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Long Garden Poems | Long Garden Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,


Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

SUNDAY SOJOURN

                                                                                                    July 2000



It’s early morning, Sunday, midsummer. I have the kitchen to myself, and I decide to make an omelet from the brown eggs and farmer's cheese that I bought at the market, yesterday. The house is still, save for the sound of the fans and the occasional squeak of a floor board. I consider turning on the radio, but change my mind. How often do I allow myself silence? 

Tea is steeping, a blend called Nile Pearls, and the aroma of pineapple fails to overshadow the black currant. I’m still in my nightshirt. Day can wait. The view from my window makes me smile for my herb garden has gone quite riotous.  I decide to make my simple dish more flavorful. 

Pushing open the screen door, I pause, stretch and lift my face to the sun. The thermometer is sure to climb over 30 today but, right now, it is comfortable. Stepping off the deck, my toes are grateful for the coolness of the grass, the absence of tight shoes, those self-imposed feminine trappings.

my clean feet wet with dew – warm breeze
There is a feeling of sanctity, here. My garden is raised, built into a small hill that provides privacy, yet swallows yard space. I pause to sniff the lavender, let the week dissolve into soft, purple splendor. Pointless, really, to even try to ignore the rhubarb. It is a tyrant, defying borders, refusing to compromise its position. Enormous leaves rustle and I grin as a chipmunk streaks for the cedar hedge. I close in on the herbs, consider my options and snap off several long, verdant spikes. Close to fields, we have had our share of visitors, small frogs, grass snakes, rabbits, red tailed hawks, the occasional raccoon. Nature is taking back the encroachment of suburbia. I rip off a mint leaf, finger its fur and a movement catches my eye.
through thyme a snail inches towards my sundial
There is no artifice in dawdling. Often, I think that my small plot of land is enough for me. No adventure to the far East, no sabbitical on a windswept isle off the coast of Wales. Pleasure, riches, surround me. Perhaps, I will never see the Louvre, but then, in small ways, the Louvre visits my plain home.
a spider's web and my clothesline tangled
The neighbours tolerate my brown thumb, our patchy lawn and my horrid bird calls. They have witnessed the earth under my fingernails, encrusted knees , those afternoons I spent coddling seedlings. One keeps gifting me surgical gloves, a nurse who fights weeds with an antiseptic resolve. The gloves pile in a drawer, unused. I gaze at my roses, notice the gnawed growth, wonder who thinks them delicious. Smart wee beastie. The street is stirring, and my sojourn will end, soon.
the widow next door refills her new bird bath - empty nest
I search for a cloud, find one so far away that it appears otherworldly. Peat and black soil perfume the air. Inhaling, I accept a gentle invasion, a piercing that brings a deep sense of purpose and peace. For just one moment, I feel that I am not walking the earth at all, but that somehow, as impossible as it seems, the Earth just began to move within me. *written May 2013. I miss my herb garden!


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Frisky Dandy Lion

Let the air fill your vocal sounds
Be enlightened by a gospel, energized choir
You are the main event
Brazening with glamorous features 
How lucky could you be? 

I seek not to hunt you down...heartless of your beauty 
Your hoarse growling is replaced by a heartening melody
Appeasing to your malcontent hunger

Though your bones are fit enough to fight...
There's a possibility you could be a bending stem

I don't mean to hunt down your gracefulness and your brazening pride 

Don't turn against me...refrain from being inappropriate in your tensing growl 
Thrilled by denied consequences 

I seek not to hunt you down...heartless of your beauty 
Your hoarse growling is replaced by a heartening melody
Appeasing to your malcontent hunger

Pluck the dandelions and weeds in the Garden of Eden
So you can seek growth and maturity
Meandering around, trying to find the faceless truth
I could sense your controlled hunger

Snatching me in alarm
Meaning no harm...you are a cooperative, cheerful charm
Don't give away this edification...
Except it and don't lose it at all
Burn down 
The resistible temptations
Slightly crawling their way 
Out of drilling fears

I don't mean to hunt down your gracefulness and your brazening pride 

I don't want to be sprawled in your clashing, fist-shaped paws
Snatching me with a hook and I'm the victim who is lifeless-- the fish

Could you recall your dandelion, carrion life dragging you to deeper trouble 
Don't hide yourself in desperation, you dandy, enlightening lion
Strengthening your courteous and courageous thrills
Filled with pride and contentment 

Don't lack humbleness, I see your avarice, heartless auras 
Be the thriving, main event 
Create a courageous scene just for curiosity

Keep yourself stable 
Reflect your will on a clear, glass table
Meander your troublesome ways
Be a cooperative soul to your endeavors
Full of heartening compliments

Bring this ticket to heaven's heights 
Uplifting to your scorching, motionless fate
Running off like a withering dandelion without pedals
Still staying cooperative with the rhythm of the wind 
You are still considered 
My dandy lion sent from heaven's heights

Pluck the dandelions and weeds in the Garden of Eden
So you can seek growth and maturity

I seek not to hunt you down...heartless of your beauty 
Your hoarse growling is replaced by a heartening melody
Appeasing to your malcontent hunger

I hope you could reach your paws to heaven's heights
Where safety is freely given
To a hungry, pleasurable kitten


Long poem by Samir Georges | Details |

Blind men

A child passes by 
So full of joy
Life
A friend by his side
Broad smiles smothered all over their faces, a veil over childhood ignorance
Together they play, tumbling in the grass of the gardens of youth
But before long, before every scent in this blooming garden is taken in, experienced
A thunder storm invades the scene
Shocking reality into their lives
Ravaging their ignorance, their innocence
Shattering their smiles
And with great earthquakes, the ground beneath their feet shatters
And the duo is separated into a quickly spreading mist
It enshrouds them, whisking away their screams, hiding away their tears
And with that sundering, friends of old are replaced by the mist, ever changing
Sharp blades of green dull under the weight of the dew as the mist rides on the back of time
Slowly, like the growth of wisdom, the mist withdraws
With every inch of that once promising garden that is returned to the sun
Another inch of realization is exposed to the world
And where once gleamed blades of green and welcoming rainbows of soft scented dandelions 
resided
Now sprouted weeds, thorns battling amongst one another for more room
They sacrifice the shrubs and bushes of sweet tasting raspberries that once covered the 
broad smiling faces of two toddlers
And from within the unrolling mist 
Strides a man in a suit
With every stride he takes, away yield the weeds, and dwindle away
Disintegrating, crumbling under his very air
And from the foot tracks of his military boots
Sprouts a structure breeding advances, great wonders to awe the world
And what few roses remained in this scarred haven
Are sacrificed, to make way for more boot marks, more wonders to awe the weeds
Now comes another being, out of the retreating fog
On his face is a contorted image 
A frown
He drudged along a weed ridden path
Tripping and tumbling over boot marks
Each sprouting small, developing structures, non-nurtured offspring of unthinking parents 
His tattered clothes, assaulted by time and thorny undergrowth
Hung on him like the shedding skin of a snake
But unlike that of the slithering reptile, this old coat shall not leave its master
Both wandered on, both blind to what was around them, what had changed
Till one day, they walked towards one another
And by some random act of choice, or the strict lines of fate, both blind men came full circle
And without a glance, they strode past each other as they had glided or tumbled past their 
ever changing pathways
As if the faces of their past where forgot

© Samir Georges
2008


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Patradoot or The Messenger 33 /Many

Patradoot or The Messenger33 /Many 
  
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


A little garden you will find, in front of my house,
Full of beautiful plants and fragrance spreading creepers,
Its enchanting smell would force you to stop for a while,
And its loveliness would keep fascinating you, dear letter.

This lovely garden is the creation of my father*, dear,
Who has put his labor and efforts to make it, so beautiful,
That it’s a joy to be among the green plants and creepers,
His garden speaks and enchants every one, dear letter. 

The sad green plants of the garden without flowers,
Would narrate the state of sadness of the dwellers,  
And it’s bending branches and tree twigs would convey, 
The agonies and worries of my beloved’s heart, dear letter.

Here you would also meet, my lovely little daughter, dear letter,
When you see her playing among the plants and trees,
And you will get a chance to listen her broken melodies,
She would be mumbling, while playing with her friend trees.

My sweet little daughter Krishna, is a lovely delicate child,
She is the beloved of our hearts, hardly twenty four months old,
Krishna is charming, beautiful and alert like lightening,
To catch your attention, immediately, dear letter.



Ravindra                                                       to continue in 34…

Kanpur India      ….. August  2010 
*father.              Father of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor or my grand father.

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 






Long poem by catherine Reinke | Details |

Blue Pearl

Blue Pearl



Stories are told
Of lost enchanted kingdoms treasures
Of jewels beyond all measure-

Diamonds, rubies, silver and gold

Yet blue pearl fairest 
Wisdom story told.

A gentle love tale
For you to hold.

On the Island
In sea foam ocean
God created
This tale of motion

Loves commotion, strong emotion.

From deep within Neptune’s caves
Mermaid sirens 
Songs they gave.

To spin their magic
Enchanting swirling
Beauty delight-

A women’s eyes
Blue pearls
In his sight.

For he alone wise warrior bold
Made they she 
For he it’s told

Now long below the sea she rested
While search in vain he was tested.

Given to fatigue his journey
Believed ended
Settled he on land
His garden tended.



Years did pass
All seemed well but how his pearl
Sunk toward hell
If he knew
It’s sure he’d tell.

“search again I,
for where you fell.”

But know he not 
Her plight now covered 
Until that day
His love discovered.

For hidden right 
Beneath his eye 
Buried treasure
When he heard her sigh.

And beyond his garden gate
Slept his princess fair 
Soul-mate

Gleaming brightly 
Under the sun 
Wisdom warrior
Knew-
She’s the one

Like a feather
Up he picked
His pearl of grace,
Stoked her hair
Tender embrace.

To search no more 
His soul did sigh
His sigh
Her breath of life
And together their souls did fly.

A love that’s 
Pure and white and round
A hunger- desire
Both they found.

Drink they did 
And fulfill loves thirst
While to fate- to- destiny
Sang their first

For heavens songs 
Were heard above 
When toge6ther 
War to pearl
In love.

Yet to our tale
A sorry end
To brief indeed
A tear to send.

For warrior not 
So wise believe 
When dropped he did 
His love to sea.

Now tears have filled
Her eyes of blue
With sleep ness nights
Pearl cries of you.

Pleadings blue
Cry to god above
“leave me not
so lost in love.”

“Again to sleep me 
my warrior leaves
sinking deep beneath the seas.”

“Wait I will
if I must
100 years me-
find I trust.”

For he alone 
Her love heart discover
In princess pearl
He find no other.


So next time 
To sea you wade
Remember this tale
To you I gave

Of warrior wise
His search in vain
A princess blue pearl
His salvation Kingdoms gain

To find loves
Beauty buried
Within deep
And to drop]
Her down
And back to sleep.

It’s a folly best avoid.

For love is given to far and few
Watchful if it happens to you..


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

My Love Intended

My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.

She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.

The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.

It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.

A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.

Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.

She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.

Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.

Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.

Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.

The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.

Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.

She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.

As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.

I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.

The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.

Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?

All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.

The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.

I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.

Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.

Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.

She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.

We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.

Love everlasting,
everything everlasting,
cigarettes smoked together.

A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
my love.


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

Pursue Love

Pursue love,
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.

We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.

My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.

Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.

-9/26/2013-


Long poem by saket suman | Details |

A LITTLE LOVE SONG OF LITTLE THINGS

A LITTLE LOVE SONG OF LITTLE THINGS.


There is nothing to say
 no complaints no gratitude,
Your aptitude is right but
 its hindering your attitude!
A glass was my page-
you were my water I thought,
Your love was a sorrowful battle
with tears I fought!!
Every drop of tear
 that wet my eyes,
I hid with smiles 
beneath my cries!
You were the amazing rolling 
waves of the sea that help to sail,
I forgot the same waves turn 
monstrous and the sailors do fail!!
There was a time when 
you had nothing beside you,
A bucket of tears and 
the company of devils in your crew,
There were tears in your eyes
 and a passion of compassion,
The tears turned into laughter
 and so changed your fashion!!
Let me recall today although 
what is done for others must be forgotten,
When you were wet I soaked
 your tears and did swell like the cotton,
When the burden of sorrow 
overlapped your heart-I was the button,
But when prosperity knocks 
men lock their rooms and draw the curtain!!
Who remembers the world beyond the window,
Who cares for the candles when the bulbs glow,
Who remembers the teardrops when they laugh,
Who cares for a muffler when they have the scarf??
Oh girl you forgot your tears
 were not yours they were our,
Oh girl you forgot you were 
not my weakness you’re my power,
Oh girl you forgot the drops of rain
 is purer than the shower,
Oh girl you forgot a garden
 is not garden without the flower!!
Just look outside your window
 the love bees are sad to see us part,
The bulbs may glow your room
 but the candle brightens your heart,
The laughter echoes in the air
 but the teardrops paint your memory,
The scarf may be expensive 
but the old muffler will serve you for free!!
Those drops of tears that’ve 
evaporated are calling us back again,
The sky is gradually darkening
 and reuniting the drops of rain,
 The Garden of Eden is scentless 
and the flowers are numb to bloom,
And the curtain is explosive
 to open and brighten our room!!
I feel a strong sensation 
in me to reunite,
And relive the days 
that’ve gone out of sight,
But the garden will not rejoice 
unless the bees hum and the flowers bloom,
And the flowers will bloom only 
if you hold my hand and walk out of your room!!
Once we are together we’ll go
 back into our lovely loving phase,
And once the grasses grow-
the cows will certainly come to graze,
And once the flowers bloom 
there will soon be humming of the bees,
And again there will be joy in little things-
in candles, mufflers and trees!!
        


Long poem by Wendy Meyer | Details |

IF ONLY I COULD CATCH THE SUN, ever so softly


I try to ignore the squirming Hyde within 
And, with effort still,
I raise myself for the last traces 
of sunshine and fun.
What was left of the day, I savor for me. 
As the withering leaves of silence
have perfected the petals of stillness,
A quietude.
Such absence of sound
Never a serenity to the mind.
Disturbing solitude haunts.
Loneliness seems vivid as reality speaks 
Even the poignant sadness never parts
Solitary confinement paints an art.

Like the spectator in a thousand theatre plays,
 I achingly wait for the final curtains to part.
Then, as always expected -  
Left were the 
    dancing curtains 
       together with the late sunset wind. 
Tiny golden flecks 
   imprinting on the soft white 
        laces and trims.
Catching shadow images 
    of the last rays of brilliance, 
         blending slowly in yellow embers,
              forming orange coals, 
                   turning into sunkissed glow 
                         of a sad goodbye. 
Then,
    ever so softly fading
           into dullness and cloudless cold. 


And as the night falls, 
its shadowy self dances 
against the moonlit music of silence.
I listen and search still 
   for what is left. 
No traces of the sun 
whose magnificence and radiance 
had touched the leaves of laughter 
during my daytime slumbering; children frolicking, 
    early had the mind sensing. 
And, gone astray were the seeds of kindness 
    the day had grown.
It seemed they were sown 
    by someone I wish I had known. 


If only I could frolic 
    where little lads had been early today - 
        in the meadows, 
           by the pond, 
              along the shores, 
                  around friendly trees and smiling flowers, 
                       with the meadowlarks and chirpy games, 
                               I’d give away anything.
Basking in the sun on such a lemony day, 
someone sulks to find it's an emotional burn. 


If only I could catch the loveliness of the sun, 
I'd give away anything. 
ANYTHING. 
Just for something this grand. 


The mind wills but the heart groans. 
A moment of joy and laughter, so fleeting.
Forgot me, gave away the troubles. 
Today could be A DAY,
If only, ever so softly,  I could catch the sun.



Long Poems