Long Yeats Poems
Long Yeats Poems. Below are the most popular long Yeats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yeats poems by poem length and keyword.
San Francisco Soulmates
You discovered the ever-seeking soul in me!
Looking for truth, for all of mankind to see!
Unaccepting of all common, unquestioned beliefs.
Ignorant, educated dullards brought to me,absolutely no relief.
Late, late into the foggy evening’s very last twinkling, summer star,
Plato and Aristotle, greedily we devoured, while riding on a cable car,
And, although you now are insensate and in an impenetrable grave,
See my soul, my sweet, for truth, it rants and in my poetry, madly raves.
Tribute to my Late Husband
With Deepest Gratitude
Inspiration:” When You Are Old”
Great Author: W.B. YEATS
A week before the Armistice, you died.
They did not keep your heart like Livingstone’s,
then plant your bones near Shakespeare’s. So you lie
between two privates, sacrificed like Christ
to politics, your poetry unknown
except for that brief flurry’s: thirteen months
with Gaukroger beside you in the trench,
dismembered, as you babbled, as the stench
of gangrene filled your nostrils, till you clenched
your broken heart together and the fist
began to pulse with life, so close to death.
Or was it at Craiglockhart, in the care
of “ergotherapists” that you sensed life
is only in the work, and made despair
a thing that Yeats despised, but also breath,
a mouthful’s merest air, inspired less
than wrested from you, and which we confess
we only vaguely breathe: the troubled air
that even Sassoon failed to share, because
a man in pieces is not healed by gauze,
and breath’s transparent, unless we believe
the words are true despite their lack of weight
and float to us like chlorine—scalding eyes,
and lungs, and hearts. Your words revealed the fate
of boys who retched up life here, gagged on lies.
Published by The Chariton Review, The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Rogue Scholars, Romantics Quarterly, Mindful of Poetry, Famous Poets and Poems, Poetry Life & Times, Other Voices International
His Living Poem
I am a simple man,
loquacious words I have not.
The few illustrative words I possess
I recently learned or already forgot.
Authored by those more educated,
are the poems I read before.
Frost, Yeats, Whitman, Longfellow,
Poe, Dickenson, Vance Cooke, and more.
Even you, my sophisticated friends,
possess the gifts I dearly desire.
Within you lies countless treasures,
that sparkle when read by a lamp or a searing fire.
What gift in me I can draw on you for a smile or tear?
What, in my limited capacity, can I impart to you?
And what have I acquired, would you want to bear?
There is none, from what I can find, or view.
That you've read this far, none have come before.
Surely countless have already left,
as a dull wit I be, and to others just a bore.
The only observation I can find,
that would allow me to be of a facility,
is His living poem... a simple rhyme...
is what God hath made in me.
And through His faith,
He trusts in me... His very simple rhyme,
to read the poems penned by you,
a gift from Him to you,
expressions so sublime.
by Martin Braun
July 30,2023
What to pen on Halloween?
Dost thou think you are such a
wonder of wit?
Many do, thinking of topics, utterly vile.
Here come the poet Kings and Queens,
proudly walking on a thick, carpeted aisle.
Read Yeats or Cummings first!
If you think your poetry, can satisfy human thirst.
The human, with lame poetry, cursed, that is
not even verse!
But.....then poet stars come out that shimmer
amd shine!
Hoprefully, it will be yours on which others are
fulfilled and dine.
Poetry that blesses another’s heart.
That makes it smile, I call that an art.
10/30/2021
The Dilettante Diaries: "Open Door Barefoot"
Open door to closed room
Ceiling smashed
Stars in a very clear sky
Fresh air
taken into lungs
Risen
from
the
Lake of None
Arrival of White Doves
Broken glass, careful where you step
Barefoot Bleeds Love
(Lovejoy-Burton/October 2018)
for my daughter, Georgia
"THAT crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where, Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship, Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing Heroically lost, heroically found."
The Poet Pleads with the Elementals
THE Powers whose name and shape no living creature knows
Have pulled the Immortal Rose;
And though the Seven Lights bowed in their dance and wept,
The Polar Dragon slept,
His heavy rings uncoiled from glimmering deep to deep:
When will he wake from sleep?
Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire,
With your harmonious choir
Encircle her I love and sing her into peace,
That my old care may cease;
Unfold your flaming wings and cover out of sight
The nets of day and night.
Dim powers of drowsy thought, let her no longer be
Like the pale cup of the sea,
When winds have gathered and sun and moon burned dim
Above its cloudy rim;
But let a gentle silence wrought with music flow
Whither her footsteps go.
(William Butler Yeats)
"Fly On" /Coldplay
https://youtu.be/qtooMN9QZKw
The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper - W.B. Yeats
There is magic in the twinkling eyes
Of a small, innocent child who smiles
There is magic in the laugh of delight
In a heart who sees a wonderous birth
There is magic in the light of a word
Focused on kindness instead of being heard
There is magic in the new dawn, the star
The feeling that races through a tender heart
Who knows about giving without expectation
Living without gratification,
Feeling without awakening
A need for recompence
There is magic – in hopes and dreams
In faith and all the little things
In wonders that melt away the sorrow
And remind us all that there is grace for tomorrow
There is magic – in the caress of a smile
Given by someone who blesses a heart
With inspiration, kindness, acceptance
All the love that brings assurance and affection
There is magic – in the soul who knows faith
Whispers a prayer and lingers in grace
Knows God is alive, filling up the inside
Of one who listens to His gentle spirit
There is magic – in psalms and praise
In new life that comes with salvation
In freedom from all those things that bring pain
In feeling alive to the new moment, the new way
The new joy that abides in the one who prays
There is magic – in the sun and rain
In the dewdrop and the gentle rose
In the light of the stardust night
And the miracle of one shooting out of sight
There is magic – in love
That is alive and thriving, striving to give more
Than it receives, with a open heart and sincere spirit
Love that is scented with a blushing aroma of insight
Inspiration and music created from the joy inside
There is magic – from the brilliance of a heart
Who knows that real love comes from God’s thought
Of giving away a breath of life to the one who listens
To the gentle, teasing urging of a feeling of expectation
Love like this is the beginning of true living!
All Things Can Tempt Me
(title of a poem from William Butler Yeats & inspiration for line one of my poem)
All things can tempt me from writing I do.
I sit down; my dog on the rug starts to poo!
Well, that was not tempting, and yet I must say
from poetry it sure drew me away!
I sit down again, but what greets my ear?
The ice cream van’s musical chiming I hear!
I sit down this time - ice cream on my chin.
But now it’s a mood for popcorn I’m in!
That would go great with this show I must see.
My pen rolls away; I’ll watch my TV!
Feb. 29, 2020
for the All Things Can Tempt Me Poetry Contest of Beth Evans
I shall remember you when
night crawls under day
dressed up in sunshine and
colorful hues I shall remember
you in every single book I
read catering to the fundamental
findings craving thought like
Langston Hughes I’ll fondly
remember civil rights field
trips dancing through cattails
in the woods wandering
between dandelion patches
and rows of daisies peeking
through cedar slats nestled
upon a garden nook I dig the
magnificent magnitude of our
telepathy designs of hope
courage and joy I will always
remember your smile opening
the window letting fresh air
inside a dull dim room something
about William Butler Yeats
Yolande Giovanni something
about me black power rings
the subtle warmth of the
voice of dignity human need
to express one’s own abilities
communicate with all walks
of life we are who we are
I thank you for giving me
encouragement my humble
beginnings I shall see you
tomorrow in paradise sunshine
In loving memory of Nikki Giovanni
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!
European heritage evokes many soothing thoughts
Of my ancestors who climbed across the Alps,
Who explored the coastlines of Ireland and partied in London.
European ancestors planted their gardens on Italian soil
And loved certain Great Books by authors coming from Greece
And various other parts of the continent.
I think of Scrooge’s transformation at Christmastime,
The feasts, all eaten during the Epiphany, Easter, and
Other traditional, European celebrations: Lammastide, Yuletide
And Beltane.
With European heritage comes great storytelling, significant symbolism, often expressed in the poems of magnificent Irishmen, like
William Butler Yeats, a person I glorify for their connections to nature and storytelling.
I bathe my spirit in this luscious grassland with wildflowers
For I know I’ve benefited from that significant continental endowment
We traveled on Odysseus’ journey across the sea, where he struck Medusa
My imagination later explored faeries on the Emerald Isle, reached out for
Shakespeare, who then flew into the Heavens with the angels
Today, I’ll take a brisk walk across town, but my mind will be far
Away from others, high above the mountains, in the clouds, with more stories
Igniting the flames of my desire, the Coat of Arms adorns
The castles hiding in my heart, imagining the Romance Hero who awaits his Lady in the next imaginative novel
A world of the common man and woman, a world of the contadini,
Country folk, noble planters involved in the
growth of agriculture, management of the terrain,
A return to continental roots;
May these roots be strengthened through the acceptance of other ways, with blessings from diverse non-European cultures that teach us valuable lessons:
Asian
African
Aboriginal
And More