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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
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america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
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art assonance
aubade august
autumn baby
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baseball basketball
beach beautiful
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best friend betrayal
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blessing blue
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bridal shower brother
bullying business
butterfly cancer
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caregiving cat
celebration celebrity
change chanukah
character cheer up
chicago child
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children chocolate
christian christmas
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city class
clothes color
columbus day community
computer confidence
conflict confusion
cool corruption
courage cousin
cowboy crazy
creation crush
cry culture
cute love dad
dance dark
daughter day
death death of a friend
december dedication
deep depression
desire destiny
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divorce dog
dream drink
earth earth day
easter education
emo emotions
encouraging engagement
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
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farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter father son
fathers day fear
february feelings
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firework first love
fish fishing
flower flying
food football
for children for her
for him for kids
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french friend
friendship fruit
fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good friday good morning
good night goodbye
gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i am
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration independence day
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
july june
kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
meaningful memorial day
memory men
mental illness mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mother son mothers day
motivation mountains
moving on mum
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new years day
new york nice
niece night
nonsense nostalgia
november nursery rhyme
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people pets
philosophy places
planet poems
poetess poetry
poets political
pollution poverty
power prayer
preschool presidents day
pride princess
prison proposal
psychological purple
quinceanera race
racism rain
rainbow rainforest
rap raven
recovery from red
relationship religion
religious remember
remembrance day repetition
retirement riddle
rights river
romance romantic
rose roses are red
rude sad
sad love satire
scary school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silence silly
silver simile
simple sin
sister sky
slam slavery
sleep smart
smile snow
soccer social
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soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
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sunshine surreal
sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
thanksgiving day tiger
time today
together travel
tree tribute
true love trust
truth uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
valentines day vanity
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visionary vogon
voice volleyball
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Long Passion Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |

SEX ON A CLOUD

                                                          SEX ON A CLOUD

                                                            (HER STORY)
                                                      She grabbed his voice
                                                     Through conference din
                                                     Sought to win his gaze--
                                              But crowds of gabbers tottered in...

                                        He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
                                      Distracted by a phone call--
                                                               faded from his day.

                                                         But oh his face....
                                                      Would not be gone....
                                                                 wild
                                                      bony visage--home
                                                          of passion's eyes--
                                                       Fate teased in him
                                                           her Paradise--

                                                           Upward Man
                                                   Brash Upward Plans--
                                             Such a heart must be attached--

                                                       Her stubborn mind
                                                    holds fast to dreams,
                                                         bows to Fate--
                                                   but loathe to schemes....

                                                   She stalked his dreams
                                                       The night is theirs
                                                          Palm to Palm--
                                                    All answered Prayers.

                                                            Eyes exult
                                                      Besieged by bliss--
                                                     becalmed by thoughts
                                                          of moonlit kiss

                                                       she Owns his Face
                                                 sweet charmed caressing
                                                     that leaves no trace
                                                       but silent blessing

                                                              (HIS STORY)
                                                           Over a shoulder
                                                             behind a pole
                                                            he saw a face
                                                     that grabbed his soul
                                                           wild hair so red
                                                       his heart caught fire
                                                          hands of grace
                                                      could capture choirs

                                                          Laugh of bells
                                                       tolled 'cross the hall
                                                       he moved toward her, 
                                                           then had a call--
                                          stepped out in search of quiet space,
                                                           cut short his call--
                                                          yet lost her face.

                                                           She was gone...
                                                            Another man?
                                                            Abysmal sight....
                                                            a f_cking awful
                                                           maddening plight.

                                                         He's lost his chance,
                                                          in town
                                                                      One Night.

                                                         Her essence brands,
                                                         Flays bare his heart--

                                                          But business tugs him
                                                                   Worlds...
                                                                     Seas apart--

                                                                 Mellifluous--
                                                            tho hard to place--
                                                   She's the tune he can't erase.
                                                               
                                                              a love so fierce
                                                              
                                                           Each night they tryst,
                                                            shake clouds above
                                                    grant them every lover's wish
                                                       
                                                              She nuzzles love
                                                            and slips o-er him--
                                                           encased and blessed
                                                              in  Passion's Glove.

V. Anderson-Throop
Sept 2013

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by cassie hellberg | Details |

over and over agin

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

Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices - Part One

Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices


    prizes for the abstemious  for abstinence  chastity ?
                 the countless occasions for love you let slip                                   

          prizes for stopping 
                                   smoking by yourself  
                                      drinking even Bordeaux
                                  munching on the meat of beasts
                                      crustacean flesh  fish  fowl or eggs                
                     
                      for honesty with oneself        
                 for commitment to lost causes
                                    the ability to see through their deviousnesses
                                and refraining to do anything about it at all
                           for helping them at one’s own peril                                                            
        for giving away what you direly need for yourself and your dependents
                   for not thinking of your own future just to bolster someone else’s
               for depriving yourself of the pleasures of the day
               when you can go out and buy them with what you got and still have enough leftover 

