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Long Loneliness Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details |

BIO T J GREN PROLOGUE no escape

PROLOGUE
May 1979, Mount Druitt, Sydney, Australia

I was kneeling on the bathroom floor with my head over the toilet bowl. I felt sick. I felt nauseous, but instead of vomit, the only thing that came up was a white mixture of stomach acids combined with dis-solved pills. I felt terrible. The physical discomfort however was nothing compared to the mental hango-ver combined with the emotional state of despair I was feeling. It was only due to the mere fact that the pills I had taken the previous night were not strong enough that I was still alive. I had been a fool to think that heavy drinking combined with a large dose of headache pills would do the trick. It required something stronger, but due to my ignorance I had not acquired any sleeping pills or other stronger med-icine. I kept the stash of headache pills with me only for the purpose of taking them when the time be-came right: when the pain of living my life without love would become unbearable. They would be used to end the misery.

That time had come last night. Now I was feeling the after effects of the failed attempt. I felt worse than I had felt last night; worse than I had ever felt. The reason for this was not the physical distress, nor the mental hangover. It was much worse. After making a serious attempt to take my life, I now realized that I could never do it. The realization made me feel trapped. The only escape I had to get relief from the pain I was feeling was now gone. I was in a dead end trapped and surrounded by massive, dark walls of my mind. There was nowhere to escape. The only future I could see for myself was to continue living with the feeling of loneliness, misery and unworthiness. I had already experienced the torment of despair long enough to know how wretched it felt. And now that was the only future I could see for myself.

I was 23 years old and I was ready to end my life. During the last three years my emotional life had drifted into total turmoil and I was unable to change the course. I didn’t have the one thing I so longed in life: love. Why was it so difficult to find love? Why did I always find myself falling so deeply in love only to be rejected? The more I loved the greater would be the disenchantment and pain.

The continuous unfulfilled yearning for someone to love had taken its toll. It had not only shattered my heart, but it had also crumbled my self-esteem. Without love I felt I had nothing. It had become a fixa-tion: a desperate need without reality. The hopeless devotion had overpowered any sense of sanity caus-ing irrational actions which would only complicate the already unstable behavior: all because of love. What remained was a desolate, lonely solitude within my head: total despair with no escape. How to go forward without hope? How to go forward when nothing else mattered? The future looked dark, if not pitch black. That was the state I was in now, and the only direction I could take was the darkness which surrounded me.

The Olivia Newton-John song “Hopelessly Devoted to You” with words so fitting to describe the thoughts in my mind kept running in my head. This had been my favorite song and my song for her;

	Guess mine is not the first heart broken
	my eyes are not the first to cry
	I’m not the first to know
	there’s just no getting over you

But now there’s nowhere to hide
	since you pushed my love aside
	I’m not in my head
	Hopelessly devoted to you
	Hopelessly devoted to you
	Hopelessly ………

My heart was not broken for the first time. It had been broken many times, be as it may that I was to blame each time for setting myself up for the disappointment. Being an eternal optimist and a romantic soul, with even a glimmer of hope of finding true love I had to pursue that dream. This time around the dream had been shattered and the yearning for her love was so intense that I saw no way of getting over her pushing my love aside. But I had nowhere to go. I knew I no longer had a way out. I was trapped in my head. Hopelessly devoted to her: with no chance to possess her love. Hopelessly devoted and feeling hopelessly lost: hopeless, worthless, undeserving, and unwanted.

Love: such a simple word, such a strong feeling. But why was it so difficult for some? Why did love not come my way? Looking around me I saw loved ones getting together: feeling togetherness, bliss, and happiness. Why not for me? Love: such a powerful sentiment. The power to make or break: fulfill or leave empty: cries of happiness or tears of sadness. Looking around me I saw young love: the excite-ment, the hopefulness, the purity. Why not for me? Love: such a passionate emotion: togetherness or loneliness: acceptance or rejection: tenderness or pain: being loved or left hurting. Looking around me I saw love. Why did I get to experience only the downside of love: loneliness, rejection, pain, heartache, tears?

How did everything go so wrong? How did I mess everything up so completely that I ended up in this state of despair? Everything had been so easy and simple when I was a child, and even the years of my early adolescence went without apparent aberration. The answers lay down deep within my mind. A happy childhood didn’t guarantee a happy life fulfilled with love. Every action has its consequences. We sow the seeds of our future with the actions we take as the actions we take are echoed in our future. It was due to the choices and actions I had made that I now found myself living in a feeling of hopeless-ness. I was the only one to blame. With the mixed state of mind which I was in on that May morning in 1979 little did I know that the continued stupid actions I would take, would make things a lot worse before they would start to get better. I was lost and I had to find myself. The road to finding peace of mind was rocky and long.

SONNET – NO ESCAPE

The freedom of life’s end without escape,
no place to elude the pain of despair.
So close was the notion of a black cape,
darkness to cover existence unfair.
The pain of love far more than life itself,
to bear in hapless sorrow of regret.
Lost in the false sense of my darkest self
tainted minds morbid reflection‘s beset.
Dejected self with mindless thoughts adrift;
no lease of life to feel the next morrow.
I was chosen to live by nature‘s gift
and find freedom from the fear of sorrow.
Restrained by realities painful wrath,
a search begins to find life’s righteous path.


T.J Grén

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

I Can't Just Change Overnight part 1

(Inspired by my sister, Laura Breidenthal’s poem called “The Dream in His Eyes” and also, inspired by Disturbed’s song “Forsaken”. Special thanks to my sister for such an awesome poem and the writer that wrote “Forsaken”. It’s been a pleasure, writing this LONG poem! Please feel free to comment below and I hope you like reading it!)

I’m getting over the wasted times I’ve spent 
During the summer days, indoors…I wonder where the time went…
Debating on whether or not to write 
An inspirational song once again – that’s a might, 
Despite what I feel deep inside –
The need to hide, but a want to be brave…
Don’t mind me – I’ll learn to behave
For the night, I’d rather be with my family by my side
For the night, I’d rather sleep with dreams that won’t subside
From my sight…but once I wake up, they are soon forgotten
Why is my hope rotten? In God’s eyes, am I unforgotten?
In the vast abyss…the abstract abyss…
I roam in my lonely distress; it’s only in my head
Can’t shake away this hopelessness…
I long to embrace happiness, but instead, I hold on to dread
Again…again…
Why should I allow myself to fall away again?
Complaining is only for the foolish in heart
So, why should I make a big fuss of things?
Can’t they see I’m breaking apart 
Or…hm…do they see my depression as another work of art? 
Am I worthy of praise from the start?
Reality stings…these dreams haven’t mended my wings…
Failing to meet the finish line…
Pretending that everything is dandy and fine
But, to be frank, it’s not...
Sorry, negativity is heating up like water in the pot
I’ve been taught not to worry 
I’ve been taught to be happy
I’ve been taught to be joyous
I’ve been told not to fuss…and cuss…
Then again, I fall down on the ground,
Yearning to win life’s awfully difficult round
I want to change the world for the better
But I can’t if I can’t change my life around…
Sorry for my childish negativity…
It would be a miracle if someone can hold my head up
Sorry for my bottomless misery…
But, I know for certain that God gathers up my tears in His cup
He stores them in His heart of love
He restores my faith and lifts me high above
Anyways, I’m quite aware that my feelings are fickle…
And these emotions I conceal are as bittersweet as a pickle…
But I shall not lose hope, 
For tomorrow will be another day to look forward to
My tongue will rejoice, not mope
For yesterday has passed away and there’s nothing else I can do
I should be a brighter blue…a brighter hue…
Still clouded by the little bits of memory in my brain that gets me insane
I naturally feel relieved that I don’t remember too much of my past
Maybe it’s because I’m growing up too fast…maybe a little too fast…
I wish I can cast away all woe
I want to bestow bliss to all I know
Don’t you see me fading? 
Can’t you see the shame I’ve dealt with for so long?
Don’t you know that I’m trading
My shame with agape love…
I can never get enough of it…don’t get me wrong…
Don’t dig me a grave, but have a heart to save
A long lost soul that has been wandering the streets of avarice lane
I fear that I have lost touch of the meaning of life…most of the time, letting my poverty gang up on me and coveting the lives of the wealthy individuals…fighting duels in my mind – committing a million crimes 
Take my hand and hold it tight…
Strife and peace have been quarrelling for what seems like years…please, just give me a break…for the hope of heaven…bring me peace instead of strife…let peace win this time or we’ll face perilous times
Roam this land and don’t pick a fight…
Alive and well, I wish I could be… 
Alive and well, as glad as can be…
Swimming in the sea of shame 
Why did you shatter? 
Shocked out of my mind, hunted for game
What’s the matter?
Did I hurt anyone with these words?
I’m sorry…they come and go like herds of birds…
Or should I say flock of birds? Wait, scratch that…
I don’t regret writing these lines…I wear them like my favorite hat…
Forsaken…alone…down in the dumps…you can fill in the blanks…
And yet, when I’m with you, I say otherwise...I pour in my lament liquid in a thousand tanks...
I don’t delight in what I say…maybe I should have taken your advice lately…be careful what I see or hear…I was reclusive, sinking in my angst…
I don’t blame you for being incomplete…I envy the fact that you’re wise…
At least in my eyes, but what does He see in His eyes?
The truth behind the lies? The lies? 
The thoughtless goodbyes? 
The temporary highs?
Amongst us is the darkest of night...
I guess I’m not the only one, struggling to see the light
Forgive the heartless acts of men, oh Lord…
The sins that we must repent of is far too much to afford
Together, we are one brilliant nation…
We all share our moments of tranquil sensation and utter frustration
Oh noble, humble children of the Father in Heaven…
Can I be included in His family too? Can I be complete like You like the number seven? 
I’ve slept for too long and I’ve wept over the wrong…
Over the wrong I’ve done…
How can I feel like I belong when at home, it’s hard to belong?
It feels like darkness has won…
Masked in damasked delusions of the dreams I’ve dreamt
I have the desire to let go of the resentment that crept into me…one attempt…
Ended up as a fail, 
But in the end, 
It didn’t land me in jail 
I don’t mean to offend
My attempt to answer the call of composure
Will be quite a challenge, but it’s a challenge I’m willing to face
I’m pretty sure that I won’t find the ultimate cure
To end chaos when unpredictable predicaments take place…
I speak with a sincere, fearless heart…
I will vanish away the doubts that try to rip us apart
Remind me not to lose track of hope and stay focused on what’s uplifting and of great significance 
The wasted times of my life – something I shouldn’t mope too much about…instead, I should shine on with ripened radiance…
The masses of elegantless anguish transformed me into this monster 
This hideous thing called Wasted Away Love
This repulsive rage has burned away Peace, my dove…
My dove of passion-driven accord that I probably can’t get enough of
My opinions of out-of-the-world peace isn’t at all flawless
But, please…just listen to me or I’ll spiral in my distress…
Smother me with your astuteness of authenticity 
Enthralled by the waterfalls of wonderfulness all over again

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details |

BIO T J GREN part 04 30 Silent Cries

Ever since the half-hearted attempt to end my life at the February picnic I had thought that the incident had passed away quietly. Two incidents occurred in August of 1979 which made me realize this was not so.

In the middle of August the Dittmar’s held a birthday party with dozens of their Finnish friends attending: I included. It was a normal get together with drinking and people hav-ing a good time. I enjoyed being there in the company of my friends. Although I was still sad and de-pressed, I was no longer suicidal as the realization I had made in May would not change: I could never end my life. I tried my best to get along, and be part of the Finnish community again leaving the past behind me. But this evening I found out that I couldn’t leave the past behind me: it would haunt me forever.

During the latter stages of the evening a woman came up to me and said that she wanted to talk to me. I didn’t know her, so I wondered what she wanted to talk to me about. I soon found.
“You are the lad that tried to kill himself, aren’t you”, she asked.
“Yes”, I answered honestly.
She went on to explain that her husband had committed suicide. Initially I thought that this could be an interesting discussion. Perhaps she would understand me. But that was not what she wished to discuss. She started going on about what a selfish act suicide was. How cowardly it is.

I let her babble on how selfish and cowardly it was for what seemed like an eternity. I would’ve preferred to talk about my feelings and how to overcome my problems, my feeling of loneliness: feeling of being without love. Instead I was copping a mouthful on how weak I was. What a coward I was. How selfish I was. That didn’t boost my self-esteem. Had I not come to realize that I could not take my life, this outburst and condemnation would’ve triggered off another suicide attempt. Furthermore, I now realized that I was the talk of the community: I was known as the lad who tried to kill himself. That was an added burden to carry from now on. I was also surprised that not one single person would do anything to help me. Instead they condemned my actions, talked behind my back and treated me with total silence about the issue. God only knew what they thought of me. Noth-ing good I supposed.

Nobody understood what I was going through. Nobody understood that I was lonely: that I needed to be loved. I needed to be cared about. Instead, I was left alone in my loneliness to work everything out on my own. That only resulted in a deeper feeling of not only being lonely, but also being alone: alone to solve my problems and find myself. How was that possible when I was lost? I didn’t need a talking to. I didn’t need a lecture. I didn’t need to be told how selfish and weak I was. I didn’t need to be con-demned. What I needed was TLC: tender loving care. To be loved: to be shown that I was worthy of love.

The second incident took place only a couple of weeks later. I had thought that since my parents never said anything to me about the picnic incident that they in fact did not know. I assumed that had they known they would’ve brought it up somehow. Even though most other people seemed to know about it, I thought that perhaps they kept it a secret from my parents not to upset them.

One Sunday morning I woke up feeling I had a fever. I measured my temperature and it was over 38 degrees. Not letting that deter me I went to baseball practice. I was still the fearless leader of our base-ball team, responsible for taking care of the baseball gear and to take the gear to training as I would go to practice every Sunday. I liked the game immensely so I never missed the opportunity to practice: no matter how I felt. So as always I trained normally on this occasion regardless of being ill.

When I got home I felt terrible: I had a headache and felt feverish. I went to bed to get some rest. My headache got worse. My head was throbbing, and it felt as if it would explode. I needed to get up and get some headache pills. I tried to get up but couldn’t. I couldn’t lift my upper body to a sitting position due to the excruciating pain in my head. My temperature had shot up to well over 39 degrees and my head was spinning. I had to get some medicine to ease the headache. I knew my mother was in the living room so I tried to call out to her for her to bring me something. When I tried to call out I was only able to make out a feeble sound. I could not call out aloud without splitting my head. I had some books on the self above my head. I was able to lift my arm to reach the books. I took the books one by one and started tossing them at the door to get my mum’s attention.

She heard the noise from the books hitting my bedroom door and came to see what was going on. I ex-plained. I needed something for the headache. She went out to bring me a soft drink and headache pills. She helped me take two pills and swallow them down with the drink. Then she left me to rest, but she returned a couple of minutes later to come and get the rest of the headache pills she had left on my bedtable.
“In case that you don’t take too many of these”, she explained as she took the pills and walked out.
I realized that she was scared that I would take all of the pills. She knew. My parents knew about me taking an overdose of pills at the night of the picnic. Never in any way did they indicate to me that they knew. It must’ve been too difficult for them to talk bring up the issue with me.

Silence pertained. The only words said by anyone, were those by Harry, when in passing he had said to me;
“Don’t do it for a sake of a woman. It’s not worth it”. Those words of concern were the only words I received. But they meant a lot. So much that I would remember them for the rest of my life. I did not know how to cry out for help. Inside my mind, in my state of depression and loneliness, I screamed in silence. If ever I had been lost and lonely, it was now. Alone in life, I would fight my battle.

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

By how many badbyes can you measure the length of your day

     by how many badbyes can you measure the length of your day

                 first comes the time  too fretful on your hands
next the boredom of not knowing what to do with it all
     then the memory erasures
                           the books underlined you thought you never read
     and wince at the pencilled comments on the sidelines
                      friends you forgot you went to school with
the children who’d pray you wouldn’t turn up
                                                                  even à l’improviste 
on an urgent pretexting errand   
     the flushed girlish faces that turn away your gaze in an alley        
  way
the tentative pace of your step losing grip on some junction
     the only safe direction            is the shortest cut to your hideout hovel
even those who need you prefer not to call on you
                               the telephone will do 
you can insist on the shave
   much good it would do you to scorch your tortured grimace
                                                                                                              none note the difference
                                      only the sparse crop you patter  come apart in a sudden gust
clothes hug less and less the sagging frontal bulge
bones that grate  lock   ligaments that tear on the stair
                           the longing meniscus pain that refuses to part company during the prancing stride
     and the hours and hours you lay gazing at the ceiling
                                                                        recalling other inept throes
           muddled chances
   replaying in slowmotion what might have been if only you hadn’t
                                                                                                      taken the hasty irate turning

friends that one by one get ticked off
    most bundled through in dull hushed murmurs 
some big names  sportsground high kickers   get heard of
                   their lean eager square-cut faces flashed on the 8 o’clock news 
others by dint of their stolid work-soaked contributions
      their theories discoveries conneries
            are sung of in obituaries
but those you knew you cared for you shared moments long moments with on long rainy   
             nights chewing the rag-end cud on the sofa
                                                                                                                            you wonder where or what they could be like
if they too had not gone too soon crushed under split tires     
            skewered through contorted metal 

          now the long vigil begins
 daily   the diurnal chores of waking to your querulous pallid face mocking the vain ambitions festering under your lids                                                                                                                   
each morning
                       waking again after the thrall of mind-flushing siestas
    fresh as the first springday you went out to your first girl at the thronging choked spewing mouth disgorging the Underground
the madness now brings alive
                    in all her colours odours crinoline frills
      no thwarted thoughts linger   
   only the regrets
regret at not having done better
regret at not having served her longer
      nor tasted the fun offering for as long as she bent to caress your face  her tresses enveloping  your cheeks your neck your ears your locked-in flesh 

by how many more badbyes may you count your days
      visits to the doctor
            the unpaid bills rain
      like the pathetically interminable urgent blood-on-your-hands requests demands for donations to succour Africa’s dying masses Asia’s flooding rivers & ground-shattering scientific research
                                        
                                              arms for aids  
                                                 aids for arms
                                              alms for arms
    
           letters dwindle even from friends you thought were friendless
                         you read the Monoprix’s cutprice lists for the spring opening over and over again
       and eye the shining lasses in tartan skirts pink cheeks  lean pinky thighs drawn up to the chins
        the dejectedly opened books you have not read and always wanted to read
     now that time is all yours  seem so frivolous in your constricting space 
  thoughts that nag at you from every turn in your tiny grubby flat  from inside 

