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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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angst animal
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december dedication
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girlfriend giving
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gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
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grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
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heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
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house how i feel
howl humanity
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hyperbole i am
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inspiration inspirational
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moving on mum
murder muse
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rights river
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rude sad
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Long Music Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

Straight to Hell - A Short Story

I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school.  Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls.  My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot.  The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.

She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment.  She was in way over her head.  She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing.  The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields.  If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.

The music class was a mad house.  She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell.  I mean, music class?  Really?

We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.

For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.

One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class.  I was the only one that actually stayed.  She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in.  Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.

“What am I doing,” she cried.  "I can’t do this.  I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this.  Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”

I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say.  I felt like a real jerk.  I was a real jerk.

Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face.  She bowed her head and just sobbed.  In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me.  And I hugged her while she wept.
   
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me.  I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms.  I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.

She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.  You may go.”

I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room.  It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams.  To hell I go, for sure.

I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not.  The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun.  I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters.  I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way.  She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.

At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year.  Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college.  It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college.  I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.

During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class.  It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.

“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.

“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  Take some time off.  Work.  Nothing.  I don’t know.  Why is it so important to everyone?  When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”

“They just care about you.”

“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.

She smiled at me.  I had been dreaming about her now for six months.  I changed the topic.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school.  I did have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.

“No.  Not the way you mean.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No.  Never,” she lied.

“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”

“No.  I believe you when you say you just need some time off.  I think that is a good idea.”

Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away.  Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”

She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.

During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma.  I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.

I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell.  Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice.  That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

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

Cats:
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

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


Randomling 7: Untitled  

Sorry,
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

Tornadoes
Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover
____________________________________________________________________________________
DON'T READ #12 IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK TO MY SON ABOUT CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THE BIRDS AND BEES_________________________ 



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;
or
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

WATER! BALL! CHASE!
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

eternity
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 | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

The Untold story of a Sitar 3


The Untold story of a Sitar Part 3 Concluded . A soothing musical note Was coming out and floating In the air In that White coated Old auditorium Of a different era Which was so alive before me As if I was a guest listener Of its vibrant musical lore’s Now being produced for the Listeners of that gathering By Tan In her exclusive style I have never witnessed before. 22 . And the girl Tan Was playing and playing Forgetting everything Which was there in the surrounding of her With many gazing eyes and eager ears Who were too keen to feast their eyes Whenever they get any chance to see her face To relish the sparking beauty of that artist Tan. 23 . These listeners were restlessly waiting For the climax Of that classical Raga Bholali* She was playing On her charming Sitar With a flute to accompany her In its heart fetching melodious voice. 24 . That beautiful young girl Tan Was still creating in the air A magical effect For all those melody hungry ears And the music listeners Were listening that performance In a pin drop silence. 25 . The strings of Sitar With the sound of Flute were creating Their enchanting notes Making the listeners almost Drowsy as if they had drank An intoxicating drink Which was dear to Lord Shiva* Or the heavenly wine Prepared by Bacchus. 26 . She kept on playing And producing that magic Among the galaxy of music lovers Who used to gather quite often To enjoy the enchanting voices and instruments Of singers and musicians In that wonderful small auditorium Which was created only For listening The music performances Of artists like Tan and others . 27 In that era when When the world was not So close to each other When hearts were more endowed With love and passion For music, songs and sightseeing and knowledge Which was dwelling in almost every Vibrant heart I was watching that grand show As an unknown and invisible spectator. 28 . Suddenly a strange fellow Came on the Dias Who was dressed very elegantly But behaved like a rustic He made almost a hit On the neck of that Sitar And caught and almost pulled The right arm of Tan all of a sudden. In doing so he not only broken The delicate upper wooden stem And strings of Sitar But even wounded The soft and beautiful right hand of Tan While damaging the Sitar And many of its strings. 29 That tall and good looking man In his beastly stroke Not only gave a jolt to that Beautiful girl But he even spoiled The evening of all those Who had gathered there To relish the beauty and magic Of her performances As the target of this young intruder Was the innocent lady Tan only Who was the main attraction and charm Of that pleasant and wonderful evening. 30 . Before Even anyone could have understood What was the intension Of that decent looking rustic He dragged the musician To the other side gate of that hall While leaving the Sitar In that broken condition On the floor of that small auditorium. 31 . Everyone was shocked and bewildered By that sudden jolt and break Which had destroyed completely The rhythms and flow of that great musical evening. 32 . It was like depriving suddenly Someone very thirsty When only a part of some cool and refreshing water Had gone down his throat In the form of that music magic Which she was creating on the Dias. 33 . The strange thing was The more she played on Sitar with Flute A deeper thirst was awakening among listeners For that music and all those sounds She and her flute partner were creating In everyone’s heart. 34 Watching that scene As an uncalled and unseen visitor I tried to knew by listening The voices of the people Who were enjoying that music In a pin drop scilence I had never witnessed before. 35 . One of them was saying “Oh He is the Prince of our State The young Raja Saheb* He seems to have returned From his foreign trip After nearly a year And appears to be not in his senses When he dragged his young and beautiful wife From the Dias Like she was not human But a toy of his Palace. 36 . “Everyone knows here That he never tolerates His wife giving any stage performances Among the gathering Of common men and women” And his earlier wife too had to commit suicide For these reasons only. 37 . A lady of that gathering was saying “He is an insane fellow He would take the life Of his charming wife once again Only because She had given a public performance Of her music in his absence.” 38 . I was stunned to hear all that When suddenly I felt, as if I had awakened from a nap And whatever I saw was only a dream As there was no girl like Tan And no auditorium which was breathing so alive Only few minutes ago in my dream And the girl Tan too was not visible anywhere. 39 . The only thing I could see and feel Was my Sitar With its new rejuvenated look Which was still lying before me Inviting me to play its strings To produce once again Some simple basic Surs* Like SA RE GA MA PA DHA NI SA Or Do Ray Me Fa La Ti Doe . 40 Ravindra Kanpur 25th April 2016 Raag* A raga uses a series of five to nine musical notes upon which a melody is constructed. However, the way the notes are approached and rendered in musical phrases and the mood they convey are more important in defining a raga than the notes themselves. In the Indian musical tradition, ragas are associated with different times of the day, or with seasons.

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

Light On the Devil's Chord - The Challenge

My hair bristled in the crisp breeze
Excitement spreading throughout my body
Even the sudden cold amused my fingertips,
Tingles spreading through my hands and up my arms
Soon I would be there too. . .
In the murky shadows of mysterious malice
To see the claws and talons of humanity’s greatest foe
The Prince of Darkness—the Saint of Woe

The great seal remained closed as I stood before it
Not a peep was heard from inside

“Knock, and it will be opened to you . . . “

Lightly, my fist clunked three times upon the great seal,
And a horrendous echo resounded like muffled shrieks of suffering
Black ooze leaked out of the seal as I lifted my fist
A great closed pot of tender meat and chow boiling over,
The spicy hot substance steaming the long grass surrounding the well-like prison

Then a voice, like Queen Bee birth resounded,
Stinging me fiercely, body and soul, having me sway…
To a familiar song
I had listened to long ago:

“Iiiii… ain’t got no-booooooody…. 
And no-body cares…foooor meeee…”

The song continued as the seal opened fully,
As I began descending into the restless night of his voice
Both lulled and perturbed
The sumptuous layers of shrieks, his background band
Gurgles of thundering bass,
And strums of laughter from throats long wailing… 

“Aaaaaaaand.. I’m sad and loooooooonely… 
Won’t some-body…come takah chance with meeee..
Owhhh…?” 

In what seemed like an eternal moment,
I had landed in the very bottom of the boiling ooze
The music ceased, and the great seal slipped over,
Blocking the view of the stars. . .
Yes, above. . .now only darkness
As if heaven, to Satan, was hell. . .

He turned to me slowly, knowingly
A smile creeping on his filthy face, from ear to ear
A charming set of teeth, freshly sung mouth
Arrogant brow rising in mock surprise. . .
A gruff laugh escaped his lips as my heart beat faster
And I thought to myself,

“What have I gotten myself into?”
. . .
The words popped out of my mouth before my mind could object,
And he exploded in a fit of charming guffaws
I heard a sea of laughter follow his own
Even Death, in the far corner of prison, winked. . .amused

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years, 
Dearest Daughter of Eve. . .  I’m impressed . . . really, I am. . .”

“You are?”

