Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
allusion america
analogy angel
anger angst
animal anniversary
anti bullying anxiety
appreciation april
arabic art
assonance august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
cinderella city
class clothes
color community
computer conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad dance
dark daughter
day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
depression desire
destiny devotion
discrimination divorce
dog dream
drink earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire firework
first love fish
fishing flower
flying food
football for children
for her for him
for kids forgiveness
freedom friend
friendship fruit
fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good morning good night
goodbye gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
july june
kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
memorial day memory
men mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mothers day mountains
moving on murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
mythology name
native american natural disasters
nature new year
new york nice
niece night
nonsense nostalgia
november nursery rhyme
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people pets
philosophy places
poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
poverty power
prayer preschool
pride princess
prison psychological
purple quinceanera
race racism
rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember repetition
retirement rights
river romance
romantic rose
rude sad
sad love satire
scary school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silence silly
silver simile
simple sin
sister sky
slam slavery
sleep smart
smile snow
soccer social
society softball
soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sunset
sunshine sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute trust
truth uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
valentines day vanity
veterans day violence
visionary vogon
voice volleyball
voyage war
water weather
wedding wife
wind wine
winter wisdom
woman women
word play words
work world
write writing
yellow youth

Long Addiction Poems | Long Addiction Poetry

Long Addiction Poems. Below are the most popular long Addiction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Addiction poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Tristine Thomas | Details |

Steven

He has the biggest heart.

He enjoys doing things for other people

Just because it’s the right thing to do, and

Knowing he made someone happy makes him happy too.

He’ll do whatever he can to satisfy

Everyone around him.

But what about himself?



He always says the right things at the right time.

He’s the first to console an upset friend

And take care of anyone who is in need.

Why doesn’t he take care of himself?



He’s the friendliest guy ever.

Everywhere we go there’s always someone

He waves to, or stops to have a conversation with.

Making friends for him comes so naturally,

It’s as if he was genetically wired to be so sociable.

The friendships he has made are valued to him

Like they are his very own gems to treasure.

But why doesn’t he value himself?



He can make anyone laugh with ease.

Anyone that has ever been in his presence

Can testify that not being amused, entertained,

Or laughing until your stomach hurts

Is never a problem.

His humor is addictive in the sense

That if it were a drug, just a taste of it

Would drive you insane.

How can he not see how much we love that about him?



He’s extremely motivated.

Always striving to get done what he needs to get done,

He lines up the necessary steps to reach his goal.

When he wants something bad enough

He will go out and fight as much as he can until

He is successful.

Does he know how much he is capable of doing in the world?



He’s like a protector to anyone he becomes close with.

Never have I felt the stomach-twisting pain

That fear tends to trigger when he’s around.

He’ll make sure that if anyone ever

Disrespects, hurts, or humiliates

The people that are close to his heart,

They will not get away with it.

Why can’t he protect himself the way he does to others?



He is the best liar I know.

He has a way of tricking anyone

Into believing even the craziest of stories

And they won’t have the slightest idea

That he is lying.

How can he not see that his lies are pushing us away from him?



He can be extremely manipulative.

His words can blind you and

He can convince you so flawlessly

Of whatever he wants.

Why doesn’t he realize he’s hurting everyone around him?



He has a drug addiction.

He craves the thrill and rush

Of anything that will alter his current

State of mind.

Saying no has never been simple for him;

It’s like his mind goes blank

And the only thing he can think about

Is how he can satisfy the urge to use.

Does he even realize what he’s done to himself?



He thinks he’s invincible.

Even after rehab attempts,

Multiple different occasions where jail time was needed,

Endless amounts of money spent on drugs,

Threats being made to him from gang members,

Numerous phone calls and text messages from people wanting their money from him,

And losing most of the people who have tried to help him over and over and over

He will not stop.

When will it stop?



He’s fully aware of how many people he is hurting.

He knows the affect his decisions have on others

And how his actions shatter the hearts of the people who love him most,

Causing them to put him in their past because they were sick of

Him hypnotizing them with words they wanted to hear instead

Or just telling them the truth.

He realizes how many people he’s lost and how deeply he’s scarred

Some of our hearts,

Leaving us no choice but to give up and move without him.

When will he realize that someday he could be doing this alone?



He relies on drugs to temporarily numb the urgency of his own problems.

It could be meth, heroine, or marijuana –

Or maybe morphine, ecstasy, or Adderall –

He’ll do them all and the consequences won’t falter his decision even slightly.

It’s a daily chore to fund his addiction

Along with mentally and emotionally distressing

Due to the constant worry of his health or

What he’s going to do while he’s under the influence.

Will he ever take control over his addiction?



He overdosed after an episode of binge drug use.

He was found unconscious and pale crumbled on the bedroom floor

With an empty bottle of pills to his left

And a syringe still supplying heroine dangling from his arm.

Why did he do this to himself?



He’s been in the hospital for days now.

The overdose has put him into a coma and

No one knows what will happen next.

Crowds of family and friends flow in and out of his room

Tucked away in the intensive care unit

Biting their nails, pacing the glossy floors,

Staring at his lifeless body, or crying until their

Minds grow restless and weak.

The doctors have no reassuring words to reduce our anxiety,

They only tell us to keep our heads held high

And pray for a miracle.

Did he even think this many people cared about him?



He’s been taken from us sooner than he should have been.

His eyes are closed and his body is finally still

And as I look down at him in his casket, trying to memorize

Every last detail of him I can into my brain,

I can’t help but wish that I were laying there with him.

Is this what he wanted to happen?



Maybe he finally realizes that his life could have been so much more.

We’re all gathering around him for the last time

Talking about the good times and the bad,

While tears stream down everyone’s faces and

The sickening feels of grief and sadness

Settle into our guts.

To lift our own spirits we lecture ourselves

That he is in a better place now that he isn’t

Battling his addiction, he isn’t in heaping piles of trouble.,

And he can finally be at peace with himself.

He never cared about the state of his own being

And his life has no slipped away

From all the people who were desperately trying to keep him alive.

Is he happy now?



-t.j.t.

Copyright © Tristine Thomas


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Family Therapy

Multisystemic feminist ecotherapists,
deeply immersed in permacultural eco-logic,
a systematic teleology of cooperative economics,
remain rarely flushed out from their camouflage.

A self-isolating,
often eremetical,
subspecies,
with shamanic nature-as-spirit tendencies,
our most articulate mentors often wander off
to pray for,
breathe and suffer and dance and sing
with Earth and all Her polyculturing species and seasons,
spaces and times,
avoiding glaring spotlights of media networks
and shallow soundbites.

That said,
perhaps I can share lessons from my children
about internal and external landscapes of justice
and passion,
passion for justice.

Spencer is my cooperative networking
transgenerational
post-millennial polypath.
At 18, he remains with me,
has not yet wandered off into his camouflage,
in part because I am a slow learner
in comparison to his lightning networked intuitive consciousness.

I am a more thorough and systematic teleologist,
but also ponderously detailed,
like Thomas Aquinas and Buckminster Fuller,
unwilling to leave any paradigm untouched,
producing a cooperative ecosystemic thesis
and antithesis of cognitive dissonance,
that remains undecipherable
except to those few who already speak
and hear
and feel
and see,
absorb polypathic nutritional polycultures.

What does justice look like for my 20 year old African American son
who graduated from special support services at Entitled Upper Middle Class High School
with a fourth grade cognitive and affective functionality,
no marketable skills other than his physical strength
which shows decreasing likelihood of endurance
due in part to horrid nutrition
lack of self-care
his preference to self-medicate
away from his internal dissonance.

He prefers THC,
although he is angrily aware this means state and federal employment protection laws
form a moat around his buzz,
with all the opportunities on the outside
and far too many of the long-term risks on the inside of his bleary silo of despair.

Dillen, my loyal handsome young adult son,
recognizes discrimination,
marginalization,
poverty
in comparison to outcomes for self-medicating with alcohol.
It's a cultural thing that old people do to his Transmillennial Generation,
like declaring wars so they can learn to fight each other,
while elders suck our fat wealth deposits into
sport cars of shifty ludicrosity.

Dillen's skills do not include multiplication,
much less division,
but he knows when justice divides his population of young adults
looking for their first jobs,
so they don't have to live under the tyrannical oppression
of their parents.
Self-medicating with alcohol can easily pass a drug screen test
with one day notice from Human Resources,
while Dillen watches from the other side
of this divide.

Can he get through at least eight weeks without medication
that actually does seem to help him feel and think better
of and with himself,
and,
given any doubt that any of this makes any sense,
how long before he stops bothering to apply for any hope of a full life?

Dillen understands the justice and injustice of attending a horribly designed State contracted job training program,
to sit for eight unpaid training hours,
for at least four weeks,
probably six or even more,
in a summer classroom with no windows,
with 29 other ADD and ADHD medicated trainees,
to face the dismissive derision of their trainer
for being who they are,
losers who will never actually be sent through to the paid employment stage of this card-shark process,
violating perhaps every justice principle intended by the Americans with Disabilities Act,
while drawing his pay at my tax dollar expense.

Dillen was not outraged that the State had no record of contractual oversight,
no evidence that anyone who did eventually get paid could not have done so with one week's unpaid training,
no evidence that there were no other training contractors with the capacity to avoid violating the civil rights of those supposedly receiving a service with positive outcomes,
rather than rejection and dispossession and dismissal and further hopelessness outcomes.
Dillen was not alarmed that the Commissioner,
his own State Senator,
his US Senator,
the ACLU,
did not seem to raise so much as one eyebrow
to a misuse of public dollars and trust
with outcomes that could not even perform at the thinnest level of justice:
If you cannot do any good,
at least be sure you cause no harm.

Dillen has become used to an economic and cultural ecology
that does not include him,
and others who look and act and perform and breathe and beat their hearts,
and try to balance their bicameral hemispheres as best they can
in a "Business-As-Usual-Means-You-Do-Not Matter" environment.

So, Dillen reminds me of what I recognized long ago,
growing up gay male in a homophobic
hetero-dominant
culture.
I am reminded of what it means to have no economic right to employment
and no ecologically supported right to love,
to be valueless human nature
intrinsically mendacious
negatively deviant from all that is universally orthodox goodness,
that justice could not include any honest relationship within a Beloved Community,
could not include acceptance as a healthy soul
or body
or identity,
as the appropriate offspring of socially acceptable justice.

Dillen's bottom line,
"If they wanted to abuse us,
then I wouldn't have minded so much
if they were at least going to pay me.
I'll be The Man's whore if I have to,
but I won't be his bitch."



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Sitting On The Ground - Our Friendship Bond and Our Vital Vows

I’m sure of it – we’ll do good enough in the long run
Let the crazy, busy, and sunny day begin and I welcome the sun
Do you welcome the sun?
You’re a lot of fun 
Let’s run in the sun
Embrace your passions and good side 
Our friendship bond is like a marriage commitment between a good-looking groom and a beautiful bride!

There’s a recompense for doing the right,loyal, and faithful thing…there’s a way out of captivity – don’t be fenced in by ferocious fears and be conquered by life-changing, wonderful cheers and be free like deer, hopping into the fervor-blossoming flower fields…have no feeling of overwhelming fear! You have no excuse for cheating on me - not while I'm around here...
Embrace your passions…never let it go…
Do your thing, oh you darling peace-abiding angel…oh, you peace-crafting angel of light – can you linger by my side everywhere I feel, darling, oh darling angel…believe and be stable – 
Embrace your passions…never let it go…
And do your thing and be my everything – don’t be scattered on the ground like beads or shattered glass everywhere you step…and gloriously sing and bring everyone peace in mind with your unique, relishing ring – flourish like the tall grain in the golden terrain…fill everyone’s hearts with perpetual cheer! 
Embrace your passions…never let it go…
You are such a beauty from every single angle…untangle me from the web of bewilderment and spread cream cheese to my bagel! Read God’s bible – nothing close to a mad myth or a frivolous fable! Place those beliefs under the table and give as you are able! 

You gottah get up and try as P!nk sings in her song
Embrace your passions with me...and you'll slowly, but surely belong!

Go with the flow of the current of the aqua-blue sky
Kiss the abyss "farewell" - sit back and chillax and be high like a kite

Embrace your passions…never let it go…
Bring me to my dwelling place called Dandelion Delight
It’s time to face what we’ve done…
One…two…three…four
Guide me to my heavenly haven called Illuminated Night
It’s time to run the race – we’ll survive the run…
Four…three…two…one…
We’re sittin’ on the fence, 
Catching a glimpse at the sundrenched sight
Am I makin’ any sense?
Watching a marvelous sunset transform into an illuminated night
Hand me a bouquet of stars 
Don’t remind me of my past scars
Who can mend them now?
Embrace your passions…never let it go…
You’re more precious than the best of poetry 

