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abortion absence
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Long Ocean Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Greg Barden | Details |

A Walk On the Beach

I went again today ... to that place, the allurement overwhelming ... the one we called "ours" so tritely,
"Mine" before you, "mine" again now, (tho' others have doubtless staked claimed - ages before and since).
I went there to "forget" you ... to put life in perspective again -
To feel the awe of all creation and my insignificance amidst it ... yours ... ours.
Just one of the endless ways I forget you each day.

My essence is there ... an open-air cathedral for the melancholy,
(And I one of its honored caretakers and most stolid gargoyles, cold as granite).
The redolent brine ... laughing gulls ... clang of a buoy ... hypnotic wave wash,
Like it's lulling the day to slumber, or heartening me to listen ...
Listen to the rhythmic music of nature's capricious breath.

I walked to the end, where the ledges meet the sand, (the way we always did),
A bit of a hike, more than three miles down and back, I think,
But it seems as near as ever when I'm so enthralled with what my senses drown me in.
It's always there, (waiting for me, I like to think) ... "Our" rock ... hours spent there ...
Talking deep, talking nothing ... kissing, arguing, ruminating, dreaming, being silent, being loud ...

(Minds at one moment as if one, the next, eons apart ... our own worlds). 

That rock, though molded and shaped by centuries of water and wind,
Fit us perfectly ... as if all those years of endless pounding of surf and gale,
Was a premonition for our special moments ... was a monotonous preparation,
For romantic fools like me who find fate inescapable ... who find happenstance hard to accept,
And who believe that this rock was placed here for our purposes alone ... (foolish).
Imagine the stories that rock has absorbed ... not just mine, but endless others,
Who have found that place as special and receptive for love and melancholy as we.
I wonder, when others are there alone, if they do as I do -
I talk out loud to no one - out into the ether - sometimes from the deepest part of my being,
Things I would or could never speak to another human ... but that spot ... 

It coaxes them out ... the salt air and sounds of the shore, reach their fingers into my being,
And grasp things there I didn't know existed ... and I'm obliged to turn them to sound,
To give substance of voice to validate their importance ...
Not importance to me or my loves or any human or nature or even God ...
But importance to the moment ... to existence and its divine principles.

(These are the precise things this place stirs within me each time I'm here ... but always mixed with you).

There have been times ... times when I went in winter, during stormy weather ...
I love the ocean then the most ... it's personality is at its most basic ... it's most visceral:
It's strength, it's anger, it's exuberance, it's joy, it's indifference to humanity,
Is at its most obvious ... and my significance to myself is never more potent.
There are usually no people there then, and it's as if it's been placed there for me alone to appreciate.

At those times, when there are no others, and the surf is pounding ... the waves raging against sand and stone,
And the gulls are fighting the winds off-shore, the bell-buoys arguing with the swells, and the fog-horns warning ...
I walk to the end ... to our rock, and I stand up on it, and without thinking of anything but you,
And your eyes, the way they betrayed your soul the first time they met mine,
Your hands, the way God made the spaces between your fingers fit mine so perfectly ...
Your smile, that makes those "light up a room" clichés seem so inadequate,
That incredible tiny electrical vibration I felt when I touched your skin, (like no other),
And your voice, that never stopped making my heart flip whenever you'd speak my name,
Your sigh, a music so sweet and forbidden ... a melody for me alone, that held me prisoner ...
Thinking on all that defines what you are and were and meant, (and the void left behind) ...

I reach down into my soul, to that place that terrifies me, where I'd never go at any other time,
(The place I refuse to see when I consider the mirror each day ... the place I will always deny),
I saturate myself with that dark place and all that it holds ... all that it hides,
And with all my might I tear it from my gut in a single yell ... a sound as primal as my surroundings.
Not a scream of terror, but one of release ... a release of contrition and self-awareness ...

A purging of pain and joy and fear and passion ... loss and love and anger and insignificance ...
Hatred and jealousy ... exuberance and relief ... the longing to feel, and the desire to never feel again ...
All my emotion - negative, positive, ambiguous - the multitude of things I feel that are beyond expression...
I scrape them from my being with all the force I can ... completely, without regret or wonder,
Face skyward, I return them to the places they belong ... carried to nothingness on the ocean winds, (like the dust I someday will become).

No one can hear ... no thing can hear ... even to me the sound is swallowed by the surf.
The gulls and sandpipers go about their business, (I could be another of these rocks,
And it would matter not to them) ... my loud proclamations to the sky unrecognized.
But to me this little ritual is priceless, this place as precious as any ...
My soul renewed as my breath is spent, (at least temporarily), my mind as clear as the cloudless sky.

My thoughts are still of you ... us ... there ... magical ... sun dancing as a million jewels on the waves.
Or moonlight hypnotizing us to dream and believe and feel sure it would never end ...
Moments so precious ... so bathed in romance that they were eternal ... captured in time,
Beyond the sobering brush of reality ... and at those moments, all that mattered ...
No thought or feeling or emotion or thing that wasn't US ... alone but not alone.

(continued)

Copyright © Greg Barden | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might



.                         Preface

Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone 
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn



.                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”



2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan 
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan 

While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou   
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail



3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
	
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared



4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone



.                         Epilogue

That night the wayward winds were weird 
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled

The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red



.                         Epitaph

Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps



inspired by ~fc~

DEFINITIONS
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Greg Barden | Details |

To Question Existence

Isn't our quality of life greatly subject to how we view our world and what happens in it?

I heard someone say recently, (and I agree), that nature is one of the most beautiful things we are blessed with in life, but then I began thinking about the other side of nature, that it can be as ugly as it is beautiful. 

Nature makes no judgements, it is what it IS and goes about spinning its wheels in a self-sustaining fashion that has no conscience, morality, guilt, or prejudice.

Pain, suffering, loss, separation, death ... they're all just as much a part of nature as the beauty and wonder we find in it, yet something innate in humans has chosen to focus on the elegant and wondrous side for the most part.

What is that element, I wonder, that makes us separate the ugliness from the rest, and keep it in a place of distance and observation, rather than embracing it as we do the joyous and exquisite?

Is good and bad, (or good and evil), something we've invented for our survival as a species, or a tactic we've devised for our own benefit?

There's something very deep-seated and visceral about it, I believe, that may be one of the few positive things that intelligence and self-consciousness have given rise to ...

THAT'S what is so special about humanity, I think, this ability we possess to separate and appreciate - even DEFINE - beauty, elegance, symmetry, grace, kindness, joy, togetherness, passion, compassion, peace, forgiveness, caring, love....

I find it nigh incomprehensible at this point in my life, that the fact that we were given this core capacity to recognize the beauty around us, AND have been brought to consciousness on the most wondrous and fascinating planet we know of, is just coincidence.

THAT and all else of a spiritual or ethereal nature is conjecture for all of us, (and faith for many), but I feel strongly that there is order in everything, however chaotic, and an intelligent intent behind us and our Universe ...

For me it is far too amazing and overwhelmingly grand to be anything but....

I'm not intimating any clear view beyond the face value of these statements, (as my personal search goes on), but I am thankful for these gifts we have been given.

I hope when all is said-and-done, that we have made the most of it as a species, and not squandered it away with selfishness and vanity.

I pray man survives his self-destructive nature, and bears redeeming witness to his intelligence by proving that he was worthy of his dominion over this world and its creatures, and that this legacy of recognition and appreciation was indeed granted to the worthiest of beings ...

But if our trending directions and actions continue as they are now, I fear that will not be the case, and our propensity for greed and graft and the utilization of resources at all costs, will be our undoing.

I see signs here-and-there that at least a small contingency of our species realizes the dire direction we are headed in and wants to affect positive change, but until it's an overwhelming majority, sheer numbers will dictate our fate.

I often think that this world would be far better without us, but so much permanent damage has already been done - we have left our indelible mark on this amazing planet, and that makes it a moot point, sadly.

