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absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
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anger angst
animal anniversary
anti bullying anxiety
appreciation april
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autumn baby
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best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
cinderella city
class clothes
color community
computer conflict
confusion cool
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cousin cowboy
crazy creation
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culture cute love
dad dance
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day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
depression desire
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discrimination divorce
dog dream
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education emo
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future games
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grave green
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growth guitar
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health heart
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heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
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homework hope
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house how i feel
howl humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational international
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ireland irony
islamic january
jealousy jesus
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light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
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love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me memorial day
memory men
mentor metaphor
middle school military
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
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new york
nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
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rights river
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rose rude
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satire scary
school science
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sick silence
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simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
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smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
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space spanish
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storm strength
stress student
success suicide
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sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher technology
teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving tiger
time today
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tree tribute
trust truth
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urdu usa
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words work
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youth

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 also long poem categories.

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12
Long Poems
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 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 poem by Odin Roark | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/energys_suffocating_gallop_498763' st_title='Energy's Suffocating Gallop'>

Energy's Suffocating Gallop

Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
                                  by Odin Roark

Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves 

Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction 
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks  

Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes

Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'

Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey

The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts 
Of time’s new-century-plague 
Ignored

As oil gorged tankers find port  
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes

Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness 
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission

Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet


Long poem by Sierra Cowan | Details |

As I Stand Here Waiting

The world keeps spinning on,
but I wish it could go backward instead.
Who have I become, where have I gone?
I don't even know what goes on inside my own head.
I am not this person I have become,
I never was and thought I never would be.
This is someone else,
This is not me.

My priorities have shifted,
I value things that once meant very little.
I search for things to fill the gap,
but only find things that are noncommittal.
Happiness in one night packages,
is what fills my life now.
I'm not sure why,
I'm not sure how.

I want more,
but do I deserve it?
This battle is repeated inside my head,
but I will never truly admit it.
I know I could do more
I know I could be greater.
But in my own head,
I am a master debater.

I'm so afraid of failing,
that while I hide that's exactly what I'm doing.
I have so many hopes and dreams,
but are any of them even worth pursuing?
What if I fall flat on my face?
In front of everyone I know and love?
But then again I could be better than I expect,
go beyond and above.

You never know what the future holds,
only what has happened in the past.
In order to make your future what you want,
you better live in the present while it lasts.
Seize each day,
and do what makes you happy.
For no one can see what lays ahead,
whether it be great or crappy.
I may not know who I have become,
but I do know who I want to be.
I want to be present in my life,
no more being an absentee.
The past is the past,
and the future lays before us.
The old me,
I will repossess.


Long poem by AJ Lekobane | Details |

Thief of Grace

You’re certainly missing out
Whilst you’re fooling about
And you’re swimming in doubt
So I shall certainly you out-rout
I’d advise you to be on the lookout
For I’m your rival, far more worthy a scout
Take heed or you’ll end up looking like a lout
All I can tell you for now is that you’re missing out

While you’re looking away
Twirling in relentless dismay
Your insolence successfully leads you astray
So He finds me in greater favour every day
Unlike you, I’m eloquent with words that gently sway
The God with whom for hours on exhausted knees I stay
‘Till the last hour of the night a dear prayer to say
With heartfelt sobs and a submissive heart I pray away

I whisper, “Dear God of mercy, show me your face
For I am a sinner in need of Your saving Grace
For years in meditation and supplication I’ll chase
The benedictions You bestow unto the winners of the race
The so-called ‘faithful’ ones who cautiously pace
In the promising path which for them You daily trace”
I solemnly utter, “My heart with Love and Faith do interlace
So I can one good day be worthy of seeing Your glorious face”

If you were smart, you’d take after me
Vigilant and sober at all times you’d be
So from the snares of the enemy you’d easily flee
Who’s literally got you down on one knee
Yet too proud you are for your life to humbly plea
No diligence whatsoever for efforts to be free
Indeed that thief I am, the thief of grace, you see
Watch out, or you’ll lose all your blessings to me


Long poem by Mystic Rose | Details |

Ten ways to deal with negativity

1. Give up the need to complain
Take responsibility for your feelings and thoughts.  
Do what can be done to feel better and change the situation?
2.  Similarity Attracts
Good brings about good and bad brings about bad
Ask yourself, “How am I feeling? What energy am I releasing?”
3. Don't believe everything you think
Look closely at the negative messages you project 
Are they really that bad or is it your head playing games  
4. Focus
If you are resisting and won't change the way you look at things,
Then give yourself time, be patient, you will when you’re ready. 
5. Don't make other people’s problems your own 
Don’t adopt others negative pattern. Focus on solutions, not problems. Offer that and nothing else.
6. Taking ownership
Don’t blame or criticize.  Take full responsibility for your thoughts and feelings and take a different approach.
7. Come with your own positive energy
Focus on making yourself happy enough that you have great positive energy, and you will see the negativity cringing away from you 
8.  Be part of the change you'd like to see
Flow with life events, don't resist them.  Live in harmony and be the change you wish to see in the world.
9.  Awareness and acceptance
Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of others
10. |Move forward
Find a path that allows you to go on with your life without the negativity of others.  The more we act a certain way, the more we believe in it.  So act positive, and 


Long poem by Judith Angell Meyer | Details |

Rebuilding the Shed in the Backyard - Again

My son is out fixing up the shed.
Winter is coming on. Needed doing he said.
He had the time and the bound-to’s.
I’m not used to this thought process, I’m not. Not from a child.

I watch him for a while.
Opening and closing gates as needed.
The dust, sifted into powder from summer’s heat, poof’s with his steps.
The heels of his jeans dragging strings on the ground, erase the tread of his 
boots.

The shed is old. There is algae or lichen on the north side boards,
where the wood is splintery gray.
Some of the lichen florets are the color of sage, some the color of a bright orange 
rust,
Circled with gray ones and black, their life cycle played out.

He hammers nails and screws in screws while holding boards in place.
Sweat glistening where skin is exposed, making long dark stains in his black 
shirt.
Veins standing out against the strain, and
Muscles laboring to prove he can do the job well, without a mother’s help.

While he works I think about his father and how differently they work.
His father preferring team work and orchestrated smooth motion
working side by side, no extra movements – and he whistled.
My son needs to prove his skills first – alone.

The shed is done and it will brave another winter, keeping the horses sheltered 
from the elements.
The wind, snow and horses milling about, will obliterate the trail of pant cuffs, 
Along with the memory of one cool day at the end of summer, 
When a man worked hard to rebuild their shelter.


Long poem by romeo naces | Details |

The Da Vinci Mode

                                  Uncouth, unschooled in art, 
                                          that's what you'll say of me,
                                  You know, I've tried so hard, 
                                          but I still have to see
                                  da Vinci's Mona Lisa's mythic, 
                                          mystic smile
                                  bewitching folks allegedly 
                                          even from a mile.

                                  It looks to me she parts 
                                          her lips so daintily
                                  to let a drunken hiccup out 
                                          so gracefully,
                                  or stop a vulgar burp, 
                                          hyperacidity,
                                  or hide those nicotine-blackened 
                                          teeth artfully.

                                  But honestly, nothing in her 
                                          mouth's symmetry
                                  remotely resembles a smiling 
                                          mystery,
                                  perhaps she's toothless, some 
                                          dental deformity,
                                  believe you me, I took up 
                                          ortho-dentistry!


Long poem by Ronald Bingham | Details |

The Taste of Freedom

                 
My old daddy use to tell me about the war he had to fight,
   He said don’t believe those movies, cause killing ain’t no pretty sight.
He said no one is born a hero you just fight to stay alive,
   Cause when those bullets start to flying your only thought is to survive.

