Long Élan Poems
Long Élan Poems. Below are the most popular long Élan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Élan poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm a poet through and through,
Though I cannot explain to you
How it happened or what it was
That led me to it.
I didn't set out to pursue it,
I just, one day, began to do it,
And then ten years blinked by
Almost before I knew it.
The poems I pen are mostly true,
Though now and then I stretch a few.
To imbue lines with more élan
Is why I do it.
The verse to which I lend my name
Won't tend to fortune nor to fame,
But I'll keep scribbling just the same
And never rue it.
My heart and soul are in my style,
If I can make one reader smile,
My efforts will have been worthwhile,
Although I may never know it.
I'm no Shelley, Keats, or Poe,
Or Frost, or Nash, but even so,
I hope in time my rhymes will show
That I'm a poet.
I saw it in one of those chintzy antique shops.
I recalled that it was made for travelling musicians
that wanted to work out scores while not being overheard.
It was old and all wood. When I tapped the keys
they clacked, but each key to me seemed to clack
in a slightly different tone,
as if the pianist’s thoughts and intentions
had somehow imprinted
a musical counterpart into the inarticulate wood.
When I got it home
I propped it up against a wall, poured myself a drink
and thought what a fool I was.
The ice cubes in my bourbon tinkled unmusically.
I stared at it.
‘You can’t even play a kazoo you idiot, what the …..!’
Later, a little drunk,
I took it up and placed it on a table,
stretched my stiff fingers and played.
I played like I had never played before!
This was real, not an air-guitar thing.
Chopin and Mozart flowed through my hands
as I sped through deft keyboard exercises,
labelling quarter and eighth notes, dashing off
aurally different meters,
executing perfect pitch and phrase.
After the warm-up I was ready for my public.
With much élan and gusto, I thundered through
a dramatic First Movement.
The Andante I performed next was hauntingly beautiful.
I swayed on my stool in a deep artistic trance.
An invisible audience gasped and yes, they stood and roared
their approval, as the last note of a sonata I had
just composed, concluded a fiery Allegro.
Tomorrow I intend to jazz-duet with Oscar Peterson.
Man, it’s good to be dumb.
ahhh... the crisp feel of the new notebook
its spine never cracked open
its pages of virgin white perfectly aligned
awaiting their marching orders
eager for all and any pen markings
from sunday best handwriting to doodles
inviting playful interaction
your creative élan of spontaneity
random thoughts splashed on a page
scripted lines scribbled to offload
a mind seeking clarity, peace or absolution
seeking a semblance of order
of profound clarity or silly mischief
one page then another
the daily journal of a busy mind
in search of something
through self-expression
hoping to find it between
the whites of pages
and the ink of a ballpoint pen
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Ever brew tea in an industrial brewer?
I did just yesterday with a tea bag fewer
then more have seen. I watched it drip
mixing water with steam and drip leaving
lines in between, the loose leaves.of tea.
A star pattern there when I peeked to see
what a tea maker brews inside of a T.
And when the heat hit my eyes I realized
what was so familiar to me...'do mine path'
was inscribed in the leaves.
I considered to know what I believe.
I paused to consider what might deceive.
Just and before I tossed the leaves.
... smiles.
you ARE a dope and I'm knot mean. Just
neurotic transmission of the secret unseen.
A VEnue open to peace in the mind
blowing open holes that Time left behind.
It's a network framed in a windy rhyme.
It's a new avenue and a way to be kind.
Well.come.to the filters mind. A pleasure
of a center that we all can find.
Neurotransmitter. A natural ChiMe.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dopamine
Dopamine was first synthesized in 1910 by George Barger and James Ewens at Wellcome
Laboratories in London, England.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qi
Ch'i
Qi
It is frequently translated as "energy flow," and is often compared to Western notions of
energeia or élan vital (vitalism) as well as the yogic notion of prana. The literal
translation is "air," "breath," or "gas" (compare the original meaning of Latin spiritus
"breathing"; or the Common Greek p?e?µa, meaning "air," "breath," or "spirit"; and the
Sanskrit term prana, "breath" ).
Form:
Louise Imogen Guiney – Poetess and Writer
Louise Imogen Guiney sought a certain poetry of
perfection that rang true with a real radiance in her
poetry, that also bespoke a passion and feeling for
its lyrical nature as it was amply reflected with an
aura of spontaneity, a noted élan, and a sense of a
mystical moral verve. Guiney fashioned much of
her work around traditional poetic themes with a
distinct concern for both style and content.
Guiney’s profound religious orientation and desire
for this spirited feeling, along with her notion of a
certain perfection was defined and embellished by
her underlying concern with the Catholic tradition
in literature, and by her masterful view and concept
that brought the notions of heroic gallantry and
moral rectitude to the forefront of her scholarship
with regard to her poetry and her various literary
and historical studies.
The entirety of Guiney’s work and the mystic nature
of her poetic and literary endeavors imbued her with
a type of an early modernist touch similar to that of
T. S. Eliot, whose influence was twenty years into the
future, as he helped to bring the modernist movement
to fruition with the help of Ezra Pound and other poets.
All of these experiential forces, at hand, helped Guiney
to achieve her unique nature and brilliance over time as
a fine New England poetess of letters and scholarship,
and her poetry was all-inclusive of a grand and glorious
vision of English poetic traditions par excellence.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 22, 2018 (Narrative)
Author’s Note: Certain poems from Louise Imogen Guiney
have been reprinted in 2020. However, the complete and
definitive collection of her poetry: Louise Imogen Guiney –
Her Life and Works 1861-1920 was masterfully assembled
by the author-writer E. M. Tenison in 1922, and it was, in
1923, published by Macmillan and Company, Limited in
London. Tenison had indicated in a “personal note” that
Guiney had read this book in complete draft form before
her untimely death in 1920. This book is a collector’s item.
Silken whispers greet the blithe morning
damp mist spring tap on red oak door
joyful treat preempted faint dawning
Felicity a phase one can’t ignore
bright daffodil white and pink bloom
fragrant garden bouquet stuff of lore
Alyssum’s plump trailing mound may loom
where greyedging border might seem bare
ideal cluster wraparound March plume
Ever present awe inflames my stare
rampant green aroma gust blown sent
nearby rabbit chuckled in its lair
Ample rose bush color splash in lent
showcase of enduring floral sign
tints and tones that ruffle by assent
Snowdrop bells perennial align
sprout from moistened brown earth
on pebbled wall a green creeping vine
Embrace this heady seasonal birth
marvel at its blue spruce tapestry
exhale your élan vital of mirth
Before He was born in this earth,
Angel announced Christ Jesus' birth;
When He was born, a tiny boy,
Angels declared it - Oh! What joy!
He grew up, not with much élan,
But in favour with God and man;
After fasting, came temptation,
Then came angels' ministration;
Three and a half years of preaching,
With His Love to people reaching;
Then He went to Gethsamane,
Praying there in deep agony,
An angel came down from heaven,
Just, in order, Him to strengthen;
He hung on the cross sinister,
No angels came to minister;
An eternity of silence
Followed His affliction intense;
On the third day morning, they came,
Christ's resurrection to proclaim;
On the mount after forty days,
He ascended 'midst angels' praise;
Right from birth till His ascension,
In Christ's life, they had a mention.
Ev'n today, angels are singing,
With His praise, heavens are ringing
He sends them down to protect us,
When we choose to serve Lord Jesus.
08/08/18
élan vital
David J walker
Everything is hungry
Every single thing alive
Shall survive at the expense of
Some poor enhungered something else
That has learned to thrive in it’s
Own peculiar environment
The élan vital has turned even the
Blades of grass into clever predators and hunters
Capturing sunlight and rain that will sustain it
For another day
The forest records its own language spreading
Branch to branch Tree to tree
As the sea sings its ancient songs between the
Salty soliloquy of tidal waves
Even the mountains standing majestically
Will be spread softly along the beach
As the Earth remakes itself
Patiently
Day
by day
by day
A quiescent misty lake in center of hillock,
surrounded in soundless old oak trees.
Sheen of mercury looks ethereal in sunbeam,
blue headed kingfishers, in sly glances skim.
silvery air sparkling in splash of wildflowers,
a frescoed terrain painted in élan,..
but happy faces never make life
smile is heavenly only with sad eyes
Suddenly....
wrapped in snowwhite glossy feathers
white blossoms glide in majestic drift.
across motionless ripples of clear stream
curved necks entwined in heart shapes
mute love sing their last farewell song
Swans....
Cygnets of myth
Created by man
to see pain,... listen to pain
and still admire the death of beauty.
20th April 2019
Maureen Mcgreavy's Suddenly Swans Contest
My beloved, you and I, an inseparable duet,
Two souls entwined in an eternal pas de deux,
Our hearts beating in tandem like two wings of a bird
Soaring effortlessly on the thermals of devotion.
We are the embodiment of fate's masterful orchestration,
Two kindred spirits predestined to converge,
Our love a sublime symphony that resonates across the firmament,
A celestial harmony that echoes through eternity.
In your eyes, my love, I behold the reflected glory of the divine,
A beauty that transcends mortality, a radiance that shines.
You are my élan vital, my raison d'être, the missing piece that makes me whole,
My forever haven, my guiding star, my soul's sweet home.
Forever and always, my love shall be the sanctuary where you find solace,
The safe haven where your heart can beat freely, wild, and unencumbered.
I love you more than words can articulate, more than the heavens are vast,
And the oceans are deep, you are the luminous essence that illuminates my existence.