Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
allegory allusion
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boxing day
boyfriend break up
bridal shower brother
bullying business
butterfly cancer
candy car
care career
caregiving cat
celebration celebrity
change chanukah
character cheer up
chicago child
child abuse childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
cinco de mayo cinderella
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
devotion discrimination
divorce dog
dream drink
earth earth day
easter education
emo emotions
encouraging engagement
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter father son
fathers day fear
february feelings
film fire
firework first love
fish fishing
flower flying
food football
for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
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
society softball
soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sunset
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
veterans day violence
visionary vogon
voice volleyball
voyage war
water weather
wedding wife
wind wine
winter wisdom
woman women
word play words
work world
world war i world war ii
write writing
yellow youth
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Long Poetess Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

From Darkness To Stardom

Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.

She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied

Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably, 
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by

One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew

Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…

-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Fraser | Details |

LIBERTY OF EXPRESSION is HERE

Why I am here in Poetrysoup?

I like a seed carelessly thrown 
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow 
despite big rough blocks..

words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas

but how can I? 
When will I?
If within
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava  of emotions.

Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:

  wandering, wandering
  'til a shoreline glistens
  in the name of hope

Pressed. Pushed, 
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely  fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.

Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built 
slowly, slowly fell to short.

Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
Not long, 
sleeping poems from my head popped,
they escaped

  teasing and tickling,
  unafraid, I bite every challenge
  swimming, soaking, diving deep.

Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...

   I clamor to learn,
   I clamor to move on,
   I clamor to sing,
   I clamor to run,
   I clamor to fly,
   I clamor to soar

from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love 

   I hide behind the mask of metaphors
   I tease torrid with personification, 
   I sassy seduce using alliteration
   I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
   I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul

Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry  be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate, 
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression, 
this you and I yearn.

Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!

Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.

Finally, my congested suffering heart 
today, beats systematically:

   gratitude, I can only inhale
   smile, I can only show
   prayers, I can only blow...

I know, 
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
   
   Each one is unique
   Each one has a style
________________________________________________________
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015



Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Fraser | Details |

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY Smiles were stolen from me long time ago Days gone gray as storms rush to play: my... They drain. Fervently, I called to the Heavens but it seems no one there. No one there! I lullaby with the whine of gushing winds, hoping they are kind enough to blow my notes. Notes carrying cries when am still a child as 'til this day, I yearn for father's love... I face every facets of life in color white, some brushed my lips with grins and laughter, some stitched the screams of November yet passed they left footprints to remember. There in the azure ambiance, love's dare~ I bit the chance but sadly I fell distant, my sweet red heart weep from bitter thrusts. Easing emptiness within, I refuse to be a victim. I prayed, pleading always for a Saviour kiss just maybe through it, I might die in peace. (Is death the better surrendering deliverance? Or just an acrid escape for suicidal goodbyes?) I chose God for I prefer to love and live into poetry I began rhyming a letting go the quill of a poetess, I bravely try: verses and lyrics my healing balm... Tossed flowers from the changing seasons and so the smells of pancakes and cafe flirt slatternly to my imagination bursting from me a ballad or a sonnet. But oh! Poetic finesse is a gold in a mine hence, I dig, dive to curves and loops presenting always my jolly descent views... Others said images I present confuse, they don't know, they are the nightmares creeping, shaking my lethargic muse. Written free, I asked you to read carefully~ I send messages of love, beauty and maladies... My pen scribbles mom ore unchained melodies for my heart slowly erects from slumber. It somersaults upon the breaking swell of sunrise in this tediously solitary realm of the world. The horrible webs of yesterday's frustrations I untangled from life's hullabaloos... Shattered dreams into my ink, I shall reform unencompassable inspirations, I want to rouse. Grace from God refilled, it empowered my life surging heartbeats pushed me to clamor for change. I stand to blossom amidst imprisoning trials yet never forgetting my humble ground. Coupled with the will to survive all strifes let my living be mirrored to pages and when breath of life is cut from me let my pen be raindrops of immortality. ____________________________________________________________ Sponsor Name: Silent One Contest Name: Your final poem ~~3rd Place~~ ++ POEM of the DAY ~ August 30, 2015 ++ © Olive Eloisa Guillermo 10:57 pm. August 28, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Dave Collins | Details |

Inquisition poetry 101


I stopped to stool siphon sip on a cool blue 
circumstance in the means between the in 
times loath listening to complacent
poetic prostitutional practice of stir my friends 
ego echoes doing the same f. u. c. k. e. d.
favor dance for me whenever my I/ego envy enter 
exists your contra content littered with
manic moronic mentaloronic maladies
of entrance entrocities. Lining words
pentamhextamater, of rich rhyme, cleaveage crotch
clearance, colic c.u.n.t. coffure
frantic fascist frames, abounding with 
wok out at me sillo sounds
composite of cruel crisp compound
cumulo capsules of I, me, mine
mousy miniscules in dreamy drop
lovelorn lostlusts learned
limitations lauded longevity in living
linguistic liquidlovelorn light
leaking lanterns, which bequeath spewing 
in bitch broth biscuted breveties catching 
lucid laminated word wornwastes 
catagorical crass. Leave wail/wall 
wallet inadequacies enough alone any analog yet tackless 
trash white talent to ergo the less a nominal negress and opt for a 
sporadic spittle spindle of annotated attack seeing a new personal
your poor prowess less than dodah duh, Po a tree? Nimnul junk gite.
So, my wordful children of BS, when writing yr so called pitypoetry,
devoid of dream dance diminutives coinciding correctly with wrenching wraps
of prostitutional ponder relentelessingly revealing a rapture 
of vast vile emoelements of comprosotory 
composites of fecalfroughtfrightfolly of fantasies in 
poet emeritus of urineyourns  a 3 way stretch non nobel poetlorietsupreme
goodfistingluckwiththatcrap;therefore u either play the game or 
risk reside in the zombie aperature camera obsecura word death orbit; therefore 

Assimilitate before u ass umulate, 
Build before u bridge buldge
Concentrate before u cumulo capsulate
Decide before u dildo dick tate
Engulf before u evo enevelop
Fragment before u fracture fantasize
Grasp before u geno germinate
Hallucinate before u hasty hippocrate
Initialize before u initiate
Jackulate before u Jillulasm
Literate before u laud luminate
Mentor before u mirror menstruate
Nurtuate before u neuro negate
Obliviate before u oogle obligate
Postulate before u priest present
Question before u quotionent quest
Recreate before u radical resonnate
Saturate before u semen sacrlidge
Tintalate before u trick translate
Utilize before u usurp ugly 
Victory before u vile vanquish
Want before u willful waste
X-turn right @ W follow the X signs
Yuletides before u yell yeildtides
Zeusotide before u zonk zerozilchotones. 
 
 

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Agatha Jetaime | Details |

Radju by Vera Polozkova translation

As soon as I landed, Radju, I concluded that these people live like Gods –
Fairy tale like empty airports, queer roads and on them driving cars handsome studs.

One-piece glass in windows and Dutch ware toilets in a moderate home,
People living here are as happy, I said, as few in our world’s dome.

Their green parks here, Radju, are so vast,
And their houses, Radju, are solid-cast
But not a soul when sun rises sings
A mantra, kirtan or prayer in spring.

It seems they’re not lazy or idle, life in honey,
Radju, but they don’t make anything except for money.

Nothing except for money as if they eat it or it yields –
Only money stacks are advertised on advertisement shields.

Imagine, Radju, no dirt, no slums, but if there’s a long highway to exile
Then all along the road there would be shields with money and even raw meat piled.

Nothing except for money, Radju, as if they can wear it –
They hire people to raise their children. Just imagine it!

Nothing except for money, Radju, if they see a beggar or a cripple
They look as if the poor is not worthy of a man’s name and my back dimpled!

Nothing except for money, but not so that they can buy their wives
Expensive jewelry or embroidered sari – beautiful life.

Instead they put money in a bank and set example for neighbors,
Wear only grey and wife is to wear grey and only labor, labor.

Their women are well-groomed, among old there are no wobbly or lame, hmm
But none of their men sing for them
Nor do they play tablas for them.

Their kids don’t die of poor quality water, infection in rain season, black dust
But I never saw them showing God their gratitude, their admiration and trust!

Their elderly live all alone, when their souls leave body – well,
Often there’s no soul around wanting to say final farewell.

The funniest thing, Radju – they pity you and me, how’s that?
That we can hardly make ends meet to buy our dear children bread.

That we have never been to theater and sleep on mats in dirt –
Those who wish their loved ones death over the phone – they value concerts!

I lived five days among them, ran away on the sixth day in deception –
I bewared that I would finally and irreversibly lose perception.

My Sangita raised her hands up to the skies, Radju mate,
As soon as she saw me, she brought me hot roti and daal plate.

What happened to you, she said, you look scarier than any of Rakshasa, even paler than
A European, I even burst into tears, Radju, that I underwent such horror. Now – zen.

Copyright © Agatha Jetaime | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Brooke Avery | Details |

Skinny Prayers

The  sirens are gone now
                               Decaying with the city swirl-

                         Its rectangle of light can’t catch the infinite tan of your skin
                         As the pulp has fallen flat over searing bone;

                      because outside is the eye of the scorn, of loathing, like the root of
                    fire on your chest’s arc,

                     Like the song of Seraphim--

                   who exhales chains that shackle you in your own bedroom,
                   the shroud of blankets you lay under-
                
                     rippling breath
                     Named skinny by the gods,
    
                    they gave you a scale to meditate on
                     or a meal strewing a heavy odor only to be heaved back up again--

                     What faith locks its gate until 
                      slivers of dark seep in like murk in an alley 
                     
                    as you realize that darkness was only simmering hunger, 
                    something sepulchral gaping with sooty lips; 

                    Last night you spent drifting in sedation from pills
                     you thought could only make an oath of credulous dreams

                   or a shawl of skin that wrongs, wrongs, wrongs bags of saggy flesh
                   to be weightless from feminine ills.

                  Skinny: the loveliest of Eve's children;
                   she lured men to chase her, offering their lechery and love

                  like crushed cranberries in a rust pail- 
                  her heartstrings were painted gold with scars erased

                  And she, like you broke the laws of the earth:
                 a killer who did not know what could kill.

                Now as your heartbeat turns to the sigh of a riverbed,
                brass air against your belly, you decide that oxygen will replace a heaping plate-

               a gnarled fog beneath your palms which kept time silent;
              pressed against the cold dampness of your chest.

              Speckles of mud on the mind’s dew: it is here that after
              joy's mate dazes you with its mill there is only blood left

             stilled from its own tide, as you have drowned a singing girl
            And gave birth to a void-- no candle can move the salmon of your flesh

            That withers in the fugitive night.                  

Copyright © Brooke Avery | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Dorian Petersen Potter | Details |

Ode To Helen Steiner Rice - The Monchielle style

~Ode To Helen Steiner Rice~ (1900-1981 (Monchielle) Lovely lady, she shines Ambass'dor of Sunshine Daughter, sister and wife Upliftin' poems she wrote She persevered through strife Lovely lady, she shines She's famous poetess Wrote verses of faith and hope Her life was so very hard She fought thru life to cope Lovely lady, she shines Verses sent from God 'bove Love for God kept her strong Thousands poems she wrote Poems soothes my soul long Lovely lady, she shines In heaven she wears crown She truly loved the Lord Endured many set-backs Her poems are just adored. Dorian Petersen Potter Aka ladydp2000 copyright@2009
February.1.2016 ~Author's Notes: ~0~Helen Steiner Rice~0~ Helen Steiner Rice (May 19, 1900 – April 23, 1981) was an American writer of religious and inspirational poetry. Helen Steiner was born in Lorain, Ohio on May 19, 1900. Her father, a railroad worker, died in the influenza epidemic of 1918. She began work for a public utility and progressed to the position of advertising manager, which was rare for a woman at that time. She also became the Ohio State Chairman of the Women's Public Information Committee of the Electric Light Association, and campaigned for women's rights and improved working conditions. In 1929 she married Franklin Dryden Rice, a bank vice-president in Dayton, Ohio. After the stock market crash in October that year, Franklin lost his job and his investments. He fell into a depression from which he never recovered, and committed suicide in 1932. Rice became a successful businesswoman and lecturer, but found her most satisfying outlet in writing verse for the greeting card company Gibson Greetings. Her poems received wide exposure in the 1960s when several were read by Aladdin on the poetry segment of the Lawrence Welk television show. The demand for her poems became so great that her books are still selling steadily after many printings, and she has been acclaimed as "America's beloved inspirational poet laureate". Helen Steiner Rice’s books of inspirational poetry have now sold nearly seven million copies. Her strong religious faith and the ability she had to express deep emotion gave her poems timeless appeal. She died on the evening of April 23, 1981, a month before her 81st birthday, and was buried in Elmwood Cemetery in Lorain, Ohio. Pope John Paul II, President Jimmy Carter and his wife Rosalynn were admirers of her artistry.

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Joshua Torres | Details |

Back to Poetry

What is poetry, if not a form of artistry, looking for beauty, through the calamity?
Why do we waste rhymes and peoples time just for us to shine in the spotlight of our own iniquity?
We stand up here to rant to open ears hoping that out tears were not shed in vain.
Speaking of stolen dreams, evil things, times of struggle and strain.

Have we become nothing but moans and groans; whining, begging joy be shown,
Becoming the clowns of our towns speaking foolishly trying to sound profound?
Giving loud barks out of the dark hoping to spark a light for ourselves,
Encapsulated in a prison with no vision past our imaginary box and it's shelves.

Our pens bleed the the story of failure and glory but seems to always fall short of the truth.
It's been buried to deep for us to query, for the shovel of falsehood has thrown the dirt having the lie take root.
Growing, stealing and masquerading with masks of what was long forgotten in the elegant dialect of our rant. 
Leaving no way to be freed, no revolution to lead, left with only one word to proceed, can't.

A poet could be and should be a constant escapee from the prison of catastrophe,
Emerging through the strife enjoying life, it's beauty and all its quirky abnormality. 
Our lexicon is a gift to build on expressing the bond between our mind and reality,
Not only it's tragedy or gravity of pain, but, also the silent whisper, of the muted majority.

So let what we say be a ray of hope, not torment, for poetry is not for us,
It's to help rebuild, and shield our readers, so they have something to trust.
For a poet with no order is like a country with no borders, unstable and unable to grow,
Easily uprooted with happiness looted, left for no hope to grasp at or show.

Let us sharpen our tongues and strengthen our lungs, for all we have is our breath,
To influence the world giving imaginations a whirl with creative writes, not only of death.
For what we speak comes to life, whether it be of strife or delight, for our pens depict our destiny,
For what we say paves the way we react on the days of struggle and joy for eternity.

Remember each time your pen blots a line, that it is a crime to write only of despair,
For our readers deserve to read something undisturbed, for our words can impale like a spear. 
Any person can write, but to be a delight, that is a thing only a poet can do.
So let's return to the past and our passion cast the enchanting words that we all once knew.

Copyright © Joshua Torres | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Mariam M. | Details |

Will You Travel With Me To Heaven PART ONE

Poem: Will You Travel With Me To Heaven?

When you wake up in the morning
From a dream you think is okay
You see your spouse and family
Get ready for another day


The dream you saw, the things you see
The bed on which you soundly sleep
Your kids all grown up, your husband
And old memories that you keep


Who do you think created them?
Were they created from nothing?
If there is no god who made these
All, then what's the point of living?


D'you think we were made from nothing
Then from nothing we live for fun
To eat and drink, to love and hate
Then when we die, what comes is none?

The eyes with which your body sees
Those sockets that keep your eyeballs
The mouth you use for food and speech
The way you answer random calls


The languages you use to speak
And another –your mother tongue-
The way you carry yourself, and
How you breathe through your heart and lungs


The muscles that stretch when you smile
Your friends who often make you laugh
The words you try to understand
And how you sign your name so fast


Your kids who once stayed in your womb
The months you carried them in you
Your feelings when you saw their first
Walk and when they smile back at you


The food you eat and cook each day
The rainfalls that fall from above
The earth you walk on each night and
Day, and the things you've learned to love


The blood that flows 'neath your skin each
Hour, the foods you eat, sweet and sour
The clouds you see above your head
The scent of various plants and flowers


The many colors of people
You see, and many sounds you hear
All things in this universe make
You think that a God must be near


A God who is not in this world
But because of Lordship –Above-
Above the skies and on His Throne
Above anything you can think of

A God who is the Most Powerful
A God who does not eat or sleep
A God who is Above all things
A God who does not sweep the streets


A God who sees us all the time
A God who knows our hidden thoughts
A God who hears us all the time
A God who gives us lots and lots

A God who made this universe
A God who is the King of all
A God who knows the good and bad
A God who causes rain to fall


A God who made all kinds of colors
A God who rotates day and night
A God who knows all languages
A God who gave the moon its light

A God who knows the past and present
A God who sees the future of all
A God who gave all kinds of sounds
A God who gave all forms –short and tall

--->PART TWO

Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Walter T. Ashe | Details |

The Eyes Of A Poet

                          "The Eyes Of A Poet"


                          "The Eyes Of A Poet" 
                         are directly connected 
                            to his or her heart.
           What's truly seen and then seeks expression
               is where poems do get their first start!

                   All human kind has a pair of eyes
                and though open may not actually see,
             certain conditions that may prompt a poet
                              to express them 
                             with word artistry!

                          "The Eyes Of A Poet"
                  are similar to a potter or sculptor
                    who take an unshaped form,
                 and with vision and determination 
                              they are guided, 
                                    by hand, 
                    to mold, create and transform!

               We do this very same act with words
                      and a heartfelt desire to say,
                           words that will touch, 
                        also transform the reader 
                          in a unique poetic way!

                          "The Eyes Of A Poet"
             see this world in a way unlike any other.
                        They see the unseen, 
                   send this vision to the heart,
              with need to use words to uncover...
              
                "truths" that can only be conveyed
              by the poetic words that are written,
                           because we know 
               that through this poetic expression
                    we are also helplessly smitten!

                         "The Eyes Of A Poet"
                      are a truly gifted glimpse 
               into life and it's myriad conditions,
                      to express what is seen,
                     and felt and heard and done 
                       with poetic compositions!

                   Every word expresses the heart!
                        We've something to say 
                              and we know it!
                         Keep writing and know 
                      that this gift of expression 
                                comes from
                        "The Eyes Of A Poet!"



                          WTA-IV  3/21/2016


Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems