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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 also long poem categories and Famous Long Poems

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12
Long Poems
Long poem by michael romero | Details |

lossing my ship.

Locked in my cabin I can bare to think
   turn to the rocks and let it smash and sink,
       our voyage's end seems to be on the brink,
           alas  a RAIDERS ship now turns to a mild drink,
"captain" a voice at my cabin door screams out,
    as I reach from my sward and stand firmly stout,
         " our ship lyes in the thickest of fog and without,"
               if I listen to the words they are words of doubt,
I steady my hand with a drink and my fate as well
    I open the door and the a crushing angry sea I smell,
        one step out and calm my ship sits still and without yells,
             looking into the eyes of the broken I see withered shells,
how could this be this is my ship and it escaped me,
     a tyrant in my days of old I sit calm speechless as a tree,
          no mutiny no sabotage only a crew unwilling to hear my plee,
              a ship over run by blind servants and disregard for my decree, 
the ski clears as the seas water turns blue,
     a smile from faces as if waiting for an accrue,
         a dead mans ships drifts on waters and starts anew,
               my body plunges into the sea and even at my death I knew,
the soul tamed by ones lovers kiss has no purpose,
      a mans word floats unheard willingly disregard and missed,
             and a captain can only rule until another strips him of his ship,
                   now forgotten and gone this ship floats lost and unequipped.  
  
       
              

Copyright © michael romero | Year Posted 2008

Long poem by William Masonis | Details |

Get An Education

"The boy's got a broken brain!
- Fix him for me now,
I can't do a thing with him."

     - So I hear you say,
     Though he seems intelligent enough.

After all, he's smart enough 
To know the whys and wherefores
Of every deal that goes down on his street -
Every $ passing hands in the dark,
Summed and totalled in his head.
But Math - Forget it.
And you'll never see him crack a book for study's sake.

Perhap's that's because you broke his heart,
Long ago, though his face will never show it.
Because he bleeds inside,
Though to hear him talk you'd never know it.
You tore his shadoworld apart
Just by never being there -
You broke his proud red eggshell heart
Because he knows you never cared.

Perhaps this is why Rage is his religion,
And he only values Gain,
Why Payback is his Creed,
His only currency Pain.
This then is why he wears the shirt 
That reads, "Never Forget, Never Forgive";
This why he's unafraid to kill or die,
Yet terrified to live.

So go get an education -
 Start with a hard look at yourself -
You that schooled a nation
In the politics of Greed,
Builders of the conflagration
Of burning, unmet Need
Now threatening to consume us
As it climbs into the skies,
As it whispers warnings to us
From his vacant, coldstare eyes.

You broke his heart,
A wound more deep
Than I alone can mend,
I, just one beleaguered horseman.
Cannot set it right again.

You must help put things back together,
If you want our nightmares to end.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2008

Long poem by Robert L. Hinshaw | Details |

Finger Gossip

The grandfather clock just struck twelve, that magic hour of night,
And there he sits drumming our fingers musing about something to write!
He's been biting our nails and running our fingers through his hair,
Scratching his head, searching for witty or apt verse to prepare!

Ah! Now he's flexing our digits and I detect in his eyes a gleam.
We think he's collecting his thoughts to concoct a masterful scheme.
Something comparable to works by Whitman or Riley, no doubt.
These fingers should get some credit, no matter how it turns out!

What will it be?  A poem about religion, politics or the billowing seas,
Little children, old soldiers, love gone sour or scarlet hued trees?
Perhaps a few stanzas about cowboy lore - only the Lord can tell!
Our fingers just fly over the keyboard - that old coot types pretty well!

We're getting numb and need rest but he provides no reprieve.
He's typing at least seventy-eight words per minute, I do believe!
But never fear, we'll manage to keep ahead of his versatile mind,
And keep pounding away as thoughts from his prolific skull unwind!

Well, he has completed what he considers a masterpiece at last.
We're petered out and ready to curl up - we have typed so fast!
But all of us from our thumbs to our pinkies have had a blast!
We pray he never gets writer's cramp - that would leave us aghast!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

1st Place in Linda-Marie's "Finger Frenzy" Contest - June 2010

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by William Masonis | Details |

Hector

Poiseidon's waters roil and roar
All up and down the craggy coast;
Their winedark waves have brought the host
Of foreign men all drunk for glory,
For the sake of one man's vanity
They traveled to your alien shore
To write with blood and bone a story
Of the Gods' capriciousness towards men,
Of passion's triumph over sanity
Which they shall repeat: again, again.

The men will surge against your city walls
Ten long and doleful years;
As your children, born to violence, shriek, and widows' tears
Appeal to you, their hero Prince,
To drive them back to whence they came
As your father walks the palace halls,
As does his shade now, ever since -
Ever since you went out to face the foe
And pass to time your noble name,
Their legend and their martyr, hope and woe.

It would be asked by what Creed you chose to live
Before you fell to the Fates' perversity,
Before their undeserving Champion dragged you 'round the city.
"Honor the Gods", you said, cruel though they may be.
"Defend your Country", you said, though it be doomed.
"Love your Women", you said, as only they can give
Meaning to the madness from across the sea.
Your father forced to beg for your battered corpse; so many dead,
Their faces still now, 'neath the swaying plumes
Of shining helmets, others waiting in their stead.

     "Honor the Gods
       Defend your Country
       Love your women."

- Oh you grey heads who start your wars for Pride,
Go ask Andromache's ghost
What it meant to her.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Jim Pemberton | Details |

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

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012

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

Copyright © Shaz Cheesman | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Details |

The Solitary traveller

Down the endless road I 
Walk.
The road of life or you 
May call it the road of 
Torment-but know I the 
Name.
Along I walk,the trees 
Whistling as I journey on 
With gentle breeze of the 
East caressing my worn-
Out body.
Down I walk,meeting the 
Hurdles of life.
I tarried,struggling and 
Fighting my way;lo! Am 
Stuck in despair and 
Dissappointment.
Hoping for no hope to 
pull Me thru.
Suddenly,I cried,then a 
Saintly hand pulled me 
Thru.
On the endless road I 
Journey,I saw and heard 
Shouts,sounds and smell 
Of powder pervading the 
Atmosphere:people 
Running in confusion.
The sun turned red,the 
Theatre bore death.
On my next turn,I heard 
Moanings and sounds of 
Pleasure,one beckoned 
Me,icame I and took part 
In the ecstasy-i realised a 
Folly it was,went I on.
Passing through 
esker,my Body chilled.
Then I reached a dry land 
With scanty huts,wetting 
My throat in a hut.
With a scorced feet,I walk 
On this endless road,I 
Witnessed a 
gathering,Legs moving in
Rhythm and hands on 
Drums,I ate and moved 
On.
Came I to a serene 
place,I wondered as I 
sojourned,the speechless 
Mouths and hands 
restraining one another 
To join the "lonely"body 
Below.
I passed a crossed 
building;hands clasped in 
Gentle procession.
Moved I to pace of 
Sustainance;the noisy 
Atmosphere,hands 
Exchanging needs.
On and on I walk on this 
Endless road,when will I 
Reach my destination, 
When my knell of old St 
Antonne tolls?

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |

WAVE DANCER

WAVE DANCER In the stillness the sun smiles spanning wide her golden yellow teeth blowing wind is shadow quiet she is waiting waiting waiting.... Waiting and feeling.. slowly the stillness trembles! It is disturbed... little waves begin to creep and crawl.. Unabash! She goes! Brave and graceful to take the ride... Daring and excited to play with the waves... Up. Down. Left. and right sways... A rollercoaster along the foamy surface of sea She was not taken aback by what she lacks... An arm bitten by a stark sharp shark long ago Instead, She pursues the waves Fearless to stand - tango with the wave curves! a ballerina with a surf board moving ahead.. ahead ahead each tunnel wave... balancing on side and top of the wave.. power hugging made by the currents.. mind blowing love affair with the tides!!! her missing arm not forgotten but a precious welcoming history in embracing the world with her inspiring story of not ever ever quitting! of keeping the faith afire with each rough tough situation! of trusting Gods' reasons and purposes to everything.. of making the most even when something is lacking!!! a conqueror of weaknesses! a wave dancer of water tides and beyond! She is BETHANY HAMILTON!! ______________________________________________ Best free verse poem - Poetry Contest Sponsor SKAT A ~~~7th Place~~~ Olive Eloisa Guillermo 3:04 am, July 18, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by ezer agyin | Details |

My Mystical Black Rose

Did I tell you the story of my mystical black rose? Well let me In my troubled nights I took comfort in the scenery of my old window One tiny sparkle always shone its way through the darkness, embracing my sorrow Till the night I decided to visit my sorrow's whisker in the belly of midnight I wrestled through the bushes sacrificing my blood on the alter of their sharp leaves and thorns Till my eyes was paralyzed on this black rose that collected drops of dew in its petals and lightened them with the moonlight; that mysterious sparkle now lay bare in my eyes and in my reach for the first time. I'd never seen black so beautiful, but as much as I wanted to pluck it for myself my heart wouldn't let me, for I was not in love with just a black rose but everything else that made it sparkle my sorrows away; the moon and the dew. As I left with doubt clouding my mind, I saw its sparkling drops trickle down its petals. Can a rose cry? For I live now never to see it sparkle again ever since that night. I'm different now, beyond need of sparkles for my nights but I always walk to that old window waiting for my mystical black rose to reach my heart again. Even though I might see myself a gray haired man starring in my old window, I'll wait, just patiently wait, for my black rose to come alive again. And this time, just this time I will not think twice.
Read more poems and short stories by The Writer, ezer agyin, here http://ezeragyin.wix.com/the-writer

Copyright © ezer agyin | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by William Masonis | Details |

The Ghost Dance Part II

                                                   2.

                                     Waiting for Wovoka

For some time the old ones gazed that way,
When there came a seer,
A man named Wovoka.
Who told them he had heard their voices calling in the night to him,
That voices spoke to him of better times soon to come,
That might be brought forth by a special way and a special dance
That would bring to birth a stronger magic than that of Progress,
That would dispel the evil changes.

They listened and they took heart
With the pitiful fervor of the desperate.
He taught his new believers his way and his dance,
And for a time,
     A fragile time in their trembling twilight
The sacred songs and their meaning returned to the silent brown lands,
And a joy was felt and shone in the proud faces of the faithful, 
And the long lines worn of care cracked and smoothed to smiles.

     The young know nothing of these things now,
     Nor do they care to know.
     Their lives are resigned to the long slow fade.

But the old, huddling close to their quiet cares,
And closer still to the quiet face of death in the shadows of their rooms,
Feel the spirit of a former time lying still upon their hearts,
A thing beyond the shallow grasp of youth.

     They sit stonily, unmoved in their fogs, remembering tales.
     And when no one looks,
     They turn their failing eyes back to the red mesas
     And recall the Dance of the Ghosts.


     







Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2015

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

Copyright © esther robinson | Year Posted 2007

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.

Copyright © Holly King | Year Posted 2010

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.

Copyright © Monica Contreras | Year Posted 2010

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.

Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011

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

Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Shea Hunt | Details |

Your Doll

Why are you the way you are
On minute you seem like
The Best thing that this
World can ever do to me,
But then you can also be
The worst thing that I have
Ever and will ever know

Why do I even feel like this?
I said to myself that I will
Never again feel it but now
Now that I know you I can't keep to that.

I hate myself for even knowing you
At times, but just another smile
From you change everything
You stealing my heart right
Out of my clutched hand.

How can this even be possible?
I try so hard to say away,
But when I do all I think
Of is you and your smile.

You make plans to see me,
But do you think that you will
Ever see them through
You say that I am special,
But you never act like I am

Yes your words make me
Think that it’s so true but 
Your actions towards me
Makes me feel that you
Never want it to be.

I feel like I am your doll
That when you feel lonely at night
You divide to take me down for
A game or two, but when the sun
Rises you put me back up there
And act as if I never existed
In your life not even as a friend

I am over playing this game
That you are into
I think that you should look at
How you are acting and make
Up your mind on what you
Want, coz I am over playing
This gamiest either me
Or not once you have made
Up your mind let me know
So I don't have to sit here

I am over feeling empty
Just want to feel complete
Again, but I just
Guess at this point in time
It’s not meant to be

Why just like someone
When you can love them
Or in fact even
Die for them

Copyright © Shea Hunt | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by frank halliwell | Details |

Dorry's Ridge

                              Dorry's Ridge
                                                                     Frank Halliwell

In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
We climbed the path that winds to Dorry's Ridge..
Where the crispness of the autumn air fortold a snowfall soon
On the rolling hills beyond the Springtown Bridge.

See the reds and golden yellows of the woods up on the hill
Where the maples stood all summer dressed in green.
Can you feel the breath of winter in the early evening chill
With the north wind stealing down the lake unseen?

Does a sense of wonder fill you, when the wild geese fill the sky
As they start their yearly journey to the south..
And the strung-out chains of emigrants call loudly as they fly
Past the rocky point down by the river's mouth..

And when once more it's silent, and our world is still again,
And our geese have disappeared beyond our view,
I'll lead you down the ridge, along the pathway from our glen,
And wander back along the lake with you.

On Dorry's Ridge the snow lies deep, and up along the hill..
The maples stand forlorn; their branches bare.
The lake lies deep beneath the ice; caught tight in winter's chill
The fox is sleeping soundly in her lair.

But one day soon the spring will come, the land will blossom then,
And life will wake again, as nature planned.
We'll climb the long path to the ridge, returning to our glen,
And watch the geese returning, hand in hand..
                                          o0o

Copyright © frank halliwell | Year Posted 2013

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.

Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013

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 

Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015

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...



Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

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 !!


___________________________________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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.

Copyright © Sierra Biersack | Year Posted 2011

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.  

Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Robert L. Hinshaw | Details |

Shell Phone

Strolling the beach one day, a magnificent shell I happened to see.
I picked it up and held it to my ear - just out of curiosity -
To see if the old wives tale was true that it could speak to me!
Behold! 'Tis true! What fantastic tales it spewed forth from the sea!

I heard waves lapping gently against a sailboat as through the sea it tore,
And the mighty roar of breakers crashing upon a distant shore!
I eavesdropped on a pod of gossiping whales cruising at their leisure,
And I could swear I heard phantom pirates arguing o'er lost treasure!

I heard the battles' roar of mighty armadas in their quest for victory,
And the screams of heroic men slipping 'neath the waves to spend eternity!
I heard the groan of majestic ships breaking apart plunging to the deep.
I even heard the final SOS of the Titanic before it took its tragic leap!

I heard the chanting of old sea dogs as they plied the bounding main,
And their pleas for God's mercy as they sailed his treacherous domain!
I heard the wind shrieking through the rigging of the dashing Cutty Sark,
As she sped through the Roaring Forties, those straits so very startk!

I was startled to hear sergeant major fish count cadence as if on parade,
And the amorous beckoning coo of a charming, yet illusive mermaid!
Could it be that these mysterious things I heard were just an aberration?
Perhaps, but what a change from my boring cell phone communication!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Paula Larson | Details |

RELATIONSHIP ROCK PART TWO

It seems the ring so sparkly, caught the eye
of some observer, stopping in to talk
the time I took to pray, no more a balk
about God's reason, yet I knew the walk!

The ring was gone ~ the visitor's compel
was just to steal my precious place of tell
engagement has a message, not a spell,
the years were growing on ~ the friendship . . knell!

I kept the rock for every venture then
and still had faith, that God would feel my yen
and finally God spoke ~ a "go there" call
the rock and I complied ~ just leave it all!

In kindness, in that interlude's recall 
God spoke ~ "Someday, the rock will also go"
He meant, the pain and hardship, reconcile
to serving in whole Faith ~ no regret, well!

My new encounter ~ challenges e'er mount
'til one day, just a rock, I felt a swell
and to the River I now went, walking with pride
and tossed the Rock ~  so lifeless ~ hearing tide!

Ker-plunk ~ and waves that came to meet my eye
God had his reason ~ for my life's comply
in that same spot ~ Missouri River bend
would meet and love, and love ~ again, again!

No more the reckless yearning of the Soul
the sunrise had tomorrow, a new goal
how awesome is the power God gives to Love
and from His giving ~ leadership acquit!

Each term relationship ~ wanting to fit
to that resolving Glory . . . true love's writ!


Note ~ A true story ~ In that same spot, years later, I would write and format
the cover for a book of Poetry ~ "Praying Love" ~ of which many of my poems
are on this Website.    Paula  (Read)

Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems
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