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Long Computer Poems | Long Computer Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Ed Ebbs | Details |

LA Sewers

This is a draft, my computer is being weird, so I put this here...

There was a time to survive the streets of Los Angeles without bruises, cuts and possibly your life, you had to size up those approaching by carefully watching each and every move they made; are you a target. I'm watching to see if they take notice of me as I cross over the other side of the street. Sigh, they cross over to the other side matching my movement. Oh God, I'm in trouble, I can feel their penetrating eyes and everything inside is screaming. There was a storm sewer at the corner of the street I just passed a few moments ago. Without hesitation I turned run for my life. Slid to the street corner and squeeze between the sidewalk above and the street below…a few more pounds and I would have been stuck. This storm sewer seems to be a large concrete box with a tunnel that goes somewhere else. By now the gang member are all around outside of my escape swinging their chains, sticks and blades. Acting like a pack of dogs they're yelping and hollering at their prey trapped in a corner. They start working on the manhole cover above with a crowbar which gives access to me below. Fear is now getting the best of me so without much thought I quickly entered the large drain pipe and went deeper into a abyss.  This drain pipe connects to a tunnel large enough for a car to pass through. They’re following me now so I run down the tunnel into the darkness and then stop to listen.  I hear no footsteps, but I ran so far I cannot see a thing, there is no light, just nothingness. I start to walk and I bump into a wall. I can’t go back the way I came, because the nothingness is all around me and I am not sure what direction that would be. I remember running down the left side of the tunnel before stopping to listen. When I start to walk again I ran into a wall so that must be the right side. I decide to continue, and being right handed I'm more comfortable on the left side so I turn and walk towards the left side. It seems like an eternity until I finally reach a wall. This wall soon became my security from the nothingness...I can’t see my hands or feet, I can't hear a sound. I have no frame of reference, only the wall and the solid ground under my feet. Thank God this was a time before those vampire movies or Freddy Krueger; I have only the Alfred Hichcook movies to pull fears from. Continuing through this nothingness a beam of light begins to appear from above. It’s amazing how much light is coming from this little tiny whole in that manhole cover—it lights up the whole area. I stand there amazed and I take a deep breath in this light, it has been a long journey.  As I stand I notice a ladder leading up to a possible escape. Listening carefully before pushing up on the cover...I'm not strong enough. Many of the manhole covers were spot welded by the public works department to prevent an open manhole in the middle of a street. I climb down from the ladder and pause for a few moments in the light absorbing what I could before continuing on; this tunnel must lead somewhere, right? Another beam of light, another welded manhole cover. The fear of the gang is now long past, my only thoughts are those of being lost and hopelessness. I remember a verse I was taught about falling down, that the faithful fall down seven times, but they get up again..at least that is how I remember it. They're words from a Sunday school teacher. I was terrible at remembering those scriptures to get those stickers, but I remember what the verses meant. The nothingness continues as I walk, and it has been a while since the last little beam of light.  The floor below is beginning to get damp, egads, what am I walking in; I can’t see a thing still and I'm too afraid to stop touching the wall or even stooping down, the wall is my security.  My mind is pretty blank, I have forgotten everything;  my only focused is on the wall and walking. The dampness becomes wet and the wet to splashing. A moment of fear, I pause to sense if the water is moving; am I going the wrong way and about to get swallowed up by a wall of water. The water seems to be static and the nothingness yields no sounds, so I continue. Finally, salvation from a beam of light shining from above reveals little fish in the water below. I'm headed to the ocean, I'm sure, confidence starts to be renewed. The movie Jaws was years away so there are no fears. The nothingness continues until again there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The wall is no longer my security, I follow the light.  The water is at my knees as I continue towards the light. I can smell the ocean and feel a breeze. I can see the ocean and the sand. Sigh, there is a bar screen blocking my exit—I'm feeling defeated, their is no way I can every go back. Looking closely at this bar screen in the way of my freedom, one corner has been pulled away, it’s bent outward under the high tide. There are no other choices really, so I take a deep breath and down I go. My shirt snags on something as I start to reach around to the other side and pull. I struggle, my shirt tears and I am free.  Freedom never felt so good. I look around at the beach, it’s rather windy, only a few people walking here and there, but it’s sunny! I turn in a circle to get my bearings, it’s sure great to be alive and free.  Months later they’re welding bars over these points of escape.  I am heavier now, and I would not fit anyway, but I ponder about my escape, what about others. I feel sad for them...


Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

23 warning signs that you are severely addicted to poetrysoup dot com



1) Since you have such a crazy drive to post every thought which goes through your mind, you consider posting your grocery lists.

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Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

A Week In Life

It is Monday, today is pay the bills and light shop.
All this after we have been for the morning run.
The dogs are always keen, they trot beside me
as at ten miles an hour we cover the ground

Always pleased to see their friends we stop and chat.
A full mile we go in a circuit of my village.
Then home for their breakfast while I make lunch.
In the car we stop at the village post office and shop.

Do the essentials like feeding metres and buying cigs.
On into town we hit the supermarket for some staples.
Now the dogs favourite time when we go to our trading estate
which is being knocked down for housing and mainly now vacant.

Here they stretch their legs and chase each other, rabbits beware!
Tired they pile back into the car and doze on the way home.
Chat to a few passer's by as I lock up the gates, then
time to make supper and feed us all, water the garden too many tubs.

Now I settle down its poetry time read a few write if I can.
Total self indulgence as I disappear into the words I read
An hour or so of telly or maybe a computer game its ten pm
dogs go to bed just me and my three cats we watch Tommy Walsh.

A last check on the beloved soup sure to be a good new poem 
waiting there, surfeit and happy I again indulge in written words.
Decide if I am staying downstairs on the day bed or going upstairs.
Read some pages of a good novel usually a crime book then to sleep.

Tuesday up bright and early its main shopping day
Trudge around the various stores, head home to unload
In the afternoon we go out maybe up on the hills
or on to Exmoor maybe one of the two reservoirs.

Here I stroll, while they play looking around noting the changes
that have occurred since last I was here, watching the buzzards
swoop and play and if lucky a hawk or two to enjoy.
Often a glimpse of a red deer or some boxing hares.

Home to the nightly routine with a slight difference
tonight, its off to local obedience training as a
well taught dog is pleasant to be around and its fun for us all.
Chit chat with the other handlers praising if they did well.

Wednesday usual routine then out in the garden to weed and tidy.
Net the leaves from the ponds while watching the fish and newts.
Gather what apples are ripe and give everything a good water.
Early lunch and off to Wales for some ring craft training.

Thursday its the first in the month tonight is poetry group.
First its see to the dogs a walk down the fields by the river.
Sort out which poems I will read tonight at the open mike.
Listen to what the other poets read and to our guest poetry speaker.

Have fun discussing the various new poems and just catching up
Drive home and often inspired, sit down and write a new poem or two.
Feeling well satisfied with my week so far I turn to other poets work
and slip off into the beauty and images they inspire. What a treat!

Friday butchers day to pick up meat and bones for the dogs
They know its in the car their noses twitching in anticipation.
Supermarket yet again running low on fresh staples time to stock up.
Afternoon its usually down to the beach where the dogs chase the waves.

Weekend some grooming prettying up the dogs we are off to a show.
Hanging around waiting for our classes to start then its time we are on.
Proudly they strut their stuff showing off to the judge, will we get placed?
We beat them all at the last show. Yes, yes Minstral has another 1st.

Bundell managed a 3rd he still needs time to mature next year he will do well.
Sunday dawns a day that weekly changes sometimes a BBQ or a family meal.
Another we will be off to Wales for more training or a show perhaps, or
A day to relax and visit friends and catch up with their news.

No matter what the day there's always plenty to do, did I mention housework?
Nah, that's far too mundane its always there hovering, waiting in the wings.
Some days have not enough hours, time relentless ticking on. So much to do. 
Yet it is seldom boring living in this madhouse of mine. Bless all animals.


Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


Long poem by Lea Hela | Details |

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Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

A Doggy Afternoon

Narrator:  I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
 lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special 
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always 
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that 
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the 
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to 
the back yard!

Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”) 
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . . 

Ollyver:  I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man 
by fence. . .  I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . .  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .

Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!

Ollyver:  always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . . 
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who 
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . . 

Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to 
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice 
cream on the bed. 

Ollyver:  I go in. . . see  yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want 

Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big 
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum. 

Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . .  Yum-yum  
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh

Narrator:  Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.

Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love

Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door 
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.

Ollyver:  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady 
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . .. 

Narrator:  The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family 
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously 
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she 
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.”  Ollyver 
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.

Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee


**For the contest of  Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed  him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!


Long poem by jalani jenkins | Details |

im back

Stand back 
Here comes the hurricane
The storm is worst then a earthquake 
Ima gas planet like Jupiter & saturn
Sufficication no life just toxic gas 
Blow u to pieces 
It's so interesting 
Reachin for me is like reachin the stars in the solor system
U'll never get to me son
Think twice before u wanna try me
The size of Tyson
Gorilla in the mountin
I dominate this with out fear
I'm better then most u hear
Hate the truth 
I don't give a ****
I'm not the type to smile about *****
I'm smart I osverb the poetry,biology,philosophy,history & literature 
I mind **** so many people
It's like a video game I'm playing with my brain
I go off like I'm on speed
I'm so crazy in the brain 
I can't stay normal
I puff good green 
To keep my head good 
Most of ya wack 
Ya fake take the make up off
I'll spray u with the hose proudly 
Ima problem child 
No one can touch me
U couldn't be me if u took Notes & did research
Ya talk too much like ya was the broadcasters on the news
I'm far from the sun
But I have a heated temper
The flame I leave on the mic it can't be out out 
Call the fire department
It ain't gonna do any good
The savage poet on the loose
Taking mc's out 
Eating em out like oral sex
As long it don't stink ima eat u out the frame 
Ya like on the breakfast menu
Put u in the cementary 
U forgot I'm the grave digger
I dig graves for fun
Most of ya dig ya own graves
Talking about money cars & hoes
It's annoying 
Its having a Knat in ya ear while u sleep
Ya niggas stupid most of ya belong in special ed
The graves I dug
I show no remorse
I'll continue I'm iller then a bad cold
Cough it up u like swallowed hair
Inhale the good *****
Never the doo doo type
U style is lame u sad go to the circus 
Marry the beard lady
U envy me like the rest
I'm slick 
I can scoop a lesbian turn that ***** inside out 
Niggas hate on me I know they don't like me
Ya niggas are ugly it's like u got scraped with a fork 
Sit down 
Watch the king at his best 
I can take many sittin on the throne that's how ill I am
Take em out no competition 
Booyaka it's gettin real 
It's scary the nightmare on elm street
Coming for u in ur dreams 
**** Freddy Krueger 
I'm the true grim reaper when it come to takin souls
Take u out Ur misery 
U a kid in a growns mans world
Ur breath smells like ass & fish 
Take the mic from ya ur skills is dry 
Buy a toothbrush mouthwash and a pack of gum
I'll put u in the graveyard
Dig ur grave 
Dress u up with ur hands crossed with ur eyes open
Ain't it terrifying 
Sign my name on ur casket
Put u in the dirt put u 6ft under
Ur gone ur forgotten
Goodnight sleep in piss *****
Wack niggas wanna be down with the j
But my circle is small 
Sometimes I don't roll with em
Ya Niggas closet fags
Stay on my dick keeping my name in ya mouth why
What ya in love 
**** off i ain't into that 
Going off like I was in Vietnam fighting Vietcong 
Beating my chest like King Kong before he fought the t-Rex
I'll kill ya lawyers
U soft u wouldn't hurt a fly
U talk a good game 
U a motor mouth
****ing with me
Ima cobra ima spit venom right at u
Watch u shake screamin louder then a chick
Goons always got em on dial 
Bloods 
Crips 
Latin kings don't get it ****ed up
I'm nasty as a mold growing in a corner in a bathroom(eww)
**** that 
Worse then a bushy pussy with a fowl smell(gasp)
What's gets worst then that
I can think of many 
My mind is like a computer 
The power is on
I'm full of energy 
I said enough I feel I'm done
Adios I'm ghost I killed it enough


Long poem by Leann OReilly | Details |

Ugly

Don’t know when it started….freshman year?
I look in the mirror
	See….fat
		Hanging
			Bulges
				UGLY 
UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY 
		UGLY
Remembering the food….calories….sugar….fat 
Passing my lips….
		Leading down my throat
			Into my stomach….onto my hips….my face…my stomach…my arms…my legs
			UGLY
Next day, no food….hardly any water….
Stomach is growling….I don’t care.
	Killing myself….I don’t care. All I want is to be…
Pretty.
Two weeks later….friends are suspicious. I had a big lunch/breakfast/dinner. I’m not hungry.
	My stomach protests…I don’t care. 
I’m caught…I give up. I’m weak.
Food passes my lips…
		Leading down my throat
			Into my stomach…I protest. Too weak to care. I eat.
Sophmore year. I look in the mirror.
I see….fat. 
	Skin hanging
		An extra set of boobs on my sides
			Bulging under my clothes….tags getting larger along with my waistline.
I am fat. I am ugly. Like twins they go together…fat and ugly. Ugly and fat. 
			UGLY
	I refuse to eat…I pretend I am full. Move food around, no one will notice?
		Stomach growls but I fight back…killing my body but I don’t care…I want to be skinny.
I want to be pretty.
If I am skinny, I am pretty. Like twins they go together…pretty and skinny, skinny and pretty. 
I am neither. I am not pretty. I am not skinny. 
	I am FAT. I am UGLY.
		FAT.
		UGLY.
I step on the scale. I have lost five pounds. Success. 
I reward myself by not eating for another week. Three pounds are back…I hate myself. 
I look in the mirror. I am still fat. I am still ugly. 
My friends see the dark circles. They know I’m not eating. Some say something…I ignore them.
	I’m scared. I’m lost…but I don’t care. I am still UGLY. Fat and UGLY.
I’m running…trying to lose weight faster…I want to be skinny.
	Dark edges around my eyes. I don’t care. 
	Head is spinning. I don’t care.
	Breathing is labored. I don’t care.
I WANT TO BE SKINNY.
My friend finally confronts me. If I don’t stop…she will tell someone. I care. I do.
		I’m scared. 
Food passes my lips. I hate myself.
	Weight is still dropping…I find myself eating again.
		Yet…always lingers. I look in the mirror…I see…
			Fat….UGLY
Junior year. Eating again. Sometimes skipping meals...trying not to go back. 
	Constantly an option in my ear when I step on the scale…
			Look in the mirror….
				And don’t like what I see.
I fight it. I want to be strong. 
	I force myself to eat…it comes back.
		I begin to skip meals…watch the scale drop.
			Along with my self esteem….again….
Friends are fighting with me, I miss them…I am constantly on the verge of tears…
	The only thing I can control anymore is the food…I can stop it from passing my lips.
		I may not be sleeping but at least I’m not gaining weight.
I look in the mirror. I want to see me. Instead all I see is what I need to lose…what I’ve always seen.
			What she used to say to me….
				A few more pounds…maybe then I won’t be…fat.
		UGLY
I open my mouth…it all pours out. I open my computer…the words arrange themselves. 
	Tears at the truth. I am sick….but I am not
FAT.
I am not 	
			UGLY

I refuse to hate myself. I refuse to hurt myself. 
	I WANT TO BE PRETTY.
But that is not the way to be.  
	No more. No more pain…no more starving. I will be strong. I am not weak. 
I look in the mirror. I stare past my reflection and I fight the demons…
	I am not fat. I am not ugly. 
		I will change. For my friends who love me. 
			For my family.
				For me.


Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Vets Know

Vets Know
                  by Odin Roark



Deployment
(Via Refrigerator Magnets)
 
Sweetheart

Should have told you

I’m sorry
I’ve buttered
the last piece
the heel
you never eat

Can you forgive me?

I toasted it
like you used to do
like you used to make
for me

I can’t be back for a while



I’m Here
(Via Email)

Nobody Told Me

They say ‘cause I’m alive and healthy
I’m supposed to grieve in stages
A bit presumptuous, eh?
Just how is this insight acquired?

Maybe
Just maybe
If they’d outlined the steps
Both of my bereaved deployments
Might not have ripped heart and spirit
Into so many scattered pieces

Maybe
I could have asked friends
Weep with me?

Maybe
I wouldn’t have excluded them
These many months of loneliness
But then
Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted
This fragile courage
To double check my mags
Make sure the chamber’s loaded
Step cautiously and nudge the child’s severed arm
Closer to her body
Wipe my eyes clear
Take another step forward

Can’t help wandering
When and how was I supposed to get it
This euphoria of numbness some call it
This make-as-you-go survival kit

Nobody told me


 

I’m There
(Via restrictive mail prohibiting my saying where)

Tainted

Reality in search of…

WE

With smartphones
Computer smart cars
Driverless transit
Gigabyte this
Gigabyte that

THEY

Crippled minds and limbs
Wheelchairs
Prosthetics
Crutches
Beds
Knowing sure
From where they came
Knowing not
Where they shall go

THERAPISTS

Caring in their way
Address the circles
Like gentle creatures awaiting validation
Veterans attentively turn ears
Leaning forward
Sitting
Reclining
Still breathing

Compassionate directives
Come forth

Some square shoulders
Others straighten legs
A few retain stoic resolve
While the heartiest
Blink their acknowledgment
Some with the left eye
Others with the right
Whichever has survived

SOME

Stare blankly
Neither here in group
Nor there with the blasts
Merely as existence in limbo

Why try?
Asks one

‘Cause there’s still a mission to complete
Comes the answer

To retain life in that arm you still have
To keep atrophy away from the spinal chord smashed
But not severed by shrapnel
To know
There is help
There are choices
There is life of another kind
Needing to be shared
To prepare those of the next war

THEY

In the circle
will learn to adjust
Some with eyes of glass
Skulls of titanium
Feet of shapely plastic
All with hearts still beating

WE

Destined to become…

Jaded TV spectators
Will tweet our friends
Cell-photo our spouses
Even unconsciously text ourselves
Ya gotta tune this in
Wow!

THEY

As few

Like a circle of timid buds
Having weathered tempests unimagined
Await blossoms that may never come
Awakening each dawn
A little at a time
Nurturing desired full bloom
Knowing very well
Storms so often happen
Are part of it all

But always

Even as their numbers remain scarred
They continue unblemished
A different reality

Untainted



I’m Back
(Via special air flight)

A Zip Bag Memorial

What were once men and women
now but ragged and putrid bundles

Without thinking they were idealists
courageous
loving

Why

This marvelous
inspiring mix
soul
nerves
intellect
rendered still
decaying camo-rags
shrouded not with angel’s wings
but swathed in black
a savage mantle of flies
carrying off sacred parcels
war’s memory
immortality in ruin

Quick for God’s sake
Zip the ****ing bag

Sweetheart

I’m on my way
They’re bringing me home


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

Alive

ALIVE (HOW DO I KNOW)

I KNEW I WAS ALIVE
 
NOT FROM THE PAIN
 
OF GIVING BIRTH
 
NOT FROM THE EXCRUTIATING
 
RE-OCCURRING TOOTH ACHE
 
SOMETIMES ITS THINGS LIKE thiis-
 
THAT MAKES YOU CALL ON DEATH
 
I KNEW I WAS ALIVE -
 
THO I DID NOT FEEL ALIVE-
 
I felt no pulse
 
LIKE WHEN I
 
WAS KIDNAPPED
--
NOR the day SHE STABBED
 
AND KILLED MY BROTHER-
 
NOT WHEN THEY SENTENCED  MY
 
BLACK MALE CHILD
 
FOR TRYING TO BE A HERO.-
 
somehow
 
I KNEW I WAS ALIVE
 
-BECAUSE OF
 
 LITTLE  insignificant THINGS-
 
LITTLE THINGS -THAT OPENED MY EYES
 
such as
 
ROBOTICAL MOVES - A GLIMPSE OF
 
THE MUNDANE these things
 
MADE ME AWARE-OF
 
WHERE THE ILLUSIONS END
 
 and REAL LIFE BEGINS
 
MORE TIMES THAN NOT
 
 the heavy loads are
 
TOO PAINFUL TO DIGEST-
 
SO I focus
 
ON THE INSINIFICANT
 
LIKE WHEN THE MAN PUSHED
 
HIS GLASSES UPON HIS NOSE.
 
 but NOT WHEN THE WEATHER
 
WAS BELOW ZERO- and cold
 
 
I KNEW ONE DAY THE
 
TRAGEDIES WOULD CEASE
 
AND THAT FEELING OF
 
LIVING WOULD INCREASE
 
THAT ONE DAY IN SPITE OF
 
ALL THESE PITFALLS
 
AND STUMBLING BLOCKS
 
 
I  FINALLY REALIZE
 
THAT I am ALIVE
 
WHEN I SAW A MAN PUSH
 
HIS GLASSES upon his nose.
 
 
I knew I was alive WHEN 
 
I SAW THE WOMAN EATING
 
CHEEZ-LESS CHEETOES
 
 
ONE DAY LIFE FLASHED
 
A WARNING BUTTON
 
ALERTING ME THAT
 
THIS LIFE IS REAL
 
 
yet THERE WERE NO RULES ATTACHED
 
LIFE IS COMPLICATED WITHOUT RULES 
 
AND even WITH RULES
 
LIFE IS STILL AN unfair GAME
 
A complicated GAME OF CHANCE.
 
 
I MADE TWO BABIES
 
LAUGHED AS MUCH AS I COULD
 
WITHOUT APPEARING INSANE
 
 
SAT THROUGH A FEW MOVIES
 
READ ONLY WHAT AND WHEN
 
I WANTED-  ONLY
 
WHEN I WANTED.
 
I WAS BUSY WRITING
 
A BUNCH OF POEMS
 
 
I WANTED TO DANCE EVERY DAY
 
THE ONLY SACRIFICE I MADE
 
WAS SOMETIMES I WOULDN'T LET MYSELF
...
 
I WANTED TO LEAVE RIGHT
 
AFTER THE DANCING STOPPED
 
 
STILL KNEW I WAS A
 
LIVING BEING WHEN
 
I SAW HOW I STAYED ON
 
THE MINDS OF THE BABIES..
 
BABIES NEVER FORGET ME.
 
THE CHILD RAN TOWARD ME .
 
HE HAD ON TRAINING PANTS
 
HE COULD NOT HAVE
 
BEEN ANY MORE THAN
 
THREE -OR A BIT MORE - 
 
NO MORE THAN  FOUR.
 
HE RAN TO ME AS
 
I HAD BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG
 
BUT HE WAS GLEEFULLY GREETING
 
ME - HOW COULD HE REMEMBER ME.?
 
HE WAS ONLY ONE YEAR OLD
 
WHEN I LEFT TOWN.
 
 
THE OTHER KID CAME OVER TO HELP ME
 
BUT HE CHARGED ME 2.00$
 
I SAID" I THOUGHT YOU WERE
 
HELPING ME FROM YOUR HEART"
 
"I AM". :..He said
 
"BUT I STILL NEED 2.00$" -
 
THAT WAS REAL.
 
 
THE ONLY THING ACTING UP ON MY
 
COMPUTER IS THE SOFTWARE
 
THAT KEEPS MY PUTER-
 
FROM ACTING UP.
 
 
I KNEW WHEN I SAW HIm
 
the man - PUSHING HIS GLASSES
 
UP ON HIS NOSE. It was then
 
that  I knew I WAS STILL ALIVE ..
 
THIS MUST BE  MY TEST.
 
 
A CHILD ASK FOR 2 DOLLARS
 
TO HELP ME FROM HIS HEART-
 
MY MAINTENANCE SOFTWARE
 
OPENS TO ERROR MESSAGES-
 
MAN PUSHES GLASSES UP
 
ON HIS NOSE-INCIDENTALLY-
 
It was At these crucial points
 
I now know -my LIFE
 
IS NOT AN ILLUSION-
 
BUT THAT IS HOW -
 
Somehow -
 
THAT is how -
 
I KNOW I AM ALIVE -
 
HOW BOUT YOU ?
 


Long Poems