Do you know where the wind does blow?
It’s a mystery to conceal…say that you want to fall in love with me
’Cause I want to practice by admiring you with 100% certainty that you’re the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with…someday, the day will come somehow…this moment with you is so unreal
How can you blossom like fireworks in the midnight sky? I ponder about this as I find myself sitting on the ground – gravity-bound… How? Somehow, you do it…someday, I’ll know how! I wanna learn to give you space when you need it and I’ll know for sure that you’re my Only Devotion...how did these scars heal? Is it you, my dearest angel? I’m not insecure, but I do take things to the next level – it’s no good deal
Fight for the right purpose and fight the good fight…the reason I fight is for your sake…alright?
You and I will earn beyond-brilliant-and-flawless peace….don’t let the bright opportunities fade…you don’t make me flip out, but you allow me to look at the bright side of life – you’re the reason I’m shimmering anew and I’m the most handsome tint, not a shameful shade 
Fight with your might – there’s an afterlife to look forward to – everything will be black and white
You’re quite a dashing princess – gracious evermore – go play that majestic melody of yours – I want you to know that you’re as sharp and tough as my favorite pocket blade

Come, face this roller coaster with me and go along with the ride 
Face your fears…look them in the eye – you’re gonna be fine with me, though we’re not sitting on the ground…but later on, it’s a possibility possibly…
Go with the flow and put your hands in the air like you don’t care – care to be by my side?
Face your fears…face them eye to eye like a wo-man–you’re gonna be OK with me around…I guarantee! Stay with me and echo your feelings of ecstasy! Think of us next to a sparklin’ sea with serene shores washing against our bodies as one gaily…so happily…so merrily, do we sing! 
Bring us accord and don’t sow discord, 
Let your talents, gifts and high spirits take wing
Let’s sip some wine and be as happy as two jovial pigs in the mud – happiness, free will, and joyfulness are what we can afford!

Let's lock hands and make an agreement and a special bond plus a scared oath...
Like grand lands - just kick back and chillax for a time - you're the one I'll never have the heart's desire to loath
Spread butter to the toast...and slice away all doubt
You're the one I can't help but boast about
You lead me to a nirvana-like, narrow pathway
Come follow me as I blow you XOXO's along the way
Let positivity drive us on and trek that big mountain
Shine on, dear angel of unbreakable, ardeous strength, like the dawn - weep no more, you fretful fountain . . . 
Let God's healing rain heal our pain
That's been driving you and I insane...but we're still sane,
Driving on our love-abiding, painless lane

Promise me you won't break our friendship vows...

Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings


Long poem by Debbie Guzzi | Details |

Corpus delicti

Close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me for, as close as this, you may never get to God. What immortals have you hoped to see? What espirit de corp have you longed for? Who will guide your earthly plod? Kiss me for I have kissed the lips of Lestat, nipped and pricked, punctured and sucked to husks, occasionally with regret, but more often lust's ascot what once was I, reveling in your taste, your musk. As Louis, I beguile with tawdry tales surreal visages of plantation nights, horror of the color green, Letiche roaming creatures who our trails conceal, the true demons whose glamour goes unseen. Yes, I prayed for death, wrapped in the pain of lost kin but, by God I never wished, I never wished for Him. 2 But, by God, I never wished, I never wished for Him. Eternity alone is such a hollow thing, unripe, never, ever, feeling full, a marrow-less bone, scrim- shaw's sorry surface, a sperm-less whale to pipe. Such as this was He, when him came to me that mid- night, pleading, bleeding, ever feeding morbid life. A cameo on cowry shell, with skin which bid the touch of cheek on cheek to assuage my grief to fill the brother-less gap the lack of wife. This is how he lured me to the kill, the blood spilled how fire and innocence flamed when he arrived. Do not hate me for the fate his kiss instilled Surely, a family is the normal thing to long for alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp. 3 Alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp crestfallen at the lack of hearth and home, pride we hidden monsters kill what we adore, and more ... leaving us in marble crypts with no warmth inside. Then He saw her, the child beside the corpse of mother half dead, the pox upon her face, amidst the tears certainly to save her was His goal, what other? But now I think her savior - a most foul affair. Claudia, the child eternal, bidding, unformed blight, monster among monsters, her wee wicked formed unbudded curdled, curling ever inward, a trickster charming night stalker, dragging porcelain dollies by her side. Daughter mine? Temptress, maker-killer, unformed bride have you killed your father, dumped him in a swampy hide? 4 Have you killed your father, dumped Him in a swampy hide? Years you've planned and plotted, Lestat to defy and I absorbed in misspent fantasy with you; my fate allied. Damned one, poisoner, death angel, do you deny the desecration of the His unmoving vessel, fed to the fishes, the bottom feeders, oh but He made do ... absorbed recaste, laid in wait each hungry cell. We fled the patricide, you and I sought others of our kind. What gruesome, ill bred misfits the world held and so hardening the unbeating heart ... beloved to mankind we returned as if compelled. To the core of life and lore to Paree, to the bloody stage the Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. 5 The Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. Do you see them now? Four hundred years and Armand has not changed. See them lure the human meat upstage with laughter. Reality's the rage and oh the blood coined. "How gauche!" our petite Claudia sighs, the excess in gore and waste. But, the coven has my Armand's grace. For Claudia, Madeleine the doll maker dies, reborn to mother the horrific woman 'neath this childish face. A family formed again when Lestat steps in alive and the coven lets the sun take Claudia and Madeleine. I entombed, walled in, buried alive, if not for my Armand. Their ashes, oh my dears, in death entwined. I burned the lot of them within their caskets, burnt alive; the curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. 6 The curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. I could nor forget, would not forget, the fate of Claudia of which he was no small part, it was a small lust easily untied. Home was all I wanted, the damp, the swamp, the bougainvillea sickened of my Old World haunts, all I wanted was home. Never, never would I make another, a comfort I decline. Let the modern age wonder where it is I roam; penance unearned and ungiven in the shadows I hide. I can not live, I can not breathe, death's my only company my wife, my child, my brother, so many others. The living dead is what we're called, Vampire, do you pity me? Lestat "Do you see me? Your sight I dread!" West coast, golden gates Baghdad by the bay in the bars I linger where men are men, aren't they? 7 In the bars, I linger, where men are men, aren't they? I find you here, or you find me? I bare my soul to you of lessons learned, of men, of plays, ah cabarets. "What do you do, what do you say, you writer you ... two footed harridan of clay? You long for the eternal kiss as if the bliss of life was so very little to pay. Fool that you are ... not in life or death would you be grist a waste you are, a mortal led so far astray. No passion's left, no fond memories ... but her golden hair. Perhaps, I'll take a taste of you, foolish fop, and sigh; no immortal will I make. On the floor, I will leave you there refuse beside the pages, the sordid tales as my reply. As my lips close on your throat, heaven's absentee, close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi


Long poem by Sheri Fresonke Harper | Details |

Zolar the Inet God

(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")

It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...

from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.

Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.

Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.

Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you  a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."

Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.

The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
 in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot

of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone  with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.

Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.

Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.

It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew

covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door,  my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.

No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been

I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow

It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.

A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.

That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.

I never go near the iNet, never search out or  bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper


Long poem by Dylan Irvin | Details |

Waters And Skies

I.
You can always tell by the eyes
When they’re starting to go
You’ll fall for a few of their lies
Before you begin to know
And you will just defy it
(But they know you will never go)

They’ll glide through the waters and skies
The erratic behavior will soon begin to show
Above and away the storm dies
A cold, hollow feeling in a black and white glow
And they will justify it
(But you know it will take them slow)

You’ll slowly begin to realize
Static is policing their echo
The red stitching in their burnt Eye
That will probably never unsew
And they will just deny it
(But you know they will always go)

II.
The phantom’s days are aphotic
Ocean whispers deicide to Moon
The morning clouds aquatic
Reaching the waves with a bent spoon
Mind is lifted and neurotic
The Earth will come back to you soon
And you won’t feel so erotic
While alone in your hotel room
(Sex with the city sleepers)

Alive where Death lives
Gone where the waves go
Asleep where dreams wake
Dead where feelings die

…A light where the stars are burnt…

III.
Bid these feelings words
The machines of waters and skies
Embody the gliding emotions
Like clouds they shape themselves and go

Write this bidding to feel
Remember the thoughts that were
Like waves they flow and fade away

Rid these words of feeling
Feel anything at all, fall…
Like wind they take and they stray

Feel these words to rid
The masks and chains of oneself
And the dark feelings that boil within
Like trees they raise themselves and grow

IV.

Ocean dreams of phantom mechanisms
The world is cold and full of ghosts
They watch as their generation swims in murk
And the funeral of social segregation will never breathe
The night mirrors reflect the soul of a poet
Only one comprehends these idiosyncratic vowels
Like waves they flow and fade away

V.

Under the white and blue cloak
The clouds are my poet smoke
Rain is the cleansing of wicked nights
With venom pollution and spider bites
That flood my mind with a static tan
Vanished through the wire, I already am

VI. 
Her clouded eyes they lock to me
I, a sight she was not meant to see
My ghastly ripped soul exposed
Our deepest feelings transposed
And I know this one’s a lie
A worn exhausted sigh
Printed from the pressed death within
Those eyes seek Life all over again
(Her flawlessness the only flaw)
(His flaws make him flawless)

VII.
Phantom is high and dark as crow
Moon showers greetings below
Ocean mirrors it’s divine glow
Cloud attempts to steal the show
Earth is screaming, we ignore it though
Mind is planted and dying to grow
Life is tired and waiting to go
Static is torn and ready to sew
Death is late and killing slow
Eye is two and one doesn’t know(Shhh!)


VIII.

The flames scorching the depths of Eye
Splitting the reign of one into two
I met Satan at the gates of Hell (Phoenix)
Only to be spit back to Earth like scum
Half alive and crawling through the moor
Realization was the key to the shining door
Oh my god, I’m one. Eye am God.

IX.

The mountains between the waters and skies
Keeps dreams from reality and pulls reality from dreams
Mind faces fears of the night mirrors and reflections sleep
And the liquid light of the moon opens a gateway
Where dreams don’t sleep and strength never weakens
A world where control doesn’t slip between the seams
Of your sewn mind… 
(Free yourself from the shadows of life and death)


X. 

Through cataracts in the skies
A distant moan begins to rise
Through an uncharted cloud
Of a puddle yet to be in drops
The fruit sky shrieking aloud
In a garden of iridescent crops
With blooming pollution in clad soil
Entwined in a cumulonimbus coil
Morphing into a levitated brook
With a broken and faceless rook
In a receding horizon losing it’s form
Cackling out to the tempestuous storm

Flashes of embers in skies blink
Flooding the faintly seen brink
Of the distant washed away galaxies
Pygmy slowly galloping through
Rolling clouds in the skies of aquatic blue
A delicate touch of colored waves
Painting rainbows on sea graves
Where pirate ships set sail
Through a violent pour of hail
In a limitless sky of falling streams
And an icicle ocean of drying dreams
Through cataract jets in the skies
A static ambience calms and dies…

Copyright © Dylan Irvin


Long poem by Brick Cullum | Details |

ARTPHUCK

like a Renaissance baby born of man and woman
to a fatherless mother without hope for a
future worth passing on or an inheritance
worth inheriting at all in its own debt
that truth to life which breathes so hard
cancerous lungs and a diseased heart
that beats to the vanity of its own blood
a suffering sound does it make like a 
thief running on a watery sunbathed street
the falsity of all of the jewels in his hands
that shine so bright diamonds and pearls
glimmer glimmer so they glimmer they 
shimmer they shimmer a cold winter
does it snow in the summer does it
rain in that place called hell I can’t imagine
a break from the heat this year it’s
been quite the year as to this point
soot sits silently on the hill of shadows
oh does it sit so very solemnly sometimes
ashes ashes we all fall down the corpse
of Mary’s little lamb rotted away to nothing
but dust and sin and maggots and grit
wonder do I now of all times where 
that burnished throne of Eliot does sit
so I might plant myself upon it and 
bloom a song of myself and sing the body
electric until maybe it comes back to life
perhaps the winter is too harsh for roses
this year and the summer too hot
but the frost told me the trail was rough
so I perhaps of all should think not
tears of a better day cried for tomorrow
as though the sand should fall up
but it will never come again for us
we only have the present to live
not a minute more than the second
we’re given when we think just now
do you see do you see do you see
it’s quite a remarkable thing to think
and know that for just now this very moment
you’re capable of saying you have life
but in a flash it could all be gone
like the last note of some forgotten and
overly played and out of tune song
do you sing my friend oh ever
should you sing a song to me
would I smile so bright and laugh
so long into the midnight where
the moon beats red against the dead sky
a light over the world where corpses
walk and humans die pathetic
remembrances of who they once were
you can look and you can cry but
the photographic tears will never dry
and they’ll water your soul until
it blooms a subtle dead thing
you might ask Simon what he sees
if the Lord of the Flies is real or
if maybe the body of war is just
another nightmare of the raped thing
we so call a home or a country or
whatever we choose to label it
in these malicious and malignant
times and yet I wonder if maybe 
hope can be found in the rotten
flesh of some selfish soul
tis I that is nobody but myself
a worthless man behind the face
of another dead and delinquent one
a mask is only a mask until you
give it the presence of animation
a mask becomes a face when
you let it become one it’s a thing
called freedom or liberation or choice
never perceive the American dream
as something that it isn’t because
those great donators those ejaculators
of emancipation want you free
they want you to choose the oppression 
that you so crave and desire
only you can light your flesh on fire
burn baby burn baby burn
let that great wheel turn and turn and turn
until it’s fully satisfied with itself
and all of the things it’s done in its life
some great and liberated idea
that a woman’s body is a man’s toy
but who should I see but a woman
carry the child that he kills with
a flick of his alcoholic wrist
this thing called love is cruel
to those who believe in it
maybe that’s why God is love
because both are cruel and both
cross out their own ideas with nothing
but the idea of their own ideas
you can’t live a life in a book 
you can’t live a life in hope that
someday you’ll live a different life
streets of gold are great and heaven is okay
but what does that matter in terms of today
when you can die before you 
even comprehend what I’m telling you
so what’s the point then
why am I doing this
why am I even an artist at all
when my portraits of life reflect nothing
but the opaque things in the human soul
you don’t even care so I think I’m done now
see you some other time friend
I hope you don’t let them hurt
you like they hurt me
I hope you don’t hurt yourself
like I hurt me
I hope you don’t become an
artist 

Copyright © Brick Cullum


Long poem by Debbie Duncan | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/angels_hope_658547' st_title='Angel's Hope'>

Angel's Hope

The past scampers out of view. 
Like the paw prints of a cat running to the bush.
The wheel of time follows no straight line.
As we sometimes trace back over the lines.
In the recesses of our mind.

The morning sun comes into the loft.
As nighttime magic mingles with the morning dew.
The cats come to the open window from the alley.
They always come because they know she will feed them.
As the girl comes to life where she slept on the foldout couch.

Lizzy was still sitting with her sketch pad by the open window.
She was just about done sketching the sleeping  girl.
When Abby ask, what are you doing over there ?
Lizzy says, I was just sketching you as you sleep.
I hope you don't mind ? Just something I do at times.

Sure , thanks for letting me crash for the night.
Do you think I can see your sketch of me ?
You make me prettier then what I really am.
Thanks for that. Lizzy replies, I only sketch what I see.

Do you ever sketch people to make money?
Sometimes I do, mostly I'm a waitress.
Better than being a hooker or some such.
Lizzy gives her a sideways glance as she got up.

Do you want some breakfast ? I'm starving.
Abby says, I don't want to be a freeloader.
I just wanted some spare change to feed my growing baby-belly.
Lizzy replies, I didn't ask about freeloading. I ask if you were hungry?

Abby says, I've heard things about you out on the streets.
Lizzy ask, what kinds of things ? As she's cooking eggs, toast,and oatmeal.
That you used to live on the streets yourself, and, you like to help others.
Kinda like a social worker. Some people even say you're a witch. 

 Abby is looking at all the sketches in picture frames hanging on Lizzy's walls.    
Gnomes, angels, fairies, unicorns, goblins, city-scapes from another world.
Lizzy replies, a witch is a new one on me. As she snickers and ask: 
What do you think? Abby just rolls her eyes with a big grin on her face.
 I just try to pay it forward Lizzy replays. It feels a little like magic.  

Just like everyone should be doing, I'm sure you will do it someday.
Lizzy says , come sit and feed your hungry baby.
Abby says, I don't have nothing, how can I pay it foreword?
I told you last night how this baby came about with my brother and all.

And my mother beat me saying it was my fault for being a girl.
Lizzy says, yes, I know you told me all that last night, 
I know someone who would like to meet you though.
Finish up, I'm taking you downtown next to swan park.

Her name is Angel, she can explain everything to you then .
Lizzy sat there sketching, making up stories about the people walking by.
Abby's due  date was in two weeks, so time just flew by fast.
Angel and her contacts found Abby a place two blocks from Lizzy. 
Two weeks later Abby brought Elizabeth- Sophia home, Lizzy was beautiful.
They went home from the hospital to her own place.
Abby thought baby Lizzy was a sort of magic she created for herself.

Abby went to Lizzy one morning and said she didn't feel like a good mother.
She couldn't feel the magic, she just wanted to get away from the baby.
She wanted to get away from everything or she was going to hit somebody.
And she didn't want it to be little Lizzy like her mother did to her.
Lizzy told Abby she could stay with her a day or two if she wanted to,
Abby said thank you . Lizzy had to work at the dinner that day. 


Lizzy came home a little late that evening.
Abby was not there. Though baby Lizzy was with a note pinned to her.


" I'm sorry Lizzy, I'm just not strong like you, Angel, and, Sophie are."
Teach little Lizzy all the magic and love I know is inside you.
I know she will be loved!!!   
                             Abby

Lizzy sat there on her bed looking at little Lizzy wondering what happened.
The phone rang with Angel on the other end, saying they found Abby.
In the alleyway a few blocks from her clinic, The baby was not there.
The paramedics tried to save her but it was too late. 



  2/ 20/ 2015  Friday  3pm
Reading a book called The Onion Girl

Copyright © Debbie Duncan


Long poem by Jamie Walker | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/ill_cry_tomorrow_623862' st_title='I'll cry tomorrow'>

I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a metaphor...it's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
Sorrow
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 
tomorrow!

Copyright © Jamie Walker


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Sitting On The Ground - Embrace Your Passions

Give me a minute to catch my breath before I discover what’s in store Embrace your passions…never let it go… I smell the scent of death…what am I waiting for? Embrace your passions…never let it go… One…two…three…four…I’m waiting behind the closed door…for you’re the one I adore…(count with me…count on me...)x2 Embrace your passions…never let it go… One…two…three…four…count the stars in the ebony skies and find my young heart’s goodness, boldness and eternal bliss Embrace your passions…never let it go… It feels good to do good works…instead of hanging out with countless jerks! Embrace your passions…never let it go…doing the wrong thing makes me guilty and I suck up woe and sprinkle baking soda & wheat flour upon the gooey & soft dough, soon to be puffed up so! Go with the flow…don’t let the wicked wind blow Embrace your passions…never let it go… Let the blessed breeze blow and let your ardent auras glow Embrace your passions…never let it go… Give me another chance to grow into a young man Embrace your passions…never let it go… Give me another reason to overcome – Please! Get me out of my lonesome pit! I forlorn and sit These waves of emotions – I’ll face em like a man if I can! Embrace your passions…never let it go… Give me another chance to overcome – Come on! Let His healing rain fall down and let me bathe in it I’ve fallen hard on the cement… But, my heart is pounding with content… Were you and I meant to be forever blue? You wanna be part of my crew? Embrace your passions…I’ve seen you’ve changed..you obeyed me and let go of your wistful woe (the night is shrouded with the wings of a crow & you rejected your possibility of going with the flow...you let my emptiness and numbness show...I lack your confident, sunlit glow) For the first time around, I see you’ve made a difference – I see the new you… wow, I never knew the new you…that change came out of the blue Be good to me and I’ll do good to you… I don’t wanna know your dark side and I don’t want to… Your miracles out of the blue…out of the blue… I’m still getting over the aftershocks of the love flu Come on and shine your light on me…give me your inner inspiration Come on and be mine day in and day out with glee – you’re my beloved aspiration…you’re my admiration…sweet and salty sensation You make my heart beat with anticipation You make my heart beat without a missing beat You make my rowdy, heartfelt rhythm without hesitation You make my heart beat like the taps of my feet You make me feel awfully complete! You’re neat! You’re looking fine and not obsolete! I wanna see your face once more But I’m sitting on the ground… So lost, without a sound… But I’m screaming at the top of my lunges I’m counting all of my wrongs One…two…three…four… Five…six…seven…eight… Nine…ten…eleven…twelve… Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen… Seventeen…I’m seventeen years old at last But that age will not last… At least I’m not reflecting upon the past I’ll try my best to live life to the fullest I’ll try to best to pass this difficult test Please don’t detest me…at least I confessed All that was on my mind… I’m trying to get out of my mind – How can I be so blind? Do you mind if I’m in love and blind? You’re my future find… It is about time to unwind… Embrace your passions…never let it go… Embrace your passions…never let it go… Embrace your passions…never let it go… Embrace your passions…let it grow! Let it grow! Embrace the blessed breeze as it begins to blow! Embrace your passions…never let us come together like two grand lands…. Embrace your passions…we all experience the highs and lows in life – it’s like a wild-and-out-of-control yo-yo, but you’re strong enough – though you’re as low as low can be, you know? Embrace your passions…never let it go of my hands… Repeat your echoes of empathy Not only do I need your sympathy, But I want your love more and more You make the butterflies in my stomach soar

Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings


Long Poems