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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
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baseball basketball
beach beautiful
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bible bio
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blessing blue
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books boxing day
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brother bullying
business butterfly
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chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
christmas cinco de mayo
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class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
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cousin cowboy
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culture cute love
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death death of a friend
december dedication
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desire destiny
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divorce dog
dream drink
drug earth
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education emo
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eve evil
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farewell farm
fashion father
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fathers day fear
february feelings
film fire
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fish fishing
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food football
for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
french friend
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fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good friday good morning
good night goodbye
gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i am
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration independence day
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
integrity international
internet introspection
ireland irony
islamic january
jealousy jesus
jewish jobs
journey joy
judgement july
june kid
kindergarten kiss
language leadership
leaving life
light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me meaningful
memorial day memory
men mental illness
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
morning mother
mother daughter mother son
mothers day motivation
mountains moving on
mum murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
mythology name
native american natural disasters
nature new year
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nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
nursery rhyme obituary
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old onomatopoeia
pain paradise
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parody pashto
passion patriotic
peace people
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poets political
pollution poverty
power prayer
prejudice preschool
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princess prison
proposal psychological
purple quinceanera
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rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
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storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
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surreal sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
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teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving thanksgiving day
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
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visionary vogon
voice volleyball
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water weather
wedding wife
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write writing
yellow youth

Long Grave Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Diane Lefebvre | Details |

Wellington Gate

His walk into town would prove fateful that day,
As his mind wandered idly while finding his way.
His footsteps were brisk like fall chill in the air,
Past Wellington Gate, south of Denby town square.

He paused for a time as the hearse passed him by.
Its dark, somber outline contrasting the sky.
Stood still as it turned in through Wellington Gate,
Down this last dusty byway of sorrow and fate.

A pair of dark geldings, black plumes on their heads.
Seemed subdued in their manner while carrying the dead.
Their hooves beat dull thuds on the cold, hardened sod:
Alerting the devil, but more hopefully, God.

The box in the hearse lay there stark and austere.
Poor souls final journey, last trek anywhere. 
The small group of mourners now somber and mute
Trailed after the hearse in reluctant pursuit.

His thoughts then turned back to concerns of the day.
The errands in Denby that had brought him this way.
His footsteps trudged on toward the town just ahead.
On past this bleak place with its fields of the dead.

And the day passed by quickly as he made all his rounds,
Attending to business before leaving the town.
Then an overdue visit to a friend from the past,
Would leave his mind reeling, in tumult, aghast!

For Nell Reed had returned from her home far away.
Nell Reed had come back, never more would she stray.
The scene he had witnessed at Wellington Gate,
The pine box, the mourners, lamented Nell's fate.

Then a blow to his middle - sharp twist like a knife.
Twice now he'd lost Nellie the love of his life.
Nellie, oh Nellie sweet child of his youth.
How could he accept this - admit to its truth?

She now lay in her coffin - pale, cold, not a sigh.
No words would she speak, not one single goodbye.
No explanation of the times in their past:
Of unanswered questions, he could now never ask.

He then found himself back at Wellington Gate.
Fall shadows had lengthened and the day had grown late.
Dead leaves of November swirled under his step,
Invited him follow to where Nellie now slept.

The despair that he felt huddled there by her grave,
Made him seem as a man now most surely depraved.
Harsh pleas for the answers to questions long asked,
From someone once cherished, now part of the past.

Where had she gone while he fought in that war?
Why did she leave, did she love him no more?
Upon his return, mind and body all scarred, 
To face life without her - so sad and so hard?

He cried out in frustration, old sorrow and pain,
As he knelt by her grave there on Evermore Lane.
And the day turned toward evening, but he did not see,
Trapped there in his memories with no place to flee.

Then he sensed someone else, just behind, but nearby.
A young man with Nell's look, most especially her eyes.
In his hand was a letter, tinged yellow with time-
Nell's neat, tiny script penned on each faded line.

"She told me about you and what you once shared,
And asked me to find you, to tell you she cared.
She wished you to have this," his voice held a plea.
"Her last thoughts on this earth were of you and of me."

