Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Long Lost Poems | Long Lost Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Scott Howard Myers The Gypsy King | Details |

Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 



Long poem by cassie hellberg | Details |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
FAT
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her? 
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more... 
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
FAT!!!!!!
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
FAT!
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,


Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
Anyone...

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

She wrote to me

           She Wrote To Me

My secret lover I left you 5 years ago I could not take it anymore I had 
to fill my emptiness without you since I left I would cut out my heart 
every night & in the morning its full again. 
I got married to a rich noble politician thinking I can forget you I made 
myself well known here in London as a musician playing the piano in 
my own theater every night. 

The theater was full the sound of my piano was known to everybody 
living all over London due to my husbands political involvement in the 
area for many years the whole theater would be booked.

My entrance was always approached with loud voices cheering till I give 
the sign of performing .That specific night i was in a very determined 
mood to involve my audience listen to the sound of my piano around 
and everywhere the lights were on me already but no sign to begin 
waiting for another noble to make his entry in the front row.

I was wearing that long dress in black and white strapless the one I had 
worn on our first date doing my best to belong to my audience tonight 
while craving to catch a glimpse of your existence live standing opposite 
me the way we were your place was empty but not in my heart.

The audience were standing up clapping waiting impatiently to listen to 
what they had already known music from the tip of my fingers will allow a pause through their breathing.

The lights dimmed no introduction was needed I was going to play an old
tune from the 80`s called Feelings remember when we danced to that tune I am dedicating this musical evening to you my love my first lover before we were obliged to be separated due to family upbringing.

That same evening tragedy stole my expectations of living a love to 
perform an absolute change of a physical identity a living spirit awaiting 
to be executed when suddenly I collapsed unconscious on stage my fingers 
were numb my blood betrayed my heart. 

It was a heart attack paralyzing me on the left side cure or no cure 
is still unknown that had left me scarred when witnessing my dreams 
shatter in disrepair.
I have been forced retirement at a prime age left with no choice 
hide behind the shadows of the twilight abdicate my thrown 
to an unknown.

Escape was a forgotten word before this chute as an invalid carcass today 
my escape to the cottage was essential maybe a celestial miracle would prevail.

The cottage by the deep sea will become my quarantine from what was an enlighten world to a world of darkness, my retirement was a runaway from 
the mockery of mankind who might disperse my dissipated soul.

My shutters are unclosed as their usage was worthless brightness 
obscurity made no difference to me in that room.
The ocean view struck me by its calmness, huge waves were 
not prepared to release their passion and splash on the shore to bring 
forth their own melody.

I went for a walk walking like in a dream a dream with no feelings of body 
and soul the moon provided me to detect another lonely shadow of a stranger yet this time it was the shadow of a lost fish wavering on the sand nearly lifeless, our eyes met needed to be rescued I said to myself even not feeling my withered hand I bent down kindly carried it and threw it back to life what a wonderful sensation. You will do that to me my darling, I will wait.

My decision to escape to the un inhibited cottage was a knowledgeable 
step as only seclusion and spiritual wounds would heal to prompt a new attitude that will lessen my sorrow inspire my moral to long for 
a tomorrow differing than a yesterday. 

Stand by me today, my awakening will hoist a sparkling light of recovery 
during this long coming journey. Intentionally I am your free woman.
Here I will sleep now until destiny will allow both of us to cure and leave our fears behind with our past, together venture back to where we belong. 
I loved you and still love you. Me!


Therese Bacha
6/3/2013


Long poem by Joel Lee | Details |

Part 1 - Life Awaited

I have a story that needs be told
A story I never knew if words can transcript
For it belongs when in dreams I enroll
Visions before or an afterlife if I shall seek

If it all shall begin… it begins with me
A stranger living in a past, a stranger place to have been
Another world for my eyes… a world yet to be
For the voice need be deciphered for it all to mean

It was past several nights ago
A paled darkness I remember to have sunken into
Perhaps too much of love I have enfold
Or simply too much of a self I’m lesser to overrule

Venturing in thoughts unrealized… unknown
I am lost and alone, unloved and unworthy
Behind a closed door, am I to feel at home?
Needing answers for my troubled mind… needing tranquility 

As I began dwelling into myself nevertheless
I shut away a world I have come to know too well
A stranger finding a resolve, a past to rehearse
Yet having found was a voice… an alternative to compel

The voice has only but left me enthrall
A language unheard of… perhaps of an ancient tongue
And to understand… how is it I am empowered?
And trailing behind, an aria from others sung


“I was enchanted by those who sung… they who sing
Like sylphs, like sirens… unearthly yet encompassing
Did I remember being at home, behind a closed door?
Or is it a dream I slumbered into for a time to recall?
An hour less before midnight for an hour more before daylight
Yet of thirteen bears the time I see for my hourly need to hide
A truth perhaps far from disbelieve is all I’m left to see
Yet… the mysterious voices promises me for what couldn’t be
Like gravity… flowing without control, without life own
Like a design for quivering quivers to the shivering unknown
And blinded of numbered time, I allow myself this moment
This moment when love isn’t at all to matter even
Timeless became my life, sinking into the voices of the unholy
Knowing an answer I seek no more from a world reasonably 
Almost a subtle caress to have perhaps felt their touch
Flirting with me, toying with my soul a little too much
Have they not to bring solace… I wouldn’t have believe
Have they not voices as intriguing… if I can simply leave?
And they sung ever on… evermore, forever to be
Giving me a shade of another world unimaginable to see
Perhaps nothing more from my real world I need hear
Compassion for another… a self I need no longer dear
Entice yet… I hear the aria softening away for another
Branding into my mind till possibly shall life departs me forever
For when it came, it belongs an utterly voice to articulate
A much deeper sounding of another language to translate
And unheard of were the words spoken in today’s tongue
Yet heard were the words I somehow understood to have undone
However all has come to pass, darkness returns with a familiar door
Delivering me from my moment for another moment to recall
An awakening for a darker side or a lighter side of life awaited
I cannot know with my deliverance kept at bay of time presented
And no sooner than I realize am I back in my room once more
Gifted of words is all but all to reside from an ever before”

“Fear is a fire
To temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
To quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”

That be of words left for me
Spoken without teachings of today to date
Yet burnt into mind was what I see
A reference perhaps from a past to now relate

A moment given I can still believe
That moment if I am to encounter once more
To explain the least for my words receive
Be it a dream for the unknown to recall

Has it been past several nights ago?
Living in this dreaded world as a lesser self I am
If it isn’t for the voice… would life I have to behold?
To find a more positive side of a stranger me to befriend

Perhaps I will return once more unknowingly
And much I would give for this transaction be made
A founded lost must I be… in search of this tranquility
Surrendering to unforgiveable time if I must but await


Long poem by Jack Jordan | Details |

Intangible Asset


INTANGIBLE ASSET – The Transcript

He learned very young rather vaguely very untidily and blissfully unaware. He thought the only reason to do something was to do it differently to establish its difference by his own existence. It sheltered him from the world, kept a certain distance from reality, a very private person, a mythical figure conducting the water, shaping its sound until it was a bit wet, the humidity absolutely a revelation, the sudden clarity and unaffected structure sounding like a machine, not human in this phenomenal performance.

Composing, he forgot where he was he was in a trance. He would go back into his trance easily, there to attain that distance from the world that requires a lot of work, a lot of work, and he would go back into his trance quiet secluded preparing new things reworking old ones. He had enormous control over himself, transcendent ecstatic power with immense enthusiasm, a fragile person himself, throw stones at him and he will break.

And did you love him? Yes. Too. 

The more he was used the more he was consigned to the netherworld, a particular kind of genius, a total identity in himself, a moonlight sonata. There was nothing to show changes, all the juice out of him, a peculiar thing to do if you want one word. Yes, the northern part of his being. The only alternative to peace was a mind crack-up, some room to think, a space to be in by himself. That other part that wasn’t evident was hidden. Anything pretentious made him ill, but the children loved it. 

