateur, not a critic
I am a reader, like to read myself within world literature
I write sometimes something willy-nilly,
I write the whirling words of my mind haphazardly
I write in different website by different name
My writings are me, the real me not for fame
Here I cry
For the absolute sight
To lit self inner light
as the godly eye
By born Bangladeshi I am,
like to live around the world through poetic diction.
Love everyone as a human being.
Although your thorn bleeds me
Yet, I give you ROSE.
Cause I love you.
I cannot bear the sword to kill you
in those of my hands I've carried flowers
Because I love you and this I'm, the love for you.
This you are my life, my universe, and my GOD.
I sow a seed of ROSE into the pure soil of my heart
for everything and everyone
This world is full of verities colors
I need every single color
By these colors, I want to dye me
I want to spread the seed of ROSE over the entire world
Every petal of this ROSE will carry PEACE and FRAGRANCE of LOVE for everyone
For me-
Knowledge is a supreme power
Love is almighty and worshiping tower
Love through knowledge is almighty supreme GOD
Love, love everyone, love you all O HUMAN being.
-Chattogram, Bangladesh
I was somewhere deep in Kansas
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall
the kickstand was long gone
And out of gas, my hopes were dashed …
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled
across the street I pushed
The sign said TRIUMPH-BSA
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor”
I said “Nothing — out of gas
“But worse I’m out of money
can I sell the bike for cash?
“Would you please just buy my Triumph
I know it’s old and worn
“But it got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route 50
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife
four more and our first child
We named her ‘Sweet Melissa’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will
your song, her name — that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I sent this to Gregg in May, 2017. It's on his website.
We spent two days together in Richmond Virginia in
a blizzard in 1982.