         for spending hours and hours every so often just listening to those who need to unburden themselves on you while you serve them aperitifs then coffee/tea and finally end up cooking dinner and bedding them down in your only bedroom while you may hardly stretch yourself out in amongst the books and things and boxes of files of unread drafts and such and wake in the middle of the night because the suffering soul behind the wall is moaning and tossing and apostrophising aloud in your bed calling your name out at every fiery phrase for all you know accusing you for all his troubles plus those of his friends near ones dear ones and/or dependents

      prizes for doing everything by yourself
          looking after yourself  cleaning the kitchen washing the clothes by hand doing the dishes in cold water showering cold to save on hot water repairing the car with spare unfit parts from the breakers learning languages all by yourself typing your own manuscripts and those of others starting your own journal and publishing others typing writing setting up photocopying designing printing binding marketing writing letters and posting them after long waits at queues attending to the plumbing redoing the parquet papering and/or painting your own but rented walls shopping on the cheap after hours and hours of comparing prices at different places keeping tabs on your dependents defending yourself against marauding civil servants politicos fighting your own legal battles after reading up on difficult incomprehensible legal texts writing dozens and dozens of letters before you take them to court and lose because the blasted bugger who represents you in the civil case makes it a point of holding back the essential documents which you know were never submitted to the judge although the list of documents exchanged lists them and you can’t check on the judge’s file because you are not a lawyer or solicitor legally constituted in the case and you need a lawyer to represent you in a civil case

      prizes for putting up with women
                                               who tell you they love you to distraction and would rather die than be parted from you even during the live-long day who vow by suttee but who use you make you marry them by piling lie upon lie present you with a baby not your own while they get pumped by others and let you share the slime the spittal and the shit in their system and the syphilitic rot that will gnaw at your spine years and years hence and leave you with the baby to bring up while they harrass you with complaints and cases about how you may be bringing him/her up with right of access charges rights which they never really exercise themselves and when the baby is no more a baby come around to collect the lad or lass as a crutch for their old age by telling him/her all the lies about how you let them down how you tortured and beat them up how you shat upon them how you made them slave day in and day out and to top it all didn’t bother even to shag them 

        prizes for keeping quiet and taking it all
    in without riposte without carping without being even rude in return
               for bearing with all the slithering over crimes they rob you cheat you  shit with your wives twist your children’s minds up into a multiple Turk’s head  commit missed murders against you and when you discover their intentions the criminals commit more crimes to cover it all up use misinformation as a superpanacea to lull themselves into believing they are innocent dogooders after all doing it for the patrie for the defence of their nation the raison d’Etat without making it known how you the victim without a proper background without a useful education without friends who would swear by you without the citizenship bestowing rights without the State any state on your side without the passport to secrete yourself away without a job without the money put away for the purpose of facing up to them these the faceless cowards hiding behind their secret societies their secret services their secret cabals their secret clubs schools lodges cafés cabinets centres yachts arts and crafts academies royal this and royal that my foot college unions parties and programmes                               

(Continued in Part Two: owing to length restrictions)

April 2, 1997 –From the collection : longhand notes (1999)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016 

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by James Inman | Details |

Last Call


We sat at the end of the bar in a seedy place on Seventh street.
Nursing our drinks, we both had a bit too much that night.
My Whiskey Sour, you could tell everything about me by my drink,
always a Whiskey Sour, no mystery here, was still about half full.
Her's, this time a Strawberry Daiquiri, she drained with ease.  
"Set her up another Bar Keep," I sad to the burly tattooed man behind the counter.
She quickly responded with slightly slurred speech, "No, make it a Frozen Margarita!"  
She had been mixing her drinks all night.  The bar man grabbed her glass and placed
it in a small sink full of sudsy water.  "I told you, two drinks ago, last call, now dude drink up
so I can get out of here.  For Christ sake its 2:38,  I should have left 30 minutes ago."
The bar's last patrons had indeed left much earlier leaving only the two of us.
I touched Sarah's, or was it Sandy's, hand.  What difference does it make?  
She looked at me trying to focus her eyes, her expression bland.  Eyes roaming 
unabashedly from face to groan and back again.  She sighed heavily and turned 
back to the bar tender and pleaded for one more drink.  "Anything she said,"
trying to steel herself for the inevitable culmination of our evening, 
as if one more drink would make a difference.  The only response she got was
a short firm, "No!"  Grinding my teeth, I threw two twenties on the bar and grabbed her, not so gently, by the arm.  She half slid, half fell off of the bar stool she was sitting on.  "Lets go I said," leaving my half empty glass on the bar.  She stumbled across the floor towards the door leaning heavily against me.  She was tall and beautiful in a slightly used sort of way.  Not young but not old enough for wrinkles, just a few laugh lines around her eyes and forehead.  As we reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something about getting this over.  I didn't care.  I knew she should have been going home with someone a lot better then me.  

As we stepped into the damp, cool morning breeze, head free of the stagnate dead air of the bar, my senses cleared slightly.  Still, when I heard the sound of the vibration in my pocket it took a moment to register what was happening.  Stephanie(?), giggling beside me pressed herself against my pocket letting out a low, playful, "MMmmmm," making it impossible for me to get to my phone.  I pushed her away and she giggled some more as I fumbled for it.  Pressing the button on the screen my ex-girlfriends disheveled face appeared.  She had been texting me all evening, most of which I ignored.  Why I answered her call this time I don't know.  Deep purple and black bruises ran the length of the right side of her face and she seemed to have a chunk of hair missing from a red spot on her temple.  She halfheartedly tried to cover it with a wispy lock she pulled down over it.  "What?" I said gruffly.  The phone was set to speaker.  Tears running down her face, she said, "I love you."  My response was quick and indifferent, "Yeah, tell it to someone who cares.  Like maybe your new boyfriend."  

She dumped me for a new guy weeks before but kept calling me and telling me how much she still loved me.  She said she wouldn't have thrown me out if I had shown some feelings toward her.  She said he was sensitive and emotional and cried in her arms.  Yeah, he cried all right just before he beat the hell out of her.  I should have known when she started coming home with the bruises on her body.  He was careful at first not to hit her in the face.  I looked up and reflectively glanced down the street.  You couldn't see her apartment from where I stood but it was just a block down the road off Seventh on Stanton Ave.  I came home early one afternoon and found them there.  She was lying on the floor with blood trickling from her lip.  He was standing naked over her, hands curled in fists.
I lost it.  I beat him until you couldn't recognize his pretty little face, all the time hearing her screaming stop and trying to push me away.  When I finally stopped he was lying motionless on the floor and she was hitting me on my arm yelling foul expletives at me.  I looked into her eyes and realized I felt nothing for her at that moment.  I remember saying just before I left, "Baby, you've just missed your last call to wake up."  I never went back.  I understand he spent several days in the hospital.

Looking at her on that small screen with tears in her eyes and scared, sad look on her face I wanted to feel something for her.  I didn't.  We had a good thing and she threw it away for some psycho.  Now she'll just have to live with her decision.  As I looked at her pleading face I heard a angry voice in the back ground, "Who are you talking to!"  She glanced in the direction of the voice and turned back to me.  I watched as her helpless look became determined and she leaned over and picked up something from the table beside her bed.  Her sweet, tear filled blue eyes looked directly at me as she raised her hand.  "I love you," she said.  In an instant, before my inebriated mind could fathom what happened, I heard a loud bang reverberate down the street from the direction of her apartment and there before my eyes I saw her head explode like the pumpkins we used to throw from the roof tops after Halloween.  Beside me, Sherry (shit, it started with an S), who ever, let out a gasp.  A moment passed and I grabbed her by the hand.  We started off in the direction of my dumpy apartment.  I couldn't help but to think at that moment, that's the last call she'll ever make.


10/13/15

Triple Prompt- Hear the Calling: 3rd Place

11/12/15

Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Poetic Encryption Like Ancient Egyptian

Poetic Encryption Like Ancient Egyptian

This terror and threat to poetic clarity,
Becomes a pet rock for some poets.

Words do count for sure, but so does
Clarity unless poets put a mask on.

Encryption can be used to mask 
Certain vatic pretensions that poets
Harbor, at times, when waxing eloquently
About some trendy theme or some idea
Or notion deemed as avant-garde. 

If hieroglyphics were to be readily used
In our now advanced world of modernity,
Would they be viewed as:
A rifacimento? A renaissance? A code?
It all could be plain nonsense too!
Or maybe not . . . 

In T. S. Eliot’s, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,”
He enchants and captivates his readers to a rare and
Flavorful taste of vers libre, if one might be so bold, 
That is selectively sparing, and yet, well-calibrated,
With intermittent sprinklings of superbly crafted 
Visual imagery and eloquent tonal alliteration—
And varied meter, rhythm, and rhyme.
 
“Prufrock” is palpable with emotion and metaphor, yet—
Detached from a ready explanation of the delicious
Power of the words with which Eliot mesmerizes his
Readers with the devout cleverness of a Pied Piper.
 
One could see the eternal Footman
And hear his snicker—and be afraid;
One could roll one’s trousers;
One could dare to eat a peach;
One could walk upon the beach;
One could hear the mermaids sing;
But will the mermaids sing to him?
Only Eliot really truly knows . . .
The real Prufrockian mien here.

Are not such metaphors there . . .
To make us think?
To enchant our senses?
To play on our fears?
To be emotive?

And, yes . . . 
To tantalize our passions?
And, yes . . . 
To excite our psychic yearnings?

Yes . . . Contemplation is always vital!

Some poets speak in a self-tribal code.
Sometimes artful obfuscation is the real goal,
And sometimes—maybe not.

A cacophonic scramble of
Demonstrative and passionate
Words, thoughts, emotions.
All so pure and all so real,
And all in the poet’s mind!
All so exact and all so real!
 
Some, like the legendary Sylvia Plath,
Bring the reader to a forlorn world of
Lost faith, utter despair, and loneliness
In the midst of such a sad dream world.
Plath’s lyric poem — “Edge”
Summons readers to the brink;
Occurring one week before her 
Untimely suicide.

The power and symbolism
Resident in this, her final poem,
Point toward . . .
A perfection, A completion,
A tragic tribalism.

Plath’s symbology is both
Intense and compelling;
Forming its own sense of
Encryption while embellishing
A supernatural aura of immortality.

The redoubtable Ezra Pound in his
“Hugh Selwyn Mauberley,” and in
Many other of his complex poems,
Personifies a certain form of encryption
With his use of symbols and metaphors,
A mix of foreign languages, and a definite
Convulsion of syntax which makes for an 
Intellectual “Rite of Passage” defying, at times,
A clear analysis and ready understanding.
	
Pound in “Mauberley,” writes on various
Levels begging much pre-knowledge from
Each reader while amply teasing us with:
His gnomic predilection for novel themes;
His thirst for the unexpected and unusual; 
His formidable knowledge and language forte;
His array of uniquely woven word tapestries;
And his referential flair for striking aphorisms.

Pound does all of this so magnificently . . .
All the while forming imagery challenging
A reader’s sense of understanding:
Leaving a sense of syntactical encryption Writ Large!
Always challenging and never ever dull!
That is, if one’s cup of tea is reveling in the complex!

There is a profound literary sense to what some may say
Is Pound’s Janus-faced proclivity for genius and madness.
Pound will not disappoint you regardless of which bipolar
Face you ascribe to him.
Although, contrast and comparison are very important . . . 

Yet, I proffer that deep thinking and sometimes actually
Being confused at times . . .
May result ultimately in a true epiphany,
Leading each of us to a spirit of greater understanding!

I end with John Keats, who has left all of us, as poets,
With his immeasurable sense of naturalistic Humanism.
Keats’ pursuit of metaphor, nuance, descriptive imagery,
And sagacious symbology reflect the highest degree of
Poetic mastery and a strong sense of perspicacity obvious
In all of his works!

Keats also uses a type of poetic encryption—
With his diction, imagery, thoughts, and verse syncopation;
He’s quite elegant with his varied and fluent thematic reveries.
They’re always a joy to decipher, while leaving us to bask in 
Their powerful sense of clarity and persuasive meaning!

Many of Keats’ works reflect this form of encryption . . . 
“La Belle Dame Sans Merci”
Particularly comes to mind in this instance,
As well as his famous “Ode” narratives;
And his superb Grecian epic fragment: “The Fall of Hyperion,”
Presents the reader with a veritable smorgasbord of contrasts
And imagery, and an imaginative view of the classical conflict
Between the Olympians and the Titans! 

Divining the complex, chaotic, and unpredictable
In our world of arcane symbolism and imagery,
Reflect the modern world we live in today.
Poetic Encryption is indeed . . . 
So like Ancient Egyptian!

Hieroglyphics, after all, form their own
Sense of imagery and word pictures . . . 
Analogous to what we do today with the 
Words, images, metaphors, emotions, and
Symbols in our poetry!

Poetic Encryption is so like Ancient Egyptian! 
Amen! Amen! Amen! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
April 25, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Breathing By Design

"...making this shift [from ego to Authentic ecoSelf] usually requires inspired [inductive Right to Left +health-reiterative messages] intention and consistent, diligent effort [and a supportive vocational and residential and eco-logically balanced environment.]"

"And the way this is achieved is through using the greatest gift that evolution has given us: the power of [polyculturally healthy or monoculturally pathological] choice [for ourselves as for our potential future regenerators]." Andrew Cohen, "Evolutionary Enlightenment", 2011.

PermaCultural HumanNaturalOnly Choice:
ReGenerative Health/EcoTherapy for all
or degeneration of Earth's bio- and eco-caregiving systems,
including political and eco-not-so-normic deductive-competitive,
bicamerally-unbalanced, 
enculturation system dominance.
 
Free Choice to intend and will Exterior Landscape behavior 
confluent or dissonant with 
Interior Landscape 
metaphysical language enculturing ecosystemic iconically
analogical information, 
exegetical rich-resonant normative strings 
of historic WinWin "Yes" polycultural choices of genetics,
PositivePresent-OVER-
DoubleNegative FoldFunction and FlowTrend memory, 
regenerative (RNA/DNA) iconic syntax, 
in either PresentAptic Polycultural tense and ionic-elational distension (concaving), 
or PastAnger SynAptic Predicates FutureFear avoidance,
cognitive-affective personal and cultural dissonance.

FutureFear Choice Corollary: 
Monocultural Lose-Lose decay 
and decompositional preparation 
for composting future natural health/ecotherapy 
co-arising regenerativity of time's incarnation into space; 
reverse-temporal-neural double-dimensioned (bilateral-linear) 
therapy WinWin clockwise self-perpetuating polynomial health-coarising rationality
OVER
egoLeftYin/ecoRightYin chronic cognitive-affective stress
of trying to find regenerative health
swimming through a sea of mediated and immediate
dissonance-pathology hell through routine depressing disinvested boredom.

