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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.

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12
Long Poems
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

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. 

Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES

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. 

Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES

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

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

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes

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

Copyright © Odin Roark

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

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr

Long poem by James Horn | Details |

Crabby Walking Through the Abbey

We are going on a trip to the British Isles
and Channel Island of Guernsey and Normandy.
This sure should be quite a cruise. Here is my
first poem I am writing about it even though I
have not been there yet. Here goes.

Crabby Walking Though the Abbey
by James Thomas Horn before we
go bye.

Can't leave London without having fish and chips
Which originated from slick, sailing ships;
Could ride by restaurant in horse drawn coach
See beautiful women while wearing a broach. 

Many smiling people everywhere we shall see;
Some may even be from upper high society
Who all have much money they can spare
Yet, still can seed noses held high in the air.

While we were looking did see a lovely doll,
And ended up having a big barroom brawl;
After we left and what soon was a little later
Americans were accused of being an instigator.

From it all we started having terrible cough
Maybe it was from riding get on and get off;
Over pages of those punished started to skim;
No wonder Tower of London looks so grim.

But, at last, lovely parade now had begun;
Women had fun wearing hair in a big bun;
After seeing hats and hearing all of the hype,
Wanted to hear band who played a bagpipe.

Saw some important people in front of a manor
And out in front of it could find a big banner,
But you could see me starting to get crabby;
Wife said we will walk though entire abbey.

James Thomas (Out of Breath) Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com

Copyright © James Horn

Long poem by Edwin Hofert | Details |

Within The Trenches 911 dispatcher tribute

Within The Trenches

911 Dispatcher Tribute

Nine one one, What's your emergency? Keeps replaying in her head.
When she lays down at night and she can't sleep instead.
Her mind keeps going backwards to when her heart began it's fall.
Memories of the other end the night she got the call.

She could hear a woman screaming, was it a husband and a wife?.
Then she heard the gunshot the night a woman lost her life.
There were many times before when on a call she'd wait.
But she prayed she'd never see the call that came too late.

Nine one one, What's your emergency? He said into the phone.
“I can't find my mommy and I think I'm here alone”.
He tried to reassure her and to keep her on the line.
One more family murdered there wasn't enough time.

So he lives his life these days beneath a blanket of the shame.
As he now bears the burden of his own misplaced blame. 
The rise and fall of all mankind right from the very start.
Buried deep within the trenches inside a dispatchers heart.

Praying still with all their heart someday the world will see.
All that's taking place today is not how it has to be.
Like a ship safe in the harbor still subject to the fall.
Each day a brand new heartache as they're witness to it all. 

Depravity in someones mind who's passions have run wild.
Buried in a shallow grave, now remnants of a child.
Haunted by what's taken place they never will be free.
As they wait for the answer to, what's your emergency?

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert

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

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

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

Long poem by Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/jesus_christ_parable___masters_return_358379' st_title='Jesus Christ' Parable - Master's Return'>

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)

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza

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

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

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.

Copyright © James Kelley

Long poem by Edwin Hofert | Details |

Footsteps

Footsteps.

She sits there all alone at home and turns down her TV.
To listen to his footsteps walking through her memory.

She hears him as he climbs the steps that lead up to his room.
It's fifty some years later, still the child of her womb.

She can almost count the steps as he moves across the floor.
So real she can't imagine, that he's not there no more.

Through troubled times he wrote the rhymes he used to call his own.
Sitting in his room upstairs where he stayed all alone.

She offers up just one more prayer for peace he'll never find.
Asking God to help him through and ease his broken mind.

She watched him in his early years, she saw right from the start.
This child she once carried, born with a broken heart.

There's not a doctor anywhere, no pill that you can take.
When the heart you hide inside is made so it will break. 

Stacks of poems and rhymes he wrote all clutter up the shelf.
Now he's out helping others, he can't seem to help himself.

So she sits there all alone at home and turns down her TV.
To listen to his footsteps walking through her memory.

Times she watched him struggle, he tripped and then he fell.
Times she tried to save him as his life played out in hell.

Times he felt there's no one there. That's when he turned to rhyme.
He couldn't hear or see her there. She was right there all the time.

Sitting there at home alone she turned down her TV.
Waiting for the footsteps that are now a memory.

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert

Long poem by Elizabeth San Miguel | Details |

All is not fair in love and war

People say that love never fails,
That all is fair in love and war,
But really, how do you know,
What love can or can not do?
And if all is fair in love and war, then
Why does someone always end up getting hurt?
I know my love will never fail,
Because I love you with all my heart and soul,
Because I would give my life for you,
And everything I am or have just to be with you.
However, I can not be fair to all
Because all is not fair in love and war.
I wish to hurt no one, so I don't,
But by doing so, I hurt myself.
My heart wants to be with you so much
And yet I wish to hurt no one.
So I don't, I don't confess my love for you,
I keep it locked inside,
And as a friend I stay by your side.
My love for you remains forever pure and unchanged.
I love you, Yes, I do, with all my heart and soul,
With all that I am and hope to be just for you.
My heart untamed and wild, dreaming of what if,
But it's cut in half by the love I feel for both.
My heart belongs to you but only half,
Because I gave the other half away to him.
Now I suffer for my love, for both are great,
But only one, I wish I could be with forever.
All is not fair in love and war,
So I love you both and suffer much,
Because my heart is wounded, torn in half.
I can not speak of my deep love for you,
I can not confess my feelings to you.
So I go on with my life pretending nothing's wrong.
Why must I go on without your love?
It's faith, I guess, that I suffer so.
It's destiny to love you so.

Copyright © Elizabeth San Miguel

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

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

Long poem by Helen J Radford | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/and_the_walls_came_crashing_down.........._114038' st_title=''and the walls came crashing down..........''>

'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.

Copyright © Helen J Radford

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!

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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

Long poem by Sidney Beck | Details |

AUTUMN IN UDELNAYA WOODS

AUTUMN   IN    UDELNAYA   WOODS



The smoke from the shashlik  fires  made us hungry
So that we could have eaten the falling golden manna from the trees
Offered to two wanderers in this sylvan wilderness.
Not forty years, but forty minutes in which life changed for us. 
It was only a field trip she said, to study the socio-environmental
Arrangement, the attitudes, of couples in the autumnal picnic grounds. 
She needed the truth for her dissertation, she needed my help.
Knight errant in the pursuit of knowledge, that’s me.
In pursuit of her, if the simple truth be known.
She gave me the golden opportunity I had been seeking all summer:
Now the harvest was at hand, and the reaper all too ready.
She needed photos to show the attitudes of the couples
No photos were  needed to show our attitudes. 
We were clearly a couple with attitude, and my socio-environmental
Score matched hers exactly: that’s scientific for “we fell in love”.
Look up! Such a glorious afternoon of yellows, and a blue sky.
Look down! The lake reflecting our faces filled with smiling delight,
Gold underfoot, and her lustrous flaxen hair draped over my shoulder.
The field trip showed the truth, she knew it and so did I.
It was forty years ago : we still remember it, tell our kids about it,
Especially on fall days like today.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .


Written by Sydney Peck  2 October 2011,   and    
Entered  in  Francine Roberts’s  Contest   “A Nature Tale”

Copyright © Sidney Beck

Long poem by Robert Ball | Details |

Pets and Children

Many people in this world love their animals.
From cats, dogs, birds, all imprisoned in kennels.
To own one they pay for shots, and adopt.
The pay for licenses, fees, finally they are bought.

Now we as animal lovers care immensely for them.
Making them part of the family, like next of kin.
Sadly they care only for pets, not humans.
Plenty of children need adoption, left alone among men.

People all over the world are starving and dying.
Little children go hungry, many are weak and crying.
Did you ever have to go to bed sick or hungry?
Wondering where your next meal will be, it’s not funny.

In Africa, Libya, Sudan, Ethiopia, children are suffering.
Many nations try to help; many don’t try, not caring.
The Lord says “let the children come to me.”
His children are important, he wants them spiritually.

Children go hungry, one in five in the USA.
Inner City, our Cities, feel the crunch everyday.
As parents, desperation and panic set in.
So crime rates soar, as they try to feed their children.

Something is sadly wrong when pets are fed and children suffer.
Caring for animals, while children go hungry, Sisters and Brothers.
Desperately they turn to crime, drugs, robbery, is an epidemic.
Animals over humans, something is definitely wrong;
While humans suffer pandemics.

A new world, with Jesus at the helm.
Will bring an end to suffering, we will overcome.
A new thought “Love” will appear on earth.
It’s been promised by God what before our birth.

Copyright © Robert Ball

Long poem by MoonBee Canady | Details |

Queen Esther The Song

(Esther 5: 2)



(Chorus:  Part 1)

Walk In Majesty
Walk In Grace
Walk With GOD
Shining On Your Face
And You Can Walk
Thru Any Place ...
                      Embraced


Prepare Your Steps
To Bring GOD Praise
Keep Your Stride
A Steady Pace
Walk In GOD's Ways
Thru Every Space ...
                     Embraced


(Chorus:  Part 2)


Walk Like Queen Esther
Brave & Beautiful
Walk Like Queen Esther
Divinely Dutiful

and Every Step You Take
Please Pray
and GOD Will Guard You
On The Way


... Walk Like Queen Esther ...



Walk Like Queen Esther
In Love & Trust
Walk Like Queen Esther
and Move On
If You Must ...

and Every Step You Take
Please Pray
and GOD Will Guide You
Through Always



and Walk Like Queen Esther
Walk Like Hadassah
Walk Like Queen Esther



(Main Song)



The King Held Out To Esther
The Golden Scepter
That Was In His Hand

She Was His Queen
The Woman Who Fulfilled His Dreams
One of The Most Beautiful In All His Lands

There Was No Hesitation
In His Heart's Designation
Towards This Woman Who Stood Royal & Serene

She Held His Affection
and Did Not Suffer Rejection
As She Humbly Walked In, As His Queen

But Oh, The Interplay
of Emotions That Day
Between This Woman & Her Loving Man

When The King Held Out To Esther
His Golden Scepter
... That Was In His Hand

* * * * * * * * * * * *


so Walk Like Queen Esther
Walk Like Hadassah
Walk Like Queen Esther


( Walk-On Hadassah - Walk-On ! )


             Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/17/2013 
              by:  MoonBee Canady

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Long Poems
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