His smile faded and his expression grew grim and cold
“Well . . . are you?”

I remained silent, and took a deep breath
What shall I say to the Devil himself?
Am I clever enough? Brave enough?

“Impressed, I mean. . .well?
Are you? 
I know you will not lie to me,
You wouldn’t dream of it. . .
You wouldn’t dream nasty dreams like times in your past days. . .
Or. . .would you. . .Daughter of Eve.
Would you dare. . .dream of me. . .”

I felt a claw hit me on the back of my neck
I remained still, my breathing cradled by the silence. . .
I moved closer to him, never blinking,
As his coal eyes burned deeply into mine

Suddenly, he was furious
“You dare give me silence, woman!?
After my years of devastating . . . tormenting my own, 
Just to see and hear them screech and tremble. . .
Of no aim but to crush this criminal quiet,
You…a woman of no power…or little to show, 
Come down to me, ME. . .whom you know hates you all. . .
You come down to me, The Almighty Devil of Hatred,
With your dull . . . infuriating . . . pathetic, disgusting. . .
Silence……?”

I sighed. . .
“I. . .I don’t know why I am here. . .with you. . .perhaps it is a test. . .a lesson. . .
But I do know what I want. . .”

His claw dug deeper into my skin. . .
“Oh, that’s a new one. . .
But you. . .hm, hard to play with. . .? I doubt it. 
Easy to trick. . .surely. . .
If there was a point. . .”

Deeper the claw dug into my skin, but my flesh refused to break

I smiled at him softly, and this seemed to disturb him completely
He looked at me numbly, an impassive stare
 Devoid of feeling and emotion

And I said to him,
“I want you to sing and play us a song you have never sung before,
Prince of Darkness. . .”

His grimy skin rippled at the opportune challenge. . .
His eyes drew out all confidence and pride swirling in the shadows
His smile, big again, fresh, and repugnant
He smelled of all things dead, and all things putrid

“Plug in the bass, Death.
I am going to dissolve this fluttery woman right where she stands.”

I stopped him, possessed with an idea
I bit my lip and removed his claw from my neck
Taking his hand for a moment, and pushing it to him

“One more thing, Devil.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. . .what is it?”

“. . .I’m singing with you.”

The demons roared in hilarity, as Death, 
Silent as always kept his composure

Satan tilted his head at me as the laughter died
He no longer contained his surprise
“You. . .want to. . .make music. . .with me?”

“I’ve got 40 days and 40 nights. . .don’t you be a killjoy.”

He smiled at me, fury and lust in his eyes
“Angel charms will not work down here, babe. . .
I rarely play fair. . . .but I never turn down a challenge.”

My strange purpose had surfaced at last
“Quit your stalling then, and turn up the music.”

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

Song reference: “I Have Nobody” specifically sung by Leon Redbone
**Please tell me what you thing guys! If you haven’t read the other parts, it might explain things a bit. This is going to be a major work, and I’d loved all the advice I can get. I am aware that collaborating with The Devil is a tricky feat, and I’d really love some input. Thanks for reading. Lots of love! –Oh, and also, I am thinking of changing the title of the work as well. Not sure what yet!

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

Different Dream

After a hard day at work I come home
Hear my boy rapping the words to his headphones
Every bleep comes another bleep
As he keeps dancing to the beat
Come upstairs and barge through the door
Say to him, "Boy whatcha listenin' to that for?"
As I rip it out of his ears
Turn around and look in the mirror
Get ya head outta the gutter son
You talk to ya mother with that tongue?
Ought'a lean you down and wash your mouth soap
Teach you a lesson and just barely make you choke

Dad, you don't understand
This is me, this is who I am!

Boy, you freeze it right there
Just so I know we're good and square
I'm your father, sit down when I say so
This is home, this is where the green grass grows
Can't be the one to follow you where you go
Can't take you as is and just tie a little bow
Around it and be happy
You ain't what I expected you'd be
After all this hard work to bring home the bacon
Just to come home to see the fuss you making!?

Imma be big and travel the world,
Be famous and get hooked with any girl
I'm tired of this rice 'n' beans, I wanna taste some of that green!

Stop it child, you making a scene, a mockery of ya ma and me
Do yourself a favor and dream a different dream

 The strings are for those with charm
And fame are for those holding cards
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream
Billionaires are cowards in disguise
Their careers built upon money and lies
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream

I remember when you was little
Your mind was like some twisted riddle
Rapping the lyrics
To your idols, Snoop Dog and Jay-Z
Acting like you knew what they meant
But boy, you could barely read
Spittin' rhymes don't put a roof over ya head
Or clean the dirty sheets in your bed
All those fancy clothes don't give ya fame
just brings your family to shame
Look at you playing life like it's a game
Joining all those gangs just to bleed
Gettin' high and smokin' weed

Dad, it ain't like that
I'm not some filthy rat
Planting my seed wherever
Imma stay true forever
Build myself upon lyrical tether
Striving to be as authentic as leather
Come on dad, can't we get it together?

Your grandpa was born and raised in the meadows
No Internet, no microwave, just planting corn rows
But right now the grass is as green as it's gonna get
And if you ain't got that through ya head yet
As your pops I'm really quite upset

 Take these words right from my mouth
And give 'em wings to fly south
Or I will run from this house like the ratatouille mouse
Tired of this cheese I want something more
The birds and the bees aren't what I'm looking for
I don't wanna die like everybody else
Just put in a hole and call it a grave
I don't wanna die with nothing to my name
If I'm not looking up I'm going south
You can scream and cuss at me with ya sailor's mouth
I'm still leaving and I'm taking the dangerous route

The strings are for those with charm
And fame are for those holding cards
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream
Billionaires are cowards in disguise
Their careers built upon money and lies
Your inner core will just burst at the seams
They say play it safe
And dream a different dream

Here I am, standing in this trailer
In your eyes I'm a failure
For wanting to travel the world like a sailor
From Beverly Hills to New York City
At this point I don't even care if you're with me
I may have augmented my hopes a bit too high
But I was tired of looking through telescopes, that habit can die
But dad look at me now
No longer in a small town
Can't be modest I have to boast
I'm traveling the world from coast to coast
In everybody's head is my riffs
And I wish you were here to see this
Swallow your pride long enough to shed a tear
Remember what you used to say, "Turn around, look in the mirror"...?
I wasn't no golden child and you weren't the perfect dad
But come on now, that's a thing of the past
You can ditch your bacon, eggs and Jimmy Dean
Live in luxury in your fields of green
Come on dad, won't you dream this different dream
with me?



NOTE: Words in italics are from the son's perspective, words in normal font are from the father's perspective, and words in bold is the chorus line.

I'm not sure where the idea came from. I was on a camping trip, heading back home, and all the sudden this whole elaborate story came to me and I started writing it all down on a notepad (back then I didn't have my Kindle Fire).

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

For Spacious Time

I need some natural,
organic,
spacious kinda time.
Where is nature in this time,
my time,
our time?

Perhaps nature is to time
as solid forms are to functional creation,
as solidarity is to creativity,
as Yang is to Yin,
as Full-Blown Climaxing polycultural kinda natural jazzy space
enters permacultural swingin' revolutionary time,
bangin' and beatin' our hearts to ping.

Where was I, again?
Well, never mind,
you can't go home again
in this polycultural space within permaculturing time.

Shout out to your sisters and your brothers
celebrating their multicultural Universalist space
balancing their Right-brain Co-Synergetic
Unitarian lusty kinda co-operative rhyming time.

Dubois soul sings Beloved Community
rhymes with Positive Integrity,
opposed by that nasty one "mendacity,"
a negative double-binding not yet not true,
our passive-aggressive cultural dissonance,
lack of cooperative resonance,
coupled with abject insolence,
when faced with Beloved Integrity
growing transgressively regenerative
revolutions of space in well-timed 
full-racing DNA prime.

Ooh!!

Um-hmmm...

Dubois begat integrity
as Nazareth, that nada nest,
begat love,
as Bucky begat synergy,
as Atlee begat co-intelligence,
as Permaculturally natural eco-logical designs and long-term plants
begat RNA's ubiquitous wisdom.

Um-hmmm..
Um-hmmm..

If justice is what love looks like in public
and tenderness is what love looks like in private,
I'd say we're lookin better on the privates of our face
than on the public beaten side of our race
through space
to trace
this RNA place
where eco-justice was most originally defined.

How much more RNA do you really think there could be
in white skin than in black?
And would you not say that RNA is our most omnipotent,
most omnipresent,
most ubiquitous space and time 
of intelligently regenerative design?

Yeah, I'm wid you,
I ain't neve' heard a no more DNA in The Dominant Left-Brained Man!
I jus' a dumb cooperative minded gay guy
who thinks you're playin' me,
and my playin' days is over!

Dr. West reminds,
reconnects
religions,
transgenerational catastrophe is to reissuing problems
as torrential flooding is to dust in my cognitive dissonance eyes.
A chronically possessive culture
breeds a catastrophically dispossessive economy.
A competitive economy 
breeds a rabid lack of eco-logic.
Cancer cells always consider themselves chronic;
never would think of ourselves as catastrophic,
because we're just so in love with that Positive Psychology
face in our cultural mirror.

The darker subconscious will have her intuitional revolution day
tonight
as she does every night we dream of polycultures
and nightmare with co-operative strength
against monocultural monotheistic monopolistic monochromatic 
monomial universalism.
That's our Black Hole womb from which our comprehensive consciousness evolved
enlightenment and light, 
and bright, 
and transparency,
as Father Time's Left Deductive 
gets it on with Mother Space's Right Inductive,
trans-parentcy.

Discerning justice, integrity, synergy, loving spaces
for here-and-now time,
would best redeem this transparent moment
as co-investment for our co-operative future Time.
Balancing discernment is like learning to ride a bike,
once you get the knack of positive-deductive-left
greets negative co-inductive (double-bind knot,
or not) right,
with self-optimizing cooperative environmental momentum,
sufficient to sustain nature's well-tempered life,
the rest is just peddling,
day in and night out,
eventually decomposing dismount
into further co-prehensile consciousness of death reborn...

"naturally, organic, spacious kinda' time
rollin and weavin our narrative songs
sung in RNA's pre-digital key of UCAG...
swingin' as we"

why does breathing feel like floating and swimming inside?

and what was that thing called phantom limbs of consciousness?

Um-hmmm...
Sing that song,
all day long!

Ooooh yeah!
Look at our cooperative nature
in this most polyculturing time.

I feel sublime.

Oh yeah,
um-hmmm,
thump to my thump,

Spacious skies.
Golden waves of yummy grain.
Ultra-violet mountain range of consciousness,
Earth's permaculturally fruitful plain.
Universe's co-operatively jazzy face.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Robbie Butler | Details |

Meaningful Screw You's

I'm done with this I've had enough of this/
Slushy trip since Hell Paso son just quit
This empty pursuit
Of letting the past keep livin' through you/
Go ahead and equip the damn truth
It is that simple to choose
What state of the neighbor of the temple you use
But you're just so adamant to worship/
Every preliminary negative
Which is why you have sentiment for those sedatives
Want evidence man your head has been/
Set on making your *****Titanic as
You steer into a gigantic crash/
Without any ****ing idea what effect thy absence has/
On the kids and on me too/
My heart feels ripped the honest truth/
To see you empty as your holes in the wall
You're like a ghost to us all/
Pale as the Seroquil pills you down/
I want to help but under the meds what you feel gets drowned/
I have the inauspicious fear you'll end up just like Tommy
That's why I pray every night/ I can't lose you Robbie


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)


Why can't you just forget the past
Take some time to look at the bigger picture and not be back in a flash
We're Kruger (pronounced close to sounding like Kroger)/ the fear you helped restore gives me bags
And I'm beyond tired of takin' attacks from your last-
Ing grudge for my darker days/
I love you but I wish to part our ways/
There's only so much my heart can take
In terms of holes and you immerse me in 'em the Spartan way/
It's not our choice we're physically far away/
And yes half the reason is me that our spark gave way/
But this time it's your fault that our world is shaking
You shut me out because the ears of another girl were waiting/
It seems that even for Britney your concern's decaying
It's ****ed up/ 'cause you never acknowledged how much I changed/
'Cause of our rapport me and my fam are pretty much estranged
**** these games you love to play/ 'tween now and then nothin's changed
Good luck not lovin' me as much as pain


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)


For a year it's been suicide with clues to find solutions I/
Don't think you're usin' my heartful l advice/ damn dude have I
Not been full of time so you could find/ reasons for you to not be blue and live/
But everytime I cope a sit and let you vent/ you walk off and do the opposite/
Talk about exhausted *****try listenin' to all your promises
And problems it's/ a shame how it's all turned out
I'm so burnt out/
I'll be the last to say this won't work out/
If you take your anger out on me again like I'm a dating spot/
Speakin' of those feelings that you refrain from not (knot)-
Icing was it honesty/ or rants of despar (as in spar) ity exasperated by deprav (as in im"prov") ity/
Or is there a real fervor (as in carni"vore") for me
If so then why you ignor (same as above) ing me/
For a Vai's you say you are not strong enough to close
Go **** yourself with a rubber hose
I don't care where the **** it goes/
I was there when no one was and this' the thanks I get
Never was I a dick to you so why'd you wank me *****/
My tears have turned into repressed anger/
For you a brother to me now a depressed stranger
That I have to put up longer than my dress' hanger


You have no idea 
What it's like
To watch you die
Every day
Every night
All the time
You can't even see that I am
Here with you
By your side
But as much
As I try
You deny
That I fight
For your life then I scream that
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance) 
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)
To me your life's meaningful (good riddance)
But I'm 'bout this close to sayin' **** you (you idiot)

Copyright © Robbie Butler | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

The Wound That Never Heals

Science can’t save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare’s 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers’ eyes.
Which is why we call it “the wound that never heals.”
Or the lesion that’s always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It’s not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it’s just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I’m
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry—also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that’s what this February’s been.
All to the good, for someone it’s the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare’s message: even tragedies are comedies. 
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who’s Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not effect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don’t get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife’s grandfather’s inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I’ll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private sexual acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities–angels, ghosts, aliens–are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you’ll feel.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

The Story of the Grand Piano

She was a grand piano: grand in structure, grand in beauty, grand in quality 
of sound. She had captured the heart of every pianist who had come to play in 
the great hall. Once they touched her keys…they fell in love with the 
celestial sounds that resonated from her core.

He was a grand musician, adept at playing several instruments. Music was 
what made him come to life…his passion seen in the swaying of his body as he 
became enraptured in the sounds. He came looking for her, having heard of 
her perfection, and once he touched her, he was captivated. 

Night after night the hall was packed with music lovers who came to hear him 
play, but they also came to feast their eyes for when he sat there at the 
piano…it was almost as if he were in the throes of passion. She made him 
pour and release his inner soul in notes that vibrated and pulsated within 
every listener’s heart. Passion redefined.

His fame spread.  He spent hours every day…sitting there on the stage, 
caressing her keys, making her do his bidding…moving her to a forte 
crescendo…and then another, soothing her with pianissimo after the 
storm of passion was spent. 

When did it happen? When had the restlessness taken hold? He couldn’t 
remember a specific moment, but at night…after the concerts were over, and 
he was there in his room, he would dream of traveling again, and he’d think of 
the Stradivarius he had seen for sale in the most renowned music store in 
Europe, a store right beside the grand hall. She was a beauty…sleek, 
streamlined, shapely, and after he had touched and fondled her, heard the 
noise he could bring to life with his flexible fingers, he knew…the time had 
come to say goodbye.

All his savings and more went into purchasing that Stradivarius that fit 
snuggly under his chin. He could travel with her. She was…lightweight, easy to 
carry. She was not stationary.....heavy. 

It was the last concert, and he gave that piano his all. The audience sensed a 
difference in the man. The room was electrified with the notes of a passion in 
bursting from the fusion of man and instrument. The piano had never sounded 
so angelic, sweet, replete with every nuance of a lover’s dream. Something 
seemed to be tugging at the pianist's heart for before he took his bow, they 
saw his eyes wet with tears. 

Years passed, his fame grew. He was now known as the master violinist....the 
shining star among his contemporaries...one of a kind. He was happy and 
famous. He was traveling….light. His Stradivarius was his to finger and play 
with every night, a perfect mistress, a perfect muse, yet why…why did he find 
himself back in the hall after all this time? He stood there aghast, for all he 
could see on the stage was the old janitor, sweeping the floor. “Where is she?” 
he demanded. 

The janitor squinted at him, trying to remember, and then he gave a sad 
smile. “Why…didn’t you hear? It was in all the papers. After you left, 
something went terribly wrong with that grand piano.  All the notes kept 
coming out wrong. It didn’t matter who sat down to play, and to tell you the 
truth, some of those pianists were even better than you, or so I heard said. 
Nothing sounded right. They brought professional tuners. Everything seemed 
alright, but…the music, the music lacked….life. She couldn’t get fixed and so, 
in the end….she was sold for scrap pieces to a carpenter who hacked her into
pieces to use for firewood.”

The musician stood there, tears streaming down his face. She had been 
heavy, her maintenance difficult, her stationary heart, unmovable. He had 
longed to travel light…to relish minimum maintenance demands, to travel far 
and wide, like a feather on the breeze…airy and light…oh, so light, but could 
someone be found who could explain to him the extreme leaded heaviness in 
his heart that rooted him, immovable, to the spot where once a beautiful 
grand piano had stood.

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Jay Sky | Details |

Till death

Am I walking backwards or just standing still.  Cuz I'm falling back to habits I tried to kill. I hide in laughter the real way I feel, that inside I'm shattered so I take a pill. To try to gather and and to try to heal , these wounds  and bruises and the pain I feel, will it ever change only time will tell, death must bring heaven cuz living is hell, even if that's the matter I stay here still, beating back the blackness as I  climb theses hills, still steady rapping lyrics I kill, but it's what's behind the madness that will give you chills. Never knowing what's next to happen  in this game of life, constantly dodging the grim reapers syth. Never losing my focus always keeping my sight,  when them dogs start to bark i just give them the bite. Just call me a pyro burning bridges left to right,  spitting flames like Spiro never running from a fight. And if I lose the battle I still fight this war,  stranded without a paddle trying to find some shore. Rocking back and forth hoping this boat don't flip, but if I go over board I'll just start to swim, waves crashing down but I'll never quit, only thing I'm drowning in is this liquor I sip, taking  hundred proof shots call it a critical hit, so I'll blame it on that if I ever start to slip. But who am I kidding all I'm doing is slipping, rock bottoms I'm hitting, so I just keep on digging.  Deeper and deeper I'm far from a keeper, cold with no fever life's my own personal teacher. But sometimes I wonder can I even be taught,  I feel like life is a gamble and im just playing the slots, so fuck it come at me with everything you got, I may not reach the stars but imma damn sure take a shot. Like a fucking juggernaut  I will never stop, you can take a leg and a arm then I'll just start to hop. Coming at you like a rabbit rapidly attacking so fast almost like it never even happened, but shit happens, can't relax cuz I'm in a paranoia panic.   Never winning never fit in I was different kept it hidden, cuz nobody needed to know the way I was living.  Grew up with shit my mom sold that shit just as as a kid I learned that life is a   bitch. But that bitch will be mine right by my side,  enjoying the ride as I bring it to unimaginable heights. I don't need the camera the glamour or lights,  excuse my bad grammar just know what I write. Just know what i say and know what I mean,  I'm all about change  but it's hard to believe, when people betray and shoot down your dreams, its hard to have faith in this world full of greed. But you gotta find a way to make it to another day, sometimes you gotta wait no matter how long it takes. But if you got no patience get up and move,  don't be scared cuz what's there to lose. Cuz even when everything is lost cherish everything you got, cuz at any given moment it could all just be gone,  so take nothing for granite Be glad that you have it,  cuz just like magic it could all just vanish. It's crazy but true all this  could happen to you , so watch what you do and watch your next move cuz you could wind up dead on the news.  Just know the choices you choose influence the future, so be careful what you choose and don't believe rumours.  Cuz there is no more trust cuz honesty must have gotten lost in translation, can't even speak up cuz there is no more communication. Just instigating and ppl assuming, a side to every story but it's easier to just jump to conclusions. What are we doing its far from amusing, trying to go forward but backwards we're moving,  running in reverse what can be worse. Trying to stay clean then we fall in the dirt. But that's how it works and that's how we learn , we walk through the flames just to see how it burns.  And if we emerge from the fire still  incline, these burns are what prove we survived, and I'll  continue to survive time after time, even after hope dies I'll remain Alive ,  until I have nothing left and I draw my last breath,  life is a forced in marriage so I guess I'm in it till death

Copyright © Jay Sky | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems