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Long Places Poems | Long Places Poetry

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

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Long poem by Vic Pister | Details |

When I Die

When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life 
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes

I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn 
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad

Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way

I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought

I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say

When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield

These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven

The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years

When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned

Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate

The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity

I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow

I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive

I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here

I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more 
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven

My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife

I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm

I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn

When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate

The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife

This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name

Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game

We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind

And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief


Long poem by Neldy Jolo | Details |

THE CRAFT CAN CAPTURE IT

Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito 
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches 

Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved

Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities? 
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.

Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen 
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.

How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism 
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners 
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo

Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro 

May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din

As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away' 
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?” 
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino” 
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism

Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas 
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks 

I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin 
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta

Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas 
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika

‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it

Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago 
The name of people is Tausug. 
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam 
Is already a nation and state 
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja

Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law

I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts 
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.

I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it 
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.






This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!


Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Moderna Commedia, Second Canto, Part 2

Quelle vicende vissi fino in fondo.
Quando mi riappropriai della mia vita
Se questo è un uomo chiesi a tutto il mondo.”
Those events I lived through and through.
When I again impropriated of my life
If this is a man I asked all the world. 
La sua voce non era ancor svanita
Quando i miei occhi lucidi di pianto
Non vider la sua immagine, sparita.
His voice had not yet vanished
When my eyes shining with tears
Did not see his image, disappeared. 
Ed ecco fra le nebbie appar d’incanto
Un uomo che un bastone in mano serra
Il corpo avvolto nel suo bianco manto.
And now within the fogs appears by magic
A man holding a stick in his hand
His body wrapped in a white mantle. 
“Mi chiamo Charles. Nacqui in Inghilterra
Studiai a lungo piante ed animali
Nei luoghi più sperduti della Terra.
”My name is Charles. Born in England
Long I studied plants and animals
In the most remote places of the earth.
Così scoprii che i vivi sono tali
Seguendo una complessa evoluzione
Che seleziona gli organi ottimali.”
So I discovered that living beings are such
Following a complex evolution
Which selects the organs at their best. 
A lui risposi: “Ho la sensazione
Che troppo in breve tempo sia accaduto
Per aver sì perfetta selezione.”
I answered him: ” I have the impression
That in a too short time, all this has happened
To obtain a selection that’s so perfect”
“Nel breve tempo mio non ho potuto
Capire a fondo quello che implicava
Non abbastanza avendo riflettuto.
”In my not long time I was not able
To deeply gather what was implied
Not enough having on the thing reflected. 
Ma la cosa importante mi sembrava
Che fosse il caso a governar gli eventi
Contro l’idea di un fine che creava.”
But it looked to me at most important
That had fortuity to drive the events
Against conception of a creating  end.” 
Mentre seguivo lui con occhi attenti
Vidi venir stendendo la sua mano
Un abissino che mi disse: “Senti.
While I was following him with watchful eyes
I saw to come holding out his hand
An Abyssinian telling me: “Listen. 
Sono Bikila Abebe l’africano
Vinsi correndo a Roma a piedi nudi
Inseguito dagli altri a lungo invano.
I am Bikila Abebe the african
I won in Rome running barefoot
Chased from others long in vain. 
Tornato in patria vissi tempi crudi
Incolpevole tratto alla prigione,
E venni offeso con percosse rudi.”
Back homeland I had hard times
Innocent stretched into prison,
And I was offended with beatings rough.”  
Non feci in tempo a coglier l’occasione 
Di parlare con lui scomparso tosto
Nelle nebbie del sogno in confusione.
I had no time to seize the opportunity
To talk with him, disappeared  straightway. 
Poi poco a poco un viso prende posto
Nella mente emergendo come scoria
Dal ferro fuso ed a lui mi accosto.
Then little by little a face takes place
In my mind emerging as were slag
From molten iron and I approach him. 
“Mi chiamo Lenin: ebbi breve storia
Dopo che feci la rivoluzione
Di cui nel tempo resterà memoria.
”My name is Lenin: I had short story
After performing the revolution
Whose memory will last long time. 
Dopo di me un uomo col baffone
Impose la sua legge sanguinaria
Colpendo a morte ogni opposizione.
Right after me a man with big mustache
Imposed hardly his bloody law
Hitting to death any opposition. 
Si dimostrò così velleitaria
L’idea di un mondo giusto e d’uguaglianza
Fondato sulla forza proletaria.
Unrealistic then was demonstrated
The conception of a world right and egalitarian
Based on the proletarian force.  
Egli alla guida si pose con iattanza
D’un governo feroce e repressivo
Basato sulle armi e l’arroganza.”
He with arrogance took the head 
Of a government fierce and repressive
Based on weapons and haughtiness.” 
Mi apparve poi come se fosse vivo
Un indio dall’aspetto assai dolente
Le cui vicende di sapere ambivo.
Appeared then as if he was alive
An indium man looking very sad
Whose events I wanted to know. 
“Taino fui e vissi in occidente
Finché non venne un uomo da lontano
Che ricercava il nuovo continente.
 “Taino I was and I lived in west
Until a man came from far away
Looking for a novel continent” 
Con amicizia lo accogliemmo invano
Malanni ed alcol ebber sopravvento
Uccidendoci in massa per sua mano.”
Friendly we welcomed him in vain
Ailments and alcohol took over
Killing us in mass through his hand.” 
Mentre parlava venne un forte vento
Che mi portò lontano turbinando.
E tosto a meditar mi misi intento.
Whil he was talking a strong wind came
Which swirling brought me far away
And soon I started to ponder 
Sugli incontri del sogno ripensando
Che l’umana virtù vien spesso offesa
Da chi solo potere va cercando.
Thinking again about the meetings in the dream
That human virtue is offended often
By people only searching for power. 
Ma che sempre la fiamma resta accesa
Di chi la vita dona agli ideali
Credendo che in tal modo sia ben spesa.
But that always the flame is turned on
Of people who gives life to ideals
Believing that so it is well spent. 
Vincendo forze avverse e tutti i mali
Che affliggon l’egoismo della gente
Volando in alto del genio sulle ali.
Winning adverse forces and all evils
Afflicting selfishness of people
Soaring on the genius’ wings. 


Long poem by Ian Howard | Details |

Phobia's

     Phobias
	A Bluto is not that Disney dog
	It was when a mewling 
	that I would scream 
	Should they wet my body
	And then apply cream
	
	Ablutophobia – fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning
	
	Achluo the demon that lurks
	In darkened corners
	The long toothed life suckers realm
	I am scared as the sun dims
	It seems to bare my soul
	
	Achluophobia – fear of darkness
	Acro what did they do 
	They called me acrobat 
	This will not do
	I get giddy standing on a matchbox
	Please get a net to see me through
	Acrophobia – fear of heights

	
	Agora just shut that door 
	I am staying here forever more
	Bring me food put it on the floor
	The letter box is just for you
	Don’t, Don’t,  try to get through
	
	Agoraphobia,  Fear of open spaces or of being in public places. Fear of leaving a                    safe place
	Agrap stole my feelings 
	He caught me unaware
	I am now afraid of sex 
	don’t ask me anymore
	It frightens me that’s for sure
	
	Agraphobia – fear of sexual abuse

	Agrizoo an angry gorilla I knew
	Wild as hell was kept in a cell
	As all his kind, even a timid Hind
	They scare the crap out of me
	Please let them run free

	Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals

	A gyro is just what I need
	I will fit it to my trusty stead
	He will fly straight across that band
	A tarmac nasty throughout the land
	I cannot face the walk you see
	Agyrophobia –fear of crossing the road

	Aichmohe got in a hell of a fight
	They killed him with a pointed knife
	It will come for me just you see
	I cannot even mend his cloth
	Won’t  touch a needle at any cost
	
	Aichmophobia – fear of sharp or pointed objects (such as a needle or knife)
	

	Ailuro he lived next door 
	The bastard sits on the fence
	To me he snarls not a purr
	A Persian he is supposed to be
	Frightens the *****out of me
	
	Ailurophobia – fear of cats
	
	Algo, Away, I am pain free
	This morphine is the best
	First day of pain free rest
	Been told that it will return
	Got some gas, peace I yearn
	
	
	Algophobia - fear of pain

	Andro I’d rather be               (android)
	I am metal and plastic you see
	Electric person not man or woman
	That would be so sad
	If just a man I would go mad

	Androphobia – fear of men

	Antho the pologist got the plan
	He put concrete throughout the land.
	Not one shrub or flower seen
	Not one blade of grass green
	A flower would make me scream

	Anthophobia – fear of flowers


	Anthropo was a lonely man
	Wouldn’t mix with others so
	He lived in a cave, well just a hole
	You would see his eyes peeping out
	A shaking frame if people were about
	
	Anthropophobia – fear of people or the company of people, a form of social phobia.

	Aqua marine or even the wet stuff
	Is enough to drive me mad
	I stay in when there is rain
	Just wait for the sun to shine again
	A damp tissue that’s quite enough

	Aquaphobia – fear of water. Distinct from Hydrophobia, a scientific property that makes chemicals averse to interaction with water, as well as an archaic name for rabies

	Arach no, and know the score
	Those creepy creatures on the wall
	Send shivers up and down my spine
	Six legs and venom to drive you mad
	I am running already it is sad.

	Arachnophobia – fear of spiders


	Astra my name you would think of the stars
	My gaze goes up but not that far
	To the first cloud there in the sky
	If it’s the shape of an anvil I will fly 
	Fear grips me and I don’t know why
	
	Astraphobia – fear of thunder and lightning
	Atychi that was about the size of me
	The others would just make fun
	I was no good to anyone
	A failure of the first degree
	Nothing my goal, was all I could see
	
	Atychiphobia – fear of failure

	Auto matic I will seek people out
	To touch to play as long as they are near
	Don’t leave me in this place alone 
        A singularity is my biggest fear
	I will hold anyone you see I care

	Autophobia – fear of being alone or isolated
	
	Automat o no it’s not true how could you
	An advert that’s telling just lies
	Don’t all the others realize
	What you say is not true, put it right 
	It will drive me crazy I’ll keep out of sight
	
	Automatonophobia – fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being

	Aviat o if you think I am going in that
	No I am not a scared ***** cat
	If we were meant to go fly
	Wings we would have from him on high
	Fold your machine and put it just so.
	
	Aviophobia, Aviatophobia – fear of flying
	
	
	
	
	Chaeto he was a Greek of old
	Bald as a badger so the story is told
	But why you say is there no cure 
	For him to grow some lovely hair
	For him it would give such a scare

	Chaetophobia – fear of hair

	Chemo therapy keep away from me
	Chemicals scare me I know they are free
	But to have them coursing through my veins
	No matter how good they are, and that jar
	The fear of everything for what they are 

	Chemophobia – fear of chemicals

	Chirop to or not too so I am told
	They stick in your hair best to be bald
	Now I find that my nails are made of hair
	Chirop is what I fear not chiropodist is that clear!!
	Just shave my head and cut my nails dear

	
	Chiroptophobia – fear of bats

	Chromo shines bright in my eyes
	The fear of all colours  I realise
	Now I am safe from a troubled day
	Into my dark room, I have found my way
	Knock when that sun has met its demise

	Chromophobia - fear of bright colors


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Words The ship Melanie Dear Melanie Troubled Times LossTouch

Words
The ship

Words come to me like spring. 
They set free, they shed the shroud, 
open with all their glory, beauty and sing. 
They stand tall, they ring out loud, 
from a life that blossoms with life’s renewal, 
with its continuation and the energy it will fuel,
taking all living things, from their creation 
to exotic places, the place of their final destination 
and that of their destiny. 
And destiny for you and me.

Words are my stairway towards the breasts 
of heaven, its waiting arms and its protective nests, 
where there is nothing that harms 
- as one snuggles in its enfolding arms -
one on his journey down long winding roads
he has to travel with such heavy loads.

Words are the steps I have climbed, they take me 
on adventures – and many, they have been – to see 
me through the doors, ( doors of perception ) of my mind,
those places, where it is, I spend most of my time. 
These pathways I have chosen to embark upon,
seem to linger on, and on, and on 
through to the subconscious that doth confirm,  
to consciousness, the light and I do learn 
from the words, the life, the thought
flowing like meandering streams, into raging rivers,
rivers into seas, into oceans and ought 
to take flight, light up the livers 
of life on their voyage towards heaven above 
where all might be pure love 
for a soul and for that soul to know
what is unknowable to conscious man, what doesn’t show, 
of what is not known to life, in its everyday living.

Words, for me, are knowledge, are for wisdom, for giving 
to all of whom want to know for all those who want to grow. 

B. J. “A” 2
March 21st 2002

Melanie, Dear Melanie !!!

My heart, Melanie, is aching.
My heart, Melanie, is braking 
from the attitudes that never seems to cease. 
They just seem – to me that is – to ever increase,
taking you ever deeper and deeper into ?, and further away
from who you are – what I feel and what I pray, 
is not where you are at and what you are heading for. 
It seems that there are few days left ?, before you are out the door. 

B. J. “A” 2
March 21st  2002

Troubled Times 

My hours tremble, they shake in their passing.
The minutes I live, are pressing, they are oppressing, 
for the thunder that rages, that is your presence, 
I have no safe haven, no shelter, I have no defence.
To become completely silent ?, never to sing out,
to ring the bell that tolls of your life, turned about
expressed  with anger, in the hostile words you shout 
at me, words that let me see into, know something is amiss 
in our little world, that once tasted the sweetness of bliss, 
but now, has been destroyed, taken away !,
by what ?, by whom ?, who has lead you astray.

B. J. “A” 2
March 21st  2002

Loss

I have felt, for some time, and do feel the light 
within you flicker, yet does not quite burn bright 
for long, but one day, may just take flight 
on your butter fly wings, not dried or out of sight 
and carry you passed all in life – BAD – you tried, in darkest of night..

B. J. “A” 2
March 21st  2002

Touch

I have reached out !, I have tried to touch you Melanie !, 
but have found, not but vapour, mist in my hands, 
passing air, on the run, to an uncharted, unknown sea, 
to far off, barren, dusty,  desert lands.
I offer you, - my Daughter, my Child, - my time, my ear. 
I would like to know, to understand, to listen, I want to hear, 
but silence is all that comes to me, upon the turbulent wind, 
on the run, in the air, stilled by this horrendous sin.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st  2002

The Fall

Melanie, !!!, your fall, I find hard to conceive. 
It is a picture, a movie that I do not want to believe, 
yet it is all around me, but if I would perceive.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st  2002

A black hole

My life is caught up in this vortex called living. 
This whirl pool, called life, sucks me in,
 spins me round and around, giving 
nothing, just drawing me ever downward, in,
 into this it’s empty black hole, pierced by it’s swards,
laying my heart wide open, bleeding on my thoughts, my words. 

B. J. “A ” 2 
March 21st 2002

Veiled sight

My eyes flow, they swell with red 
rivers, in vain as painful waves 
of tears, tears full of fears fill my head
as the pain, from within, fills the caves, 
the hollows, the shelters in my mind, never put to bed

B. J. “A ” 2 
March 21st 2002

Much to much time !!! 

It seemed that I had too much time on my hands to reflect,
Too much time on my hands to project
to much time on my hands to infect
my days, my nights with what I did suspect,
and now the years have slipped by like lightening,
and all that once was frightening
has, with the passing of time, become clear
as time has shown, elevating all that I did  fear.

B. J. “A ” 2 
October 12th  2013


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

A Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…


Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

A Journey Through Time

Two friends were travelling to the east seeking unexplored lands
eventually they reached some grim looking tall mountains
slowly they made their way up to the summit and stood there
Breathlessly they were amazed by the panoramic view before them

Vast areas of open lands stretched out with lakes and forests dotted about
"what a wonderful place" said McLeod "lets climb down and explore it "
they set off it took a long time to get down to the valleys below
they set up camp by a crystal clear spring full of big fat fish

"Supper" said McBram "lets try to catch some" with only their hands
they set about fishing, soon four
 fat silver fish had been tickled out
lighting a fire they found a good flat stone on which to bake the fish
the teasing enticing smell of the fish soon filled the air

They saved two which they smoked to carry with them
that night as they slept a bear raided the camp stealing
the smoked fish. Luckily sated it did not attack them
"Drat no breakfast" said McLeod " lets catch and cook some more"

Finally ready they set off following the stream down to a lake
there were plenty of familiar fruits and berries for them to gather
also many strange ones that tempted them "best not eat them" said McBram
"They could be poisonousness". "No look the birds are eating them"

Reassured they tucked in eating a few and collecting some for later
suddenly with a mighty sound a mound rose up with a cave in it
the two friends looked at each other in bewilderment . "What's that
where did it come from?" asked McBram as slowly they entered the vast entrance

An eerie light flooded the cave, it was  being emitted by some red crystals   
they looked at each other and going over to them they touched them
with a flash they were suddenly spinning through time itself
crashing down they found themselves many moons in the past

Before them they could see strange looking people that bowed before them
a weird man dressed in skins with a stick that was shaped like a snake
pointed it at them it seemed alive as it hissed at the friends wreathing
"These are the promised ones" he said "The ones foretold of in prophecies"

"They have come here from the future to fore-fill the ancient legend"
the friends were feted by these people who treated them like kings
and the following day they were led to an ancient monolith
and strapped to it. "What is going on" asked McLeod "why have you tied us up?"

"To stop the dragon carrying you off" said the shaman "The prophecy foretells 
you must defeat it to rid our lands of its evil purpose. At full moon it takes a maiden
and some of the children and feasts on them. You with your swords of iron can
defeat it." "Well we have never seen on before" said McLeod

 "How are we supposed to defeat it" "I have a magic potion" said the shaman
"drink it and its fiery breath will not harm you. With its protection you must
then strike the dragon in both its eye then its heart" Giving them their swords
the villagers scurried off to hide. Soon there was a mighty roar and the dragon
flew down breathing fire, its talons outstretched to grab them. McBram went 
for its eye running his sword into it sending it blind, while McLeod struck it deep
in its heart. The dragon fell to the ground and laid there dead. The villagers 
came out of hiding and prepared a great feast in their honour

Towards the end of the celebration the shaman gave them both a bowl
"Drink this, he said "It will return you to your own time" So they drank it
and found themselves again spinning through time. They saw many different times
and strange places as they were whirled back to the present

Unconscious they laid on the ground slowly coming to, they were back at their camp
on coming to they looked at each other in puzzled bewilderment. Talking about
what had occurred they decided  it must have been an illumination. Until they saw
lying on the ground some dragon scales collecting them up they returned home

Their friends scoffed at their story saying they had dreamt it all, there were no
longer dragons in this land. The two friends showed the others the dragon's scales
which were stared at with awe and amazement. Right there and then the two
friends decided they would stay at home safe with family and friends
 


Maybe to be continued


Long poem by Elly Wouterse | Details |

News Wall behind the anchorman

well preserved anchorman
with an ironed tight tie
matching to the color 
of his right eye
to me on the left

words well pronounced
stories seem not topical at all
overpowered by the screens
offering muted live-scenes
in the background

the real tragic story
the muted sound
of the silent screens
I counted 
the grand total of 24

another chain of fear
bullets causing pain
destructive rockets
killing hearts and souls
blood and tears 
on the streets
politicians did not
send in the clouds
didn't step aside
their ego's 
leaders send in their crowds
their soldiers fight the fight
populations suffer
st the moment
no solution in sight 

muted heartbreaking sound
of crying and dying people
so loud and so clear

human bodies
in cloths 
coffins 
or  on wood studs
surrounded by
teared loved ones
the living yelling loud

the almost dying fighting 
a way out of a shroud 

words I'm not familiar with
in languages I don't know
clearly show despair 
I am so sad
in particular
because of the dead kids
surrounded by
head scarves, yarmulkes 
garbs and tichels
veils and chadors, 
hats and umbrellas
niqabs or dupattas,
under the deadly rain 
of rockets and guns

24 little screens 
in the background
the mutual crying 
hurts the most

the anchor's mouth moves
the scene says it all
people on several screens
I can't touch
I can't help
I can't save
I can't heal

the worst
I  can't reveal
the solution
for this human pollution

things are not going well
in the swelling wounds
in the midst
of human pollution

more wounds swell
on the 24 screens
in the background
I'am paralyzed
but the sound
of so many more
crying and dying
children fathers and mothers
some places show
there are no others
any more

my tears speak volume
wishing my mind
any mind at all
could find
the healing tune
in a peaceful room

a commercial break
another take
breakings news

well preserved anchor
with an ironed tight tie
matching to the color 
of his right eye
to me on the left

reads words well pronounced
the story seems not topical at all
overpowered by new screens
offering  silent live-scenes
in the background

La triste histoire se répète
de l'humanité, 
et de la guerre et de la paix
encore et encore
La triste histoire se répète
il est de tous les temps 
pendant des siècles
La triste histoire se répète
C'est une histoire tristesse
à d'autres moments
dans un environnement différent
la triste histoire se répète

even powering down my TV
doesn't prevent
the empowered feeling'
paralyzing me
totally

(c) Elly Wouterse

Note: 
1st. 
I have close friends on both sides.
2nd.
In this poem I finally managed to describe my feelings on what I feel & saw and what seems an automatic act - zapping through all television channels automatic act - zapping through all television channel and a quick moment of checking the news..and yesterday "coincidentally" almost all our 20 news channels broadcasted the same 'pictures'.. randomized ... all accompanied with the story from their point of view... all are having their own channel(s) but all those real human people on both sides... 
If I could be a magician... I would please all.............. wouldn't we all?

La triste histoire se répète
de l'humanité, 
et de la guerre et de la paix
encore et encore
La triste histoire se répète
il est de tous les temps 
pendant des siècles
La triste histoire se répète
C'est une histoire tristesse
à d'autres moments
dans un environnement différent
la triste histoire se répète

I wrote (also the notes leading to) the French stanza about 41 years ago (found it in a precious diary) as a combined exam-assignment for the examination majors French (using the language in a poem) and History(giving a general review on HOW & WHY 'things' are or aren't happening or (dis)continue)........  
The direct reason for the History-part of this assignment: the Yom Kippur War from October 6 to 25, 1973............. 
I read  again - about my fears and feelings as a young girl for another threat of a possible war(building the Berlin Wall was an earlier 'threat' causing the same fear)


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Solitaire Solitude

Solitaire / Solitude

Solitude will be my recognition, my fame !
Solitude is my time to claim !
Solitary is my adopted name !
Solitaire is the name of my game,
to play away these hours of mine
until there is nothing left of my time
on this plane or of this rhyme.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 19th 2001

July thirty first 
Two thousand and one 

An end has come, to times filled with the recordings of sounds 
from a glorious, ancient past.
Time has come to empty the mind of what hounds,
time to indulge in a lengthy  fast.
Time before now

There is beauty, where there is light, 
but, it has become obvious !, that night 
is not a place of beauty, peace or rest 
for a man, who, out of his life, has made a mess 
of troubles, troubled thoughts and deep reflections.

And like me , they get lost in the quagmire, 
and at the cost of my soul on fire, 
burning with flames of pain, in depressions 
grip, without the ability to solve, that which is, 
trouble, which my lot in life is.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Another Time before now
My heart cries out, with each lonely tear drop 
I realizing that, of my life, I have made a flop 
and in the process, lost little pieces of mu soul, 
forever washed away, evaporating into thin air.
What a heart wrenching thing for one to know,  
to believe about his life, to believe it is not fair,
that all they were – those tiny pieces that formally
fit together and made up the whole – a family 
that was my soul, never again for me to know, 
for tear drops nourish not, nor will they make grow. 
Only lubricate the path, the way of letting go.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Still another time 
There is this killing chill, filling the air
that leaves me in a deep state of despair 
as my young, fair haired Daughter, 
seems to have forgotten all I had taught her 
as she makes a prisoner of my heart and soul, 
with her vengeance, caging my spirit in a gaol
of her spite, as the might of her hatred encases, 
dictates the course of my life, as it races 
towards thoughts of her young son, 
my beautiful, second Grandson, 
who, like her, is lost to my touch, my embraces 
due to the bars she has erected, the distance she places. 
Me, my life, they have become the walls she builds 
that grow ever thicker, wider, more distant, higher, 
an impenetrable wall of searing, blinding fire. 

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And still another

I do not know where it is ?, that I might be
if it were not for my dark haired, lovely, Melanie.
I do not know what it is, that my mind would see ?,
in this life if it was not for my youngest,
thoughtful Daughter, who deserved the best, 
deserves much, much better from me.
For now, it seems, she just wants to be free !

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And yet another

The sleepless dreaming of humankind, 
is to leave the waking nightmare behind,
reach deep down inside, to touch and find,
all the stuff of its soul. Its heart, its mind
so that in the end mankind will stand high and shine.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Gail

My girl child,  a beautiful woman so far away
fills my eyes, fills my thoughts every day.

Her life I left behind, let slip away so long ago.
How she feels ?, who she is ?, so little do I know.

My love for her I try, I hope I do show ?
Does she see?, can she feel it grow and grow ?, 

as the years left behind, lost, stow
away, enlighten me one day to all I have missed.

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 

As the son stands

Casting shadows upon this land,
I know not where I stand,
where I might fit in, or who I am.

There is no one to lend a hand
as the cold winds wipe me from the sand.
Not a trace !, find not, I can ?

Do I fly with the sun ?,
from the shadows do I run ?,
or is it ?, with them I walk

passing over others, never to talk.
Or do I stand ?, with the land
as the sun passes over head 

The shadows, a blanket for my bed.
Laying there, sleeping is my soul 
and in that state of reverie, never to know ?

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 


Long poem by Sam Toil | Details |

The Mass

i hear a snap.  and somewhere another body goes limp.  i hear it all the time these days. It’s the times i think.  or maybe my youth.  i can’t tell.  

i hold tight as four chins poke into the small of my back.  three fists in my face.  a shoulder in my stomach.  it eases and i grab a tablespoon of air.  the breathing is hard now and I can’t scream anymore.  

i look at the man between the heads.  he cannot speak.  the Wires will not let him.  he smiles and pulls at his arms but there is no where to put them.  he cries.  and then he laughs.  and then he is awe-stricken.  it is what the Wires demand.  

i shift as a body beneath me twists.  a head and an arm and a belly and another arm and a shoulder roll over and twist my body like a mop.  my spine will break soon.   but it doesn’t matter.   i have nothing to do now but lay here and sink.   and watch the sky shrink a little more as the bodies pile up.  

but the man between the heads stays with me.  his scarred and bleeding face drifts into and out of scattered shafts of light.   his face moves as if to speak.  but the Wires will not let him. and now a frown and sulkiness because the Wires want it that way.  but the Wires can’t get to his eyes.  his mind and his face yes.  but not his eyes. how he resists.   the images forced on him are strong.  at least it’s what the dying ones say when i am lucky enough to hear them.  

yet he is there.  sinking.  and waiting.  for the platform he knows will come. he can not help it. i am all he sees now. another snap and a shadow.  the platform is near. and, too, the mechanics riding it.   to pull the limp body from the crowd.  there is momentary glee in his eyes.  his steady eyes.  hungry and waiting.  but it passes as the shadow moves away.  “you cannot escape for long.”  that’s what his eyes tell me. burrowing in through my naked face.  i can nearly hear him. the pressure eases and i take in a gulp of air and smell his rotting breath.  

another snap.  and a scream this time.  i treasure the dying screams.  the only Truth i know anymore.  i forgot all the rest.  the ones i was told.  the ones who told me even.   but not the man between the heads.   what would he say. or would he just die.  too many scars. and his skin bleeding in too many places.  from fighting the Wires all his life.  and the rapid twitching in his face.  the Wires forcing the muscles.  he cries.  he laughs.  he speaks too rapidly for me to hear.  not me.  not now.  not without the Wires.  i wonder if he envies me.  my avoidance.   “they never found me!”  i scream in a whisper to him -- to explain my uncovered face.  i wait for a reply.  but the Wires are too strong.  and his resistance too weak for the pain. he only smiles and then cries and then laughs.  it is what they do,  the Wires.  with everything in the face but the eyes.  and the fantasies take care of the eyes for most.  

but the mechanics eventually find me.  the platform floating in air and the two men leaning out.  searching.  “here,”  i whisper.  as best i can between the short choppy breaths.  one points.  “over there,” he says to the other.  they hover above me and place the Helmet on my head.  they leave.  “its my time, now,” i whisper to the air.  to the man between the heads.  as the Wires work into my skin.  the fantasies begin to creep into my brain. i look one last time at the man between the heads. his eyes smile in triumph, oblivious to my newly found conformity.  his shoulder assumes an odd shape as it dislocates. finally his arm is free. he raises it up over his head.  his eyes gleam in victory. he curls his arm around his scalp and wedges his elbow into the mass of people above him.  he grasps the side of his jaw and flicks his mighty torso.  i hear the snap of his broken neck.  and see the slow release of breath as his head flops over.  


Long Poems