                                 you walk out in your slippers
     in the dead of noon
and pass stragglers lunching on mayonnaise-oozing leafy baguette- sandwiches
 without so much as a grumbled « salut »
                                          linger searching for an excuse to pass away yet another few minutes gazing at a municipal billboard
         staring blankly at the same old inane inept faces  permanent lodgers at the Mairie
    under the sparse shade of an ant-lined silvery birch
        thoughts lost among throngs of gaily bickering garrulous sparrows screeching within well-coiffered leafless forsythia bushes 
      the will moves on unwilled to there  
   where a solitary mud-splashed park bench lies lame forlorn
                                      you crouch for an instant    
your lungs expunging your longfelt hurt
        your eyes blind to the couples stuck one-into-the-other on the muddy dog-dunged grounds
          you lay yourself back to expunge a long pent-up sigh

was it the lit-long day 
                       or was it yesterday                                    
                                     or was it….

June 16/17, 1997 

From the privately pub. coll. (rev.) : longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris :1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

Give Me a Second to Breathe part 2

Pre-chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe and feel a pleasant sensation
Drench me with your waterfall of wonderfulness 
You refuse to do so and you douse me in dismay and I'm left in my solitary wilderness

Chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
I need to breathe in happiness and breathe out sadness
I'm dealing with a fistful of frustration that brings hardly any satisfaction
I need to breathe in gladness and breathe out distress...that threw into a misery mess
I don't care if I have the face my fears everyday 
I do care for you, if only you'd wipe away my dismay 
Give me a second to breathe in ease
I'll just do whatever I please while you act like a tease

Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe, so I can keep up with my eager heart, beating with anticipation
Give me a second to breathe and feel a pleasant sensation

Chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
I need to breathe in happiness and breathe out sadness
I'm dealing with a fistful of frustration that brings hardly any satisfaction
I need to breathe in gladness and breathe out distress...that threw into a misery mess
I don't care if I have the face my fears everyday 
I do care for you, if only you'd wipe away my dismay 
Give me a second to breathe in ease
I'll just do whatever I please while you act like a tease

Verse 5: My luck runs low and I can't remember the last time I was happy
You sucked the positivity out of my mind and you scorched me with foolish passions so temporary 
You were sweet as sugar, yet bitter like wormwood honestly 
Endless night has fallen upon us
Wishing we're in the same bus 
You lassoed me with your lament that night when you cried silently
Instead of breathing in and out, dip your head in the waters of wisdom and hold your breath...you'll see...
Wonders beyond what your sight can capture 
I know our futures are a mighty blur...

Pre-chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe and feel a pleasant sensation
Drench me with your waterfall of wonderfulness 
You refuse to do so and you douse me in dismay and I'm left in my solitary wilderness 

Chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe and feel a pleasant sensation
Drench me with your waterfall of wonderfulness 
You refuse to do so and you douse me in dismay and I'm left in my solitary wilderness 
Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
I need to breathe in happiness and breathe out sadness
I'm dealing with a fistful of frustration that brings hardly any satisfaction
I need to breathe in gladness and breathe out distress...that threw into a misery mess
I don't care if I have the face my fears everyday 
I do care for you, if only you'd wipe away my dismay 
Give me a second to breathe in ease
I'll just do whatever I please while you act like a tease

Bridge 2: Just let nature nourish our saturated souls that sponge in pain
Right from the start, you were the golden grain that thirsts for healing rain
Don't worry - God will take great care of you
Don't fret or sweat it - I am going to remain standing with you, no matter what we go through 
Give me a second to breathe...for I'm getting over my love flu that paints my spirits blue, not yellow
You fixed me like you were the mechanic, repairing a wreck of a car and you made me shine aglow
You told me that I am handsome all the time I looked in the mirror and told myself I looked hideous...somehow, you let my confidence grow
Low self-esteem is thrown out the bathroom window 
You're unpredictable like the wicked wind...not going with the flow, wondering where you blow, you know? 

Pre-chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
Give me a second to breathe and feel a pleasant sensation
Drench me with your waterfall of wonderfulness 
You refuse to do so and you douse me in dismay and I'm left in my solitary wilderness

Chorus: Give me a second to breathe...feeling this tension, this hesitation 
I need to breathe in happiness and breathe out sadness
I'm dealing with a fistful of frustration that brings hardly any satisfaction
I need to breathe in gladness and breathe out distress...that threw into a misery mess
I don't care if I have the face my fears everyday 
I do care for you, if only you'd wipe away my dismay 
Give me a second to breathe in ease
I'll just do whatever I please while you act like a tease

Verse 6: I want you to know that I need space for now, so leave me alone 
Give me some time to think things through clearly...give me a reason to live
Give me a minute to breathe until I can't breathe anymore...on my own...you didn't answer your phone 
Let me see this dilemma in the right perspective - let me take pace in this race of who to forgive
I will forgive you for leaving me behind
Felt jaded many times, so I don't mind 
I miss you, breathing here with me
I miss you, holding me tight, never setting me free
That's the way it should've been...
I must move on and repent of holding on to sin
My heart deep within has cradled faith close,
But it's paper-thin, so I, the hopeless boy, get hunted down by lows that haunt me with past humiliating woes
Defeated and dejected 
Give me a second to breathe in hope and breathe out dread

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Debbie Guzzi | Details |

Corpus delicti

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

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Bob Quigley | Details |

Walter

He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel.  All so familiar, so ordinary.  Just like every other day he mused.  Nothing new.  Nothing special.

Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him.  But in reality, he was bored.  It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation.  Too many days.   Too much disappointment.  He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of  their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first.  It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.

Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade.  In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with.  You know the type.  Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog.  Kids poking their fingers  through the kennel screen or banging on it.  Some even making barking sounds.  He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.

Walter was very picky.  Set in his ways after so many years.  He had had it good for  a long time.  An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself.  No tricks. No stunts.  Just long naps and daily walks.  A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner.  He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom.  Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together.  And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.

But those days were gone now.  First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back.  The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly.  The walks became less frequent.  Walter did what he could.   He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too.  At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.

He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye.  I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.”  Walter could see the tears in his eyes.  He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist.  It was obvious there were no alternatives.  And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner.  But he was going to miss him.  It was not going to be easy to adjust.

But adjust he did.   He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs  trot past his cage with light hearts and  new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations.  But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound.  Everyone wanted the young ones.  So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.

He heard them before the saw them.  ”Honey” the voice said.  ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.”  Walters ears perked up a little.  ”Do I know them” he thought.  ”They seem to know me”.  I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.

“It is him” the man said.  ”Walter, how you doing boy?  Do you remember me?”

And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him.  He used to live right across the street.  He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket.  With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing.  It was good to see an old friend.

“What do you say hon” the man said.  ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”

Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement.  ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”

The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter?  Would you like to go home with us?”

Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more.  A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew.  What was there not to like.

Soon the woman returned and the gate opened.  A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention.  Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off.  ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought.  ”Good luck and goodbye”.

As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter.  There is someone I am going to take you to see.  I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”

Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about.  And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.

Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

Stimulation: mE

De ja vu is seen right before my 7 senses...don't listen to the cries of lies...
Complete me...don't leave me empty - let my 6 become 7 (complete me) This bothersome feeling of disbelief intensifies - deny the lies of rebellious replies (don't trust the lies of society) 

This bittersweet condition I live with is horrendous 
This state of numbness is is making me cuss and fuss, for we are not on the same bus...
In a diabetic coma...lustingly looking at the gourmet of delicacies on screen 
Wondering to myself "Where have you been! Where have you been!"...but you're disappearance is unseen for the meantimes (unknown to me at those  moment in the past) - it's so oppressively obscene (offensive to me back when I was a child) 

Spaced out by the environment of filth...roaches of rampages  crawl into your ears (complaints that reach the ears)

Eternally, in hunger mode for the answers to many questions I once had in mind...
Realize that the truth will not always set us free immediately if only you had a single clue
No one can comprehend me unless I become the healed blind...
Try to convince me that what I say is not true

Massage me with your mesmerizing voice of surity (a sense of security and certainty)
Phobias that I have are making me feel like a schizophrenic...extremely.. .. .. .. 
Well, it's just a minor issue I've came into conclusions with with my own personal problems...somehow...
I just need to learn to believe in Him more than anything right now...

You made a remarkable impact in my life - to express freely with adequate knowledge, not to impress others and myself in a gullible manner...
All your words...they can disappoint or flatter...

These words probably don't hold much meaning, since most of us are wrapped up in our abomination abysses (sinful nature) 
I am thankful that you are abiding by my side 
You have some keen interest in my downfalls and uprisings that I go through on a daily basis
The consequences of my decision-making has made me miss out on my relevant-radiance ride (significant optimism)

Open ajar my feelings of how I've gotten this far (understand the accomplished feeling I feel) 

I was in a mind control
I was a fool, a useless tool
You rejected the apology I keep telling you in ridiculous repetition 
I was taunted by hazy vision...my doubts and worries need a circumcision  

Swallow your pride, you insidious snake of the depths of the abyss
I will not lust after the abominations that got me allured and addicted 
Sidetracked by lies and your sugarcoated shame...I can't be the victim of your hurt and helplessness
I will fly into the snare of my gut feelings - the urge to save you from the monster that devours your nature...aren't we all sinfully infected? Rejected...? 

I can't hide my personal life from the Lord of Accord
Raped by rue; therefore, I've been overpowered by sexual urges and overactive teenage hormones...I've been making progress by regaining my innocence in a sense, but I still look like a marvelous mess of gladness and sadness that I must clean up...Do You know where I can find a limitless love cure?
Sucking on my thumb of defeat, I avert my ocean-forest eyes because, deep inside, guilt is what I hoard
Breaking down like the Bridge of Bondage...freeing myself from the rebellious rage, a once selfish ambition that made the considerate side of me shatter into shards of uselessness...I'm a success and failure obsessor - I just learned to endure 

Naturally, I am a complicated 18-year old...difficulties and distractions can hit me 7-fold, 
Especially mentally and emotionally-speaking - the rest is still unknown; I will not fall...I will stand tall 
I have different sleeping hours and solitude in the middle of the night has made me, alone, bold
What kind of friend are you seeking? Me...? No, I'm going on my own because you didn't answer my you're-not-alone phone call 

I've grown old and cold over the years of cheers and tears - reconsider our friendship...and I will make us both a long-term, realistic plan - to live life to the fullest and it will be euphoric 
Don't kill me with your murdered hope...there's a lot of pain and tribulation we must cope with - you must say nope to dope (means make the right decisions)
Change your mind about me - give me another chance...I'm a changed man - I'll live life to the best of my abilities...there is opportunities of don't-give-up-and-move-forward and advice that is authentic 
Untie this rope of captivity...set me free like the birds in the sky...I don't want to hear your muffled mope...

There's a reason to move on from point A to point B at hand...
Understand...
I forgive you for all the wrongs you've done to me and vise versa...despite my inner bewilderments 
You neglected me in times of loneliness and I'm here, feeling the aftershocks of your chainsaw enticements (means the effect of anyone's desire that goes wrong)...which led me to my temporary repentance 

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

SO Far Away

I Stumble Upon My
Words – I’m
speechless
We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
with
r-regret…f-feeling
incomplete…
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
street…
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, placed in
captivity…

I’ll find a way to
get you back for
another few years
But, I’d be
lying…don’t bottle
up the tears…
Talk with me, for we
are by each other’s
side…the words
escape my chapped
lips
We were so far
apart; now, we’re
both trying to get
our grips…
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, not even
close to vitality 

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
with
r-regret…f-feeling
incomplete…
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
street…
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
reasons…
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains that puts our
crazed hearts on a
leash...living in
misery...

We exchange
passionate, graceful
looks...I don’t know
what I’m fighting
for
Lonely & insecure
like the wolf, jaded
by his pack
heartlessly
Blindly walking the
road of recovery…I
need something to
live for…and more…
We all want you back
– we were all in
agreement, seeking
freedom eagerly
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains, beildered to
the extreme...here
shall e flee? 

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
with
r-regret…f-feeling
incomplete…
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
street…
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
reasons…
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains - I'm rotting
like a starved tree 

I’ll find a way to
get you back for
another few
years…I’d do
anything to have you
cuddle with me in
the blankets of
benevolent adoration
But, I’d be lying to
myself…don’t bottle
up the tears…don’t
cower away, getting
picked on by
countless fears and
nightmares…I’ll try
not to collapse into
the ditch of
frustration
Blindly walking the
road of recovery…I
need something to
live for…and more…
We all want you back
– we were all in
agreement…we yearned
for liberty…but
change is a
challenging chore!
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains...or e'll be
spellbound for
eternity

We were so far away
from each
other…I-I-I’m one
with
r-regret…f-feeling
incomplete…
I thought our love
was as worthless as
the debris…
You smoked me out
like a cigarette…and
y-you left me on the
filthy, messed-up
street…
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
reasons…
Our relationship
changed like seasons
to seasons
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains - don't
mention our
fatality...our
unfortunate reality
that bos don to
tragedy like slaves
to their
master...hat a
pity...pity...
 
Whisper in my ears,
for I trust every
word that you utter
as long as you
remain faithful to
me and be loyal and
honest, friend…the
words escape my
chapped lips
We were so far apart
long ago; now, we’re
both trying to get
our grips…
We exchange
heartfelt, friendly
bear hugs...now, I
know what I’m
stronger than I
realize
I was once lonely &
insecure like a
weeping wolf, jaded
by his pack suddenly
I thought your kind
of “freedom” would
set us free…
From the rusty
chains...I feel
guilty for loving
you ith plastic love
rapped around my
heart...ith ruby
delight and golden
revenge ith a
sprinkle of sugar
and spice...no, I'm
figuring out ho to
get out of my on
maze, so graze in
your on maze, my
fallen angel of
Lamentation & the
aftershocks of
it...it's not that
pretty...believe
me...me...