He had scattered memories for a while; that was a bit of an issue. He was actually extremely cautious and careful in a very real way, so at peace, a weekend thing, a very straightforward triangle, dead, a force of evil, sort of a variable perspective, the unexpected fruit of that rather more democratic assemblage, and he woke in the morning to find that everything had changed.

A larger theme drew him to the project, a post-Freudian glance, buying the best, and he loved the sound in there. He was mesmerized and could not believe the technique was absolute perfection from beginning to end, a little bit strange, he thought of the kind he had never had before, a world he could control, an odd instrument. 

He could not operate as time went on. He did not function. The eccentricities became more important very intense and engaged for his sake as his paranoia became more evident a limitation he couldn’t accept. His personality began to change radically. Someone else began to emerge, but getting there was something else, gaining something and losing something at the same time, farewell a goodbye. It records his frustration.

What are the reasons for maintaining, for ending he could not easily surrender? It turned out that was the reason and he was very distraught. It was a very sad moment in his life eccentric life doesn’t have to make sense. The more he stared at his own body the more helpless he seemed to dismiss it as nature-boy stuff.

He didn’t actually go to the hospital, and felt very uncomfortable about that, but at least they weren’t all aimed at him, he was his own man. Sometimes they resolved themselves sometimes they didn’t emerge with the raccoons at twilight, take a little time and pull on this section, the most glamorous person he knew: joyful exuberance.

He messed up the words he’d gone too far this different man. There are certain things that become more beautiful. He saved for life a certain fulfillment from life. He was making it worse and he was calling after a big hole that suddenly opened in his chest. Definitely shocked he was not going to make it something was wrong. The king is dying and when it finished that was the end.

	goodbye	
	godbye 



Long poem by Adefemi Adejuwon | Details |

Shangri-la

So I wrote again. This took longer than it should have. Only fair to warn you, this is a long one.

SHANGRI-LA

Prologue

The village gates stood, like old men stand

Worn with age and bent by time

Rust had claimed each iron face

As had wrinkles done with mine

The iron giants stood apart

Shaking  as the north wind blew

Creaking as their maker passed

I felt certain that they knew

 

I am leaving Wuling now

Gripped she by the throes of death

Touched she by the hands of time

Breathed she the last of her breath

Nature would not save Wuling

Famine leeched away her life

Pes-tilence claiming  her people

Among them, my sons and wife

 

Pain speaks every language known

So I found when it found me

And while not all men know its tongue

I've come to speak it fluently

Hard times then were made much worse

My mind, seeking to reflect

Made my memories seem as curse

I, not master of pain yet

 

I was young, when youth prevailed

What held youth but sweeter days

And a certain frame of mind

That was bent on foolish ways?

We were fools ere wisdom came

We were glad to dream of heaven

Religion held our vices tame

Schooling us on sins of seven

We were glad and light of mind

Pleased with all our blind eyes saw

Joy, the birthright of mankind

Would dwell with us forevermore

 

We were young when youth prevailed

Nimble minds, and bodies strong

But the reign of youth was short

And we found that we were wrong

They came upon us sudddenly

The weeks of cold, the months of drought

A strange disease swallowing my people

Spitting shrunken corpses out

We had hoped but hoped in vain

I had prayed, it came to nought

I, once smith of a large village

Leaving it through gates I wrought

 

Shangri-la

Heaven having failed in hope

Hope itself found wanting

Having lost all I can lose

I am left with nothing...

I will go to find respite

Where the dreams of men collect

Where the signs of hard years fade

And the weary can forget

 

I will go to Shangri-la

Ease to soul and peace to mind

Strength to all those weak in body

All that man can hope to find

I am going to Shangri-la

South of God and north of men

West of every broken dream

East of those who hoped in them

 

Shangri-la, covered in snow

Dwelling there, the ageless Yeti

Older than the sons of men

Wiser than the stars are many

I am going to Shangri-la

Earth's last sign of heaven touch

Hidden from the eye of man

Kept outside of evil's watch

I am going to Shangri-la

Nature's lastborn wrapped in ice

Whitened by freedom from taint

Holy mountain paradise

I am going to Shangri-la

Far beyond the reach of time

Far above the grasp of fate

Webs spun of it's own design

 

Utopia will bring relief

Severing chains of desolation

Re-acquiantance with belief

By the aid of restoration

Let the past relent in chase

That the haunt of loss may cease

Gone sons, to a better place

Found wife, an eternal peace

 

Refuge be found in holy haven

Pain be lost on mystic land

Moved by change on tidal waters

As in castles made with sand

Shangri-la, a last resort

Sought by many, found by few

Hidden in the Himalayas

Shielded from external view

Shangri-la, paradise lost

Closed to all enslaved to vice

Seen by he whose need is most

Never found by one man twice

 

Shangri-la, the name brings warmth

Weathered face wrinkling to smile

I set on the road to rest

Which I know is marked with trial

Leaving all I know behind

That my pieces be made whole

I am going to Shangri-la

Peace to mind and ease to soul...


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Bouquet of Stars

I followed your voice…
I followed your voice…
With a bouquet of stars in hand
I followed your voice
I followed it with all of my heart
You approve of the gift,
I knew you’d understand

I followed His distinct voice…
It sounds so familiar
It’s very impressive and peculiar
Swarm around me
Swarm around me
Swarm around me, crowds that scream cheerfully 
Don’t make a sound…
Don’t make a sound…
Don’t make a single buzz, you buzzing bee

Don’t chase away our vibrant victory
You can share it with us…if you’d only listen to me
Listen to me
I won’t mind handing you a portion of ecstasy  
A portion of ecstasy 
A bouquet of stars 

Forget and forgive the past, making you feel like a dark shade

Are you feeling like the dark shade of gray?

You’re almost turning black,
Like a star losing its radiance 
White is the color you lack  
White is the color you need to lighten up 
White is the color you’re required to have
To be as optimistic as a baby, 
Experience life for the first time ever

I know you’ll always live in my heart forever 

In my heart forever
In my heart forever 
Like a bouquet of stars 
You’ll remain in my heart forever
In my heart forever
In my heart forever 
In your ruby heart, 
Your priceless emotions 
Change constantly like weather 

You’re a story that I’ve read 
When I lay comfortably on my somewhat neat bed
I’ve read you many, many times already

I’ve noticed a difference in you…

Please forgive me for being too carefree!

I’ll chase after you like a cat,
Trying to catch the rat
Trying to catch the rat…
But ends up falling head first on the soft mat
Trying to catch the rat…
Trying to catch the rat 
By the tail…but it later becomes a fail 

Our friendship will never decay or become stale

Like milk that gets left on the counter for days…
 
Have I ruined your self-esteem? 

If I did, I would throw all the blame on me and scream! 

Throw the blame on me
Throw the blame on me
I don’t care, you see?

I’ve been scattering everywhere like cheerios on the kitchen floor
Like pieces of a special, china cup on the kitchen floor

But, you piece me altogether

Like a bouquet of stars
Like completing a puzzle
Like healing a bunch of scars
Like solving a silly, difficult riddle

Don’t lose contact with me…
Don’t lose contact with me…
Don’t give up on me…
Find me in the fields of roses, growing wildly
There are plenty of them to pick from
Go ahead and take some home with you

Don’t look the other way or head back to the city
I don’t want to ruin our friendship anymore
Don’t make me feel self-pity
Don’t walk away from the problem – I want us both to soar
To soar with elegance and splendor 
I want to spend the rest of my life with you for sure

I want you to never lose faith in me

Never lose faith in me
Never lose faith in brighter days

Never stop perking up bouquet of stars
Rearrange them and make them look nicer
It must take effort and practice to make them look neater
Are you a professional florist? I’d give you 5-stars!

Never lose confidence in Him…
Or you’ll never receive such high praise

What about you give him this exquisite gift
I bet He’ll cherish your bouquet of stars 

I wish you the best of luck 
The best of luck
The best of luck 
In your future findings

Open up your heart to me 
Keep fighting the good fight

Fight until you discover delight,

You elevating, striking starlight


Long Poems