Long poem by
Darian Rehder | Details |
The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.
She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too.
She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before
And growing darker day by day
But she wouldn't let that stop her.
Suddenly a year had passed... and then two
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand
The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.
She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself
She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.
That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.
She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared, and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying
Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn
Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!
And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here
So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?
Long poem by
Kathy Larivee | Details |
She stares at the paper not a word comes to write
Surrounded by peace on a dark rainy night.
Like the page in her notebook her mind remains clear.
Not a word to be written, her pen she cant steer.
No thought comes to mind as she drives memory road
Not a vision, no flashback nothing waits to be told.
She thumbs through the pages of an old book of art...
Searching for something that touches her heart.
The years took a toll on this book left untouched
Musty and frayed, the paper crinkled and rough.
Its cover is faded its corners are bent
A pressed flower within leaves a soft subtle scent.
Page after page of landscapes and faces
Baskets of fruit and flowers in vases.
Paintings and sketches most done black and white
Ancient ships at full sail, a quaint farm house at night.
Wyeth’s painting; a window, captures her eye
Takes her back to her childhood; a cabin lakeside.
At last there’s a story beginning to grow
She picks up her pen and the words start to flow.
She writes of a weekend back in the fall
The cabin they stayed in among pine trees so tall.
How she looked out her window each day that she woke
Watched the sun kiss the lake as the morning fog broke.
Outside her window there on the ground.
An old gray canoe that lay upside down.
Many times she would dream of paddling out
She’d catch a big fish; she knew it, no doubt!
She went to the window one cool gloomy morn
Happy inside in where it was cozy and warm.
She leaned on the sill, hands under her chin
Wondering what she would do, where to begin.
She gazed out the window watching drops hit the lake
Millions of circle the raindrops would make.
Red orange leaves on the trees by the shore
Now shiny and limp from the rain as it pours.
Sandcastles she built by the beach yesterday
Are nothing but mud now washing away.
No life in the forest, nothing moving around
Just that old gray canoe laying there on the ground.
By noon there was sun as clouds cleared away
“May I go outside? I want to go play!”
“I have an idea” Dad called from the door
“Let's take that canoe down to the shore.”
Dad had the fishing poles, tackle and bait.
“We’re gonna go fishing? Yeeha, I can’t wait”!
He flipped the canoe over, and loaded the gear.
The moment she wished for was finally here.
Dad pulled and she pushed that boat to the shore
She put on her life jacket Dad grabbed the oars.
Out to the middle he paddled them both
Then dropped in the anchor so gently they'd float.
She talked and she chattered about little girl things
Now looking back she must have made his ears ring.
He laughed and he nodded answered questions on cue
As the greatest dad ever, what else would he do?
An afternoon on the lake just father and daughter.
In an old gray canoe out on the water.
Not a single fish caught, only memories were made
That dark gloomy morning became a wonderful day.
At night in her bunk as Dad tucked her in
“Thanks for taking me fishing” she said with a grin.
He turned out the light then closed her door
She’s warm in her bed while out side the rain pours.
Now closing her eyes she pictures that lake
And the millions of circles the raindrops did make.
No life in the forest, nothing moving around
Just that old gray canoe laying there on the ground.
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/megans_hit_464711' st_title='Megan's Hit'>
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Long poem by
Inner Whispers | Details |
Tried to trace this man,
studied the case and had my plan,
a soul is whispering from somewhere
asking for help, I said, back off !!!
But a call is a call
it searches my soul and being,
then found myself doing it
i must say, back off to this man!
Met him and succeeded
invited me to his place, we proceeded,
as I enter his great place
full of goons, must I back off from it?
He offered a drink as he mixed,
he went for a while to change his shirt,
so when he came back and drink his piece,
Alas! 10minutes, he went off asleep!
Traced the walls for possible passage,
and I have found where she was a savage
I hurriedly searched for the lock and there I found
hanging at the back of her life size portrait in grief profound!
I ease to unlock by the key I got
and quickly lift her up, help her to get up
we walked pass by the sleeping monster
tried cautiously to escape away from there.
Damn, he is awake!
He advanced to kick
threw it hard so quick
too glad I managed
to kick back in a glimpse!
I reached my gun, hidden on my waistline,
Aimened vigorously, with authority
Stay where you are!
Back off !!!
He tied her up,
used her for his cover-up,
urging needs of flesh he had...
Damn man, back off !!!
Two years she wept for pain
asked mercy from this man but in vain,
she almost lost her mind and gave up her soul...
Spare her, back off !!!
Caught between the crossfire
of ravaging flame of bonfire heat,
Burnt her skin like hell...
Back off !!!
He tried to get up, moved forward,
I have to trigger the gun,
I said, "Come on, and you'll be gone!"
Back off !!!
And bullet is heard, ripping his left leg,
fell down to the floor, he cried and beg
"Daughter, I love you so much, don't let her do this!
help me, tell her back off please!"
I almost killed the man!
Yes, why not? I can do it!
But I controlled, called backups
I will never back off to this fight!
I saw her weep loudly, her life was a mess
Damn to this vulture who eats his own flesh!
He deserve a bullet on his head, don't you think?
Ruining his daughter's life, he must be thrown in hell!
Flesh to flesh, blood to blood
Is it easy to back off and just let this pass?
No way! How dare anyone would say:
Back off, Carole, stop and never look back!
No, no, no, no, no!
He must pay his crime, I swear he must die!
But I am not a killer,
nor a hunter but I would lie,
If I don't admit I wanted him to burn in hell and die!
Then I turned my back, let them get him
Turned him over, trembling with anger
He must be thrown into steel bars
let him pay what he has done, for years...
Steel bars, keep this man!
(dedicated to the victims of sex slavery and incest)
Long poem by
James Clark | Details |
It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood.
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait, I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath, such a heavy lump in my throat, “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think, my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink.
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends.
I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.
Long poem by
michael hornschuch | Details |
I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined.
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy
the time you have left."
Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock,
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love
every minute of life.
I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died
Long poem by
matthew harris | Details |
First borne kin of me loin, why just like yesterday
Unbeknownst to this then unpracticed dada how tempus fugit
Will in a brief flash (like time lapse photography) steal a way
Thine eldest lass swaddled, pampered and attended with oye vay
Sans another soiled diaper to change, retrieve futile dropped binky,
Or sundry other basic need to get abreast per comfort to stay
E’en the simple pleasure per warmth from winter solar ray
Which constancy of nurturance seemed to last as long as infinity
a mental calculation said progeny tossed aside like…child’s play
Yet this papa pined for harmonic, idyllic and pacific month o May
When picture perfect weather invited me baby daughter to explore or lay
Upon the fresh mown hay
Innocent august bliss stashed in her memory bank molded like clay
Whereby this papa tried to keep danger at bay
But tis rash to seal hermetically and try to keep jarring reality away
Until she sped thru fifteen years on this earthen tarmac
Beautiful dame with an attractive physique and mind that takes up slack
From strains imposed from this fractious abode, where I rack
My noggin per our precarious, perilous perch whence we must pack
A hardship no doubt internalized by this sweet babe smarts she aint lack
In tandem to her maturation and self reliance emotional light years
Ahead of this sire, she addresses as “sir”, who emotes with flack
At utter chaos here and thus realizes internal misery will take shape
When she and the younger punim come back
Yet, her absence felt though she oft spent time alone
In the former master bedroom, now wishing for a clone
Of thine delightful youth and marvel whence
Sixteen years ago from the womb she entered this World Wide Web
While “mother – abby” did push and groan
Whereby tears streamed down me cheeks at miracle biology did hone
Over the course of nine months gestation, and now…merely on loan
When she becomes of age to take flight, though this father will moan
But tis fitting and proper offspring doth not become a rolling stone
Like me, he who contributed to this precious gift no gem canst a tone
If…bereft of this sweet progeny
For this poet would cease to enjoy life and enter the twilight zone!
EDEN – I LOVE YOU OH SO MUCH! MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPRESS TIS MY WISH FOR YE TO GAIN SKILLS TO MANAGE EACH CHALLENGE VERSUS BEING TETHERED TO FEAR SUCH AS EVIDENT IN ER APP PARENT SITTING WITH INXS OF PSYCHE KEY DELL LICK MOODY BLUE FEELINGS!
Long poem by
Shanity Rain | Details |
My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom.
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .
Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world .
Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life .
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?
I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.
Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .
Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party, how and when, Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock .
"Dad Passed " received call from sister whom just stayed a week with me , I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.
I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.
He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~
I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme.
Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
Are you Glorified with Power? Denied the right to grieve ,
Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .
My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks.
We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.
Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .
Long poem by
bandana basnett | Details |
I know a man of humility, love and kindness
This man is not so famous to the world but he is so famous in my world.
To raise four kids ain't an easy job
With a wage that wasn't enough
Growing up in an environment so down to earth,
He made sure the kids followed what he demanded for,
He made them all disciplined,well behaved and independent souls.
It wasn't an easy task for him and his wife,
Though rough from outside,soft from inside
Thinking for others first before his 's is the motto of his life.
This man whom I know for years and years is none other than my father
My hero,my inspiration of strength and also my great weakness
This man have stood by me in all my imperfections, giving me strength and
encouraging me towards perfections.
Taught me to fight the wild storms in life
Taught me to love selflessly
Taught me to stand tall and strong .
No books or no teachers would have taught what my father taught me.
He has seen much of life,
Some great,some not,helped us be what we want to be
No matter where I may be,what I may do or who I may become,
I am sure my father's always there for me.
He has been a solid rock for me in times of hardships
A strong personality who thought I could move the mountain so easily
He is the person who toiled day and night to make sure our needs fulfilled.
He is a man like no other.
With every year that passes,my father you are so special for me than before.
I have no words to the describe my wonderful memories
But I am a lucky and proud daughter to have father like you.
You are the strength of me standing tall
You made me live my life with heads held high
You sat by me whenever I was Ill
You stood by me to wipe my tears whenever I cried.
You are the best among the
You are the first person whom I could talk about my relationship
You accepted all my flaws
And made me a better person with your love
You are my guiding force
My light ,my god in disguise
Though the years have brought a touch of gray,
And some wrinkles upon your face
But for me you are still the most handsome man that I grew up seeing as a child.
You are just amazing father any daughter would have.
Its been so long I haven't said you
Today is the day ,a special day of yours for me to say
I love you ,my father.
You are the gem of my life,
My hero,my guide and moderator of my life.
Happy fathers day.
Long poem by
Anees Rahman | Details |
The Joy of a birth, his own shine penetrating his eyes,
The new out born fruit of a long spend love,
Her hands rubbing against her red shiny chin,
Her legs crossed, the beauty that sings till the last breath.
Her thumb in her mouth, blowing, saliva flowing all over,
Her tiny grassy hairs and a sensational smile!
His mind throbbing with a pleasant paternal pain,
Oh, the enduring love!
He curls her onto his lips, the roses of affection,
Fell on her bright cheeks and a spurt of emotions,
Through his blood, that glowed the heavens between
And his two round globes filled by a sea of passion.
“Come to me, my baby, my love, my little daughter….
My sweet little doll,
I will love you till my death…
And I will carve a heavenly doll,
For you to sleep with….My angel…”
The man thus became a father and a true paternal love
Flew through his heart, into the unknown worlds.
The enthusiasm of the youth, and desire for the taste of love,
Her tiny grassy hairs grown long,
The soft fabulous filaments of keratin hanging by her curves,
The dream of a girl, for a handsome prince haunting her nights,
And eventually flourishing into a full blossom shiny daffodil,
Her lips wet, her legs crossed, her red cheeks burning
And the sweats flowing through the blankets.
Oh, the youthful pleasure!
The ghostly love takes her into the world of souls
From there the memories of her father,
Pulling her back, into the past world.
The affection fought heavily with the gods, but, only in vain.
And the gods decided to keep in their beds, the beauty of hers.
Unknown of these realities, he opens the door
And finds his love fallen prey to the love of an unknown.
All his dreams to carve her a heavenly doll to sleep,
Perished only in the mightiest darks of the underworlds.
The life in his soul had gone and the bird shall sing no more…
“Not yet, my love, not yet ….
I haven’t died …my love ….I haven’t”
He fells on his knees and takes her into his arms,
Her head hanging down by his flexed elbow,
Her breast pressing hardly into his heart,
His face bends, lips on her forehead,
And his teethes hurting her pale feathery skin,
Tears of unfinished love dribbling from his spheres, her face wet,
He cries loud with no breath in-between.
THE END©Anees Rahman