Long Writes Poems
Long Writes Poems. Below are the most popular long Writes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Writes poems by poem length and keyword.
"Sometimes there are No feelings, just words that talk very loud." By Poet
Come let me tell you a story,
about a want to be writer.
A young girl's notebook filled,
filled with her writings.
How a teacher put her and her writings down,
letting the class laugh at her work.
She knew she had something to say,
even if they did not believe in her.
She believed in herself,
even when the world was in doubt.
She used ink as her paints for painting,
on her canvas called paper.
She learned about rhymes and limericks,
along with verse, acrostic and more.
So many styles to choose from,
what was a girl to do?
Just write more for her readers,
telling stories in her poems.
She loved how her magical words,
seemed to go dancing across the paper.
When she found PoetrySoup,
she felt like she had come home.
Other writers to help her learn,
even correcting her from time to time.
Comments to inspire her,
bringing out her creativity and imagination.
A true writer writes from their heart,
never letting anyone stop them.
She is the super girl of poetry soup a cute
who through her limericks renders us mute
How can I resist a giggle when she writes
or helps me to sully my new tights
She is a lovely presence and I wish her well
if anyone here objections it won't jell
We are a site of beauty not one of snooty
so shake out your pom pom, give a hooty
Its Christmas a time for love words of essence
Jan, I'm glad your here and that you got presence
Lets give the girl a cheer today write a limerick
for her that is funny one with kick,
"FANCY SCHMANCY"
One day I met a fancy schmancy girl named Jan
and when it came to the funnies, oh how she ran
like an underwear on fire
yes, she's the girl for hire
if you want poop in your underwear then read
her crunchy lines, she leaves a laughter seed
for all....
xoxoxoxxo
Dec 10, 2018
Hear what I say
A voice tells me;
I just obey
With choice set free.
I listen now
As urge greets surge;
I don't know how
Words blend and merge.
Each day I cite
Create new verse;
Soul styles clear writes
Mind just observes!
I don't know why
But I sit here;
Words come with sighs
Sad cheer strings near.
No need to try
To defy hint;
Words sing fine highs
In brand new mint.
Voice talks to me
In vivid waves;
Deep mystery
Comes forth to brave.
Do I make sense
In what I say?
A certain tense
Comes out to play.
I stand aside
To simply write
What surge of tide
Bids me to cite.
And at the end,
I simply stop;
No need to tend
Another drop!
Leon Enriquez
08 August 2014
Singapore
He sat upon my knee
At the tender age
of three
Completely and utterly
mesmerized was he
His very first visit
to a London theatre
He was hooked
He was addicted
just like me
Now aged 25
so many stars
shine in his eyes
Each time we go
‘tis truly a joyous occasion
For to watch live talent
for us needs no persuasion
Our latest adventure
Just him
just me
to Wembley we go
us both for to see
a man named Joe
Japanese pianist is he
Writes music
for his orchestra
grand piano he doth play
His music will stay with us
every night
and every day...
No 1242 NEW POEM ONLY' Contest Info
Sponsor Brian Strand
Thoughts of wisdom.
Now grandpa was a guy
A man I held up high
Everything he told me
I knew it was no lie.
All those facts he told
While lying in his bed
Waiting for his God
To claim that he was dead.
I was twelve years old
As green as green can be
But Grandpa always said
That I could see and see.
The stories that he told,
His good one liners too
They opened up my mind
I knew that they were true.
Do you want to know
What he would converse?
Like that backward poet
He always writes inverse.
He would often say
“you are like me son,
Just like an acupuncture
A good jab well done!”
Did I know that camels
Could always find an oasis?
Like Bakers only trade a recipe
On a knead to know basis.
Sometimes you carry stress
Until you feel encumbered,
But just you watch this space
A calendars days are numbered.
There are those that seem quite lucky
But they bloody cheat.
Just you think of this
A boiled egg is hard to beat.
Never go for credit
No matter how well dressed,
For like the Exorcist
It will end up repossessed.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
It did cause a commotion,
The silly bird was oiled
A poultry in motion.
Oh, see at Xmas time
You think that time it pauses,
But watch those Santa’s helpers
There only subordinate little clauses.
As for shopping centres
I know that they do sprawl
But once you’ve seen a big one,
I think you have seen a Mall
Never be a thief
Or take a quick backhander
You’ll end up with twelve months
Just like a calendar.
Grandpa he liked baseball
And going to the gym
That baseballs getting bigger
Then the ball hit him!
When it comes to writing
Don’t get in a mess,
To write with broken pencil
It really is quite pointless.
His last conversation it really was profound
Before he climbed Gods steps,
He said “Son,
Go get my Gin and Schweppes,
Appreciate the time you have
It is only Manana,
For Time flies like an Arrow
But fruit flies like a Banana.
Cheers Grandpa.
In tenderness of night
Restore my faith in ME
Caress in gentle ways
That make my heartaches flee
In tenderness of night
Clothe my name in your need
Touch me in every place
That fantasy will feed
In tenderness of night
Mend all my broken dreams
With promise drenched kisses
That carry sunshine beams
In tenderness of night
Let traveling hands stake claim
Dancing minstrels of love
That banish all my shame
In tenderness of night
Breathe over me your love
As I lay helpless, bare
Passion’s eagle turned to dove
In tenderness of night
Love out of me despair
With words of noble knight
Confess my beauty fair
In tenderness of night
On body free your soul
Mating of mysteries
Fragmented lives made whole
In tenderness of night
Let time be ever still
Neath eyes of silver moon
Your essence in me fill
Naught else but you and I
In tenderness of night
Yet what transpires now
Brings forth dawn’s glorious light
Eileen Manassian
Due to some comments on my latest poem, I deleted it and reposted one of my older writes. I hope you enjoyed this piece.
Are we sure the birds aren't watching us
reporting to a sultan bird who writes things down
have suspected for years
these mysterious flying creatures
that keep to themselves and makebelieve
they don't know English
just ask them the theory of relativity
and they flutter around and poop on people
there must be another reason why they exist
perhaps to wake us up with a pretty melody
screw that, they're just damn annoying
not that I'm concerned
lived an absolutely impeccable existence
one that's written about in manuals
although once I assisted a crow to cover up
a sadistic pecking incidence
where he attacked a little old lady out alone
what joy!!!
please keep this to yourselves...
He is deemed least likely to succeed in kindergarten
Cannot follow in a line, is horrible at being redundant
Never fits in with the rest of the cookie dough
Distorted immediately after being cut into a circle
He cannot be educated the teacher says in a note to his mother
He is Thomas Edison
She is strangely odd, her professor writes.
She does not take direction well, is disrespectful,
Is too strong willed, and will never be compliant.
She is so many modern women it is not funny
And they are all presidents of their own businesses now
I guess they could not do anything else
He is a mess; no home schooling.
No one can control him; he is a wild man.
He runs to Hollywood to star in movies.
No one has to tame him there.
He is a millionaire now.
But how can that be?
He did not finish school.
This does not compute.
Do you have a golden pen
One who is your best friend
Almost like a magic pen
A pen to help you with difficult words
and believe you at your word
A pen who only want you well
and never says:
"I can not tonight"
A golden pen is a pen that
only have positive ink
That pen writes and writes
then you forget yourself
No tears nor doubt
now the pen and I are a team
Help....how should I say: STOP
30.04-2012
A-L Andresen :)
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Etching tales that run in trails along a parchment sheet
From feathered quill in trembling hand so longing now for sleep
As black ink drips down from the lip that rounds the pewter well
While a raven watches from his perch on the windowsill
Fluttering flames dance above a pool of cooling wax
As the candle wanes away against a night of velvet black
Recalling long lost love again by the glow of candlelight
In a dreamlike state the poet writes… long into the night
Smouldering eyes upon the joy and sorrow of his life
Alone but for his tears the poet writes and writes and writes
Until he finds her there upon the shore of Evermore
Standing at the foot of heaven’s door… his sweet Lenore
His name a whisper on her lips above the ocean roar
Until the well runs dry and the poet writes no more
A broken quill on tearstained parchment in the early dawn
But the poem he wrote that velvet night…still lives on and on.
A Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe
Author: Elaine Cecelia George