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absence abuse
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house how i feel
howl humanity
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hyperbole i love you
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inspiration inspirational
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Long America Poems | Long America Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Zachary Alvstad | Details |

Xenophobia pt 1

TITLE:
       Xenophobia

Heed the warning
This isn't for the faint of heart
Verbalizing my deepest yearnings 
They're bound to be a bit tart...

Because where I'm from is called the Bible Belt
Where folks in queues to catch the garter belt
Where peoples dreams take constant pelts
And kids psyches be full of welts
From parents saying, "the sky's the limit!"
Then they grow up and only hear about limits...

Get real kid, this is how it's always been
You hear that? That's the worlds smallest violin
I swear sometimes I can feel the world spin
Like, if we don't change now... When?
Used to be paralyzed by the illusion of sin
Poked my comfort zone with a safety pin
Don't let 'em steal your heart like the man of tin
I made it out by the hair of my chin

Growing up, my favorite question was "Why?"
23 years later I can't quit asking "Why?"
Why? Why? Why? Whyyyyy?
Sigh... I just can't turn a blind eye
Imitation is suicide, rather die than comply
Curiosity'll make my brain pop, 1,000 p.s.i.
9,000 miles from home lookin' at the same blue sky,
Thinkin', It's crazy how one decision can change your life

Day to day nothing seems to change
Then looking back nothing seems the same
Where did all the time go?
You really do reap what you sew... 

***********************************************
Maybe I bite off more than I can chew
I'm just trying to broaden my view
I'm just trying to learn something new
In hope of reaching heights visited by few
Yeah, I definitely bite off more than I can chew
But someday I'll reach heights visited by few
So I'll keep musin' 'til I become the Muse 
************************************************

Let me share some thoughts from abroad
I'm currently chillin' in Asia on Cambodian sod
The way the world's been portrayed is 100% facade
The American Dream... Aka the American Fruad
Blindfold your brain, here comes the firing squad

Day by day, I feel my prejudices melt
I can't put a finger on some things I've felt 
But I'll always accept the cards I've been dealt
Cause I'm the dealer...

Hit me.

Only brought one bag, traveling light
Do I own things or do they own me?
Less is more, it's black & white 
That's old wisdom, Linear B
Who's to say what's wrong or right?
I guess in time we'll see...

Don't know if I'm lookin' for somethin'
Or if I'm runnin' from somethin'
Both, Either way the answer's within
I can't lie I miss home now & then
But Ima keep runnin' until who knows when

Been gone nearly 6 months, quite awhile
What's home? I haven't found it yet
Slidin' thru these countries like socks on the tile
Learning so many lessons from people I've met
Like, Did I really choose my lifestyle?
Or, was it chosen from a finite set? 
Single file, line's longer than the Nile
The world's a lot different than on the TV set...

Don't go there, someone might kidnap you
Or kill you, mindset courtesy of the news
Come take a walk in someone else's shoes
And see how the U.S. of A is viewed
I think you might be amused...
The bad guys... Who's who?
Your nationality, did you choose?
Your religion, did you choose?

We all have the same inherent desires 
To be loved, understood and cared for
To have food to eat and some attire 
a roof over our head, that's all that's at the core

Imagine one lives the exact same life as me 
But he was raised without Christianity
He's damned for eternity?
because of our incompetency
to realize & manifest universal equality...?

Other advocates believe their story's infallibly true
Same way you talk about yours 'til your cheeks turn blue
Older generations think we need to get a clue
The irony is, We inherited this world from you
You told us most of what we thought we knew
So don't be mad when we try to start anew
And we challenge everything you said was taboo
Because history seems like never ending déjà vu
Sit back, relax, and forget what you're used to
Because it's our turn to lead the coup
Honing my foresight on when my child will be two
I wanna be someone he'll be able to look up to
I wanna leave a world where he won't just make do
To fit in he won't need a pair of $100 shoes
And instead of war we'll use our words & peruse
You going to wake up or hit snooze?
What's your excuse?
Honestly, what do we have to lose?

***********************************************
Maybe I bite off more than I can chew
I'm just trying to broaden my view
I'm just trying to learn something new
In hope of reaching heights visited by few
Yeah, I definitely bite off more than I can chew
But someday I'll reach heights visited by few
So I'll keep musin' until I become the Muse
************************************************

Times are changing Mom & Dad
Global consciousness shift, this isn't just a fad
Growing up our world was much different than yours
Surf the Internet and check anythings source
We won't sit back and let things take their course
It's simple, you want me to code it in Morse? 

. . . _ _ _ . . . 

Boy, why's your writing gotta be so coarse?
Uhh... Why do half of marriages end in divorce?
It shouldn't be a chore
Neither side thinks their the source
Did you forget about all those scriptures you endorsed?
All those Sunday morning worships you enforced?

What if time was our currency?
and we fostered self-ésteem?
What if it was as easy to be nice
As it is to be mean?
What if the forest was church?
And the universe was our God?
What if our prayers were meditation?
And no one told you who to laud... 

Maybe we aren't content with kneeling to pray
Maybe we want to put our actions into play
Instead of asking "someone" to allay our dismay
Man, These days a lotta things seem like display
Ostentatious piety, I see thru that like an x-ray
Look, I'm just sayin' what y'all are scared to say
Let's stop all the bleeding... Vitamin K
And show love like it's always Valentine's Day...


Long poem by Mike Liquori | Details |

Lincolns Lesson learned

                                  Hard driven by the embarrassment,
                                   His temper Flared bright in youth,
                         Grinded to sharpness by the glittering coin held tight,
                                     Handed to his Dad in fear,
                             Slavery is Poverty and vise versa to this day;
                                 The first lessons of the his earlier days,
                                  So Young Lincoln went upon his way, 
                     He flew the coup instead of hitting another nail into timber,
               Knowing that it was his coffin the spike driven into it would be sealing,
                             No more Kentucky hay to bail or seed to lay… 
                               No more indentured servitude for Lincoln,
                                         He swore to God that day,  
                                A Frontier Politician he set a due course,
                                 With vulgar temper and clerical repose,
                                  Dotted with Whiskey, furry and aloof,
                           Young Lincoln the Politic used his words to shred,
                             His rival list long, and he knew that they dread,
                            As he dispensed his paid for frontier limited view,
                        Castigating, name calling and even assailing mere men,
                                     His words were swords to slice,
                                      Fire breathed to incinerate,
                      Not the eloquence of a man upon hollowed temples walls,
                                      Young Lincoln set a course,
                                         That would so create,
                      A life’s lesson learned, but not from sharp worded debate,
                            He insulted the integrity of an immovable man,
                               James Shield a political rival of that date,
                                 Someone who needs to learn to heel,
                                     To the Lincolns law of the land, 
                           So a duel was proposed and Lincoln so dared,
                                     To accept the rival challenge,
                                      but only if he could prevail,
                                              Rules were set, 
                                           A duel to the death,
                             Long Sword chosen for his long tall reach, 
                                         His rival still undeterred,
                                 removed the sword from the sheath,
                               So Lincoln threw down a long wood log,
                    And said to Shield your honor will not allow you to retreat,
                                       What Lincoln did not know,
               Was Mr. Shield’s resolve to this matter and would never ever retreat, 
                                       No matter the circumstance,
                                        He will stand for his honor,
                                    In front of his own blood splatter,
                                      None of that seemed to matter, 
                                         The Duel set to begin,
                                         The middle man arrives,
                                         The Duel called off…

                          When Lincoln looked into Shield’s burning eyes,
                                         Lincoln sees a truth,
                                   Retreats into a five year slumber, 
                               Nursing his ego and calming all matters, 
                                Learning from errors and books galore,
                                  his embarrassed lack of education, 
                                      set a changed in his course,  
                         Learning the Lessons of Shield’s brave stand,
                                      Lincoln never left that day,
                                        And it never went away, 
                               Ignited an understanding of integrity, 
                                                 Honor,
                                              and glory,
                                    Of the righteous path to lay,  
                               But if you think he was born that way, 
                           It was a young Lincoln that had to walk away,
                                   He returned more than a man,
                                           A driven ideology,
                                       Knowing the path ahead, 
                           The future is not through a house divided,
                                          Falling upon itself, 
                                   But only together we can stand,
                                      One nation that is undivided.


  
ThePoetMike 


Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Cameron Diaz

Herpetologist meets actress (Cameron Diaz).
If he's funny he's me.
South America or Africa (on location).
In a diamond mind.
The protagonists (lovers), the diamonds, the miners and the minders.
By minders I (he) mean (means) watchers, organizers, supervisors.
As all art must: choose a focus.
The personal is political said Cameron on the night bus to Quebec.
I had never met a girl so willing to make love in public.
Open to it.

To what extent is violence necessary? And
is that the essential question or
should violence be accepted as man's state, fate
a more essential question existing beyond or below
peace or war. Perhaps
the religious and (for the irreligious) sacred injunction
against egregious violence exists
to still ourselves
to open ourselves
to the deeper question. That Cameron Diaz is funny and beautiful
is hopeful. And the telescope and microscope have extended
the eye's appreciation. Under the microscope
Cameron becomes a collection of foreign, alien, uncompassionate,
      selfish, self-organizing
organisms. Frightening, inexorable, fascinating
to the scientist in you!

To the telescope
vanishingly small, infinitesimal as the farthest sun
only smaller
smaller by magnitudes of magnitudes of ten
and incinerated in a nanosecond. Gone
from the movie (photographs the contents of which move
for the naked eye).
I cannot help what I do or hope.

Anyway, it's a love story
or science project, socio-political documentary. An essay.
An essay about how it is actually impossible to say what you mean
but it is possible with a lifetime of meditation and study to shut up
and know what you meant.

Now I'm deaf.
I can see Cameron Diaz but not hear her.
The guy, the herpetologist, at first colorless turns out to be
colorful as a bird or snake!
He knows a lot about snakes, and birds! Not only how they mate
but what they eat
(amateur botanist)
where they rest
what they do with their pain. Do they get depressed?
Can they have guests?
How do they judiciously employ violence to organize and defend
the nest.

The international collective remains insufficiently organized
resulting in violence and threats of violence that interrupt
commerce, procreation (love) and the pursuit of happiness (Cameron
      Diaz)
at least for certain populations, sometimes.
Otherwise, most men, most times, live in peace excepting
flood or fire God or man may
choose to impose.
I lay in my bed and listen naked.
Have a good day (Diaz).
The goddess does not exist, except as bone.

Around this time (July)
the queen yellow jacket (redcoat) searches
blind and deaf
for a ledge or cavity to build a city of her descendants
safe, that they can defend.
Most cities
prosper, undisturbed
and sleeping peacefully, overwinter. We, however,
remain active, Cameron Diaz makes winter movies or
love stories in South America, and I
delight to imagine her herpetologist. Or one who
discovers the sun
around which a habitable, understandable, compatible
orb orbs. Or
maybe the movie's about the revolution, soldiers dying defending
this dictator or that dreamer
and the movie completely failing, not even trying, to explain how
the sons and daughters of the dying soldiers (miners) feel
fishing alone, hunting for wisdom, thereafter.
Sure, these men chose violence, not Cameron Diaz, and were not
farmers, botanists or herpetologists
their tools could have been and should have been the telescope or
      microscope
but are there enough microscopes and telescopes to go around
and did we not (taxpayers, movie makers) encourage them to
defend Cameron Diaz?

Man's world is insufficiently organized to preclude violence
in allocating resources (Cameron Diaz).
When we invade Iraq
to defend our allies and interests
with rockets and rocket throwers, Rockettes and Cameron Diaz
each man (each Diaz) must make his
own individual choice
whether this war
is worth fighting for or the next or the worst.
Go to jail, go directly to waterboard, at the hands of
your local police, chamber of commerce.
Learn how to walk the desert and the universe.
The names of rocks and planets,
that being the only answer to the hyperorganization that is a cancer on
      our insufficient organization.

I was reading Foreign Affairs
The Case Against the West by Kishore Mabubami (Cameron Diaz).
How can I relinquish my privileged position
sit still, lie naked
until what constitutes consent of the governed and non-violent change,
      Cameron Diaz,
to her herpetologist
is known.






Long poem by Xander Martin | Details |

The Lights ft Edgar Allan Poe

I 

See the phone towers with the lights- 
Glowing lights! 
What a world of mischief and sorrow their pattern foretells! 
How they twinkle, twinkle, twinkle
In the icy air of night! 
While the clouds that are gray
And so boring, seem to snicker 
As they watch over the street known as Gay; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Philadelphian rhyme, 
To the long-word-I-don't-know-what-it-means that so visually delights 
From the lights, lights, lights, lights, 
Lights, lights, lights- 
From the flickering and the twinkling of the lights. 

II 

Feel the ominous Morse Code message of the lights, 
Incandescent lights! 
What a world of tightly packed buildings and traffic their harmony foretells! 
Through the balmy air of midnight 
How they ring out their delight! 
From the creepy redden lights, 
And an insight, 
What a lot of lost sleep I once owed
To the white light reflected onto a certain window making it look 
Like the moon! 
Oh, from out the dormhouse cells, 
What a gush of imprisoned restless students wanting the night to end voluminously wells! 
How it swells! 
How it dwells 
On the Future! Now we face 
The crushing reality that is this place 
To the shining and the lining
Of the lights, lights, lights, 
Of the lights, lights, lights, lights, 
Lights, lights, lights- 
To the electrifying coolness of the lights! 

III 

See the now visible sources of the lights- 
Stacked lights! 
What a tale of terror, now, their position tells! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the city, 
In a fit of desperation from a phone line seeking pity, 
Climbing higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 
Now- now to sit or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the lights, lights, lights! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Urban Society! 
How they flash, and spark, and repeat! 
What an inconvenience they defeat 
Riding the electrical current of the atmosphere with glee! 
Yet the eye it fully knows, 
By the pondering, 
And the wandering, 
How the danger ebbs and flows: 
Yet the eye distinctly tells, 
In each tower's tallness, 
And my smallness, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the lights- 
Of the lights- 
Of the lights, lights, lights, lights, 
Lights, lights, lights- 
In the unique ability and memorability of the lights! 

IV 

See the final flash of the lights- 
Evil Lights! 
What a world of greed and lust their monotony compels! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy coldness of the air conditioning! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within our throats 
Is a groan. 
And the people- ah, the people- 
They that dwell up in the buildings, 
All Alone 
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 
In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 
On the human heart a stone- 
They are neither man nor woman- 
They are neither brute nor human- 
They are slaves to the system: 
And their Internet it is who rules; 
And he pulls, pulls, pulls, 
Pulls 
A meme right out of his arse! 
And his jolly news websites discuss human rights
With the guidance of the lights! 
And he dances, and he yells; 
Fighting crime, crime, crime, 
In a sort of cheesy rhyme, 
To the mysterious melody of the lights- 
Of the lights: 
Keeping geeks, geeks, geeks, 
In a stupor which the Internet seeks, 
To the throbbing of the lights- 
Of the lights, lights, lights- 
To the sobbing of the lights; 
Taking in, in, in,
All the sights, sights, sights
Of this pathetic tourist trap rat-hole called Manayunk, 
To the rolling of the lights- 
Of the lights, lights, lights: 
To the tolling of the lights, 
Of the lights, lights, lights, lights- 
Lights, lights, lights- 
Oh, the mystery and the history of the lights.


Long poem by Faith Dye | Details |

My Brother

My brother is and will always be my Memorial Day
Of course I will always respect every warrior that fought let's say
My brother joined the Marines to get away from our mother at seventeen
she was mean, mentally ill, bossy, and out of her mind in between
so serving his country during the Vietnam War felt better to him
leaving all of us behind, going over there with the body count wasn't a whim
we all cried as he went out the door
mom cried the most and I was just floored
because she yelled and screamed at him all of the time
but today looked like she loved him so much and wanted him to stay behind
if he knew this and didn't have to think that she didn't care for him
his journey may have been so much better with more care and begin
to think of her differently like a loving mom
then when he was detecting land mines and hearing bombs
he may have been more comforted by love
looking at the stars up above
wearing peanut butter on his feet 
in the monsoon season
as not give the rats a reason 
to bite his flesh and hurt
they could drive you berserk
and the tunnels pray tell
they were a living hell
they would come out anytime
no reason no rhyme
hand grenades in hand
blow you up on their land
It was always a dangerous situation
you never knew when injury was a completion
you'd blacken your face up and find a tree
and sit real still and listen to everything carefully
because one wrong move could mean your life so
you had to be super aware to all the facts before you could go
to sleep for a matter of minutes perhaps a little longer if your lucky
things sure aren't the same since that plane ride all the way from Kentucky
so they put their helmets on their rifles in case they were shot at
they'd think that was their head and they would miss them flat
out right was the goal only some of them knew
and some of them snuck around to the front of you
to blow off your real head and shatter you
and if anyone say "medic" they'll shatter them too
it's just too destructive being there
you're a trained killer and it just isn't fair
You don't believe in Memorial Day, you say?
Don't stay in the states, we should run you away
too many men gave their lives for you to keep you free
we should throw you in prison lock the door and get rid of the key
this celebrates men like my brother, my cousins, good men that didn't come back
the audacity of you to talk bad about this day, disrespect them, the deck was stacked
not in their favor, believe me, we should've sent guys like you, their bodies hacked
to scare them, I wish I could scare you
no your not even worth it to do
anything to drop down to your kind
just remember when you look behind 
you, proud men gave you freedom believe it or not
you ignorant bastard you must have forgot
your daddy, your grandpa, somebody you know
fought a war for you and us and you show
no respect
to the rest
Happy Memorial Day!
Thanks to all you Women and Men whom keep and kept us safe


















Long poem by Gary Fields | Details |

Will A Divided House Stand In any Land

@one must have lived
on both' sides of
justice to be fully
exposed...gf


There are so many
     languages'
There are oh! So
many plans'
But, in this day of
confusion..
Can it really
stand....
     ------
Their are those who
live in the shadow
There are those who
are on top!
Many have faith in
the interest of
justice
I say some-times' it
is merely just a
plot!
   ----- Now think
about that ----
           
----------
Do you live in a
state of justice
Or in a state of
police...
Where your strife is
minimal
And pales' beyond
belief
           ---------
Can you go out at
   ? ...night!
With-out subscribing
of your plight
Hence:  the fear of
going out at night
            -------
This reflects' the
type of judgement
That which you
subscribe
too....

A issue shrouded
in black and white
A deadly combination
of the many social
wrongs' or
rights'...
         Where the
truth comes' to the
light
       ----
As a human body lay
riddled in the heat
and stench
of the night....
          --------
If you are stopped
in a store to-day
Do you expect to
make it home?
        -Or-
Are you subjected
to the night?
Where justice is
swift a constant
norm!
     - Only...
To end up at the
business end of
justice...!

To the end of
justice....!
contrary to
your life.... 

 Only to be pondered
upon as a
creature in that
laboratory of
life...
Where you your-self
have just payed
The supreme price
from a flash of
justice
That threatens' to
end your life...
         .......... 
Where some-one else
in his unique 
......since of
justice amend to
take your life
(Some-call it a snap
decision only... it
is
        .......not
such a snap to take
another life) later
deemed 
to be call a mishap
in the name of
protecting life
I still say' maybe
we are
acting on a little
bad advice
         -----
justifiable murder
In the name of our
Constitution....  
Needless too say,
Is this the best
solution?

Who's constitution
dare I choose?

Your life
choked-off,
filled full of
holes'
With a truth slowly
delivered....
only God knows'
just exactly
What has just
transposed...
     .... And the
reason why so many
should die....
          ------
Who's brand of
justice would you
survive...  In that
vain' instance
Just to stay
alive....
      -Or-
 which do you
care.... to defend?

Would it be
attributed to the
feat of justice 
Or will it be just
us?

Or to the
determination of the
life of just another
Young innocent
man..... Or that
breath of justice
From which he did
truly depend...

To abide and to
trust in....

The accomplishment
of man... Awh! Yes,

The truth depends'
on the end of the
sword
That which is in
your hand..... With
the meter
of justice that we
are
willing to
defend....

That brand of
justice that which
you may call upon
for the sake of your
fellow man!



Poet/Author
Gary Fields
Censored in Contrast







Long poem by W. L. Said | Details |

Poortown

I grew up in Poortown 
A mile down the road 
From hard topped streets 
Where Miss Eleanor lived 
She sat on the front porch 
Smoking ready rolled 
Eating brought on peaches 
And she would hide in back 
When she took a dip of snuff 
She wore nice dresses 
With zippers on the side 
And her stockings both
 Had seams and no holes 
Her shoes were shiny
As a brand new nickel 
Miss Eleanor was not poor 
And she made it a point 
To let everybody know it 
She always had a new 
Cadillac car to drive 
And the sweetest smelling 
French perfume… 
I was just a boy when she 
Called me in her yard one day 
Told me how she watched me 
In my ragged old overalls 
Passing by her gate each day 
She asked me how a boy 
With no visible means 
Could afford to go into town 
Most every day and stay 
From morning till dusk 
She had no understanding 
How life really was in Poortown 
So I told her best I could 
The particulars of my day 
How Pa was sick in bed 
And my Ma had passed away 
I told her I was working for 
For the wealthy folk in town 
For my dinner and to get my Pa 
His medicine he had to have 
It felt as though she had 
A special kind of glass 
That she could use to look 
Right on through my lie 
Made me feel so small and petty 
Then she told me not to go 
Into town anymore 
But to come to her house 
And I would work for her 
I show the next morning 
To a brand new pair of overalls 
And some shiny Brogan shoes 
Not new but unlike any I’d ever had 
She took me to the back yard 
And gave me tasks to do 
I worked as hard as I could 
Just to make a good impression 
Miss Eleanor brought some iced tea 
To the settle in the shade 
Under the old apple tree 
Where we began to talk 
All about life and our lot in it 
I learned from her and she from me 
And when the day was over 
And she paid me from her purse 
For the work I had done 
And not a penny more 
She told me plain that the 
Money I had earned was mine 
And mine alone and if my Pa 
Wanted his “medicine” he’d 
Have to work for his own 
Same as I did for mine 
Years passed by and I grew up 
Miss Eleanor is gone on now 
But she left me all she had 
Which to my surprise wasn’t 
Very much… You see she believed 
That appearances could hide a 
Myriad of deficiencies from 
Prying eyes, but not the heart 
She taught me while appearances 
Were important they meant 
Little in comparison to character 
Honesty and integrity… 
So I sit here on the front porch 
Smoking ready rolled cigarettes 
Enjoying a brought on peach 
Watching the endless parade 
Of poor and destitute young’uns 
I think back to the days 
When I would pass by and 
Imagine the mystery and beauty 
Inside this little stone cottage 
And who Miss Eleanor really was… 
I like to think when she passed away 
That she passed down a little 
Of herself to me…


Long poem by tynesha peacon | Details |

A Child With A Dream

A Child with A Dream with so little to see, homeless on the street with no food to eat… no money in her pocket and nowhere to go she was A Child with a Dream and she never let it go. A Child with a Dream with nothing to see but the concrete she had as she laid down to go to sleep, nothing to say and nothing to do just A Child with A Dream can she make it through? A Child with A Dream who wanted the most to make it to the top as she sat by the light post, the concrete was cold and it was dark outside A Child with A Dream as she watched the night go by. A Child with A Dream with no more to do but to count the stars as they moved. A Child with A Dream with nothing to do but wish one day she will meet a friend or two, as she grew up she knew it was the end but  A Child with A Dream never gave in, remembering her past as the days went by a friend approached her and was ready to cry.  A Child with A Dream saw her crying but never give in she kept on trying. Her friend came up wondered what happened to all the good times that made her start laughing, looking back her friend said why, why did you run away from them as they were packing? Looking back and wondering why A Child with A Dream just sat there and cried, tears running down her face not knowing why she said her family hated her but she didn’t know why. A Child with a Dream put her head up and her friend said don’t ever give up. A Child with a Dream looking back as her wish came true but was it luck or did she know I never would give up? A Child with a Dream looking at the skies, her friend said I was looking for you do you know why? A Child with a Dream answered no. A Child with a Dream looked at her friend and A Child with a Dream said you wished I was with them, her friend answered yes but do you know why?  A Child with a Dream had nothing to do but look her in the eyes. Her friend said I know, A Child with a Dream said her family wished she wasn’t there but her friend said I am your sister do you know I cried as you left and said goodbye? A Child with a Dream looked up in shock and had nothing to say but will you stay if I never give up? Her sister looked up and said come on we will never give up we will be on our way home and you will be able to make up... A Child with a Dream never gave in she went home and her parents were shocked to see her grown up and ready for them. They sat her down with food and water but A Child with a Dream could care no longer… her parents wondered why A Child with a Dream said you wished I left and her parents were confused and they were fighting everyday as the divorce got heated each and every day. The parents felt bad and never let her go as she went to school and her friends were happy and didn’t want to see her go… as the years went by she had a dream to one day help those who had A Child with a Dream.


Long poem by Jesse James Forster | Details |

Combat

I remember that day and never looking back
I said goodbye to my family and grabbed my duffel bag
Im off to be a hero just like my grandfather and my dad
Im going to fight for America Im going to become a man 
I will make you all proud by protecting all your dreams
Generations of battles war nerve pumping throughout my veins
Familiar echoing war drum beating inside from my angry heart
No sooner than I am deployed the blood shed and death will start
Nothing could prepare me for the violence I would see
I met death with my first kill, and made a deal with inhumanity
My first experience of occupation I fired at every moving car
The rules of engagement were simple kill everything both near and far
Giving candy to little kids all named Michel Jackson, but not to win hearts
But to use them as human shields against  the enemy insurgent charge
Women and child seperated from their husbands and father
We were lethal shepherds in armor hurding the lambs into the slaughter
Still to this day when I close my eyes their screams become my ghost
Eight months inside the hole, I lost myself, I lost all of my hope
My dreams become a horror for my nightmares have now over filled
And from my cup and my eyes their blood will be poured and spilled
I look at a tattered picture of my own family back at home
But can not smile or remember or I too will come undone
Numb by design, programmed in fear, and not to feel
Compassion has left me alone, I am cold organic steel
Casualties of war are corpses I ran over in the valleys and the fields
Im a killing machine a 1014 an M16 are the swords that I weild
A modern day holocaust ordered to kill anything posing a threat
But when getting fired upon from a crowd its hard to identify a target
Lock and load Little Elvis once again it's time to kill
Weapons forged against us lay in the terrain and hides in the hills
RPG fires into defending walls as bullets fire screaming past my head
Machine gunners leveled that f@@#ing building while my comrades are laying dead
Adrenalin pumping fuels the plans for my next attack
Hot flashes of steel pierces my skin as shrapnel shreds through my flak 
People who were in prayer were no safer from their deaths
Bodies still burning, in pieces, or taking their final breath
Children run through my site with tears inside their innocent stripped eyes
She was no older than ten as she watched her little brother die
Deafened ears fall upon me, blood now is my fate 
Hell is abroad in this desolate God forsaken place 
Soldiers took trophy pictures of their faces with the dead
Who is the enemy I wonder, this doesn't make any sense
The boy who left home to become a man he never did come back
His soul still wanders the Tigris River lost forever to Combat

For all of my fallen friends, heroes, and families. You are always with me and will see you soon


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Riches to Rags

I have heard of it,
I was in it,
I have imagined it,
But I am yet to experience it.

What is this dream?
Who is this dream for?
Is it a dream for the wealthy and the powerful?
The politicians and the Gangs?
The Cartels and the Mafia?
Drugs and substance abuse?

Is it a dream for organized crime? 
Murder,
Robbery,
Rape,
Kidnapping,
Child molestation,
Sabotage, and hopeless?
What is this dream?

Is it a dream for big cars?
Credit card debts?
 Foreclosed home? 
And joblessness?
Is it a dream for freedom and justice?
Inequality and racisms?
Or is it a dream for peace, unity, love and compassion?

Some people have been dreaming too long,
 And it’s time to wake up to reality?
Everyday hundreds of people are killed in the streets of America,
Children are murdered in the schools
Businesses are robbed,
And illegal schools, and colleges are established on a daily basis,
Innocent people get hurt every second
And the security system is tainted with bribery and corruption
What is this dream?
Rags to riches or riches to rag?

Aunt Mary is a successful doctor;
She left her beautiful home by the beach;
She resigned a good paying job; 
She leaves her husband, and children
 behind in search of the American dream 
But she ended up in a rat infested brown stone, 
apartment in lower Manhattan. 
She works three jobs,
 flipping burger and scrubbing floors to make ends meet,
 And at the end of the month she can barely pay the rent,
 She cannot eat a proper meal
 she has to pay it back to the American dream.

My ink has been dried up for many years,
The weather was perhaps too cold for my ink to flow,
I have resorted to the computer 
but the keys were frozen too.
What on earth had gone wrong?
I might have been in America too long
My creativity was put on hold 
 because I was too busy trying to achieve my dreamless goals

Everyday thousands of people from across the globe
 landed on the shores of America;
Thousands of people have lost their lives
 in sunken boats, and extended journey across desserts
 some people have spent months travelling from country to country
 with the hope of reaching America 
only to be subjected to the materialistic dream.
A dream that will one day reduce them to nothing,
A dream that will make them work night and day,
A dream that will cause them earn their bread the hardest way.

Somewhere along the road
 the real essence of this dream has been destroyed
 And new meaning has been added to i.,
What happen to the ideals of America?
Where is the success and upward mobility?
Where is the fuller,
 and better life that everyone anticipated?

Can we still achieve prosperity and success?
Does this dream exist at all?
Is it a dream for some?
 Or is it a dream for all?
Open your eyes and recapture the American dream.

               ©2013 Christine Phillips


Long Poems