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Long Innocence Poems | Long Innocence Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Debbie Guzzi | Details |

Corpus delicti

Close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me for, as close as this, you may never get to God. What immortals have you hoped to see? What espirit de corp have you longed for? Who will guide your earthly plod? Kiss me for I have kissed the lips of Lestat, nipped and pricked, punctured and sucked to husks, occasionally with regret, but more often lust's ascot what once was I, reveling in your taste, your musk. As Louis, I beguile with tawdry tales surreal visages of plantation nights, horror of the color green, Letiche roaming creatures who our trails conceal, the true demons whose glamour goes unseen. Yes, I prayed for death, wrapped in the pain of lost kin but, by God I never wished, I never wished for Him. 2 But, by God, I never wished, I never wished for Him. Eternity alone is such a hollow thing, unripe, never, ever, feeling full, a marrow-less bone, scrim- shaw's sorry surface, a sperm-less whale to pipe. Such as this was He, when him came to me that mid- night, pleading, bleeding, ever feeding morbid life. A cameo on cowry shell, with skin which bid the touch of cheek on cheek to assuage my grief to fill the brother-less gap the lack of wife. This is how he lured me to the kill, the blood spilled how fire and innocence flamed when he arrived. Do not hate me for the fate his kiss instilled Surely, a family is the normal thing to long for alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp. 3 Alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp crestfallen at the lack of hearth and home, pride we hidden monsters kill what we adore, and more ... leaving us in marble crypts with no warmth inside. Then He saw her, the child beside the corpse of mother half dead, the pox upon her face, amidst the tears certainly to save her was His goal, what other? But now I think her savior - a most foul affair. Claudia, the child eternal, bidding, unformed blight, monster among monsters, her wee wicked formed unbudded curdled, curling ever inward, a trickster charming night stalker, dragging porcelain dollies by her side. Daughter mine? Temptress, maker-killer, unformed bride have you killed your father, dumped him in a swampy hide? 4 Have you killed your father, dumped Him in a swampy hide? Years you've planned and plotted, Lestat to defy and I absorbed in misspent fantasy with you; my fate allied. Damned one, poisoner, death angel, do you deny the desecration of the His unmoving vessel, fed to the fishes, the bottom feeders, oh but He made do ... absorbed recaste, laid in wait each hungry cell. We fled the patricide, you and I sought others of our kind. What gruesome, ill bred misfits the world held and so hardening the unbeating heart ... beloved to mankind we returned as if compelled. To the core of life and lore to Paree, to the bloody stage the Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. 5 The Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage. Do you see them now? Four hundred years and Armand has not changed. See them lure the human meat upstage with laughter. Reality's the rage and oh the blood coined. "How gauche!" our petite Claudia sighs, the excess in gore and waste. But, the coven has my Armand's grace. For Claudia, Madeleine the doll maker dies, reborn to mother the horrific woman 'neath this childish face. A family formed again when Lestat steps in alive and the coven lets the sun take Claudia and Madeleine. I entombed, walled in, buried alive, if not for my Armand. Their ashes, oh my dears, in death entwined. I burned the lot of them within their caskets, burnt alive; the curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. 6 The curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I. I could nor forget, would not forget, the fate of Claudia of which he was no small part, it was a small lust easily untied. Home was all I wanted, the damp, the swamp, the bougainvillea sickened of my Old World haunts, all I wanted was home. Never, never would I make another, a comfort I decline. Let the modern age wonder where it is I roam; penance unearned and ungiven in the shadows I hide. I can not live, I can not breathe, death's my only company my wife, my child, my brother, so many others. The living dead is what we're called, Vampire, do you pity me? Lestat "Do you see me? Your sight I dread!" West coast, golden gates Baghdad by the bay in the bars I linger where men are men, aren't they? 7 In the bars, I linger, where men are men, aren't they? I find you here, or you find me? I bare my soul to you of lessons learned, of men, of plays, ah cabarets. "What do you do, what do you say, you writer you ... two footed harridan of clay? You long for the eternal kiss as if the bliss of life was so very little to pay. Fool that you are ... not in life or death would you be grist a waste you are, a mortal led so far astray. No passion's left, no fond memories ... but her golden hair. Perhaps, I'll take a taste of you, foolish fop, and sigh; no immortal will I make. On the floor, I will leave you there refuse beside the pages, the sordid tales as my reply. As my lips close on your throat, heaven's absentee, close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me.


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 Terry O'Leary | Details |

At Heaven's Gate - Parts 1 and 2

PART 1:          THE MEETING

Alone one night neath lantern light, I trudged a weary mile.
Forlorn, I went with shoulders bent (the storms around me howled)
until I met a Silhouette behind a sultry smile – 
She gazed with eyes that mesmerize (Her body caped and cowled)
and stayed my way with question fey... ‘Why don’t you while awhile?’

The churchyard groaned, an organ moaned, the bells of midnight chimed
as wanton winds awoke and dinned, and mistrals multiplied.
A prostitute – not shrill but mute, with gestures pantomimed –
snuck by in haste, with tracks untraced, beneath the evening tide.
The Persian moon, like arced harpoon, arose and slowly climbed.

The Silhouette (a pale brunette) arched eyebrows meant to please,
and down the lanes, twixt windowpanes, the shadows danced and sighed.
A meadowlark within the dark, somewhere beyond the breeze,
embellished Her with wisps of myrrh while deigning to confide
to nightingales the whispered tales of human vanities.

She doffed her cloak before She spoke with tunes of sorrow sung
(like mandolins, as night begins, when mourning day’s demise)
and spun Her tale of grim travail and tears She'd shed when young.
As jagged volts of thunderbolts lit up the dismal skies,
the creeping fog concealed a bog in coils of curling tongues.

Through summer vales and winter gales Her secret thoughts were voiced.
Midst storms so cruel (neath lightning’s jewel that glistered on the ridge)
She reminisced, She touched... we kissed... Her lips were wet and moist.
A lighthouse dimmed, while moonbeams skimmed across a distant bridge
to avenues where residues of shallow shades rejoiced.


PART 2:          HER TRAGIC TALE

“Midst sweet perfume of youthful bloom, the lonely spirit braves
and often cries and sometimes dies in quest of her amour.”

While starry-eyed, a ship I spied, a’ sail upon the waves –
The galleon docked, the seagulls flocked, the Captain swept ashore
where, debonair with gypsy flair, he led his salty knaves.

While passing by, he caught my eye – I tried to hide a blush,
for ambiance of innocence leaves fire’s ice congealed.
His gaze (defined by eyes that shined) beheld my cheek a’ flush.
I bowed my head while caution fled, I felt my fate was sealed
– a bird in spring with fledgling wing – he’d snared a  falling thrush.

He said ‘Hello’ – I answered ‘No’ and yet before he’d gone
said I, ‘I’ll wait at Heaven’s Gate not far beyond the Pale’.
At dusk he came neath moon aflame, and left before the dawn
just humming tunes along the dunes that lined the sandy trail
beside a pond where morning yawned, where swam an ebon swan.

We met again, and once again, and once again, again
entangled in a love called sin, in whirls of make-believe.
While in my arms, with voice that charms, said he ‘I must explain –
the tide awaits at morning’s gates and I must take my leave’.
Then tempests formed and vapors swarmed in ardor’s hurricane.

‘Forsake your home and we may roam’ he smiled as if to tease
and still naive, said I ‘I’ll leave, in silver buckled shoes’.
He took the helm in search of realms, before the morning breeze –
with tearful eyes, I bade goodbyes with fare-thee-well adieus 
and sailed above a wave of love across the seven seas.

We swept one morn around Cape Horn and sped for Gold Coast Bay.
With naught to reck, I strolled on deck, a baby at my breast,
while zephyrs blew and seagulls flew above the ocean’s spray.
Our ship soon moored, we went ashore and off to Fortune’s Quest –
with gold doubloons which shone like moons, he gambled through the day.

Two deuces wild... he thinly smiled... another card was drawn –
he called and raised with eyes half glazed, was dealt a dismal three.
With betting tight throughout the night, the final ace was gone
and so he lost... at what a cost... alas the prize was me –
with empty bag and pauper’s swag, he left me doomed at dawn.

A buccaneer with ring in ear sneered ‘now, my dear, you’re mine’.
He held my wrists to thwart my fists and then... my honor stained.
In midnight’s swash, the sky awash with tiny tears of brine,
I broke his clutch with nothing much of me that still remained:
a residue when he was through, left clinging to a vine.

In morning dew, the good folks knew, and spurned me in my plight.
The preacher man pronounced a ban and wouldn’t condescend,
ignored my pleas on bended knees and prayers by candlelight.
While cast aside, my baby died... my world was at an end.
Until this day, I’ve made my way beneath the shades of night.

Continued in Part 3


Long poem by Cayla Carr | Details |

Watching Me

It was midnight and my dream was shattered
I fell into darkness
A nightmare
I was sinking, drowning, dying…
But then I heard the laugh of a child
Carefree and joyful was the music of her lips
She smiled and suddenly I had the urge to fight
I slowly climbed out of the shadows and emerged in a hall of pale silver
“Where am I?” my heart was racing as I asked the question
“Look around into the pictures,” a gentle voice replied
Nobody was there
I let my eyes adjust to the images scattered about the room
I strode to a photograph in a golden frame
I saw the child with a babe upon her knee
They sat in an empty room with chords scattered about, the walls stark, the light blinding
The picture gradually came to life
I watched for a bit as the child slowly rocked the babe
Tears laced the eyes of the young girl and the baby fell asleep
All was silent as the picture faded
I paced in confusion as I arrived at the next illustration 
I gazed speechless as I saw the child sobbing
She knelt and I watched as she screamed at the sky, shaking her fist in raging fury
Beyond her I saw grass and trees in desolate shades
She pulled a small necklace from her pocket and placed it on the broken ground 
The only extravagant color I saw was that of a red rose which she placed on a polished stone
The colors swirled and I knew it was time to move on
The pictures I had seen thus far left a nauseating feeling within me
I didn’t want to journey on, but I heard the comforting voice once more
“Three more pictures… You’ll soon be finished”
I knew then that it was my place to take another step
I stumbled slightly and fell before the next portrait
I saw the sky cluttered with a river of mist and the amber rays of the sun
“What is this?” I inquired curiously
“Take a look,” the voice answered
I peered once more and took a sharp breath
I saw a gate and a man with dark hair standing at the entrance
The baby from the first image was carried by two figures
 Clothed in pastel garments with radiant beams of light circling their heads
I knew where I was, but it was not where I wanted to be
Not yet
 I stared at the beautiful spectrum
My head was pounding and I abruptly drew away, breathless
I closed my eyes then opened them to behold a teenage girl 
Quietly I realized it was the child from the previous pictures, now grown
She faltered helplessly until she fell, crashing to the ground, chains holding her down
“No!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the stillness
The frame that held the picture fell to the marble floor of the hall
“One more picture…” the voice retorted sternly, “You must see this!”
A woman appeared before me 
Gathering me up in her arms, she placed me before a long golden frame
I steadied myself as she stepped back
I looked at the frame and found myself staring at my reflection
“What do you mean by showing me this hall?” I asked, a tremor in my voice
“By showing you these pictures, I am depicting lessons of life” The woman answered softly
I looked at her incredulously
She continued on in explanation, “Follow me back to the first image”
She grabbed me by the hand and led me to the picture with the empty room
“In your lifetime you will be blinded by tears… keep your innocence”
I felt myself trying to comprehend what she meant but she rushed me to the next frame
“You will experience sorrow, and despair… but you will cope”
She gestured to the rose and the necklace, then gave a soft smile before leading me on
“While you do well in life, others will die… yet prosper eternally”
She smiled in awe as the baby in the picture was placed into the arms of the man
The woman 
“You will struggle and you will fail many times… but you must keep trying”
She chided me and I felt tears running down my face
Slowly she turned me towards the glass mirror
“Do you understand now?”
I nodded my head slowly, and quickly realized what I had seen
“That child in the pictures… who was she?”
I whirled around and found that the woman was gone
“I understand…” 
I slowly awoke and found the sun peeking through the shadows of the dawn
“It was me”



Long poem by harry horsman | Details |

Remnants of a Saturday night

Sunday morning early, five a.m to be
precise, my mind awakes, then gently succours
the body to arise from one’s mundane sleep. I
then transfer to Britain via 1ZB, listening
to the English football commentary, it’s worth
the lack of sleep. Six a.m when finished,
my jogging gear I engage, then to the streets
of Manurewa and beyond, I go to record this page.

Mahia road, with scattered glass set out
like a sculptor mad kaleidoscope, sometimes
giving the impression of an artistic master piece.
Yet!  always pointing upwards, in the parks, on the
pavement, along the roadway, abundance of glass,
complemented occasionally with odd smithereens
of windscreen, to add a more neutral effect to
the greens and browns, laying in profusion there.  Moving

on towards the hallow Gallagher Park, one espy two
young girls sniffing glue, like it was an art, then
pacing up and down the hedgerow as in some
hallucinogenic dilemma. Alfriston road where a
dilapidated Morris Oxford stripped of its bare
essentials, sits naked, the unscrupulous thief not
in any hurry to close the door, after his implicit
plunder. Redoubt road where two youngsters

returning from a night on the town, decide to
hit a speed limit sign, this on the easiest stretch of
the road, they had to hit it, there was nothing else
to hit. “An idea flashing through my mind, tells
me ‘These lads would be useful in a desert looking
for water’” Hollyford road where poetic scenes one
does greet, the fresh ice blue morning sky, beginning
to fashion a hint of cloud rouged in cosmetic

splendor, metropolitan Auckland spread evenly ahead,
Rangitoto Island, majestic, yet languid in a shroud of
northern mist, as one contemplates, ancient sirens beckoning
one forth, into their watery grave, for the scene is one of
conceivable beauty. But as one ventures towards the sleeping
establishment, an odious smell begins to develop, an odour
of the masses, akin to the morning after a piss up,
booze, farts, belches and spew the sudorific populous

at its worst, one could feel the stench lavishly within the breeze,
my senses begin to absorb the stimuli, my lungs the slithery ooze,
as the unseen prehensile seeps through the walls, the open widows
and chimney flues, trapped in a massive air pocket, no escape for it,
waiting for nature to absorb, as with all others that man has seen fit
to produce. Boundary road, vehicles rushing by “Thank God”
for the exhaust fumes, I hypocritically say, knowing now I was back
into civilization. Wind assisted spinning bicycle wheel, laying

where it’s unaccustomed rider had left it, no doubt glad of
the ride and probably thinking “Stuff the owner, stuff the
world,” Stuff! me if it had been any darker, I would have
fallen over the bloody thing. Soaking farm beast glaring
at me as though I’m bloody stupid, and probably right,
theirs a force situation, mine entirely voluntary. Pokekoes silently
stalking the grass verge, one of them on the roadway
never to stalk again (not in this world anyway.) But worst

aspect of all, is the transmogrified hulk that drags itself
out of the shop doorway, awakening from a stoned
related sleep, one red eye just managing
to open, trying to look into the other,
to see why it is not. Then a sudden impulse
of shame as I approach
quickly disguised, into a couldn’t care less attitude
of the hard guy he wishes he was,

one cannot be in awe or disgust,
but feel a great sorrow, surely someone loves this thing!
Someone somewhere cares. One tries to imagine
the innocence of a child babbling in it’s
cot, not a care, no poison as yet entering
it’s feeble brain.  This!   this transition of matter,
with the sun, rising
to serve a brand new day!!!

 © Harry J Horsman


Long poem by Juanita Thorn | Details |

Life in a flash

Born into this World, clean in both heart and soul
Untarnished except for God’s pure hands
Sitting up by myself, consuming more and more
A language starting to form in my head
My cries in the day and night are for wanting
Crawling…next walking, familiar faces of those who love me
Words forming in my mouth, the amazing effort of my first word
My parents are always smiling, full of love and support
I am only young but I sense that they will always
be there
The World growing more exciting everyday
Friendships are forming with others like me
Fun and games everyday…all day long
One day the meaning of another word….Pain
Pain from falling, broken bones, excruciating
Still whether the morning brings sunshine or clouds
I can still always feel the love all encompassing
School days are fun, I learn and play
Secrets about boys and other things
Friendships becoming more solid and grounded
I love school…I love learning
My mind is ever broadening, taking in everything
My mind is like a sponge, soaking up life
The teenage years come and go
My attitudes and beliefs strengthening
By the time school is finished, some boys have
come and gone
Though nothing serious called Love
The feeling was infatuation
My parents still proud of me and of the young
woman I’ve become
I still feel their love, still growing stronger every day
Now it’s my turn to fall in love
Letting my guard down and being myself
He brings out the best in me, the experience so fulfilling
A commitment comes next, one we both believe in
Words we say to each other, full of meaning
A love with no boundaries
A love where the two of us become one
In every sense, our love making passionate
On a level all its own
Nothing can compare
Truth, honesty, respect, love, patience….envy, resentment, anger
Words that describe us
Torrents of tears wasted on my broken heart
Broken hearts can mend and they usually do
One positive to come from the tumultuous relationship
He has left me alive with another life inside of me
One of Gods Angels sent down to me
I have been blessed with this good fortune
I will carry this little soul inside me carefully
And I will be like my parents were….all smiles
The bond between mother and child is automatic and immediate
When I think I can love no more…I keep going
The birth, one of the most demanding, memorable
days of our lives
The pain, but I would do it all again
The special, intense first look into my babies eyes
The first smile, that makes me smile
I want to be the best Mum for this little girl
Give her everything I possible can
There’s one thing my daughter will never go without
And that is love, the most important ingredient
Love again with no boundaries
A love that is so deep rooted I would kill to protect her
Keep the innocence as long as I can
The day will come when there are more wrinkles and greying hair
My beautiful swan will leave her home
I worry I will go through the rest of my life alone
My wish is always to have my family around
The day will come when they too depart
By then I hope I have been in love…true love
I hope to experience all the joys in life
As I sit back in a comfortable rocker
I look around me at my life taken in photos
Memories that will never be lost
I sit and hold out my hand for my partner, my soul mate
Soul mates do eventually find each other
Even if it takes a lifetime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Long poem by Annalise Brigham | Details |

Girl Rising

Based on a true story from a television documentary on Human Trafficking...an international crime with participants from a broad spectrum of society...occuring on a daily basis. I have only seen documentaries on the trafficking of young girls between the ages of 5 and above!! Law enforcers, it seems are fighting a losing battle against the men and women who sell and enslave young girls and I have no doubt, young boys as well.

Somewhere this day on planet earth
A Mother-to-be, while in labor, cries
Not so much for the mounting pain
Nor the fear of possible death
So many fears for the future…
“What lies ahead in the coming years?
What “fate” will meet my child?”
And added to all her heightened fears is…
Will she be there to protect her child?

Those dark years have now passed into decades
When Tanya walked the shadowy streets of the city at late night 
While kids her age slept peacefully in their beds
They made her dress up so she’d looked twenty one
Days were spent locked in a room, under watchful eyes
She was fed cheap fast food to her young heart’s content
Soon she'd lose all hope of liberation
This was the second man she had been sold to
And after a while she’d adapt to the situation 

Still fresh in her mind was that last day at school
In her backpack was her favorite teddy bear
Her Mother had chosen to believe her step-father again
Now that her twelfth birthday would be in a month 
As no one cared, she decided to run away
While at the bus station she met this “nice” couple
Who listened to every word she spoke
They promised her a ride to any place she wished
And she’d always wanted to see Disney land

“Maybe, she thought, it’d be a birthday treat”
 However, that would be another promise broken 
Weeks dragged on and they bought her “stuff” 
Although treated well, sometimes she still felt alone
Then one day came the grown up clothes and make up
That night her innocence was stolen once more
Later she’d try to make an escape
Only to be caught and tied to the bed post
‘Make it easy on yourself and accept your “fate”, she was told

That was years ago, although it seems like yesterday,
When arrested by a new officer on the vice squad
Who saw the flaw in the picture before him
The pimp gave no reasonable answer to the simple question
‘Why are you parked late at night on the street corner with a minor?’
 
Looking back over the years, she came to conclude that “Fate” is just another word, made up to cast aside blame; when we do not want to see the path we’ve chosen which has led us to our present state
When Pilate symbolically washed his hands, though he had power in that moment to act..
When there before him stood truth and innocence, 
Yet, he chose to make a comfortable bed for his conscience

Today, Tanya is a college graduate and a Mother who has vowed not to leave anything to “fate”. She’d teach her children to take responsibility for the choices they make… 
She would teach them that no one is of lesser value than another..
 Male or female; black or white, all hues; rich or poor 
All have a God given right to live free!
~*~
8/03/13
For:  Richard's "Girl Rising" Contest

(3rd Place Win)


Long poem by elizabeth landon-lane | Details |

Free Base Fable

My baby brother had the face of an angel;
One proud young lion all supple grace and golden hair
Shamelessly evocative against the backdrop of life.
My baby brother...untutored gigelo from birth. 
His eyes: sapphire blue and beautiful
And he could shame a whore back into innocence
If he chose that part.
One lazy smile like a laser beam through the heart..  
One inexpensive smile to melt raw anger to a shrug,
Or a sigh...in return for our rage,
However well and truly earned.
Enticed us all to willing hugs for any sin,

And so, as always, forgiveness came
Because there were so many hate filled things uncounted.
He seemed intent on the tally of invisible wounds...
Useless transgressions turned expensive through the years.
They festered behind those beautiful eyes
And a cracked glass pipe;
Using that deadly grin to blind those who loved him still...
But still....we saw the danger, denied a name in deference
To us all - who could not - would not act.
And he wasted all that love he so loudly demanded;
Shrill and greedy, emotional vampire...my baby brother.
Pouring love into him like molten gold
Hot and bright and blinding
Into an empty vessel that never seemed to fill.

My pure bred lion turned alley cat;
Turned indolent, arrogant, dangerous and dirty.
This magnificent human turned crazy,
Investing his money - and ours - into the art of throwing his life away
With vengeance and malice aforethought.
My baby brother:
Proud owner of his own self destruct button
And a .38 revolver,
Well hidden, until recently...
Until junkie fantasies gobbled up the truth
And the veneer of his sanity.

Oh Mark, where have you gone..?
Sweetheart, where are you now...?
What White Mountain have you climbed this time
Dealing yourself madness and death in a locked room...
And blaming everybody but yourself
Witih a torch made of nightmares and hate...
Hot enough to crack the glass.

Crying for a Father - long dead - to come and "save" you..
Come and get you....
Crying for a man you would not love in life.
Punish him still, lost and ugly child.
Hideous child grown and almost lost forever...
Perhaps he remains just one more demon
In some toxic level memory
Shoving hard for elbow room
Among all the other monsters shrieking in your head.
Oh Mark, where are you now..?

Baby brothers don't grow on trees, you know.
What will we do if you are really lost
And long gone beyond the medicines of love and speech..
And human tears...all wasted.

My baby brother, no baby any more;
Psychotic fallen angel
Who never grew to manhood by any man's side...
Who will not climb out of the stygean darkness by himself,
Even though we all share your guilt if not the crimes.

My baby brother:
Obscene imitation of some one especially loved;
Living proof of a bad attitude gone beserk.

Your life in the real world begins
When you lose your name at the tip of your tongue;
The moment we finally call you junkie loser...
Junkie liar...junkie weapon...out loud,
And you agree.

One split second after you know it is true...
The day - that moment - when you reach out and say,..."Help me...
Oh my beautiful Mark,
Where are you now...



Long poem by Samir Georges | Details |

Gods

It has come to be
such that we are risen
from the fabric of sustenance formed,
come to be
that there resides a structure
so rarely formed
beneath humble conditions
of stagnation and retention
in which the atom has come to grow,
from substance develop form.

These hands and flesh,
this fire and zeal that from absence flared,
grand constructs
that like others absorb
reforge, and retain.
How is it then, that matter has come to converse,
reproduce, recreate?
How is it that from this ore I make civilization,
how is it that from the space about I unsheathe sword?
And all that is within our reach
is like a sea of humble play dough
that yet threatens to drown us out.

So we are atoms that can reforge
In their own image remake,
look at the bonding of tree
and see with these curious eyes
a fortress, a stake.

Humble little cretins that scurry beneath the sky,
bitter little sprites stung deeply by defeat.
Lo it is only human
to suffer, to fall, to writhe
to cry out in supplication and victory all the same.
Human to take joy, roar with passion,
intent, to savor fragrance and flight
fervent upon our plight.

Yet look only to your nearest possession,
your last sentiment, harbored gift,
you who will one day possess the stars
you who have laid claim upon all
and it rests so easily in your palms.

And who
but the gods
was made to anguish?
Who but the gods
rose to care?
Who but maker, master
from mere hands create?
We stand above all else the makers of fire,
thunder, the benders of substance and form.
Young Zeus and kin,
milling subtly beneath the ire of titans,
our parents the sun, the earth, the depth of space;
in innocence shying away from our birthright
yet dare I claim what is ours:

Look only to your hand, the length of your sight,
the depth of your heart.
Look next upon the fated atom, the collapsing star,
the waning giant.
See then your magnitude,
young God astride the Earth.

See then that immortality is but the guile of innocence,
a child’s dream upon the night.
Here we are, learning to stand
our gaze locked surely to the maw of defeat,
we know that all there is must crumble,
we know that all we touch must change,
we know that we are shaper, sculptor 
not sacred nor divine.
Nothing but the children of stars,
birthed upon their godhood
and we need only claim our death,
stare down our demise,
learn that godhood is not given or granted
but once upon a twinkling star
comes birth and growth and complex form,
though tiny and frail it may be
has come to hold all the structures within me
that love and laugh and dream to see
the skies above so dark and clear,
it draws my gaze and thrills my depths
with the seduction of silence it calls me near.

The many gods of humankind,
yet too busy upon their strife
battling over mother’s teat.
I wonder if you will grow soon,
crown yourselves king,
stand tyrant before that which is free,
and how long till we relinquish this potential
before the certainty of matter?
How long till we truly learn
that gods are by their own substance humbled,
that gods are by their flesh curtailed,
nothing more than ashes
that before a star had flared.


Long poem by Tiana Tillman | Details |

She will not be like you

Yeah true she might not be flesh of my flesh or a product of my seed, i may not have carried her in my womb for 9 months but that don't mean I didn't succeed. because  u will never be more of a mother than I've proven to be. U will never fill my shoes or be able to
 Walk the path that I lead. She means more to me then u ever would she will be more of a woman then u ever could. Although we will never have the same blood run through our veins or the same letters spell out our last name, that doesnt make me any less relevant, matter fact just the opposite because that makes me even more prevalent. The fact that I could take on this child with nothing handed to me but a barely empty baby bag but i did it all not for u but because I could never deny a childs innocence because of your stupidness, or neglect a childs needs, the needs that u never could even see. She too nieve to have been brought up any other way then protected and loved and i refused to have her stay wit u and suffer because u didn't have your head right too preoccupied with u and your loser mans life that u didn't appreciate the gift that god gave u in order to change,  u threw away the only life line that could ever save your name. If you had done right by her u could of claimed that title  but because the worlds drugs and games got the best of u, u will never be entitled. u will never have any rights u will never hurt this child. Because I would die before Id ever let your influence turn her in to a abuser a loser a liar, before she will ever be a whore a freak before u will ever bring her into a world of prostitution and cheats she will never follow in your steps and be so lazy, so your words on me as a person will never faze me cuz I know what I've done I've seen what she came from and I guareentee her life will be a clean one. You will have no part in having her follow in your footsteps by being used and abused by the same type of worthless men that you've fall victim to. Cuz u chose to repeatedly lay on your back and give all the power to a man, rather then have a spine that was worthy to defend. She will never succumb to the same objects of your defeat. She is worthy of so much more than u ever will be. And that's only because she learned how to be a woman from me! U will never be worthy of calling yourself a mother to the smart independent and strong woman, that she will some day grow to be because I take responsibility for that and I only have wishes that she is not like....but yet better than even me. That she never have any needs that she'd have to rely on any one else for, she will never live off the system in order to pay her bills because she will be a well developed perfectly capable and functioning woman living by her own means making her own rules. Cuz I made it all possible I've given her the tools to be able to go out in the world and succeed and never be used, know that she will surpass every bad decision u chose to do. Because after all her real mama didn't raise no fool!


Long Poems