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Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Circle of Life - A Pet Story

It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
   his untimely end.

He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends.  I do care.”

Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.

So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?


We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.

Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.

He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.

“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.

And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…

There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight 
   to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.

“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy.  You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats.  It’s up to you”.

As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred.  I almost cried.

On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.

But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.

But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.

For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea, 
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me.  Please, take me”.

“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.

In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.

Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.


Long poem by Mike Liquori | Details |

Baltimore 4-28

Baltimore 4-28

Lets start,
By being real, 

I mean really, real! 

With harsh truths that need to be freed from our fragile lie, 

It is easy to say, or see "thugs", "punks" in the streets of BWI! 

But as I remove my eye from looking to weak,
and look from within at human torment, 
I see a generation lost. 
These are just scared kids!
By in-large they are alone, 
fatherless and some homeless, 
But all in pain,
And deep seeded need.
What a joke to hear "land o'plenty" while on a bleeding, bent knee. 

They are a generation lost upon the sea,
A ship sailing in the dark,
With no port to see,
No destination to guide with faint distant light. 
 
The cities are tinder boxes of oppression's disenfranchised youth...
looking to be heard, in the follies of the absurd.
  
Where do they go?
When will we lend an understanding ear?
or what do they say when it finally hears...
DO you want the answers that they live? 
The reply given in reality with the caps flying from a nine? 
Weaving and dodging all the god forsaken years. 
As any kid will do, 
They survive,
its the best they can do.

In the freshness, the excitement, 
They rush like a river broken free,
from the walls of opposition,
that was holding it back,
not only with our words, like "Your fenced off from that" 
but also in action, 
Cities full of scars. 

We must truly see the system is rigged from them to me.

Never really thought much about it,
We all know how white and easy answers can be,

But lets get real, fanning the fires flames,
is all they feel. 
Burning them insane! 
  
The failure is now upon all of us, 
my people, our time,
Our clock just struck twelve!
 
This generation,
Not just the white and black men, 
But also all the others on planet earth accompanying with them! 
The black brother must acknowledge,  how they let the child down, 
while the white man acknowledges that we pushed them even father around. 
In the end..... we both let everyone down, 
The sons,
The daughters 
we left,
and then never came 'round! 

Baltimore the city just showed up to say,
Get you acts together,
And start building docks right away! 
Make no more haste together, 
Get your kids to the harbor,
Now! Start today! Because you've wasted all the tomorrows! 
 
As my eye is father opened, 
What if that was me? 
Who spiked a pillar in a sandy spot out to sea?
So I wrote this up,
Where I started to say,
resolute on the matter,
that just maybe,
we can build a dock together and get some kids back safe, 
No more black or white pillar, 
just one great giant dock.
My safe American Family!
Complete with an anchor and the rope to adhere, 
courtesy of The Poet Mike?
I do hope you all really hear.....


Long poem by Star Light | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/blessing_of_love__from_our_fathers_son_302823' st_title='Blessing of Love--From Our Father's Son'>

Blessing of Love--From Our Father's Son

Blessed Mother's Day
God Blessing came in many ways
I was Blessed
Giving Out of Love His Best

In the morning
My son.. went out of his way
made me breakfest in bed today
Which woke me up
With God's Loving cup

Then My one of my daughters and son in law
Came in the morning.. 
bring presents generously
Giving me.. A New Bible..
King James.. named.. Beautifully
Then presenting onto me
A brouch.. of a Red Red Rose

Then my my other daughter and son in law
With my granddaughter.. too 
Bringing treasures of Love
As my granddaughter say.. "I can't tell you"
Grandma.. tis a purple purse! Smile
but twas.. a bible cover "Purple with designs black velvet"
With an golden emblem.. across the front.. 
"Amazing Grace".. written in place
As my daughters state.. 
Momma we got you this
For it carrys your name
"Grace' and Your ever so Amazing"
Such Love filled the air..

