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Long July Poems | Long July Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Kim van Breda | Details |

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME

AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS 
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
 AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER 
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER

FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
 AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
 HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT

SOON IT WAS TIME FOR  PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE

OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS 
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
.
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER 
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN 
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS 
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS

IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
 ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL

AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
 FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP

THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND 
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE 
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF 
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH

THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE 
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.

THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN   W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR 
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS 
.
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
 STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT


YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM

SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR  LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART 
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY 
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL

TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-

(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)


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

Moving on Part Two Part Three

Moving on ???

I have come to wonder – as time passes – why ?,
the lady brings tears to my heart – makes me cry.
This lady who took in hand, in holy of holies, in mouth,
resurrecting a dyeing old soul, then went south.

This lady who, with a little time, could raise,
the dead, and in that time, did vigorously praise
as she took a weeping willow, turned it into a mighty oak.
That was then, now, never comes back, not a word has she spoke.

I think of times, when beaver lips, kissing, did stroke
a fading son into becoming a mighty oak, at midnights son rise.
I do feel – maybe too much sometimes – that I have lost the prize.
Oh !, why ?, does she choose to ignore, to  leave behind

this old man’s limp, impotent, troubled mind,
a mind that feels, that senses, that is trying to find
out why it is that he seems so unimportant,
why ?, it is that this is all he can rant.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 26th 2003

Part Two

I wonder ?, - with your distance –
if we, at these moments,
are not closer than time will tell.
I wonder ?, - if you, as do I –
feel the losses in never knowing
a mornings glory, of never hearing,
knowing, telling a positive story.
I wonder ?, if our time has reached
out and touched an end.
I wonder ?, if you no longer look for,
need, no longer want me as a friend.

The naked winds of actions, reactions flow past these eyes.
They do not deceive, hide their meanings, nor do they tell lies.
What lies lie behind the eyes of the beholder, is in the telling,
is in their perception of the world, it is what their mind is spelling

out for them, and does not have a thing to do with cold
receptions, distances, avoidances or harsh words told
as moist air drifts across the bridge and it begins to rain
and with one’s nose, know what brings on the pain.
 
B. J. “ A ” 2
July 28th 2003

Part Three

A war of the roses, by any other name, was no sweeter !, 
as pre and post-midnight hours dragged on in battles waged, 
from both sides, where I experienced a clever, cunning, crafty, 
master manipulator, a shrewd, screwed, master of mass destruction 
that used words as weapons, breaking, crushing the head of the enemy.  

I have to wonder if I am the enemy proper ?, or that of a cracked mirror ?,
reflecting the many facets of your life’s experiences ?, and because of this roll 
– a docile, inanimate entity – it is easy to throw sticks and stones, darts, knifes 
and other keen, explosive, destructive projectiles that seem to flow with such ease.
Could this all be ?, because I have no value, no meaning, no relevance, no importance.

Are these the reasons for the twisted perversions of reality, of my phrasings ?, 
of my statements ?, my beliefs ?, my thoughts, thoughts that have come back at me 
in a barrage of hostility, at such a driving force, it could knock ones world of its axis’s.
I wonder ?, just how much of this comes from a lifelong habit, of defending against ghosts.
I wonder ?, just how much of this is your reality and how much of this is imaginary / fantasy.

I wonder ?, just how much of this might be – attempted one up man ship. 
I wonder ?, just how much of this might be – pure, unadulterated, game playing.
I wonder ?, just how much of this scenario might be an offensive / defensive mechanism.
I wonder ?, just how much of this might be the walls, the moats, the chasms that might hide 
whatever the reasons for you choosing / taking an opposing position – for taking the opposite side.

The choices made are the choices I have to live with – acceptable or not.
There is no possibility for me to be in control ?, especially if I am being controlled.
Being in control seems to be the essence, the heart, soul, spirit, the name of your game.
Being right, seems to be an aspect of your game, no matter if the evidence proves otherwise.
You are not the only one. I see many of these troubling traits in other areas of life on this plane.

I see it in other people, friends, relatives, acquaintances and professionals.
So too, with me, and so I must not place to much stock in how I seem affected 
by these behavioral traits, I have observe in human nature / nurture, for I am a big boy
and walk this earth, this plane, with both eyes wide open, even if they have been blackened
many times, swollen shut, along with my bruised soul, battered spirit and beaten, grounded ego.

But then, what ?, is a good friend if he cannot stand some abuse
still hang in there and remain a good friend that can be counted on.
Thoughts – few of the many – left in the wake of another battle, waged, 
in the war of the roses, that will never be able to release their sweet fragrance, 
with total abandon, freedom or true understanding and acceptance of what they are.

Without prejudice – Without judgement

B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th 2003 


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

Solitaire Solitude

Solitaire / Solitude

Solitude will be my recognition, my fame !
Solitude is my time to claim !
Solitary is my adopted name !
Solitaire is the name of my game,
to play away these hours of mine
until there is nothing left of my time
on this plane or of this rhyme.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 19th 2001

July thirty first 
Two thousand and one 

An end has come, to times filled with the recordings of sounds 
from a glorious, ancient past.
Time has come to empty the mind of what hounds,
time to indulge in a lengthy  fast.
Time before now

There is beauty, where there is light, 
but, it has become obvious !, that night 
is not a place of beauty, peace or rest 
for a man, who, out of his life, has made a mess 
of troubles, troubled thoughts and deep reflections.

And like me , they get lost in the quagmire, 
and at the cost of my soul on fire, 
burning with flames of pain, in depressions 
grip, without the ability to solve, that which is, 
trouble, which my lot in life is.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Another Time before now
My heart cries out, with each lonely tear drop 
I realizing that, of my life, I have made a flop 
and in the process, lost little pieces of mu soul, 
forever washed away, evaporating into thin air.
What a heart wrenching thing for one to know,  
to believe about his life, to believe it is not fair,
that all they were – those tiny pieces that formally
fit together and made up the whole – a family 
that was my soul, never again for me to know, 
for tear drops nourish not, nor will they make grow. 
Only lubricate the path, the way of letting go.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Still another time 
There is this killing chill, filling the air
that leaves me in a deep state of despair 
as my young, fair haired Daughter, 
seems to have forgotten all I had taught her 
as she makes a prisoner of my heart and soul, 
with her vengeance, caging my spirit in a gaol
of her spite, as the might of her hatred encases, 
dictates the course of my life, as it races 
towards thoughts of her young son, 
my beautiful, second Grandson, 
who, like her, is lost to my touch, my embraces 
due to the bars she has erected, the distance she places. 
Me, my life, they have become the walls she builds 
that grow ever thicker, wider, more distant, higher, 
an impenetrable wall of searing, blinding fire. 

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And still another

I do not know where it is ?, that I might be
if it were not for my dark haired, lovely, Melanie.
I do not know what it is, that my mind would see ?,
in this life if it was not for my youngest,
thoughtful Daughter, who deserved the best, 
deserves much, much better from me.
For now, it seems, she just wants to be free !

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And yet another

The sleepless dreaming of humankind, 
is to leave the waking nightmare behind,
reach deep down inside, to touch and find,
all the stuff of its soul. Its heart, its mind
so that in the end mankind will stand high and shine.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Gail

My girl child,  a beautiful woman so far away
fills my eyes, fills my thoughts every day.

Her life I left behind, let slip away so long ago.
How she feels ?, who she is ?, so little do I know.

My love for her I try, I hope I do show ?
Does she see?, can she feel it grow and grow ?, 

as the years left behind, lost, stow
away, enlighten me one day to all I have missed.

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 

As the son stands

Casting shadows upon this land,
I know not where I stand,
where I might fit in, or who I am.

There is no one to lend a hand
as the cold winds wipe me from the sand.
Not a trace !, find not, I can ?

Do I fly with the sun ?,
from the shadows do I run ?,
or is it ?, with them I walk

passing over others, never to talk.
Or do I stand ?, with the land
as the sun passes over head 

The shadows, a blanket for my bed.
Laying there, sleeping is my soul 
and in that state of reverie, never to know ?

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 


Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

TURNING WENDIGO

                        CEO of the Schizophrenia Society of Canada: 
                                    If you ever got out of the Selkirk Mental Health Centre, 
                                     what would you do?
 
                        Li: I hope to leave one day, but I have to make sure it wouldn’t 
                             happen again. That there would be no voices. 

                             I would change my name to be anonymous

________________________________


There is a darkness that we can not see for it lies behind the eyes,
as stark as bone under a harvest moon, masquerading an appetite.

We sit side by side with darkness, oblivious to its plans, its hunger,
and on a July night in o eight, a monster took a long bus ride

across the Trans-Canada Highway. It walked up a tight aisle, then
it sat beside Tim McLean, a young man on his way home, a carnie

with many friends. His mother was waiting for him, eager to see
his eyes, that bright smile. Vince Weiguang Li had bought a ticket

for Thunder Bay. He was once a computer software engineer in 
Beijing, well rewarded, but immigration punished. As an Edmonton

resident the educated man delivered newspapers, served french-fries.
There is an article in the paper he delivered, a story about the legend

of the Wendigo ... and I wonder if the journalist is haunted, I wonder 
if that writer wakes at night in terror, thinking of Li turning pages,

reading of evil, its want of flesh, the taste of blood. Li sat beside Tim,
not one word was spoken, the witnesses reported. Li is big, strong, and

young Tim was listening to his ipod, texting that he’d soon be home. 
He did not see the butcher knife that Vince concealed. The rampage 

was unexpected. Li stabbed the youth over and over; the Greyhound bus
stopped, people ran for the door as arterial spray splattered the old vinyl. 

Li came undone and beheaded his victim; the legend was reborn for
he consumed Tim’s eyes, swallowed the good soul he saw there, and then

he opened that bloody chest, gnawed a heart full of exuberance. He hacked 
off a nose and fingers, placed them into bags to savor later, he became the

Wendigo ,no, no, he’ll forevermore be Nian. Eventually, the police tazered
him. Not Criminally responsible, was the final verdict, due to mental illness,

hospitalization, not prison, and a mother’s tears savage an unjust stillness. 
Li was granted supervised day passes and walks the streets of Selkirk.

Four years, only four years, for devouring a life without provocation,
and a family struggles to pass Tim’s Law in a system that has gone mad...

There is a darkness that we can not see for it lies behind the eyes,
as stark as bone under a harvest moon, masquerading an appetite.






*Wendigo is an aboriginal evil spirit that is said to possess humans and turn them into cannibals... there have been communities in northern Alberta which have reported that people believed they were "turning wendigo." 

* The Nian is a Chinese mythological demon that hunts people and a part of the Chinese New Year tradition. 

*Tim's Law would ensure that people with mental illness who kill are kept institutionalized for life, without exception.

**The quote on top was taken from an interview with Li this year.

This is a true story. The Greyhound murder/cannabilism took place in July 2008.
May 2012 he was granted daypasses. The clock is ticking... it is only a matter of time before he is fully released... unless Tim's Law is passed.

May reason prevail.



FOR ARTICLES ABOUT THIS STORY

http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/2009-2010/bus_1170/timeline.html


http://www.vancouverobserver.com/city/crime/2008/08/15/tim-mclean%E2%80%99s-terrible-murder-and-its-strange-aftermath

http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/Features/2008/08/11/6413481-sun.html

http://news.nationalpost.com/2012/05/22/greyhound-bus-beheader-vince-li-i-dont-hear-voices/



Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

Girl Next Door

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


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 2

That's my dad for you... getting his hands deep into the knitty-gritty, when most others would just back off a safe distance away saying, "No thanks! Maybe when Armageddon comes a'knocking we can talk religion, but right now I'm in the middle of favorite show so.... bye!". I have much respect for him in that sense... a hard working man as well as a man who never stops thinking... even when on the coattails of turning 60. Still in the fields of repairing roofs, fixing leaky pipes, (even building tree-houses for the overly eccentric clients that don't even have kids that would enjoy it). My siblings and I would unanimously agree that he's been in construction since the dawn of time. And in some ways that statement isn't so far off from the truth - depending of course on who's "time" you are referring too. In my heart and soul he will always be high in my book of Highly Admired People. But of course there will always be those personality traits I wish were apart of him. I can say this, in complete honesty, that I don't believe he ever once remembered my birthday. I don't hold it against him by any means. Truth be told he doesn't remember ANY holidays whatsoever (Fourth of July, Christmas, not even his own birthday, bless his soul). He's just not wired that way. To him a holiday is nothing more than a glorified day where telemarketers and business men take full advantage of. "Feel like your mother doesn't appreciate you enough? Well here's something that will change her mind, this coming mother's day. A brand new 24 carat diamond encrusted necklace that's guaranteed to dazzle those eyes. You can beam with pride when you hand it to her... I went to Jared, yes, indeed!". But in some ways I mourn his inability to become engrossed in a monotonous no-nothing conversation. We can't discuss movies, musicians or any upcoming local events. Sometimes I feel as though if the topic isn't of dire importance, he won't give it a second look. Sports won't hold his attention... doesn't everybody know the Superbowl is just a distraction from all the wars going on around us? Doesn't at times, we resemble Hitler hiding his bunker, drinking wine and eating gourmet delicacies of pate and caviar, while the rest of the world is battling it out? Perhaps he's a victim of too much truth and it consumes him... perhaps I just have a truth deficiency and just smile away, in ignorance, at some comedian on the TV, "I have no idea why I'm laughing, but I guess I'll sit awhile, and wait for this steeple of ours to come crashing down upon us." This proves just how much I take after my dad... might as well have a Walmart worthy button pinned to my shirt at all times, "HI! MY NAME IS TIM AND I'M A HOPELESS MELODRAMATIC... FREE SAMPLE?". Truth be told, I guess we both have elements of wisdom and elements of pessimism deeply ingrained into our thick skulls. It's one of the most difficult things in the world to explain the complexities (or in some cases, lack there of) of Garold Hicks. When my friends inquired, I'd cut it short saying, "Well he's different... not all that social I suppose." But I feel that is a great injustice to his personality, to sum it all up in pocket-sized sentence that takes barely more than a short exhale of breath, to let out. It's hard to end this ode of him, and still leave the reader with a clear sense of purpose, or any real sense of conclusion. I guess it's only fitting to end this piece, once and for all, with yet another my dad's witty zingers,

"I used to think I was in indecisive...

... but now I'm not so sure."



NOTE: I wanted to write a piece about my dad for ages, but couldn't find the words. He really is a strange person (and I don't mean to be insulting for I'm very much like him).


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 5


Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 5

Anulom Vilom or The Science of Alternate Breathing


HOW TO DO IT

Take your right thumb on your right nostril and while pressing and closing it inhale a deep slow breath from your left nostril. Hold the breath for a second in the beginning and then open your right nostril so that you may exhale the air you have filled in your lungs. 
Now inhale deep and slow breath from the same nostril, where you have just exhaled (right nostril) and again hold it for a second and then exhale it from your left nostril. 
At the time of exhaling air from your right nostril press and stop your left nostril from the middle and ring fingers (Imp). Repeat this action from 1 minute in the beginning to 10 -15 minutes by doing it again and again as you had started earlier. Do this breathing practice from 1-3 minutes to 15 minutes to get the maximum benefits.



Step-5  How to do Anulom Vilom


Sit in Sukhasana or in Padmasana on a comfortable flat ground or on a Carpet or Durry. Start Anulom Vilom in the morning hours, when your  stomach is empty and clear . Close your eyes and sit as relaxed as possible for next 2-3 minutes, so that your muscles may get relaxed.


Anulom Vilom or (Alternate Breathing) Among all the breathing Exercises of Yoga Anulom Vilom shines Like a glittering jewel Where one sees The Astonishing results of Yoga Taking shapes like the Painting of an artist. Which only get appreciated The moment It began to show some Lines, figures and shapes And when the picture get filled with Colors You would only fall in love With the richness of Anulom Vilom’s Colors and shades Which remains The most precious gift of Yoga For all the human beings. It almost rejuvenates and transforms You Like the finished and colorful marvelous painting Of an artist From a dull and colorless shape. The wonderful effects of Anulom Vilom Will slowly purify your lungs Body and mind And many of human bodies Curse like ailments Like circulatory problems or Heart diseases Blood pressure problems and Blockages Depression and migraine pain Asthma, sinus and allergy. It is highly beneficial For those who suffers from stress and anxiety. Once you gain the time limit Or number of Anulom Vilom You will find yourself Blessed With a new personality Filled with energy and peace of mind And above all Love and kindness for all Which began to flow from your heart And helps you To accomplish your Tasks and talks With the grace of good health Endowed with the blessings of God. Regaining of good health By adopting Yoga Would become Your daily partner To Restore your love and confidence And your faith in Your God And it would make you More wanting and artful For you and your family and your life. Ravindra Kanpur India 28th July 2013
Important tips and precautions: -Anulom Vilom pranayama can be performed by any one of any age group. -Please perform this at calm and clean place either in a garden or at a place away from dust and pollution, and where there is a lot of oxygen. -The best time to practice this breathing exercise is considered to be early in the morning before having your breakfast. - However, performing Anulom Vilom should be avoided by pregnant women and during periods. -Persons having serious heart problems should not practice it without the guidance of a proper Guru or instructor. - Its benefits would be more visible, if you can practice it daily.
Gratitude- Although Anulom Vilom is the gift of ancient sages but it was brought to lime for the general good of the world by Swami Ram Deo of Patanjali Yog Peeth. Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 4

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 4 PADMASANA- LOTUS POSE Step 04 Posture - Sit on any flat comfortable ground or carpet/Rug/Durry. Stretch your legs in front of you loosely. Hold your right foot by the ankle and place it on your left thigh with the heel as much close to your body as you can in the beginning and later try to place it so close to your body that it presses against your left groin. Without changing or disturbing the position of your right foot flex your left knee, so that the foot comes near the body. Now lift it by the ankle and place it on your right thigh with the heel of the left foot pressing against your right groin. Please keep in mind that the soles of your both feet in this position will be pointing skywards like the petals of a full bloomed Lotus flower. For this reason it is called LOTUS POSE. Try to be as erect as possible in the beginning and keep trying to maintain this posture from few seconds to few minutes, (which you can attain after practicing it regularly). In Praise of Padmasana Padmasana is considered To be the most beneficial and Beautiful of all Asanas Because it resembles All the qualities Of the heavenly flower Lotus The Posture would Make you bloom With the inner happiness and Joy of Good health Which began to yield Its results As soon as one Get success in performing This a little difficult posture And began to practice it With ease and comfort. Padmasana stimulates slowly Your spine Making it To function More suitably and properly For your brain Which often get disturbed Due to our modern living habits And extreme dependence On the comforts of life. Practice of this posture Restore the relaxation of mind and Thus when the mind is in peace It began to shower its Wonderful results On all the vital organs of The human body Whether, We know it or not It is our mind only Which control Each and every part and Action of our body and our deeds. After learning it properly and Practicing Padmasana regularly One began to feel A new energy to face The challenges of life Which keep mounting and Increasing With more and more pressure Every day and Every night. The coolness of mind Would rejuvenate your heart To pump More fresh and energetic blood Which began to flow With the vitality of oxygen And thus Making your body & health A reality with the reflection of a Godly grace On your face, body and mind. This outcome began to show It’s appearance On You After removing gradually All the ailments caused by The Modern living conditions Like the most common and general The problem of Tension, Breathing problems, Headaches, Bad circulation of blood, General Weakness, Fatique Excessive weight problems or The problem of weight loss. After gaining The needed height In performing Padmasana You will find yourself In a new realm of Real happiness and Joy of life More close to your faith With more blessings of your God On You, As no gift is greater Then the gift of Good Health. Perfection of this Asana Leads to attain and awaken The sleeping powers Of our body Known as The Power of Kundalini* Ravindra Kanpur India 21st July 2013 PRECAUSIONS: Please do not make any hurry in learning this a little difficult posture and gradually practice and convert your Sukhasana into the Padmasana. Since it is the ideal posture for Meditation and brings peace to your mind Padmasana should always be practiced empty stomach preferably in the morning hours. V. Imp Note: Please do not try without a proper Guru or Guide for awakening the power of *Kundalini.


Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

Evergreen


The tide surges
over binary laugh-lines.

Seattle, oh Seattle,
unless you are able
to find oxygen in conch shells
and survive in an underwater cottage,
it's high-time to teach your soul to swim.

The tide ebbs in and out,
allowing us to re-energize in-between takes.
But don't forget to practice your part.

Take 3, this is the scene:

a moonlight-key opened a treasure chest
filled with digital photos of submerged guilt and shame.
These waves are here to stay,
unable to douse the underworld burning in his beard.

Wolverhampton, do you remember
when he came as he was,
ready to entertain us
with a belly full of liquid-bogeymen?

Do they remember how the seahorses kissed
to the sound, to the sound?
The kiss lasted for 230 seconds, times three --

and again and again and again!

Seattle, oh Seattle,
your Evergreens sparkle with rubied feathers,
your road-signs are a bit cleaner now.
Hey, there's always going to be the contradiction
of mud and bleach in Aberdeen,
so there's no longer a reason 
to feel aqua seafoam shame.

There's no longer a reason
to feel aqua seafoam shame*



March 16th, 2014


________________________________________________________

Author's notes: For this poem I used the cut-up technique,
cutting-apart and re-mixing specific stanzas of my poems: 
"ADDWDDMD"(written, September 2010), and, "Currents"(written, July 2010).

I use my own polished technique:
Instead of leaving the initial raw result of the 'cut'/scramble,
I switch words, and add words here and there to offer extra cohesion. 
This is most evident in the switching-around of place names(Seattle, Wolverhampton, 
Aberdeen). Had I left the place names as they initially 'fell', the poem would have 
made even less sense to some of the readers.
I also add punctuation and breaks; formulate stanzas.
I also allow repetition of certain words and some of the newly formed lines.

With my polished cut-up technique, I cut-up/scramble more words than I want 
used in total for the end result. 
I create an 'over-flow pool' of words to inject into the overall shifting of words.
For example, with this scrambled chunk of words:

with / chest / photos / filled / treasure / guilt / submerged,

I switch around the words, while pulling "of" and "and" from the over-flow pool,
and take "submerged" and "digital" from a chunk of scrambled words that 'fell' in 
an entirely different area of the mix.

I end-up with: "filled with digital photos of submerged guilt and shame."

That line triggered the idea to use three words which have been swimming around
inside of my head for years; to use the words in the closing lines of this poem. 
These three words are not from the original stanzas that I cut-up,
so this piece isn't technically 100%, a cut-up poem.

I was inspired by the cut-up technique contest which is currently running,
to attempt another one of these types of polished cut-up poems,
but since I incorporated three 'outside' words and polished the piece quite a lot,
I will not be entering this poem into the contest, because I wasn't willing to 
compromise my intent in order for the poem to fit the specifications of being a 
cut-up poem(100%) in its purest sense as defined by several sources.
____

* "aqua seafoam shame" was inspired by the lyrics: "All Apologies".

"All Apologies" -- Writer(s): Kurt Cobain, Dave Grohl, Prince Rogers Nelson.
Copyright © 1990 Controversy Music, Primary Wave Tunes, Mj Twelve Music. 
All Rights Reserved.





+/-


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

Lost in historys places Laughter Lifes withering soul

Lost in history’s places

That was then, when, and now is now.
The point now, need not – somehow –
come from way back when, for then,
for if it does ?, there is no point, the point
becomes lost when you go back – try the join
then – when all to be, became, and all that should have been
became lost, at a cost to all who became involved and have seen,
who have been a part of what is, instead of what should be.
Then is but circles without beginning, without end, no exit to see,
that can take then out of  now, and how can that be
the path to the point ?, the point now – the answers for me
must come from here and now, not yesterday and come straight,
not at the end of some long, long, long winding freight
train that has stopped many – far too many times, to take on life’s baggage.
So much baggage, so much confusion, so many circles throughout the age
of so many winding roads, twists and turns towards the point, never to reach
the answers to straight forward, simple questions that I did beseech.

Laughter

Nervous sounds abound, they ring out
their experiences, their life, they want to shout.
They want to be set free, fly from your nervous mouth
so they, that hear, that listen, can have no doubt
what you, your sounds, your being is all about.
To know, to see, what is buried beneath all those
nervous sounds, sounds that dance upon the wings
of all those sounds your voice, hesitatingly, sings.
Songs of sad tales, of a troubled life with all its woes.
And which of us ?, is he, or she, that truly knows.

Life’s withering soul

My beautiful Daughter, – Child of mine,
this fragile rose bud- will bloom in time !, ?
Sadness do I feel – the experience sublime ?,
not in any reflection, not in this rhyme,
for I see not but a severed broken stem
and nothing I might do, nothing that I am
will bring life’s forces from the roots
to nourish, to give hope, to heal the shoots,
feed this unrealized Rose, in bud, ready to bloom,
whom I seldom see, talk with less, who hides in her room.
I now see this unfulfilled Rose, withering on the thorny
stem of her life, cut off by the selfish hand of this horny
old man – a so called man – The reasons my life is so stormy.
At times, the reasons – I do believe – for my troubled Child,
are emotions, hormones, beliefs, desires and needs running wild,
and from time to time, run me over, slap my face, knock me down.
Nothing I say, nothing I do stops this cycle from going round
and round with such force and energy, it knocks me to the ground
as pain / anger, uncertainty / anger. frustration / anger become the sound
that rings in piercing tones, from time to time, shattering my ear.
It is so overwhelming at times, it is all that I seem to be able to hear.
So the pain and heartache, I try to keep at bay, along with all my fear,
as I wonder what will come, become ?, and fill the spaces of each year,
for this Child, of my ancient seed, this Daughter, to me, so dear.
My Blood, I would like to know, her soul I would like to be more near
than a passing moment on the fly- pleasantries indicated, in passing by
like scattered clouds- out of reach and vaporous –high in an uncertain sky
as I watch – wondering why ? –, eyes filled with tears, trying not to cry.
Praying that one day – before long – changes come, come before I die.
 
B. J. “A” 2
July 9th 2002


Long Poems