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Long Poems | Long Poetry

Long poems. Read long poems, search long poems, and filter long poetry by category. These are the all-time best and most popular long poems by poetic form, category, length, or keyword. See also long poem categories.

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12
Long Poems
Long poem by 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.


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 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 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 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)


Long poem by Shaz Cheesman | Details |

Rude, Drunken Pen

Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few 
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess, 
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss 
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect, 
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest. 
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude 
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers 
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease 
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin 
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue


2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest


Long poem by Paula Larson | Details |

RELATIONSHIP ROCK PART TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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 


Long poem by Elizabeth San Miguel | Details |

All is not fair in love and war

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


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!





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 colin mitchell williams | Details |

Senseless ( part one )

Senseless

What is it inside the heart of man
That cannot appreciate another’s suffering
Were we born with this senseless implacability

Is it from life itself we grow these calluses of the soul
Are we created not to care
Is the face of nature so coldly ruthless
That we must come to be so

For what belief in anything in which to believe
Should we maim and destroy and kill
What is it that we know so well
That the idea of difference can cause such conceited violence

How do we become so voluntarily indoctrinated
Is it some desperate need to have sense amidst the senseless
To have at least the illusion of a purpose

When then do we celebrate the diversity of our sense to make sense of the senseless

Should every woman and man dream and aspire
And have every man and woman dream and aspire to the same
Or say this love is stronger or this way is better
This truth more truthful than anything anyone else can know

Who’s despicable spirit can live with out some measure of guilt in overfed luxury
While others starve and die in poverty
Are we not as one with this the global identity we call humanity
Are we not basically and essentially all the same

If right there is to pass on righteous judgment
For cultural and social and political and religious difference
Such conviction and contempt is that all we see in our own reflection

When then do we celebrate our diversity of sense to make sense of the senseless


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


Long poem by Audonus Taylor | Details |

If Only I (Song)

The end was growing closer
I could feel it all around
Before you said it's over
from all the times I let you down
As I lie beside your pillow
It's getting hard to sleep at night
Every single lonely tear knows
That I did not love you right

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,
If only I....

The last thing that you told me,
Before you walked out of the door,
Baby you never hold me,
How can I make you love me more,
I wish I would have listened
To the thing you tried to say
If I would have paid attention
Maybe then you would have stayed,

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,

If only I, could have been
what you needed,
Since I hurt you,
our love's bleeding,
Out of time
and out of sight,
If only I could
make this right...

If only I,
Could turn back time,
when you were still mine,
I'd be everything that you need,
And give your heart a better me,
I miss you in my life...
If only I...


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 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.


Long poem by stark hunter | Details |

Olive Frazier 1854 - 1895

Olive Frazier

1854 – 1895

To my many august friends,
Mere survivors under this hungry consuming California sky.
Before you can reach high to the stars, my friends,
Both feet must firmly be set upon the ground first.
This, in essence, is the lesson of a lifetime.
Here in Clark Cemetery, the soil is rich and fertile.
In my prime years I have walked here
Walked on many an afternoon and many an early evening.
Walked and slowly strolled and ambled
Like a solitary tumbleweed in a restless wind.
Like a knock-kneed crab in a dark watery place
Commiserating with the barnacles.
It was on such a stroll
That I encountered the handsome Mr. Frazier.
Milton by name, bricklayer by trade.
We watched the sunset that evening.
Two hawks in flight high in the blue
Swaying effortlessly in the high breeze.
We found love in the dust
And we found heartbreak in the endless shadowed distances
Of Clark Cemetery.
I left this earth giving birth to my baby.
And now together we peacefully reside in this deep hole.
Together with Milton, my love.
Together now and forever in the dirt and the dust.
Milton, I am sorry I left you alone when I died.
So sorry you had to go on without us.
Often when the clouds above give drink to this dead land,
I think of us
Wondrously and miraculously alive,
Strolling to the east under the canopy of the walnut trees.
Your hand in mine
Your heart and mine intermingling magically.
Thank you my husband.
I was indeed privileged to be your wife.


Long poem by Sarai Romani | Details |

Game Day

Mighty Ducks win the game
Pass the ball perfect the play
There's so much riding on your fame
Men clad in armor win the day

The crowds are grumbling they've all gone wild
The stripes bad call has hardened your trial
Yard by yard your penalties mass
But you'll take the lead with a touchdown pass

86 yards with a kick return 
Your rival now should show concern 
We love your power your drive your speed
The beer the bets the company

Football Game day 
Phones be texting
Tailgate fun scores projecting 
Simple fun that's life affecting

It's more than manly testosterone 
That compels us to the game
It's teamwork pride the thrill of the fight
How the underdog pushed and overcame 

Sports and competition have always been a way of life 
Revealing the mighty but also the contrite
Teaching lessons of brotherhood
More victory together than alone we ever could 

So when we gather scream and shout 
Seemingly insane over a meaningless thing
Remember this on Game Day proud
When from the rest of life we simply check out

Is it really so bad to drink too much 
With Oregon's O displayed 
Colored faces worshiping the Duck
When they fumble we yell O  F_ _ _ 

Be it victory or cruel defeat
There's more to this than meets the eye
It's about families, lovers and the best of friends
Gathering to play to laugh and to cry

Game Day for the Oregon Duck
Of our team we're so damn proud
As a fan have you made the cut
Or resigned to just miss out 