Present CoPresence as DiPolar Bicameral Basic Attendance Corollary:
Positive DiPolar Meets and Greets and WinWin intends
Mutual-Positive-Namaste 
as AngerPast Teaches FutureFear 
how and why and when to co-arise 
(-,-) Double-Negative LoseLose
equals Double-Positive PolyNomial-PolyReGeneration
WinWin as YinYin Balancing DoubleNegative
PositiveYang Politically EcoNormic.InFormating 
SelfOptimizing CoGravitational SpaceAsTime 4D Systems.

The logical conclusion of overpopulating
overly-competitive and aggressive human natural dominant trends,
of suicide and other irrationalities
and errors in self-enculturation
through evolutionary cooperative multisensory sciences and arts and history
and myth and logos-icons of symmetric rhythmic exegetical (0)
ecobalance 
CoPresent Soul of ReGenerative
Balanced CoGravitational Time,
deciding to head toward hell of anger and fear anyway,
not taking time to recall these are Angry Prophets of Past Sins,
predicting lack of even hellfire's last flame of Fear's SelfHatred,
awash in self-perpetuating not-not reiterations
of disbicamerolling negentropic chaos.

Then stop
notice,
you still empathically elate positive nutrients,
all heading in a more cooperatively polycultural direction
appositional nondual dipolar bilateral-linear
reversed wu wei Tipping Point 
of an endosymbiotically positive-positive CoPresence
ReVolutionary inhale with exhale economics.

If you are still breathing
you have already begun this practice
of absorbing both positive nutrition and toxins,
co-arising collateral negatives, fear and anger,
teaching your oppositional anti-death MidWay WinWin,
while those FearAnger Twins inevitably follow
planned or unplanned
eitherway increasing consistently aggressive Yang ballistic Way,
toward Ego's ever-faster inevitable demise.

Ego without EcoRight CoPresence
always loses playing by Ego's own Win-Lose dominating expectations.
Incarnations die to fuel further regeneratively healthy incarnations.

This ecology of diastatically rational life
predicts continuing BusinessAsUsual,
breathing positive self-dominance
while intentionally absorbing more anger-fear fighting nutrients
than love-peace synchronously-flying empathic menu choices,
and to thereby emerge
ecopathologically even further anthro-centric,
monoculturally fixated, 
hypnotized by our own fear of fear of ego's death,
absorbing further toxins and collateral corporate insult,
injury,
self-abuse and other-neglect,
violence and "what's the use?" cognitive-affective dissonance,
addiction to possession and dispossession
of ego's increasingly constipated
anger-fear ruminations,
with negatively unresolved,
unacceptable Loser messages.

WinWin cooperative co-regeneration optimization
would be just the opposite of competitive monocultural supremacy,
dissonant-trending 
ecosystemic political and economic
private and familial 
BusinessAsUsual double-binding negativity.

Our ecological and economic cooperative project
of natural regenerativity
as also spiritual ecoconsciousness 
basking in love of health and timeless co-relational security,
empathically and deeply nondual attends,
sitting within LoseLose competitive decomposition, as therapeutically necessary,
embracing our shared BusinessAsUsual predative/co-messianic
culture,
dis-assembling each dominating seasonal stage
of LeftEgo's struggle with RightEco's Present CoPresence 
Love of Harmonic TrustBalance,
CoEmpathic Symmetry
Septum DiPolar Yang/Yin Dynamics of Time as Nutritional Breath.



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |

PASSION OF CONVENTION

                                                   PASSION OF CONVENTION

                                                            (HER STORY)

                                                      She grabbed his voice
                                                     Though conference din
                                                     Sought to win his gaze--
                                              But crowds of gabbers tottered in...
                                        He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
                                      Distracted by a phone call--faded from his day.

                                                         But oh, that face....
                                                      Would not be gone....
                                                                 wild
                                                      bony visage--home
                                                          of passion's eyes--
                                                       Fate teased in him
                                                           her Paradise--

                                                                   an 
                                                            Upward Man
                                                   Brash Upward Plans--
                                    Of course, his heart must be attached--

                                                       Her stubborn mind
                                                    holds fast to dreams,
                                                         bows to Fate--
                                                   but loathe to schemes....

                                                        In sultry dreams
                                                       The night is theirs
                                                          Palm to Palm--
                                                    All answered Prayers.

                                                            Eyes exult
                                                      Besieged by bliss--
                                                     becalmed threshold
                                                          of moonlit kiss

                                                       she Owns his Face
                                                 sweet charmed caressing
                                                     that leaves no trace
                                                       but silent blessing


                                                               (His Story)
                                                              

                                                           Over a shoulder
                                                             behind a pole
                                                            he saw a face
                                                     that grabbed his soul
                                                           wild hair so red
                                                       his heart caught fire
                                                          hands of grace
                                                      could capture choirs

                                                          Laugh of bells
                                                       tolled 'cross the hall
                                                        just as he moved
                                                            he had a call--
                                          stepped out in search of quiet space,
                                                           cut short his call
                                                          yet lost her face--

                                                           She was gone...
                                                            Another man?
                                                            Abysmal sight....
                                                            a f_cking awful
                                                           maddening plight.

                                                         He's lost his chance,
                                                          in town One Night.

                                                         Her essence brands,
                                                         Flays bare his heart--

                                                          But business swirls
                                                        Worlds...seas apart--

                                                                 Mellifluous
                                                            tho hard to place
                                                     She is a tune he can't erase


                                                            the Dreamers tryst
                                                            shake clouds above
                                                               Moon Shadows
                                                                      Glow--
                                                              She nuzzles love
                                                            and slips o-er him
                                                              in  Passion's Glove.

V. Anderson-Throop
Sept 2013

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Dear Neighbors

Dear neighbors,

I realize we have not met,
other than the guy next door
but that doesn't really count
cause that was just to put up a fence between us,
and I have met Marvelously Mad Mike,
behind me, on the River,
but primarily because I could not run away fast enough.

Regardless,
I want to invite you over
for kind of a potluck neighborhood open house party.

Just come as you happen to be at the moment,
bring something to drink
and, oh yes,
something to eat that you would consider politically and economically
and, oh yes,
nutritionally correct.

But not to worry,
we will have political correctness exams
at the front door,
prior to gaining admission,
unless you would like that of course,
in which case
perhaps I should mention,
so as not to become justly accused of hidden agendas,
I would prefer to disclose
a politically correct completely open agenda,
and that probably goes for your porky political
and/or porkless spiritual beliefs too.

If you want to talk about how I really should get myself Born Again,
if only for the life insurance values,
I will almost certainly agree
that I hope to dream deep rich baptisms of fire
and rain
and wind every night
to be reborn again each morning,
except on those too-rare occasions
when I could theoretically have baptized myself
in erotic dreams
to awake feeling less reborn,
more uncompleted,
heuristically speaking,
of course.

Nor would I drop a jaw
were you to explain to me
why I should aspire to transcendent mysticism,
the rather imprecise feedback
I get from my defiant kids
right after they rob me blind
or lie to me as if I were senseless
and preferably more transcendent
and mysteriously preoccupied with larger issues
of climatic change
in Great Political-Economic Scientific-EcoTherapeutic Transition,
and not so much
these smaller political and economic 
most uncooperative and unmindful transactions.

Lest you fear I may have some hidden political,
or, god forbid,
some cultish religious-fundamentalist agenda,
rather than a party smorgasbord
and self-entertainment and -governance menu,
with issues that march along
some more Traditionally Orthodox Party Line,
perhaps scripture lessons on how to invest heart beats
and wise inhale-exhale breaths of bicameral mindfulness,
allow me to expose
my polypathic proclivities as a Taoist-Christian.

This T-C is a hybrid line,
somewhat like U-U,
which is, for some weird regenetic reason,
also dialectically like dipolar U-C nutritional health balance,
going back to both Eastern and Western shamans.

So, nothing is supposed to surprise us
except the absence of bad news,
and even then
we are not to let on,
pretending that we have been predicting this,
the continuing advent of good TaoBalancing news all along,
sort of permaculturally,
but usually,
and preferably,
only to those who would be most certain
not to take us seriously,
too deeply,
too unliterally,
too radically through fundamentally fractally,
so long as they treat us as shamans
and not the more totally insane polypaths,
terrorized by emerging voices of climatic anger
and silos of echoing foggy fears
about ego's future emptiness,
absence of life-becoming.

So, not to worry,
Taoist lies before the hyphenatic Christian,
meaning Radical Revolutionary Christian.
We are so radically revolutionary
that we believe Christianity should declare its mission statement
as 100% self-perpetuatingly regeneratively replete,
and now move on to more globally optimizing multicultural issues,
like investing in more cooperatively nutritious politics
and active-cooperative-invested economic choices,
more teleologically ecologically bicamerally informed
by sacred-humane nondual TaoBalance
YangLeftHealthyNature-YinRightSpiritBiLateral EcoMentoring MessiahLight.

Tao EarthLoving Christians are so radically revolutionary
we believe good nature is always nutritionally kind
and we don't believe we should even (0)-sum ego-exist.
So, not to worry,
no evangelical intentions are allowed by Yin,
much as Yang would love to love you to death
with the LeftBrain Wisdom
of multicultural truths
as harmonic fractal-crystal beauty
of econconsciousness in fertile-octave light bilateral-cross-messianic frequencies.

Just come as you are
in your own light
with whomever you happen to have
hanging around at the moment you finish reading this.

Feel free to bring your pets 
and any tools you might have to share,
or just a list would be fine,
and I'm wondering if we want to exchange email addresses,
so there will be a sign-in sheet for those who want to include that,
and those who don't,
and please check off if you might be interested in collaborative gardening
this next spring coming up.

And if you or any of your accompanying tribe
has any skills or talents,
songs, dances, readings,
stories, drums,
other musical instruments,
except maybe not a tuba
because I'm just not that musically evolved
and I realize you could not laugh with me
while playing your foghorn of a tuba,
bring anyone or anything except a monopolistic tuba,
which really isn't a party instrument anyway,
for our cooperative skills and talent show.

Stay as long as we all like,
and can afford to live together.
I'm sure we have much to co-invest and celebrate about.

OK, you can bring that damned tuba, if you must.
Maybe I am being invited to evolve in some foghorn kind of way.

With gratitude.

G.O.D.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

The-Hour-Glass

Please, save me!!
Solitude is speaking, oh so lonely...

We have plenty of gain 
In our pockets, overflowing with light
You are like an airplane,
Landing safely from a fantastic flight 

My beating heart can't take this anymore
The moment you slammed the front door 
Keep me tucked in the files of your mind or I'll cry 
I'll keep you in my memories until the day I die 

The time ticking away...is a reminder of the passing away of today 
As you run away from it all and you never quit standing tall 
I know you graduated High School all the way...I know you passed all your classes yesterday,
But you must pass the test of surviving this winter's fall
Follow me in the Grove of Somewhere Only You and I Know
Weep no more, waterfall of wiped-away wishes...know that I care for you, even in the darkest hours of woe

Nevertheless, you're a mess this time - stop your shouting doubting 
The hour glass is running wild...running wild...
Yes, you are running out of time, so save your breath and pouting 
The hour glass is an unbroken orphan child...
Mentally pictures make me feel sick in the stomach
Yet, a feel-good sickness that leaves me to ache pleasurably; I must be building a mental six-pack
Hourglass collides from your grasp
Hourglass shatters...once bulletproof to the touch
Hourglass makes you a worry-bug and you let out a ghastly, raspy gasp...

Did you forget me once upon a time? Time?
Am I not your happily ever after?
Did I do something wrong, my love so sublime?
Was I just a distracting disaster?
Have I to fall and you to stand your ground? I'm without a sound 
I swore in my living soul that you are my sky-ground...gravity-bound
The past is a lesson to learn one of these days...pictures tattered and torn on the floor for many days
The future is a blazing fire that devoured your uncanny ways
Caving in my snowed-under desire for you...ignite me, I'm an empty matchbox 
Craving your phase of craze and your lazy, crazy nature, a grumpy bear and a funky fox
I'm lazy busy...it's the norm 
You're too picky, you like me lukewarm
Let me wriggle my way towards you like an merry mirthworm
You are like that last pickle in the jar you can't catch easily...you are as cold as my gloomy dorm 

Nevertheless, you're a mess this time - stop your shouting doubting 
The hour glass is running wild...running wild...
Yes, you are running out of time, so save your breath and pouting 
The hour glass is an unbroken orphan child...
Mentally pictures make me feel sick in the stomach
Yet, a feel-good sickness that leaves me to ache pleasurably; I must be building a mental six-pack
Hourglass collides from your grasp
Hourglass shatters...once bulletproof to the touch
Hourglass makes you a worry-bug and you let out a ghastly, raspy gasp...

Yearning for your shelter
I am a desert, I thirst and swelter
Come back to me, water angel...I am dry with disdain
Depart not from me, my pouring sun...bathing in your rain...
I waste away...a day without you is like a year of loneliness
I pace back and forth in my road of less-than-your progress 
Wow wow ooooh 
Wow mmm hmmmm 
Huh huh 
Ah, ah Ashamed of losing you
What do you mean when you leave my side?
Oh, oh going undercover too 
Underestimated, but upgraded by your touch of love that's been pushed aside...

Show me how to move 
To your joyous groove 
I pledge allegiance to your adoration 
I honor you with unwavering elevation 

Ahhhh ahh ohhhh 
Do tell me...why you left me in the dust?
Do tell me...how did I hold on to you, even when you almost lost my trust?

You're a flaw so perfect
You are like an insect,
Crawling on my skin 
Where have you been? 

Nevertheless, you're a mess this time - stop your shouting doubting 
The hour glass is running wild...running wild...
Yes, you are running out of time, so save your breath and pouting 
The hour glass is an unbroken orphan child...
Mentally pictures make me feel sick in the stomach
Yet, a feel-good sickness that leaves me to ache pleasurably; I must be building a mental six-pack
Hourglass collides from your grasp
Hourglass shatters...once bulletproof to the touch
Hourglass makes you a worry-bug and you let out a ghastly, raspy gasp...

Spectacular Spiders weave their webs of wretched, warped-up masterpiece 
I hear you, intense with your speech 
I see you, tensed up and that's not what I want you to be like, so please give me peace
You were my shiny shore at the beach, now you're a seagull beyond my reach 
Dancing around the fire of my passion flames...no Room for Shames 
Surrounded by your gaze, your lips telling me the sweetest of names
Eye Luv U
I think you do too...don't deny it, for it's true believe it or not...you're HOTT
Eye unluv U
When you do the things you do that make me rooted to the spot...I'm NaUgHt

My beating heart can't take this anymore 
The moment your hour glass broke in two, I can't cope with my moping 
It didn't mend my heartache deep in my chest which so happens to be sore 
I wait for your approval; in return, I get let down by my condition of high hoping 

The time bomb is about to blow out of proportion
Your words are like bullets, heading my direction aimlessly  
Time is up...no time to make it up to me - too bad, so sad...get over it and there'll be next time possibly 
You aborted my love for you with your Hatred portion 

Don't...save...me...
Solitude is my only friend lately...

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

Where Gladiators Fought

Part I

Where gladiators fought for life,
we meet to fight for love
The constellations in the Roman night sky,
celestial spectators, bathe the Colosseum
in the white blood of light
The night is throbbing with the heat of our battle,
our cries, more passionate than any that have gone before

Part II

A short while earlier
A well paid bribe found us in the remains of the Ludus Magnus,
the remains of the old Gladiator School in Rome
where lies buried
a hidden entrance to an underground tunnel 
You pull me with you into dark underground world of legend
By light of a flickering torch,
we travel into the entrails of the behemoth,
coming in time upon the holding rooms
My breath catches 
I hear the sounds of man and beast
carrying through the thin layers of time:
Slaves, criminals, debtors, all awaiting their fate…
Animals pawing, grunting, starved for food
Dying to kill to stave the gnawing pain
Waiting….
Waiting to be lifted up into the arena
Waiting to fight 
Waiting to live or die

Part III

We break into the hypogeum
The crispness of the night air stings us
The vastness of it all paralyzes all thought
Rome comes ALIVE
The resurrection of history enflames us,
and as we mount those final stairs up to the arena,
I feel your excitement blazing through me
Your grasp is almost painful in jubilee
“We are here…HERE!” Your voice is laced with the sacred.
Between those famed arches…XIX and XX
We stand 
You and I all and 50,000 ghost spectators
Here at the East Entrance
The Gate of Life Looms above us
True gladiators passed through these very gates 
Here the applause coursed through their veins
And thundered to the captives below…
Here I stand
Quivering with the knowledge of all this night means to me
That thunder reverberates through MY body
I can hardly breathe
Your eyes are looking up at tiered levels
while mine look ahead
There is the walkway connecting the east to west
At the far side is the Libitinarian, the Gate of Death,
through which dead gladiators were dragged,
their bodies dumped in the Spoliarium 
to be stripped of clothes and armor
Life and death
Here, they converged
Here, they fought
On this night
I know
I will strip myself of my clothing and armor
I will let down my defenses
and give in to your onslaught of passion
Here… I will die to all but your eyes

Part IV

I walk, quietly, with purpose
Here….in this place...
my virgin blood will be spilt
Halfway between life and death, I stop
I turn towards you
My voice reaches you on the night wind
“Come to me!”
I see you move towards me
My mighty gladiator
You who have fought my demons
You who have slain my nightmares
You who have held in check
A savage desire for possession
As you stand before me
I wonder if you know
Tonight is the night
You will plunder and ravage
to your heart's delight
your just reward

Part V

You find a place to keep the torch upright
You see the blanket I’ve spread on the ground
I answer the question in your eyes
With the curve of my lips
I steady my hands as they work to undress me
I feel my body burn in the warmth of your presence
Your eyes undress me faster than my hands can,
and yet... you are....immovable
You stand transfixed
You wait until my only covering
Is my flowing hair
"Make love to me
Here, now...be my gladiator
Come...claim your prize."
I reach out my hand to you
and in a moment
before my next intake of breath
you've come to life and crush me in your arms
Your mouth claims mine
like never before
seeking more
your tongue explores
demanding, commanding
it takes what it will
You pull me in to you 
Your hand in my hair,
my breath is raptured by your sheer strength
Your mouth travels along my neck
Hungry….like a famished animal finally set free to feast
You devour as you reach my cleavage 
I lean back to let you savor my breasts
For the first time
to taste 
You’re down on your knees
your tongue encircling my navel
going round and round and dipping inside
This prophetic dance of what is to come
washes over me
as you lower me to the ground
In a moment, I’m looking at the stars
The two brightest ones being your eyes
You are above me
You are everywhere
Kissing tasting touching feeling pleasing
Finding my voice, I pant...
“Don't...be gentle
not...now!"
I’m gasping with the effort
of all I need to say...
of the weight of feelings...
raging within me
"Don't...hold back anymore
Take me...
Take me...now."

Your hands reach for mine and pin them down
My breasts heave, my body rocks
as I feel you plunging into the moistness 
that your very presence always creates in me
But never...to this luxuriant degree
Pain mixes with pleasure again and again
As I hear your grunt and groan
Your ecstasy comes in manish moan
And I close my eyes to the Roman night sky

I sigh
I die
To the world
I am reborn in you
I hear your victory cry
And feel your jubilant release inside

Part VI

They fought for life
We fought for love
My fingers run through your hair
Your head is pillowed on my breast
My heart beat a reminder
Of what you have won
A gladiator’s reward...

LIFE
found
in the arms
of the woman
you
LOVE


For Justin Bordner’s Contest
Make Love to Me in that Ancient Place
November 16, 2014

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems