Long Writer Poems
Long Writer Poems. Below are the most popular long Writer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Writer poems by poem length and keyword.
“Time is the thief you cannot banish.”
Phyllis McGinley,
Writer, 1905-1978
When I was a child I longed to be older
so I could be done with childish things
Why Time, did you move so slowly?
Then before I knew it,
you stole my childhood from me.
I never realized I was fair of face
until the lines of time appeared
My once strong features erased
I fought valiantly to reverse your effects
but no creams could stop your insidious advance
You deceived me into wasting you
work was what I gave you to.
In the process you stole what was precious
Now all I have is a “Cat in a Cradle” life
Even though I am aware of your cunning
I know I am unable to stop your advance
So I will receive from you what I can
stretch you out in the now of my days
I choose not to reside in my many regrets
I choose not to fear my to few tomorrows.
Those you steal away I will fondly remember
One day you will be arrested sad thief
and I will be gifted eternity
Yes my God will give a new you back to me.
For Constance La France Quote Contest
I almost ran out of time to enter your contest. ;0)
I don’t know
that poetry has a language
before written?
I think not:
Sort of like
trying to capture
a moonbeam,
by some mystic attraction
bending it our way
with no guarantee
whether absorption
or fly-by--
a writer
like a big sponge
when juices flowing
the weight of creation
pressing down
squeezing out
till a steady squirt...
I mean, I may
sit down to write
with an idea in mind,
or urge or itch
some place which
I proceed to scratch
till the page erupts
like a bloody pimple….
Can poetry be taught?
Maybe the basics
like a pan and spoon
for the future cook
or a helpful saddle
for the would-be jockey,
but with brave
unbridled poetry
more like grasping
a wild Mount’s mane
holding on for life
hoping to end up
if too perilous a place
with, at the least,
a sane way back….
Words in the journey
Sentences the narration
Distinction with a twist
Emotions add to all of this
Transactional approach
Ernest Hemingway, Famous Writer/Novelist
Some of his works, “For Whom the Bell Tolls, Old Man and the Sea and Farewell to Arms”
Venturing into reader’s hearts and minds exploration
Expectations into what the reader thought only a gesture
From land to the shores being the awareness of breezes circulating the human senses
Aroma of fresh wander, hope and idealistic values
Mr. Hemingway often wrote what he saw and felt
The theory came about as he would travel from Key West to Miami, Florida
He lived in Key West, Florida
4 hours ride from time to time
It would be the Greyhound Bus, and while reclining back in his seat
A Novel that became complete
From the good Earth
Novelist words and sentences connecting the here and there
Revolutionizing extraction
Detail having an awareness factor
Mind and paper of anticipation
Novelist Brew
Greyhound Bus in pursue destination bound.
I'm the worst poet that's ever been.
Worst poet, and don't you know it.
I write for the world, to read my words.
I write for the world, which feels my hurt.
My spelling is awful.
For which I'm ungrateful.
My wording's like dirt.
For which I'm unfaithful.
I'm the worst poet that's ever been.
Worst poet, and don't you know it.
My pencils are broken.
My pen's out of ink.
My wording is lacking.
They think I'm a fink.
A stoolpigeon writer.
Where things could be brighter.
Without so much laughter.
Because that's what they're after.
I'm the worst poet that's ever been.
Worst poet, and don't you know it.
The worst poet that's ever been..
Worst Poet-Humorous Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1999,2014..All Rights Reserved.
"Read away and let your imagination soar." By Poet......
I love books both new and old,
did you know there is power between the pages?
A book is made up of paper and ink,
the words give power to the fiction.
As a reader one can go many places,
learning about life and living.
Reading can bring one's imagination to life,
as you turn the pages reading away.
We can place ourselves and feelings in the story,
as we become one of the characters.
Sometimes it will take our breath away,
other times it may put us to sleep.
As a writer our imagination comes alive,
when the ink hits the paper.
The power of fiction,
can take us over as we write.
The letters become words,
then the words become sentences.
Our story becomes alive for the reader to enjoy,
after all we write for our readers.
As we write happy or sad,
the reader's feelings will come out.
We hope the reader will enjoy,
our vision for the poem or book.
Despoiled of raiment green, each branch in nakedness now stands forlorn;
Unmoved by passing seasons’ change, the songster sits and sings alone:
Would there were in this garden some could feel the burden of its moan!
This life no more its joy retains, nor even death can bring relief;
‘Tis sweet to sit alone and sigh and eat a sad heart out in grief.
Out from the mirror of my soul‘what gems of thought now strive to shine;
What visions splendid, dreams sublime,
Arise within this breast of mine! but in this garden lives not one to see and hear, to feel and know:
No tulip with its streak of pain, to sense my heart-blood’s smarting flow.
May this sad bulbuls lonely song to grief each listening soul awake;
The clangour of these rousing bells make drowsy hearts their sleep forsake!
Let Faithful hearts re-plight their troth, and forge afresh their bond Divine;
Let in the long-parched heart of each the old thirst wake for sweet old wine!
The blood of sweet Arabian vine Overflows this wine-jar Ajamy,
Although the singer sings in India having Hijaz is his melody.
Kalam e Iqbal Poem Shikwa,The Complaint of Pious Muslim tO Allah in decent manner.
And it is well Translated By Aliza Kashmala Kiran (Famous English Voluntary Poetess of Pakistan & Best Social Writer).
“Your life is like an open book,
If people read your writing;”
So somebody announced to me,
With truth and nerve uniting.
“Your every-day experiences
Transfer to the page.
Your thoughts about the news, as well,
Aren’t very hard to gauge.
So someone wondering how you are –
Quite clueless, in a fog -
Would know much more than one would need
By checking out your blog.”
It’s true, of course, but though I post,
It isn’t guaranteed
That even those close to my heart
Will take the time to read.
I understand, yet wish they would,
Not for the latest news;
But as a writer, I sure love
To know I’m getting “views!”
new pages
old pages
pages of my poetry
pages and pages down under
under my desk dwelling
under in boxes
boxes dwelling and mingling
boxes dwelling down under my desk
desk of this writer
desk where I write sad
sad poems that drip
sad poems I touch
touch the words dwelling under
touch and love the pages of sorrow
sorrow under my desk
sorrow of my writing
writing of my life
writing my mournfullness
mournfullness has been my muse
mournfullness has made me a poet
poet who seeks words to linger down there
poet soul entwined in the pages
pages down under existing
pages that wait
wait and exist for dusty years
wait existing in boxes
boxes of flowing words
boxes of rhymes and verses
verses of bliss and love
verses resting down under
under is love that came from my pen
under is love forever in painted poems
poems penned from my soul
poems that dwells on paper below
below my soul lives between the lines
below my soul lives on the pages
pages tattered and new
pages I write
write and place down under
write poems in the night
night is when muse is alive
night is time for verses and stories
stories written in solitude
stories beautiful in boxes
boxes of solitude I have put away
boxes and boxes and boxes
boxes of poems weeping
weeping words
words . . .
weeping . . .
_______________________________
August 5, 2015
Poetry/Blitz/pages in boxes
For the contest, Down Under
sponsor, Debbie Guzzi
Honorable Mention
the rain that drowned the sidewalks
dampened down the night-time heat
creating steam through manholes
from the pipes beneath the street
and set against this backdrop
of a vibrant city beat
swarms of taxis stung the air
with horns stuck on repeat
as a writer sipping coffee
staring from a café seat
wrote words for her 'bestseller'
based on when two people cheat..
"..married strangers and a storm..
arranged a covert meet..
..ran towards each other
in a way such lovers greet..
they kissed beneath umbrellas
in a manner so discreet
then stepped inside a restaurant
to flirt, laugh, love and eat
her big blue eyes melted his heart
her smile was wide and sweet
and he was rich, tall, cool and calm
and swept her off her feet..."
...but before the lovers' story
made it to another sheet
the writer came to from her thoughts
with the chapter incomplete
her big blue eyes and sweet wide smile
felt somewhat obsolete
on the poor, tall, cool, calm waiter who
brought change with her receipt.
Wish we were just married.
My trusting head upon your shoulder.
When we had so terribly little,
Yet.... so very much.
And we seemed to have beeen
blessed with the magic touch,
That made us to the world far,
far bolder!
Watching the spiritual fog,lift the
San Francisco sun each dawn.
Like a deer, wakes each morning,
to feed her dear, precious fawn.
Really, few precious vittles to eat.
Nontheless,we walked to Nortn Beach,
To be with other poets for a Mocha treat.
The San Francisco streets welcomed us.
Those dewy, foggy nights, did embrace
embrace us…thus!
~Dedication~
1/29/2024
On our 65th wedding anniversary.
To my writer/husband, who died at forty.
~~~~
1/24/2024