Long poem by AJ Lekobane | Details |

Thief of Grace

You’re certainly missing out
Whilst you’re fooling about
And you’re swimming in doubt
So I shall certainly you out-rout
I’d advise you to be on the lookout
For I’m your rival, far more worthy a scout
Take heed or you’ll end up looking like a lout
All I can tell you for now is that you’re missing out

While you’re looking away
Twirling in relentless dismay
Your insolence successfully leads you astray
So He finds me in greater favour every day
Unlike you, I’m eloquent with words that gently sway
The God with whom for hours on exhausted knees I stay
‘Till the last hour of the night a dear prayer to say
With heartfelt sobs and a submissive heart I pray away

I whisper, “Dear God of mercy, show me your face
For I am a sinner in need of Your saving Grace
For years in meditation and supplication I’ll chase
The benedictions You bestow unto the winners of the race
The so-called ‘faithful’ ones who cautiously pace
In the promising path which for them You daily trace”
I solemnly utter, “My heart with Love and Faith do interlace
So I can one good day be worthy of seeing Your glorious face”

If you were smart, you’d take after me
Vigilant and sober at all times you’d be
So from the snares of the enemy you’d easily flee
Who’s literally got you down on one knee
Yet too proud you are for your life to humbly plea
No diligence whatsoever for efforts to be free
Indeed that thief I am, the thief of grace, you see
Watch out, or you’ll lose all your blessings to me


Long poem by Robert Lindley | Details |

Lonely Death, Fate Of A Lost Soul

Lonely Death, Fate Of A Lost Soul

Ron sat in the dark alley with urined soaked pants
muttering in a drunken stupor one of his many rants
Facial scars told of falls, beatings from being robbed
misery and blues broke him down into shrieking sobs

Once he had a wife and three precious little pearls
heart pains tore him up when he lost those girls
Now a defeated and broken soul without a home
the dark streets and drunkard's alley he roams

Realizing that his days are now so sadly numbered 
he slumps back into a deep whiskey induced slumber
Waking hours later with those agonising chest pains
the cold numbing from the falling freezing rains

Moving over to hide beneath a huge dumpster lid
he thought yet again of his beautiful lost kids
No good to weep about the mess in the here and now
blue pain ripped into his heart like a cutting plow

That night he dreamt of love, life and family before
Sun rose that morning , Ron slept on, forever more

Robet J. Lindley 07-23-2014

Note :  This based upon the real life story of my brother's 
good friend. His friend 7 years older than he , that died 
in 1997. My brother the drunkard that has never stopped 
drinking in 38 years. Himself not long for this world!
And has not seen his own beautiful daughter nor his grand 
children in over 34 years, since 1980!
I wrote a poem, title, A Drunk's Prison,  back on 5-5 2014 here.
It was about my alcoholic younger brother.
This one is about his alcoholic friend that died!


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 Le Incendié | Details |

VISUAL BLUR

The Cannabis Queen
Rides her Snow Chariot
A glass shard still remains in his heart
And his heart still remains ice.
This is his true state of existence.

He worships the Queen,
Because now, all is pure,
White and still.
He kisses the back of her palm
In deep submission
She smiles and takes him to her lap
And together they ride the snow filled country side.
Here, there is only love,
Only acceptance,
Redemption and forgiveness.
Together they merge into the fog,
Their silhouettes lost in a holy blur.



In a cold secret chamber,
The maid and the drunkard make love.
She kisses him not,
For his mouth reeks of wine.
N yet she clasps to him and does not let go.
There is,
Such passion,
Such want,
That nothing stops her from having him.
And as she moves rhythmically on top of him
She looks into his eyes
Where the power of wine
The power of an orgasm
The power of a sleepless night
Blur into a holy blur.



In a place called Xibalba
Through which the dead pass
From the confinement called life
To the liberation called death
One soul readies to take the plunge,
To come to terms,
To be one with the eternal.

In one cosmic leap, the soul
Splits into a million tiny pieces,
Of its many laughs
Of its many cries
Of its many loves and hatreds
And its each tiny emotion
Each tiny memory
That came to be in its journey through life,
Becomes a star,
Studding the eternal silver sky,
And transforming it into a holy visual  blur.


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

You’ll wanna forget, but I’ll sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.

My glory rides on a brick and a gram
You’ll never get more then half my mind.
I’ll eat ya to put you to sleep 
Cause my dick won’t step up half the time.
Your eyes shut to tapping my vein
Dancing through shards of moonlight, emptying your purse.

I can score while your searching your plastic case for your pretty face.

Sweet poems and construction paper cards were pregame.  
Now I finger through  your parents drawers, quarter rolls are good enough.

Do you still crave me babe?
How’s third place, my two best buds a needle away?
Even when my eyes aren’t dotted up it isn’t fair.
Just a routine, credit card debt and jail don’t scare.  
With me we’re always in the midst of thunder
Recoveries pink clouds in front but out of grasp.  

Absence of luck permits you to hang on to my spirit embezzling tears.
I’ll be smiling at the freedom, Ignoring your texted stabs.  
Long sleeves and 50 hour work weeks fooled your parents, but 
The mirrors sunken and pale my features lost to warmth artificial from my heart.
Everything is gonna be cool as long as no one sees my arms.   

Penniless,  I’ll dissolve all my cravings under my tongue… for a week.  
Steaks marinated in Pabst followed by talks of your creation.  
We can lay in bed alll day watching Hulu and melting time.  
For once I’ll be all your’s no more rocks disrupting my brain.

As soon as pay day hits I’ll sprint out the front door.  


Long Poems
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