Long Which Poems
Long Which Poems. Below are the most popular long Which by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Which poems by poem length and keyword.
The story is told of a Maori King bold
Who dared cheat the Prince of Siam.
I’ll leave it to you to decide if its true.
But if you're not convinced, at least I am!
This king was annoyed so he filled his bored void
By selling the fauna of his wee land.
He soon grew in fame, none dared speak his name,
He was the richest in all of New Zealand!
But this roll could not last; the fates swooped in fast
With an invoice for arrogant King Frodo!
A prince of yon borders sailed in with his order
For a half dozen snakes and some Dodo.
“The snakes are all gone!” Frodo said with a yawn.
"And we ate the last Dodo last week!”
Thus the king blew him off with a wave and a scoff;
“Look elsewhere for that which you seek!”
But the prince had prepaid! And he screamed out in rage,
“What is that in the cage with the hasp?”
King Frodo’s eyes narrowed, “I won that from Pharaoh,
And that, that’s a two-headed asp!”
“And though its not fair, it is simply too rare,
Now be off or I’ll soon have your head!”
But the prince made this threat, “Dear King you’ll regret!”
Then he left leaving Frodo to dread . . . . . . .
At daylight’s first gleam, you could hear Frodo scream
As he raced to the harbor to spy,
And lo, by the pier was a note on a spear . . .
“Keep my gold! . . . But kiss your asp goodbye!”
For the "Asp" Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
May 7, 2018
10th Place
On a cool spring morning, by a clear mountain stream, an enchantress sat skywriting.
Her arms danced at awkward, inhuman angles and as they did, her bracelets jangled a melody which the birds took up in chorus.
The soundtrack was magic. Insects buzzed in beat, animals froze mid-forage, and the wind died, lest moving clouds corrupt her work.
The mask-wearing knight, a killer for the king, was dressed in black. Even the buck knife, loosely gripped in his right hand, was painted black. His boots were cloth wrapped and his movements were as smooth as smoke. He was noiseless death itself.
As he drew closer, the birds suddenly stopped chirping. "Go home boy, " the enchantress whispered. The knight blinked in disbelief and froze but the enchantress did not look around.
She pulled a half-penny from a pouch, kissed it, and lobbed it into the stream.
The knight’s mind went from deadly certain to vague. Why was he here? He sheathed his knife, lowered his mask and wiped his lips. What had he been doing?
Still not looking his way, the minx motioned to the clear, babbling stream, "Come, drink," she said. He drew beside her and with a quick glance, as he sipped water from cupped hands, he saw that she was young and beautiful.
She’d never looked his way, but she knew him in a rarefied, magical way - as if he were her brother, and she felt the sting of his long sorrow, that his wife was barren.
"Your love will bear you two sons if you're home and can bed her before dark," she said softly.
The knight stood, wiped his hands on his trousers, nodded at her, and ran for his horse.
The enchantress smiled to herself and resumed her unearthly work. The sound of horse and rider quickly faded as the birds resumed their spell-song.
Two strapping young men they would be.
The Youthful Month of June
Hummingbirds hover amid the fragrant air
O’er honeysuckle flowers and roses fair.
Free doves to fly and rain confetti and rice,
Where in the garden my bride and I abide
In the summery view of the charming moon,
In the youthful month of June.
Moonstone ring and pearl string adorn her finger and neck
Whereupon my chest, her head gently rests
With the softest touch, that says I love you so much.
And I savour her beauty in words of poetry,
Quoting Byron, Browning, Shelley, and Keats.
Aye, she melts my heart with her French accent
“L’amour est une chose merveilleuse entre moi et vous
(Love is a wonderful thing between me and you).
Toujours vrai (forever true)”
In the youthful month of June.
***
Note:
“June” is the first month of summer, and has the longest day of the year (summer solstice), around June 21st. The name June comes from the Latin word “Juvenis”, which means young people; and is a popular month to marry. June’s birthstones include moonstone and pearl. Roses and honeysuckles are June’s flowers, which symbolize love, devotion, and generosity, while the dove is the representative bird for the month.
I'd bloomed from the warm glow in his eyes.
He had been my sunlight when darkness loomed.
His arms protected me, for he was my safe haven,
but too soon, the light faded from his hazel eyes,
and his voice, a gasp when drawing a breath.
His life was pilfered by Death, the morbid thief.
Stolen from us were Utopian days of splendor.
The painful loss is a burden I must endure,
uncertain of how I will face tomorrow alone.
I wept in silence until the bronzed edge of twilight
chased prisms of light from pastel skies.
A shroud of gloom veiled the wound in my heart
as I felt the gatekeeper gently touch my arm.
Layers of cold black earth now separated us.
I still held the red rose I'd brought for his coffin.
Streaks of tears washed blush from my cheeks,
while I shivered in fear without his hand to hold.
I was years older since morning had dawned,
wilting like the spray of lilies, heads drooping.
They were withered and dying, their beauty lost.
Once vibrant and sweet, their fragrance fading,
they lie on a grave for which they were grown.
On alabaster marble, my finger traced his name,
wishing love's affliction could somehow be rescinded.
I was at the impasse where life and death collide.
I stood, but left my crushed red rose on the chair,
for unable was I to whisper 'goodbye.'
February 5, 2021
Break My Heart, Why Don't Cha Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Few years back I use to make Paintings
Mostly of landscapes
And sometimes, abstracts or portraits
The oil paintings which I use to make were such,
That anyone would have
Found them to possess and love
It was a season of Christmas and I was
Strolling, when I saw two beautiful poetry books
One on the season of Autumn and other on Christmas
It had a bunch of adorable world of poetry
So beautiful and so lovely
Printed with beautiful photos and scenes
The photo of Jesus was so enchanting
With His loving eyes spreading
The message of peace, love and humanity
One day when I was trying to draw a sketch
My brush started making on its own
A beautiful picture of Jesus
One evening, when that portrait of Jesus
Was almost complete
A Christian friend of mine saw that picture fine
He was overwhelmed with joy and love
And hugged me as if I was someone very fine
He asked me? If I can gift that portrait to a Church divine
I had felt a joy in making that beautiful portrait
But giving it for a place of shrine
Was the most wonderful feeling, one can cherish in his life time
He asked me to come with that portrait of Jesus Christ
And give that gift to his Church on Christmas Day
In the Church, where he was going to prey
I can never forget that Christmas day
While seeing that lovely portrait of Jesus
The priest blessed me with love, while tears in his eyes
I am not a Christian, but still I love Jesus
For all the kindness and love he gave to humanity
And pain and sufferings He faced for us
I still keep those two most beautiful poetry books
Like a precious treasure
And can never forget those lovely moments of sketching Jesus Christ.
Ravindra
Kanpur 29th Nov. 2009
Entered for Raul Moreno’s contest "The Deposition"
Note 1: This poem is based on my own true happenings. I am still
Keeping those poetry books published and printed in US around
1960’s and purchased by me second hand from a Magazine shop
Around 1965 as my most valuable treasure. But since a long
I am have not made any Paintings.
Note 2: Incidentally I have traced that Portrait now shining in the
care of my senior friend Mr. J F Patteson & brilliantly
preserved by him till now.
I wrote these five rules which grew out of some uncomfortable ‘life experiences’. Because of these rules, I am not a victim.
Rule 1. I will not bow to the mindset that feeds me the idea that I am a victim. My perception must be that of a victor, not a victim. The God in me
Disallows defeatism and victimization.
Rule 2. Although I realize that I cannot go through life unscratched, unhurt, and free of disappointments, I will not allow myself to develop a self defeating ‘me complex’.
Rule 3. If I discover that I am in someone's ‘line of fire’, I will simply distance myself. I will not develop a paranoia that tells me that I am constantly the subject of someone’s target.
Rule 4. The ‘poor me, they did it to me again’ attitude will not get me anywhere. This type of attitude will not achieve anything except a basket case on the strap heaps of defeat.
Rule 5. If I take the proper Biblical steps and keep Christ at the center of my life, it follows that I will not have a ‘victim mentality’.
(Originally, entitled The Victim Rules, written in1993) 09142016PS Contest, Victim Or Victor, Nayda Negron
She spoke of things
That may have been
Troubling him
He looked at her
And cried
Yet might
I do those
Things with you
I will be
As wrong as
She is for making
Me trouble
Am I less a man
That I am faithful
I am worthless
And made villian of
That I must respond
To her ways
She begged him
To love that
She might not
Speak of him as
A punk.
His refusal made
Her curse about him
In conversations
Might make it
Harder for him to
Rebound and be
Happy, she. Speaks
Of him as a punk.
He hears her words
Thru the gossip of
Strangers and
Says only a
Woman can love
Me these souls
Are twerps who
Speak slang to
Gossip,
And thinks making
Men weak through
Surpression
Strengthens their
Cause.
Causes which are
Undefined and are
Socailly unproductive
It just happened to be when you turned 18
At the height of the war, Vietnam
The letter for you from a relative you never knew
By the name of Uncle Sam
Requesting you join him for a party
You and a few of your friends
Ooh La La here comes Paris
Island life you would live to regret
Where they turned your school boy fantasies
Into that of nightmares for men
In the confines of time you never dreamed you would find
The thoughts that now crisscross through your head
Then came the news, they picked you for a cruise
The last time you slept in your warm bed
On the very same day you packed it all away
Including what little sanity you have left
Here you were promised the tropics
There is where reality set in
Instead of the fancy sweet umbrella drink
They placed a cold gun in your hand
It came with a set of instructions
In black & white kill the yellow man
Where democracy rules, communism's for fools
As you share this for your Uncle Sam
You spent all of your time in the jungle
Battling those they told you to hate
Going to sleep at night in hopes that you might
Wake up to at least one more day
When they finally told you it was over
With fewer friends and far less of a man
You'll remember the names as they call from the graves
On the hillside of war, Vietnam
Back home to the sweet taste of freedom
Not quite the same as when you first packed your bags
Now they spit on you for what your Uncle put you through
You have to wonder what is the sense in that
The colorful world in which you once lived
Remains to this day a deep shade of gray
And all of this because you happened to get
That letter on your 18th birthday
"I" lends respectability
To extant personality
And offers much to those it serves -
Perhaps more than it should deserve.
Important as this "I" might be
It lacks depth in humility
And sometimes fails humanity
By being its own efigy.
Beyond the realm we know as "I"
Is that which we identify
As beneficial harmony
That honors truth and equity.
It is a place of selfless grace
With neither gender, class nor race;
No self-proclaimed philosophy
Nor strident religiosity.
It prompts no economic scheme
Of gain derived through plan or dream
And holds the harness of the Id
As Ego, superego did.
It gives no thoughtless verity
To "sunshine days" integrity.
Unawed by status or by wealth -
This is the realm of "Beyond Self."
This realm is blessed with keen insight
Enhanced by self-reflection's light
And tests responsibility
In terms of our civility.
Here, selflessness is our just cause
Relying on a moral clause
That accepts human frailities,
Conditions and proclivities.
God be thanked for His grace*, supremely sovereign
Granting eternal redemption, freeing me from hell's everlasting strain.
Sustaining grace of the Saviour, abounding freely
Reaches down to my soul, rejuvenating me daily.
Christ's greatly satisfying grace
Blesses my soul along life's race.
With the Almighty's grace is heavenly hope
Midst sin-forgiveness around purification-scope.
Helping grace of the Lord builds service-commitment
Upholding my heart toward faithful ministry-involvement.
*1Corinthians 1:4 I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ.
March 30, 2019