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Long Growth Poems | Long Growth Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Vic Pister | Details |

When I Die

When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life 
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes

I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn 
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad

Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way

I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought

I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say

When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield

These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven

The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years

When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned

Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate

The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity

I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow

I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive

I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here

I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more 
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven

My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife

I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm

I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn

When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate

The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife

This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name

Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game

We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind

And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief

Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6 Temporarily Last

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6

Brahmari Pranayama or Humming Bee Breath

IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes 
of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try 
to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date…

How to do Brahmari Humming Bee Pranayama

Sit in Sukhasana (Step 1) or in Padmasana in the morning hours, if you have achieved easiness to sit in Padmasana or else sit in Sukhasana. It is important that while performing Brahmari your stomach should be empty and bowls clear. Sit erect while practicing Brahmari in a neat and clean, quiet and calm place preferably an open place.
Raise your both arms and bring your all four fingers as a screen on your eyes. Now close your ears by the tips of your thumbs in such a way that your index fingers are touching your eyebrows and the middle finger the inner corner of your both eyes and other two fingers rests on the slopes of your nose and face joints gradually.
Take a deep breath and fill your lungs with the fresh air and then exhale slowly from both the nostrils while creating a humming sound. At the time of doing this do not open your ears and keep pressing it gently so that your humming sound gets more clear and it create vibrations in your mouth, throat, ears, eyes and even other parts of your body ( this stage would come when you  practice this exercise regularly ) 
Try to creat the humming sound continuously as loud and  clear as possible for you. 


IN PRAISE OF BRAHMARI PRANAYAMA We all know and accepts The miracles of Sound On everything which Surrounds us. We live, we love, and we work We play and we laugh With one or the other kind of sounds Often We become harsh or soft Even we weep and sometimes We hate with some or the other kind of sounds only These are all the effects of Different Sounds Which make us What we are and what We become as a man or woman in life Kind hatred or benevolent A lover or a hater A teacher or a Poet, a writer or an artist or a Musician A leader or a preacher Or even A dictator or a Don. When sound comes From a serene source It binds the hearts Of millions And we began to love and adore That sound and even that source And keep it as a source of energy and joy. But when it comes from A biased mind and selfish source and Tries to destroy our peace And began to dictate us We feel fed-up To bear that sound And then we try To get rid of that source or sound. Brahmari or the humming Sound Is one such elegant self-music Which opens our heart and mind With its vibrations To fill life in those dead or sluggish Nerves and spine To restore The Melody not only In your voice but also in your heart and mind. Brahmari would Restore your love and even your confidence Thus Bringing your beloved more close to you And you to your beloved Which often Becomes a soft target of differences Because of Age effected unnoticed deeds and actions. Brahmari gives you the boon of Music and melody Even when age has taken you On the withering heights of life And You often find yourself standing alone Looking for someone to Restore your energy and mind. The miracles of Humming bee sounds Brings an instant coolness To your otherwise Anguished mind and heart Which began to enjoy The colors and moods Of Love and Life As A peaceful mind Is the dwelling place of heavenly gestures And even of God. The regular practice of Brahmari Balances your hormonal secretions Invigorating the thyroid gland And thus increasing your metabolism. Even Brahmari balances Your blood sugar and helps Oxidizes fats In our body and It completely removes the causes which Leads to the curse of human body The Migraine By giving you the joys and comforts of Relaxation which ultimately Soothes your Heart to pump more actively The fresh flow of blood To your nerves and mind Thus making your pressures To work happily Without crossing the limits Unless you have done some extreme wrongs. It’s a boon for those Who suffers from Diabetes and heart problems And a real gift of God For those who are in pregnancy As its wonderful effects on Human nervous system Effects the pituitary gland To balance the growth and control Of hormones in our body Thus the practice of this wonderful Pranayama Pave way for easy and trouble free Child birth or delivery. I often ponder What a treasure of blessings Yoga has given to the world and Has exposed In these simple and wonderful Breathing exercises To make every human being More befitting and joyous To enjoy the blessings of Nature And Thus elevating the human body to absorb The Beams of the Light and Love of God. Ravindra Kanpur 4th Aug. 2013
Duration: Not more than 3 to 5 times in a day in the beginning. Maximum 10 to 12 times only in a day without any force beathing or straining yourself. Precautions: 01. Never perform this Prayanama while you are lying down 02. If you are having any ear infection do not perform Brahmati till your ears get rid of all infections. 03. Do not hold your breath while doing Brahmari and Heart problem persons should do it under a trained instructor only. 04. Do not perform it when you are not empty stomach and try to perform it preferably in the morning/evening hours only. 05. If for any reasons you do not feel comfortable stop it and take few normal deep breaths IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date… My Gratitude Brahmari Pranayama is a boon for human being brought mainly in the lime light of the world by Swami Ram Deoji about 20 years back. Ravindra

Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

A Poly-amorous Man

(One poet's vision of what being indwelled by Christ's heart might look like)        

What makes me feel loved isn't easy to say, 
And not because the heart of love is blind
I can see the ripples form in my own pond.
And feel the shock of each and every stone.

Perhaps a fear of words just gets in my way
(I lack the will to open up my mind?) , 
But I have the key, and for me, words are play, 
Unlocking the gate would surely be kind.

There are many fair maids of whom I'm quite fond, 
But choosing just one would double my moan
You see for me to win not one must be conned.
Not one feel my heart was only on loan.

There are women I know who'll not like my tone, 	
Though their feet are not bruised by silken frond
I've laid in their path: truly for them I've pined...
Whatever my loss, I'll not rue their day, 

Chorus: (Repeat until you tire of it)           
For I'm a poly-amorous man, I am, I AM!

Brian Johnston
January 11, 2014

Poet's Notes:
Please! For the record! Poly-amorous as I am using it here (remember the poem is mine and not what you the reader project onto it)   is not a synonym for 'Don Juan' or 'Casanova'  and certainly not a synonym for poly-sexual. I'll admit (in an attempt to be completely honest here) that sexual feelings might well be part of a poly-amorous relationship, however they certainly don't define it. I have to admit, like Jimmy Carter (the last honest president perhaps since Lincoln... Only partially serious here)   that 'I have lusted after women I was not married to in my heart.' Yes I am an adulterer just like you.  But to me, God's convicting me of this sin, was never meant to demean me, but to simply remind me that we have all sinned all sins. Salvation is God's blessing on a broken world, not wages for pay, or 'heaven' for overtime.

The first stanza is about  love having a new meaning for me at this stage of my life. I'm 71. There is no possibility of a family for me anymore, no future family to protect as there is when people are much younger. While I can enjoy the fact that a woman is attracted to me, I am no longer enamored by any woman's desire to have me all to herself, nor do I wish to tie down a woman in this way. I still think I believe in commitment, but desire a woman who, like me, believes she is strong enough, and capable of trusting me to the extent that she able to actually accept if not welcome anyone I love into our relationship. The darker undercurrent of this viewpoint is that someday, in the name of love, we may either or both be required to let the other move on, possibly to a new love (or not) , but always lovingly in support the other's personal growth and their soul's needs. She cannot and I cannot allow our personal feelings of self worth to rest solely on our staying together. This love that I am speaking of is beyond jealousy and may not even be possible, but it is what I aspire to.

The second stanza is about the fear we all confront when faced by the prospect of being loved by another. Unlocking our hearts is unfortunately the only way we can know the other's love is real. We must risk losing it all to have a chance of winning it.

The third stanza is about the two pillars that keep the building from collapsing on itself, Integrity (no one is conned)   and Surrender (your heart cannot just be loaned out for a limited time, it must be given) .

The fourth stanza is about understanding the fact that what ever the gift's we lay at the feet of another, they can still be rejected. The end purpose of loving another is actually just the gift of our love only, not what we naturally expect (at least hope)   to get back. Love and control are diametrical opposites. There are no elements that belong to both sets. (Isn't math fun?)    

As the poem has aged on me, I have recently noticed the last 4 words of the poem. Initially I was not sure why the first 'I am' is not capitalized but the second 'I AM' is capitalized. I guess I just saw it as a way of expressing exuberance. Now however, after adding the new subtitle, I think the poem is actually suggesting that the poly-amorous person male or female, is a person touched by divinity, especially blessed by God, a person willing to risk his own happiness and even his primary relationship perhaps, for the greater good of helping others understand that they are lovable (in every way) . So now to me the exuberance has taken on even greater meaning, extended to being joined with God is His mission to show us all that we are lovable.

Personally if someone were to love me to the exclusion of all others, I would be thinking about (in love)   committing them to a mental institution. If they were to insist that I love them that way I would be tempted to run as from the devil himself/herself.   : -)     It is the love my woman has to share with the world that will make me proud to be her mate, not just her physical beauty, the goals we share, or the love she gives to me alone. Ultimately what will bring me to my knees and make me ask her to marry me will be the fact that we both share the same purpose, a desire to first and always serve God.

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Sooner Recruit

Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.

He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.

You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.

Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands. 

Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent.  We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.

His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.

He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.

He looks each man straight in the eye - 
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.

His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.

He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.

He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.

Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.

“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves.  Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.

Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son.  Keep pushin’.  Remember, no pain, no gain”.

He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.

As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.

He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!?  “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”? 

He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.

Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.

Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.

Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.

So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands. 

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.

Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Night Moods

Night Moods 

Stars weep, they cry in the night sky
for those who laugh in the light of day, 
yet, not with spirit, heart soul or eye.
They see not the game they play,
nor understand what laughter is about,
nor can they know what laughter is all about.


Some cannot see by the light of day,
only in the darkness of night can one say
they see all, for that is when the veil slips away
to reveal all that has been blinded by what may
lay before the mind’s eye in the bright light of day.

This night brings

This night, as so many have come before,
take flight – life / night, brings nothing more
than those that have been, will be born.
nights waiting, harbingers of the forlorn –
as I sit before this one eyed monster.
For life’s many moments – the creator
as we exchange glances, stare
into the abyss, the windows – and share – 
of each other’s lifeless soul,.
To learn, what ?, what is there to know !,?


Time’s light, dances across the crucifixion,
falls upon the cross, the spaces in-between
- two thousand years is where we have been -
and on towards the light of resurrection.
Springing out from that darkened cave,
came a man who was not, yet was brave.
I, and this place, in time, dance alone.
Then, as before, we were on our own.
Not once – by anyone – was it shown,
- nor by any means we have known, -
that the hearts who know and are known,
took the time, the thought to care,
or a fleeting moment, in which to share.

Passions lost to the past -
passed a long time ago

The childhood of Linda B

From the sickness of a father, came bricks !
From that denial by mother, came bricks !
From genetics, experienced sister, came bricks !
from the same, created brother, came bricks !
From fear, denial, burial, nothing will fix !
Walls, fences, barricades, road blocks does the trick !
The pain inflicted by the hands of father, brother,
perpetrated by sister, a blind eye, turned, by mother
have been the masons, laying all the bricks for this wall,
walls that have created the rough ride to your fall,
keeping you uptight, in fear of one and all.
Searching, finding, experiencing, all seem to lead back.
Throughout the years, nothing found to put you on track !

Reaching out – Touching

Grappling hooks tossed to the top of this wall 
- catch !, -, yet, are unable to pull it down.
not one brick comes lose, wall will not fall
to earth, will not touch the ground.
the attached rope, a possible means by which to scale.
with every attempt to climb over, to allow, doth fail’
Try, as one might, to scale these walls !
Try, as one might, to knock down these barricades !
Try, as one might, to go around these road blocks !
One finds these walls to high – far too high to climb,
the bricks, far to secure in their mortar to be dismantled,
the barricades, of cement, cemented in time – immovable,
the roadblocks stretching out into infinity, no way past.
All merging, meeting, greeting with restricting rejection.
Hands, thoughts, feelings protecting the soul, with a piece of cloth
that tells a story, has more to say then words ever can.
It prevents freedom, the motion of every man.


The bush within which I live, the wilderness of my life,
- life created by the hands of men, men I know not -
life created by the very hands of this man.
Wilderness lies all around me, in lifeless memory,
memories of a life lived in the realms of others.
A life once lived ?, now but a memory
of another life that overwhelms.


My heartache weeps, profusely, for you Melanie !,
knowing that my tears will never wash away
the pain, the fears you are feeling within your growth,
your understandings, your desires, your desire
to be needed, appreciated, loved and your need to be.
All I have to give you, is all the love that is within me
Melanie, and I pray that it is able to help you through,
allows you to see the roads clear, the paths far and near
and is able to allow you to set your soul free
and not to be waiting on life to happen,
waiting for life to ring.
Open the doors and, my Dear, sing !

B. J. “A ” 2
April 13th 2002

Long poem by Maurice Rigoler | Details |

His Nameless Horse

The last horse my grandfather had
he shot one spring morning behind 
the shed in which his nameless horse

had lived in for many years. It was 
April and chilly, with peach trees in bloom.
It was an old horse, its backbone

sagging like the roof of an old farmhouse,
and it still wore its matted coat
of winter hair, its mane coarse

like a spray of dried weeds, its hoofs
ringed with tufts of knotted hair,
bits of caked earth and dung.

Its tail fell listless from its roughened
rump like a cluster of bailing twine
that hung from a ceiling hook.

It was the last morning of its life.
My grandfather entered the shed
and led the old horse to the back pen.

I followed behind as I hsd so many
times. But that morning the old horse
walked with a limp – an infected knee.
Behind the shed a group of men
stood pressed against each other 
with faces drawn like mourners.

Then I saw it, the familiar rifle
leaning against the weathered shingles,
the small red box of bullets next

to the butt. And I knew. I knew what
the old horse did not. In dread I ran
back into the small shed. I pressed

my hands hard over my ears, and I
waited. Waited for the shot that
would bring the old horse down,

the old horse I had befriended,
talked to morning after morning,
had fed pieces of carrot and

apple to; the gentle old horse whose
mane and tail I had often brushed,
the nameless horse I had brought

fresh well water to on hot afternoons,
and fresh shavings I spread over 
its stable floor. And I waited. And I knew

what the old horse did not. And when
the shot rang out, my knees buckled
and I jerked as if the bullet had entered me.

I fell to the ground and groaned
and cried, and I kept my hands hard
against my ears, shaking my head

as if to dislodge the sound that filled 
my head and amplified. And I heard
the old horse let out a sharp cry

and felt its hard fall rise through
my knees, as it collaped on itself, 
its knees buckling under dead weight.

What hurt most that morning was 
my grandfather’s casual treachery –
not so much as a pat on the old horse’s

shoulder, not a word of farewell, no outward 
sense of loss or sadness, no tears. Only 
a cold guiltless betrayal, it seemed to me.

And they roped the dead horse
to the tractor, the small hole in its
forehead still leaking blood like

a liquid red ribbon. They dragged 
its body to a secluded corner of the field
grown thick with greening yarrow

and new shoots of goldenrods, 
the men following behind, silent 
and solemn, to where the earth 

had already been gutted open, waiting 
like a gaping mouth to swallow 
the horse’s carcass: a large meal 

that would take years for the soil 
to digest, leaving only a small depression
and a stench of rotting flesh

escaping slowly through a growth
of prickly blackberry, purple vetch 
and swarms of buzzing insects.

The men stood silent and watched
the dead horse dragged and fitted
into the open grave. 

Then, to my surprise, my grandfather 
removed his hat and stared pensively 
at the nameless creature he had killed,

the horse he had known for most 
of his old age, the horse that had
served him selflessly. He stood there

wiping his eyes with the back of 
his hand, saying nothing, looking
at the dead horse, and walked away.

Certain men then took up shovels 
and began to fill the hole, the others
following my grandfather to the house, 

talking in whispers, as if they had 
witnessed the burial of one of their own, 
one they would never see again.

And for as many springs as they might
live, they would talk about the old man’s 
horse, the horse without a name, 

the harmless creature they had come
to watch die on a chilly April morning 
when peach trees were in bloom.

Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

Girl Next Door

Question Have you ever seen a woman you like blush, now that is attractive I never reallie understand woman in till I got out of school It was this one girl that for some reason like natural selection I would just stare at And she would just fall to sleep during class intend of thinking of class I wonder what is she dreaming About I said to myself officially she does not know notice me in the very last day of class and schedule Class she blurt out Louis are coming back and I’m think to myself I’m a senior officially Not but did again she was just a junior how was she to know if she did not ask? All I know I treated the girls I know with respected and gave them candy I do have older sisters you Now and All I know guys hate me and the girls was just mean girls glad school was out Well to my delight and shock and relieve high school being over and life goes on and A few years later I rent an apartment and year or two years later and odds of all odds she move in my Neighborhood and next door (snake eyes) I don’t mean to role play but Think Like A Man If only if it had sequel it was like She was the “Single Mom” and I was “The Momma’s Boy” but to straighten out the facts About a momma’s boy well in my case I know how to Cook, clean, wash, dry, fold and hang clothes all I would need to know is Would you like cream or sugar with your breakfast because I came here sever And yeah I get it and no it is no such thing as a perfect man if it was how would We show growth to age of age of maturity my good mate But to clarify a detouring I could not imagine she was more shy then me First look and words that come to mind is still gorgeous- And one day I was walking back from the mail post and just when she was coming Out I bump into her and ask her how was her day and the impression of words to found Words of her to say was sensation and a vibe when down my spine when she said good and You that’s that’s good real good I’m still question today did she stutter when she said that must been The heat- Then next week her car broke down on her and I said to myself it’s The battery, engine, or the sensor sense it hot outside Then I seen her son couldn’t be no more than the first grade went to the back of the car And try to push the car it was the most hilarious thing I ever seen But it does build character and he does have his basketball I’m sure he will do just fine By the following week she had another car I notice I never seen a father around and I also Notice she work so hard but how would I ever get odds of asking how was your day ever again And I did not want to be one of those guys here now and gone tomorrow I remember when I was her son age that was the last thing I won’t it so I left it alone knowing I would be leaving to finish my degree in a prestigious university (with god blessing) I stay up to break of Dawn With school work and trying being an entrepreneur and looking outside And she would have back light on For whatever reason thinking doesn’t she have to go to work tomorrow But the question I ask in few months if I would have knew the girl next door but I said to myself I only what the best for you and for some reason When I think of woman I think of Lyrics It’s the weekend of the fourth of July and if it has been like any Other year since I started college than the one place I go on Sunday with my Father I’m sure she know where I will be just my way of trying to say hi but this is a New millennium of woman I don’t think the day I bump into her was an innocent and I don’t Think that she kept the back light on for nothing but I bet she know that “love so many people used name in vain for better or worst I still would put you first”, If only if I had knew The Girl Next Door- 7-5-14

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

Tragedy in ReVeRsE

You make me feel so complete You brought me up to my feet You’re the good company that I’d like to greet I shouldn’t ever doubt you – you’re such a treat
I tried so hard not to cry… I ask myself why…why do I lie To myself…I’m living my fantasy On my own…I’m full of glee, but I feel slight melancholy I feel this bittersweet sorrow brew inside of me Looking forward to tomorrow’s yesterday…I’d rather live in the present than dwell in the past…masked with happy reminiscences & grief-stricken reverie You quench me with serpentine poetry You gave in to gravity I tried so hard to not let you down I ask myself, why do I wear this frown? It should be upside down instead I’m trying to shoo away the ghosts of the past, Rehearsing dread In my head In my head In my head
In my head, there’s voices in my head, Telling me that I’m not good enough in anyone’s eyes In my head, I tell them off in my head, Saying that their callous fiends and quit rehearsing lies Quit rehearsing lies in my head…in my head… I hear your echoing empathy on cloud seven Fly down to me, you shady, heartrending raven You make me experience cloud seven You brought me to your heaven
I tried so hard to not let you down I ask myself, why do I wear this frown? It should be upside down instead I’m trying to shoo away the ghosts of the past, Rehearsing dread In my head In my head In my head In my mind’s eye…in my mind’s eye, (I try to fly with my might...afraid to fly too high) I fly like an eagle with confidence – oh so wondrous, Caught in the current of the aqua-blue sky (I try my hardest to be an optimistic light to all who pass me by) This liberty is beyond marvelous – oh so marvelous! Your words implant seeds of growth Your eyes, an undying oath I tried so hard to not let you down I ask myself, why do I wear this frown? It should be upside down instead I’m trying to shoo away the ghosts of the past, Rehearsing dread In my head In my head In my head
I can’t put my racing thoughts to bed I must be dreaming or something…give me a reason to see the light in goodbye I will try to be humble – I’ll not puff up like bread Don’t treat me like crumbs of deception – don’t shoo me away like I’m some bothersome fly
I tried so hard to not let you down I ask myself, why do I wear this frown? It should be upside down instead I’m trying to shoo away the ghosts of the past, Rehearsing dread In my head In my head In my head
I tried so hard not to cry… I ask myself why…why do I lie To myself…I’m living my fantasy…drowning in ecstasy On my own…I’m full of glee, but I feel slight melancholy You melted my heart of ice I’m your living sacrifice You watched over me with glistening eyes Your warmth never screams goodbyes
I feel these mixed emotions… I’m breaking up the clash between two oceans
You make me feel so complete You brought me up to my feet You motivated me to fight the good fight After all was said and done, we took divine flight You brought me to your heaven… You weaved an upside down frown on my face This happiness has no end…not even Death can make us part – we won the race! You make me feel so complete You make me feel whole again – you’re so neat! You brought us luck alone the way…I smile all day today We earned a prize – vast grace – it’s priceless I must say

Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

My Dear Sweet Lost Child Daughter of my wasted youth A Confession Part 2

I wonder ?, have pondered ?, have analyzed the boxes, 
the cages, the walls my little Girl, my young Woman, 
finds herself packaged in, trapped in, stuck behind, 
believing that they have come into being 
– along with all the uncertainties, doubts and fears – 
because of the constant “ You are to much like you dad ”.
If you are me ?, and I you ?, in you mothers eyes, 
then we can see why all the pain, all the heat ache 
I inflicted, by my actions, drove your mother to turn
all her hurt, her pain into anger, hostility, animosity, 
malice, vengeance, a vendetta. All her mean spirited 
words ponding through your youthful days and nights, 
into your innocence was directed at me, meant for me, 
– not you – unfortunately, this you had to endure. 
For you where your mothers only outlet, only release valve 
and in her naiveté, her blind rage, her need to strike out, 
she did not know, did not understand, did not pay heed 
to my words and so the words she was shooting at me, 
struck at the very heart of you, how could they not kill 
your spirit, destroy the very soul of one so little, so fragile, 
when she was often said “ You are so much like your dad ”,
a picture she painted black, with angry, harsh brush strokes 
of a dad that was not the dad you knew and understood. 
That caused great damage to us and our relationship.
In the end – unfortunately – my acts flooded your growth, 
impacted your life with such negativity and uncertainty.
I am sorry that I let your mother leave, taking you with her 
and for my leaving for distant lands, unknown worlds, 
leaving you to your own and your mothers devices.
Unfortunately my Dear, being your fathers Daughter,
“ You are to much like you dad ”, you were forced to endure 
all the abuse meant for me, – personally – after all, 
how could you not ?, how could you escape the war ?, 
especially when you became the battle field upon which 
your mother waged her destructive war against me.

I look into the tapestry of our lives my Dear, and see it 
tattered and torn, frayed at the edges of its heart, and see, 
pieces of me being blown apart – as my world 
( in your ears, in your eyes ) – crumbles before you,
comes tumbling down, scattered around uncertain ground
upon which to build your own world, rebuild your spirit, 
your soul, your personality and climb out of your little coffin 
and rise up from the broken, shattered remains, the ashes
 of the man you called dad and walk out of the maze 
of memories, of experiences, of the tales told, 
that threw you into the fire, that mess of confusion, 
the pain of uncertainty, by “ You are so much like your dad ” 
and know that I think ( it was unintentional, I do believe ) 
that it was all intended for me and not you my Dear.

In the final analysis Gail, one can only conclude that the love
your mother and I had and have for you, got lost I the fray 
– because we did not have the strength of character to overcome – 
of our destructive needs and desires, the wants of our sicknesses. 
Our fractured, tortured psyches Gail, drove us, and at your feet, 
permeating your soul, upon the head of an undeserving little girl, 
you have come to know – all that you never needed to know.

In time – be it already history or yet to be the future – I, - 
as I am sure your mother - harbour many regrets and I hope 
that you will find peace and forgiveness within that 
shattered heart and soul of yours, if not for our sakes, 
at least for yours, for not letting go, only hurts you 
and you are the only one that matters, for all time.

Long Poems