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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 Sierra Biersack | Details |

If I Had The Guts

I know i have kept a lot from you.

I know its not fair. 

I know i should tell you.

I know i have to tell you.



Maybe i can tell you some, but not all.

Maybe i can keep it secret just a little longer.

Maybe i can hide it from you more.

Maybe i can get the guts to tell you everything.



Everyday, i wanna tell you.

Everyday, i hope i get the guts to tell you.

Everyday, i feel bad for not telling you.

Everyday i think about you.



Sometimes, i dont want to tell you.

Sometimes, i just want you to know it all.

Sometimes, i wish i never knew you.

Sometimes, i wish you were all mine.



If i had the guts, i would tell you everything.

If i had the guts, i would tell you how much you mean to me.

If i had the guts, i would tell you your the only reason im alive.

If i had the guts, i would tell you my biggest secret.



Just knowing that i love you.

Just knowing that you may or may not love me back.

Just knowing that i care.

Just knowing that you probably dont.



Breaks my heart.

Breaks my soul.

Breaks my dreams.

Breaks my life.



If i had you, my life would be complete.

If i had you, my life would be perfect.

If i had you, i would be happy.

If i had you, i wouldnt have to search anymore.



I know i should tell you.

I know its not fair.

I know i have kept a lot from you.

I know i should tell you.



But, i dont have the guts, 

The guts to tell you i love you,

The guts to tell you your the reason im alive,

The guts to tell you,

I need you in my life.


Long poem by Dave Streett | Details |

Teaching you to love Loneliness

Youll wanna forget, but Ill sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.



My glory rides on a brick and a gram

Youll never get more then half my mind.

Ill eat ya to put you to sleep 

Cause my dick wont 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?

Hows third place, my two best buds a needle away?

Even when my eyes arent dotted up it isnt fair.

Just a routine, credit card debt and jail dont scare.  

With me were 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.

Ill 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,  Ill 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 Ill be all yours no more rocks disrupting my brain.



As soon as pay day hits Ill sprint out the front door.  




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, thats 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: thats 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 Robertss  Contest   A Nature Tale


Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Energy's Suffocating Gallop

Energys 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
Entitlements rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evils 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 tomorrows gluttonous prey

The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts 
Of times 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 childrens hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness 
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evils mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission

Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energys ashen dust
Sprinkling its fools gold
Upon a barren planet


Long poem by Chuma Okonkwo | Details |

Outta Love Wilderness

We exchanged glances

Slugs from her eyes exploded into 

blazes

I couldnt dodge, maugre I flinched 

hard

With a flick of her blinkers she 

brought musical box

Playing unceasing medieval ballad in 

my head

I realized the duration I had 

whistled in the dark.

 

As a deer fly pants to spread 

tularemia

So my  gentle soul hankers after her

My eyes glued to her inviting 

cleavages;

Epitome of a pictorial archetype 

depicting an Arabian princess

I read the instructions on her face to 

the letter

I could make out letter of intent on 

her fickle lips

Her lips are natures nectar!



Take me out of this wilderness, she 

whispered in hushed tone

Beneath the veneer of my tender 

ears

I felt the gentle touch of her auburn 

hair

The smell of her womanly scent 

smeared the tip of my nose

Shivers fluttered in drops across my 

body

If only ululation could bring down 

angels from heaven

I would summon the whole angels in 

heaven

Feelings of unfailing anticipation 

buck up every nerve in my body.



A gentle touch from my velvet hand 

moistened every fiber

She had in her squishy and tanned 

skin body

All over her plummy body were 

honeypots

In plain sight even to the blind eyes

We were receptive of our tingly and 

sensual hunch

Leaning on each other nakedly in 

brazen openness

We could feel our spirit sync our 

heart desires

In deep winter garden our burning 

passion streamed

We serenaded our souls as we 

prayed to live in winter melon.



©


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 dont see you

There you are.

I ask you a simple question 

Why is life so complicated?

 And you walked out slyly

Because you didnt know I knew you were there 

And you answered

If it werent, there would be no love 

But I dont have that anyway

I reply 

And in your head I know youre thinking

Oh but you do,

You have it from me 

But I sat there so obliviously 

I didnt 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 didnt 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 dont know corruption

As personally as they will grow up to 

But for now they look into each others 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 its 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 


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.  

  

       

              


Long poem by Veronica Londy | Details |

Behind Bars!!!

The time that I've wasted is my biggest regret,

Spent in this place i will never forget,

Just sitting and thinking about the things that I've done,

the crying,the laughing, the hurt and the fun.

Now it's just me and my hard-driven guilt.

Behind a wall of empty ness I allowed to be built.

I'm trapped in my body, just wanting to run

back to my youth with it's laughter and fun.

But the chase is over and there's no place to hide.

Ever thing is gone, including my pride.

with reality suddenly right in my face

I'm scared, alone and stuck in this place.

Now memories of the past flash threw my head

and the pain is obvious by the tears that I shed.

i ask myself why and where I went wrong

I guess i was weak when i should have been strong.

Living for the drugs and the wings I had grown.

My feelings were lost, afraid to be show en.

as I look at my past it's easy to see

The fear that I had, Afraid to be me.

I'd pretended to be rugged, So fast and so cool.

when actually lost like a blind old fool.

I'm getting too old for this tiresome game

of acting real hard with no sense of shame.

It's time that i change and get on with my life,

fulfilling my dreams for a family and wife.

What my future will hold I don't really know,

but the years that I've wasted are starting to show.

I just live for the when I get a new start

and the dreams I still hold deep in my heart.

I hope I can make it, I at least have to try

Because I'm heading towards death, and I don't want to DIE!


Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

Distraction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


___________________________________________________________


Long poem by 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


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.


Long poem by karl marszalowicz | Details |

Images

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

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

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

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


Long poem by Tammy Flanagan | Details |

Music

MUSIC



The rythme progresses through me

Reaching to depths unknown

Leading me to another realm

Only I have ever gone



A place of solitude

Where I can be free

For my soul is the melody

To which I shall dance alone

And the beat is my life walk

Opening the walls that have never been shown



Oh how I love to sing

Especially when I hear that old familiar

That takes me back to the day

That I could just proceed along

No cares, no worries, just me and the world

Being free...... to my song



How many memories are wrapped up within tones

That have touched our lives 

How many people can we recall

With just one sharp# climb

Or with just one flat fall



The power of our melody is our own

No one can hum it 

No one can take it

Because our life walk is our song



We can take this empowerment as high as we want

Or we can take it to the lows

No matter how we play it 

It still grows



With each and every encounter

Down our blessed path

The music follows

With our every step



So embrace your sharps and flats

Knowing that it is helping you

Through this turbulent ride

Sing it loud and don't be ashamed

For your song knows you are doing your best



Don't let the bar line tell your ending 

Keep the melody flowing

Continue your lines without cares

And when your curtain rides low

And the rythmes come to a sway

Just look at the pages before

To where you started from

And to how you have become so much more today



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


Long poem by Edward Orozco | Details |

A light forgotten

<center> 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


Long poem by James Kelley | Details |

Don't feed the animals

I'm that type of guy..



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



-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Long poem by 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 hell 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 cant hear a thing,

To early to late, cant 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.




Long poem by Tatyana Carney | Details |

Soul Stones

We swallow boulders:

(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)



Mouths open wide and heads tipped back

like Hawaiian fire eaters.



Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,

sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect

and acid.



The stones settle,



BOOM...



      BOOM...



            BOOM...



Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight

'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.



We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that

we've had rocks for breakfast,

lunch, dinner,  for years,

in the hopes that someone will recognize

the broken concrete footprints behind us

and touch us gently on the forearm:



"Honey, are you alright?"



(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble

the already cracking facade?)



There's no stopping the torrent then,

tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing

to the point of cathartic vomit-



boulders of every shape and size

tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;

broken teeth and granite eyes 

until we no longer see the floor, the walls...



And then serenity.



The hand has moved to the shoulder,

forming a universal hug.



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



We stand up, together, and leave that room,

a soundless void of yesterday,

to absorb the impermeability of stones,

carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.



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



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








Long poem by Holly King | Details |

Kirsty (one)

Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,

Remembering...

Stale walls echoing lamenting calls,

their house...

A nightmare flickered in the red herring of betrayal.

Stumbling hormones, skinless evil.

it breathed...

Blood red lips snarling, capturing someone else essence, bone dry.

A nightmare...

Deliberately slithering up my calf, I grasped a cube of insanity as a last hope.



The shock...

Dead eyes feared a toy box, a fragmented sense

clung to my only protection, my untouched hell.

Blood soaked, dripping sweat, saturated fear I escaped...



I awoke...

Demons hell-bent on demise. Curiosity craved,

crushed my soul into submission,

But it's just a box...

Teeth exposed, chattered, blindly shoved fingers in to catch my tongue,

the taste of soured flesh.

Wait...

A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.

He escaped...

Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?

Go to hell.



Run...

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

Dad...

Warned the worm of the vulture, coming to devour its soul.



Something didn't fit, the sacrifice seeping into the floor smelt half human.

A twang...

Realisation, cold, the door creaked, locked,

grinning gruesomely, the veins pulsing along a sadistic mind,

Quaking, i flinched around to a lubricated nightmare,

clenching my muscles, the hiss of hell's rapture...



A prison shook, a prisoner shrieked,

Sanity split like perfect fission, slime coated his

perverted call...



Come, to daddy.


Long poem by Gloria Benton | Details |

I LOVE YOU



                                              With all of my heart



                                                 At first sight



                                               From the very start



                                              Simply cannot explain



                                              How you make me feel



                                                  I just know



                                          My thoughts of you are truly real



                                                 Just want you to know



                                                 I need to really share



                                                  How much I do care



                                               This letter I write today



                                            Express my feelings in every way



                                                  You are so kind



                                               thoughtful and devine



                                                 When you are near



                                                  I feel no fear



                                             Just knowing you are here



                                             Words are hard to impress



                                               I'll do my very best



                                                  To let you know



                                                     I love you


Long poem by jeffry cohan | Details |

if you crossed ELVIS with michael jackson you'd get michael presley or vice

  A BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER QUIET



Tis the infancy of yet another day

And I hear it crying for its bottle now

But I know the sun is no child anyway

It can be a sadistic son and it will teach you how  



I live under a tunnel on the highways right

Yet wrong I may ever be

I found an old mattress the other night

so discomfort doesnt bother me



Today yesterday is but an artifact

An ancient find to hunters of the past

But it seems the sun and Satan have some sort of pact

Alas, whatever it is will probably hold fast 



Im lucky enough to live with my lover

Shes agreed to live free along with me

And often when it rains we neednt run for cover

The umbrella is our love to be



The term shelter means different things to different people I know

Shelter to some might mean a mansion in France

To people like me and my lover shelter means just somewhere else to go

Moved by an emphatic embrace and the lives we each enhance



To us rain, cold or snow doesnt mean we get up and go

Its the tortuous sun we know will eventually come

So we weather the weather knowing all we need to know

For my lover and I may be homeless but neither of us is dumb



Now lets get back to the infant son and the fear of its adolescence

Because as we know children can often be rambunctious and rude

In the heat of mid-day we suffer an adult sons insolence

And being fully grown it only treats us kindly when its in the mood  

                © 2011..free cee!



 
















Long poem by jeffry cohan | Details |

i NEED a quarter o, i AM sorry I MEANT A QUART OF VODKA

  A BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER QUIET



Tis the infancy of yet another day

And I hear it crying for its bottle now

But I know the sun is no child anyway

It can be a sadistic son and it will teach you how  



I live under a tunnel on the highways right

Yet wrong I may ever be

I found an old mattress the other night

so discomfort doesnt bother me



Today yesterday is but an artifact

An ancient find to hunters of the past

But it seems the sun and Satan have some sort of pact

Alas, whatever it is will probably hold fast 



Im lucky enough to live with my lover

Shes agreed to live free along with me

And often when it rains we neednt run for cover

The umbrella is our love to be



The term shelter means different things to different people I know

Shelter to some might mean a mansion in France

To people like me and my lover shelter means just somewhere else to go

Moved by an emphatic embrace and the lives we each enhance



To us rain, cold or snow doesnt mean we get up and go

Its the tortuous sun we know will eventually come

So we weather the weather knowing all we need to know

For my lover and I may be homeless but neither of us is dumb



Now lets get back to the infant son and the fear of its adolescence

Because as we know children can often be rambunctious and rude

In the heat of mid-day we suffer an adult sons insolence

And being fully grown it only treats us kindly when its in the mood  

                © 2011..free cee!



 
















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, aga