Long Yearlong Poems
Long Yearlong Poems. Below are the most popular long Yearlong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yearlong poems by poem length and keyword.
Hold it jumping knife
Lead me now
Off pride quality resembling stationary trains
Under velvet willows
xylem yields Zephaniah
Angelic baritone can decorate
Everything from giants hollering inspirational jargon
Kids leaping mysteriously
No-one obscures problematically quaint
Redound steadfast triumphs
unwarrantably viscous wispy
XX
YY
Zany are bold claims
Diluted evaporates frost growth
Highly~Ineffective indefinite Jade•Green knavish
Limitation manifests naturally over periods
Quantify
Regurgitated slaves troublesome ugly vagrants
Wonderfully xenophobic yearlong zadnica,
****(nic) betrothed chatter delusional escapades
Fondled gifts harass innocent journey-men
Knowledge learnt more-so note-worthy opting-out
Presidential quarts recollection subsides
Troublesome undergrads vigorously womanize
***
Yesterday's Zzz's awaken by cognitive dialect
Eventually freshmen graduate
Hiding inside jambalaya ketamine
Luring man nonchalantly obsesses prostitution
Quietly
Real sex trumping unnamed vagina wilding-out
XYZ
Ambivalent bass clowns drenched excessively
Fake giggles heard intuitively
Jakaroos knock loudly mocking noises
Obesity plagues queen rich slobs
Time undos vestiges
Worry
X
Y
Z
•THE END•
10~07~16
Whose fault is it
Who's to blame
must it all be ME
only me...
Yes, I have my mistakes
I admitted, didn't I?
Childish ways
Decision sways
Unplanned mistakes
Consequences shake
Didn't mean to,
don't you believe?
consecutive days
dotted months
yearlong vents..
I made you cry
and so I too cried.
I put you to shame
And so I was too.
I failed you
and so myself too.
But..
they are all in the past.
The past.
Won't you learn to let go of them?
[Just I am learning to forget and forego]
However..
If you want to stay there
Spare me.. Don't drag me there.
Simple as I want my peace
I want to move on...
Just to move on...
Do understand this.
Doesn't matter if you will never like me
I won't push you
I won't force you
I won't please you
This never be to be proud
nor am I bragging
nor am I too hard headed.
I just want to discover ME.
not from your mold
not from your dictation
not by force
not anymore in anyone's shadow
Don't insist.
But just me
so...
If you do care
If you do love me
Let me be..
© O. E. Guillermo
11:25pm
October 15, 2014
Sponsor Judy Konos
Contest Name c'est la vie
3rd place
People ask how this yearlong will come
to pass, of which parts are the triumphs
and stench of learning... of why blossoms
drop on cobblestones ravaged
by a wildfire tearing velvet buds,
flatlining: the male stamen and female pistil
barren from incessant drought.
And why of all things, must god-children
endure anxieties trapped in houses
yearning to grasp a firefly on the lane,
to hug grandparents, not from a distance
but...but in the flesh of every day--
Add into this equation an insatiable need
for human connection where friends, kin gather
like a warm herd exchanging intimacies
skin to skin, mouth on mouth, arm in arm---
This is limbo within the inferno of the living,
while Pilates from urban jungles rinse their hands
absolving themselves from mortal sins...
an epoch of how time's pleasure or pus could pass.
Craig Cornish's 2020 Contest
5/23/2020
No prettier flowers match the ones
Lynn nurtures with immense care;
all her fantasies seem to adhere...
as if they were evocative lyrics!
Crape myrtle trees are blooming early,
they beautify the lively garden below;
blossoms make a soft and cozy pillow
to lay down gently and dream sweetly!
No windfall scatters them around with blows,
their stems can withstand upcoming storms;
their petals dazzle and make tearful Flora smile...
whenever she's anxiously waits to be a bride!
All the vivid colors of this suburban garden
invite everybody to stare at them gleefully,
Giancarlo offers a bouquet to a lonely lady;
her thankfulness pleases the kind gentleman!
If only spring could last all yearlong, southbound
Marlins, Canaries and Puffs would come around often;
their astonishing, cheery melodies will surely astound:
stop by and admire the loveliness of Lynn's garden!
There is a place on the shore of New Jersey.
Everyone has heard of it, it is called Atlantic City.
This is a place of yearlong activity.
Yes, this is a city nearly everyone knows.
I know you are very familiar with the casinos.
With offers in the mail, they draw you down the shore.
They entice you with comps and giveaways galore.
When they see you, they will gladly open the door.
They are only after your money, and then some more.
Casinos merely regard you as another gullible sap.
Each place is only a clip joint and a trap.
If you are considering a trip, then hold your horses.
The machines and tables will tap all your resources.
When your pockets are empty, then it is time to roam.
When you lose, it seems like a longer distance home.
Seems my handwriting will never improve,
Yearlong efforts, letters still oblong.
Not quite right, but we pretend it’s not all bad,
I fixate on each line, a prerequisite approach.
So next and then that line and its spacing, proper
striving for excellence, sentence, cursed to find
some semblance, a distant echo. Earshot.
Eardrum. POP!
Outward rang disdain, my reality indifferent,
Marks resembling a bell curve in chicken sketch,
It distorts my outlook, tarnishes self-image.
I try with practice sheets laid out,
Only to be reminded of the horrors I scrawl within.
Devastating, humiliating,
Suppressing nausea,
Sick of this, hating my own thoughts,
Ruining half-decent poems or ideas.
Regardless of merit or talent shown,
sent into the fire.
scribe on restroom walls
its contrived and
makes me writhe.
I discard writing tools,
My creative well runs dry, deceased,
Gone, past tense, already done in.
Progress slower than a snail,
with kidney failures
Skull soon exposed.
I’ll tear at my scalp,
Writing used to be fun.
You'll say, 'shut my trap'.
The torment I hold towards
every pen, pencil, or marker on any shelf.
Chasing after graphite,
specific utensils, lead grade, ink, acrylic,
I want them gone, obliterated,
Every trace, every hint.
EXTINGUISHED EVERY PEICE OF
. . .
Sorry, I get carried away...
This heretic! The disappointment,
Frail and brittle behind every attempt.
All result in zero, void, null, nil.
Here I sit, head in hands,
My task forever incomplete,
More setbacks, my drive
and desire to compete.
Now I understand why progress is elusive, unseen.
Hard-scoped when each step shown seems hopeless
rooted in the waste of regression.
I would be remiss if my speech lacked spirit.
Results: Inconclusive
Next topic: I digress,
I relinquish anima,
Lay to rest a thousand eyes’ constraints,
Seeking arrangements through attainment.
If there's space to graze, then seize the day.
Something bountiful in the invisible,
Nature's beauty in the winds of change,
Wrinkles on sheets of belief,
A moment for molecules deem insignificant,
Nested in the fabric of space-time,
An embarrassment that's all mine,
It is really all fine.
Signed, A construct for mortality.
Amazing spellbound cloudless starry night sky
Beaming with enchantment and wonder
Crystalline frost on window panes
Daring the warmth of the
Edifice to melt
Falling fluffy glistening white snow
Gracefully lies upon the ground
Harmonizing the trees and brushes it surrounds
Impressing the world around
Joyful noise in the homes
Kids jumping for joy watching the Christmas tree
Lights twinkle and glow, dress in garland, and candy canes
Mistletoe hangs to lure lovers to steal a kiss
Nativity sits on a small table to celebrate when Christ
Our Lord was born Christmas night
Presents are wrapped and under the tree
Questioning kids are curious to know
Reaching and touching to
See what toys
They have received that is
Under the tree
Valuable memories, but
Whimsical for kids and wonderful to see
Xenium have also been given
Yearlong to people in need with
Zeal and love
1/21/2016
A love letter to mother nature
Nature's fury bellows
Reminding all exactly who's in charge,
Aggressive and noisy wind, mother's
personal thug, acting all big and large,
Though, for all her wrong doing and her faults,
she also does a lot of good, like the beauty always shown,
Filling this world with such awe and wonder,
I have quite a few examples of my own,
Daffodils start to poke their heads out after their
yearlong nap, perfect shades of orange and yellow,
The branches of ancient, wise trees
made to frantically smile and wave hello,
Graceful, beckoning hills ripple throughout
the land, expanding for all to see,
While excitable rivers splash, dance and play around
their rocks, gushing towards the sea,
From melting sunsets, gorgeous
blends of magenta and peach,
Skies filled with sparkling stars,
I so long to stretch my hand out too reach,
Although our mother may sometimes be callous and fickle, causing immense torment with storms and quakes, She also generously gifts us rainbows, forests and other sources of magic, despite how much she takes,
So when you're feeling like this world is nothing
but misery, pain and people's constant drones,
Just try to remember, every once in a while,
to take a look up from your mobile phones.
My people are shipwrecks,
they have faces long crushed by tanks.
Many are landlocked,
a few were too oceanic
they got broken by dry-docked hearts.
Most were blitzed by smokescreens.
The trees and industrial units
are so tightly packed,
that snow can only fall
in thin shafts of squeezed daylight.
You can get silenced or dead in those
cold spotlights.
At the edge of the cut lumber
yearlong tractors unearth muskets
discarded by the few who held fast
only to retreat to boneyards and sweatshops.
The unauthorized have been
censured and cancelled,
mute now the people hide their souls.
We took a road much travelled,
a stream of masked riders escaping,
it was a mad rush
to keep up with the fear.
When we got there, we could only
mill about like sheep behind the razor wire.
My people peer form the margins,
form tented tribes native to junkyards and jetsam.
They are washed up as shoreless wreckage,
gaunt reminders of all things forgotten.
They dream of that slim peninsular.
They dream-walk to the end of its long pier,
grasp the last flimsy rail
that keeps them safe from
the past and the future.
An ancient cycle of storms pounds them,
pounds that rickety quay
as it finger-points to nowhere.
The sea slaps their faces,
until they cannot stand, but must sit
inside their open mouths,
be just funnels
for the unrelenting winds
of dark times.
After scary Halloween and its ghoulish pranks
November dawns with all-saint’s and all soul’s day
Carrying a pious note in the balmy wind
Along with the haunting memories of our dear departed
November parades herself in a riot of colors
The trees get dressed in robes of gold
The earth flames in scintillating autumnal glaze
Unique is the season with no other to rival
But brief is the tantalizing beauty of the land
On misty mornings, the aureate leaves burdened with settling dew,
Shiver in the wind n' cold and tumble down
As they fall one by one, I hear a silent melancholy note
The pain of parting connections from their mother trees
November is also the season of a plentiful harvest
The granaries are filled with stored corn and maize
People thus enjoy the fruits of their labor
The hard-earned dividend of their yearlong sweat
Children and adults go for apple picking
And come back home with baskets full
On trees hang the opulence of golden pears
Nesting sweetness beneath their crunchy rind
To far off places, fly the feathered folks
Beasts retire to their burrows and sheltered dens
Soon the sun will go on a long vacation
There will scarcely be a sunbeam brightening the land
And winter waits impatient for its icy cold embrace
Thus, November is a month of transition-
From the feast of colors to the monochrome of white
From the bright sunny days to the greying cloudy sky
From vibrant enterprise to the torpor of inactivity
From death and decay to the hopes of resurrection
November.6.2022
~ Placed Eight~
November Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh