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Long Poems | Long Poetry

Long poems. Read long poems, search long poems, and filter long poetry by category. These are the all-time best and most popular long poems by poetic form, category, length, or keyword. See the long poem categories listed below.

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12
Long Poems
Long poem by Helen J Radford | Details |

'and the walls came crashing down..........'

A knock at the door, who can it be? 
Probably Sarah coming for tea. 
She usually calls on her way 
back from work to share some time with me. 
  
A look in the mirror, 
I 'tut' at my face: 
Why do people always call 
when there's junk around the place? 

I open the door - a man is standing there. 
I wish I'd worn some make up 
I wish I'd done my hair. 
It's then I spot the uniform: 

the buttons made of brass; 
the stripes that grace the khaki sleeves; 
the boots that crunch amongst the leaves. 
I question with my eyes? 

It comes as no surprise to hear him ask 
can he come in, and would I like to sit?' 
He has some rather grievous news - 
- I dread to hear it. 

I know what he is going to say. 
It's all a dream. Please go away. 
I'm not in to truth today 
I scream inside my head...... 

I know what he just said to me, 
but I didn't hear a word. 
His lips spoke out in silence, and me, 
I never heard. 

He's 'so sorry'. He gets up to go 
and heads towards the door. 
I try to rise to follow him 
but my legs will move no more; 

for they have turned to jelly and 
my head is going to burst. 
It's funny, when you're a soldier's wife, 
you always fear the worst, 

But it's only when you hear the knock, 
the knock upon the door, 
and see the face you've never seen: 
the shining boots, the uniform; 

the mouth that speaks the silent words 
the apologies and platitudes; 
'killed in action in the war" 
The widow thoughts ring clear.


Long poem by Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Details |

An Ode to Turkeys

An Ode to Turkeys
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

I
There was a time, year one thousand A.D
U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight.
Usefulness seen.
Native American's hunting delight. 
The white meat of a turkey is quite lean.
So much healthier than man knew before,
Nothing one ever could say,
In any way,
Would make Americans free turkeys anymore.

II
Thanksgiving comes and goes.
Wild turkey gobbling slows.
Ben Franklin watched their plight.
Nominated, though laughter did flare.
Turkeys beneath the moonlight
Were beautiful out there.
Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird.
But eagles know, it was not so.
And turks in history endured this nations birth.

III
Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly,
Toms might in spring be found.
Fluffing, dancing around.
Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red
Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead.  
Although turkeys fly strong,
The hunters by day kept watch in the fields.
Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song
And hens under bushes sat on eggs long.
When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields.
But on Thanksgiving Day...
Run away!


Note: Carolyn, thanks for the video suggestion.  It is very funny.  I decided to post the link 
here.  The HISTORICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1213z9KHNs  
(TIME HEALS ALL: We do LOVE you, MOTHER ENGLAND... from you we were BORN.)
The HYSTERICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnLyqBtU_F8

ENJOY the FUN!


Long poem by Carolyn Devonshire | Details |

Fleeting Freedoms

Elderly man’s fishing net hangs in his shed
The fish he caught in his backyard stream multiply
Net use was banned; he couldn’t afford a pole
Joy and sustenance gone, a tear falls from his eye

House Bill 875 would ban backyard farms
Forcing vegetable growers to invest cash
In overpriced produce on supermarket shelves
Uncle Sam flexes his muscle, makes his whip lash

The right to freely worship is endangered
As prayer is prohibited in public schools
Government intrusion invades all our lives
Public pleas are not heard by those who make rules

Freedom to choose our doctors is now threatened
Socialized medicine diminishes choice
Speech censorship? Just ask the Smothers Brothers
Who canceled their own show with a stifled voice

As crime escalates, look to the constitution
The NRA spends billions to protect Americans' rights
To bear arms against oppressors while thieves laugh
And sue owners of homes invaded in the night

Can this be what our forefathers had in mind
When they sought to escape a king’s tyranny?
Our rights are being limited more each day
In a nation spawned to promote liberty

Natural disasters prelude Judgment Day
Eerie escalation – tsunamis, earthquakes
But perhaps when the dust finally settles
Those who survive will learn from our past mistakes

Governments will form only to preserve peace
Not to strip away rights ancestors pursued
Don’t blink!  Precious freedoms are now endangered
By those who feel they’re elected to intrude


Long poem by Audonus Taylor | Details |

If Only I (Song)

The end was growing closer
I could feel it all around
Before you said it's over
from all the times I let you down
As I lie beside your pillow
It's getting hard to sleep at night
Every single lonely tear knows
That I did not love you right

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,
If only I....

The last thing that you told me,
Before you walked out of the door,
Baby you never hold me,
How can I make you love me more,
I wish I would have listened
To the thing you tried to say
If I would have paid attention
Maybe then you would have stayed,

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,

If only I, could have been
what you needed,
Since I hurt you,
our love's bleeding,
Out of time
and out of sight,
If only I could
make this right...

If only I,
Could turn back time,
when you were still mine,
I'd be everything that you need,
And give your heart a better me,
I miss you in my life...
If only I...


Long poem by Dave Streett | Details |

Teaching you to love Loneliness

You’ll wanna forget, but I’ll sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.

My glory rides on a brick and a gram
You’ll never get more then half my mind.
I’ll eat ya to put you to sleep 
Cause my dick won’t step up half the time.
Your eyes shut to tapping my vein
Dancing through shards of moonlight, emptying your purse.

I can score while your searching your plastic case for your pretty face.

Sweet poems and construction paper cards were pregame.  
Now I finger through  your parents drawers, quarter rolls are good enough.

Do you still crave me babe?
How’s third place, my two best buds a needle away?
Even when my eyes aren’t dotted up it isn’t fair.
Just a routine, credit card debt and jail don’t scare.  
With me we’re always in the midst of thunder
Recoveries pink clouds in front but out of grasp.  

Absence of luck permits you to hang on to my spirit embezzling tears.
I’ll be smiling at the freedom, Ignoring your texted stabs.  
Long sleeves and 50 hour work weeks fooled your parents, but 
The mirrors sunken and pale my features lost to warmth artificial from my heart.
Everything is gonna be cool as long as no one sees my arms.   

Penniless,  I’ll dissolve all my cravings under my tongue… for a week.  
Steaks marinated in Pabst followed by talks of your creation.  
We can lay in bed alll day watching Hulu and melting time.  
For once I’ll be all your’s no more rocks disrupting my brain.

As soon as pay day hits I’ll sprint out the front door.  


Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details |

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool 
In a slow steady struggle sealed 
In patience, persistence, perseverance…

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneer’s label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.


But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,
Sighed VICTORY AT LAST!

He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer. 


Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details |

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool 
In a slow steady struggle sealed 
In patience, persistence, perseverance…

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneer’s label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.


But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,
Sighed VICTORY AT LAST!

He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer. 


Long poem by Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Details |

Jesus Christ' Parable - Master's Return


Being Prepared for Judgment
MT 24:45-51
MK 13:34-37
LK 12:35-48

"Gird your loins and light your lamps, be like servants who await their master's return from a wedding, ready to open immediately when he comes and knocks.

Blessed are those servants whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival.

Amen, I say to you, he will gird himself, have them recline at table, and proceed to wait on them.

Should he come in the second or third watch and find them prepared in this way, blessed are those servants.

Be sure of this:

If the master of the house had known the hour when the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into.

You also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect.

The Son of Man will come."

But if that servant says to himself, 'My master is delayed in coming,' 

Begins to beat the menservants and the maidservants, to eat and drink and get drunk,

Then that servant's master will come on an unexpected day and at an unknown hour and will punish him severely and assign him a place with the unfaithful.

That servant who knew his master's will but did not make preparations nor act in accord with his will shall be beaten severely

The servant who was ignorant of his master's will but acted in a way deserving of a severe beating shall be beaten only lightly.

Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more." (Taken from LK 12:35-40, 45-48)


Long poem by Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Details |

NOW I UNLEASH WITH RUM RAGE

You see I had lots of respect

NOW you are begging for attention 
and a reality check, so try me,
Try me like satan tried jesus,

Your trying to unleash all that steam 
but you only sound like a tea kettle, 
you claim to be the rock of Gibraltar 
but your only a pebble, 

didn't your mother tell you not to play with fire, 
now I must burn you for pulling this dragons tale ,
no one wants to hear your fairy tale, its very frail, 
you can speak and speak until your face is pale 
but flattering your self with your words is of no avail. 

Keep checking your mail because karma is on it way,
I hope you can eat all that is on your tray, and when you 
stuffed with your own hatred ,I hope you get on you knees
and pray, not every thing in life can go your way,

didn't history teach you that 
dictating,
manipulating,
belittling,
lack of peace making,
heart breaking,
lack of loyalty,
unjust, 
disrespect,
neglect,
self indulgence 
hatred
lies
and bias
is not the way, 
well I am going to teach you today 

Adolf hitler ,
Maximilion,
Malcom x,
Martin luther king,
Rosa parks,
Allen Ginsberg,
Jesus Christ,
the little rock nine,
Mahatma Gandhi,
Fredrick Douglas,
Harriet Tubman,
Rodney King,
Elie Wiesel, 
Sean Bell,

DOES any of this ring a BELL,
or your self you continue to smell,
are you still under the devils spell,
how DARE  you be unjust,
teaching a child like you is a must. 
Your whole approach and appearance is stale,
but HEY 
I guess you don't see that 
because a donkey can't see its tail.


Long poem by Christopher Goss | Details |

The Wall, The Wall

The Wall, The Wall

I
the world fades from my fingertips
like blood oozing from an open wound
the sky is ripped apart and full of thunder
and my eyes are twisted in pain

shut the door and lock me within
the light is buzzing and flickering
something is about to explode
or maybe thats just my soul

softly touch the wall and it corrodes
the white paint peels and turns black
and cracks appear on the surface
a garbage touch that ruins it all

for years the signs of ruin were there
building up behind fragile white walls
and now i sit here with an open chest
my heart nailed to the damned wall

and as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood from an open wound
the sky outside is bloody and tormented
and i cant begin to see my own reality

II
im so afraid that if i get up ill fall again
damned by the ghosts of the past
the flashing glare of reality looms larger
closing in on me and slapping me

if only someone could open the door
and let me out of this foreboding room
perhaps i could see more than whats inside
instead of slicing myself in half

remember it was your verse that ended me
slicing off my fingers one by one
it was when my heart was nailed to the wall
that i truly forgot how to feel

my sickening screams echo loudly
throughout the confines of my own mind
reverberating down my spine
and leaving me in a shivering fit

as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood pouring from an open wound
the sky outside has faded to a deep black
and i cant begin to see my own reality


Long poem by Shaz Cheesman | Details |

Rude, Drunken Pen

Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few 
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess, 
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss 
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect, 
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest. 
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude 
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers 
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease 
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin 
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue


2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest


Long poem by stark hunter | Details |

Olive Frazier 1854 - 1895

Olive Frazier

1854 – 1895

To my many august friends,
Mere survivors under this hungry consuming California sky.
Before you can reach high to the stars, my friends,
Both feet must firmly be set upon the ground first.
This, in essence, is the lesson of a lifetime.
Here in Clark Cemetery, the soil is rich and fertile.
In my prime years I have walked here
Walked on many an afternoon and many an early evening.
Walked and slowly strolled and ambled
Like a solitary tumbleweed in a restless wind.
Like a knock-kneed crab in a dark watery place
Commiserating with the barnacles.
It was on such a stroll
That I encountered the handsome Mr. Frazier.
Milton by name, bricklayer by trade.
We watched the sunset that evening.
Two hawks in flight high in the blue
Swaying effortlessly in the high breeze.
We found love in the dust
And we found heartbreak in the endless shadowed distances
Of Clark Cemetery.
I left this earth giving birth to my baby.
And now together we peacefully reside in this deep hole.
Together with Milton, my love.
Together now and forever in the dirt and the dust.
Milton, I am sorry I left you alone when I died.
So sorry you had to go on without us.
Often when the clouds above give drink to this dead land,
I think of us
Wondrously and miraculously alive,
Strolling to the east under the canopy of the walnut trees.
Your hand in mine
Your heart and mine intermingling magically.
Thank you my husband.
I was indeed privileged to be your wife.


Long poem by Tatyana Carney | Details |

Soul Stones

We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)

Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.

Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
and acid.

The stones settle,

BOOM...

      BOOM...

            BOOM...

Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.

We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner,  for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:

"Honey, are you alright?"

(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)

There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-

boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes 
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...

And then serenity.

The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.

"I'm here now... and you're ok."

We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.

No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,

but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...




Long poem by esther robinson | Details |

CRYPTOGRAM DECODED

Cares pull my spirits down
Always force me, ‘wear a frown’
I heard, “You’ll in darkness drown;
For weeds in you are also sown.”

Seeds like unknown fear and worry
Sprouted in my nursery bed of merry
On watering, I nourished misery
Unable to differentiate their finery

Gradually grew seeds called health and wealth 
But sorrow and sufferings sapped its strength
I battled and struggled to save my breath
Expecting someone to fill my heart with mirth

With this frame of mind
No way of escape I could find
On reaching office, I read this thought
Recited it several times in my heart

That every sad day
Is followed by a glad day
As a team we discussed the layout
Of a very important handout

Green is good and soothes the eye
Yellow and black never get an instant goodbye
Red and navy blue give a professional look
Lavender or sky blue, gets anyone on hook

Everyone suggested a hue
And it granted me a cue
Of great surprise among a few
That if colors carried a clue

Of a top secret message 
Then I remembered a passage
For this world Jesus is the true light
Who makes the face of any man bright

He’ll weed and make me alright
My life like aroma will ascend in His sight
If each and every shade
That Almighty has made

Reflects God, as a mighty tower
And also expounds His awesome power
Unique His way of having seen my form
Being formed in womb like a worm

Fearful yet surprise filled is His greatness
I wonder and move about carrying His likeness


Long poem by Robin Lane | Details |

With You

I sat on the edge of your mattress, unsure what to expect; I kicked off my shoes and took in 
your bedroom for the first time: the bookshelves, the plastic stickers wreathing the windows, 	
your little brother’s action figures mid-battle on the carpet, the clothing stretched out into 	
long piles beneath your feet.

I remember thinking you so strong and confident, wondering how we ended up beneath the 
covers together. You reassured me as you crawled out to take down your blue jeans. I looked 
away for fear of seeming too eager. (I wanted to look.)

Your hand trailed over my back, tracing my stomach. I had never been touched before; 
every inch your fingers followed burned a path into my memory. I was sure there were 
scorch marks on the sheets.

We kissed and kissed and I gasped and we kissed and I fumbled, I heard my pulse throbbing 
in my ears and we kissed and I couldn’t believe I had gone my whole life without knowing the 
feeling of skin on skin.

Then, you were forcing my lips to part with yours, and your tongue surprising the inside of my 
mouth, a slippery, rubbery thing. I let it wander.

You curled a loose hair behind my ear. I imagine you framing my face in your hands and 
bringing my chin for another kiss, but I find my memory inventing moments between us that 
never passed.

But, I am sure of the sleepy look on your face every time we pulled away, the half-pouted 
lips, and the pressure of your hands on my back, urging me to never stop.


Long poem by Monica Contreras | Details |

THE UNIFORM

I noticed the uniform, and the heavy soled shinny black boots
Not the man within it, I apologized.

I remember the clean fresh smell of maleness, as they stormed into the house,
Broken glass, ripped down hangings, a slashed sofa, a pulled curtain,
A sudden maneuver to throw my brother’s bear across the yard,
Such military worries, hidden bombs in a child’s best friend.
Your broken cross I buried in our garden after they left.God, come back to my house, I am 
waiting.

All I saw were figures painted the colour of grass and bark,
with gilded edges traced by some crazed church painter's brush,
faceless with pockets full of bullets and chords,
Their arms intertwined with red eyes and swollen hands of my teachers,
Stiff figures against the soft jeans, sweaters, and knitted hats below.
Standing witness in the yard above watching, I waited for her to die.

Shinny black like the dirt dug from the mass grave,
Full of crumbled human bits, decaying coloured cloth,
while the sun scorched the group sorting the cellular samples
I saw the black boots etched into the bone fragments.
Lost bones of lost loved ones from empty families,

Standing in the desert, I wait for a name.

No, I do not see you the man, just the uniform.
I see the butt of the gun, the dent of the boot, the slickness in the air,
the cruel power of the swirl jungle green print with gold trim.
As a witness God left me, and I was waiting.

Change, let me meet the man,
maybe the waiting is over.


Long poem by Sierra Biersack | Details |

If I Had The Guts

I know i have kept a lot from you.
I know its not fair. 
I know i should tell you.
I know i have to tell you.

Maybe i can tell you some, but not all.
Maybe i can keep it secret just a little longer.
Maybe i can hide it from you more.
Maybe i can get the guts to tell you everything.

Everyday, i wanna tell you.
Everyday, i hope i get the guts to tell you.
Everyday, i feel bad for not telling you.
Everyday i think about you.

Sometimes, i dont want to tell you.
Sometimes, i just want you to know it all.
Sometimes, i wish i never knew you.
Sometimes, i wish you were all mine.

If i had the guts, i would tell you everything.
If i had the guts, i would tell you how much you mean to me.
If i had the guts, i would tell you your the only reason im alive.
If i had the guts, i would tell you my biggest secret.

Just knowing that i love you.
Just knowing that you may or may not love me back.
Just knowing that i care.
Just knowing that you probably dont.

Breaks my heart.
Breaks my soul.
Breaks my dreams.
Breaks my life.

If i had you, my life would be complete.
If i had you, my life would be perfect.
If i had you, i would be happy.
If i had you, i wouldnt have to search anymore.

I know i should tell you.
I know its not fair.
I know i have kept a lot from you.
I know i should tell you.

But, i dont have the guts, 
The guts to tell you i love you,
The guts to tell you your the reason im alive,
The guts to tell you,
I need you in my life.


Long poem by Beatrice Boyle | Details |

If I Were A Stone

If I Were A Stone If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite… the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen. All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me. My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook! Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way. I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home. And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men! I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.


Long poem by Sahitya Poonacha | Details |

The Injured soldier

He fell, fell to the ground
At the gunshot that created such a sound
Nobody took notice of the injured soldier
He was left there lying as the war grew thicker.

He screamed from the pain growing in his shoulder
Nobody realized the pain he would suffer
Trampling feet and screams grew monotonous
The injured soldier tried to ignore the pain that was so venomous.

He made a decision for himself
If he was to survive he'd have to help himself
Nobody was going to come to his aid
Not when each one was looking out for their own head.

He winced in pain as he got to his feet
He wouldn't give up now, not when he still had an army to beat
His shoulder cried out to him in vain
He had already chose to ignore the pain.

He took his rifle up
He adjusted his helmet and refused to give up
He kept fighting till the war was over
Each soldier fighting for their country, their home and their lover.

When the war was done and the battle was won
Every single soldier put down their gun
the injured soldier's shoulder still bleeding
now blinded him with pain and made him lose all feeling.

This time they gave him attention
This time he was treated to friendly affection
He wondered what would have happened if had given up that night
Would they have still won after all that fight?

But he was glad he hadn't for he would have been seen
As a pitiful injured soldier who wasn't keen.

It's the choices we make
And the chances we take
That set us apart
Only when, of course, the decision is made from the heart.


Long poem by Sarai Romani | Details |

Game Day

Mighty Ducks win the game
Pass the ball perfect the play
There's so much riding on your fame
Men clad in armor win the day

The crowds are grumbling they've all gone wild
The stripes bad call has hardened your trial
Yard by yard your penalties mass
But you'll take the lead with a touchdown pass

86 yards with a kick return 
Your rival now should show concern 
We love your power your drive your speed
The beer the bets the company

Football Game day 
Phones be texting
Tailgate fun scores projecting 
Simple fun that's life affecting

It's more than manly testosterone 
That compels us to the game
It's teamwork pride the thrill of the fight
How the underdog pushed and overcame 

Sports and competition have always been a way of life 
Revealing the mighty but also the contrite
Teaching lessons of brotherhood
More victory together than alone we ever could 

So when we gather scream and shout 
Seemingly insane over a meaningless thing
Remember this on Game Day proud
When from the rest of life we simply check out

Is it really so bad to drink too much 
With Oregon's O displayed 
Colored faces worshiping the Duck
When they fumble we yell O  F_ _ _ 

Be it victory or cruel defeat
There's more to this than meets the eye
It's about families, lovers and the best of friends
Gathering to play to laugh and to cry

Game Day for the Oregon Duck
Of our team we're so damn proud
As a fan have you made the cut
Or resigned to just miss out 







Long poem by Veronica Londy | Details |

Behind Bars!!!

The time that I've wasted is my biggest regret,
Spent in this place i will never forget,
Just sitting and thinking about the things that I've done,
the crying,the laughing, the hurt and the fun.
Now it's just me and my hard-driven guilt.
Behind a wall of empty ness I allowed to be built.
I'm trapped in my body, just wanting to run
back to my youth with it's laughter and fun.
But the chase is over and there's no place to hide.
Ever thing is gone, including my pride.
with reality suddenly right in my face
I'm scared, alone and stuck in this place.
Now memories of the past flash threw my head
and the pain is obvious by the tears that I shed.
i ask myself why and where I went wrong
I guess i was weak when i should have been strong.
Living for the drugs and the wings I had grown.
My feelings were lost, afraid to be show en.
as I look at my past it's easy to see
The fear that I had, Afraid to be me.
I'd pretended to be rugged, So fast and so cool.
when actually lost like a blind old fool.
I'm getting too old for this tiresome game
of acting real hard with no sense of shame.
It's time that i change and get on with my life,
fulfilling my dreams for a family and wife.
What my future will hold I don't really know,
but the years that I've wasted are starting to show.
I just live for the when I get a new start
and the dreams I still hold deep in my heart.
I hope I can make it, I at least have to try
Because I'm heading towards death, and I don't want to DIE!


Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

Distraction

I meant to do my work today
Instead I spied a nest among the maple leaves
 where birds were singing in the trees
   and others splashing soft brown wings 
                in the birdbath by the old porch swing

I meant to do my chores today
  But clear blue skies, a soft spring breeze
This cloudless day, and blooming trees...they filled me with distraction...

I had my rusty rake in hand, some ground to till
   a hedge to trim, some weeds to pull....but clouds above the rolling hills
                                                                                    all led me to distraction....

 A butterfly, all black and gold, flitted soon across the field
             And once again, it took my eyes yet further still...

The garden hose, curled sleeping by, in noon day sun, awaiting me
        instead I sigh, and 
           once again my wandering eye, 
                among tall grass, some bugs I spied, 
                            I must explore the whole outdoors before this lovely day has died

I hesitate, ....my chores can wait, 
                                it seems that fate says "Work can wait!!
                                                      Enjoy!! It says, this splendid day!! 

These  most worthy,  so pleasing, never bothersome, soul satisflying, quite heavenly 
                                                               
                                                  distractions !!


___________________________________________________________


Long poem by Holly King | Details |

Kirsty (one)

Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,
Remembering...
Stale walls echoing lamenting calls,
their house...
A nightmare flickered in the red herring of betrayal.
Stumbling hormones, skinless evil.
it breathed...
Blood red lips snarling, capturing someone else essence, bone dry.
A nightmare...
Deliberately slithering up my calf, I grasped a cube of insanity as a last hope.

The shock...
Dead eyes feared a toy box, a fragmented sense
clung to my only protection, my untouched hell.
Blood soaked, dripping sweat, saturated fear I escaped...

I awoke...
Demons hell-bent on demise. Curiosity craved,
crushed my soul into submission,
But it's just a box...
Teeth exposed, chattered, blindly shoved fingers in to catch my tongue,
the taste of soured flesh.
Wait...
A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.
He escaped...
Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?
Go to hell.

Run...
Pounded at death's door, let me in...
Dad...
Warned the worm of the vulture, coming to devour its soul.

Something didn't fit, the sacrifice seeping into the floor smelt half human.
A twang...
Realisation, cold, the door creaked, locked,
grinning gruesomely, the veins pulsing along a sadistic mind,
Quaking, i flinched around to a lubricated nightmare,
clenching my muscles, the hiss of hell's rapture...

A prison shook, a prisoner shrieked,
Sanity split like perfect fission, slime coated his
perverted call...

Come, to daddy.


Long poem by Rick Rucker | Details |

The One

The One by Rick Rucker When you have found “The One,” That person that outshines the Sun, Then you will understand the fuss, Your heart convinced with the first buss! Your lack of focus is normal, don't worry, Love will guide your heart, don't hurry, True Love is the force that cures, Your heart of all the past sutures! True Love has the power to change, Your mind, to rearrange Your whole life, To take a husband, or a wife. If all your life, you've lived alone, Talking to suitors on the phone, It's so nice to sit together, Without the phone cord acting as a tether. Something as simple as holding hands, Takes on new meaning with wedding bands. A wedding changes everything, Makes you feel a Queen, or King! That this person wants to spend Their life with you, 'til the end. What might have started out with lust, Has ended with a promise: 'til dust! Marriage won't be only Wedded Bliss, But if each day starts and ends with a kiss, Doing this, and other things, Will mean you don't have to pawn your rings! If you don't marry, out of fear Angel's bells you'll never hear. That gentle tinkling far away, The one that makes you want to stay. Imagine your surprise, When you look into your lover's eyes, Your Love, your spouse, The one that shares with you a house. Being in Love, after decades still, Each one feeling marriage is a thrill How long can True Love last? I'll tell you when a century's passed!


Long poem by karl marszalowicz | Details |

Images

"Images"
The God that never was, puts one shoe on at a time
And spends four hours in the make-up room 
Putting on mascara and eye liner for the darker look 

Occult man of seemingly rebellious nature 
Is deified by the masses that show up to performances
He, a man of strong portrayal even at a skinny 155 pounds 
Grows stronger with every compact disc sold and the overuse of base 
Blowing out of a sound system which rocks the car next to you
While you wait for the light to turn green
Abandoning social mores of quietness well into the night

The appeal grows everyday for a man really just making a living
Out of his fans age group they have no idea what he is
Whether the media builds him up or tears him down
As a good guy to hate and a bad boy at heart
Any press is good press, though infamy might be better for sales

Topping the charts and making parents sick of his songs
He is a beneficiary of childhood splurging and so inclined to be
The adults wish for a mere fifteen minutes of his fame
So their children would listen to them with the same respect
But who were they when listening to cassette tapes?
And the bands of the eighties put on make-up then
 A man of mixed persuasion people are drawn to his ambiguity 
The role model singing about jail time and Hennessey
A toughness to some is a weakness to others
It makes you wonder if the man knows who he is! 
Whoever that is and for all it's worth
There will be more than enough of him to go around
In his image that is larger than life


Long Poems
12

Long Poem Categories

absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
april arabic
art assonance
august autumn
baby bangla
baptism baseball
basketball beach
beautiful beauty
bereavement best friend
betrayal bible
bird birth
birthday black african american
blue boat
body books
boyfriend break up
bridal shower brother
bullying business
butterfly cancer
candy car
care career
caregiving cat
celebration celebrity
change character
child childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
city class
clothes color
community computer
conflict confusion
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
cry culture
cute love dad
dance dark
daughter day
death death of a friend
december dedication
deep depression
desire devotion
discrimination dog
dream drink
earth earth day
easter education
emo emotions
encouraging england
environment epic
eulogy eve
evil fairy
faith family
fantasy farewell
farm father
father daughter fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire first love
fish fishing
flower flying
food football
for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
friend friendship
fruit fun
funeral funny
funny love future
games garden
gender giggle
girl girlfriend
giving god
golf good night
goodbye gothic
graduation grandchild
granddaughter grandfather
grandmother grandparents
grandson grave
green grief
growing up growth
hair halloween
happiness happy
hate health
heart heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hindi hip hop
history hockey
holiday holocaust
home homework
hope horror
horse house
how i feel howl
humor humorous
husband hyperbole
i love you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jobs
journey joy
judgement july
june kindergarten
kiss language
leaving life
light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me memorial day
memory men
mentor metaphor
middle school miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mothers day mountains
moving on murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
neice new year
new york nice
night nonsense
nostalgia november
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people pets
philosophy places
poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
poverty power
prayer pride
psychological race
racism rain
rainbow rap
recovery from red
relationship religion
religious remember
repetition retirement
rights river
romance romantic
rose rude
sad sad love
satire school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smile snow
soccer social
society soldier
son song
sorrow sorry
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute trust
truth uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
valentines day vanity
veterans day violence
visionary vogon
voice voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women words
work world
write writing
yellow youth