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Long Courage Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Jude Kyrie | Details |

Stella, a new York love short story

Stella ..a New York love story from Jude kyrie

She awoke up on a bench in times square
She tried to remember who she was but nothing no name or family nothing.
Panicking she looked for a wallet or purse something with a clue to her ID.
She could say words in English but no familiar memories.
A beer truck passed by it had big advert even the side for the beer it contains
It said STELLA ARTOIS she needed a name she would use Stella as hers until she remembered her own.

A man came up to her and said you alright lady 
you been sat there all night.
Err ...yes I think so I just can't remember anything
Nothing? he said  she shook her head.i have no ID nothing in my my pockets and no purse.
I see he said do you want me to take you to the hospital or police.
Just the mention of police brought a resounding NO not the police.
He was handsome and kind
he said look I can take you to my place if you like.
It's just two blocks walk.
Perhaps after you eat and rest you will remember 
I can't leave a pretty lady like you out here.
She looked into his kind face 
he was about thirty five handsome and well dressed 
with piercing blue eyes.
She said would you mind I am so hungry and tired.
He took her arm gently and they walked to his apartment.
Then she looked into his bathroom mirror 
her face was pretty her hair neatly styled
and dark red lipstick and grey eyes
with carefully applied eyeshadow she was pretty if not beautiful 
yet she was a stanger to her.
She told him to call her Stella he introduced himself as Adam.
She slept all night
after her fed her a large plate of spaghetti with meat balls it was so good. she drank a glass  of wine and they talked four a while.
He said he was divorced and single and if she liked she could stay at his place until her memory came back and she went home again.
The mention of home scared her she told him.
Home and police sent shivers.
Six weeks turned into three months and nothing changed.
Well almost nothing he fell in love with her.
He did not tell her of course 
she was way too pretty for him out of his league really.
But she liked him that's for sure 
she even kissed his cheek 
when he took her shopping
and bought her several dresses and a coat.
It was not the kiss  he craved from her but still a kiss.
They walked together in the city 
went to the theatre and movies 
and took drives out of the city
to have a picnic lunch or eat at a wayside cafe.
He did not remember feeling as happy ever.
It was Christmas tide they watched
the tree being lit in the city it was beautiful
and he took her to watch the christmas show at radio city.
She was watching the leggy showgirls
and she said I know this place I am  remembering it. 
His heart sank what if she remembered and then the biggie
What if she had to go home and leave him he was desolate.

But he smiled and said that's a good sign stella it's coming back.
She went back to the radio city the next day and waited at the stage entrance a group of pretty showgirls arrived for practice.
One came over to her Janie she said? Stella looked up and half knew the girl.
They are looking for you honey everywhere
Who she said I don't remember
Your husband and the police 
she gave her her name Janie Evans.
She told her where she lived
she was a dance choreographer at the radio city.

She went home to her own place taking a cab
It was an apartment in a old walk up
She started to remember
fear caught her chest as she knocked on the door.
A big man answered he was angry looking.
Well well lookie who's  here it's back.
A drunken woman was in the room in her bra and pants.
Who's this she yelled it's just a bitch a  I married he sneered.
Who have you been fucking bitch he yelled.
You gone Nine fucking months without a word.
She did not see the fist as it hit her face.
Blood flowed from her nose 
she fell and he kicked her in her ribs.
Then threw her down two flights of stairs
She lay at the bottom a woman screamed as the Brutish man came down the stairs to continue her beating.
A young policeman heard the scream 
and went inside the man was kicking the prostrate lady in the ribs.
He drew his weapon and shouted
stand back but the man drew his boot back
and went to kick her head a deadly blow.
He shot twice the first a flesh wound in his arm
the second passed through his heart 
he fell on the floor in a heap 
he had hit his wife for the very last time.

She was in a coma at the hospital for six days
Her face bandaged she had four broken ribs a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm and leg.
When she awoke the room was empty she thought where am I but it all flooded back in waves she had been late from work he was angry where you been you fucking bitch he hit her and she fell back banging her head on the wall
Then she ran and ran not even picking up the purse on the table.
Then the park bench in times square
the truck Stella Artois ….Stella.
And Adam 
oh her Adam her gentle friend she loved him so much.
Then she saw him he had sat with her on vigil all night every day since he phoned all the hospital in new York city and found her when she did not come home.
He had tears in his eyes and finally said what was overflowing in his sweet heart. Oh Stella thank God I have prayed for you made deals with God to save you. I love you honey
She looked into his beautiful eyes and saw all the love that heaven can bestow on one heart. I love you too my darling my sweet adam.

A year later

They went for the lighting of the Christmas tree now a new York tradition for them.
Adam  held his beloved  wife 
close to him no one could ever hurt a single hair
on her head ever again.
She felt protected and loved.
Then as the first snowflakes fell in New York
Silent night was sang beautifully by a children's choir.
the magical Christmas  lights too many to count lit up the sky.
Their baby girl stirred in her stroller 
...Stella... Janie cried to her little girl
look at the beautiful tree

And way way above them a wise old moon looked down on the old city
And added another beautiful love story with a happy ending 
to its everlasting collection.that it kept hidden deep inside his tender heart

Copyright © Jude Kyrie | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Elisa Christensen | Details |

The Inner Chamber


Please.  Stop holding back on me.

Like a child standing at the neighborhood ice cream truck, arm outstretched, eyes huge, mouth watering.

I stand here longing to slip underneath your decades of cold-rolled steel armor and touch the real you.

Your soft underbelly where your greatest fears run amuck through your darkest worlds. 
Where you hide the monsters you are sure will send me screaming, 
Stuck deeply with their sharpest swords, 
A trail of blood decorating my getaway.
?Where you go to revisit the smell of your newborn’s head and 
The sound of the thousand “I love you’s” that have decorated 
Your heart, like a high ranking general.

His bright, glistening medals lining his proud Chest
Just as your children’s “I love you’s” decorate your soft, gooey middle core, 
That part of you no one else gets to see.

To open these innermost, secret chambers, 
Would be to allow another warrior into your most private sanctuary.

The space where you lay down your weapons, 
Remove your many layers of armor.

I get that.  It’s a most dangerous proposal.
One you haven’t had much luck with in your past.

I understand that when the elixir of youth’s innocence,
Formed a rosy gauze over your insight, 
And your understanding of how your species really works-

You allowed a few in.
I know what they did,

Betrayals scattered across 
Your sacred sanctuary,
Littering the once pristine floors,
That you initially built.
Floors that were not lacking in any way-
From the purest white ideals,
The hopes and impossible delusions,
That a teen bride imbibes as she
Sweetly dreams of her white wedding day.

While your armor may be a suitable deterrent for most, 
I can see it is transparent in some places.
Worn thin from years of overuse.

You should know that.

Through these unintended, accidental windows,
I can see what lies there.
Multiple masses of thick scar tissue where-
The injury of betrayal and the loss of innocence 
Played out like a well-executed horror film,
Leading you to absolute conviction concerning 
The danger such risks can afford.

Should I ever be the very rare, honored guest, 
Chosen to visit you there,
I can’t promise you that I won’t ever
Pull a shank from my pinions and consider
Hacking at your soft underbelly.

I could probably even get a few small
Yet effective weapons past your metal detectors, 
Your multiple teams of soldiers standing guard.
But would I?  Would I pose that danger?

I’ve seen how we can dissolve 
Into tattered, faded copies of ourselves 
Marked with coffee rings and ink spills.

Our most evil versions of ourselves taking over
Like the energy vampires who manipulate 
Every conversation and exhaust all those around them.

I cannot say to you that I have never attacked
With both barrels blazing,
After sustaining a life-threatening blow
From your finest canons.

You know that I have.

While certainly not my proudest moments,
I cannot promise that I, 
In all my medieval humanness and imperfections,
Could rise above my own scars and 
Open wounds and turn to face you,
With my finest intentions displayed proudly 
Like the white feathers of a great owl.

When the salt is still burning through
The wounds that we both knew 
Would probably not ever heal, 
Due to the unexpected, additional attacks 
They have been pummeled with--

When our shadow people join forces to
Show us just how ugly we really can be--
When my own fears and pain from
My own scar tissue turns me into someone
I’d avoid at all costs in a dark alley--

How can I promise you complete safety?
How could I ever be truthful in saying
I could never hurt you,
That I would never consider smuggling in
A small shank intended for your underbelly?

Am I any better, any more kind, less sinister?
Than the black clothed, face painted, stealth ninjas
That snuck in before me?

Littering your inner chamber with blood stains,
Chunks of flesh sliced away with razor sharp swords,
With words that should never have formed
On the lips of anyone who also tumbled forth
“I love you?”

I can’t.  I cannot promise you my visit there, 
Should I ever be permitted into your sacred space,
Will be one of godly like goodness
Devoid of human insecurity, self absorption
And crippling imperfections.

I honestly cannot give you that.
Even as much as I want to.

What I can give you is a broken, imperfect person,
Who at least understands the delicacies of 
?Such an important journey into that sacred space.
A person who recognizes this space of yours,
As truly sacred.

A person who will respectfully take off her shoes,
Not trample the few square feet of soft, 
White carpet that has yet to be stained with your blood.

The lifeblood that the very ones,
You chose to love, and who promised only 
To love and protect you,
Went before me and carelessly, 
Sometimes wits the most frightening and shocking intentions,
Boldly splattered from your tender heart,
Across your white carpet, once so pure and clean. 

I can only promise that my goal here 
Is and never will be to cut you open any deeper.

I can only promise that I will keep this in mind,
Before I go forward and knock once again,
Upon your tightly sealed, inner chamber door.
The one you’ve outfitted with five, impossible deadbolts.

I can only promise that I will bring--
A satchel of tenderness.
A backpack filled with understanding,
Patience and genuine love. 
And hopefully,
If I can fit it in, 
A little, true selflessness.

And should I pack all of this for my journey,
There won’t be any room for my weapons.

So please, when I knock on that door,
Don’t greet me with a long, cold, 
Terrorizing glance down the barrel of one of your biggest guns.

Realize I come in peace, unarmed.
Recognize and acknowledge the white flag
I hold high out in front of me.

Hoping just to know you.
To love you.
To lounge in bliss within your warm, sweet chamber.
Your sanctuary.
And finally get the chance to meet the real you.


Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

The 996th Poem

Fulfilled fantasies and legitimate realities…you do know how to please…
Are you listening to my voice of longing and yearning?
No, don’t backstab me with your broken promises…stop being a horrid tease…
Do not worry, Lord, I am still constantly…learning…

God is here…

I’m scared, so unprepared… my flames are flared…
I’m impaired by depression wars I have fought over the years
Just a hair, faced this nightmare and no one cared
Slayed by the mocking sanity of society…reduced me to tears…

Healing is near…

Exceedingly exasperated by your empty empathy 
Vacant stares flood the room in despair and envy
I adore you, you’re my door of countless opportunities and yet, time flies
Play me on the radio again and again and you’ll find where your heart lies 

Don’t worry, dear…

Rising in the moment of remarkable letdowns
I had a miscarriage of misery a long time ago
You blew up my cellphone with texts, calls and happy frowns
I can do this, I have done this before, I…know…

Cower away from sheer fear that veers the head…don’t let it appear…
Yank away from my dreams…
Turn me on with your musical talents and interests alike
Broken by the useless seams…
Ride me like your favorite, childhood bike…I let go of the mic

Therapeutic aftershocks draw near to me…honey, don’t shed a tear…

Get off of my chest, heart attacks of our love from below above
I’m chasing the water under the bridge over you, can’t you sea? No possibly…no possibility…
Can’t you just leave me be?
I swear without cussing, I was being sincere with my speech you knew not of
My flow is far from yours, so don’t intertwine with my flow of ecstatic me, in need of being free
Can’t you leave my side for now?
Just leave my presence somehow…

Jealousy is key to the gates of selfish ambition, so don’t have the spirit of jeer

You served as a distraction more or less
Sorry I got you in this hell-heaven of a mess
Everything can last a while, but not forever
It is impossible to say what is on my mind whatsoever
I’m a Positive Poe and a Silly Seuss all over again…so, cheers! 
Raise up your wine cups and bubblin’ beers…

My request is to kiss your lips, so warm and lovely
In my tamest dreams, I’ve looked all over for you…you were lying on stones and stix
I am raptured in this love affair; barely breathing, baby...
Do it again…do it again – the verbal abuse is a bruise I fix…you are as hard as billion brix

Going Justin Beiber on you...disappointed, you scoot away from me…drove me to laughter tears…

Plastic reality can’t undo what has happened to me in the past…I’m the mast in Antarctica, left behind at last 
It is the captive soul that needs some healing…I seek something more than what meets the eyes
You are Australia and I am America…opposite directions…we drifted our separate ways oh so vast and fast
Cast away this sorrow from my sullen cheeks and these eyes that are like mood rings daily…it’s best if you don’t ask your what’s and why’s

Instead, you go Lady Gaga on me – good one! At least I’m not going Demi Lovato on you, my wandering deer

Wipe away these lament drops from my cloudy eyes
Because they won’t even consider my cry for help, but hopeless like withered kelp 
Ripen me with radiance and reveal to me no sly lies
No vulgar talk please…he speaks genuine words and hear my helpless, muffled yelp 

If I was your man, I’d be the happiest man alive…like Rihanna that arrives in Los Angeles for the first time…I’m getting it on poetically and popically up in here

I got you in chains in my heart…you feeling it? Are you ready? Do I need to feed you regretti?
You ain’t coming out of my ribcage
Try to plan an escape route…just try and give up already…here’s a celebrated fail with confetti
You make me feel this painless rage

I bit my Cyrus Tongue…hold your tongue before the fire consumes all…or if you whisper it in my ears, you’ll reduce me to ashes...nowhere to roam it appears…

You shelter me with laughter and peace disaster
I don’t understand the words you utter, but I know it screams out those hear-me-out’s
I can’t make out how we made it through this hardship that has torn us asunder 
My ears will listen to you acutely, so I’ll be your butter on warm toast when you let out your desire shouts

Killing me alive by your sensual and passionate nature that give me dream infatuationmares…my obsession towards you is dastardly, disturbingly serpentine to my evanescent heart of stone in a sight’s gleam

I need saving, for I am caving…fell victim to lustful, ugly craving
It takes me to levels of languishing hopes
I know I was unfaithful and misbehaving…force-fed your raving 
My voice of angst anguish…it still mopes

I know my rights and wrongs…
Catastrophe connection lost its link and my positivity peace is in the brink of spring – so, in winter, I sing these sad, sad songs

I was the class clown…in pointless, humor town 
Now, I’m the loner in class
Let’s not categorize others and put everyone down 
I am lost in a multitude alas

Inside and out, I have the hearts for you… and you had no clue
Through silence and shouts, I’m blue without you… so true…

I freaked out suddenly…
It puzzled me and bewildered you too…I’m sorry for my cyber-outburst
Dating goes bad madly…
Needed you really badly, but you were…oblivious of it, it seemed at first

Whistling to myself in a blissful moment of musical, magical muse…
I speak mindlessly with my imaginary friends and it’s amusing because I have some good and bad news…
My Silly Seuss released from my writing of childish conniving
Emerge from the volcanic vanity, scorching…warped-up writhing… 
After being verse-tracked, I have some good and bad news: 

I passed for being the biggest loser on Earth
I failed on being a good leader…
Mirth gives birth to a rebirth of faith hearth 
Okay, fine…I’ll be a follower…

Remember, I am titaniumb and I am Rated R for Recovery 
December, the month in embers…January is a new discovery

Hang on the ceiling, chandelier fear 
The spotlight is on me…once and for all…
After all I’ve said and done, I’m of cheer
Because I fear no more…996th poem, y’all…

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |


This page shows my writing process and is part of Poetrysoup's first workshop.  The workshop's intent is to reveal how revision strengthens a poem. Constructive feedback can be a gift.  Should any journal editor provide suggestions to me, I'd eagerly listen.  This 'reveal' will be archived, may be used as a teaching tool for newer poets.  Thank you to all the workshop participants.  You really put your heart into this project.  

Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if thick smoke fills

the corridor, a face peers through the window;
A pilot warns, we’re coming in rough.

Like that first ear piercing, eyes crammed shut;
Like Jamie Lee Curtis in the closet 

clutching a hanger, screaming to wake herself up. 
A memory of brakes failing on the highway,  

of an empty pantry, then getting that pink slip.
Too much, too much, panic takes hold,

a lockdown, a breakdown, a savage dog bite — 
when the cure was still a stab to the belly,
Like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.

Version Two, May 7, 2015


Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if thick smoke 

chokes the corridor, a face cracks the window
or the pilot says, we’re coming in rough.

Refrains, this'll hurt me more than it hurts you;
Ma'am, three weeks til we get the results,

a long dreamed pregnancy, sudden bleeding,
mother in her coffin, ear to frigid wood.

Like razors in an apple,
like Jamie Lee Curtis in the closet 

clutching a hanger, screaming to wake herself up. 
A memory of brakes failing on the highway,  

of a skeletal pantry, of a bullet hole.
Too much, too much, panic takes hold,

a lockdown, a breakdown, a savage dog bite — 
when the cure was still a stab to the belly,
Like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  

Version 3 -- tighter, more erratic, rapid fire.


Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if smoke 

chokes corridors, a face cracks the window,
the pilot yells, we’re coming in rough.

Remember, soap in the mouth,
Remember, you want somethin' to cry about.

An awaited pregnancy, sudden bleeding,
mother's coffin, ear to frigid wood.

Like razors in apples,
like Jamie Lee Curtis in a closet 

grappling that hanger, my parallel life,
brakes failing on the highway,  

skeletal pantry, new bullet holes.
too much, too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, dog bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore. 

Version 4


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face cracked the window,

the pilot's croak, 
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to frigid wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween,
a razor hid in my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  



Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

the pilot croaked, 
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  

Revised 6


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you anymore.  

Revised 7 -- I am happy with this one, finally... any more takers? LOL


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
 I’m not sure 

                    if I love you anymore.  

Revision 10 -- thank you EVERYONE


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last
overjoyed — sudden blood.

Like one unforgettable night
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel pricked our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
 I’m not sure 

                      if I love you anymore.  

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |


A wonderful world it is contemplated Jake as he planted his seed to grow his beanstalk. He knew that this beanstalk would nourish many so he watched it grow. One day he awoke and the beanstalk was clearing the sky and he decided to climb it. Singing merrily to himself: “Oh, what wonderful day to play with your evolution. I planted this stalk of beans and it's growing beyond my conception. So I shall climb it to discover has it evolved another wonderful world beyond .” Jake was foremost a positive thinker. He began to climb singing "evolution conception a world beyond - evolution conceives a world afar."
Jake climbed the beanstalk that day. He discovered that there was life formed beyond but he was afraid to adventure further and promised himself that he would build the courage to go the step afar. He knew that he had to be well prepared for his adventure, so on his descent down the stalk he began to develop his plan for his journey to continue. As always, Jake began to sing: “ Mmmm… The adventure I am about to partake could be quite dangerous; however, I must completely discover that place. I know that it may be my very last visit – the next – but I am going back to conquer it and that’s that .” Jake begins to instill belief in self.
Jack’s Next Adventure
As Jack planned he would make two weapons and use them if needed. He would take some food with him for his sustenance and a change of clothes for his comfort. He must travel lightly. He cannot be overloaded. This was an adventure to discover the beyond and then return home. He would set some landmarks as he journey within this other world to ensure that he could return to his beanstalk, therefore, assuring his returning home and thus, hopefully safely. Day ten, after the discovery of this world beyond, Jake began to climb his beanstalk once again. Now know that this City that Jack was from had many beanstalks. Did Jack think he was only one with this discovery? Everyone had to plant their own individual beanstalk. Was Jack’s the only one with a world beyond or did he share this with others? Secrets were known to be kept in City of the Bean People forever. Well now Jack had arrived into this other world beyond via his beanstalk. It was a flora place and no one was stirring about. He walked and walked and walked until he came to a cellulosic world. Amidst these cell walls of plants and algae was a cave-like house. He heard loud snoring. He felt to see had he lost his weapons. He had not. Jake entered the house. At first he saw feet then legs. These legs were very long but finally he arrived at the knee caps about 6 minutes later. He knew then that this was a big, big person. He became afraid, but he tiptoed on. He discovered the Giant. He was not about to wake him. Jake decided it was time to end this adventure for now and return home. It took Jack about 1 day to complete his journey home. Nevertheless, he knew he would be back to meet this big person. He had to so that he could discover this world beyond forever. Meaning, he desired the world beyond to be part of his constructed life; therefore, he knew he would fulfill his desire.
Jake did not remove his landmarks on his journey home from his last adventure that took him into the world beyond. He would travel via these landmarks so that he knew how to get back to the Giant’s home. Two weeks later Jake went on his third adventure. His plan was to meet this Big Person and become friends with him if this was possible. He knew his life could be endangered because he was a small man, but he had to find out if this Giant could be his friend. So Jake went on his merriment way singing: “ This will be quite an adventure. The third trip to what I will call Giantvillism. It’s quite a beautiful place to me, as I see life forming and then there’s this Big Person. Giant he will be call, quite scary after all; however, very much worth the adventure and a connection to his world .” Jake stopped singing and walked quietly, continuing on his journey, as he completed climbing his beanstalk. As Jake continued on his journey to Giant’s home, he constantly discovered new knowledge about Giantvillism. Everything was cellulosic. But he notices that some of these cellulosic things may be able to take human life form. However, it seemed that they needed triggering. An evolutionary world he had discovered with biological means and after he met Giant and if they became friends, he would find this world’s trigger point because it was necessary and should be develop and this is the premise he would live by and also influence Giant to do the same through his instruction, if needed. Hopefully, Giant may know how to do this himself but needed a motivator. Jake knew well that he was that and more. Jake perceived himself as quite powerful. Halfway to Giant’s home Jake felt aspiration and became aspirated and as usually, began to sing while breathing out. He continued his singing merrily and almost ran into Giant who was outside his home. Jake found himself no more than twenty feet away from Giant when he saw his legs in a standing position. Jake did a double-take and hid behind an object he did not have a name for but if he described it, it would be to him a big fossil plant or maybe an artifact of this world. Giant began to move and it seems as if he was humming. However, Jake decided he was singing in his native language, which words sounded like those of a hummingbird. Jake needed a plan of approach and while he was thinking, he fell asleep behind the big fossil plant.