Our pride and
confidence will
passed away at some
degree
Do you realize how
much pain you’ve
caused me?
We all wanted love,
but for the wrong
reasons…
I’m trying to get
over you…I must
forgive you
willingly
B-but, our
relationship changed
like seasons to
seasons
I Can’t Fathom The
Thought of you in
distress
You promised
perpetual “freedom”
that ould bring us
the Promise Land
I'm laying don in
ashes of
disheartening
regret...this
feeling of remorse
is not that
grand...don't you
understand my side
of the story? Do you
kno here I stand? I
NEED GOD'S HELPING
HAND...

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Jana Ross | Details |

Kitchens are Dirty

It was dark out. The stars shone dimly, and the horizon blushed faintly as the birds sang, too cheery for the hour. A chill swept the edges of all the outside world: not cold enough to be truly considered cold, but far from anything to be called “warm.”
	I turned my key quietly, so as not the wake the absence inside—lest I disturb its slumber, which ever wakes. The light over the stove was still on, as I left it every night when I walked out the door. It gave light to the entire room by it, starting from the kitchen and illuminating all the way to me.
	This shabby little place had not quite taken on its role of being a home yet. I moved in about two years ago, but still have not had time to decorate it more than a picture or centerpiece here and there; though that is not what truly makes a home anyway.
No, this is not a home, because I am alone. Homes are made up of more than one. The dwelling of a singular individual is lacking. Say what you like to disagree, but ‘tis true.  My kitchen sink is far too vacant to truly be a home.
	
	When I left my Mama’s home, she told me three things to remember: “Love God,” “Don’t marry the man if he drinks,” and “Kitchens are dirty: clean them.” I laughed when she told me that, because our sink was always full of dishes, our countertops perpetuated clutter, and the floors always wanted sweeping. I laughed because I knew there would only be me to clean up after, which wouldn’t be hard, and I found it silly of her to tell me such parting words: “clean the kitchen.” 
	
There isn’t much to clean now. I wash my dishes after I use them generally. There are times, however, that I will long for a sinkful and either leave my dishes a couple days, or else clean every dish I own…it isn’t the same though, cleaning up after no one else. 
As I wash them, I know every meal that was upon them, how every bite tasted. And no meal stretches further than one plate or bowl, and perhaps a cup. I wash the dishes of ghosts—dishes only dined upon by absence and sometimes dust. I could wash dishes and never have to change the water, because the dishes were empty to begin with, most of them. I don’t even have need to fill the sink, really. It uses more water to do so, than to just soap and rinse my meager usage.

At Mama’s, I always had to wash to dishes, it seemed. Or perhaps it was just that my turn always seemed to come again so soon. For hours, I stood in the kitchen, my belly pressed against the wet countertop and my arms up to the elbows wet, itchy, and covered with suds. 
It took what seemed like all night long to wash the dishes for our whole family, and all the while, it seemed they kept coming. Every few minutes, one of the other children would come in with an empty cup or bowl they’d been using at some point that day, and set it on my counter. Oftentimes, I would stare at them in disbelief as they entered the room to perform this heinous act, knowing I was expected to clean that too. They just looked at me, set down the object of crime, and left, usually some part of them laughing on the inside, because they too, knew the feeling that I was experiencing from this slight interruption, because they’d had the same treatment when it was their turn.

But not to worry (no, no, never worry), there shall be someone someday to come into my life. We shall have dishes for the two of us. Yes, and maybe even a small bowl too after a while, and another, and another. Maybe. But what if this shan’t ever come? I suppose I shouldn’t know the difference really, seeing I’ve never had it, and so should not concern myself with its absence, nor dare even to consider the feeling of a loss. No, I suppose I ought to just continue to wash my dishes and not wish for too much, because wishing is dangerous.
I tried wishing before. When I was a small girl, I used to lie awake for hours, wishing to not hear the things I heard in the night, or seeing the things I saw, or crying the tears I cried. The cries from the other side of the wall, my mother in her ache of this life. The shadows moving across my room as they played out scenes of my demise and the villains who would perform them. Every saline ocean of the floods of the depth of my soul, staining my cheeks and swelling my face for the following days. 
Yes, wishing is dangerous. It fills up the soul with some kind of hope that doesn’t seem to ever come. It strengthens the heart with faith, that is forever in peril of being strangled, shriveled, left to decompose on a sweltering sidewalk, in the middle of August (Ah, but the heat does feel nice; just to lie in the sun and feel the tingling all over my body—that could be nice right now). But wishes want for fruition, and fruit does not always come, no, not for a tree like me.

So, I eat my food, and I wash my plate, and I turn out the light, and I go to sleep.

Copyright © Jana Ross | Year Posted 2015


Long Poems