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

Our Country's Soul Is Being Torn Apart


Our Country’s Soul Is Being “Torn Apart”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Jim Pemberton


Long poem by Mark Vander Poppen | Details |

Path we Persue

Life as understood by many resembles a journey traveled in a daze.
yet you feel lost, we can't help but carry on.
As we travel up the hill not knowing whats on the other side, 
where the next curve begins,  when to speed up,
or when to slow our pace.
Even as it seems at times we are blindfolded at very least,
human nature tells us to keep pushing through.
our best interest at that time is to put the path of life on hold,  
and asses our situation. Even if common sense makes you believe it would be difficult
or even impossible to resume the path started so long ago.
When it all seems impossible or hopelessness stares you in the eye.
Now is the time to grasp our greatest tool in life, just as God said let their be light.
let our light be the knowledge and support of your friends & family.
Use this and not even the devil himself can use his power and influence to corrupt us.
When we have 100% faith in ourselves combined with love for all that is good and pure.
And the hope that our destiny is not being pursued in vain.
Only positive results are to be found.
If u reach hard towards your soul and gather the will to strike down all that is negative.
Then and only then do the clouds disperse the sun becomes radiant
and all becomes clear. And the realization that our goal is in our grasp once again.
so before i put this pen down and carry on with my quest of surprises
and not knowing whats to come.
a prayer has been said guidance has been asked,
and a sense of relief is then achieved.


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

Don't Worry

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


Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details |

Making You Happy My Precious Love

Upon the winds whispering so gently a love story unfolds
Under soft beautiful clouds with rainfalls splashing love
With two lovers holding, caressing, and kissing one another

The radiant azure sky fresh with recent rain and a rainbow
Gives way toward evening to a cold moon face wishing to 
Take the two lovers to a faraway special place full of sunshine

This magical place is where the sun shines forever beautiful
And the feelings, desires, passions, and emotions of love are 
Always together true as ONE of a much bigger love portrait

This young man and woman walk hand-in-hand very much in 
Love while listening to the far distant echoes thundering from 
Surrounding cliffs while near the ocean dream seagulls cry aloud

As the man opens the gates of this paradise with his special lady
They both experience at once blinding tears of warm joy, and he 
Just wants to fulfill immediately her every wish to be happy in love

The young man tells his sweetheart with a most earnest passion: 
 “Dearest One, I want so much to make you happy my precious love!”
Our love My Sweet unites our bodies and souls so complete and whole

These two lovers have found their paradise fulfilling their dream of being
Together always walking under a wonderful star-filled sky dazzling pure
Sharing their love and seizing their very destiny now—Two now as ONE  

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © 
All Rights Reserved (January 11, 2015) (Unrhymed Tercet)


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 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 Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Details |

An Ode to Turkeys

An Ode to Turkeys
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

I
There was a time, year one thousand A.D
U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight.
Usefulness seen.
Native American's hunting delight. 
The white meat of a turkey is quite lean.
So much healthier than man knew before,
Nothing one ever could say,
In any way,
Would make Americans free turkeys anymore.

II
Thanksgiving comes and goes.
Wild turkey gobbling slows.
Ben Franklin watched their plight.
Nominated, though laughter did flare.
Turkeys beneath the moonlight
Were beautiful out there.
Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird.
But eagles know, it was not so.
And turks in history endured this nations birth.

III
Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly,
Toms might in spring be found.
Fluffing, dancing around.
Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red
Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead.  
Although turkeys fly strong,
The hunters by day kept watch in the fields.
Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song
And hens under bushes sat on eggs long.
When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields.
But on Thanksgiving Day...
Run away!


Note: Carolyn, thanks for the video suggestion.  It is very funny.  I decided to post the link 
here.  The HISTORICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1213z9KHNs  
(TIME HEALS ALL: We do LOVE you, MOTHER ENGLAND... from you we were BORN.)
The HYSTERICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnLyqBtU_F8

ENJOY the FUN!


Long poem by Beatrice Boyle | Details |

If I Were A Stone

If I Were A Stone If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite… the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen. All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me. My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook! Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way. I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home. And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men! I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.


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

Energy's Suffocating Gallop

Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
                                  by Odin Roark

Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Long poem by Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Details |

The Solitary traveller

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


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


Long poem by Judith Angell Meyer | Details |

Rebuilding the Shed in the Backyard - Again

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

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

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

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

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

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


Long poem by esther robinson | Details |

CRYPTOGRAM DECODED

Cares pull my spirits down
Always force me, ‘wear a frown’
I heard, “You’ll in darkness drown;
For weeds in you are also sown.”

Seeds like unknown fear and worry
Sprouted in my nursery bed of merry
On watering, I nourished misery
Unable to differentiate their finery

Gradually grew seeds called health and wealth 
But sorrow and sufferings sapped its strength
I battled and struggled to save my breath
Expecting someone to fill my heart with mirth

With this frame of mind
No way of escape I could find
On reaching office, I read this thought
Recited it several times in my heart

That every sad day
Is followed by a glad day
As a team we discussed the layout
Of a very important handout

Green is good and soothes the eye
Yellow and black never get an instant goodbye
Red and navy blue give a professional look
Lavender or sky blue, gets anyone on hook

Everyone suggested a hue
And it granted me a cue
Of great surprise among a few
That if colors carried a clue

Of a top secret message 
Then I remembered a passage
For this world Jesus is the true light
Who makes the face of any man bright

He’ll weed and make me alright
My life like aroma will ascend in His sight
If each and every shade
That Almighty has made

Reflects God, as a mighty tower
And also expounds His awesome power
Unique His way of having seen my form
Being formed in womb like a worm

Fearful yet surprise filled is His greatness
I wonder and move about carrying His likeness


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.


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. 


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. 


Long poem by Sahitya Poonacha | Details |

The Injured soldier

He fell, fell to the ground
At the gunshot that created such a sound
Nobody took notice of the injured soldier
He was left there lying as the war grew thicker.

He screamed from the pain growing in his shoulder
Nobody realized the pain he would suffer
Trampling feet and screams grew monotonous
The injured soldier tried to ignore the pain that was so venomous.

He made a decision for himself
If he was to survive he'd have to help himself
Nobody was going to come to his aid
Not when each one was looking out for their own head.

He winced in pain as he got to his feet
He wouldn't give up now, not when he still had an army to beat
His shoulder cried out to him in vain
He had already chose to ignore the pain.

He took his rifle up
He adjusted his helmet and refused to give up
He kept fighting till the war was over
Each soldier fighting for their country, their home and their lover.

When the war was done and the battle was won
Every single soldier put down their gun
the injured soldier's shoulder still bleeding
now blinded him with pain and made him lose all feeling.

This time they gave him attention
This time he was treated to friendly affection
He wondered what would have happened if had given up that night
Would they have still won after all that fight?

But he was glad he hadn't for he would have been seen
As a pitiful injured soldier who wasn't keen.

It's the choices we make
And the chances we take
That set us apart
Only when, of course, the decision is made from the heart.


Long poem by Marcedies Rhodes | Details |

The Years To Long From Before

The Years To Long From Before


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



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


Long poem by Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Details |

NOW I UNLEASH WITH RUM RAGE

You see I had lots of respect

NOW you are begging for attention 
and a reality check, so try me,
Try me like satan tried jesus,

Your trying to unleash all that steam 
but you only sound like a tea kettle, 
you claim to be the rock of Gibraltar 
but your only a pebble, 

didn't your mother tell you not to play with fire, 
now I must burn you for pulling this dragons tale ,
no one wants to hear your fairy tale, its very frail, 
you can speak and speak until your face is pale 
but flattering your self with your words is of no avail. 

Keep checking your mail because karma is on it way,
I hope you can eat all that is on your tray, and when you 
stuffed with your own hatred ,I hope you get on you knees
and pray, not every thing in life can go your way,

didn't history teach you that 
dictating,
manipulating,
belittling,
lack of peace making,
heart breaking,
lack of loyalty,
unjust, 
disrespect,
neglect,
self indulgence 
hatred
lies
and bias
is not the way, 
well I am going to teach you today 

Adolf hitler ,
Maximilion,
Malcom x,
Martin luther king,
Rosa parks,
Allen Ginsberg,
Jesus Christ,
the little rock nine,
Mahatma Gandhi,
Fredrick Douglas,
Harriet Tubman,
Rodney King,
Elie Wiesel, 
Sean Bell,

DOES any of this ring a BELL,
or your self you continue to smell,
are you still under the devils spell,
how DARE  you be unjust,
teaching a child like you is a must. 
Your whole approach and appearance is stale,
but HEY 
I guess you don't see that 
because a donkey can't see its tail.


Long poem by Christopher Goss | Details |

The Wall, The Wall

The Wall, The Wall

I
the world fades from my fingertips
like blood oozing from an open wound
the sky is ripped apart and full of thunder
and my eyes are twisted in pain

shut the door and lock me within
the light is buzzing and flickering
something is about to explode
or maybe thats just my soul

softly touch the wall and it corrodes
the white paint peels and turns black
and cracks appear on the surface
a garbage touch that ruins it all

for years the signs of ruin were there
building up behind fragile white walls
and now i sit here with an open chest
my heart nailed to the damned wall

and as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood from an open wound
the sky outside is bloody and tormented
and i cant begin to see my own reality

II
im so afraid that if i get up ill fall again
damned by the ghosts of the past
the flashing glare of reality looms larger
closing in on me and slapping me

if only someone could open the door
and let me out of this foreboding room
perhaps i could see more than whats inside
instead of slicing myself in half

remember it was your verse that ended me
slicing off my fingers one by one
it was when my heart was nailed to the wall
that i truly forgot how to feel

my sickening screams echo loudly
throughout the confines of my own mind
reverberating down my spine
and leaving me in a shivering fit

as the world fades from my fingertips
like blood pouring from an open wound
the sky outside has faded to a deep black
and i cant begin to see my own reality


Long poem by Sierra Cowan | Details |

As I Stand Here Waiting

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

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

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

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

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


Long poem by Robert Stoner Jr | Details |

Biker

Biker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
11/15/14


Long Poems
12