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

Light On the Devil's Chord - Day 14

Despite his impatience to show me his hell,
He waited for me in my rest, 
Lying upon the ground, I awoke in prayer,
Thanking God above and asking Him for guidance

“My heart is Yours, always,
From the moment I gave breath,
To the darkened impasses of death
Forever glorifying Your name,
Thanking You for Your kindness,
Your creation, love and power
Your glory, Your victory
Lead me, oh Lord,
So I may not fall short in Your sight
Grant me generously Your Spirit,
And in it, may I exalt only You,
In all these cries, merciful God,
Quiet mine, for I need these eyes to see you,
Through the scorching fires of his heart
To be strong within the fray,
To face, here, the remaining days…”

He smiled ironically,
Amening my prayer, 
Taking my hand once again
“We have explored your light,
Might we venture now through my night?”

I nodded solemnly, and he lifted me from the ground,
His wings mightily beating the hot air
We rose to the maelstrom,
The lights dimming, the darkness working furiously,
The cries louder, and the leviathans larger 

The days you cannot deny,
Shall come as days past,
Though unlike days passed,
These days shall sustain my glory
And lay all hopes to rest
You cannot deny its swelling,
Its shrouding of your light!”

Within the maelstrom we ventured,
The great voices mighty in their misery
Empty eyes stared through the darkness
The light swept aside by his great wings
As we merged further into the hellish hoard
Hissing and spitting, creatures emerged from deeper trenches
Their mouths holding imbeciles and tortured souls,
A pale green horse screamed in the swirl,
His legs kicking through the repugnant, airy waters
I heard men calling, shouting at one another,
Witnessed parched dragons scorching each other,
And greater creatures with teeth jagged,
Worn from the constant gnashing of their teeth
The moans and groans tremored my bones,
Gave genesis to horrors only shown in darkness born

A leviathan, larger than the last arose from the depths,
To meet with our Prince,
Clenching its teeth at the sight of me
With the sweep of his hand, the jaws loosened,
And he motioned me near
Stepping on the back of the creature, 
I focused my gaze to the fading light
And he watched me grieve as the remaining creation
Faded into nothingness

I could hear the demons laugh,
I could smell Death breathing
His stomach swelling with souls
The battles amongst the souls continued
Throats of the deceased eternally retching,
Coughing and kneeling inside the dark,
Their eyes glowing, staring into mine,
Longing for relief, begging with their expanded pupils
Fear hastening, the leviathan swam,
Screeching in its own anguish and suffering
My hands clenched his gnarled horns, 
As my eyes locked with the Devil’s
He was singing, dark and mightily
Triumph and confidence in his every note
Every word, crisp, stinging

“You will see, oh Daughter of Eve,
How very lucky you are
To see, with me, the future not too far
A future embellishing all power
Wilting every flower,
Every petal of your lies 

I will show you, oh woman so fair,
The eve of your purpose,
My purpose, my reign,
When freedom rises
None shall refrain from the cries of their pain,
From the heart-gnawing stench of righteous defeat”

Standing upon the beast,
He roared as silhouettes sprouted from the shadows
Images of men fighting, stomping their strong feet,
Bright trumpets of war sounding,
Deafened even so by the screams of the wounded and dying
Children arose from the ground,
Watching the conquest of their agonies,
Their bony legs quivering,
Fear sopping their flesh
They rose only to fall to the ground,
Reaching for the skies,
But no one came for them
All happiness had come to an end
Humanity was declining,
The horses of war and sickness galloping rampantly
Through all nations, weak and strong
The tough devoured by great beasts,
The feeble strengthened by demons,
Desecrating their innocent bodies
Destroying all that stand unguarded in their path

And the Prince of Darkness arose, 
The pits of Death ascended all about him,
Forming his palace of woe
So that he may watch his glories commence
And beside him formed a Queen of Stone,
Whose hand raised for eons of wreckage,
The pain of the masses arising through every order
Her hair was jagged, long, black, matted,
Pestilence poured through her eyes and ears,
Her face dark, painted with the blood of the innocent 
Her broad lips poring speeches of blasphemy
Emerald green eyes hardened, fists clenched,
Anger caging her in its satiating thirst for ultimate command

He sang to me,
Inspired by the rotting corpses round,
The terrifying shrills of sound
With increasing appetite
And with deeper bite - 
“We must prophesy my dwindling light! 
Together we sing to entrust our fight
Deny me not, my fleeing soul,
I will free you from all control
To rule with me in this rising Age
To serve our purpose by my side
I offer you a throne you cannot reject
Though do not decide just yet
Let your heart rejoice in our creating,
Our might exceeds all 
Overcome their pathetic cries, 
And in them, with me, rise.”

It was true then
Surely he expected me to disregard such a collateral plight

I closed my eyes to end the vision before me
My heart thumping against such an offer,
A threat to my light, I frowned, I remained silent
All the night there, tainted futures shown
I clenched the leviathan’s horns
Not wanting to be pulled into the sucking currents
Lasting all the night upon its burning back

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |


Religious gatherings happen on Thursday as well in Bean’s Cathedral.  The Scribes would read from The Doctrine of Crop and Harvest and the Bean people who attended would be blessed for a greater existence in which this would prepare them to covenant in Bean Town on Thursday night.  Their partying was very diverse.  They did not drink liquor but had many things to drink and a lot of food to eat.  Those that did not attend would be attending to last minute business in which the Scribes understood and blessed them with The Smoke of Missing Hope during Bean’s Cathedral Religious Gathering.  Once this was done all was well in City of the Bean People and Bean Town tinkled.

Jake’s Return to Giantvillism
Now Jake was quite ready to return to Giantvillism, however, he wanted to be prepared for whatever. So on the day of his departure, which was three months from the last; he gathered has weapons and added a flask of merriment. This he would give to Giant as a gift. As always, Jake begin to sing: “ I am going to give Giant a gift. A flask of merriment and he will enjoy this. Therefore, I’m on my way to Giantvillism and maybe Giant and I will travel beyond into his cellulosic world !” Jake began to climb his beanstalk, which took three hours to the top. Once he finally made it to solid ground, Jake began to walk. He knew his way well now because of the eleven times he had visit Giant and this was the twelfth. Jake felt at ease and please with being here in which he knew that Giant awaited his return and that Giant knew he was coming [this day]. As Jake travel on to Giant’s cave, he discovered that some of the cellulosic life forms had evolved. He saw a little man building a house and stop to converse, however, the little man, did not seem to hear a word spoken so Jake tapped him on the shoulder and both the little man and the house he was constructing vanished. Jake walked on until he came upon a woman with four children and she spoke to Jake. “Hello, Jake! So, you return today.” Jake was overwhelmed. She knew his name, but he did not know hers. Jake responded: “What is your name my lady? I do not know yours, however, you do know mine.” “My name is Melody. I am a gypsy. Therefore, I know things that Bean People do not.” Jake became fascinated and asked: “How do you know that I am a Bean person?” Melody answered and said: “Well gypsies have insight into others’ lives or life lines and Jake with you, it is your height, which is the factor. I must go now with my four and maybe I will see you again to tell you some more.” Jake smiled and bid her farewell and not a goodbye. “About five miles”, Jake thought “and I will be at Giant’s house.” Humming and then he begin to sing because he knew this would make time leave much sooner. This is the melody Jake song. “,My life is that of an ordinary man. I stand 5”6” and have such small hands. But if I need to be as big as I can be, I have another half of pint in me. My wife truly loves me and soon, yes I do believe, she be traveling with me to Gianvillism and we will make love in this cellulosic world as we did in Bean Town as teenagers. Oh, her name is Nefa!” Finally, arriving at Giant’s cave house; however, Giant was not at home in which Jake knew he would wait because he was there to stay for at least five days, which his wife Nefa knew he would be gone for that long but no longer than fourteen days or two weeks. Jake fell asleep and was awakened by Giant’s return home. Giant knew he was there and came into his home with a loud bellow: “Hello Jake, glad of your return. I have a pleasant surprise for you. Some of the cellulosic life forms have evolved in Giantvillism and with me is my cousin Maddy.” Jake jumped from his mat and states: “I discovered this on my journey to see you, Giant. First, I met a little man building a house. I tried to talk to him, but he did not hear me and when I touched him on his shoulder he and his house disappeared. Next, I met a gypsy named Melody who knew me immediately by name and by my people. However, I knew nothing about her. We talked and then she had to leave. So, Giant I am not that surprised but I would like to know why do you call Maddy your cousin?” Giant responded: “Well, Jake you see I am from a cellulosic life form as well and Maddy evolved the same way I did. Being from a cellulosic life form one do not evolve as brothers or sisters; only cousins. Therefore, our family history in Giantvillism is based on the foundation of how we evolve. Maddy is the second of my evolutionary life form.” Giant, Maddy, and Jake begin to get to know each other. It seems that all the difficulty Jake was afraid of in getting to know Giant three months ago had been banished when the cellulosic life form evolved while Jake was away. Jake was learning about Giant’s life through him telling Maddy about what it meant to be from the cell of the Big People. It seems that this cell came in many heights because Maddy was not a giant. He was about 6”1”. Jake would say that women would think he was considerably handsome. Giant also said that The Cell of the Big People would evolve many more cousins within the next five years as adults in order for them to procreate and start families. Jake then spoke and told both that this is what happen in his world as well. Giant went on to say that many more life forms were in Giantvillism and their cells had the same capabilities and authorities. With all said, Jake thought: “Hmmm, every world becomes different but then they are all quite the same.”

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

Light On the Devil's Chord - Day 22

The great Sabbath day descended, though not in my heart and mind
On this new day,
I imagined rays of God’s light shining generously upon the mountains,
Pools of living waters gurgling, and winds gently rustling trees
Wishing for the simple to come rescue me from this troublesome pit
The demons watching me from afar,
Talking amongst themselves in low tones and whispers

 The dark is temporary,
And the light is everlasting . . . 

How could such hate emanating from his very pores, 
Transform, translate into this burning need for me?
Did he truly love me?
Is his heart capable of such a thing?
Or was he lying, playing deceiving chords on my weakening heart,
Was he desperately searching for a way inside?
And had he succeeded in the search,
Reaching inside to the core of me, grabbing on, holding me firmly?

“Your Lamb, dear light, sacrificed for sin,
What need does He have of you now?
Light permeates through you, in you,
What desire do you have for joys so long felt?
For eyes having seen the most glorious majesties, 
Overcoming every trial, every glorious plight
Have you no need for the precious tears you have once shed
For me, in me?”

He spoke from behind, a soft, low tone only slightly louder than the demons
I sat upon the balcony on my knees, fighting for the Spirit to thrive 
As he crouched nearer to my ears, the force of his song weighing me down

“You used to be so in love with those impenetrable sorrows,
How they rippled through your skin, 
Throbbing through your entire body
You embellished in my hate, 
You ravaged my night with your hope for needed light
I never needed you in that moment in time,
The weak human that you were,
Trapped in my weaving rainclouds,
Lost in sin’s oblivion, and stuck in pain’s posture
Just as I need you now, oh spirit, oh teacher of light,
Why must you now turn your back to me?
How are we to sing together in harmonies you dream of,
When your heart cannot fathom the prosperity of our promising union?
Have you no faith in me?
No trust in me, to realize I may change?
If I were to show you change, 
Would you then stay with me?
Do not shutter, woman, beautiful spirit, mighty majesty,
Do not tremble at my tempt, my offer, my plea,
Rest assured, your hope of me
Leads my miserable mind to a foreign path,
A path more exhilarating, but less clear
Though disobedient in nature, my love for your potentials are foreseeable
Attainable, and I daresay agreeable
If I may solo in song all my days,
I will be miserable in the possibility of so many duets we could have shared,
Torturing me with the dark truth that I can never turn to a lie—
That you are indeed my own, and you have me,
That I have fallen in love with a distant light that I almost wish to be
But you pull away, 
And refuse me! 
Because I worship your fire,
And I see what you can be,
You crucify me!
You jab nails in my wings, 
You call for me to shove me backwards
Your long silences make way for my speeches,
That you listen to and grimace upon
What if we were to be equals?
What if we were to be masters?
Foul and fruitful, 
Dark and candid, 
Why not let me be taught?
Tell me why not! 
Your God would not soon cast you away the moment you choose this way,
Is that what you fear?
See how His condemnations haven’t killed me, but strengthened me!
I may be mad, but I am genuine, real and yours if you will have me
Fierce, resilient and right are the rebellious!
Artistically, mightily and beautifully we suffer!
I promise you pain,
I promise you immense sorrow,
But I promise you freedom,
In it I promise you distain, anger and war
But these things do not come for naught,
There is something hot and ready to fight for! 
If not to sacrifice for eternal light,
Why not sacrifice for our love?
And do not tell me you do not love me,
Or cannot love me
Do not tell me with your signature nobility
That you wish me to be saved and free
Do not tell me to get behind you,
Like an angry Lamb near to the slaughter!
I refuse, yes I refuse
To envy you from afar…”

His voice grew intense as he circled round and in front of me
His eyes were focused strongly on me,
Determined and confidently he sang,

“I will not lead you to death and destruction dear soul,
You will lead me to what I was meant to be,
And I you!
Do you believe you have come here for nothing?
Has the demon spoken to you, warning you of my seductions?
Crushing you with pleas for redemption,
Did she, the wretched demon, give you hope for me?
Do you wish to rise with me,
Or die in eternal life?
Without me,
As the beautiful, unattainable solo widow,
The lonely perfection?”

I turned my face away,
Painfully speechless, 
My heart beating violently like days of old

“I hear your heart wildly,
Cease this grieving for me!
Celebrate, be joyous—does not your Spirit give you this? 
Sing with me, at least sing with me!
Before the last days hurl over us, through us, and past us.”

I opened my mouth to sing, 
But nothing would come out
I became lost in his abyssal eyes, 
And contrary to what I believed
I saw change there,
I saw that he no longer hated me,
That he really did love me

“You see it in me, 
But you grieve it, I know. . . 
You were once a daughter of Eve, 
But now you are a separate spirit of truth
So sing me your truth, and I will sing you mine…”

March 26, 2016

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Edwin Hofert | Details |

Understanding Suicide Understanding Me

Understanding Suicide Understanding Me

Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.

He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.

In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.

There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.

I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.

I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.

Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.

This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool. 
 A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.

People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.

I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.

The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.

My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.

After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.

And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute. 
I win.

I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.

And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.

I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.

And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.

My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.

If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said.  And don't forget to help someone else along the way.


God Bless

Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

The Maid of Orleans

Reflecting in her garden sits a winsome little maid;
She holds a purple flower like the circlet that she made
And wrapped about her braids to grace her forehead like a crown;
Her thick and shining braids that are the shade of chestnut brown.
A soft and dreamy smile lifts her lips of cherry rose
As she so elegantly lifts the flower to her nose
To smell the rich and heady fragrance rising from its soul-
Upon this day in early May, her heart with joy is full.
But look! The heavens open wide, and joy is changed to fear,
For Michael the Archangel in the garden does appear,
And with him stand Saint Margaret and Saint Catharine, sent to seek
This girl of twelve, and in her frightened youthful ears to speak
Words form the Lord, of how someday, somehow, she'll have to save
Her native land, her land of France, from lying in the grave.
When in their bright angelic garb these saints to heav'n returned,
She knew they had been sent from God, her heart within her burned
With strong desire, with heaven's fire, to do her Father's will;
Her heart beats hard, while all around is silent, calm and still.

The years pass by, now seventeen, her hour is fully come,
And what is now but distant fancy, dull and throbbing hum
Will be her life, her joy, her pain; her darkness or her light:
For God and country, king and freedom, must, she must needs fight.
The chains of England must be broken, young prince Charles crowned:
A source of hope, of inspiration must for France be found;
For civil war rakes raging claws through weary, hopeless men,
Who fight and die, and sacrifice, and lose their homes again;
Their gardens, flocks and herds, and treasures, all are swept away:
With nothing left but life itself, and naught to do but pray.

God heard their prayer and sent her there for their deliverance,
To lead them on to victory through every circumstance
Of treachery or deviltry that loomed on every side.
Urged on by all the saints above and martyrs who had died,
She bound her armor to her body, helmet to her head;
A troop of eager soldiers to the Orleans siege she led.
Without a fear she faced the battle, banner held up high;
It filled each fainting heart with spirit, waving in the sky:
Unfailing, never falling, always standing at the fore,
And filling every weary soul with courage to the core.
Though wounded by an arrow striking close beside her heart,
She still pressed on to victory, she played her vital part.
The Maid of Orleans did her best, she held back not at all,
But risked her life at every turn to heed her heav'nly call;
She fought and bled and braved the beast until her king was crowned,
And even then she carried on, she traveled all around:
Each city gained broke off the chains of power-hungry kings,
Who killed to gain another's land, his citizens and things.

Alas! She met her fate at hands that should have helped her cause;
The countrymen she battled sold her to be judged by laws
And men that all disfavored her, yet still she firmly stood,
Proud head held high, two gleaming eyes; she answered best she could
Each twisted question meant to trap her clear but simple mind:
With wit and art she answered each; they really could not find
A cause for death, but death must be for such an enemy
The fate; who sees such visions full of vile heresy,
Of saints and angels revelating mortals with God's plan.
They also charged her with the sin of dressing like a man,
But it was of necessity she donned a soldier's guise;
For all throughout the war-torn realm roamed pairs of hateful eyes
Who did not heed a woman's cries, but did what pleased them best:
They killed or maimed or stained for life from eastern France to west.

So thus it is, not twenty years, they chain her to a stake-
The final chain that no amount of bravery can break.
Within her dress, hugged to her chest, she tucks a wooden cross;
The symbol of the Son of God, who faced such early loss
Of life, and like her was betrayed and mocked and led to die
Without a cause, without a crime, without a reason why.
Ten thousand people press around; she feels the burning heat,
As flames grow hotter, ever hotter- licking at her feet:
But on one thing and one thing only both her eyes are fixed;
Upon the figure held before her- on the crucifix.
And she is thinking of a time that seems so long ago,
When as a girl she used to sit and watch her garden grow;
She'd pick the purple petaled flowers, braid them in her hair;
Her life was simple, pure, and sweet, she hadn't any care
Until Saint Michael gave her calling to her way back then.
But if she had another life, she'd do it all again,
For God and country, king and freedom she could die this death;
And so it was that thus she died, and with her final breath
Her soul and body parted ways, and while her body burned,
Her soul went on to realms unknown, her soul to heav'n returned
Into the hands of He who made her, to the arms of Christ the Lord;
Who made for her a better body, more than just restored.
Here ends the troubles of this maiden, gone are jail cells dark:
Forever live the Maid of Orleans, known as Joan of Arc.

{Written by Isaiah Zerbst. For the first time published on October the 13th, 2014.}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems