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Long Jealousy Poems | Long Jealousy Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Balveen Cheema | Details |

Mother Of The Age



Stately stood Princess Amber in all her finery,
Emerald tunic over a crimson gown,
With gems inlaid in her rustling gown,
Her arms bangled in intricate gold slowly rose,
Her slender fingers rested on her heaving bosom,
Listening to unstopping drum-beats of her heart.
Her  breath clung to the heavy nose ring,
Beads of perspiration made damp
The adorned golden wreath on her tense filled brow.
Her curtained eyes rose to show the fires ablaze,
A voice so tumultuous never heard before
Anguished the gems in Jalal-ud-din's court 
To hear their silent queen speak so.
Born am I of noble Rajput parents,
My father named me Heer Kunwari- a pearl,
Was married into a Mughal family without much disdain.
Served I in nature true,
Does a Mughal king know not  
Of virtues imbibed by a Rajput  princess?
Brought up was I in Amber palace,
My mother bred me with values 
Both spiritual and bold,
Jump we into the pyre before being disgraced,
Honour be the seal of a Rajput maid,
This thou shoulds't have known before thou wedded me, My Sire!
And accuse you my Lord of my infidelity?
Never come close to a Rajput maiden
And hence remain from my shadow afar
Thoughts of a Mughal King are tarred and defiled,
I return to my kingdom for the dishonour bestowed.
Yet the truth be unraveled of your wet mother dear,
The milk you drank was of not of human kindness for sure,
Flowing in your veins is your wet-mothers venom,
Your wisdom poisoned  was not of your mother's,
There be a difference between a mother and a wet mother.
My brother was it that visited me in fear,
My forged letter to him was sent
That his sister in distress had pleaded him near.
In hiding is he from enemies around
Under the shroud of darkness
Came he to rescue his sister hence.
The treachery hatched  by your mother foster
In envy is she of your wife now ignobled.
Banished have you me from my wedded abode
Nor asked me of my crime in courtroom fenced
Why question not your soul of justice denied?
Out of my heart you walk thence,
Enter I into the shelter of my father loyal
My heart pierced with arrows immense,
Sail I to home for being slandered thus.
Free am I of being concubined in your Mughal walls
The knight I was bethroded to was never  mine
Belonged he to the  faith of his venomous milk.
Proved thou once again the woman be at fault and not the I.
Queen Salima the Innocent was suspected so
For being with a man she never had ever seen before
Pined she for you in your Palace  of Love.
I no Salima to take my life
In the eyes of my father will I remain a lustrous pearl.
Suspicion above truth be your manly tribe
Honour above dishonour be a woman's pride.
I a Rajput princess forever be
Live I in pride for I were true
Live thou in guilt for justice denied.
The kingdom of God not await for thee
Time will come for a woman to rise.
Princess Amber followed by her Rajput entourage 
Seated she in her bridal palanquin
Burning cheeks and eyes so cold
Ruddier drops had never been shown.
Coloured veils rising with the deserty billows
Of her ladies in waiting with tear filled eyes.
Silence entombed  her Amber chambers 
No question asked by father dear,
Trusted he the virtues of his daughter beloved
In her mother's warmth she remained embraced
To happier familial joys for the seasons to  see.
Jalal-ud-din's ears roared again and again
His weakened ears were his enemy true,
Won he a battle to all was known,
Losing the home ground to all was shown,
Turned he to ashes by his queen so new. 
Strode he in anger to his foster mother's abode
Followed was he by marching soldiers 
Spears in hand and daggered girdles,
Barging into the chamber of his mother wet
Huddled in fear of Jalal-ud-din's anger
Knelt down she as Yamuna doubly flooded 
Pleading mercy with joined palms cracked
Thundered Jalal-ud-din with anger renewed
Take the woman to her empty world
Fettered in chains her dungeon be,
No man no woman her companion be
Till her last breaths no mercy receive.
Heralded aloud in Jalal-ud-din's kingdom
The banished queen to her throne doth return.
The soldiers ready in their array full
The stallion royal neighed at his dazzling adornments
Saddled in jade and dotted gold,
Coloured festoons and brassy jingles
Galloped he in  hooving a sandy cloud
Scalloped eyes stood still only at Amber court.
Snowy doves on arches watched
The lungs so full as trumpeters blew,
The castle bedecked at glorified romance 
The gypsy dancers in flaring skirts
Dancing in chorus to their emperor new,
Smearing his brow with vermilion holy
Marigolds perfumed under the feet of their trodden king.
Touched he the feet of his Amber parents
Blessed was he of his auspicious return
Escorted regally to the princess' chamber
Silence pervaded after chamberlains departed.
Knelt he before the royal princess
With folded hands and drooping head
The belittled princess with a heart so torn
Bent she down to her humbled king
Moistened eyes and ruby lips
She clutched his feverish hands 
And bespoke, rise Great Mughal King
Hence reign in your kingdom great,
With knowledge fully acknowledged.
Suspicion soon aroused is wilfully pertained
Close proximity to peace be unblinded justice.
Jalal-ud-din Akbar with glistening brow
Rose tall to the stature of his pearly queen
Heer Kunwari were you born, your father's pearl 
Crown I you Mariam-uz-Zamani, Mother Of the Age.
Rule you my world in equal voice
Justice be enthroned in the voices of kings.



Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

My Ring Trilogy - The Poems

You Know Who You Are! 

I know that you probably know who you are...
Abusers who prey on women (or men) .
Your aberrance mostly extends to the weak, 
Your generosity just serves other's pain
And, of course, their misery's your only gain.
Do not think that you'll find me turning my cheek	
For doing so would just encourage your sin.
I'd rather see you in a specimen jar, 
Or displayed on corkboard impaled with a pin, 
Some place where your psyche has no powr' to mar.

Some say that it's likely that you were abused, 
The sins of the parents passed on as it were, 
God forgive me, if you're not really liable, 
But your friendship's not the company I seek
God grant you don't find fellowship with the meek
And your progeny all be un-viable.
It's not that I curse you, but I would deter
Your excess on innocents already bruised, 	
My prayer's not for you but for those you injure, 
God forgives but your deeds cannot be excused.

To see people like you removed from the earth
Would most certainly fill up my cup of mirth! 

Brian Johnston
January 12,2014

___________________


The Wages of Sin

The bush in which you hide
Reveals your cowardice, 
The wall, behind which you speak, 
Testifies against you, 
The seed which you so blithely sow, 
Grows bitter fruit that does not nourish
Or weeds that suck soil dry
So that good seed barely feeds the birds, 
Does not take root, 
Imagination insufficient, 
To wet the soil.
Bad intentions blow
What good soil there is
Across the sea to waiting deserts
More deserving in Africa, 
The rocks left behind, 
Only bruise your feet.

Brian Johnston
Sept.23,2014

____________________


The Troll

‘An interesting guy I think, '
People might say on meeting you for the first time, 
Oh yes, I've come to know you too well.
Thank God for the Internet, 
Although there are bodies in your wake, 
And stench follows you like a garbage scow
There is protection for many in distance from, 
In the miles of wire, the waves of wireless
Communication, and so like a deer
Caught in the headlight of your amazing ego, 
[Fashioned by the fires of Hell (like Gollum's ring)     
And as empty as the devil's soul], 
They stand frozen for a moment, 
Throwing it off finally, the vision of their own death
Shaking their heads in wonder, ‘What just happened? '

It's like the first lesson your mother tries to teach, 
‘Be careful who you choose as a friend, '
A cautionary tale for adults too.
‘Fire does burn' even when you reach adulthood, 
All that sparkles is not gold, my friend, 
And a ‘nom de plume' like Talvia Sprinkles, 
Just one more bush the troll hides in.
Sometimes that strange feeling that you have
Is actually another human? being? peeing on your soul
The golden shower they offer, however, 
Does not assuage your guilt (which is real, so what?)     
You've just been sold a bill of goods, 
Dr. Killdeers Magic Elixir, a not so benign fixer.

If you have been in this dark place of the soul
And saved by Satan not in fact being God, 
Then rejoice my friend in God's provision
In youth or childhood, you did something good? 
Do more, bear witness of your weakness to others, 
Not to mortify your own flesh (God knows you're sorry)     
But so that those with ears to hear (also God's gift)     
Perchance will themselves not feel so alone.
Remember that half-truths strung together like pearls
Are still sh**, if you'll pardon the expression.
‘If it sounds to good to be true it isn't, '
Remember only God knows your soul, 
Satan is just a very experienced guesser
And revels in our penchant to deny our own sin.
His wisdom does not serve the greater good.
Do not look for truth among the cold stones
Of the temple that once stood at Delphi either, 
Or trust any oracle that does not bend his knee
To the living God, the creator of us all.
It is your life, it is your responsibility, 
Don't parrot Cesar's surprised last words
As a ‘friend' slipped his knife into Cesar's heart, 
‘Et tu, Brute? ' You have been warned! 

Brian Johnston
September 26,2014

Poet's Notes are listed separately because of space limitations on Poetry Soup. Sorry for the inconvenience. I hope that you will take the time to read them.

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

Yesterday Love Was Such An Easy Game To Play


Yesterday, I went home for lunch, I never go home for lunch. When I got to our apartment  I don't know why but I didn't reach for my key.  Francine was at work and I always leave last in the morning.  I was sure I had locked the door but I didn't reach for my key. I reached for the door knob and turned. The door was open.  I don't know how I knew. The moment I entered I knew.  I froze. I could feel it, smell it, hell I could taste it. I started walking but my muscles wouldn't move,  my lungs were grasping for air  for some oxygen  some sweet, sweet oxygen but I could barely breathe. “Leave!” I told myself but I kept walking. Not really walking,  it was like moving through mud,  like a slow motion scene in a movie.  But this wasn't a movie.  This was my life and I could feel it slipping away  from my grasp. I heard noises! Francine.  I had heard those noises a hundred times before,  they were the sounds of an Angel  but this was no heaven  this was my own private nightmare. The moans traveled through the muck in the air  amplified like the hiss from a distorted speaker.  It mocked me over and over again. Climbing a mountain might have been easier  but I finally reached the bedroom, and there they were, and there she was. I knew, I knew the moment I entered the apartment.  Why hadn't I just turned back?  I could barely see, my eyes were blurry,  covered in layers of my own tears. I could see her  I knew I had never seen him before. They were naked and in our bed.  Naked in OUR BED! How do you that? How do you cross the line to that extreme? You'd think the green eyed monster  would control my actions from here on in.  I did see green! I was insanely jealous but I didn't want to end up the morning headline in the newspaper. That monster jealousy was by my side but I took charge.  I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now. You'd think I would be mad, I wasn't. You'd think I'd curse and call her whore. I didn't! Being cut open alive must be lest painful than this.   This hacked away at my spirit,  tore away at my self worth. I felt like a pile of worthless shreds. I spoke I mean my lips moved and words came out... I think.  I think I said,  I'm not sure it all happened so fast, she never spoke. I could see the shame on her face  she didn't need to speak,  but, but I think I said 'Sorry... I said Sorry and I left. I wandered for what seemed hours,  it was minutes.  It wasn't like I was meandering to a different drummer;  there just wasn't any music anymore. I was moving to the rhythm of the beating of my own heart.  Like a broken record it was skipping, like a broken record it played  in a loop of repetitive monotony. I suffered in my circled steps  until I couldn't stand it any more. I found just enough strength  to return to the apartment. I knew she was gone  I already felt the emptiness in my whole. We'd never see each other again. We had been so much. She was a big part of my life. She was the love of my life. I would never love anyone like that again. So much of her was me. I thought she was my soul mate. We let go of all of it. There is a feeling of betrayal. A feeling of disgust. A jealousy that takes over. I'd never look at her the same again. Everything she ever did from that day on would always make me suspicious. Jealousy would rule me. Jealousy should never rule anyone. If you can't trust the people in your life, friend or lover, you need to remove that person from your life. You have to remove that person out of your life. Trust, is the only gift we can offer. Friend, lover or stranger! People can trust me. My word is my bond. I let her go,  I really didn't have a choice I would never be the same again. She was gone. She had left a note. It said Sorry! Sorry! We both were. Maurice Yvonne 11~30~2014 Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster 
 

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Langeni Mate | Details |

The Rebirth Poem XI - Black Painting On A Black Wall

Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. Black Blood was used to paint. Black Blood. Blood bought from the very same people who stood side by side with you 25 years ago. Now that their kids have been given the Freedom you have fought for, all of a sudden that same Freedom must be taken away because they are taking land that is considered to be free. Not yours, free. So what do we call this? Xenophobia or Stupidity? Cause it was King Zwelithini who commanded for his former friends to be removed from this land now he has disappeared because he finally realised that Black Blood can't be used to paint a White Picture on a Black Wall. 

So what has happened to South Africa? The most diverse country in the world can't accept a few foreigners. People look down on South Africans saying that we are too lazy. On average how many South Africans would rather choose to sit down and complain about the unemployment rate instead of being innovative and creating new jobs? How many foreigners do you see on the streets with their piece jobs? Thousands. That's because they understand that they came here to work not to sit around and expect Zuma to visit your home and give you a job. But who am I to address my own country. Will they kill me too? After all, Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. 

So if I was to ask a fellow South African what picture did they paint I wonder what they would tell me. It's either you Black or you White they say. Whether you're Black, White, Indian, Coloured, Nigerian, Zimbabwean or Kenyan you're African I say. Imagine if all the South Africans in different countries were killed because quite frankly they are foreigners too. Please don't come tell me about being Black or White because Xenophobia is the result of confused people trying to see an invisible light. I can't believe we are having a repeat of Apartheid with our own kind. Those who fought for us are now considered to be the ones against us. If I could, I would change my race to Grey because sometimes people don't know whether they are fighting against Black or White. The picture is so clear you can tell that Black Blood was used to paint a picture on a Black Wall. 

So what are we becoming? Humans that can't love each other. Why aren't the Chinese being killed for opening up their China Malls occupying more space than the thousand of equivalent foreigners and their small place? Whether you're Chinese or Indian, diversity makes you South African. We are so busy disturbing the peace and equality within ourselves that people who enjoy inflicting pain have even turned around in shame. Tell me what would happen to all those families that have lost their sole breadwinners, fathers, friends and most importantly, lost the reason to pursue a dream to make the very same country that took his only parent away, a better place? All these innocent people have now passed and I simply applaude you and say. Well done. You've earned yourself a job, salary, happy family, home, car and all of life's treasures. And all you ever did was finally stand up, walk out and increase the unemployment rate. Then next year you will walk in, sit down and complain about the unemployment rate. So infact you don't know what you really want. That is a result of a Black Painting On A Black Wall. 

2015/04/17

Copyright © Langeni Mate | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

My Ring Trilogy - Poet's Notes

Poet’s Notes:
This is what I call a 'Poem en Duo,' a collection of related poems which when grouped together serve to illuminate elements that they have in common. They can be by the same author as in this case or by multiple authors.

The Troll now joins what I am calling ‘My Ring Trilogy’ and completes this cycle very well I think, though I had no idea I was writing a trilogy when I started it many months ago. ‘God is Great!’ Hope that you find it interesting too! All three poems while not written to attack Merov Tachgovirian specifically, do in my humble opinion describe him all most perfectly by accident as it were. Maybe because he uses my verse as a sick goal for his own life, lacking the imagination to come up with his own game plan for a truely evil life.

On PoemHunter.com there is a poorly implemented rating system that if allowed by each individual poet, allows visitors to the poet's site to rate each poem from 1 - 10. Used in its intended manner, this allows visitors to my site for example, to easily see which of my 200+ poems have been the most popular so far. This can be a nice tool for a visitor when he/she comes to my site for the first time. I use it myself quite frequently in this way, not really a gauge of true quality but at least a crude measure of popularity. What Merov and his like are doing are doing on PoemHunter is to, without regard for the poem at all, to give the poem MULTIPLE VOTES of 1.0 which can bring the 'average rating' of a poem that has been given 4 votes of 10.0 for example whose average rating should in fact be 10.0 down considerably. I had one poem like this that Merov gave 8 votes of 1.0 to (in a 24 hour period). So doing the math, 40 normal points + 8 Merov points equals 48 points in total. You divide that by th number of votes cast 12 votes and now the poems average rating is 4.0 and not a perfect 10.0 that it should be. Merov can do this because he joins a site with multiple false identities and then uses these membership votes as a base from which to launch attacks on others.


A note in passing to honor the 'Walking Dead' among us (Hi Merov):

Well apparently PH has banished you from it’s halls and once again because of your amazing ego (your greatest weakness and most devastating weapon), and, of course, the pornographic language you use to comment on other's poems. If you have not been attacked by people like him, count yourself lucky. If you do not care about the pain that he brings to others by this behavior, then count yourself his victim already. ‘Talvia Sprinkles’ and  ‘Jimmy Tuhans’ (nom de plumes he used recently on PH) may be history, but Merov certainly is not. There are an infinite number of internet ‘nom de plumes’ for him to hide behind, more sites will be attacked, more sites and feelings damaged by his misinformation and scurrilous comments. Do not dream that evil is not real. Good men may lay down their arms, even admit defeat, own that they were wrong. Evil never does. The suffering of others is its only goal.

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

When Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

Yesterday I went home for lunch I never go home for lunch When I got to our apartment I don't know why but I didn't reach for my key I was sure I had locked the door but I didn't reach for my key I reached for the door knob and turned The door was open The moment I entered I knew I froze I could feel it smell it hell I could taste it I started walking but my muscles wouldn't move my lungs were grasping for air for some oxygen but I could barely breathe Leave I told myself but I kept walking Not really walking, it was like a slow motion scene in a movie But this wasn't a movie This was my life and I could feel it slipping away from my grasp I heard noises Francine I had heard those noises a hundred times before they were the sounds of an Angel but this was no heaven this was my own private nightmare The moans traveled through the muck in the air and were amplified like the hiss from a distorted speaker It mocked me over and over again Climbing a mountain might have been easier I finally reached the bedroom I knew the moment I entered the apartment Why hadn't I just turned back I could barely see my eyes were covered in layers of salted moisture but I could see her I had never seen him before They were naked in our bed Our bed You'd think the green eyed monster would control my actions from here on in. I was insanely jealous but I didn't want to end up the morning headline in the newspaper. That monster jealousy was by my side but I took charge. I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now. You'd think I would be mad I wasn't You'd think I'd curse and call her whore she wasn't She was just sharing, sharing her body with someone, someone who wasn’t me Being cut open alive must be less painful than this I had done the same countless times before That was so different it felt so harmless the other way around You excuse it rationalize it away But this hacked away at my spirit and tore at my self-worth I spoke I mean my lips moved and words came out I think I think I said I'm not sure it all happened so fast she never spoke I could see the shame on her face she didn't need to speak but but I think I said Sorry I said Sorry and I left I wandered for what seemed hours it was minutes It wasn't like I was meandering to a different drummer there just wasn't any music anymore I was moving to the rhythm of the beating of my heart Like a broken record it was skipping I suffered in my circled steps until I couldn't stand anymore and found just enough strength to return to the apartment I knew she was gone I already felt the emptiness in my frame She was gone She had left a note It said Sorry Sorry! We both were.
Maurice Yvonne Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Cona Adams | Details |

Justice for All

When Christmas comes, we hope for rebirth of truth and love, man for man,
from the story spoken time after time to children who hear other (hate) words 
and wonder if it's true that Jesus Christ is the Savior and King of the Jews.
Throughout history, the world despises and slings venom as dung for every ear. 
Truth matters not; that God held Jews above every man. Jealousy reigns and 
envy turns to bile. During that "War of all wars," one man, blinded by hate 
and driven by evil, screamed death and power.The German people were victims
of lies, repeated ad nauseam, that force creates a perfect race, a just cause for
 killing the Jews, the lame, the old, the blind, "useless humanity," he called them.

But destruction snares those who hate and justice reigns where hearts are true.
Heroes are born and demons are crushed. After the horrors of war, a peaceful
era when many learn to respect the Jews and deplore the deeds of one vile man.
Only fools applaud evil or excuse atrocities fueled by hate. NATO restored 
their land, re-established the Jewish nation in 1948. Some resisted, and fought 
against them. Why can we not embrace the truth - that every man deserves life, 
free from wrath? The time has come. It's long overdue, Let us see it for Jewish
and Christians alike. For now, the misguided hate us too. We stand together 
against prejudice. 

   When Christmas comes, we hope for rebirth of truth and love, man for man,
from the story spoken time after time to children who hear other (hate) words 
and wonder if it's true that Jesus Christ is the Savior and King of the Jews.
Throughout history, the world despises and slings venom as dung for every ear. 
Truth matters not; that God held Jews above every man. Jealousy reigns and 
envy turns to bile. During that "War of all wars," one man, blinded by hate 
and driven by evil, screamed death and power.The German people were victims
of lies, repeated ad nauseam, that force creates a perfect race, a just cause for
 killing the Jews, the lame, the old, the blind, "useless humanity," he called them.

But destruction snares those who hate and justice reigns where hearts are true.
Heroes are born and demons are crushed. After the horrors of war, a peaceful
era when many learn to respect the Jews and deplore the deeds of one vile man.
Only fools applaud evil or excuse atrocities fueled by hate. NATO restored 
their land, re-established the Jewish nation in 1948. Some resisted, and fought 
against them. Why can we not embrace the truth - that every man deserves life, 
free from wrath? The time has come. It's long overdue, Let us see it for Jewish
and Christians alike. For now, the misguided hate us too. We stand together 
against prejudice. 

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O YashOthA

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! Yashotha! Translation of Oothukkadu Venkata Subbha Iyer’s enna thavam seithanai – yashOthA by T. Wignesan

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA! ®

That He – the ParaBrahmman – who bestrides the Universe
Should call you “Mother!”

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA!

He who created the two times seven worlds
Whom you may lift up breast-feed and cradle in your arms 
Such as to drive even Brahmman and Indhiran to stark envy

(Yes) He whom you tied to the large stone mortar
Muffled and reduced to utter beggary, O! Mother!

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA!

What Sanakkadi Saints attained through self-mortifying  
        Endurance
You obtained that purity with ease just by being made His 
        Mother!

To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA!



Transliteration

enna thavam seithanai – YashOthA (Refrain)
enkum nirai parabrahmman amma enralaikka
enna thavam seithanai – YashOthA
IrElu pUvanangkal padaitthavanai
Kaiyil Enthi cIr Addi pAlUddi talAdda
brahmmanum inthirannum manathil porAmai kola
uralil kaddi vAy potthik kenja vaitthAy tAyE
enna thaval seithanai - yashOthA
sanakkAthiyarthavayOkam seithu varunthi
sAthitthadai punitha mAthE eluthil pera
enna thavam seithanai - yashOthA

Resources

We are back again to celebrate Krishna in the words of the poet,
and thus to evoke the penchant for « playfulness » in the Hindu mind which cannot be dissociated from the profoundly respectful pre-occupation with anything religious whenever Krishna, the avatar/ embodiment of Vishnu, the Preserver in the Hindu Trinity, is the subject of one’s thoughts. The Hindu Pantheon is filled with some 33 million « gods », by some counts, but Krishna outshines them all.
In the Hindu religious tradition, the real and the mythological confound themselves, or rather the poet enhances the real through
his imagination, with the result we are made to believe that the
Supreme Being has a worldly life in which his worshippers may
interact with Him. This poem is yet another example. YashOthA
of the herdsman caste is entrusted with the infant Krishna, and as His foster-mother, she is the object of envy even by gods.

The poem has been set to music in the Carnatic mode (with ragas
and thalas) and sung by several able exponents of the art. Check out versions by Sudha Ragunathan or by Karthik and a good many others on the Internet (Abirami).

 ©  T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015.









 




 

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

i am sick of love

i am sick of love
such words and such nonsense
when love does not envy
yet its hard to live and not be green,
     (for love is hard to do
and i am sick of losing such hard-time battles
that i can surely lose my mind before my next birthday
those young lovers(that young girl and foolish boy with his side-chick
that is not love, that is nonsense)
oh, i have seen nonsense come and go,
and i have cried my grief and laughed my jealousy
all those girls with broken hearts, i give them a standing ovation
for they are all fools, and i don't give a fly's bum for them.
      (my thoughts have jumped,
       up and down and up and down
       summer autumn winter spring,
   -love is destroying and i am not living a happy life
yet i sat there and took the blows and cigarette burns on flesh
and i smile, yet i sit and smile the nights and days away
and so-called friends say "why that way"
and I say "U and Me aren't friends... I have no friends-"
       long haired beauties come and go,
       chicks and babes and boys with egos bigger than their hot-air heads are floating away,
and back and forth and back and forth
       party after party after party,
kiss after kiss after kiss,
and chests being groped after chests being groped
legs in nylon and high heels all around-
are all gone, cause they don't care anymore themselves

look now the negro and the white girl
walk the night train together
waiting for the first rail car to take them away from all things and all ways that kill them
and do not let them live
and i sit smoking a cigarette with no one and its quiet and i hope that tonight is the last night,
because i am sick of love already,
i am just sick of love already,
i am just sick of the damn games
of broken hearts and broken promises,
blue-eyed death come and take me away
      (but first lets have a drink- a pink of whiskey or two or three or four
and one last cigarette before the night is through,
and i shall tell you before the clock sticks noon
how i am just sick of love
for i am a man out of luck-
kiss me blue-eyed death
      (take me to your dark angel girls- and tell them to kiss me goodnight,
love me tonight,
as mortality has run its last grain of sand out on me-
and take me and take me and take me
too a place where love is just a figment of an imagination
-only a nightmare, a bad dream (too sleep the night away,
       too wake another day, and be in a different place then this
and to know love is gone from me
for i am sick of love already... I'm through-)

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Details |

Falling Rain

Falling Rain
We met on the dating site.                                                                          
I let you in and you trusted me.                                                                                                                                                           We built something that was ours.                                                                                                    Our lovemaking was serene.                                                                                                           You took me for pizza,                                                                                                                            I took you to the museum,                                                                                                                     we both stayed in a hotel.                                                                                                              Things all ended abruptly;                                                                                                                         I told you of my new tattoo session and asked you to go.                                                                      You went crazy.                                                                                                        Bang went our two days together.                                                                                                          No way would you be second best to my tattoos!                                                                                    I ended it.                                                                                                                                         Told you I wasn't being controlled,                                                                                                     like my ex did.                                                                                                                            Now I feel sad and confused but have no regrets.                                                                                 I'll meet someone new who understands me and my interests,                                                                      who'll love me for me.                                                                                                                        And I will for them.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015


Long Poems