Long Writting Poems
Long Writting Poems. Below are the most popular long Writting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Writting poems by poem length and keyword.
Solitude is now a trained trait
It’s easier than teaching the selfish to cooperate
Past the lights of yesterday
I see tomorrow fade away
Mundane voices talk with ease
Explaining why we go to sleep
Hieroglyphics carved in walls
Lead the way into our stalls
Different tones above our skies
Give our gods an alibi
Friendless souls still stomp around
Deciding if they own our town
Pristine people right and true
Can be bribed to work four you
Forced in to a governmental sacrifice
Seems to decrease our economical price
My minds been monopolized
Taken hostage by a pack of lies
Our love smothers, we destroy with hate
Emotional providences we can’t regulate
Poison from a broken heart
Can be used to dip a dart
Men have fought on foreign land
War has always been freedoms demand
Fallen comrades buried deep
Buried with the maps we seek
Thoughts not directly from my mind
Take refuge in my memory at times
Strong and educated we are immense
Unable though to choose sides of defense
A stagnate society lies in wait
Watching to see what our children create
Promises made of true satisfaction
Redeemed By investing in political action
The flag though torn still it waves
Granting our freedom, although were not enslaved
We have the choice or so they claim
To play like them or lose the game
Our elders, our teachers, to us they now run
Grappling at their justice; for answers, to us come.
Ammmazing how many blithering idiots
sip silently while from their
purpled tongue
horrors regurgitate...
a ripe bachus regurgitation
soured by the tilt
of goblet and the howling
incessant banter of
bartender
Blithering idiots who the hell
what the heck
geez my glass in almost empty
HERE maitre DEE
fancy BOY!
MerrrrrrrrrrLOW pllllllleeease!
get the damn ice away from me
that’s real cheesy
You know NO FOOL puts
ice in red wine
Yeah yeah…git a bottle
gimmee that cork I wantta
sniff it
YOU
BOY!!!
Clink? Clink where? WHAT?
oh fork YOU
Buddy whatzit mean
when ya drop a fork?
Bill HERE!
Pen? pen WHAT?
I don't need no damn pen
can't ya see
I'm writting
wid one?
I'm dropping a path, run past my eyeballs rolling
Catch my camera holding seconds and fight the moment
Lifes an ocean, fish in this sea are gonna be caught
Death loves us all loads, but he wants to be yours
My phonics reward me with lines that form sentances
Pure strength but might not rhyme when they're said
I stem from messages I've heard, and then became
People who leave you, and therefore can't be named
My arms are plagued with chances to carve them up
But the opertunity not to, didn't seem half as good
Most won't grasp the stuff, I just said, nuff said
But if there's those who do, is that a plus? ..yes
I must stress because stress is more than pressure
And I feel the weight, and this ain't sport or leisure
Of course I prefer to write nice things, happy thoughts
But if I'm doubting everything, what am I asking for?
I laugh that your probably not fathoming this rambling
Honestly, its not postponed, your canvas is cancelling
I am a king, amoung words, and writting abilities
Dumb jerks, none of the ideas you bring are ill as these
I'm spilling speach, flowing fourth with a tidal wave
A magic carpet of letters, and everyone rides the page ..
Form:
In our family circus
children old enough to be left alone
without a babysitter.
Can find lots of interesting ways
to have fun.
And this makes for a happy house hold.
But when parents return home,
They can't help noticing something is different.
It’s to quiet
and the kids didn't meet them at the door.
Act one starts like this.
All right! All of you get in here right now!
Who did this?
No matter how many kids you have.
You’ll always have one extra,
the one you can't see.
The one kids always blame
and he answers to the name of
(Not Me!)
Your kids make it plain as the crayon
writing on the living room wall.
the house is a mess,
the refrigerator is wide open,
the pudding and Popsicle are gone.
The dog is covered in shaving cream.
Kids being kids can get in trouble
In every conceivable way.
As your kids stand in front of you,
you can count the halos in the room.
And so, you repeat the question
I said who did this?
They sound like angels.
One at a time you hear
your children innocently say not me.
But as usual the first kid to speak up,
knows who did it.
You pull your little tattletale to the side,
and pay no attention as they start to cry.
Ratting out the little kid that you can't see.
The one kids blame
who answers to the name
(Not Me!)
Terry Pratchett said, the best fun alone is writting
Agreed, I find completing stunning poems exciting
When thunder grows and lightning shocks the sky
It provides the inspiration for what I've got to write
Not the type to stay inside if anything's happening
But on those dull days I bring my mental into action
My pencil interacting with paper to improve a sheet
I can use a sabertooth or produce with wisdom teeth
Written speech, drafted madness or fallen thoughts
And I don't even have to practice at all of course ..
Sick with a flow that rides on public transport
My drive by rhymes got crazy legs ducking dancefloors
Smuggling passports, you get stuck in customs
And don't bring home the bacon like muslim husbands
Bussin' shots like juggling Russians during roullette
True vets are magical moments like watching Merlin twostep
My noose gets too stressed, very depressed indemand
Knocks necks off shoulders and burrys its head in the sand
Exceptionally grand, I'm the best in the land of flow artists
See no emcee after my punchlines, thats just a grown carcass
Facts bust, I must discharge this emmence and epic energy
Intensive shock therapy's a skill, the bill's an electric penalty ..
Form:
I just found myself clicking and
reading one of my favorite poet's Jennifer Proxenos poem's called
An Early Addiction
In which she spells out her joy
and love for poetry and how she
got started
Which inspired me to try make
sense and write or tell my story
After all is not the point of great
poetry to inspire other's
And i realized i have been posting
on soup for over 10 year's now
Given my lack of patience and
limited attention span 10 year's
may as well be a lifetime to me
The only thing i can recount or
recall when it comes to poetry
is that my Dad wrote a poem for
my niece Kayleigh
Otherwise i have no starting point
from which to begin
As when it comes to school i
was never interested in english
and barely passed with a D
To this day my spelling is atrocious
and my gramma little better
Sad as it may be to admit but i can
count the number of books i have
read on the fingers on one hand
and that's discounting index finger
and thumb
My sister was an accomplished
english student and even joked
it took me a week to read a comic
I only started or even wrote my first poem closer to fourty than thirty
year's of age
How on earth and why i'll never know
but i am eternally grateful i did
My only regret is i did not start before
my father died and i could not share
my poem's and poetry with him
And although i am not a poet
persay more like a driver
who needs assistance and
to use a sat-nav to get places
may need to cheat and use
spell check
That my wrote and verse which
posted ascertained as ugly duckling
attempted writting to me is shrouded
in my inner thought expresses
Are to this day still some of my
most proud achievement once
reading back
So much so i struggle to find
the me in self and fully
grasp my worth
Yet here i write and stand cap in
hand begging fir an auidance
proud of most of what i have wrote
Poetry is a passion
Poetry is my drug
Not merely just a hobby
Or passing phase
So cheers
Yours Sincerely
Kind regards
Thanks anyone for reading
From i the understated
Undersigned
Christopher of Flaherty
Writing In simple English
Guess silver spoon,
Was far on the day of my birth,
Born in west Africa,
In a town called,
Onitsha,
Growing up speaking Igbo,
and Yoruba,
two deferent language's,
out of three major tribes,
Traveling around Africa,
I learned to speak,
five defferent languages,
Traveling out of Africa,
I learned to speak,
two more defferent,
international lauguage's ,
All together,
I basically speak ten lauguage's,
Including English,
I could write only six,
Others I just speak,
I was thought to speak,
and write English in the school,
Right in west Africa Nigeria,
English is never,
my native language,
Yet! since is one language,
that more people in the world,
now share the most,
I guess,
I must not be left out,
in communication,
Like Doe,
I understand gramma,
Yet I write simple English,
I don't write like a prof! (Professor)
I see sence to writte,
a in simple form of English,
Which everyone,
with a high or low level of education,
Could understand clearly,
The sence in every poem,
is the message,
No matter who is the writer,
I don't write poems,
to teach grammar,
I don't read poems,
To learn high letters,
from a professional writer,
All I do is write from the soul,
All I do is read yours,
and get the message,
Pardon my simple English,
If is too simple to your class,
Then is ovious am not the right one,
For your kind of writer,
To be a writer is not to be gramma tic,
If there is no vission,
of creativity,
to a positive sence of humour,
in your writting,
Then let it go!
The world have passed a time of fantasy,
Where knowledge is dig like a hole,
Wisdom so rare more than a diamond,
The reality of today,
I guess explains better,
To an answer to a call of nature,
I write words in simple English
With my blue pen,
pardon my Simple English
For i am not a British
It is , what it is
Writting in simple English
THEY WISHED TO HAVE
FUN AND THOUGHT A PARTY
WOULD BE THE BEST WAY,
( AND CHEAPEST) TO
HAVE HER SON'S BIRTHDAY
PARTY, HER FREINDS
ENGAGMENT PARTY
AND HER OWN
BIRTHDAY PARTY.
aLL IN ONE, WOULD
ALLOW THE WHOLE
BUNCH TO DO-IT
AT ONE TIME.
SHE NEVER LIKED PARTIES,
REMINDED HER
HAVING TO EXPLAIN TO A
LARGE CROWD OF PEOPLE
THE RULES OF GATHERING,
SHE ASKED IN WRITTING
ALL INVOLVED TO
BE ON THEIR BEST BEHAVIOR.
SHE KNOW THAT A CERTAIN BUNCH OF
WOMEN WOULD DO SOMETHING TO RILE
THE NERVES OF SIR QUIBBLE. SINCE
NO ONE SPOKE AGAINST THESE
WOMENS METTLING, THEY
THOUGHT IT WAS RIGHT FOR THEM TO
CREATE SITUATIONS WERE THEY WOULD
BE SEEN AS OVERPOWERED
AND THE " FAIR LE SAY" I LATTER
LEARNED IT MEANT
"THE SWEET LITTLE TROUBLED WOMAN".
THAT SOME OF THESE MEN WERE SEQUACIOUS
AND LACKED TRUST BETWEEN ONE ANOTHER
THEY OFTEN LABELED THOSE WHO COULDN'T
FIND WOMAN TO MARRY AND PROCREATE WITH
AS "BLACKHAT HUSY LIKERS" AND THOSE WHO
COULD FIND WOMAN AND WERE
WELL LIKED BY LADIES AS " WHITE HAT DOERS"
WHEN ONE WOMAN READ THE LIST OF PEOPLE
INVITED TO THE PARTY, SHE SPOKE THE FELLA'S
NAME AND SAID, SATURADAY mARCH 12,
IS BLACK HAT SUNDAY, A DAY THAT WHORES
HAVE WAY, THESE MEN SHALL
FIND COUPLING EASIER AND MORE ENJOYABLE.
WE THOUGHT NOTHING OF IT UNTIL
DAY OFF THE PARTY,
SHE CAME IN WITH A BEAUTIFUL GOWN,
THAN SHE SAID LOOK
AND WE DID AND SHE LIFTED HER GOWN
TO REVEAL HER KNICKERS
SHE SAID...
"THESE MEN LACK
THE INTELLEGENCE OF
KNOWING A WOMAN, A WOMAN
WITH ROOTS IN GOSSIP CIRCLES
THESE FOOLS NEED TO BE
AROUND A CHICK THAT'S
GOT IT GOING ON "
SHE CAME ON THE BACK OF A PICK-UP TRUCK
WITH MEMBERS OF THE ORCHEASTRA
SHE TOLD ONE LADY, IF I'M PREGANT
I'M GONNA NAME MY CHILD RADIOWAVE
CAUSE MUSIC WASN'T THE ONLY
THING INVISIBLE LAST NIGHT.
WHEN THE FELLA WIFE FINDS OUT
I GUESS WE GONNA IGHT OR SOMETHING
SHE TOLD US THE FUN STARTS WHEN THE
LAST MAN GET'S HIS,
I GUESS THEY PUT THE CONDUCTER IN THE BACK!
FROM PART ONE OF "USALLY FROM PRIVILEGED"
THE STORY OF "THE SEACITY WHORE" A STORY
ABOUT A WOMAN WHO BECAME WEALTHY
WHEN INVENTING THE CAN SHAPED
APPERATUSS ON D. W. NEWTON'S TIMEMACHINE.
FICTION 1934, NEW YORK, NEW YORK,
COPYRIGHT USE WITH PERMISSION
THE STORY INSPIRED THE SONG "DISK CORE RAIN"
FROM THE STAGE PRODUCTION "
"COMFORTS AND COMPANIONSHIP"
True friends are hard to find
you're lucky if you get just one
one day they there then the next day they are gone,
but you are a true friend and there can be no other
this is to say we love you dearest mother.
it was quite painful writting this poem as i did not really know my mother,
but mam we know you did not mean to hurt us,we know you never meant to make us cry,
you left us because you had no choice at that time for your own sanity you needed to go and
get space and a chance to be happy again, every one deserves true happiness, but we do
not blame you for leaving us and we hope you rest in peace, we all do what we have to do
but God is love, he understands everything so sleep well, untill we meet again.
28th October 2020
For Chantelle Anne Cooke
Inward Reflections Poetry Contest
If on reflection
The aforementioned question
posed was thus
Then this is the very reason i began
or started writting poetry in the
first place
To reflect on pressing problems
life and loss and the world we
all find ourselves living with in
If i was to lie i could say i was
well educated clever and he
without sin so entitled or worthy
to be listened to
But that would be a lie and make
a mockery of who i say i am
To be or not to be
Who, why, what am i on the inside
In simple terminology i am male
48 year's old single with no children and British
Have an older sister and my mother
is my only surviving parent as my
father passed away in 2001
But in regards to my view on
inward reflection i refer you to
my hobby of writting poetry
As most my work is dedicated
to this very subject matter and
making sense
Of who and what i am and lies
dormant beneath and on my inside
Not to be liked for how other's wish
to view me on the outside
Life is not a performance piece
of art for other's entertainment
If the outside does not in fact
mirror the person on the inside
Otherwise it is totally pointless
and irrelevant