No matter what people may say, freedom it don’t come free,
   And I pray you never see the things that I had to see.
And he said son the taste of freedom is a taste worth dieing for,
   And that should be the only reason to ever fight in those damned old wars.

He talked about his comrades, so many now are gone, 
    He said I am a lucky one to see my son full grown.
So many young men back then were buried where they fell,
   You see son war is not a game it’s a living, breathing hell.

You’re fighting for what you know is right and they are fighting for what they believe,
   While mothers on both sides just pray and weep and grieve.
And when they get that letter that says their son will not return,
    They say one last prayer for others, Lord will they ever learn.

To say you really hate someone is a truly ruthless thought,
   But there are those that feel that way and why these wars are fought.
Son he said I don’t think there will ever be peace as long as men exists,
   Freedom is our gift and we must protect no matter how much they persist.

G………God
B…………Bless
A……………America

                                                                                  


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 Le Incendié | Details |

VISUAL BLUR

The Cannabis Queen
Rides her Snow Chariot
A glass shard still remains in his heart
And his heart still remains ice.
This is his true state of existence.

He worships the Queen,
Because now, all is pure,
White and still.
He kisses the back of her palm
In deep submission
She smiles and takes him to her lap
And together they ride the snow filled country side.
Here, there is only love,
Only acceptance,
Redemption and forgiveness.
Together they merge into the fog,
Their silhouettes lost in a holy blur.



In a cold secret chamber,
The maid and the drunkard make love.
She kisses him not,
For his mouth reeks of wine.
N yet she clasps to him and does not let go.
There is,
Such passion,
Such want,
That nothing stops her from having him.
And as she moves rhythmically on top of him
She looks into his eyes
Where the power of wine
The power of an orgasm
The power of a sleepless night
Blur into a holy blur.



In a place called Xibalba
Through which the dead pass
From the confinement called life
To the liberation called death
One soul readies to take the plunge,
To come to terms,
To be one with the eternal.

In one cosmic leap, the soul
Splits into a million tiny pieces,
Of its many laughs
Of its many cries
Of its many loves and hatreds
And its each tiny emotion
Each tiny memory
That came to be in its journey through life,
Becomes a star,
Studding the eternal silver sky,
And transforming it into a holy visual  blur.


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 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 Verlena S. Walker | Details |

APOSTOLICITY

APOSTOLICITY I stood at the peak of the mountain and shouted – This is our time Lord. Glory is thou name. The sun was shining brightly. My words came as the breeze in the wind. I knew the Lord was beckoning me to do his earthly work. I sanctified my purpose to evangelical. I walked under gloomy cumulus clouds thinking about my next step. That perfected step that would take me closer to the Lord and his intellect. The day became glorious but a depressing state remained. I knew the Lord was beckoning me to take a stance. Once I made it to the home front, I retrieved the Holy Scripture and began reading The Book of Isiah. Chapter 14 Verse 27 bellowed these words: “All the forces of darkness cannot stop what God has ordained.” I paused in passage to scribe. This is what I wrote about - SECOND ECCLESIASTES: LIVING A RIGHTFUL LIFE . The Lord gave me a voice to apply in or to life. If I am not for right, who am I. Wrong is not a just God. Second Ecclesiastes is about rightful means bring rightful things. Second Ecclesiastes is about wrongful ways abominates. Like Prophet Solomon in his day and time via the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament, I seek wisdom. Gainful knowledge received throughout living a rightful life in a perilous world. Apostolicity is defined as of or characteristic of an apostle. |____________________________________________________| Penned on November 08, 2014!


Long poem by Robert Stoner Jr | Details |

Biker

Biker

the bar was packed and booze did flow
shots of Jack Daniels and doing some blow
Striker was out for an evening of fun 
planning to party and greeting the sun

the music was blasting as the band played on
dancing and rocking into the dawn
leather clad women moved wildly in dance
leather clad men had thoughts of romance

tattoos and patches on vests were seen
knives and guns concealed by the mean
drop of a word or look the wrong way
fists would fly and turn into a fray

the smoke filled room seemed to twist and spin
to Striker this evening was not new to him
the barmaids were serving and taking his lip
long as his money included a tip

two am and the bar must close
Striker was drunk as often he chose
walked to his bike and kicked it to start
shook his head clear as he prepared to depart

onto the highway deserted and dark
the cold air was manna light as a lark
the motor did rumble the pulse of the night
everything felt so perfectly right
 
the center line guided Striker this night
till suddenly blinded by oncoming light
unable to see in the blinding flare
there were no seconds for him to spare

he pulled on the bars hard to the right
racing at speed into the night
the bike it did wobble out of control
whiskey and speed going to take it's toll

the bike went down and into the ditch
his last thought,” ain't this a bitch”
the mornings dawn in flashes of red
the cop said ” DUI, this one is dead”

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
11/15/14


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 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 Marcedies Rhodes | Details |

The Years To Long From Before

The Years To Long From Before


How the years go by from the time your just learning to walk till the time you walk out of your parents house.There are time when you ask "Where did all the time go?"
Life is a dangerous games filled with birth life and death.If I could rewrite thing I think i would danger everything with only one note.Life isn't fair life is to short life is twist and turns and around again, one day we all will be faced with your death beds our coffin and then the dirt over us.I wish i could fall until I fall there no pain in falling there no worry in following there is no death in falling,can you ever relive falling until you fall to hard that you hit the ground that you fall broken? How do I steal your emotions so you can't ever worry again? Should I try harder to make you realize that the trust you put into me won't cause you grief won't cause you to leave me in a black box? There is this ever lasting light this perfect time to tell you that time before you grow up trust in me.Dear child dear sweet one what have I lost you to? you was young once bright you made my day full of joy and full of worry I can't believe that now I can't do but worry but then the way you stride yourself make proud.How many years gone by from your first words now look your to old for you to ask me to help.



This i dedicated to my mom,my younger brother and sister who even to day have stop needing the big sister and to my mom who know this feeling all to much,I love you guys so much


Long poem by James Kelley | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/dont_feed_the_animals_553755' st_title='Don't feed the animals'>

Don't feed the animals

I'm that type of guy..

The sort that you said you would never let yourself get mixed up with again.The kind of guy that knocks back 5 shots of whiskey before sucking his teeth at the moon, hidden behind neon lights and shoddy bar mirrors; Holding in the burn, promising not to let my lighter char your cheek while I light up your cherry. I smile at your timid lean and wink, just so you know that the cute disposition of satin cloaked prey in a cage of wild animals doesn't make me wince. I'm used to this, numb to this. You though, you don't seem to feel the pull of this place you're in. You're still treading the vomit of your last mistakes, hungover in recollections of battered heart symphonies. Fresh wounds in the murk, chum to the sharks, beautiful. I don't ask to buy you a drink, or for your name, but you offer it willingly as if it were a confession in a place of purity. I order more whiskey, push a little heat over to you and wait for the night to take its toll. One of us, I'm never sure which; is going to die a little bit more tonight. We drink to the sound of billiards clacking and a jukebox with over eager speakers and talk in circles until we're dizzy with lust. I have forgotten your name, but you never cared. I'm that type of guy. The pain you were looking for, to make you forget the woes you carried in with you. I wish I could say you did the same for me, but I came here for the whiskey. You shouldn't have fed the animals. 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/dont_worry_616333' st_title='Don't Worry'>

Don't Worry

Once upon a time,
The Orange & Pink Dragon
Popped out of nowhere, 
Blowing pink flames in all directions. 
The Shapeless Robot walked down the street 
With a blank expression on its robotic face.
He made a Snake Bird friend,
Since he didn't have a friend of his own;
Loneliness crept in on him & he wept despondently.
"I want a friend to sweep away these feelings of loneliness!" 
Cried the Shapeless Robot hopelessly.
The Snake Bird felt empathy towards him & wiped his tears away by his serpent tongue.
The Non-stop Growing Vines twirled around them in all directions suddenly...
Vibes of discomfort crawled up and down the robot's back,
Electricity, originated from energy, zipping through him constantly...
Lizorse and the gangster red-head girl ghost named Gingah were playing chest with each other,
Exchanging love expressions flirtaciously...
They blew kisses at each other time and time again.
Bubbleman got bubbled up with benevolence when he felt an Angel Hand touch his shoulder;
At last, he witnessed miracles in disguise.
All of the characters hung out and listened to old school rap,
Partying and dancing like crazy monkeys at the jungle-like zoo during their leisure time. 
The Incomplete Ship flew towards them, 
Silence slipping though the merry atmosphere...
The palm tree, excluded from the rowdy group,
Acknowledges the Stripeful Fish happily.
"Don't worry..." said the palm tree sheepishly with content, "You can be my friend always and forever"
The End


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 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 Jim Pemberton | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/our_countrys_soul_is_being_torn_apart_400833' st_title='Our Country's Soul Is Being Torn Apart'>

Our Country's Soul Is Being Torn Apart


Our Country’s Soul Is Being “Torn Apart”

The very soul of America is being “torn apart.”
It’s a problem that’s striking at our very heart.

There’s a “blowing wind.”  A “time for change.”
As the country’s moral fabric is being “rearranged.”

As many question what the true meaning of life is for…
Many don’t seem to know what’s wrong or right anymore!

As so much pornography is allowed into our homes…
The moral decay is “eating” right at “the bones.”

Many have a hard time “defining what marriage is.”
So many are really “messed up” in how they live!

The news seems to be “fascinated” by man’s depravity…
Leaving a huge vacuum of a monstrous “moral cavity.”

Many who attend church want what’s
 “soothing to their ears.”
A God of holiness and righteousness
 is what they “fear!”

As we look around as to what our society is becoming…
God’s judgement is soon!  It is surely coming!

We must come back and leave all of our “false idols!”
We must come back to the God of the Bible!

Jesus must be our cord of love the forever binds!
It’s only in him can we find true love for our minds!

It’s only in Jesus that we can find a purpose and meaning!
It’s only in him that we need to put our
 trust and start believing!

He is and always will be the right choice to be taken…
Without him, our country’s is “doomed and forsaken.”

He brings healing and righteousness
“beneath his wings…
He is what we truly need!  
He is our EVERYTHING!

By Jim Pemberton


Long poem by Tammy Flanagan | Details |

Music

MUSIC

The rythme progresses through me
Reaching to depths unknown
Leading me to another realm
Only I have ever gone

A place of solitude
Where I can be free
For my soul is the melody
To which I shall dance alone
And the beat is my life walk
Opening the walls that have never been shown

Oh how I love to sing
Especially when I hear that old familiar
That takes me back to the day
That I could just proceed along
No cares, no worries, just me and the world
Being free...... to my song

How many memories are wrapped up within tones
That have touched our lives 
How many people can we recall
With just one sharp# climb
Or with just one flat fall

The power of our melody is our own
No one can hum it 
No one can take it
Because our life walk is our song

We can take this empowerment as high as we want
Or we can take it to the lows
No matter how we play it 
It still grows

With each and every encounter
Down our blessed path
The music follows
With our every step

So embrace your sharps and flats
Knowing that it is helping you
Through this turbulent ride
Sing it loud and don't be ashamed
For your song knows you are doing your best

Don't let the bar line tell your ending 
Keep the melody flowing
Continue your lines without cares
And when your curtain rides low
And the rythmes come to a sway
Just look at the pages before
To where you started from
And to how you have become so much more today

Keep the music alive....even with a hummm


Long Poems
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