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Long Love Poems | Long Love Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

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

Liquor of Lament: My Glass is Half Full

Verse 6: I've given up love countless times 
I needed to pay up for my heartbroken crimes
I already repented for my sins that made my high hopes paper-thin
Don't you feel that envy from deep within? 
Searching around, wondering where you've been  
Wander with me in the forest of faith and hear me out if you are all ears
Trying our best to pass the test that we detest 
Innocence clothed us before we lost it all through smiles and tears
Years later, we're still together, even when we rest...even though I act like a pest...
I'm impressed that you dealt with me so easily
I'm a smarter hard worker ever since you set me free
I'm a survivor 
I'm so much wiser
I'm a giver, not a taker 
I'm not a heartbreaker or a forsaker  
I'm a creator of healing grace unlike any other, so much joyful fruit to gather
Positive auras is what I get from the wisdom of our mighty Father


Verse 7: I'm only human, so I'll be making my mistakes
I'm a lonely man, so I'll be praying for chances to belong 
I'm only human, so I'll be drinking the liquor of lament 
I'm a dog without an owner, so I'm writing this sad, yet from-the-heart song 
All my life, I've sharpened the knife of Shame
Shadows consume me and reflections haunt past is a hideous name
My high spirits can't be tamed...I'm not the one to blame...
You came to me, you came to me and gave me wings to break free
In the darkness of my oblivion to illuminate me...
Never exiting this ecstasy next to sea


Verse 8: Closing my eyes for the remedy of rest I've yearned for
Posing like a model next to a camera...snap pictures and explore
You are my drug of delight and I want you more and more 
You picked me off of the filthy floor 
I lay in clouds of regretless love that I covet
I can't get enough of glad we met 
You made me wet with pleasures so swell 
Our kisses and hugs ring a were a friend that treated me so well
You're my heaven and I'm your forgave me for being selfish I can tell 
Never should've drank that liquor of lament 
That liquor, liquor, liquor of lament...not broken, just bent 


Verse 9: I made that mistake that I can't undo...
Now I'm left to repent for the wrong I didn't mean to do 
I didn't mean to do
I'll blame it on my luv floo
You made me love you too
How could you?
I said hello to you; but in return, I get a goodbye of rue 
I aimed for the stars, but instead, I hit the moon
Take your time as you and I sing a most familiar tune
We are young in heart still...
Don't you act like a deadly pill...
Stop pulling my heart strings
Your rage is like a bee that stings 
I engage in the sensuality of my soul 
You're my lightingale and my clever tool 
You're the bleak poison that makes me weak
I'm avoiding another glass of fake gladness...I want to be sober and meek 
So, don't speak...
I don't want to hear your prideful greediness
I don't want to hear your madness, your sadness, your lack of progress 
Take all of me if I'm the boy you want 
Take all of me if I'm the boy you need
Take all of me
Take all of me
Before time runs out
Before hope turns to doubt 


Verse 10: Life is card game
Strife won't leave me be 
My wild child heart needs to be tame
Oh I see, you don't love me
Our sex wasn't enough 
I didn't give it to you rough
I tried to act smart and tough
But I'm dealing with some difficult stuff
Take a bite into me
I'm the good apple that's pleasant for the eyes to see
Lick me up and down
I'm the tattoo mark on your skin, 
I'm your lover, your beloved kin...that covers up your sin
I'm the bandaid on your bullet wound of glory
I'm the tourniquet to your broken leg of inability 
You're the seed that planted itself in me 
You're the greed that took away my humble me, you see?


Verse 11: Be considerate and keen for once in your life
Why do your harsh words cut like a jagged knife?
Oh no, I can't hold on to this anger, boiling in my blood 
Oh no, your paradise was spent on someone better than me...what's up with that, bud? 
Pin me down with your heavy load of appealing pleasure beyond measure
No kidding, you are the best compared to the rest that's for sure 
My heads under the surface of hopelessness Your head is in the clouds of solace
What's wrong with that picture?
You don't appreciate the hardships that I endure 
Your loyalty and patience is what I need
Your adoration is beyond sensation...I'm your top-notch weed 


Verse 12: Your magical touch is too much to're the golden armor I wear
You're the surreal song on the radio - turn it up a hair
Everyone stops and stares at us as we run up the stairs 
You are my dream of reality that I dreamt of During nostalgic nights without you by my side 
You are the white dove of peace and pure love 
Abide by my side, my darling devil...where do you hide? 
Please don't hide...
Take me on a bumpy ride 


Bridge: I'm the valley and you're the mountain
You're the flourishing flowers and I'm the fretful fountain 
You're my muse that rings in my head so're the happy blues 
You're my black and white checkered rose in the field of gracious good news 
The world of woe seems to beat me down 
With mood swings and tragedy that burns on...
I'm a clown, wearing a frown 
I'm the dusk before nightfall and you're the dazzling dawn
I make out with my mesmerizing sunrise right before my eyes,
Right before my eyes, yeah
Reminds me of you on your happy-go-lucky days
I'm sorry that we went our separate ways...oh, our own separate ways 
Now, I'm gulping up liquor of lament 
Liquor, liquor, liquor of lament
A guilt that overflows 
Clearly, my shame shows
The wicked wind surely blows
When you and I express our highs and lows
Ooooh ooooh ooooh...
Ooooh ooooh ooooh...
Our highs and lows

(Spoken) You walked out that door
You left me with the one you adore 
You pity yourself, but I ain't buying your product of insecurity
You belittle me with your rebellious spirit of nothing close to empathy 
You're a rebel and a liar 
I'm the hero and a warrior
Don't put a label on me 
Because I will burst in flames of anger and hostility 
I resent the person I've become 
Now, I'm feeling empty and numb 
Catch me as I fall and make me feel whole as well
Attach me to your passionate heart of titanium...can't help but be under your spell

Copyright © J. W. Earnings

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Professor Glory's Active Hope

The title of this talk today,
"Win-Win Politics of New Feminist Economics"
suggests questions,
more than emasculating 
definitively deductive

Would you imagine
a minority-identified Buddhist,
more likely as a feminist
or culturally comfortable
with political and economic Left-brain domination,
monopolistic competing toward self-enslavement?

How would you compare broad cultural trends
between East and Western language
on a feminist v. Left-brain monopolistic dominant spectrum?
Which might be more ego-centric,
and which would you expect to be more eco-centric?
Where would you expect to find more
competitive v. cooperative economic support structures?
Which would you expect to be more family-tribal-clan oriented
and which more individualistically ego-oriented?
Which more anthropocentric
and which more nurturing of all life-centric?

Who is more likely to be a feminist-cooperative economist,
a Permaculture Designer
or a Political Party Platform Developer?
Why do you imagine our world in this comparative

As a cooperatively intended illustration
of discovering political relativity 
within an economic bicameral lens,
let's compare our sacred colleague Charles Eisenstein's
description of "The Growth Imperative"
with a bracketed revision 
which might be entitled "A Regenerative Imperative."
This, not to suggest disagreement,
but to suggest dipolar co-arising confluence
through using both Left and Right lenses of consciousness:

"Abetted by technology, the commodification of formerly non-monetary goods and services has accelerated over the last few centuries, to the point today where very little is left outside the money realm."
[Abetted by double-binary balancing technology,
the decommodification of newly-commodified goods and services
is accelerating
over these last few decades,
to the point today
where surprisingly little is left
inside the overly competitive quantification of value realm.]

"The vast commons, whether of land or of culture, has been cordoned off and sold--all to keep pace with the exponential growth of money."
[Our Commons of land and culture
and genetic-holonic individuation
continues ego- and anthro-centrically self-strangling
through dispossession of cooperative ownership--
all to keep pace with 
the exponential monopoly of quantifying-reductive value,
distorting nurturing health as core-wealth.]

"This is the deep reason why we convert forests to timber, songs to intellectual property, and so on."
[This is the deep ecology of why we permaculturally harvest forests
for timber,
culturally nurture songs toward cooperative intellectual property,
and so on,
yin toward yang
and back again 
balancing evolution.]

"It is why two-thirds of all American meals are now prepared outside the home."
[It is why two-thirds of all American meals
are now less nutritionally prepared
outside our under-valued
health-producing organic homes and lives.]

"It is why herbal folk remedies have given way to pharmaceutical medicines, why child care has become a paid service, why drinking water has been the number-one growth category in beverage sales."
[We, together, are why herbal folk remedies
could further enrich pharmaceutical medicines,
from which they originally derived,
why child care has become a paid
yet under-valued
why bottled and labeled drink of nature's primally flowing health
has become the number-one competitive growth category
in what used to be
the Commons egalitarian river-flow of life.]

While we each have internalized theories
about what positive and negative correlations
we evolve between Left-deductive dominant
v. feminist-egalitarian values and disvalues,
co-relations only recently occurred to me
as what co-operative political assumption
feminist-ecologist-economist culture
may share as ubiquitously as individuated DNA
co-gravitates toward universal RNA syntax.

Buddhist, and Taoist, philosophy
calls dipolar correlations
"dependent co-arising"
while scientists may share this same principle
of thermodynamic,
and gravitational
co-elliptical curve-linear temporal balance
"endo/ecto-symbiotic evolution."

As inclusive theoretical physicists
and mathematicians
and statisticians
we might re-member political mutuality
of species evolution
as co-relation,
coincidental trend emergence
between two or more
interdependent dipolar-articulating trend variables.

Buckminster Fuller
labeled his entire geometric metaphysics of consciousness
and ecological development
after this primal principle
of interdependent co-arising "synergetics,"
and re-ligioning
and re-cognizing 
synergy is to physics
as love is to metaphysics,
and perhaps economics
and eco-logic,
health and well-being,
co-operative Positive Psychology,
design and development ethics and organic health/wealth outcomes,
which begins to feel
like ethical policy development,
useful for a healthier political
and conversational
and familial
and ego/ecosystemic
balancing process.

Where I did not anticipate discovering 
mutually-dependent co-arising cooperation
was in the Prime-Origin field of Cosmology,
although a cursory glance at mythology,
shamanic teaching,
taoist co-existential paradox of evolving Yang/Yin principles
within nature
inclusive of human nature,
predicating male/female functional co-arising
and natural balance;
these were all,
in hindsight,
significant clues saying
"please don't be surprised
when you get to universally unitarian cosmology
as double-transparent co-gravitation of our Commons".

Dual transparency of Time
as Zero-dimensional negentropicentric space
bicamerally suggests
co-operative  gravitational power politics and economics
lie at the (0)-Soul Core Prime Relationship
of our global Origination Story.

Interdependent co-arising revolutions
continue unfolding
into our political lap
during this endangered
Cooperative Transitional Generation.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Silent One | Details |

Love story part two

Part two: Outbreak of civil war

Imaani’s world is falling apart around her.  Protests against a dictatorship government go out of control as activists are brutally killed.  Rebel groups are formed and a civil war breaks out between rebels and the government.  Imaani’s life is in danger as her father is a political activist.  Her father is arrested and her mother dies after a local shopping centre is bombed. 
Oh my beloved, I must leave you now.  War has broken and I must hide myself from the world.  Be patient my beloved, if our love is true we will be together soon.  
Mathias is heartbroken and alone once again,
“Don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts just like death.
Everyone has a love story,
But my story I can never tell.
No one ever taught me how to love,
I only learned through experience.
Loss leads to pain, sorrow and no hope for tomorrow,
If pain is temporary, then why do i feel hollow?
No one ever told the truth to me,
About growing up, and the troubles I would face.
Everything I was taught,
had not prepared me for this.
Love is like the sun,
The closer you get, the quicker you burn.
Lies and betrayal will destroy your trust,
Your mind will be at war and there will be no peace.
Maybe it was never meant to be,
especially when you feel you never tried hard enough.
So, is it better to let dreams fade away?
To break two hearts, that are meant to be?
With so many doubts and so many questions,
I guess I will never know the true answers
In a society where love can be a taboo,
A beautiful love, sometimes cannot blossom
What kind of world do we live in?
When society cannot let you be you.
So don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts more than anything.”
As the war becomes more brutal, a refugee crisis hits the country.  Imaani is forced to leave her home,
“Society has shunned me and I feel neglected,
I am like a foreigner, so it is time to say goodbye.
There is nobody here of mine, so I will be leaving,
colourful memories have faded away, all I see is gloom.
All those I loved have been stolen from me,
taken away by the evil brutality of man.
Their voices still echo around me,
their screams continue to traumatise me.
Derelict streets and buildings are all around me,
with haunting sounds of happiness and laughter.
All around me is pain and cries of injustice,
atrocities that the world turned a blind eye to.
All has been lost, so I guess I will be leaving,
disappearing behind a trail of sadness and sorrow.
I will soon be forgotten as will my childhood memories,
forced into an unknown fate as I become part of the Diaspora.”
Mathias’s world is falling apart.  He loses his job and falls into depression at the sudden loss of his soul mate,
“Life is a poisoned chalice, full of betrayal and hypocrisy,
an evil society which breaks your heart and then mocks you.
My destiny is a deceitful one, full of deception and regret,
there is no happy ending, this is no enchanting fairy tale.
I feel no love and have been left all alone,
nobody really understands, so I hide myself from them.
I have become indulged in a dimension of deepest despair,
within an abyss, where darkness is my only loyal friend.
so many tears have been shed, I have drowned myself in sorrow,
I am drowning in what feels like the deepest ocean and I cant swim.
I am falling, but no one is there to catch me,
my emotions are out of control, my mind is betraying me.
My heart is so fragile and sensitive, it is hurt by the smallest thing,
these voices in my head are driving me insane.
I am going crazy, when will it all end,
as no longer do I have the strength to carry on.
As every sigh becomes deeper, I contemplate my fate,
is life really worth living, what do I have to live for?
Help me please, no go away, leave me alone!
I await the final betrayal, so then I can say goodbye forever,
I will leave without a trace, without an explanation.
But, please forgive me, I never meant any harm,
I can't help it, I'm falling,
and no one can catch me now.”
Months go by and there does not seem to be any end to the war.  The powers of the world stand by and look on, not intervening as they have no political gain from the conflict.  The refugee crisis increases with overflowing refugee numbers in camps around neighbouring countries.  Imaani, has not eaten for days and is a shadow of the woman, she used to be,
“Do you hear my call?
Here, I stand,
battered and bruised.
Thirsty, hungry and confused,
do you hear my call?
Look into my eyes,
they have ran dry, no more tears.
The world has become blind,
they do not see my suffering.
The world has become deaf,
they do not hear my call.
So hungry, that I cannot sleep,
so tired, that I cannot sleep.
Life is a chance of luck,
a child born into luxury,
a child born into poverty,
sadly, a definition of what is to come.
soon, I will be gone,
but my plight, must never be forgotten.”
Part three: The union
Imaani has not forgotten the love of her beloved even with her life in extreme danger and close to death she calls out,
“I was never a poet, 
but your vision became my poetry,
I had heard about love,
but only your existence turned me into a lover.
I thought romance was dead,
but, your companionship, seduced me into a romantic.
I was never a musician,
but, now I compose melodies to describe what I feel for you.
I was never a believer,
but, your beauty made me believe, now I worship you.
I have never asked for anything from God,
I enjoin my hands and pray for your return.
I search for you with every sunset,
I search for you with every sunrise.
They mock me and say you will never return,
soon you will forget and love again.
Happiness or sadness, no matter where, my love will never change,
for those whose love is true, devotion always remains.”
A voice whispers into the ear of Mathias,
“Do you think you have time? Go to her, to your beloved.”
To be continued...

The Silent One. 20 August 2015.

Copyright © Silent One

Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |


This page shows my writing process and is part of Poetrysoup's first workshop.  The workshop's intent is to reveal how revision strengthens a poem. Constructive feedback can be a gift.  Should any journal editor provide suggestions to me, I'd eagerly listen.  This 'reveal' will be archived, may be used as a teaching tool for newer poets.  Thank you to all the workshop participants.  You really put your heart into this project.  

Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if thick smoke fills

the corridor, a face peers through the window;
A pilot warns, we’re coming in rough.

Like that first ear piercing, eyes crammed shut;
Like Jamie Lee Curtis in the closet 

clutching a hanger, screaming to wake herself up. 
A memory of brakes failing on the highway,  

of an empty pantry, then getting that pink slip.
Too much, too much, panic takes hold,

a lockdown, a breakdown, a savage dog bite — 
when the cure was still a stab to the belly,
Like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.

Version Two, May 7, 2015


Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if thick smoke 

chokes the corridor, a face cracks the window
or the pilot says, we’re coming in rough.

Refrains, this'll hurt me more than it hurts you;
Ma'am, three weeks til we get the results,

a long dreamed pregnancy, sudden bleeding,
mother in her coffin, ear to frigid wood.

Like razors in an apple,
like Jamie Lee Curtis in the closet 

clutching a hanger, screaming to wake herself up. 
A memory of brakes failing on the highway,  

of a skeletal pantry, of a bullet hole.
Too much, too much, panic takes hold,

a lockdown, a breakdown, a savage dog bite — 
when the cure was still a stab to the belly,
Like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  

Version 3 -- tighter, more erratic, rapid fire.


Clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop as if smoke 

chokes corridors, a face cracks the window,
the pilot yells, we’re coming in rough.

Remember, soap in the mouth,
Remember, you want somethin' to cry about.

An awaited pregnancy, sudden bleeding,
mother's coffin, ear to frigid wood.

Like razors in apples,
like Jamie Lee Curtis in a closet 

grappling that hanger, my parallel life,
brakes failing on the highway,  

skeletal pantry, new bullet holes.
too much, too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, dog bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
I’m not sure if I love you, anymore. 

Version 4


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face cracked the window,

the pilot's croak, 
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to frigid wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween,
a razor hid in my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  



Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplifying 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

the pilot croaked, 
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you, anymore.  

Revised 6


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
                I’m not sure if I love you anymore.  

Revised 7 -- I am happy with this one, finally... any more takers? LOL


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last, 
then suddenly bleeding.

Like one Halloween
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel in our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
 I’m not sure 

                    if I love you anymore.  

Revision 10 -- thank you EVERYONE


Remember, soap in mouth,
I'll give you somethin' to cry about,

clammy palmed, heart amplified 
a heavy metal gallop,

as if smoke choked corridors, 
a face rattled the window,

turbulence, warnings,
we’re coming in rough,

Mother's coffin, 
ear to finished wood,

pregnant, at last
overjoyed — sudden blood.

Like one unforgettable night
a razor cored my apple,

shrapnel pricked our bedroom door,
too much, panic takes hold,

lockdown, breakdown, rabid bite — 
when the cure was a stab to the belly
like you just saying to me
 I’m not sure 

                      if I love you anymore.  

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan

Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

Driving Alone Through the Sand Hills of Nebraska

My love is light (a fairy kiss?)          
               Like the pressure of sunbeams on your cheek, 
        Ineffable, and yet capable of changing lives…
		Darkening skin to a more attractive hue, 
		Pushing spaceships to distant stars (given time) , 
		Even causing cancer given sufficient lack of love for self.
        For love is not about just getting needs met by another, 
        No, love is more like a laser's coherent beam….
                For in reflecting back a portion of what is given, 
                The power of what is being created grows
                Until it can cut through the hardest steel
        And span the gulf between galaxies.

Poetry too grows through the cross-fertilization of newborn lines, 
        The lines of this poem insist that I record their birth.
 	        Each new line grabs me by the scruff of the neck, 
		       Forces me to hit the brake, grab my pen, 
		       And claim it in my family bible…
	        My only children, clamoring to be set in ink.
         As these Voyagers' pass into the present state of my art
                (Some that I barely recognize in their profligate parentage
	               Of older verse's new verse's newer verse still)          …
		               Somehow still carriers of my own genetic code.
                They press my design against the blank page
	                Flying in search of, homing on… your heart.
My love's intent is simply truth (do you want less?)          
	 Would you have me downplay 
	 	The warmth of our connection
                        Because it is complicated by here-to-fore
			        Unacknowledged passion, spiritual connection, 
			        And the remnants of former relationships
			        (Even those still gasping for breath) ? 
		        Or feign a lack of attachment to it's denouement
			         In a solitary attempt to feel safer? 
	 No matter can restrain the effects of gravity
		On the orbits of other bodies in its field of influence, 
		 	Gravity that binds us all in deep wells of space-time.

 Your kiss of greeting…
	After so many years of imagining such a possibility, 
	Imprinted deeper than even my memory of our first meeting, 
		Our moonlit shadows touching as we soaked naked
		In the steaming waters of a volcanic mountain spring.
	This new conjunction of souls occurred in God's clear view, 
		Without artifice or scheming on our part
			And rocked my inner core to it's depths, 
	Organizing molten currents of confused turbidity
	Into a magnetic flare of such intensity
		That iron flew to my spine
	Inspired me to finally declare my love
		To acknowledge your impact on my life…
	And after a period of gestation
		Gave birth to this poem of celebration.

 Back to Nebraskan reality and a new mystery…
	I pass an overturned car, 
		Its wheels tied by yellow police tape, 
	A metaphor for my life perhaps
		'Damaged but still salvageable.'
	The windows are broken out, 
		The occupants removed to a distant hospital somewhere
			(Hopefully arriving alive) , 
		Their odds and ends of life scattered like garbage
			On the inverted ceiling of their car.
	The explanation, perhaps, is the water still standing
		Several inches deep on the road side near the wreck? 
	A sudden orgasmic release of cloud in a desert….
		The car tops the hill to find the highway
			Buried by a lake of dimensions only God can know.
		Who would expect such a thing in Nebraska's sand hills? 

And what does it say about me finally
	That I am so drawn to distant objects, 
        That the two women given access to my heart are
		Both still tied to failed marriages
			By dark chapters I am not part of
			And innocent children who need their love? 
	And at our age where is the partner without a past? 

 Is this all that God has planned for you and me, 
	That we 'just miss' every thirty years or so? 
		I know there are times I am afraid to trust another's love, 
			Cannot even hear words of genuine affection.
		Perhaps this explains my attraction to women
			Whose availability might really be in question? 
		Maybe I'm afraid to let a real lover in? 
			Is the simple dream of love a better choice
				Than the chance of finding real love anew
				(Even love with an expiration date) ? 
		I think I'm more distrustful of my own heart's passion
			Than I am of women being unreceptive to my love.
		Do you struggle with similar feelings? 
	And is it my lot to only remember passion like this in a poem
		While you spiral away to unimagined rendezvous'? 

The coldness of space is not after-all
		The simple absence of heat…
	No, in human dimensionality it is more the absence of others…
		Others who both shine life force toward us
			And reflect our own light back to us, 
		Who collide with us physically and emotionally
			Altering our pathways forever, 
				And who crater the façade whose design
				We imagine belongs to us alone.
	The void of human space-time is a true 'black hole'
		Sporting only star death fragments of the 'Big Bang.'
This is all I really know…
	I treasure the memory of our 'fly-bys'
		Even if that's all they ever are.
	And if I'm lucky this joy, 
                This celebration of your existence, 
	Will continue to pour out of me in songs and verse…
		For your ears always (if I am so honored) , 
			For God's heart (as I was born to honor Him) , 
	And to the stars alone if I have only them for company.

Brian Johnston
August 2009
This poem, like 'A Walk Near Blunt, ' began during an actual drive from South 
Dakota to Oklahoma and then took on a life of it's own. These 'real life 
narrative' poems are part of an attempt on my part to give precedence to truth 
and content over form and rhyme. For readers with an interest in science, I 
hope you also enjoy my attempt in this and other poems to bring my love of 
Physics into the world of poetic imagery.

Copyright © Brian Johnston

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Dr Time's DiPolar Rant

What's up?
Thanks for this second interview,
old man.

You are either blind or confused,
but probably both.

Well, thanks,
and I appreciate you as well.
Now, I understand you want to talk about human consciousness.

We comprehend your language as limiting human consciousness.

Now would that be the royal "we"
or are you assuming something about me
or the entire human race?

Yes, although be careful not to confuse royalty with governance.
Royalty is best democratized for universal
and global
and individual self-governance.
This is the subject of considerable ancient poetry
and wisdom.

OK, well,
how about a wide open question
and then you can just say whatever it is you
or we
want to say about human consciousness?

Was that your wide open question
or am I still waiting for it?

Apparently you are still waiting
because you are continuing to respond to my questions
with questions.

Yes, that's what I wanted to say about human consciousness.
So, any other questions for me today?

I don't know how I got myself involved with you again.
You  are the most ornery pedantic old fart I have ever met.

I resemble that remark
but it is not what I understand as an "open question."

What would you like to say about consciousness?

Thank you.
That reminds me of the grand opening of Book 1:
The Character of Tao,
entitled "On The Absolute Tao."
Let me try a post-millennial transposition
of Laotse's famous treatise:

Book 1: The Coincidentally DiPolar Character of Time
1. On Absolute Time

The Time that can be spoken
Is not comprehensive time;
The Languages that can be given
Are not fully Polynomial-Real
resolved Information,
or understanding.

Not-Not Binomiality is the origin of "Universe" and "Earth";
Language-Logos-Left hemisphere
proposes to the Right-hemispheric Eco-Mother 
of Earth's Universal Solar-Fueled System.
Left speaks ego's anthrocentric
to Right's mute eco-centric binomially balanced syntax.

Oftentimes, humans purge themselves of ego's fear-of-death passion
In order to comprehend Life's Original Intent;
Oftentimes, Universal Time's comprehensive consciousness regards human co-passion,
To rediscover its bilaterally eternal flowing form
from past into this present toward future's past.

This binomial--yin's secret future time 
with yang's manifest past time--
is one naturally equivalent bilaterally coincidental cycle;
Yin-Future and Yang-Past are given different names
When human language explains their bilateral manifestation
in the present
as polynomially binomial
"not not yet"
"not not now".

Future "not not yet" with Past Polynomial-Yang empowered Information 
we language through Present's comprehensive consciousness,
Logos-Mythos ReConnection
PermaCultural ReGeneration:
Stretching across Future's Omega Point
down and into Deeper Ecology
Is the Risk and Opportunity Paradox 
of Ego's optimizing Life within Eco's Balancing ReBirthing Death.

Wow, that sounds really deep Dr. Time
but some of us are really busy trying to get through our day
so if you're done
I'll submit this
but don't expect too much by way of positive outcome
cause that was really out there in the effectiveness department.

You sound disappointed.

Let's just agree that comprehensive consciousness
seems to lack sufficient informational articulation
to change how I feel about you,
for example.

I suppose that's why we call it "comprehensive."
So, let's try redirecting fear about future deaths
and anger about past deaths
by including both ourselves and our environment
discovering what anger at,
fear about,
oneself can teach
our present consciousness.

What does your present conscience show you
about your justified anger at others,
past events,
significant others;
what does fear about others,
and your future,
teach you about love and kindness
needed for yourself AND
these others,
as a coincidentally correlated relationship through time?

When future-fear and past-anger say
"I don't have time for you."
future-love and past-kindness coincidentally say
"I regret not having enough time for us."

When past-anger says
"I don't have enough time for me."
future-love and past-kindness also say
"I regret not having enough time for me
to be with eco-us, 
to invest in more comprehensive consciousness,
universal intelligence,
to "sit with the world,"
to re-create,
to co-create,
to co-incidate,
to Right-eco-recenter my Left-ego-identity."

When love and kindness say
"I have time for you"
future-fear and past-anger are also saying,
"I regret not having enough time for egocentrism."
future-love and past-kindness only speak within languaged consciousness
when present-tensing time is consciously dominant,
just as future-fear and past-anger only speak
with future and past tense timing dominance.

Anger about past relationships
transactional events within time,
is also fear about replication within future's coincidental space
of present-tense comprehensive consciousness.

I'm feeling dizzy and light-headed.

You are dizzy and light-headed.

I just said that.

Binomially eternal time recycles
religioning revolutionary
and enlightening intuitive dipolar headed,
as ego turns to fly home to Right-brain centric embrace
bilateral time regains this human race's natural pace.

Too many words.

That's OK.
His royal commissioner accused Mozart of too many notes.
Both history and culture had their timely response.
Mozart still sings and dances
because he did not listen to repressive governance messages.

Too many notes, I'll never get this submitted in time.

Well, time doesn't wait,
but it doesn't leave any faster than it arrives.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by CJ Krieger | Details |

2 Versions of 4 Seasons

These 2 different versions are separated by nine years

Part 1


Small speckles of wild grass 
Looking like tiny green drops 
That had fallen to the earth 
Were the very first sign 

Waving in the breeze 
With their feathery tops rippling 
They slowly reached for the sun 
Growing much taller than myself 

Then the dragonflies 
Darting about like lost Messerschmitts 
Looking for a place to land 
Foretold of the coming 

As I looked down the long winding path 
I saw off in the distance 
A slight figure of a woman 
Drawing closer and closer 

It was you 
(And I had missed you so) 
With your smiling face 
And your arms wildly waving hello 

Must be spring 



The unusually humid 
Hot summer night 
Found my hands sliding 
Along your warm, moist body 

As I watched you 
Lying nakedly on the cool sheets 
My eyes followed a single drop 
Of beaded sweat 
Which had leisurely rolled down 
Your gentle curves 
And magically disappeared 

As you awoke to my touch 
We both followed 
The movements of my fingers 
Thoroughly searching 
For a single drop of water 
Lost within the folds 
Of your thighs 

Must be summer

- - - - - - - - - - - - 


There was not a bird in the sky 
They had all fallen 
Into the top 
Of a large red oak tree 
On the northeast side of the meadow 

Each one singing 
Louder than the next 
Until all the leaves shattered 
And fell 

Must be autumn

- - - - - - - - - - -


A single leaf 
On a tree 
Is all that remains 
As a tribute to summer 

While on the ground 
Changing patterns with the blowing wind 
The dry crinkling sound of leaves 
Moves to and fro 

As the tree quietly sleeps 
For the chilly mornings to pass 
And the warmth of a spring rain 
To say… hello 

Sit at my window 
Staring down the road 
Still waiting… for you 

Must be winter 


Part 2


The windows rattled
As the spring winds blew
Down from the mountains
And across the forest
As I watched the newly budded trees
Bend and sway

Although spring was here
It was a cold wind
That chilled my cheeks
As I pulled the hood
Tighter over my face

Walking home I watched
While last year’s winter leaves
Scurried across the ground
Every so often stopping to rest
Before running out of view

I enjoy days like this
It keeps my thoughts from rambling
On thoughts of you
With your Easter dress and bonnet
Walking down this old country path
Waving to me as you fall 
Silently over the mountain 

It was the last days of Spring


It was one of the warmer summer days
Not a breeze or cloud in the sky
The humidity so high
I could almost reach out
And pluck it from the air

I watched the sunlight
Hitting the north side of my house
Seeking shelter then slowly roll away 
Towards whatever little shade remained
With the speed of Grandma’s Black Molasses

A few miles east of the old country trail
The river’s waters had fallen
Lower than I had seen in years
Even the riverbanks had dried
Into a crumbling hard brown clay
That yearned for the rains to come

The heat, so oppressive and unyielding
Muted the voices of the birds
While all the wild animals
That usually ran about the fields
Sought out some relief or at the very least
Waited until night fell 
Before coming out to play

These were the quiet days
The silent times of life
It was the summer of waiting
A time that I could no longer dance
Or sing, or see you under the starry sky
This was the summer you had gone 
And I had grown much, much too old
To wait for another winter
To bring you home

It was the last days of Summer


Autumn arrived
With a cool morning wind
And the rustling 
Of golden brown leaves
That changed color
As they hysterically danced
Through the town streets
Before heading out
To their winter home

Here and there
Gangs of ferocious squirrels 
Ran up and down the trees
Harvesting whatever fruits and nuts 
That refused to drop
From the shivering trees
Whose bare bark
Could be heard
All about the woods

As I watched
Their once small mouths
Now bulging
With bits and pieces
Of summers’ leftover bounty
Hurrying down 
The old woodland paths
I couldn’t help but smile

This is the time of year
That I enjoy the most
A time of transition
When the earth 
Prepares for a long winters nap
Yes, it most definitely was
(As I thought to myself smiling) 
A time of scurrying squirrels 

It was the last days of Autumn


Night inched its way
Up the north-east side 
Of my house
Much in the way
A little child
Would climb over a fence
One small hand at a time

And as night's shadow
Reached the very top
It stopped for a moment
Before tumbling over
And falling down 
The south-west wall
Plunging the house into darkness

It was a familiar winter night 
But what I remember most
Was how much colder it seemed
Then other winters before
Warm or cold
It was winter
Complete in every way
With winds like icy fingers
And falling snow
That seemed to go on and on

It was on a night like this
That I thought of you
A night
When I was overwhelmed 
By everything that winter was
Compounded by a darker darkness
Than any nights I could remember
That had come before

And try as I might
I could not summon the sun
Or make it rise more swiftly
To free my mind
From unwanted thoughts
Nor could I find any solace
In the quiet, quiet
Of winter’s silence

It was Winter

Copyright © CJ Krieger

Long poem by Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |

Randomlings 1-34

Randomling 1:  Matthew Macfadyen

I believe I'm in love with Matthew Macfadyen
He inspires in me a terribly bad yen
But as poetry goes
His name 'spires woes
Cause nothing rhymes with "Macfadyen”.

Randomling 2: Birthday Wishes
For my birthday, I would like a man.
I wonder---can you get one from a can?
Or maybe from a catalog?
Maybe I'll just get a dog.

Randomling 3: Yet Another Cat Poem

toddlers in fur
senior citizens with retractable claws
lions in their own minds
lunch in the minds of dogs.

Randomling 4:  Desert Woes

A sage river in a field of sand:
         so flows hope in a barren land;
                   the crippled heart in prosthetic steel,
                             hacked and scarred, a vulture’s meal.

Randomling 5:  Dark Poetry

Follow poetry to its source;
There find heartbreak and remorse.
Follow poetry to the bitter end,
And there find death, its bosom friend.

Randomling 6: Ode to Bananas

an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow is their long suit.

Randomling 7: Untitled  

this heart is closed to deposits.
There's no more room for pain.

Randomling 8: Untitled

My heart is sealed in a cold steel vault,
and I’ve lost the combination.

Randomling 9: Joyce Kilmer 2015

I think that I shall never see
A man as useful as a tree.
One has uses by the score;
The other one is apt to snore.

Randomling 10:  Bedtime Prayers

Now I lay me down to sleep,
A leaden heart is mine to keep.
If I should die before I wake--
Now there’s an offer I’d gladly take.   

Randomling 11:  The Devil Wind

Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover

Randomling 12:  A Boy's Best Friend

Your penis—it is not a toy
I told my little son.
O yes it is, he parried me
It's quite my favorite one.

Randomling 13:  Fault Lines

I have a bathroom mirror
that's grown faulty over time.
My reflection is no longer true;
it's developed little lines!

Randomling 14:  Shakespeare 101		

“To be or not to be. That is the question.”
--What question?
THE question!
--Whaddya mean, THE question?
Never mind.																		

Randomling 15: Christmas?

Peace on earth to men of good credit
Who give the gift of corporate profit
in the holy name of commercialism.

Randomling 16:  Musical Believer

Though my conscience sleeps,
wrapped in the Valium of
agnosticism, it awakens to 
the music of Mozart--
once more knowing God
by the sound of His voice.

Randomling 17: Vacuum

I didn't write a poem when you died.
The words would not come.
Perhaps I felt too deeply,
perhaps not enough;
maybe I died too.   10/06/01

Randomling 18: Insanity

Insanity is underrated
Its drawbacks,much overstated.
How else to do what you darn well please
And accomplish it with so much ease?

Randomling 19: Dog Day Afternoon

salt, waves, undertow
I don't know what's going
on here, but I'm HAPPY!

Randomling 20: Opposites Attract

i am matter---love, antimatter
never to meet save to explode
i am space, love is time
parallel dimensions never to meet

Randomling 21: Puppy Love

I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
squirming happiness
covered in fuzz:
Puppy love.

Randomling 22: Newton's Poultice

Apple falls from tree
Newton (ouch!) takes notice
Comes up with law of gravity
while wearing a poultice
on the solstice

Randomling 23: Ticking

And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
while my life fell apart all around me.
Sweet memories faded to shadow
as my heart fell to pieces inside me.
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
Relentlessly ticking, ticking
While my life fell apart all around me.

Randomling 24: Untitled

a mosaic assembled from
shimmering, glimmering
tiles of delight and
black-glazed stones of despair
interlocking snowflakes
in seamless beauty

Randomling 25: Seasonal Lament
Daylight shrinks end at both end as summer falls into the arm of winter. arm
Randomling 26: Untitled
I didn't want to love you.
Randomling 27: Pills Depression is days and nights curled fetal-like in a dark room, no interest in the world outside, idly wondering if there are enough pills in the bottle to kill you, then thinking it's not worth the effort to find out because you're dead inside already. Randomling 28: Guilt By Association Fresh morning light frames the cat, surrounded by piles of dirt and deceased plants, looking innocent. Randomling 29: Bell the Cat How do you give a cat a bath? Maybe you can do the math. All I know is she stinks to high heaven. And of us there are only seven. How many humans to bathe a cat? Definitely more than where we're at! Randomling 30: Muse
I want to write a poem using the word gossamer. “Gossamer.”
Randomling 31: Ripples
Canoes rock gently under the waxing moon. Black water ripples, painting a beautiful scene under the scented pines.
Randomling 32: Sunshine Waterfall I cleanse my face in a sunshine waterfall, luxuriate in a sunshine shower. Waterfall flow and warm me; sprinkle lemon drops through my hair. Randomling 33: Salon Treatment Hurricanes scour everything they touch, then rinse and blow dry. Randomling 34: My Window Blue sky pokes its face through the canopy of trees. Heat wave is over!

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman

Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6

Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6

Brahmari Pranayama or Humming Bee Breath

IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes 
of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try 
to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date…

How to do Brahmari Humming Bee Pranayama

Sit in Sukhasana (Step 1) or in Padmasana in the morning hours, if you have achieved easiness to sit in Padmasana or else sit in Sukhasana. It is important that while performing Brahmari your stomach should be empty and bowls clear. Sit erect while practicing Brahmari in a neat and clean, quiet and calm place preferably an open place.
Raise your both arms and bring your all four fingers as a screen on your eyes. Now close your ears by the tips of your thumbs in such a way that your index fingers are touching your eyebrows and the middle finger the inner corner of your both eyes and other two fingers rests on the slopes of your nose and face joints gradually.
Take a deep breath and fill your lungs with the fresh air and then exhale slowly from both the nostrils while creating a humming sound. At the time of doing this do not open your ears and keep pressing it gently so that your humming sound gets more clear and it create vibrations in your mouth, throat, ears, eyes and even other parts of your body ( this stage would come when you  practice this exercise regularly ) 
Try to creat the humming sound continuously as loud and  clear as possible for you. 


IN PRAISE OF BRAHMARI PRANAYAMA We all know and accepts The miracles of Sound On everything which Surrounds us. We live, we love, and we work We play and we laugh With one or the other kind of sounds Often We become harsh or soft Even we weep and sometimes We hate with some or the other kind of sounds only These are all the effects of Different Sounds Which make us What we are and what We become as a man or woman in life Kind hatred or benevolent A lover or a hater A teacher or a Poet, a writer or an artist or a Musician A leader or a preacher Or even A dictator or a Don. When sound comes From a serene source It binds the hearts Of millions And we began to love and adore That sound and even that source And keep it as a source of energy and joy. But when it comes from A biased mind and selfish source and Tries to destroy our peace And began to dictate us We feel fed-up To bear that sound And then we try To get rid of that source or sound. Brahmari or the humming Sound Is one such elegant self-music Which opens our heart and mind With its vibrations To fill life in those dead or sluggish Nerves and spine To restore The Melody not only In your voice but also in your heart and mind. Brahmari would Restore your love and even your confidence Thus Bringing your beloved more close to you And you to your beloved Which often Becomes a soft target of differences Because of Age effected unnoticed deeds and actions. Brahmari gives you the boon of Music and melody Even when age has taken you On the withering heights of life And You often find yourself standing alone Looking for someone to Restore your energy and mind. The miracles of Humming bee sounds Brings an instant coolness To your otherwise Anguished mind and heart Which began to enjoy The colors and moods Of Love and Life As A peaceful mind Is the dwelling place of heavenly gestures And even of God. The regular practice of Brahmari Balances your hormonal secretions Invigorating the thyroid gland And thus increasing your metabolism. Even Brahmari balances Your blood sugar and helps Oxidizes fats In our body and It completely removes the causes which Leads to the curse of human body The Migraine By giving you the joys and comforts of Relaxation which ultimately Soothes your Heart to pump more actively The fresh flow of blood To your nerves and mind Thus making your pressures To work happily Without crossing the limits Unless you have done some extreme wrongs. It’s a boon for those Who suffers from Diabetes and heart problems And a real gift of God For those who are in pregnancy As its wonderful effects on Human nervous system Effects the pituitary gland To balance the growth and control Of hormones in our body Thus the practice of this wonderful Pranayama Pave way for easy and trouble free Child birth or delivery. I often ponder What a treasure of blessings Yoga has given to the world and Has exposed In these simple and wonderful Breathing exercises To make every human being More befitting and joyous To enjoy the blessings of Nature And Thus elevating the human body to absorb The Beams of the Light and Love of God. Ravindra Kanpur 4th Aug. 2013
Duration: Not more than 3 to 5 times in a day in the beginning. Maximum 10 to 12 times only in a day without any force beathing or straining yourself. Precautions: 01. Never perform this Prayanama while you are lying down 02. If you are having any ear infection do not perform Brahmati till your ears get rid of all infections. 03. Do not hold your breath while doing Brahmari and Heart problem persons should do it under a trained instructor only. 04. Do not perform it when you are not empty stomach and try to perform it preferably in the morning/evening hours only. 05. If for any reasons you do not feel comfortable stop it and take few normal deep breaths IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date… My Gratitude Brahmari Pranayama is a boon for human being brought mainly in the lime light of the world by Swami Ram Deoji about 20 years back. Ravindra

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor

Long poem by Trisha Sugarek | Details |

The Ash Can

The Ash Can  ©

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

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

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

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

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

(from my book, Monologues 4 Women) 

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek

Long Poems