"The letter was written a long time ago,
When I was a child, before I came to know.
The man I called father, in the days of my youth,
Was only her husband; a well hidden truth."

"He raised me and fed me and treated me well,
But he never did love me and I always could tell.
This letter from mother should bring you at last,
Answers to questions that have troubled your past."

And the son placed the letter in his fathers cold hand,
Waited a moment - made a half-hearted stand.
But he turned then and left - back through Wellington Gate:
To the place he had come from and his own earthly fate.

And his father by the morning, lay frozen and dead,
On Nellie's cold grave with the message unread.
He never did view those last words meant for him,
It grew too dark to see as the cold night set in.

He succumbed to that cold and to Nellie's mute call.
And died where she lay on the last day of fall.
And the years passed on by, like the years always will.
They now lie there together, both silent: both still.

And all who'd remember lie near them as well,
No one now survives for this sad tale to tell.
Yet the legend goes on of this man and of fate.
It's still whispered while passing by - Wellington Gate.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Amber Stratton | Details |

Blinded By Darkness

I was blinded by darkness
Not knowing where I planted each footfall
I had a body I had a heart
I had a mind and most of all a soul
I thought I was alive with happiness and joy
Alive with peace in my soul
But I was wrong dead wrong
I was all but dead to the world
It was Death that captured and trapped me
In a grave not letting go of me
In the end not knowing it was little ol’ me
Trying to breathe trying to fight my way out
Thinking I was almost there to the top but not even moving
I thought I was justified by my negativity and actions
Not knowing it was trapping me further down
Displaying the ignorance of my ways without caring for the ones I loved
The pain of it that was caused went noticed 
Everyone telling me but not realizing it until now
Letting the deceit and evil willingly roll off my tongue
Thinking I was always right on everything
Thinking that all I need was the trust of man
No matter how long I sat by the fire I was cold
Even when the sunlight was resting upon my skin
I was still ice cold as Death’s very own 
I did not think that life would be this dead within
The darkness of the ice cold abyss of the grave yard
Picking and choosing what to do seems right but it wasn’t
Trying again and again until finally picking up the one thing 
That I thought would not help me in the long run
Thinking that I had all the love in the world 
Knowing that nothing can bring me down was one
Of the biggest lies I made myself believe for so long
Thinking I had fait and love in my life but I was wrong
And in the end all there  is was nothing but darkness 
Deceit and evil rolling off the tongues of you so called 
People walking blindly through the shadows
Of the ever present grasp of Deaths darkest abyss
Of all the wickedness that has been committed in my life 
Why now has the Mighty Father and Mother given me a second chance 
Why have they forgiven me of my sins without a second thought
Have I really forgiven myself so the Father the Mother and the Divine
To enter my body my mind my heart and my soul
Has the Lord and the Lady really seen that I have been trying to 
Change and to become an adult woman mentally so my 
Husband can rely on me in the time of need like now
I thought I was ready to begin a life with kids 
Until I realized that I am still one myself
How will the Lord and Lady tell me when I am ready to have
The family I want with my husband who is my soulmate 
All I can do is wait ever so patiently for the moment
The Lord and Lady will tell me when I am ready 
Inside that dark grave a white light came to me
With a hand to pull me out of my hole I dug and saved me
From my own condemned version of hell after praying 
They deliver me from my sins and the trespasses I’ve done
What are people going to do when they see me 
Completely changed after the long visit to LCJ
God and Goddess thank you for saving my when I thought 
There was no way for me to be saved and unworthy of it
Again thank you for everything I currently have
In my life my wonderful loving husband that only
Sees the potential in me all the time and the love he 
Gives so unconditionally to me even when I 
Do wrong in his eyes or the law’s eyes please 
Show him the same lovingkindness and forgiveness you 
Have so heavily laid on me to realize and forgive 
Myself and those around me like I should
Have so long ago when you tried to show me the light
I have forgiven myself of the anger and hate I had
For my adopted family and now it is in the past I cannot 
Change that but however I can change how the future 
Goes by what I say and plan to do now today
I can look back not so long ago the darkness that 
Covered my eyes then and hope the light keeps the veil away
I can see all the negative emotions that were running 
And controlling me I had no idea what to do 
Now I am grateful for the things I have for 
The things I have come to realize on top of everything
I am the most thankful to you in my life 
When I thought I did not deserve the love 
And the care you have shown me 
 
Love is for an eternity, not just a second, minute, hour or even a day. 

Copyright © Amber Stratton | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by arthur vaso | Details |

Through Their Eyes

Through Their Eyes

The Poetry Murders Part 3 in the series

Murder She Wrote

It was a dark night with a full moon
The alley narrow, my hopes high
My footsteps echoed in the ears of the invisible
I quicken my pace
I had an eerie feeling, fate waiting
At the next gate
I rounded the corner
Mist from the sewer drifting
The ambient mood that of sinister
Is that the wind I hear?
Before I could gaze up
A thousand heavy books
Rained down upon me head
I was struck dead
Surrounded by books and words
A hundred yards away
Behind the walls of the church graveyard
There was laughter in the night
Murder she wrote
The final perfect one
As I lay dead
On the street of forgotten poets

Through Their Eyes part 2
Sleeping Beauty

She gazed into my haunted eyes
Knowing my devotion was absolute and complete
She fulfilled my nefarious dreams
Ever so peaceful in her green eyed slumber
She struggled with the rope and tape
I whispered in her ear
Relax, your destiny is clear
You shall sail to the sweetest of places
I shall allow you your escape
Slowly, smothered with my pillowed love
She lies lifeless
In peace
With my poems upon her chest
She has found paradise at last
As the light fades from the far away sea
Old roads become watery graves
North she sails with my words upon her very soul


Through Their Eyes  part 1

The Poetry Murders

She is hiding
I know it
She knows it
She’s next
The vast expanse of Ontarian forest
Is no protection at all
I am the butcher of all slithering poets
After all they slaughtered the words
Fair is bloodthirsty fair!

Everyone suspects the butler
Or maybe the Gardner
All the usual suspects
No one guesses the millionaire
Money isn’t everything you know
Murder is the thing keeps me on the go

Florida was pleasant trip
A lot of writers around the lakes
A lot of poets down there are really fakes
I’ll be serving tacos on sticks
Nothing like having strangers eat the evidence
The alligators will get the scraps
I wrapped them up in such poems of utter crap

I so loved the Bible belt
They are seekers of redemption and find only fools
Now there is a writer with a huge welt
The axe you see split his head in three
Breathless he sleeps like the holy trinity
Rotting away, the same stink was there
As In life his rotten disposition
Filled ones nostrils the same as deaths kitchen

Now I fancy a trip back in time
Way way back, way back were I hear roman chimes
Caesars second is chasing killers
I shall turn the tables of destiny and time
Slitting his throat a thousand times
Brutus was a pussy cat compared to me!
I drinkith the cup of blood, I am thirsty as can be

Oh this spree has just begun
Killing poets is just so much fun
They can hide behind their masks
Shivering in silence I stalk their fear
Tickling their soulless spines
I have a gift wrapped in blood
Let me make you divine
I pronounce you Silent One till the end of time
Headless you sit in your chair
Hideous and hiding
In death you shall have more class and flair

Cyanide is slow and fun
You see them shrivel, blank stares
Death dancing all over their hairs
Your next drink, I do say beware
It flows with poetic dreams
Taking you away from this earth
The sad news is this
You will not be going upstairs!

Agatha Christie could not spell
The fact of the matter some do dwell
If she was alive to see me now
I’d be facing the garrote for murdering her cow
Alas she is gone, dead and buried
I smirk; they never caught me for her or the cow

Now if you think I am a psychotic nut
For murdering poets, hey I was in a rut
They all deserved their painful butchered demise
Even they have locked me up
Not for murder, I was really too good at that
They think I am mental and hey lets play along
I have one last murder you see, so delicious
This crime soon to be
I ate my ear to be locked up here
Inside of the institute called J Ward

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Katee Surface | Details |

My Little Boy Lost

My Little Boy Lost
by Katherine Huffman
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, I can't find you, why aren't you near?

As I walk the streets in search of you, 
I feel a pull, a tug, not sure what to do.
I passed the park as I looked for my boy, 
Even passed our play spot, but in my sight, not even a toy.
After everywhere I thought that I could go, 
There was one place, but it can't be right, this is all I know.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, can't find you,
Why can't I feel you near?

This evening begins as I lay to rest my head, 
There are some things I'm unsure of, 
Like making your tiny bed.
Oh God, whats happening, haven't I counted your toes?
What about cradling your head or kissing your little nose?
What are these things I am unsure of, have I even done? 
Where are you, where are you my precious son?

Mommy lays here, in tears, her face on something cold.
Where are you my son, it's you I need to hold.
I've searched all day, it's turning into night,
I'm tired, I'm lost, but I still won't give up this fight.
My eyes start to close, slumber is far too near 
If I fall asleep, I may miss seeing you my dear.

Next thing I know, as I wake to the sun.
Wondering what it is, what has been done?
As I sit, my eyes focus, I start to look around.
Then, for some reason, they are drawn to the ground.
As I look, I see what has become,
This can't be, what's happening, where am I my son?

That cold my face last night laid upon, 
Was a marker, with your name, 
Of your body my little one.
Those things I wasn't sure if I'd ever done, 
Were but the memories, I'd hoped to make with you my son.

You were here, I know you were here 
My beautiful, precious son.
You were in mommies arms, such a little one.
As though it were as simple as reading a book,
I start to realize
These tangled webs have become unhooked.

That tug, that pull that led your mommy here, 
It was your spirit, it was your soul, 
It was your heart my little dear.

Here you were, here you were, 
Right with me, so very near.
My little boy, my son, 
Mommies little one was here.
You see? You led me where I needed to go.
For it was well past the time,
To accept this I know.

I feel a tug, I feel a pull.
I feel like I need to hurry, 
Like I have to go.
There is someone I remember,
I need to get to I know.
He's a small one, a little boy. 
He's your brother, my son, 
He's pulling, he's tugging, 
Needing mommy my little one.
I have to leave, I have to go, 
To find my baby, my son.

Oh Thank You my boy,
For bringing me here.
For letting my mind begin to see clear.
You showed me the way, 
I now see the light.
I am so close, so near in this dark night.

So here you are, here you are, 
With mommy, my baby is so very near.
You are in my heart, my mind, 
And this little brother of yours, my dear.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost, 
it's you I have found.
You were there with me,
as I slept on that ground.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can see you, mommy found you, 
In my arms I hold you so near.
I've bathed you, I've clothed you, 
And cradled your head.
I counted your toes,
I bent in and kissed that little nose.
As you fell asleep in your bed.

Without him, 
Would these be memories
we are making my dear?
Without him would mommy, 
Be able to hold you so near?

We have a little angel to watch over us for all nights.
In spirit, with us, his soul,
Our endless guiding light.
He's your big brother, my son, my precious little one. 
He's right here, a part of you, 
Never again to be gone.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost,
It's you, I can see.
I have to Thank You 
For guiding me!

Copyright © Katee Surface | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |

THE OPAQUEST NARRATIVE

In Michigan, the weather can change for the worst in October.
This particular Halloween came a blizzaring.
The lights went out and in a dark, dark room, candles were lit; therein, the opaquest 
narrative was captured.
* With the shape of With figment With look I will invent the human. Through the mind Via light With aspect The being I will project. I saw sadness. It stared directly at me. I gazed back. It begins to glare. I looked away. Why am I afraid? It is an ape, a primate. With child fists, I walked toward this apelike creature and strike out. Finally, I saw more than eyes and it pounces. It is a little child as a man. My hands represented some insight. Would we fight? ** The universe stood as earth. Solar we are to the sky above. Humanity shouts with a hoarse voice. Man, woman, and child stands as an echo. God sent the demons. The sinners are all of us. Through commandment of what Hell is Heaven is not. Demons are with God. The Pacific Ocean is the end of the world. It runs east and west. Why do we not investigate this? [Because our capabilities are limited!] Are we afraid of what we will find? We discovered each other and now we hesitate. Procrastination is a thing that delays knowledge. Are we wise to seek? Demons are with God. Are we? *** Body [body] {Body}! Gut (gut)! Skin and bones wake up! I am a reincarnation of that that is not known. Many have come before me but none was as I am. I am the body for the human to gut a man. However, women are now involved and they want to be in the belly. Instinctive they are but this was only for man to do. Why do they want to be that damned fool? Unconscious to the world that they are within, one would ask self why they want to be like men. The answer becomes to fit in. What if there is one left out? The answer becomes their bodies have been gutted and they are only GI. **** The Moon has no Gods. The Sun is what speaks to us. It tells us prophesy and what the world shall become. We are mongoloid, brown and bronzed spiritual to our existence. Our tribes are of North America. A hundred plus [we] stand[s]. Our land is our strength. We fought. We won. We lost. Died from disease but gave birth once again. Our population stands now and we are healthy. The European man has given our wisdom and knowledge. Our minds are set on our economic growth. We will become political minded. Five hundred nations are we those lost tribes of our history. ***** The mockery of man is a stance of incorrectness. It transforms through government and states that your freedoms are not anything to believe in. You, as people, are nothing but possessions and no one knows who is blessed. You are lucky to be here. Your way of life is given by our nation’s wealth. We are brought together as immigrants and the natives of this country are indigenous. We cannot pretend that we are more than that. We must pedestal ourselves to unity and know that people are only structure to adhere. One came for liberation. Others came via slavery. Nomads were unbound. They let them in yet they were said to be uncivilized. Today we are unified. We are the United States of America bound, bonded, and realized. {We are gratis; free to form our own lives.} ______________________________________________| PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 13, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Anayo Oleru | Details |

One night sleepover

ONE NIGHT SLEEPOVER
The embers of the fireplace glowed,
We were all alone in the forest 
spending a family vacation
 surrounded by big, shadowy trees 
and a river that never flowed.
At first, I acted as though 
I wasn’t scared at all,
For I know my parents 
will drive back after all.
We sat and played board game 
in front of the fireplace,
Which for days I’ve never touched nor carry, 
rather than to think of raise.
The wind outside had grown 
stronger and was whistling
around the house,
Blowing through the little cracks
 in the walls of our tent 
and climbing us to the bone.
I started to shiver, 
although I don’t think it was 
from the cold alone.
Suddenly, the idea of where we were , 
just all alone,
started to prey on my mind,
 causing fear.
I looked out of the window,
now,
I could see the limbs of trees flapping in the wind 
like ghostly arms.
I remembered how far down the road 
into the forest was,
We had traveled without even 
seeing another house.
‘I think am scared,’ I told myself,
Curiosity and fear started churning 
my imagination into terrible thoughts.
I remembered when I was younger, 
I used to be really afraid,
Especially after kids from school 
told me scary stories about what lurks out
 in the forest in the dark.
‘Let’s go to sleep,’ 
I told my little sister with a shaking voice.
I turned off the lights, and settled into the thick
 goose-down comforters of the loft floor.
Looking through the 
small window beside us,
I could see the tall trees of the forest,
The full moon hanged in the sky like a silvery disk.
I slept in silence for a while,
When suddenly,
 I heard something that made me rise 
my head with wide open eyes.
It was the sound of footsteps, 
a heavy footstep outside 
the timbers of our tent.
Panic clogged my mind,
I was too scared to say something.
I sat and waited 
for the sound to come again,
But I heard nothing,
Nothing but the moaning 
of the wind through the trees.
The sound of the footsteps came again,
But this time it was another
 side of the house.
I started to feel even sicker,
Every muscle in my body jumped 
when I heard the front door opened.
My blood ran cold, 
and I was suddenly afraid to move.
The footsteps were moving across 
the passage toward were 
my little sister and I were lying.
The room was filled with horrible silence,
Just the sound of the footsteps
 getting closer and closer,
I couldn’t say a word, neither my little sister,
I just scrunched down further under the comforter.
In my mind, I saw the scary man 
of an extraordinary size, 
coming toward us through the dark.
I began to shake so hard, 
when I heard the footsteps on the floor
 entering the room where we were.
I huddled my sister and I against the wall,
And I could hear the breathing of the beast, 
coming closer and closer to my skin,
I could feel its nearness.
The heat from his nostril 
made my skin feel feverish.
But suddenly, there was a light
 through the window of our tent,
It shone like a spot light,
And I could feel the heavy 
breathing quickly reversing.
The lights were from my father’s bus,
He had just saved us just in time.
I’m almost back to normal,
No more of the taunting of an animal.
Except at night,
During the full moon,
When I hear the sounds in the house,
I tried not to think about of what it would do when it caught me.
Then finally I found out when I woke up,
It was just a dream…

Copyright © Anayo Oleru | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |

Trilogy for My Father

IMPRINTS
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry,
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink;
The laundry basket overflows.
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession.
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.


ASTROTURF AND SNOW
(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in their place, we have 
Astroturf
and snow.


THERE WILL BE NO FLOWERS TODAY
(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Inner Whispers | Details |

Steel Bars

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? 

No...! 

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!"

Bull****! 

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! 

Inner Whispers

(dedicated to the victims of sex slavery and incest)

Copyright © Inner Whispers | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

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.

Copyright © James Clark | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |

THE VALVET WITCH


In the elliptical nights moonshine of night, a figure of lavender
And aged white lace, roams amongst the rocky sea shore, a 
Glittering phantom of beauty most fair, walking with an essence
Of smoldering evil and the smell of burnt sulfur fumes oozing
Outwardly catching upon the chilling autumn air!
In the bushes hear the rustling, the meowing of the felines,
For this is the velvet witch the care taker of the familiars,
Calls forth unto her four pawed legions, dwelling within
 The depths of the night, as eerie eyes pierce through the
Darkened glows of the shadow realm!
Glazing hypnotic orbs set in memorizing forms, glen in the
Flashing moon lights fine point of the ethereal sheen, small
To the large, they do so come, these creatures of the supernatural
Flame, called by their Mistress the Valet Witch, of Skat County!
Rubbingly, adoring at her shifts skirts of purplish hews,
These cattish guardians of deaths resurrection, and evils
Omens of shattered dimensions, purr with utter devotions
Loyalty, to her their protector!
As the last stroking of mid-night falls, a cloaked ghostly
Image, stalks the hallowed hollows near a rippling lake
Of lost reflections, no floating silhouette is composed
From the maiden whom crosses these waters of discontent,
Against these crystal clear waves of absolute calm!
Hidden beneath this bewitching shroud of ancient mysticism,
Echoes an enchanting voice of incantations speaking in a cat-like
Tongue, casting mystical spells of worships beguiling!
At the foot gates of the pet cemetery the valet Witch thus
So stops in sudden motions stance, than raising her arms
Upwards, she utters in words of a muffled language,
To those spiritually resting within!
All the winds breathe seems to cease for an instant,
As orbital greenish lights raise from their entombs of burial,
Floating within the waiting arms of this their honored
Matriarch, this cat collector dressed in lavender and lace,
The Valet Witch of Skat County!
In the mists of death’s vaporous out lashing, the capped
Figures shroud drops upon the soils consecrated ground, 
And in the night a voice whispering is heard, almost seemingly
As if a soft purring lingering within this darkness fading,
In the twilight of dawn first rays of light!
Two by two glaring emerald eyes flash into the forests wild,
Screeching in reverence respect, for their darkened mistress
Of familiar has left unto the gates of the neither world beyond,
The Valet Witch of Skat County.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN-fictitious legend-Dedicated to Skat my youngest soul sister!





Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Long Poems