All my children there.. ever so dear
Then we went to church.. 
Preacher and all spoke 
of proverbs 31 woman
Ever so beautifully
But tis.. I know tis not me..
But tis wonderful.. blessing many say so

Then afterwards..  
at my place.. my son in law
went out of his way..
Made food by hand.. 
he did this just for me
he cooked a big meal.. 
for all to eat
My daughter-his wife.. 
made sweeets
My other daughter and her husband came
brought a cake.. twas what my granddaughter made
Twas ever such Blessing of Love.. God made
To have all at the same time
Together under my roof
Praying.. giving Grace for all the Blessing that taken place
Eating a delicious meal twas cooked

As I memo.. twas just a few day ago
I prayed.. that someway
All my children would come in spend
Time with me.. all at once.. 
Even eat a meal together.. 
and as I seen--My Bible I been using
Always Reading.. ever so much
twas falling apart.. 
Even front cover fell off.. 
pages falling out just by the touch
I memo saying.. within as praying 
that same night unto my lord
I would love to have a new bible.. 
one even beholding new cover..
But I sure didn't expect.. to receive it
But as I memo.. and see...
God Always Provided everything
I prayed and asked for 
He gave me the best
Mother day's Blessings
With His Love so grand
My Blessed Children 
God brought All together again 
along with More Blessings.. 
came without end

Come to Jesus
Fellowship with our Lord
For Blessing shall come 
To You forever more

Thank you.. Jesus for everything
For Your Love.. You bring
On This Blessed day.. and many to come
Blessing of Love-From Our Father's son


Long poem by Eric Nolan | Details |

Patriotism

Have you ever thought about the Death of Christ?
Why did they crucify him?
If you read the story then you know
But what I ask is why didn't God stop them?
It's natural to protect our own
How could he let him be sacrificed?
For the good of all man I've been told
God sacrificed his only son for us
But what does he ask in return? What does he want?
Are we supposed to try and emulate him?
I wish to know
I don't understand his decision
To not help his only son, I couldn't do that
But I do know that is why we are not gods
Do people who give their lives for others emulate God?
When a solider dies for our country is he dying for us?
Or freedom? or both?
Are the parents godlike in their sacrifice of their children?
Like Christ when he sacrificed his only son
Or is it more than that?
Is patriotism just a mindset to get people to fight?
When one country is mad at another
It's the leaders who argue not the countries
Why can't the leaders fight and leave us alone?
Do leaders send their own children to fight and die?
Why should I send my children to fight and die for you?
Are you a God? Do you have my interests at heart? Or yours?
You say it is in the name of freedom, but whose freedom?
We have never been free
You send me to fight, kill, and die
And yet you say I am free, free to do what?
Free to murder those you want dead?
Free to send my children to their death for you?
Who are you again? Are you a God?
I fight for God not you
My children are not targets or murderers
And now you demand my children to be your shield
Who are you again? Never mind
I know who you are it's very plain to see
You are not a god you are a coward
You are evil and you are trying to destroy us
You are lying to all of us just as you always have
You speak of freedom
As you try to blind us with patriotism
And silence us with duty and honor, Meaningless!
From one who knows nothing of their meaning
I wonder what God would say to you
Knowing who and what you are
Would he forgive you?
Would he understand your deception? Would he?
I could not forgive you, this is why I am not a god
I can't forgive, I am vengeful, I would punish you
Without mercy
For allowing this deception of youth to continue
Maybe you believe your right but I can't believe that
You know what your doing is wrong yet you continue
One day you will pay, as we all will 
We are all guilty to some degree
But most of all we are guilty of sacrificing our children to you 
Who are you again? never mind
I just remembered, your the devil





Long poem by Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Details |

The Best Days of My Life

The Best Days of My Life: The Family Day!


Just like a person can have more than one “Best Friends” in a lifetime, 
One can also have more than one “Best Day of Their Life”.
I have had several “Best Days” in my life, but a few really do stand out.
One of my best days was when my first daughter was born…and healthy.
From that day forward, I have loved and enjoyed her; she blesses my life.
Another best day in my life was the birth of my second healthy daughter.
From that day forward, I have enjoyed, loved, and learned from her.
She blesses my life.  She and my first daughter love and help others, too.  
We played, learned, laughed, loved, and enjoyed many best days together.
Then, my next best day arrived; it was the birth of my youngest child…a boy.
From that day forward, I have loved and enjoyed him; he blesses my life.
While my children were growing up: we loved, they danced…we camped.
Together we learned about God by studying His teachings and attending church.
Together we learned kindness by visiting the elderly, blind, sick, and disabled. 
Together we learned helpfulness by taking time to help strangers in need.
We, with friends, helped keep our neighborhood clean, picking up park litter.
We sang nature’s symphonies…bathed in streams, washed hair in waterfalls.
Talents were developed and we watched one another’s performances. 
Educations were earned and we praised one another’s accomplishments.
Families and careers were begun and my life continues to be blessed.
I have had many best days in my life with my children.  And we have loved.
Everyday with my children, even struggles, were “Best Days of My Life”.
Now, they are grown, but we stay in touch, we love, we enjoy…and
There are grandchildren.  So there will still be many “Best Days in My Life”.
And even though my children no longer live at home, I have been blessed.
I have one more of the already many “Best Days” to share.  A late in life…
Best day is the meeting of and the marriage to my spiritual companion.
Our soul(s) having been completed was the most recent “Best Day of My Life”. 
Together, we still live, seeking God’s word and living life caring and loving.
All…together— These blessings that I have shared are the best life can offer.
And these "Best Days" are the days I will remember for the rest of my life.
And beyond—  The family day!

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 22, 2010
Poetic form: Narrative


Long poem by Shanity Rain | Details |

My Dad

My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .


Long poem by Merv Webster | Details |

WHAT DO I TELL MY CHILDREN?

If you've lived in outback Queensland just as I have,
you must've faced at times the scourge of drought. 
You'd have watched the senseless dying of your livestock
and felt completely drained and numb no doubt.
Did you ponder on why life can bring such sorrow,
when other times you’re dealt a joyful hand?
Though the bitterest of blows is when the children
express, "Dear Daddy, we don't understand."

How I hate to see the hurt upon their faces,
but more so when they give your hand a squeeze.
And the question that forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children?  Tell me, please!"

Then one balmy morn way back there in September,
my children settled down upon the floor,
as they planned to watch Play School on television,  
but little did we know what was in store.
How they sat perplexed at seeing the explosions
of buildings there upon the tele screen
and the aftermath then left the children reeling -
left wond'ring at the images they'd seen. 

Though I sensed the children's minds took on the notion,
that things they viewed were happening overseas,
how that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children?  Tell me, please!"

Hosts of men, who searched the mountainous piles of rubble,
live vividly within each young child's mind, 
plus the endless walls of pictures of lost loved ones,
placed there by anxious folk now left behind.
In their classrooms children talk about the horror
and can man stop the threat of war somehow?
Though our home is miles away from New York City,
our children know that life is altered now.

As my children leave the light on in their bedrooms,
lock windows which exclude a nightly breeze,
yes, that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children?  Tell me, please!"

We had planned to fly the children to their grandma’s,
who lives just north of Brisbane on the coast,
but the thought of going on a 'plane is not on,
as flying is the thing they fear the most.
So as parents we have organised this summer,
a camping trip with some of their close friends,
but I fear the world will never be the same place,
though live in hope the terrorism ends.  
   
All I wish is for my children to be happy,
that innocent young minds can be at ease. 
Though that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children?  Tell me, please!"





Long poem by Tiaua Mafa Ioane | Details |

To My Children

To My Children

Love is just energy forever changing form, but indestructible.
The force determines the beloved from the lovers, mistakenly interchangeable.
Whereas the latter are the bones of thy ribs, you the beloved are the
        blood of my soul, the fruit of my loins.
Be mindful my children of the difference,
    lest you stray into a field that even angels avoid.

With the constancy of a love that feels neither highs nor lows,
Be assured my beloved that such feeling with no limits and no end, forever flows,
The rustle of breath from a gentle breeze will caress your face,
A reminder that the sensation may ebb but the warmth of my love is etched in its place.

My lovers I have loved so deep and true, often when desires are expended love also is consumed 
Feelings of love in extremes doped most men; 
   with no exception, the highs thereof drove me till the end. 
They say it was natural so love was never the issue but passion run rampant,
Like an eruption of hot lava, it fires, sizzles and falters then hardens when dampened.
 
Do not sit in judgment of the stirrings of my heart and the errors of my ways.
Indiscretion is mine and the right to stray yet earned I will, eventually pay.
Forgiveness I seek from she whom I vowed to keep,
But ‘Till death do us part’ a pledge I gave then, is an eternity outside my reach.

In the dying embers of that which is left in me, I strain to remember the sound of yesteryears.
From the mischievous toes, paces of woes, lows and swells till your wedding bells.
Of this life, have no fear my child, for to stand tall you know well, 
      to stand alone, only time will tell. 
You were raised hard; the rod was not spared for to survive you were prepared.
The hurt in your young eyes then, was noted with pain and sadly put aside.
But the tears I cried you never saw, only hoping that someday you will realise; 
I struggled to ensure you never meet hunger and ignorance, two very dear friends of mine.

I have loved you well the only way I know how; I have loved you good.
When my time is done only one-thing matters so do not let me be misunderstood.
Did I love deeply and was I loved truly in return?
I say yes to both and in doing so, I say yes to God.
I bless you my children and to yours, fare thee well.
 
T M Ioane




Long poem by Tedly Bare | Details |

Sitting in bed

Sitting in bed.

It’s time for sleep, shower first.
Three baskets of clean clothes, bedside.
Cats' nocturnal sport rumbling across the wood floor, mother pouncing daughter, chasing rubber balls.

Tinnitus and the sound of air whuffing through the ventworks.  Faintly piano music seeps through the seal of my door from children’s room, as they dream.  I’m sitting... in bed.

I need to shave.  My razor’s dull.  The hairs will be plucked from my face, less shorn.  I will examine skin for blemishes, and finding none will probably aggravate a neutral irregularity to the point of bleeding.  I’ll brush my teeth first, to avoid the taste of shaving cream.  Then shave and shower, and recall the salt stone my abuser once gave me.  She loved me then.  Perhaps.

My shampoo is infused with tea tree oil and mint.  It irritates my sensitive scalp a little.  It smells so good.

I’m not ready to sleep.  I’m not ready to shower or shave.  I still taste milk on my breath.  And I’m awake, as if capturing a few more moments of consciousness… were a virtue.  Is it?

Tinnitus my faithful friend.  A frequency so high it’s almost imaginary.  A close listen reveals dissonance, two or three tones.  The warbling interference pattern.  You are the closest I come to silence.

Cotton swabs, shoot.  I need to make a list.  One or two things I remember in the store, and more I forget.  Some microwavable containers for rice, to take to work.  I’ve been eating sweet potatoes in an effort to lose weight.  I like them, but… variety.

Something… something else I wanted to remember.  Batteries?  No, that wasn’t it.  Cobwebs?  No, why would I need to remember cobwebs?  I have cobwebs in my brain.  Ah!  Kitty litter.  So that too, and…  well, I’ll think about it later.

I’m starting to lose feeling in my feet and lower legs.  It’s better than restless legs, with which I sometimes wrestle.  Usually when I’ve done this, procrastinating sleep.  Magnesium depletion, I suppose.  Or something.

To have a hand on my back, scratching sweetly.  An tender arm draped lovingly, even excitedly over my large belly.  The sensation, the meaning.  I long for it.  Long hair, gentle voice, she's with me.  Forever.  If only.

Goodnight.


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

Haunted

On Memorial Day I am haunted and flooded with so much grief.
My Mother lies next to my Grandmother and they next to my Great Aunt.
My Fathers name is there, too, but blessedly he’s not there yet.
Such great memories are restored as I look at each stone.
Once again I’m a rambling child with no kids of my own.
I remember the safety they afforded me, and all the treats and their love.
All their little sacrifices they gave, when I was still too young to know.
Why did I chase after a kitten when Grandma was so close by my side?
A simple tug on her skirt and she would of hugged me and smiled with pride.
Why was I discovering butterflies, when my Great Aunt was close there too?
She made the best pies EVER from scratch while I played in another room.
Why did I take Mom for granted… when as a child she gave me so much?
What I wouldn’t give for her gentle touch… and another soothing hug…
And Grandpa lies by Grandma… he was always repairing something or by her side.
And now there are all my aunts, uncles, and cousins that are all scattered around. 
They made Christmas my favorite time as their talk and laughter rang out.
They’d laugh, talk, and enjoy each other’s company, as I’m sure now they do.
I can’t imagine them in any other way, than at my Grandma’s on those wonderful 
days.
We’d sit down to a holiday feast with everyone all around and it all seemed like play.
Were they then thinking of others that they knew from long ago?

As I walk around the graveyard picking out old friends, I remember their wistful 
looks…
They did the same each year, as they talked about the past even back then.
Perhaps its time my stone goes there, though I’ve a few more years to go.
That will help my children when it’s also my time to go…
And surprisingly it makes me feel I’m not leaving the older family alone.
It’s like a kiss, and a tug on a skirt to leave that something behind.
It’s a promise… they’ll be remembered until it too, is my time…
Until then I’ll bring my children and tell stories from long ago…
One day a year can’t be too much since it’s memories that I bestow. 
And they all simply add up to the life that I have known.


Long Poems