Long World Poems
Long World Poems. Below are the most popular long World by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long World poems by poem length and keyword.
Lord of the world, your vision why are so evil?
In which of your rule, you can make such deal!!
the house where in agony, you are dim there,
you are cruel for them, heartless
is it fair?
In that trap of misfortune, sadness pours down,
where the deluge of disaster, you go away far from that typhoon!!
you made land as slaughterhouse for them, the moment of irony,
the land where forever, they worship you
though poor not rich in
pounds and penny.
In the heart of the poet, in disguise, you keep yourself,
today I give you the notice, is it a crime or help?
Oh lord I want the world that land of equality,
I pray to you to be kind enough to that child
please fulfill his dream, please
donate a bit of pity.
Where violence and the cruelty, please throw the arrow of fire
burn such heart and fill it, with the love atmosphere.
Destroy such explosive houses, such poison,
listen lord, otherwise I will not remain
your slave soon.
Because Her Heart Is Tender, for Beth
by Michael R. Burch
She scrawled soft words in soap: “Never Forget”
dove-white on her car’s window (though the wren,
because its heart is tender, might regret
it called the sun to wake her). As I slept,
she heard lost names recounted, one by one.
She wrote in sidewalk chalk: “Never Forget!”
and kept her heart’s own counsel. No rain swept
away those words, no tear leaves them undone.
Because her heart is tender with regret,
bruised by razed towers’ glass and steel and stone
that shatter on and on and on and on ...
she stitches in damp linen: “NEVER FORGET!”
and listens to her heart’s emphatic song.
(The wren might tilt its head and sing along
because its heart once understood regret
when nestlings fell beyond, beyond, beyond ...
love's reach, and still the boot-heeled world strode on.)
She writes in adamant: “NEVER FORGET!”
because her heart is tender with regret.
Published by Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Villanelle, Nietzsche Twilight, The Eclectic Muse, Nietzsche Twilight, Nutty Stories (South Africa), Poetry Renewal Magazine, and Other Voices International
Because Her Heart is Tender (II)
by Michael R. Burch
Because her heart is tender
there is hope some God might mend her, …
some small hope Fates might relent.
Because her heart is tender
mighty Angels, come defend her!
Even the Devil might repent.
Because her heart is tender
Jacob’s Ladder should descend here,
the heavens open, saints assent.
Because her heart is tender
why does the cruel world rend her?
Fix the world, or let it end here!
Double Trouble
by Michael R. Burch
The villanelle is trouble:
it’s like you’re on the bubble
of beginning to see double.
It’s like you’re on the Hubble
when the lens begins to wobble:
the villanelle is trouble.
It’s like you’re Barney Rubble
scratching itchy beer-stained stubble
because you’re seeing double.
Then your lines begin to gobble
up the good rhymes, and you hobble.
The villanelle is trouble,
just like getting sloshed in the pub’ll
begin to make you babble
because you’re seeing double.
Because the form is flubbable
and is really not that loveable,
the villanelle is trouble:
it’s like you’re seeing double.
I brought her back
I brought her back into my life
and now I can't even close my
eyes for a second, her eyes are
the only sensory which can see
if I'm telling a truth or lie.
She was gone, lost, and i was
crying, and now she is back I'm
stressed she's too expensive I
can't even afford her mainten-
ance if she happens to be in a
breakdown.
I brought her back, she disappears
for a minute, no one can even tell
which street,door was last seen ent-
ering , for she's so beautiful and ma-
ny regard her as a valued target, so
is true, ' being naive is same as being
blind,' I miss her in a worst way.
Her lips so magical when we locked we
were transformed into our own world,her
skin so fluffy in her arms I fell asleep for
she is like a towel made of a fine wool so
curly from Egypt. come night for with her
my dreams are no longer of nightmares
but the ones I aspire not to wake-up for.
She is whiter than a snow, I lick her from
toes to head, her body is well made I can
tell the creator really took his time on cre-
ating such a creature, when she walks she
shakens the walls of Paris,oh,so her legs
were made to carry her gracious body.
Her beauty is of that woman in the bible
called Sarah where even Abraham for the
sake of his life to be spared he said she is
her sister, not knowing what God gave to
him not even kings can have in their arms
or rather to even share a bed with.
She is my lady, she is my queen, my lover,
my wife.
UNCEREMONIOUS CEREMONY
Will weaponized with wounded words,
Purpose unbound against all odds.
She shades shame showing sheer strength
in the face of a situation of "Life & Death".
Eyes heated and heart blotted rashly,
He's hunted, his hands harmonised hastily
So tired & soul-tied, settling for life,
even when he isn't looking for a wife.
Of his escapades, she has had enough.
Although no Blessing and no Love.
Welcome to the unceremonious ceremony,
Only a Contract named "Matrimony"
And a forced vow delivered under duress
Both couples with solo breaths — ominous.
In this ceremonial circus, he plays no cupid,
In playing her character, she acts stupid.
He never inclined to woo her,
In her man's world, she's the ruler.
Life advances for a grand finale,
despite running from Malawi to Mali,
tainted destiny still pushed Him to Natalie,
the one that he sexually eschews
But mentally and physically refuse.
Thus with mutiny in his mind
He's to marry & leave freedom behind
Forced to marry, and responsibility to carry,
The gun to his head makes his eyes starry
Cos those bullets are too close to parry.
She is a lover ready to hold him bound.
But she makes his young heart pound,
She is played, used but won't be dumped
This wedding won't be delayed but prompt
He's the bull that keeps bashing all the ladies,
And riding through & through each stages
So she took the bull by the horn
And humble the fool with her gun.
Bullevard couldn't take a hike
because he knows Natalie will strike.
She was bound to getting him to sign,
He was bound to her, never to cross the line.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? June 2023.
"Silence is the virtue of wise,
The words within you won't let you rise
Emotions are worthless to analyze
Pour it all down there, so as to paralyze"
Said they, in order to tantalize
But the voice within me, keeps mocking & knocking,
Interrogating me within the bars of strokes, continuously clocking
Commanding me to ruminate all around, all the while
Be it Catastrophic inside, but on the surface ought not to deny a smile
What is silence without words averting verity?
What is reticence without thoughts fighting for clarity?
The wordless world might sound great
As if a blind date
Upholding the so called threat
Still wanna debate? No other option rather than to wait!
The words wrestling inside will create a mystery
For which you'll yearn and discern
That grasping voice you dislike will be void someday
For which you'll crave and burn
That idiotic laugh making no sense is on it's way to halt
But, you'll be on the way to find miles to return
You'll be on the way to take a U-turn
But,
Ohh dear dearest!
It soon will be too late to learn
It's no longer an issue to concern
Cause, the disturbing is on it's way to Saturn!
Appeal to gain in simple grace:
Plant then a smile to wear each hurt,
Obvious the pain that moulds your face;
Ink script that styles such earthly dirt,
Glimpse in a sigh the weary world;
Now moments bring the codes that sketch,
Aim for grand highs that come to swirl;
Note ample flings in clash and patch,
Thrill senses wild that flood and scheme.
Be true to cheer with wit that puns,
Embrace the child that holds fond dream;
Indulge joy here where pain funds run,
Nurture sure poise that loves each day,
Grand succinct voice fills happy way.
Leon Enriquez
04 July 2016
Singapore
I did a video of a poem that was Poem of the Week. Here is the link to the original poem.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/too_much_sadness_for_me_711084
With all that is happening around us in the world today, I'm always reminded that a better day is coming....a day when there will be no more sorrow, mourning, sickness, or death. That day is coming soon. I believe it. Hope you enjoy the video. :)
Too Much Sadness for Me
there's too much sorrow...
don't you know
we are all going to die
a starting point always beckons a finish
sooner or later
no matter how
peaceful or painful
that final moment may be
you see...
it will come
for you
for me
There's too much sorrow
war
betrayal
so much I have seen
sickness sapping away
the mother-daughter moments
meant for me...
She struggled bravely
to set my fears free
But MS wouldn't let her be
My Mama left me
There is too much sorrow
the pain of being unloved
of trying to fit in
of trying to play the game
of success and fame
it all comes at a cost
so much is lost...
sacrificial moments
meant for family
There is too much sorrow
refugee misery
nowhere to be
no home
no destiny
just abject poverty
hearts left hungry
for a love
that the world
will not let them see
There is too much sorrow
tonight my heart is heavy
I'm tired of goodbyes
I'm tired of trying to fit in
I'm tired of pretense
I'm tired of...me
There is too much sorrow
Eyes are blurring
I can't see
the last lines I'm meant to write
Too tired to fight
Survival more than it's pumped up to be
Sleep....obliviousness of a dream
sweet it seems to me
you see...
There is too much pain
So write...
write for me
of happy
of make believe
of heaven
and eternity
of no pain
or misery
of no abuse
or fatality
of no tears
or cruelty
no more death
for you
no more death
for me
can't you see?
Write of happy...
Please, there is too much sadness here
for me....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life as a keepsake...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
delicious food, excellent company,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
..but no time for the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
my fingers quivering to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted ~
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
Edited For (From "He Gave Her A Book" Contest) "K" Old Or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
FIRST PLACE
Muhammad, chosen by Allah to lead,
A humble man with a heart full of creed,
His words, a guide to all in need,
A mercy to mankind, indeed.
In the land of Arabia, he was born,
A light of guidance, a hope forlorn,
To worship the one God, he did adorn,
And from idolatry, he did scorn.
His teachings spread like wildfire,
His message of peace, love, and desire,
He conquered hearts with his soft attire,
And made the oppressed feel higher.
A man of integrity and honor,
A just ruler, a compassionate donor,
He spread love like no other,
And made the world a better harbor.
With the Quran as his guiding light,
He led by example, with all his might,
He fought for justice, day and night,
And always stood for what was right.
The legacy of Muhammad (SAW) lives on,
His message of peace, not gone,
A shining star, until the dawn,
A mercy to mankind, forever on.
He was not born roaring.
He was born smaller than expectation,
his spine curving slightly
as though the body itself hesitated
to enter the world.
They would later call it omen.
But in the beginning
it was only a child
learning how quickly affection tilts
toward symmetry.
His brothers moved easily through rooms.
Doors opened wider for them.
Light seemed to settle on their shoulders
without effort.
He understood early
that the world prefers what does not disturb it.
And he disturbed it.
Not by choice —
but by presence.
There is a particular solitude
in being watched
before being known.
It hardens slowly.
Not into hatred at first —
into precision.
He became observant.
Measured.
Careful with language.
Careful with silence.
If love would not be given freely,
power could be taken.
The crown did not glitter to him;
it answered something.
To stand above
what had always stood above him —
to force history
to pronounce his name without pity.
But power does not untwist the spine.
It does not quiet the memory
of laughter stopped mid-breath.
By the time the princes vanished
into the stone mouth of the Tower,
he had convinced himself
that necessity and cruelty
were the same word.
That is how ambition survives.
On the eve of Bosworth
sleep would not hold him.
The dead have a way of returning
without sound.
Not accusing.
Not raging.
Simply existing.
Proof
that what is done
does not dissolve.
When he fell,
it was not theatrical.
No thunder split the sky.
Just a body —
human, breakable —
meeting the ground.
History would name him monster.
But history never records
the first moment
a boy understands
he is less wanted
than the others.
And sometimes
that is where it begins.