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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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angel anger
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funny funny love
future games
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girlfriend giving
god golf
good friday good morning
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gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
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grave green
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growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
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heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
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house how i feel
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hyperbole i am
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inspiration inspirational
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light little sister
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love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
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math may
me meaningful
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men mental illness
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
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mother daughter mother son
mothers day motivation
mountains moving on
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my child my children
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nice niece
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roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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sick silence
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sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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solitude sometimes
son song
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Long Introspection Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Trisha Sugarek | Details |

The Ash Can

The Ash Can  ©

I got the call on Sunday night.  I was traveling on business.  When I looked at the caller ID
 I wondered why my husband’s boss would be calling me.  I was unprepared for what
 he told me and my legs turned to water when he said that my husband was dead. 
 ‘A heart attack?  An accident?’ I asked.  ‘No’, he said, ‘John committed suicide.  
 They found him in your garage this morning.’  I heard someone screaming and 
wished that they would stop so I could hear the rest.  His voice was very far away
 and the woman just kept screaming.  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’  I need to hear.  I clapped my
 hand over my mouth when I suddenly realized it was me who was screaming.
 I don’t remember hanging up or getting on the plane. (beat)  Yes, John and I were having
 problems and we had been separated for about three months but nothing was official. 

 After thirty years of marriage I never believed that we couldn’t weather this and share 
the rest of our lives together.  This was just a phase he was going through…some sort 
of mid-life crisis.  This had to be some horrible mistake, a case of mistaken identity.  
My John would never do this, leave me like this.  (beat)  

I stumbled into our home around nine the next morning.  The house looked like a woman
 hadn’t lived there for months. Dirty dishes in the sink, groceries half put away, empty 
beer cans and a full ashtray by John’s chair.  Seeking comfort I walked over to his chair. 
 Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror over the
 fireplace.  Some wild looking woman with mascara smudges under her eyes and smeared
 lipstick looked out at me. I walked closer to inspect this stranger in my house.  
She looked old and used up.  Who was she?  What had life dealt her to look so worn out? 
Oh, God, it was me.  Staring out with those eyes bleeding hot, raw pain.  (beat)  I curled
 up in John’s chair and closed my eyes.  Was this all I had left of my husband?  This slightly shabby piece of furniture that still smelled of him?  How could I tell our children?  Could I bear to go into the garage?  What would I find? 
 I knew that they had taken his body away but what had they left there for me to see?  
Maybe something there would prove that this was truly a mistake.    I rose to my feet and 
walked into the kitchen and through the laundry room to the garage door. (beat)

I slowly opened it and was knocked back by the remaining stink of gas fumes.   
John’s car sat in its parking spot, the garden hose hanging from the back window like 
some obscene snake.  I gagged and pressed the button to open the garage door.  
The passenger side window was open so I could look inside without having to touch the car.  And what I saw on the seat told it all.  There was John’s cell phone, an empty bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Excedrin.  (beat)  And something else…a second cell phone…what in the world? I was only allowed five seconds of blissful denial before it all came crashing down on me.  The second phone…the secret phone that men who cheat keep to talk to their lovers.  All those protestations he offered during the time that we were apart.  ‘No, there was no one else’, ‘I just need to find myself’, ‘I don’t want a divorce’, ‘I just need some time’. ‘I love you; I’m just not in love with you.’  Lies, all lies!  How could I have been so stupid?  Then I notice a crumpled manila envelope on the floor of the car.  Anger driven, I opened the door and picked up the envelope and the two cell phones and went back into the house.  Sitting in John’s chair once again, I smoothed out the envelope and read what was written there.  
‘Ricky, tell Sherry I love her. Tell Sherry I can’t live without her.  Tell Sherry not to cry
 for me. Sherry, I’ll love you forever. I’m sorry.....John-Boy.’  Who the hell was Sherry? 
 Did my husband of three decades kill himself over some tramp?  Some other woman 
whom he barely knew?  I picked up the second cell phone and scanned the history of calls.
  Where was area code 864? As I set the phone down my eye caught the partial title of 
a book lying on the rug under the table.  Picking it up, I read: ‘How To Keep A Long 
Distance Relationship Exciting and New.’  I opened it to the first few pages and found an
 inscription,  ‘To my tiny dancer, until we meet again.  Love forever, your John-Boy.’
My God, John, how could you?  How could you do this to us?  I yelled as I threw the 
book across the room; will this hellish nightmare never end? (beat)  I picked up the
 cell phone and scrolled down the history; Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman.  No other woman, huh, John? South Carolina…hence the long distance relationship…you’re such a fool, I told myself. There was voice mail saved and I listened to the most current ones.  Those messages told a story of a married woman who had a son and a new grandchild. 

Another sad, pedestrian story of a restless woman trapped in a loveless marriage but
 unwilling to leave.  The daughter-in-law apparently would not let Sherry see the child. 
 It seemed that John, in a misplaced attempt to help, called Sherry’s son to insist that
 he let Sherry see her grand-baby. 
 Only to succeed in blowing up that family.   The final message was not so sweet and 
sexy from his lover. Sherry had dumped my husband. (beat)  I didn’t know whether 
to laugh or cry.  I seemed to be trapped in a crazed, unbelievable soap opera.  But what 
is it that they say about truth being stranger than fiction?  I sighed.  John had always
 wanted to rescue anyone in trouble…even when they didn’t ask for help.   He had crossed
the line calling that woman’s son.  Oh, John, what were you thinking?,  I asked the empty
 room. Didn’t you know?  You were her dirty little secret.... (more)

(from my book, Monologues 4 Women) 




Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

A Long Loud Sigh

genius?
sometimes you are in its minimal spotted light...sometimes!
other times you just know you've been touched and you freeze,
moved but frozen...like a stranger it moves in, does its work and leaves.

...maybe it's been a while since you two spoke...
when the dead sea still hosted life,
the hanging gardens of babylon grew in sinc with the breath of the planet,
before the tower of pisa started to lean or mayan buildings were in ruin.

so you write words...any words...they might at least soothe your hurt
hold your heart in a protective shield.
you know how crippling unrequited love can be.
do you still dream of its hug...genius?

life and love share more than a first letter
(like the first letter you wrote under the veil of inspiration).
they also share good and evil...it's a flip of the coin.
either way is fine with you. you'd bathe in holy water or sell your soul.
life, love...passion...somewhere in there...it lives, genius.

all of nature a reflection through its transparent figure glows dark 
like the shadows live in the radiant illumination of evening rays.

so let me speak of us!
recently when i tried to hold you...
you were like a ghost in the bright of day,
a phantom out of its element...
there was nothing of you...i could embrace.
when i tried to enter you a freezing cold ran through me like a winter brook.
you exhaled me 
as if i were fog on a deserted country road invisible to absent eyes.
still you were my drug of choice.
addicted, i chased the dragon...you...genius.

memories fill me...
days when we would paint words,
stitch in a metaphor or two,
weave in music, 
write instruments to fill in the spaces,
ordain a voice.

i remember...

you wanted to taste me
i was overwhelmed 
how you put your fingers on my lips 
how you licked them...you...genius.

you were that giant pine i would climb in the dead of winter
(why do they say that "the dead of winter"? winter will die 
when hell freezes over. winter isn't death it's purgatory.)
the one with the needles that punctures human skin.

come to me again and touch me...
like the butterfly does the wind...barely but thoroughly.
(is it true that just a tiny flutter of their wings could be 
the start of a hurricane? are the icebergs melting?)
i didn't just write that out loud...did i...with you I'm shy...genius.

GENIUS?

fine!
hide.
don't show yourself.
don't speak to me.
fine!

don't bother with rising the sun today.
forget those showers you create your magic arc with,
vacuum away all the plants.
lower your wall of blue.
i'm not interested anymore in those pillowy shapes i use to love so.

i've always known it is fire that cleanses, water that burns,
it is the moon that breaks the heart,
the stars that slaps the face...with...i don't know...reality.
i've always known by the time we see a star...
in real time...it's already extinguished...already dead.

it is our friends that will use us...our heroes that will lie to our face...
our blood will betray our trust...our teachers will fail us...
our leaders treat us like just another job...
the devout that will exhibit hatred.

still i believe. no matter what else...the rose will always survive.
the petals deceiving. they will repel all that is unholy.
grab it by the neck and squeeze out its black ooze,
leaving a gentle soul there to admire its adversary.
don't even get me started on the orchid
or even the flowers all...alphabetically.

i dare confront the beauty of nature's art unframed...
canvas loose to admire...genius!

i miss you but i am out of tears.
do drop in though. 
i can offer you a cup of dry warmth...
soothing like burning logs that crackle with laughter.

or 

take you to my secret place.
behind the camouflage of forests dense,
where vines grow through spiral staircases 
made of turtle shells and dressed in discarded snake skins.
green is the theme there. it is everywhere,
unabridged, unabated, unaffected, undisturbed 
with a fuming, burning, yearning to be touched.
so let's...let's grab...hold...squeeze..
feel free from the cheap paradigm offered.

i don't think you know, even while you sleep, i hold your hand, genius.

dream a full rainbow on a fingernail moon night,
feel february twenty ninth its absolute might,
taste fully the slight of a pheasant in flight,
yearn eternal life, wish a vampire's bite,
concoct rhymes nicely fluffed with built in sight.

genius?
on this sombre morning the sun is blinding.
damn my eyes.
there is a negative entity drapes our children's world.
shame on us...shame on you...i need you.
i am reduced to an objective observer.
life glides on the little wings of its carrier,
its final resting point in the hands of the wind.
another life carried away on a worker bee,
busy stealing nectar from a succulent bud.
a stowaway hangs on for dear life to the flyers leg.
gets off at the next flower.
meets up with a companion to create a new life.

genius?,
everything changed when I met you.
was the sun rising or the mountain sinking.
was that an orange globe against a blue sky
or a lit round hole in a sad wisp of air.

i'll play a keyless piano if you'll paint me a horizon I can reach.
i'll sing you a ballad with a single note...

i walked into my life without consideration.
maybe crawled.
all the same...
when do I get a choice.
when will they stop holding death over my head.

if i could direct a few more plays with you as my guide...
my art, my life! genius i long for your influence...
even one last time to see your face, 
unite and give you one last kiss...goodnight.




April 1 2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Linda
Contest Name:A Million Dollar Poem






Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Anthony Amero | Details |

Being American

I live in America, as in the United States of America, and that used to mean something. At least to me it did. And it’s not so much in how I was raised but in how I was couched by my country. While I was never one to really fall into the “mom, apple pie, hot dog and baseball” America ideal, I did believe in the land of the free and the home of the brave, where all men are equal and rights for all men. And I still do believe that ideal. Yet this country of mine keeps despairing me as I continually see a degradation of those ideals over the last fifty years. And I have this following theory.


We are a melting pot of all societies and prided ourselves on accepting everyone. But take a look at that for a minute. Look at Europe and Africa and their history for a minute, I did. Throughout recorded history Europe and Africa kept all religious and racial differences segregated in their different countries, or areas, and fought each other over ideological differences and over the generations a deep-seated, in-bred hatred developed for each other developed. Wars were begun for the simple act of mingling with other races or religions. This is fact, look it up. Now flash-forward to the new country, America, with its open borders accepting the oppressed, where all flocked to start a new life. Now you’ve got a huge influx of natural enemies flooding a nation and now they are supposed to just drop their in-bred prejudices? Play nice after centuries of discord? But for the Civil War, I’m surprised we haven’t erupted into total anarchy. But the whole point of this is that these people want to come here and keep their culture, their identity. I see no fault in that and don’t blame them, but that brings me right back to my original question, where, or more fundamentally, what, is it to be American?

I believe the original creators of the Declaration of Independence were visionaries. It bothers me at times to see various Facebook posts and other mentions of such things saying they were racist, or this, or that. I do believe there was a lot of that in many of the implementers of the document, but not really in the actual architects. Why do I believe that? Mostly for this statement: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”. And the 11th Article of the Bill of Rights confirms the Declaration thusly: “The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people”. Yet in this country, just like in the mother countries of Europe and Africa, we suffered from racism and bigotry.  I believe this goes back to my theory of the melting pot of people who came to America. They couldn’t overcome their bigotry or racism or hatred just because they came over here, although some really tried. Yet I believe the architects of the Declaration were far-sighted enough to not try to create some sort of Utopia either, but rather a working, self-sustaining country that was governed by the people, for the people. The biggest problem as I see it was that it got too big … that’s not totally true. The biggest problem as I see it is politics and the “American Way”.


When is the last time you heard a politician run a campaign and only talked of the issues that concerned the people? I only see and hear them talk of negative things of their opponents. Why would I vote for anyone who tries to smear their opponent? How is that helping me or my neighbor? How is that serving the public good? How is that engendering trust? It’s not, in my opinion. And the “American Way”? Americans are far too smug, too fat and happy. There’s very little strife so we take way too many things for granted. Don’t believe me? This may seems simplistic and a little childish, but take your household chores for example. We live in a country where you can wash your dishes in hot water, can even use an automatic dishwasher, can even wash your clothes in an automatic washing machine and electric dryer. We have so many modern, electronic conveniences that it’s actually making us dumber. Don’t believe me? How many of you have lamented the young cashier at the convenience store who cannot make change unless the cash register tells them how much to give back? Basic skills are being eroded because of the useless conveniences we keep making in the never ending quest to make our American lives easier. It’s disheartening, really. Maybe it’s just me and progress really isn’t that bad, but I see proof everyday of the dumbing of America, and if you’re of a certain age I believe you see it, too.


So I see this huge country I live in, called America, filled with so many diverse people living in … harmony? I don’t know, I still see racial problems and still can’t figure out why. I have a very simple philosophy on life: while we’re not entitled to material things, every person is entitled life and respect to be who they are, so long as they do not intend to hurt others. And, for the most part, I’m happy enough and I am oh, so grateful that I live here, in America. I can say what I want, I can worship who I want – if I want – and I can aspire to become what I want, if I’m willing to work hard enough. And you can disagree with me, if you want. We have that freedom. Because we are living in America, and we are free. For now.


But I do worry about the future America and what it may devolve into.

Copyright © Anthony Amero | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Russell Banks | Details |

The Crow Ghost of Haunting Footsteps

Break my neck; snap it in two, snap it in half
don't give me that incredulous, frightened look as I ask
don't hesitate in front of me, please just do me this favor
so I gain a halo, live forever under my own protective silo
Well do I have your attention now please
this isn't what I came to you for but life is out to smother it seems
Here I stand a man, a boy
though I feel like a toy, pulled two ways by kids with way too much joy causing too much noise
I'm not feeling it today
this hamster wheel we call daily routine
this whole work, sleep, repeat lifestyle we wage
I've had enough of minimum wage; had enough of these days but this is just commonality, a casual notion
while we all casually tell ourselves
"This is only a phase, we'll get through another day"
Here we go, the next sunlight; the sun ever bright
but everything is still the same
It is said the world can't change overnight
at least some say without a fight
though in reality, it doesn't take much
but a mistaken touch, an absent-minded clutch, trying to find a way to stand without a crutch
when all that is wanted is love from a beautiful dove
to look up above and say thank you for it all
not stare at barren hands, wonder is it all lost
I've lost, undeniable; I've lost, undeniably so
so spills the secret from my lips that may cause a rift
but here it sits, swept under the carpet
forgive me if I'm paralyzed by dialect unrecognized
I leave unpunished for a thought my own version of Rea didn't proceed to show me the meaning of bite
I leave unpunished by my own version of a mermaid for speaking how I feel...about her best friend
Don't berate me with misinformed, misinterpreted names of bewilderment and curiosity
All I said was Crush, all I said was intrigue, all I said was the pursuit of who Marceline was behind her own version of a screen
Will I know, on my own terms eventually
but in actuality I wanted to rip that thought out of the burning smoke in my chest
as the guilt, as the words I still haven't and utterly refuse to speak of kept building and building in lungs that aren't big enough until they just tumbled out
so out goes the notion I left unpunished because though downgraded has this conversation fell
I still punish myself or is it my mind that punishes me
I look at the ground while I ride my Mothra, a bike on just two wheels as my shadow thrice passes by me
moving faster than me...no matter how fast I travel
my shadows all move faster than I do
No matter how fast I peddle, no matter how fast Mothra flies
the world is faster than me
To take a page out of the book of Naruto:
no matter how fast I walk, how fast I develop, there is always someone walking in front of me
an obstacle I just keep stumbling over
just like...she always does
a friendly push in the wrong direction
If I may borrow a line from This Wild Life
She's a planet, I'm only a comet
people gravitate to her while others part like grass in wind whenever I draw near
I'm at my worst when I'm with her, I'm at my worst when I think of her
She's everything I had ever wanted
8 years back, she was everything I had ever wanted
but as of now, she doesn't love me I can tell
As far as she's concerned, I'm only a ghost in the night who haunts her footsteps for I wish sometimes maybe subconsciously those footsteps were leading to me
but my gut says hate her, my heart says love her while my mind just sits in its strait jacket laughing away
and I, outside my own mind, ponder the world around me
outside my universe
A husband, soon to be
a boyfriend of 5 years, temporary
walked into his house, his daily routine
thought to be just another day
through the front door
not knowing his wife, soon to be
his girlfriend of 5 years
yelled to the skies for her pain to end
dived off the banister, broke her neck to break her fall
while in present, her boyfriend screamed in expletives or maybe in stunned silence of shocking horror
or maybe he shouted to the sky, "Gosh, darn it all!!!!!"
If you have a heart built of faith and love, lend a prayer or quick word to the blue skies for her to rest peacefully
My only wish is for her to ascend past the clouds, not be boiled by the Earth's molten magma
The husband, soon to be
now a widower can only set flowers by her pictures
has a chance to bounce back from this depressive state, start over with a blank slate
stage dive onto the hands of his family to keep himself afloat
but if I assume to know his emotions, assume to know his mind
He's drowning in ice water, cursing at the sight he saw, cursing at himself for not preventing it
singing Dear Death in pure hatred for them to take him instead and give her back
screaming at the sky "Why HER??!!"
bargaining for the return of the only woman to have his love forever
Don't hold her picture in a locket you fool
or else you'll just see her face swinging from her makeshift noose
I can only hold you for comfort, I don't know what else to do
I'm empty too
I don't persist to know what it feels like to have a loved one's neck break at my very feet
but I know what it feels like to have a promised wife give me love then leave me feeling tremendously weak as life finds a way to tear us apart completely
Scream at me, make it the best I ever heard
don't waste your breath on the wind trying to console you
take it out on me, let it out, just breathe
then cry all you need
says the empty, dreaming, venting, longing, ghost of haunting footsteps of a crow known as me

Copyright © Russell Banks | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Tom Quigley | Details |

Aspie

1—Milieu

Unique construction of body and mind
My niche in human pack not quickly found 
Raw young heart of a curious design
The empty mirrors for my soul abound

Subjectively a bit odd to myself
A jangled, disconnected kind of sense
You’d really have to feel it for yourself
Bare toes in rougher grass, my side of fence

Surrounded by like minds, we all assume
This world of beings whose outsides look like ours
Belonging, my soul’s dream bound straight for doom
As if I’d flown a rocketship from Mars

I turn my back, but yet still feel their grins
At times it seems a penance for past sins

2—Hairshirt

At times, it seems a penance for past sins
This hairshirt of discomfort I have worn 
Beneath my skin, wool sweater’s itch within
As if my past lives’ sins remain unshorn

My senses prone to overload, expend
Just like my mind, to peace they must return
A t-shirt tag could bother me no end
Yet bloodied elbows would escape concern

Vast sea of neon lights, eyes howling bright
My skull reverberates with common sound
A thousand Vegas strips eclipse my sight
Exquisite dullness, daggers soft abound

Bright deluge, hard sensations’ stormy squall 
At times, my soul would fade into the wall

3—Fledgling 

At times, my soul would fade into the wall
When I could not march to their beating drum
Fictitious rules apparent to them all
Ignored by most, my fate, hated by some

My heart is scalded, social asper-steam
Within me builds a silent asper-scream
The years of clumsy efforts don’t redeem
Relief, a frothing mug of aspercreme

I try to find the beat I cannot plumb
Although my overloaded senses hum
The human presence looms, I seek the numb
A frenzied fumble for my aspergum

The fairy tails I chased once seemed unmatched
To grow up in a dreamy world detached

4—Sinking 

To grow up in a dreamy world detached
Illusions and delusions spread their wings
Again, again, my boyhood dreams were dashed
Stray child in charge of life, no good will bring 

The poisoned rain did fail to bring relief
To run and hide within was my great lie
A deepened torrent, dark implosive grief
All sorrow that’s submerged is magnified

The spirit’s life for which I’d never reached
Until the fateful day, my first real prayer
Strong hallowed reed my drowning arm beseeched
Through desperation’s gift, my soul did dare

From darkness did my vagrant soul break free
Becoming the man I’m supposed to be

5—Integration

Becoming the man I’m supposed to be
A task not as straightforward as it sounds
The years drew mantle of success to me
Yet still my larger clan could not be found

My social self I’d tried to disavow
So often did I wish these needs would die
But luck, this curse my fate would not allow
Through many trials, my error rate so high

Within this maze, the rat had found no cheese
So weary now of feeling out of place
Their foreignness cannot be grasped with ease
Where are my people? I don’t see a trace

In this soul, vital difference would it make
For all the years I’d spent perfecting fake

6—Tribe

For all the years I’d spent perfecting fake
My heart, in large part, cowered underground
To ape the things that never could be mine
To be my own self seemed a risk profound

Occasions bring more friends across the rift
In parts and pieces, forming near a whole
A rare woman who can accept my gifts
Our small tribe hatched with love and kindred soul

At forty, I learned how to read a face
Such basic things with which you’re all endowed 
My common sense uncommon, but my place
Becoming solid in my micro-crowd

Great challenge finding home where my heart sits
To figure out with my unaided wits

7—Of Understanding and Diagnosis

To figure out with my unaided wits
Awareness blossomed when I first did see 
 “Non-neurotypical,” whatever its
true meaning, doubtless it referred to me

Atypical, the wires under my skin
Atypical, my needs for contact too
Atypical, the fires that burn within
Atypical, these seeds my life imbued

Despite the careful wording in their books
The shrinks disparage us, their words betray 
The path I find innate, it just might look
Compared to you, pervasively delayed

The Others you don’t get are not Unclean
Some scientists draw parallels between

8—Neanderthal Dream

Some scientists draw parallels between
Neanderthals and Asperger’s today
How ancient cavemen’s lives just might have been
The features, mind and body, seem to say:

Creative loners who seek their own place
Extinct, though hiding somewhere in our genes
An ancient mind lurks just behind my face
It seems we’re born to live in worlds between

Neanderthal projected forward, I’m
A lone wolf among pack dogs, number prime 
In step and tune to my unique heart’s rhyme
A living museum piece who’s lost in time

This unexpected journey helped me find
Unique construction of body and mind

8/6/16
© Thomas W. Quigley

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Ivor Davies | Details |

Legacy of Penang

Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I ever had.
A holiday of every dream
that one lifetime could hold
so listen while this wondrous time 
to you I now unfold:

In bygone years to travel far
was not a normal thing,
to travel some six thousand miles
by plane was amazing!
Propellers aided by a jet,
a very modern way,
aboard a British Eagle plane
my life would change that day.

A little island in the sun
where British troops were based
on active service out Far East
where they would get a taste
of jungle warfare while they helped
to form a brand new state
by helping stop objections from 
a few this change did hate.

But as a teenage boy, you see,
the politics of war
were not as noticeable to me
as other things I saw.
I felt the beauty of this land
with folk of every kind
for at this time in England
few ‘cultures’ could be found. 

For back at home in Blighty
a youngster such as me
had to know his place in life
and couldn’t roam quite free,
but out here in the tropics
no prejudice I found
of the nature that had kept me thus
by England’s limits bound.

Now out here in Malaysia,
on this island of Penang,
I found a place where deep inside
stirred memories that sang
of a time in my existence
that I’d never felt before
born of ancient inner knowledge
that my soul was screaming for.

To continue with my story
of the time I was a lad,
when in a British Barracks
with a soldier for a dad
I had given up my schooling
for adventure in the world
and like a butterfly emerging
my wings were now unfurled.

On this truly wondrous island
Minden Barracks was my home
with excitement and adventure
wherever I could roam.
I immersed in all the wisdom
of simplicity I met
and learned that what you give to life,
returns in what you get.
 
For the Chinese and the Indians,
Malays and some ex-pats
had found ways to live together
though all wore different hats,
in perfect symbiosis
where all fulfilled their roles
and by leaning on each other
could emancipate their goals.

Now even at this early age,
I was not too dim to see
that the rich were getting richer
and the poor were never free,
but something buried deep inside
these people of Penang
bore a certain understanding
of the common song they sang.

Now I grew up very quickly
as my friends all went to war,
young soldiers who were now my age
what were they fighting for.
Atrocities befell them 
as they fought Malaysia’s side
against those from Indonesia
who would not join this ride.

Skirmishes abundant
though Penang was hardly hit,
it was only very seldom
that we faced a scary bit.
When Minden B’ was threatened
all the locals stayed inside
just in case the British soldiers
started shooting the wrong side!
 
But throughout this ‘confrontation’
my job became pure joy,
for the Army’s recreation 
then became my brand new toy.
On the island’s sandy beaches
you would find me day by day
driving speed boats for the soldiers
when they found the time to play.

In Penang, their favourite island,
 the troops would take their leave
and have fun while water skiing
as they took a short reprieve
from the nature of their duties
that had brought them to this land
and for just a fleeting moment
could enjoy the sea and sand.

For three years whilst Water Skiing
I enjoyed this paradise
but the days I was not working
were all equally as nice
for at home in Minden Barracks
was a special swimming pool
where friends would meet
and wash their souls
with conversation’s tool.

This really was the centre
of our commune in this land,
the meeting place for sharing
where all friends would understand.
Soldier’s wives, their men at war,
and others gathered round,
if any place is hallowed
then this pool is sacred ground.
 
But Georgetown and its traders
was the place I loved to be
where the colour, noise and culture
always let my soul soar free.
Where the many, many trishaws
and the bikes and traffic mix,
with the hawkers, shops and markets
this is where I got my fix!

Four good years I lived my life
in this very special place,
absorbing understanding
at a multicultural pace.
I’d been born into a country
that the world thought was mature,
but maturity is lost of mind
when progress is the lure.

Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I’d ever had.
Back in 1966 I went back home again
and the schooling that I’d given up
had not been lost in vain,
for I’d learnt the real meaning
of my Life in this short stay,
a meaning full of everything
I carry till this day.

So now I’m in My sixties,
not the sixties of my past
and the thing I’ve found along the way
is most things never last.
But learn from where you travel,
let morals be your guide
for none can steal the things you hold
and carry deep inside.

Ivor G Davies

Copyright © Ivor Davies | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Dorian Petersen Potter | Details |

How Can I Not Love You

~How Can I Not Love You?~ (Free Verse) Even before I met you the way I do now I always knew about You, perhaps not in the sense and the right way that I am so lucky to do up to this day. But I always felt your presence and knew of your existence. And I know that for sure I already loved You all those years even before I met You all the way that I was supposed to do. How can I not love You, and want to know more about You and all that You are and mean to me; after all that You've done not just for me but for everyone else that I know personally and that I may not know in my life. You've made me the person that I am today; You've molded me into a better human being, and that's for sure, I know that I'm a better creature now, than I ever been in the past. Since I met You personally and accepted you into my heart. Since I confessed each and all of my sins to You, with all my heart and soul, I feel for sure a lot better, I am kind of relieved. Oh my Beloved, sweet Jesus, I do love You so,very much, and I do thank You for all that You've inspired me to be, to write to paint and to do all thru my life. You're the biggest inspiration ever of all, and You always will be. You make me so strong by giving me hope each single day. With You I am not completely alone ever in my life, no matter what I go thru or what I may feel at times. My life would be so very empty and dark just without You. How can I not love You, when you keep all of my darkness away You fill my emptiness and refresh my soul and spirit all the way when I get tired and thirsty thru all my long walks thru this dark world. I am so happy that I met You at last when I did You'd brought me so much love and comfort and goodness in all, and You forgave all my sins and always You do and will, and in spite of all You still do and I am reassurance that You always will no matter what ugly sins and transgresions I commit against You or anyone in this whole wide world. You take all my bitterness away, You complete all the puzzles of my very existence and life. I just believe in You 100% percent and much more in my heart. How can I not love you? When You help me in all that I am and I do, if You've created and made me the much wholesome person that I am today. I just want to be more like You, and grow better each day. Since I was introduced in my life to You and your sweet loving ways, I've accepted you,You're my Lord, my King and my Savior. And I've gotten to know you in my heart so well, all thru these very long years of much ups and downs. You dried all my tears away and gave me hope, where none sometimes was to be by me found, but only in You. You hear all my prayers when I come to You. I know that You will respond to them if that fits in your plans. I do know that You know everything better, and that You will do what's is right. You've loved me when I've felt no love coming from anyone around some times. How can I not love you? if You're the One who died for me and had offered and given me forgiveness and glorious eternal life, You give peace and rest to my soul and my whole life. You take all my pain away thousand of times over all the years. You put on a smile on my face all the time. You've given me so much beauty to see and enjoy in so many things. You've given me all the people that I love and hold so dear to my heart. Your love is unconditional and eternal, and You love me more and better than anyone ever can. How can I not love You? when You're already part of my whole life and existence, You just complete me! in every each way, because without You I wouldn't be here and be who I know I can and You want me to be. Because of you I can love and better and feel the way that I do. I have a heart more full of love and compassion and forgiveness all because of You, my very beautiful and sweet Jesus. How can I not love you and worship you the way that I do when I think of love and life and all starts with just You, Thank you so much, for giving me all that you've given me, I am so grateful to You, my Sweet Almighty Father in Heaven. How can I not love you? If your very name signifies love, hope and life in all that I see and know. You're with me now every single step that I take, You hold my hand and help me rise every day. You love me so much and loves us all, With You I have an eternal home one day in Heaven and that for sure I do know. How can I not love You my sweet Lord then? Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2013 February.10.2015

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by matthew harris | Details |

Letter to taeljejohn

uncomfortableness, and hesitation arose that you might reassess a possibility for friendship or.... whatever with me.

A disappointment set in place in the event that based on some facet of my being (inexplicable flaws within this corporeal human male), forecast that an about face (booked on charges inherent in this googly eyed, earth-linked, kool hotmail of a yahoo) would be un liked!

Juno what i mean? 

In retrospect, no matter that this average boyish chap desires enjoyment, he admits that ordinary punctuating various stages of development difficulty coping found him msn (miss sin, missin, missing, et cetera) on ordinary interpersonal experiences!

No matter yours truly usually finds me each morning, noon or night conjuring up maximizing temporary residence on this planet earth versus bemoaning those futile and essentially counterproductive mind games sans could a, might a, should a, would a...

today = the moment to cherish, enjoy, help others, ponder the remaining years
since fruitless to expend tears
for suppressed emotional, financial, grammatical, hormonal, physical, and spiritual angst
 that roiled mine inner sanctum - mainly from decades in the past
   which unseen scars with humor this fellow (who by the way likes you) wears!

Notice the sly inclusion of my comment per -- affinity, desirability, rhapsody for you
although just but a mere inkling prevails about an ye taelje john thru
a rather contrived manner - albeit an online adult oriented website - amongst a slew
which yields to this bipedal hominid a scant few
initial responses - as if a ghost app paired in the recipient email - going boo
which unwittingly seems to turn the ivy blue!

So...no matter a constancy of follow-up electronic communiques occurs from ye
bringing tears of joy, that nobody can see
while simultaneously delivering digital glee
a reality check restrains proclivity and predilection to let thoughts run wild and free!

Immense and immeasurable mounts in moi little rock
inducing an electric arc for myself to kin neck embedded in all this schlock
for a sixth sense arises that this holme body strongly suspects yar self 
 to generate sunny watts as an s spy she lee Sherlock

but, reticence to gush with ebullience reins in a cascade
of utter delight washing o'er this less than satisfactory mwm 
 who as a boy and youth happened to b a frayed
of his own shadow - while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams
 listening to the sounds of silence on a green-day.

Thus => the following from one 

Cerebral being ™ in the am and pm
 
This ordinary human
Finds himself a mystery
Within the terrestrial
Firmament and frequently
Feels in a feverish pitch
At his existence
That seers the temple
Mounted upon this slender
Frame - wrought by the
Combination of genetics
In tandem with exercise
Which latter helps to
Sublimate the coiled 
Tension wound tightly 
Like an indestructible spring 
Without a healthy medium at large 
To channel emotions fraught within
Me might find demise
That would rent asunder literate fellow 
And thus annihilate without a trace
One true valued father of two us special
Lovely lasses as just another statistic among 
The obituaries!
 
As the world turns (indiscriminately oblivious of the harrowing days per one simian), an agreeable, amiable, edible, immeasurable, likeable, pleasurable, sensible woman (such as yourself - predicated on a gut level intuition) goads more seriousness to share

Plaintive unheard heart strings o mine that wail
Displeased with this marriage fraught with travail
As if in a maelstrom whip-lashed vessel without a sail
Yet - averse to lambaste or rail
Against abby (whereby we pass like two ships in the night) who married this male
When each of us happened to seem more similar 
   And thought each ourselves to fail
At any endeavor, though now confidence 
   Buoys my heart while she doth ail

And exemplifies attitudes, beliefs, efforts, 
   Idiosyncrasies, pathos that life does rot
Ill suited to Matthew Scott, 
   Whose bon vivant manifesting faith in him
   Perhaps from herself deferring many domestic 
   And child rearing tasks not
Of course being boasting - even when scissoring the umbilical cord
   As a now beaming papa, whose daughters 
   Blithely ignore "mother" a lot
Thus necessitating this quest 
   For a counterpart to offer succor 
   To eden (age 16) and shana (14 on february 4th, 2013) 
   Yet accepts that i must dispel any dreamy fantasy even this ours - a mere jot
At this juncture knowing full well how unwise to set myself up for disappointment
   By thinking and rushing like a fool, 
   Where angels fear to tread
   Though "chutzpah" i got!

U r slowly filling my mindscape with joy
Thank you so much - for accepting without complaint how atypically words this writer wannabe 
   Named Matthew Scott Harris dozen ploy.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Poet M.e. | Details |

Thirty-three Letters From Batman to Robin

Playing Batman and Robin is a lot different

When the Riddler is your Stepfather

And simultaneously an alcoholic and pedophile

When your secret mission is to keep him

From bringing heroin and pornography

To Gotham city

 

Your mother wanted to save you both

But Catwoman captured her

And held her six children hostage

  
You tried to save your brother

From the Riddler that October night

But you were just nine and

The Joker had you in quicksand

The rope was too rough for such small hands

 

 Twenty years later you both get married

And you laugh at those childhood battles

Neither of  you knowing

That those villains were still there,

The Penguin was waiting in the shadows

 

Batman gets arrested for Statutory rape

They put Department of Corrections

On his fabled cape

No Batbelt to help him escape

                                                    II

Batman sends Robin thirty-three letters

Written on that yellow prison paper

With those light blue lines

Tells him  he's found Christ

Read the New Testament twice

Robin pretends to be happy for him

Even when he really doesn't believe him

And is too disappointed to care


         And returned letters from his two children

Hurt him in the worst way

When all he wanted to do was

Give them four or five dollars

For Christmas or their birthday


                                     III

   Still in every Former Super heroes life

There is a Forrest Gump/ Gomer Pyle

That just takes it all in

Regardless of his sin

Just because he's your brother

And because you love him

    Because you were the one that rode

On the handle bars of his bike

Holding the umbrella on the way to the store

While it was thundering and lightning

Not knowing that the real rain was yet to pour

   And you were the one

That sailed into the wind like Mary Poppins

when the bicycle stopped

"Make sure Mama's groceries don't drop."

   You open those letters

Because he was one that you looked up to

When there was no father to answer your call

And a twelve year old make-believe father

Was better than none at all

    Because he built you a ten feet basketball court

Out of throw away scrap wood

It wobbled when you shot the basketball

But he did the best he could

    And you were the one that used to ruin his fishing trips

By getting your hook snagged every ten minutes

And he would still ask you to ruin his next trip a week later

And he would walk in the dirty lake to un-snag your line

Because you didn’t like getting your clothes dirty or wet

   You don't tear up those those letters

Because he was the one that

Shared those stupid

What-are-we-going-to-do-now-looks

At your mother's funeral

    And you hated it when his kidneys failed

And he was only fifteen

And he couldn’t fight bad guys anymore

And you both swore never again

To wear those stupid capes

 Your heart failed when he was charged with rape

   You open those letters because

When you can't sleep or rest

Nothing like a game of Russian Roulette

Ignoring the voices in your head

The next letter is the one you’ll regret


                                                                  IV

    But hidden in those letters

Between the lines of

Those religious rants

Somewhere Between the Johns

The Deuteronomies and the Acts

Were those unknown facts

That never made it to

The courtroom

Was never read by the DA or judge

The DNA that got lost by Vice

The bloody tissue misplaced by

The evidence clerk

The real trial was in those letters


    And you learn that he wouldn't

Tell the Judge the real truth

Waived his right to a trial

Because he didn't want his kids

To end up in Foster care.

And Robin wasn't there

   And he broke his promise

To never ever play  hero again?

They gave him fourteen years

For another person's sin

   We could have put those capes on one last time

We could have beaten the Joker

And put him and the Riddler on the run

Could have shot Cat Woman with our toy guns

    After five years in prison

Batman dies at forty-one

And Robin has to go on


    And it sucks that you left

All the clues with me

And I can't even use them to set you free

The rape you confessed to

Was never what we all believed it to be

And somewhere in Gotham city

The Joker, Penguin and Riddler

Are still running around free

                                               Epilog

Goodbye Batman

Growing old with you

Would have been better

But the best of you remains

In these thirty-three letters

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems