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abortion absence
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angel anger
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character cheer up
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class clothes
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hello hero
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home homework
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how i feel howl
humanity humor
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i am i love you
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image imagery
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inspiration inspirational
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magic malayalam
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money moon
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moving on mum
murder muse
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name native american
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sky slam
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world world war i
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writing yellow

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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Long Poems
Long poem by Helen J Radford | Details |

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Helen J Radford

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 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

Long poem by Sidney Beck | Details |



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 Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Details |

Jesus Christ' Parable - Master's Return

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

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

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

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

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

Be sure of this:

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

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

The Son of Man will come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza

Long poem by Edward Orozco | Details |

A light forgotten

I do remember you, your brown curly hair that stole scene entirely The day my eyes met yours, and how I dreamed of having you in my arms Then they moved; your lips and out came the most beautiful voice that to an angels You stood no judge and took me in to a warm embrace Your heart felt the sorrow, and scars that my soul carried, and yet you held me Hours came to be days and days came to be months and our hearts grew I awaited the sun to wake up and stand on top of the day, so that I could see you again Your laugh, your scent, your smile that drove my heart to swell in affection The butterflies that you made come to life within my stomach grew and I took flight Then only the heavens were the limit A glimpse of hidden light I called you, and a verse I wrote for you that stole your heart I too recall the glow in your eyes as I held you and kissed you You said it was too good to be true, and then the truth came to surface Fear was rich in your heart, and slowly you drove me away And I stood to do nothing but see and feel the fire draw to not exist Seconds became weeks and all in that you became a memory A beautiful memory that I will not forget, as I became stronger at your side I wonder if you think of me, as I think of you Our first kiss beneath the sun, our first hug our first laugh I see your smile from a distance every now and then, beautiful still I will always think of you and what we could of had You are a star forgotten To G.V.R

Copyright © Edward Orozco

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |


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

Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

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

Copyright © J. W. Earnings

Long poem by James Horn | Details |

To Retrofit a Response

In Response to Another Poet's Poems.

Who said for whole world I was not caring
Making many mistakes and continually erring
While under her clothes things were well-stored
Being two breasts big beasts I highly adored.

I always liked her face and its colour
Which found me as it did allure.

From high on head to each tiny cuticle
Her whole body was bound to be beautiful.
Eventual down she tried to simmer
Even though her lips would often tremor.

To me each one I saw was God forsaken;
All those selfies of herself that had been taken
And if of all her clothes she were to divest
What would she do with all of the rest?

Used palette knives for appearance which was palatial
After finding a frown which had been occasional;
Only reason husband had been on bended knee
Was so up my dress he again could see.

Both my eyes jumped high like over a hurdle
And all I ended up seeing was her girdle;
Guess what when I looked into her eyes;
She said, "Your turn to make the French fries."

What I always wondered about our genes
What will they be like in our teens?
And to say and ask question hope I will be at liberty
Which sex will be first to end up in puberty?

Oh, and will sustaining be well-worth in her hub
While you love drinking another round at local pub
If I were intrepid and ended up being remorseful
Did it first require a fin destined to be a dorsal
(And to eat each would only munch on a morsel.)

James Thesarious Horn
Whew. What a bunch of BS

Copyright © James Horn

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

Long poem by Edwin Hofert | Details |



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 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

Copyright © ezer agyin

Long poem by A. Kathy Moss | Details |

Among Elk

Up before dawn, a feeling has drawn 
You into the mountain and trees.
Till the silence within, upon the whispering wind
A chime of bugles tease the breeze.
That majestic call, that is heard each fall
Since before our forefathers birth
And for those who take time, through rim rocks and pine
Listen and value their worth.

Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes,
No two ever the same
They are all unique and if a chance to critique
Upon our hearts they claim.
We are put into state and can hardly wait
For the dawn of the upcoming morn
To glimpse hoof print in stride or a patch of hide
Or a tip of antler horn.
Just out of reach, lessons he’ll teach to those who play the game,
The tension and pull of a phantom bull, a soul never to tame.
While waiting and yearning, eyes straining, ears burning, 
Ringing till you can’t hear a thing,
To early to late, can’t hardly wait,
Patience like a bee sting.

Like a ghost in the night they filter through site
They tease and bugle and  brag,
As tell tale sign, weave and wind
Through timber, rocks and crags
Where a sapling tree, used to be
Now a twig broke scarred and torn
Velvet left there and shed of hair 
To tell the rut has been born.
Strong elk scent, down wind is sent
 From their bedded layer    
They are up once again and start to transcend 
 Letting us know they were there.
A little to late can change a state
Hopes almost fell,
But all rise again when a bugle begins
For among elk, we dwell.

Copyright © A. Kathy Moss

Long poem by esther robinson | Details |


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

Long poem by Holly King | Details |

Kirsty (one)

Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,
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.
A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.
He escaped...
Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?
Go to hell.

Pounded at death's door, let me in...
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

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 karl marszalowicz | Details |


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 Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Details |


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 
lack of peace making,
heart breaking,
lack of loyalty,
self indulgence 
and bias
is not the way, 
well I am going to teach you today 

Adolf hitler ,
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.

Copyright © Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT

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 MaryEllen Gozzo | Details |

A Child Again In Love

On a river bank and holding a flower,
Plucking the petals one by one,
There I am 
Standing amiss behind a tree, 
Staring at me as if I don’t see you
There you are.
I ask you a simple question 
Why is life so complicated?
 And you walked out slyly
Because you didn’t know I knew you were there 
And you answered
If it weren’t, there would be no love 
But I don’t have that anyway
I reply 
And in your head I know you’re thinking
Oh but you do,
You have it from me 
But I sat there so obliviously 
I didn’t ever tell you 
But I loved you too
That was the only secret
That I ever kept from you
And when we chased 
Each other in the creek 
You didn’t ever tell 
That you were falling in love with me 
And we were just children
They would always say
But children are the wisest
In a special kind of way 
They see people for who they are 
And they don’t know corruption
As personally as they will grow up to 
But for now they look into each other’s souls
And choose their friends for life 
You see it all started as children 
When we all had our sight
But now we are blind
To the untruthful ones 
We could sense it 
Like we could sense that winter was here 
And that a big snow was coming 
But now we are so desperate
For love because it’s not so easy anymore
And we forget the simplicity of the emotion 
If you love someone, let the love grow 
Let it blossom like it knows no limits
And indulge in life on that feeling 
That you were a child again in love 

Copyright © MaryEllen Gozzo

Long poem by SEREN ROBERTS | Details |

Santas many helpers

Santas little helpers were busy having fun
Wrapping and labelling the presents ready for the Xmas run

The reindeer had their coats washed smelt of lavender and things
The sleigh had been revarnished was now bright and glowing.

The reigns were now polished as a surprise for Santa Claus
So he would look the kiddy not a drab old droopy drawers

The presents were in the sack, in house order for delivery
Santa admired his reigns not realising they were slippery.

He jerked the reigns  as a nod for the reindeers" 
To start their pulling then it happened, oh dear

The reigns slipped through Santa's fingers reindeer were off at speed
Luckily thomas was out with his tank engine knew he had to try and stop the steeds

He puffed along the track shouting  at Santa to hang on  tight
Then disappeared into a tunnel giving Santa such a fright

The minions were out in their millions pulling on the reigns to stop the race
While batman flew in voicing his opinion that a race at Xmas wasn't the place

Said to the minions you want to help, Santa is exhausted not in the mood to yo ho ho ho 
Deliver these presents off you go but be quiet those children mustn't know

But if you peeped and saw yellow Santas Instead of the usual red one
It's the minions helping out until the presents are all gone.

Santa is snoring now he has had a stressful day
Think before you do more than help it sometimes doesn't pay .

Penned 26 November 2014


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

Copyright © James Horn

Long poem by Jordan Hedgepeth | Details |

Struggles with life

19 in my city  bad enough that I already got two strikes with me so I keep my skateboard  close and move real swiftly I can do a couple a of grab tricks that involved a shifty females love me I get real swifty handles so good that I think I'm shift team all I really want is my millions quickly invest a couple million into my city can't nobody really kill it like me I don't wanna be mike see I'm me and that's JT yeah gone and hate on me it make me shine no time to hold the nine skateboard on my mind always on my grind 

Hit the block but I'm never selling rocks kick pushing pass the opps non stop where I'm from its skateboard or get stopped so I skate for the people you can expect an sequel I'm working hard so our money won't be equal and I don't wanna sound evil so I pray to the lord to stay peaceful skate skills like Knievel sometimes you gotta put the fear beneath you I can't stop thinking about my people that's why we can't be equal you can't be stressed when you're living this blessed I know my hair a mess put my city on my chest as a sign as respect on my super man shhh.

I think I killed this track aye can you run it back rappers break their necks trying to flow on easy tracks the skate park is my natural habitat watch me skate you might have a heart attack I never stay down I always come back get the latest iPhone and swear it ain't shit but me I swear I made it always grateful never hating always thankful that I'm always skating learning new tricks it's too amazing

Copyright © Jordan Hedgepeth

Long poem by Spidey Williams | Details |

Nobody Told ME

Nobody told me that the road would be EASY,
Believe ME.
With every BREATH,
I begin to feel one with DEATH.
Wondering why it’s not me lifeless in the GRAVE.
Wondering why my life is being SAVED?
The more I breathe in this world’s AIR,.
The more I seem to CARE.
The more than I APPRECIATE,
Every time I AWAKE. 
Every time I CRY,
Every fear I FACE,
I’m realizing I’m living NOW,
 for a purpose, while preparing MYSELF, 
for a better PLACE.
I do not know what tomorrow BRINGS,
But I know what today IS.

My tomorrow results from what I make of TODAY!
Today determines what my tomorrow may BRING!
Yesterday helps factors a fraction of my TODAY!

But nobody told ME!
The weight of the world would be carried by ME.
I knew it would be HARD,
but never did I think it would be this DIFFICULT.
I never thought I would actually loose so MUCH,
before I gain so LITTLE.
I never thought the little gain, would mean so MUCH!

I never realized how little I CRIED,
Until when I TRIED,
 		no tears would FLOW.
And when they started they would never STOP!
And when they stopped, the feelings would still REMAIN!

Nobody told me I would loose so many KEN.
Nobody told me I would loose several of my close FRIENDS.
Nobody told me I would feel so low DOWN.
Nobody told me I would be hurt by words SPOKEN.
Nobody told me my heart would be constantly BROKEN.

But even if they had told ME, 
all of this and much MORE.
It would have never prepared me to be the CHOSEN!

Copyright © Spidey Williams

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.



Copyright © Ronald Bingham

Long Poems