We have left a lasting scar on Nature's priceless visage, and if any intelligent creatures from elsewhere in the Universe ever DO find this gem that sustains us, I fear they will curse us in our negligence.

I pray I am wrong, and that we change that fate before we insure it, even though our insight and vision for the future seems to be limited to the balance of our individual lives.

If only we can see beyond that, and give proper weight and care to the fate of those of our species that will come after us ... if we haven't already sealed it.

Copyright © Greg Barden | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Richard Lamoureux | Details |

A Man and the Moon Prose Version

Sebastian looked at the moon, the source of his inspiration. When the Moon appeared in its silvery glory, he was profoundly moved to write. Sadly he could only write during a full moon. This was a problem which perplexed him. He had waited many days for the full Moon to appear so that he could put his plan into action.

When Sebastian would write a poem during the full Moon his readers would be moved to tears. His prose had wooed many a young heart, his songs had been sung to princesses. Countless women had named their children in honor of him. His words were distilled romance with power beyond the comprehension of ordinary men. The problem however was that Sebastian was unable to meet the demand. Strong men would beg for but a few lines to capture their true loves heart. Without the Moon, when Sebastian would try to write it felt like his tongue was wrapped around his hand. Nothing flowed little made sense, he was like an inexperienced teen unfamiliar with the ways of love. How Sebastian longed for the Moon during those long nights.

So here he was with his enchanted pen in hand, at the end of the pen was a golden strand. Sebastian went out to capture the Moon. He swung the pen in large loops over his head releasing it with tremendous force. The pen hurtled towards its target the tip of the fountain pen struck the centre of the Moon sinking deep into its surface. Sebastian pulled with all his might each movement of his hand brought his prize closer and closer. As the moon came closer there was no evidence it was increasing in size. Once the moon was in hand it fit perfectly in his pocket. Sebastian felt gleeful as he carried the Moon into his home, everything was going according to his plan.

Once inside he removed the Moon from his pocket and bathed in it's other worldly light. As Sebastian dislodged his pen from the surface it began to drip with the Moon's tears. Magnificent lines beyond anything he had ever hoped. Songs, poems, prose, the mysteries of the ages flowing onto his pages day after day year after year. His home overflowed with his treasures, the realization of his poetic dreams.

Still he had no joy, no one knocked on his door. Lovers could not walk in the Moonlight, wolves couldn't bay at the Moon. Romance was no longer in the air. The night was a thing to be feared. Sailors could not find their ways home, if they did their lovers no longer waited for their return. Some refer to this as the Dark Ages. Art creativity had all but dissapeared. The Oceans stood still with no Moon to guide the tides. Meanwhile Sebastian continued to write.

The Moon asked to see the Ocean so Sebastian took it for a walk. As they walked along a lonely secluded beach the Moon began to increase in size. The Moon summoned the Ocean to it's rescue. A huge wave came up on shore plucking the moon from Sebastian's hand. As the Moon was floating out to Sea Sebastian swam out to reclaim his treasure. Sebastian jumped on the Moon as a gigantic hand like wave tossed the Moon back into space. As the moon traveled back to its home it became larger and larger brightening the nights sky. Lovers came out to kiss captivated by the silvery glow.  If they look close they can see a man with a fountain pen held in his hand. Wolves cry for him as they bay at the moon.

On the Moon Sebastian sits all alone with his fountain pen in hand, he fills the pen with his tears. He longs to write the words trapped in his heart yet there is not a page in site. Even if there was there is no one to read his words or to sing his songs. The Moon was once his Muse and then his greatest prize. Now it is his prison for the rest of time.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Details |

Workshop Poem - Winds Forgive


Turning my back on typhoon skies, 
a pestilent past, I pitch my mistakes 
into a forgiving wind. Standing barefoot 
at the edge of apologies, 
coastal tides carry hope, tomorrows stir
on a mariner’s horizon. I search 
seafaring eyes to discover God waving heartily,   
welcome home…

Turning my back on a turbulent past, 
silence falls in waves…faces, that once stared
with confusion share smiles. I had mistaken
their curiosity for condemnation…faltering, 
teetering, capsized by my own insecurity, I see...
time changes perceptions – we can grow, rise.
I sing out greetings to this abundance;
a forgiving wind, God’s instrument, 
blows through my soul.
I worship in full afternoon sun;
riding waves of mid-life, 
I see you amid 
rhythmic seas,
                    sultry sunsets, 
sloping skies, 
                    sandy relics,
distant mountain peaks,
               depths of ocean caverns; 
when I hear a baby’s first cry or wise words 
of the aged to loved-ones near...
I remember your mercy;
when I hear the break of waves over
my own waking shores and welcome 
every birth of earth and sea…
I remember your mercy.

Turning my back on a past, shredded into wisps 
of yesterday’s despair, I rest
in innocence, where I am, 
where I was born…never looking back.
Breath of Life shares resonating beauty 
and carries my darkest regrets 
into Heaven’s forgiving winds;
I have prayed for this. 

Your love blankets tranquil dreams in sleep 
from night sky’s silvery arc of crescent moon.
Your love transforms my gifted day’s design
from beads of golden sun showers awaiting June.   

Your love awakens my soul, a gust of penetrating warmth.
Your love beats with mine, and I am changed…forever changed.



After advice from Cyndi, Debbie and Frederic:

Turning my back on typhoon skies, 
a pestilent past, I pitch my mistakes 
into windy seas on a quest for forgiveness; 
I plant bare feet at the edge
of apologies. Coastal tides 
roil in hope, tomorrows smooth out
a mariner’s horizon. I float in seafaring
eyes to discover God waving heartily,   
welcome home.

Turning my back on a turbulent past, 
silence falls in waves…I mold clay faces;
they once stared with confusion, smiles
posed too long. I had mistaken curiosity 
for condemnation. My body trembles. 
I falter, teeter, capsized by my own insecurity; 
Then, I blink and time changes
perception. I grasp sunshine till I beam. 
A golden wave, I taste salt air  
and greet abundant light;
a strong wind cleanses me. 
God’s soulful instrument blows free.
I worship in full afternoon sun;
riding waves of mid-life, 
I see you amid 
rhythmic seas,
                    sultry sunsets, 
a slope of sky, 
                    sandy relics,
mountain peaks high,
               depths of ocean caverns; 

when I hear a baby’s first cry or wise words 
of the aged to loved-ones near,
I remember your mercy;

when I hear the break of waves over
my own waking shores and welcome 
every birth of earth and sea,
I remember your mercy.

Turning my back, I shred gray paper
into confetti of yesterday’s despair; I rest
in innocence, where I am, 
where I was born, I never look back.
My Creator’s breath shares resonating beauty 
and carries my darkest regrets. 
Heaven’s winds forgive;
 

Your love blankets dreams 
in the silvered arc of moon,
your love redesigns my days untold
with summer sun showers, beads of gold. 

Your love awakens my soul, winds 
flood with warmth. Your love beats within, 
and I am changed, forever changed.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

A Well-Known Stranger

'Twas a sound I thought alarming, most assuredly disarming;
Up I rose from peaceful slumber to discern what it might be.
While my candle flickered, wavered; whilst my heartbeat halted, quavered,
At my window I was favoured by it sounding, dreadfully-
In the darkness loudly pounding- drawing nearer, dreadfully
As if calling out to me.

When the window I unshuttered, as my heart so wildly fluttered
Sounded forth the sound, and nearer, sounded forth so dismally:
And I heard the tempest sighing, through the trees and chimneys crying,
As if left alone and dying by some God-forsaken sea-
Quite forsaken, quite abandoned by the inky, lifeless sea,
Just as black as black can be.

There I stood a moment longer as the wailing winds grew stronger.
'Tis, I thought, but silly fancies dreamed imaginatively;
For there's nothing coming, leaving, and the night can be deceiving;
Yes, the wind was only breathing on the ancient maple tree,
Which was rapping on the shutters in the night, incessantly-
This was all that it could be.

Then a furious arctic guster gathered might and main and muster
And with hands so cold and clammy put my candle out while he
Wrapped his chilling hands around me, in his frozen grip he bound me;
I, his presence all around me groaned and grumbled in the dark;
As I groped and griped and stumbled, groaned and grumbled in the dark-
While he laughed so wickedly.

To the window, pitter-patter, I rehasped it with a clatter
Then relit and watched my candle as it flamed assuredly,
While it lit the old surroundings; but then how my heart was pounding!
As I gazed at the astounding standing on my posted bed,
Perched above the feathered pillows where I rest my weary head,
Perched there unashamedly.

"Ah," said I, "this nameless flutter sounding, pounding on the shutter
It was only this dear fellow trying so determinedly
To gain entrance to my dwelling, all to bring this piece of spelling,
And there really is no telling who has sent him here to me
'Till I read the little letter fastened on below his knee,
That he bears so cheerfully.

I undid the purple ribbon tied about the charming pigeon,
Quite forgetful of his presence as I read absorbedly.
I spent little time deciding who had sent this piece of writing,
For it bore me happy tidings in a hand I knew so well;
In a cheerful, laughing manner, so it was not hard to tell
That it was from my Melody.

"My favourite ribbon, I've untied it from my hair and wrapped inside it
All the words I wish to say, but am too far to tell to thee."
From this point and on hereafter I omit her words of laughter,
Words that make my heart beat faster; words that stop it suddenly:
Words that make me melancholy; words that make me shout with glee-
Words sent by my Melody.

When I'd traced each perfect letter, I was thinking clearer, better;
I set out some feed and water for my friend, repentantly.
"Pigeon," said I, "rest beside me; walls and roof shall safely hide thee
From the tempest roaring blindly o'er the inky, lifeless sea."
And I squinted through the shadows where he perched there silently;
Resting, sleeping peacefully.

Drawing near, I kissed him gently, thinking all the while intently
That the very place I kissed him once was cradled tenderly
By the hand I wish was holding onto mine, and deftly molding
Into mine, and mine enfolding, that of her who wrote to me;
That of her so far away across the inky, lifeless sea-
That of dearest Melody.

Entered In Kelly Deschler's Contest, "The Raven"

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

Earth Fire Water Wind

                      A Journey With The Wind.

I had a dream that felt greater than reality, lost on earth
wearing a gown bare feet bleeding leaving behind traces 
for my sons to find me.

My hand was begging reaching out suddenly, a feeling 
I held the wind, yes the wind in the palm of my hand a friend, 
to join me through that journey toward the ocean, knowing it 
will soon fly away, who can hold the wind and make it belong, 
I did.

Wind Oh wind, meet my sons, whisper my name they are the 
ones who care, they will rescue me even blind folded, they will 
smell my bodies odor and sense where I am. 

Oh wind, you are the only one here on this earth I feel your presence, 
fly away now carry a tear place it on their cushion and deliver my 
message to them, I will wait even forever, bring them back to me.

My friend my wind, search for them, find them knock, on their window 
If they are sleeping they will wake up & run towards me follow my blood 
trail find their way to carry me softly & cure my scars wipe away my
tears & fear of drowning alone at the shore.

Suddenly the light faded darkness took over covering the brightness 
away I pledged, mother nature I am not yet ready, sun do not burn 
and light a fire, Oh sun where are you , don't leave me alone, I started humming my babies melody to be heard 
and come to my rescue.

Deprived to see them in the morn for years, deprived to look in their 
eyes, deprived to eat with them, drink with them, deprived to smell their 
perfume, destiny was against me due to the war in our country, for 
years they were always flying away around this earth, to settle.

I felt cold shivering, suddenly the warmth of my children's breath 
around gave me the strength I needed, Wind! my friend! you 
found them and carried them across the ocean,Oh, the look into 
each others eyes cannot be describe, for the first time I felt they 
were real we fixed for seconds but a whole book can be created 
through the emotions and communications that occurred during 
those precious moments, 
a language of its own.

The echoing of their voices was heard, what can we say mum except 
we love you for being there when we needed you,we love you because 
of who you are, we love you because you care, we love you for not sinking 
during our absence because we needed you on the shore, together listen
to nature`s beauty, birds twittering, fish whispering, 
waves dancing & splashing.

We love you because you find life in everything you touch, and if not, 
you blow life into everything, we love you, your breath has kept 
us alive, your breath is as strong as the wind that carried us to you. 
Come on mum, it was a long journey with the wind on this earth 
for all of us, lets go home, together. 


 Contest,Earth Fire Water Wind for Debbie Guzzi   (WIN Honorable Mention) Therese Bacha
26/4/2013                                                           


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by JW Earnings | Details |

Glisten in the Moonlight

Your glorious emerald eyes 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Glisten in the moonlight 
Delight dances in the water
I watch it joyfully
You are set free from the cage...
You're like a dove soaring in the sky
You are the rain...
drizzling down in ecstasy 
A hint of ecstasy is shown in your reflection...
When you caress me... I'm relieved... 
From the stress that forced me in chains
I knew we'd be on the brighter side of tomorrow 
We're glistening in the moonlight 
I knew we'd become candles in the heavens above us
We're glistening in the moonlight
For a moment, I felt your presence...your radiant with sympathy 
I saw at first glance the dark side of you
Tonight, we'll be together and fly through the horizon 
We'll watch the sunset say its last goodbye...
We'll wave a greeting at the moon! 
We glisten in the moonlight...
What if I was as handsome as the lion...
Roaring with pride and pure courage
What if we were glistening in the moonlight?
Would it bring health to our bones tonight?
Would it make our heart rejoice and overflow with delight?
Would we be able to survive this horrifying plight?
Would we be shimmering like a candlelight?
We're glistening in the moonlight... (6)
Ohh...yeah...ooh yeah...ooh yeahh...
We reach to the stars and hope we can trace a shooting star
I feel the coolness run down my fingers...
We're glistening in the moonlight
You're the dandelions in the fields
You're the gorgeous view that I marvel at everyday
When you kiss me, I live my dreams
We glisten in the moonlight
In a quick moment, I sense a feeling of endless renewal 
I roam inside of your illuminating maze 
Glow on... sunshine... 
Glow on...sunshine...
Glisten in the moonlight...
Listen to the truth and rub it in
You are ravishing like the sunset
But you're ascending while I'm descending
I feel extremely guilty
I wish I could glisten with you in the moonlight
You're glistening in the moonlight (6) 
Ohhh yeahh... oohhh yeahh... ohh yeahh
You're glistening in the moonlight (4)
We go our own way
I wish we can glisten like the moon
Glisten like the sun 
There's a dream concealed inside of me...
Reveal your light and pour it upon me
You glisten in the appealing moonlight
While I'm subsiding... you're fulfilling your dreams
Of gliding across the horizon 
You're independence... keeps on scorching with satisfaction
While I'm below you... 
Your emerald green eyes
Stared me down like a hawk...
Your emerald eyes
Gaze down at me genuinely...
I wish we could flee together in reality...
That could be a possibility
To glisten in the moonlight in glee
We were glistening in the moonlight (3)
But that was only a dream...
I'll pray that it turns into a reality
We were glistening in the moonlight 
Now, I've misplaced my delight...
Will I ever experience such a brilliant night?

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by rene Chabriere | Details |

It's too early in the gray sky - from french

No one in this morning
The road is deserted,
It's too early under the gray sky,

The veins of my hands,
Salient hands on the wheel
The look Elevated

The white line scrolls,
The colored houses, fled,
Since the curves crossed,

Creeks glimpsed,
The white studs punctuate
the road, pedal to the floor,,

Not any  possible gesture
Just those, tiny,
Extending the machine

According to the gray ribbon
Powered by the wheels

Swallowing the consistency,
of traffic signs,
blurred by speed,

The craft carried by his power,
Shares my drunkenness ...

Almost brought a strength,
Internal and autonomous

The motor flexibility
It shiny metal body,
Discreet comfort inside ...

And suddenly ,this is
At the end of the turn,
This dog,

As an immobile sphinx,
His unexpected question,

The deflected trajectory,
Gravel under the tires,

The crazy slide,
Nothing controls it

Falling universe 
A jump above the parapet,
A single flight without return

Net stopped by an heavy shock
Cons below ...

A brief moment, I remember ,
The covering  waves,
Ebbing, breaking,

Again and again,
Distributing its foam
On the rocks ...

No one in this morning
The road is still deserted
It's too early in the gray sky.


- 

Personne en ce matin,
La route est déserte,
Trop tôt sous le ciel gris,

Les veines de mes mains,
Saillantes,  mes mains sur le volant,
Le regard en plongée,

La ligne blanche qui défile,
Les maisons de couleur, enfuies,
Dès les courbes  franchies, 

Les criques entr'aperçues,
Les poteaux blancs rythment
le trajet, pédale au plancher,,

Plus de geste possible,
Que ceux, infimes,
Prolongeant la machine,

Suivant le ruban gris,
Propulsé sous les roues

Avalant la consistance,
des panneaux  de signalisation,
floutés par la vitesse,

L'engin porté par sa puissance,
Partageant l'ivresse...

Presque porté d'une force,
Interne et autonome,

Moteur en souplesse,
Carosserie brillante,
Confort intérieur discret ...

Et c'est  là soudain,
Au sortir du virage,
Qu'il y a ce chien,

Comme  un sphinx immobile,
Sa question imprévue,

La trajectoire  déviée,
Les gravillons sous les pneus,

La glissade folle,
Que rien ne contrôle,

L'univers qui bascule,
Le bond au-dessus  du parapet,
Un vol sans retour,

Stoppé net par le lourd choc,
En contre-bas...

Je revois un bref instant,
Les vagues les recouvrant,
Refluant, se brisant,

Encore et encore,
Distribuant son écume
Sur les rochers...

Personne en ce matin,
La route est encore déserte,
Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris.


-

RC - mai  2014

Copyright © rene Chabriere | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by John Hamilton | Details |

Proof of human existence

Proof of human existence

When you see animal tracks

you know what kind of animal has been there

Right?

their existence is proved by the mark that they 
leave behind

scientists can prove certain species existed by

examining the fossil record 

and seeing what has been left behind

Right?

Humans are the highest form of life here on earth

Right?

So what is the proof of our existence?

What do we leave behind 
as proof that we existed?

What is the identifying mark 
of humans wherever we go?

adventurers, explorers, 

brave souls 

go where no human

has ever gone

How do we know they were there?

they've left their mark

They conquer Everest 
reach the peak and exclaim 

I am here, I made it,

I conquered Everest...
 
then they leave their mark

the definitive proof of their existence

They've conquered space

the final frontier

what an amazing accomplishment!

Right?

Humans were there!

how do we know?

they've left their mark

they've marked their territory

like the animals

but we are superior

Right?

Pristine oceans

so amazing 

and yet humans have left their mark

there too...

the most distant and remote

places on earth have been touched

by humans as well...

the north pole

antartica

the south pole

So what is the proof of human existence?

What is the distinctive mark?

What is the evidence that we exist

how do mark our territory?

Well,

on  top of Everest 

there is an accumulating

ever growing

pile of

garbage...

trash... 

rubbish

however you want to describe it

that is our distinctive mark! 

discarded oxygen tanks etc

how nice!

proof of our superior existence?

hardly,

the oceans...

bodies of water

carrying along

plastic bottles that

used to carry water,

how intelligent we are

right?

Scientist when launching rockets

and supplies to outer space

need to factor in the orbiting

space garbage left behind

from previous visits

we are so amazing!

Right?

What a legacy 

we are leaving behind 

as proof of our existence.

If you hired someone to

clean and maintain your property

left them in charge

and years later came back

to check on the status

and condition and found it 

in disrepair with 

garbage everywhere

what would you do?


reward the caretaker?

Hardly!

What should our Maker and the

Creator of the earth

and the universe do 

when he comes to inspect

what we have done to our inheritance?


John Derek Hamilton
March 27,2016





Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems