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Long Feelings Poems | Long Feelings Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by James Inman | Details |

That Long Evening

When you came to me...

Not that you wanted me.  Oh, no!  It was I who wanted you,
Your comfort... your caring... your
... compassion, your compassion...
Your body, beautiful and young, perhaps that as well at some different time, some different circumstance.
The beauty of your mind, yes, your essence... yes, that which makes you.
I wanted YOU... needed you. smiled... the light, the beacon that saved my sanity from the storm tossed sea of my existence.
I smiled my feeble simper in return.
You said you looked for me and slipped onto the silvery, wooden bench beside me.
I had run away unable to face you.
I knew what the night would deliver... Goodbye.  We would yet share our days but no longer our substance... your pain... my insecurities...

Oh, how you opened to me when we were new, like a bird freshly freed from its cage, stretching its stiffened, unused wings, your thoughts... hesitant but fluid.
You told me of your helplessness... of the night of fear and anger, the giving and loving in your heart stripped from you... taken by the one closest to you, so... violent, so... abasing.

How could anyone ever love you again, you asked...
I felt your pain.
I could not, but I wished to share it with you... to take it from you... to leave you whole, to help you... forget.
You used it.  In your beautiful way... you wanted it... to create comfort where there was hurt... warmth where there was fear
... compassion.

...How could you not be loved!

...our talks and feelings... and you... never more to be a meaningful measure of my life.  Then there was me.  My destruction was my own.  Concern on your face told me of the helplessness you felt as I confessed my demons.  You had no answers.  I wanted none... only comfort, your comfort.
I opened my soul to you... said things... private things... things that should never have left my lips... things I had never, could never share with anyone.
You listened...
I told of destroying those closest to me...
You listened...
I told of my feelings for you...
You listened...

Then things changed.  I approached you one warm, bright morning and you looked at me.  The deep, bright orbs of cerulean that are your eyes twinkled then squinched gently as the edges of your supple... soft... inviting lips mingled with your blossoming cheeks.  As always, the warmth of your alluring smile enveloped me.
You whispered in your gentle voice, “I missed you.”
Such beautiful words that I had so longed to hear.  I returned your words, “I missed you.”
-But you need not miss me.... I am here.-  You looked at me in deep reverie. You said nothing but I knew that I would never again hear those words pass through your delicate lips. spoke of your doubts.
I listened...
You spoke of your desires.
I listened.
I felt shame for who I was and what I did, but you gently touched me... caressing me... my back... my shoulder.
You said “I care about you,”
... compassion.
You pulled me to you and we embraced.  For long moments I held you, our bodies pressed together like a flower’s clinging petals... always touching... never wanting to release their grasp... to unfold... to open... for fear of ending the moment...

Not long before, I remember you turning to me.
“A magic hug,” you said, your searching arms reaching for me... and magic it was... they were.
The touch of your hands gently soothing me... the weight... the firmness of your full body against mine... your petite silhouette lingering beneath my awkwardly grasping arms.

How could you not be loved!

Each touch inviting more... each movement of my fingers tasting your skin.  But it had to end as each instant... even a magical one... does.

...but as with everything the sweet moment was slowly lost.  You sat as if waiting.  Still... not moving, quiet... not speaking.  I leaned toward you...

You grew cold.  I did not understand.  You withdrew from me... not speaking to me... not looking at me.  I knew not what pain I had caused you, my friend... no... not friend... you never thought of me as your friend... never wanted me as a friend.  You made that clear, I am not your friend.  Friend... yes... you were my friend... are my friend... will always be my friend.

You called me needy.
You said you could not bear the strain of your pain and mine.
You said you cared too much... for whom?  You never said... never too much for me.

I seemed to be your charity... Fix him!  He’ll be well.  He is broken but not beyond repair, fix him!
I thought our need was mutual.  You listened... I listened.  I cared... You cared.
I was still broken.

Then came the rage.  You screamed.  Like a Banshee filling the night sky you howled into the wind, “ I’M ANGRY... AT EVERYONE!!”  I tried to understand... to help.  You never explained.  You never seemed to look at me... you avoided me...
You... hurt me, you hurt me.

...I kissed you...
sweet... gentle... beautiful.
The most tender of touches, your supple, full lips against mine... between mine.  I drew you in with every breath.  I tasted you.
I lingered against you... please don’t end.
I savored your gentleness... please don’t pull away.
Oh God what am I doing!!
I desired you, your presence, your voice, your touch, yes, your
Don’t pull away... it will end me.
“Please tell me you want this.”
“Of Course I do,” gently whispered, you appeased me...
never again to feel your lips against mine...
never again to press my body against yours... to feel the softness of your smooth skin beneath my finger tips... 
to languor in your magical embrace.

I HATE YOU... simple words, easily said.  Why could you not say them.
I HATE YOU... they would have ended things so much more quickly.
I hate you, leave me alone.  It would have been so much kinder.
I hate you, don’t talk to me.  I gave you the chance, “You seem to hate me,” I offered.
You couldn’t say them
I will never say them.

How could you not be loved?  You never let me.

You arose from the bench as dusk turned to dark.  The evening air was cool and the time was late.
I gazed longingly into your blue eyes.  You spared me a last smile... beautiful smile... sweet smile... your good bye... thank you.

Copyright © James Inman

Long poem by Nii-Ayi Solomon | Details |

My First Love Experience

It was in the early days of our lives
We met
She was so beautiful 
My eyes could not stop admiring
My heart kept racing 
Every time it sensed
her good-looking approaching
But we were too young 
To give full meaning 
To the love language

Years passed
Time kept flying
We lost contact 
But the memory of our past
We lugged with us

Someway, somehow,
Fate found us
And brought us together

We have now grown 
So big and sweet
We both glitter
At each other’s presence
We were ready to do a recap 
of where we left off

We laughed and joked about our past
We talked about our hey days at the National Theatre
We remembered the beautiful past that reflects our true self
We both haven’t changed after all

At that moment my heart spoke 
The love language again
I knew I was in love with her
It wasn’t today
It started from when we were kids

Man must gather confidence
And speak out his feelings

Thoughts of what she would say;

Don’t laugh at me,
We all do it sometimes

We were sweet friends
But now, I want to take 
The friendship a step further

My heart in full swing 
Of abnormal beating,
It beat faster
It spoke two different languages
Say it; and keep it
Don’t know which of these to believe 
I was shy
I was afraid
I was confused
I was happy
I was sad
I felt insane

There she was,
Standing in front me
In their house 
Beaming with smiles

Nii, she said tenderly,
‘I thought you said you had something to tell me,
Come on, I can’t wait any longer
My ears are itching’

My heart just jumped out
And now I want to escape from her presence
I wish I could vanish into thin air

Stop laughing at me
I’m not mouth lazy

I was just afraid of the outcome 
What if she said NO?
What if I lose her as a friend?
What if she vanishes into thin air?

And the what if’s continued …

Once in a man’s life time
He must draw together courage
To speak out his feelings

After all, I would not have violated any law
For telling a sweet scented woman 
Gorgeous, attractive and stunning 
About what I feel for her
So my nerves were clamed

This was how I started…

Esther, I mean, Naa Adjeley

The confusion has started

Errrmmm, you see,

Still didn’t know what to say

Hmmm, hope you are doing great?

Still confused…

‘I guess your brother, Thomas,
Is doing fine?’

She stared at me intently 
The smiles on her face kept 
My hopes alive 
And my heart awake 
I knew she was expecting 
Something more than making those comical remarks

It’s was now time to speak

Naa Adjeley, I travelled from Cape Coast 
To Accra to come see you
To tell you I miss you
and errmmm…

Please let it out
The small voice inside me whispered

I left campus to Accra just to let you know that

She laughed aloud and said
‘’are you serious!’’

‘Oh! Yes I am’
I said confidently,

Her face suddenly darkened
The smiles misplaced 
I wanted to fade away from her presence
After all I’ve let my feelings out
That was what mattered to me
But I did not have that special magic

How long have you felt this way towards me?
The next question to answer
‘When we were kids,
But it was revamped quite recently’
I replied

I could see the confusion on her face
She needed some more time 
To think things through
I was excited let it out
But she was confused

Days passed,
I went back to school,
We enjoyed chit chatting on the phone
But the answer to my request was still hanging

She mentioned in one of our conversations
She might be travelling
But didn’t say when
She was a nursing student
I was a tourism student
The beauty of having a friend 
You know and love
kept my mind awake in school

School was on recess
I arrived in Accra
Left my things unpacked
Borrowed money from my old girl
Picked a cab to Banana Inn
To see the woman 
That has taken my heart hostage

I kept bagging at their gate
Agoo! agoo! agooo! 

Waiting in anticipation to see
Her fine looking face
And present her with my first gift
Her brother, Thomas opened up

‘Hey! Where have you been?
It’s been a while’
Was the first question 
He asked

The only interest I had was to see her face
I wanted to see the woman 
That makes my heart beat
She was all I cared about

Where is Naa Adjeley?
I enquired from Thomas

I saw the shock on his face
My breathe was not catching up 
with me properly
I knew something was wrong

‘Where is she’,
I asked again
‘Didn’t she tell you
She was travelling?’
My face dropped dead at once
I felt a sharp heart ache
I almost fainted

She left for the U.K
Without even saying bye bye
Was that why, she didn’t give any reply
to my proposal?
Why did she keep my heart awake?

I left her house, depressed
Her gift was a bonus for the cab driver
My face drenched in pool of tears

I know it hurts
But I felt more relieved


My feelings had been made lucid to her
I now walk with my chest out
Ready to move on
Ready to open myself up to happiness

I still remember
Her looks
Her smiles
Her beauty
Her mannerism

My first love story
The one I have kept furtive
Over the years

Naa Adjeley
My old time love.

Copyright © Nii-Ayi Solomon

Long poem by Emile Pinet | Details |

A little boy's hope Part One

A castle surveys the morning sky before the gauntlet of daylight falls,
standing guard should a dragon fly by this wooden fortress with rough-hewn walls.
Windows direct the first beams of light to a small boy with an impish grin,
and awaking from the spell of night the master of this realm stirs within.

A rickety outhouse guards its flanks, while a rusty smoke stack crowns its peak,
and strange symbols scratched upon its planks welcome the innocent and the weak.
Its cardboard liner protects and warms, keeping out the ghosts that feed on fear, 
built of logs it can resist most storms or the odd monster that may appear.

Every weathered board and worn-out knot lets his imagination run wild,
telling a story of battles fought, as magic entertains this young child.
In this shack of mostly logs and tar his family finds it hard to cope,
and before a knight’s dreams drift too far, poverty steals a little boy’s hope.

As time slipped away my body grew, entering my adolescent years,
fairies I once knew no longer flew, driven off when my smiles turned to tears.
The world went to war, and Pa left too when his draft papers arrived one day,
that left Ma and I with lots to do, so the elves and dragons stayed away.

With Ma I plowed all our lands that spring, and come fall we brought the harvest in,
yet Ma never complained of a thing, to her eyes laziness was a sin.
We worked hard just to maintain our farm, but Ma made sure we ate every night,
then we would pray Pa was safe from harm, so he could come home after the fight.

One day out of the blue Pa came back, and Ma was so happy that she cried,
the war's won, democracy’s on track and I’m thankful that Pa never died.
Late that night I heard Ma laugh out loud, something that was good to hear again,
lately she's been acting kinda cowed, overburdened by worry and pain.

Times were never better than those years, the future was all peaches and cream,
Pa worked hard and enjoy a few beers while I would go fishing in the stream.
My woodland friends came out of hiding and would come visit my dreams at night,
where as a knight I would go riding, hunting dragons until dawn’s first light.

Ma and Pa were happier those days, always keen to have a little fun,
Pa taught me all of his hunting ways, and Ma bought me my very own gun.
For a few years the farming was good, Pa even put some money aside,
then the rains didn't come as they should and everything just shriveled and died.

The great depression starts to arrive and Pa's savings sure disappear quick,
people are struggling just to survive and we pray to God no one gets sick.
A monster took shape in clouds of dust and all of the livestock choked and died,
everything was coated in a crust of grit that the wind had blown and dried.

Darkness descended like a shroud of black, blocking out light for days at a time,
and Pa's tolerance began to crack as anxieties started to climb.
Pa could no longer pay any bills, there was just no money to be found,
how do you fight a monster that kills, by choking you with your own damn ground?

Panes of dirty glass reveal the hurt when futures are tied to land and soil
and Pa stands with a hand full of dirt, reflecting on years of pain and toil.
A rusty sun bronzes our straw thatch, a sign that long ago meant good luck,
and a small candle awaits a match, to defend against the dark when struck.

Ma slips me a smile while tending Pa, no guessing where her loyalties lie,
yet when crops fail hunger starts to gnaw, everything we plant is doomed to die.
Looking up to a burnt almond sky, Ma searches for clouds other than dust,
for our neighbors have all said goodbye, homesteads left to decay and rust.

I can see pain bleeding from Pa’s tears, as his wet cheeks mock his false conceit,
abandoning a dream lost to fears, his pride erodes, accepting defeat.
I woke to a roar shaking the room, filling our cabin with prickly dust,
and ran outside in the dark and gloom, where a bruised sky looked ready to bust.

Ma was frantic making sure we're safe, as a black blizzard obscured her sight,
and the fine particles made us chafe, but other than that we were all right.
The drought had electrified the air, attracting dust that the winds lift high,
and we knew we had to flee from there, at the very least we had to try.

Pa whispers we must move from this scene, far from this dust bowl of empty dreams,
California calls in shades of green, with lush pastures and clear mountain streams.
We pack all we can in Pa’s old car, leaving most of what we have behind,
and pray California isn’t far, for it’s like the blind leading the blind.

(863 of 2508 words) Written by Emile April 10th. , 2015 for the contest “Knight Writer's Club Grand Opening.”

Copyright © Emile Pinet

Long poem by Peter Duggan | Details |

In memory of Bob

In memory of Bob
A true story.

It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.

     There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.

      As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya  going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and  somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.

      I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life,  that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long,  ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.

     Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.

     Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain,  but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.

   His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Long poem by Richard Lamoureux | Details |

Bits of my own Broken I'Lyezette

I know it, I'm a bit more than broken
I wish I could be more in your face
instead, I hide behind nice
away there in a corner by myself
I want to be seen 
I want to be loved
Even though I don't have my pretend all together
so I do my best to figure it out
I'm actually not a bad dancer
but dancing and singing isn't the same all alone.

It's true the hue of your skin doesn't need to match mine
if you can overlook my sin I'll forgive you double time
we're both far from perfect, so where shall we begin?
the things we thought important they lack substance and are thin
I only know what I know 
because I have been where you have been

We can start with broken smiles
or whatever else we've got
what others see as little
Personally I think it's a lot 
Through life's struggles we've all fought
I've had enough of learning
too many lessons I've been taught
real can be too real, if only peace could be bought

So forget the fake people
the all about the perfect hair people
the ones I used to want to be people
there was a time they wanted to hang out with me people
but they were the not truly interested in me people
why did I so desperately want their approval people
I guess if I am truthful I was one of the sheeple
thought they had the answers because they met under a steeple

Perhaps if you look closer I'm more than a character
Sure I'm somewhat quiet, maybe not overly unique
look below my surface, take a peek
the heart of a lion so why do I play hide and seek
Yet worth listening to if allowed to speak
I have stories to tell that could make your eyes leak

Don't kid yourself
you are broken too
Let me have a look, I want to see inside of you
Forget stumbling and choking
like me pain's not erased by laughter and joking
your safe with me I'll be listening not poking
I'm real, I'm not concerned about ego stroking
so look close
these eyes they aren't blank
this heart isn't empty
yes maybe somewhat complicated
even though it doesn't want to be
If I push when you come close
try twenty more times, plus three
I might be a bit broken
yet there is much more to me
wishing and wanting to be one of the we!

The original poem was written after participating in an inspired word event.
I realized in listening to the other artists that in one way or another
we are all broken. Even the ones like myself that on the surface may
appear to have it all together. We crave emotional closeness but keep
others at a distance through the way we present ourselves to the world.

My original poem.

Broken People

I wish to be with the broken people
the get in your face challange me people
The sometimes hidden
sitting in a dark corner kinda people
The don't you love me
I wish you seen me sorta people
People just being real people
not having to have it all together people
Them doing their best to figure it out people
dancing and singing without the smooth moves people

I don't care about the color of their skin
or what others think of as their sin
They don't need to be perfect to win
seeing and listening is where I'll begin
Beyond appearance of fat or thin
I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.

We'll start 
with our broken smiles
It's the best we've got
It might seem like so little 
still I think it's a lot
Through life's struggles we've all fought
lessons needed learning
experienced not taught
real is real it couldn't be bought

So forget the fake people
the all about perfect hair and clothes people
The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people
It's all about me, top of the hill people
They only hang out with the supremely cool people
those too important to talk to me people
thinking they're the best of the best kinda people
when all along they are merely Sheeple 
ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble

I love characters 
people who are unique
I look under exteriors to gain a peek
strength of lions disguised in meek
unconcearned with fab or being chic
Worth listening to if allowed to speak
the stories they tell will make your eyes leak

For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking
Disguising hurt with our joking
victims of others and their poking
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank 
hearts that aren't empty
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be
They might push when others come close
yet they are affectionate times three
Each just a bit afraid and broken 
all the while
wishing and wanting
to be a part of something
to be one of the we!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Long poem by Emile Pinet | Details |

A Little Boy's Hope Part 2 of 3

Scared and confused I question our fate, as dark cuts day into strips of fear,
and leaving me in a zombie state hope vanishes, replaced by a tear.
Ramshackle looks drains ego of pride, a warrior lives in a naive youth,
frightened inside unable to hide, he’s armed with lies defending the truth. 

The best of friends ingested by night, traveling along a lonely road,
draped in dust the sun hides its light, ground away even my dreams erode.
A child of poverty learns to steal, settling fights with a knife or a gun,
yet his Ma prays before every meal, thanking God for the gift of her son.

And Pa still clutches the book of God, proclaiming that Jesus will save him,
for faith roots in the poorest of sod, nourished by light no matter how dim.
Where’s it written that a man can’t cry a single tear of love, hate or rage,
must he be destined to live and die, never once having stepped off his stage?

Dust isolates my reality into pocketed pits of deep despair
and periods of brutality, imposed by a God that doesn't care.
A waning moon dims its meager light, as darkness extends its gritty hand
and the dust rescinds nocturnal sight, while an ebony fog shrouds the land.

We are soon in sync with nature's way, traveling in silence as we go,
upon gravel roads or sun baked clay we ride all night without friend or foe.
We reach the hottest desert on earth, so Pa tops up all the water cans,
and then Ma understanding their worth, also fills all her pots and pans.

Stretched before us lies nothing but sand, a crucible of heat and bleached bones,
for it's the most God forsaken land, quiet accept for my mournful moans.
Death Valley sucks water from the air leaving everything brittle and dry,
and to get across didn't seem fair, for it's hell, not a word of a lie.

A shimmering haze distorts the sky as drops of sweat escape every pore,
and as temperatures go soaring high, I'm hotter than ever before.
Unrelenting heat follows the sun across miles of dry cacti strewn sand,
yet ahead the mountains have begun and we're almost at our promised land.

Driving up to giants that scratch the sky we were apprehensive of the snow
and Ma feared she was going to cry, yet summoned up the courage to go.
The first sweet smell of evergreen trees sweeps down shadowy slopes black as coal,
and every gentle pine scented breeze helps to rejuvenate my sad soul.

The cool air feels fresh and crystal clear, surely paradise could not compete,
for the clouds are so amazing here high in this Rocky Mountain retreat.
The peaks glisten like a billion gems set in an endless blanket of white
and Ma starts to let down her dress hems, as her hat shades her eyes from the light.

Occasional drifts of blowing snow block the road and we have to dig through,
making our progress go very slow, but there is nothing else we can do.
The narrow steep roads hug the rock-cliff and we are afraid that we will fall,
for at times fingers feel frozen stiff and we can barely bend them at all.

The grandeur of the scenes before us repeatedly takes our breath away,
and Ma's the first one to make a fuss when Pa says we got no time for play. 
The sun sank quickly with silent speed, draining off what little heat we had,
yet we're of hardy pioneer breed, so our plight doesn’t seem all that bad.

Blinded by darkness Pa parks at night and I turn to look back where we'd been,
and by the stars and the moon’s dim light, confront a world that I've never seen.
Subjected to hurt that never stops, Pa’s sad spirit dreams of wings to fly,
for disappointment flows like teardrops, whenever he sees Ma start to cry.

Ma is worried but wears a brave smile tending to all her family's needs,
and she starts counting off every mile, following Pa wherever he leads.
On our way down the last mountain pass California comes into view,
we see rippling oceans of green grass, and it seems all we’ve been told is true.

Ma picks a spot to pull over, insisting on having a picnic lunch,
Pa pulls up to a field of clover and seems the happiest of the bunch.
Our dreams are all about to come true, opportunity awaits us here,
but first we have to plan what to do, we can’t let ourselves give in to fear.

Pa quickly found a good paying job with a small house for us to live in,
and Ma got to cleaning, she’s no slob and our new lives can finally begin.
I am now becoming a man and often thoughts of love fill my heart,
I want to find a job if I can, for that's the first thing I'll need to start.

Copyright © Emile Pinet

Long poem by John Beam | Details |

Dotting i's and crossing t's

I come from a family of high dots                                                                                                                                                                                                                  We did the same kind of things                                                                                                                                                                                                                        We look alike but they call me the underdot                                                                                                                                                                                                  Then I was used like a common comma                                                                                                                                                                                                          Like I could not make a statement                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Calling my brother the distinctio working with clauses                                                                                                                                                                              He is their center but I think he is just an interpunct                                                                                                                                                                                 Do I have the right to question                                                                                                                                                                                                                         I think yes and that is the bottom line                                                                                                                                                                                                        Invaluable to computers at .com  everyone knows me                                                                                                                                                                                    I go on excelling in math They call me the radix                                                                                                                                                                                         but they use my real name in their rings and rows                                                                                                                                                                                     My point is without me there would be no decimal point                                                                                                                                                                                 and I also work at times with foreign languages                                                                                                                                                                                                 They seem to understand me better than my own family who just belittle me                                                                                                                                           I think I will confront them and make a full stop of this                                                                                                                                                                            Tell ya the truth I think this will be                                                                                                                                                                                                                     a maturing point for me in around about way                                                                                                                                                                                                 For I am used more than all the other marks Period

Copyright © John Beam

Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

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
Her father. 

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?
It would.

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 ?

Copyright © Darian Rehder

Long poem by Emile Pinet | Details |

A Little Boy's Hope Part 3 of 3

Spring brings a bad case of spring fever, I'm itching to strike out on my own,
and I thought I'd try trapping beaver, but that will mean I'll be all alone.
Pa thought of a vineyard to make wine, and he and I started planting grapes,
tying them to trestles in long lines with lanyards Ma fashioned from old drapes.

The sun greets every grape with a kiss, awakening the juices within,
and thriving in warm weather like this, our future winery can begin.
Pessimists leave the art of dreaming to optimists with a half full cup,
just seeing one of Ma's smiles beaming never fails to lift my spirits up.

I breathe the freshness of morning mist and feel the rich soil between my toes,
this is a place where dragons exist and fairies help you fight off your foes. 
Listen to the wind rustling the leaves, as golden sunbeams flicker and spark,
like muffled laughter riding each breeze, piercing the canopy’s shades of dark.

Magic and reality mingle, as understanding comes of age,
and I do not want to stay single, like a lone parakeet in a cage.
Hope has me chasing dream after dream, yet happiness keeps slipping away,
and at times I feel the need to scream, for things never seem to go my way.

Dodging danger where trouble hides, I’ve learned to beware of games
and survived the emotional tides in a sea of strangers with no names.
I can imagine how love must feel for it is a feeling that I know
and the ache within my heart is real, only in sleep does the pain let go.

Lost in a crowd I'm always alone, feeling that I will never belong,
for my tears can't dissolve hearts of stone, and everything I do turns out wrong.
Today as I walked though my fields I spied a young girl gently crying,
yet she instinctively raises shields, and starts accusing me of spying.

My eyes are blinded by her beauty, for next to her the sunrise seems blasé,
and I feel that it is my duty to offer to chase her blues away.
Cast within the shadow of her light it is hard to watch an angel cry,
yet how can I just ignore her plight, when for her I would willingly die?

She's silhouetted against the moon and her presence makes it hard to cope,
for I feel like I’m about to swoon, as I haunt the far fringes of hope.
My heart sinks for she is feeling bad and the mere thought gives me the chills,
and I cringe inside because she's sad, drowning within every tear she spills.

Between sobs she says her name is Grace, her boyfriend has abandoned her here,
wiping the tears from her angelic face I tell her my Ma and Pa live near.
When I say they will be glad to help, she agrees to come back home with me,
and I’m so happy I give a yelp and almost walk straight into a tree.

Pa found her work at the winery and she rented a room in our home,
She was accustom to finery, but now looked more like a garden gnome.
Today I asked her to be my wife and I am thrilled that she said yes,
I'll love her for the rest of my life, she looks so nice in her wedding dress.

I bought us a small house near a brook surrounded by a grove of orange trees,
and she took on a pioneer look, often scrubbing the floors on her knees.
Now we both want a baby so bad that we are making love all the time,
disappointment makes her feel so sad, I can feel the anxiety climb.

Today she surprised me with good news and near drowned me in hugs and kisses,
and I gladly say bye to the blues, dreaming of my beautiful misses.
We stay up talking most of the night and she is so happy that she beams,
I must insist we turn off the light and with a kiss send her to her dreams.

On May first she gives birth to a boy and together we both start to cry,
our lives are soon overfilled with joy, and our spirits soar and start to fly.
We name him Jonathan after Pa, and soon he is taking his first step,
of course he is spoiled to death by Ma, and he's quite the rascal full of pep.

He wields a shield he made from a board, sharing my dread of dragons it seems, 
and so now the dragons fear his sword, for he is the shining knight of dreams.
And aware of this knight’s resistance, demons cut their shenanigans short, 
and Goblins try to keep their distance, for fairies have vowed to guard this fort.

Copyright © Emile Pinet

Long poem by curtis johnson | Details |

A Can Of Coffee

A Can Of Coffee
By Curtis Johnson

I do not remember telling him how his kindness to me made a major impression on my life, but I did share the same with his wife and daughter some time after his demise.   Moreover, I suspect that he knew that what he did for me had a lasting impact upon my life.  I have no doubt that with plan and purpose, with prayer and personal interest, Bob gifted me with a 2 pound can of ground coffee.  From the beginning, I discerned that Bob was  not trying to satisfy my taste for coffee.  At the time, I was not a regular coffee drinker, but rather I drank coffee as a survival tool when I was a delivery driver.  However, as a result of Bob’s good deed, I started to drinking coffee every morning.

I must tell you that the primary action of Bob was not about doing a good deed, but about connecting to another human being that was in many respects ‘disconnected’.  Nor was the gift of coffee really about the coffee, but rather it was about reaching out to another man who at the time had very little interest in personal interaction.  You see, Bob’s coffee contact with me is one of the answers to a creeping reality in     our communities today.   My reality of disconnection was my own response to disappointments and adversities.  Our world is in a ‘major disconnect’ for its own myriad of reasons.

Blame it on the internet and cell phone if you wish; convince yourself that our culture and the millennial generation have divided and separated us from one another.  Tell yourself that emails and tech messaging is the new normal.  Nevertheless, may we never cease to reach out and physically touch.  May we forever look people in their eyes, showing and telling them that we care.

Yes, there is a real and present need to reach out to the strangers, the visitors, the quiet and invisible ones, and the one who comes and goes, with few ever getting to know their names.  May we go the extra mile to acquaint one’s self with that one who would rather not be bothered.  We do not have to smother or over zealously invade their privacy, but we must respectfully find a way to enter their space.

In my case, Bob broke through the thick wall that I had built, and on which there hang an invisible sign that could be clearly read by any who dared.  Sometimes, if we like Bob, would dare to read the sign but ignore its request; or if we would but pretend that we did not see the expressive face and body language which said, “Don’t bother Me”, we might just be surprised with the response we get.   Love is not bound with a fear of barriers and walls.  Love sees no partition that it is not willing to penetrate.

Bob was a loving conduit through which the electricity of God’s love flowed.  The coffee was simply an instrument that could easily have been an invitation to dinner, a gift card from Starbucks, or a ticket to a movie.  The tool is relative; it’s the conduit that really matters and makes a world of difference.

No, it was not a ‘random act of kindness’, but rather a very specific and targeted act.  As a result of Bob’s one act of kindness, he opened a doorway to my heart and life that led to a wonderful, though short, friendship.  There were several occasions in which Bob and I would engage in interesting conversations.  As a result, I learned of Bob’s many interests and of the service station business he once owned.  

I recall a story of a heat wave that hit Chicago several years ago.  A number of elderly people died not only because they were without air conditioning, but because they had no one who checked on them on a regular basis.   They lived alone; they died alone.  This tragedy caused the city to implement a system of connecting with the elderly in ways that disallow a similar misfortune. 

Bob never lived to see how I began to open up and relate to other people.  It’s amazing what things can happen when we simply allow ourselves to be conduits.  Bob was a conduit through which love flowed  from his heart to mine.  The tool was a 2 pound can of Coffee.  The power of love and a can of coffee.    Who knew?  cj08262014

Copyright © curtis johnson

Long Poems