Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership
spacer

Long Poets Poems | Long Poets Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

I Do Not Like PoemZoo-m dot com

I do not like poemzoo-m.com

This is only my opinion.
It is perfectly fine for me to have this opinion.
I am not breaking any rules/regulations by having this opinion.

PoemZoo-m.com is a sister-site of PoetrySoup.com,
which funnels the poems posted on PS onto the Zoo.
This offers poets more exposure.
On a business level, this sister-site generates ad-revenue
and creates a SEO back-link which helps PS ratings.

Now, more exposure and additional revenue towards a site which I enjoy using,
is a good thing.
Also, I agreed for the PS administration(TPS) to post my work "online" in other venues
every time I agreed to the Terms and Agreement clauses when posting a poem.
This isn't lost on me.

Wot else isn't lost on me, is that simply by posting on PS, my work can already
be printed, emailed, shared, linked all over the public domain.
So having my work funnelled over to the Zoo isn't really a big deal, is it?
No, it isn't.
Life goes on.

But it can lead to yet even more possibility of work being used without my permission
even with copyright stipulations/ownership.
Humbly, I am merely an amateur poet only beginning on my poetic journey.
I do not have illusions of grandeur.
It is a specific crowd that enjoys(some lol)of my work. 
I am definitely not everyone's cup of tea.
Yet, I have been approached(on another poetry site where I have been a member 
for years, a non-profit site which doesn't run ads, doesn't offer premium membership; 
this site exists for the sake of art itself. The owner runs it for free by donation)by musicians/producers/composers, to collaborate some of my work, turn it into music.
Some of my work has since been put to score, performed live, and is being recorded 
in studio.
I am lucky and thankful that I was asked for permission to have my work used.
This is not always the case.
Some of my work, and possibly some of your work even, is being used without your 
permission.
It is very easy to print a poem and 'accidentally' cut-off the author's name.
Just as an example.
Yes, you can fight for your copyright, but this can be an extended, energy-consuming
and frustrating experience.

So here is poemzoo-m.com, a site to "look for that perfect poem".
There is no 'live' submit field. Poems are funnelled from this site.

When I first joined PoetrySoup.com nearly four years ago,
the site was much more closed and intimate.
There have been many changes since.
Embedded links were added so poems can be shared and linked all over the internet.
As these changes were added, I began deleting specific poems because of this,
poems which I had/have intentions of taking to the next level professionally.

Now that poemzoo-m.com is up and running, I will be deleting even more poems.
For many different reasons.
I don't mind having certain 'oldies' up for sentimental reasons,
nor do I mind having specific tribute poems up(as an example).
Even though poemzoo-m.com offers more amateur exposure,
and this can be seen as a positive thing,
I do not want more of that amateur exposure.

Just because the owner of PS is covered by the legal jargon of the terms and 
agreements, within my sometimes far too altruistic mind-set,
it would have been respectful, polite and professional for the owner of PS to have 
first given a heads-up beyond just the legal jargon;
to have transcended the legal jargon and formally asked poets for their permission;
to have at least had polls and blog discussions first.

By not doing so, the PoetrySoup.com has blatantly moved away from the original 
"family-of-poets" setting, as exemplified between 2005 - 2010, and is now acting as 
a corporation. The world is already unravelling because of corporations, because of 
the corporate legal jargon which protects business over rights and moral codes.

Again, legally, the owner of PS has done nothing wrong.
The extra exposure might benefit some poets.
Simply put, I was not formally asked for my input or permission
to have my work funnelled to a sister-site, BEYOND the cold legal jargon
found in the Terms and Agreements of this site.
Also, having the choice to opt-out(a box/toggle to click in member area, etc)would be 
great. If the sister-site generates ad-revenue, it doesn't matter if my poems show-up
there or not, the ad-revenue will come in with general traffic.
Traffic is wot is obviously desired. 
The traffic will be there regardless if certain people's poems show-up or not, 
or if people uber-post two-word poems.

Since there isn't such an option(as of yet), I will simply continue deleting poems,
because I am not an animal to be shipped from Zoo to Zoo as an exhibit display
against my own freedom of choice.
__________________________________________________________________


*EDIT*

Since this posting, TPS has added a toggle option in the member area
so that Premium Members can choose if their poems are shown on PZ or not.
I am glad to see this implemented. Good choice, TPS.
________


You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right

You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We're doing what we can
But when you want money
For people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
Ah

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...

You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
All right....


Written by Lennon-McCartney, 1968
Rights owned by the Michael Jackson Estate



Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

SYLVIA, FOR CRAIG CORNISH, FOR ALL PLATH FANS

                         
                           It is a terrible thing
                           To be so open: it is as if my heart
                           Put on a face and walked into the world.


                                          Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962



_________________________________



SYLVIA

Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance               
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.  
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions, 
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar 
than those receiving undue benedictions.    
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.   

Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,   
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,                         
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.

While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
  

Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold 
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent, 
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.

Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion 
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs      
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 

As sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.  
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.


Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage, 
art resists validity, upsets stone walls  
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego, 
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo. 
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal. 
but curtailed are epics that still implore  
like the cusp of dream long after you wake

Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.









 

 
* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O. 




About this poem

This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time! 

These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.


I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this.  I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows? 

Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!


Long poem by Poet Destroyer A | Details |

Poet Convention 2014

Poet Convention

Lost in a poets convention, 
I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years
50518, unique comments I 'validate'--- 
Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears 
Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line, 
I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years 

Today's Convention, 
A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned

I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G.,
She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry.  

I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies,  
Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us, 
Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind 
In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance

This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style

Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again 
Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen 
By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw
Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects 
Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside

I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side 
MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement

Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie, 
Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies.
Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:)
SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book
I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly.
Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly. 
Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving--  
"One day I'll see you again, my friend."

Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show 
Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry."
Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words

Scribe ML., where are you my friend? 
Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!!

Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan, 
Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette.
Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note.
Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R.,
Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words

Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile,  
No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page.

Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M., 
Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A.,
Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen,
Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G.,
Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY 

Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry, 
M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T.
You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community

Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back.
Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X.
The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix

Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A.
Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M. 
Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you.

Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me.
Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget

Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best.

Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you, 
Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me.

Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't.... 
Copy paste your love, welcome in the new.
Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong

Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best 
--Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan
What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun.
Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships

Before I forget, 
I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list.
Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS.
I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had,
Back when the soup was not like this:) 
Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!"

As you know my kindness is my weakness 
Now it's time to be strong and move on 
If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon
And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup
AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN!

Love 
The Poet Destroyer


Long poem by Broken Wings | Details |

La Collection

~^~ Dawn Walking in the dawn, in the forest loud with sound; Hear the birds sing in the trees! Listen to the wind, see the stream flowing free; Touch a leaf so green, dew wet! Do you hear it now, the sound of nature, the song; A song so sweet, magical Choka x3 Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Leaves Colourful leaves in piles, luminous colours for miles and miles. Burgundy, orange hovering, the trees slowly relinquishing, surrendering. A cool breeze makes them dance, some quiet and calm, some leap and prance. The Autumn sky so changing, clouds moving, billowing, shifting, expanding. And in one blustering wind, piles empty where once colourful leaves had been. Sun touches the leaves of a tree, Like a stained glass window scene, to see. Rhyme Written October 15, 2008 ~~ gliding deep clear sparkling snow diamond like snowflakes falling horse swiftly gliding Haiku Written October 28, 2008 ~~ my little garden plant unfurl your leaf send your root deep deep deep tis spring tis spring now Haiku Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Cluttered Dresser Ornate mirror Butterfly hair clip Deep purple antique necklace Doll, of my childhood Pearls, old and yellowed with time Pink glass vase with wilted roses Family pictures Mom's favourite earrings Hairbrush Scented candle, burning List Written November 5, 2008 ~~ On Bent Knees Prayer books waiting at the door, polished pews and stone cold floors. Specks of dust glitter in the light, half forgotten dreams still burn bright. Stained glass windows cast a glow, on bent knees this day my prayers flow. Couplet Written February 2, 2009 ~~ The Book Exploring the city on a rainy afternoon, I happened upon, Ye Olde Book Store; Opening the door, chimes sang out, The store dusty, small and amazing. To the ceiling books and rows of books, The shop keeper, an elderly man, nods; I walk quietly, I feel that I am in church, Alone, I am in this place of books. So many to touch, but one beckons me, Taking it in my hands, I brush off the dust; Opening the book, it seems to me so interesting, I purchase it of course for a small price. Finding a café close by, I settle in to read, The words on the cover seem to be engraved; A collection of poetry by the great poets of all time, Page after page, tattered, yellowed with age. Verse Written April 23, 2009 ~~ The Wind Standing on a sea cliff with salt on my lips, Holding out my hands to the heavens above; Moving past me, a roaring wind, blows my raven hair, Breathing in the sweetness, it whispers my name, Tangled with the crashing waves, the birds soaring, the clouds rolling. Verse Written March 13, 2009 ~~ O, The Glistening Tears You come in the light of day, Through the ornate cemetery gates you come; Down the lonely long road, Past the headstones, row on row on row. O, the glistening tears. With a broken weeping heat, You come, for us your family buried here; What a cruel destiny and cruel fate, Such love that even death cannot destroy. O, the glistening tears. And when the seasons change, And fall winds blow over us resting here; And when winter frost is in the air, And we lay beneath the pure white snow, O, the glistening tears. And when spring comes and flowers grow, You come in the light of day, you come, you come; For us your family buried here, Souls connected by bonds that even death cannot end. Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~~ The Memory Of You Mom, today I saw a girl with her Mom They were so happy laughing and talking Together, mother and daughter, friends I wondered if the girl realized My heart was filled with envy and pain I have so many things to tell you Happy things, sad things, just things Things only a mother would understand Tears came to my eyes as I watched God must have needed a special angel To separate the puzzle that was you and me The pieces that fit so well together Mom, our love is an endless river It will go on and on and on and never end God took you from me, it was your destiny I know nothing could keep you here Our parting words, I love you so much Your answer and I love you my daughter God took you in the dawn but he left me a gift A precious gift, the memory of you Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~^~


Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Dante's Hell, fourth canto translation first part,

Fourth canto (first part)

The deep slumber was broken in my head
By a strong thunder, so that I woke up
As person forced to arouse from bed;

My rested eye I moved around then deep,
Erect uprisen, and also stared straight
In order of the place a knowledge to buildup.

It’s true that I was just in the side trait
Of the deep valley in the sore abyss
Where infinite troubles one has to wait.

Obscure and foggy was certainly this
So much that, having my face deeply stuck,
Anything there my sight was bound to miss. 

“Now into the world blind straight down we chuck”,
Started to tell the poet completely pale.
“I will be first, and you second to duck”.

And I, seeing his hue and its entail,
Told him: ”How can I come if you just fear
Being the one who supports when I quail?”.

And he to me: “Of people the distress
Lying down here, imprints then on my face
The same compassion you feel due to stress.

Now go, since we have a long way to trace”.
So he moved and so pushed me to step in
The first circle which starts the chasm to lace.

Here, to extent of what you could listen,
Never was heard so much crying which ails
And made the eternal air quake and spin;

This happened without any  torment bales,
Which had the crowds, many and large indeed,
Of infants, of women and of males.

The good master to me: “Do not you need
To know which souls are these that you see?
You must be aware, before you proceed,

They did not sin; if have worth as a fee
Is in vain, baptism they did not receive,
Which is the door to faith that you agree;

And if they lived before the Christ achieve,
They did not properly adored to God:
And to these I myself pertain and cleave.

Due to this lack, and not for being sod,
We are lost, and offended in a way
That to a life with no hope we must nod”.

Great grief then kept me when I heard his say,
Because people of value very high
Who I met in limbo compelled to stay.

“Tell me, my master, you that underlie”,
I started willing briefly to be sure
On that faith with no error to rely:

“Nobody came out of here, being pure
Or with intercession, blessed became?
And he understanding my say obscure,

Answered: “Short after in this state I came,
When I saw arriving a man with sway,
Crowned with signs of victory and great fame.

The soul of the first father took away,
His son Abel and Noah could bring,
And Mose’s loyal who gave the laws array;

Abraham’s patriarch and David’s king, 
Israel with his father and his breed
And with Rachel, which took under his wing,

Many others, to be blessed agreed.
And I want to let you know that, before,
No human soul’s salvation had succeed”.

While he was speaking we were walking more ,
But the wilderness we were going through,
The wilderness, I mean, of souls hard core.

Not very long the way we had to do
Before night, when I saw a fire bright
Which dark hemisphere was able to hue. 

We were still far more than a little bite 
But not much so I could partly discern
The honorable people lying in that site.

“You that raise science and art with concern,
Who are these having honor just so great
That a different mode deserve in turn?”

And he to me: “The honored fame and trait
Which sounds up there where really you live 
Mercy in heavens grows who pass them straight”.

Meanwhile a voice I heard to me arrive:
“Do honor to the poet which is at top;
His soul comes back, next had to derive”.

When that voice was calm and allayed to stop,
I saw four big shades toward us to come:
They did not show delight or of mood drop.

The good master then started telling some:
“Look well at the one holding that big sword,
Who is by of three as a king become:

That is Homer who all other poets scored;
Horace the satirist is the other;
Ovid the third, Lucan last of the board.

Since all of them now welcomes me further
According to the voice before I heard,
They honor me, and then are good farther.

So I saw the well worthy school conferred 
Of that lord in the most distinguished song
Which over others flies as eagle bird.

After they friendly reasoned enough long,
They turned their heads to me sending a nod,
And then my master smiled for that along;

And they gave me honor even more broad,
Since they made me member of their array,
So I was sixth in all that wisdom laud.

So then we moved toward the light our way,
Speaking of things at best silent to keep,
Like it was speaking where I had to stay.

(continued next, not enough space)


Long poem by Vicky Tsiluma | Details |

Every Poet Needs A Tetherist - Yes, I said it

I don’t care what she said – Every poet needs a tetherist (the holder of the leash)
Every musician should be put on a restraint
Every artist should be in sight of the marksman
You want to be free? NEWS FLASH! None of us are free!!!
You took a pen, you wrote down the words and gave it to the world – 
That’s the day the you YOU know died. Now you are the 
you THEY will you to become.
Some men are born to live
Some men are born to be great
You chose to be great, forget about living. 

Pray, you’re tethered to a leash not so short – otherwise your wings 
will be immaturely clipped.
A flexible leash that would afford you great freedom is best.
Then you could explore; then you could shock; then you could challenge
 and re-teach and grow and probably die a good death and then we’ll celebrate 
your life and give thanks to your contributions.

But should you rebel – should you run fast enough 
Pray that your tetherist is strong enough to pull you back
If he or she should pull you back softly, then you’ll survive with only a
smudge on your ego to be reborn and remolded by your minders 
and all will be forgiven.
But should your tetherist shock-pull you hard and fast – write your will - 
You are sure not to recover. 
BUT
Should you overpower your tetherist, then you’ll be COMPLETELY free.
Then YOU’LL rule the world
 AND 
Then the world will be doomed – don’t pretend ignorance.
Not even you are naïve enough to think that visionaries are welcome in this world.
You’re running at full speed – your tetherist is fast asleep.
Will you snap out of your tether? Will your tetherist snap back into reality in time 
to pull you back? You’re running at full speed – you cannot be pulled back softly.
I’m afraid for you. I don’t want you to die. 

BUT FOOLISHLY
I want to immerse myself in a similar quest.
But how can I embrace death when I want you to live?
They say it’s the way of poets – death and self-destruction.
Is it possible that 
the wise esteemed poets got it wrong?  Yet what will happen to the world
should you live the YOU you know you are?

No one has ever broken the code – but there you are about to make history.
The world is on the verge of being broken – still many are blissfully oblivious. 
You’re so close I can feel it. I can’t breathe as I await your rise OR fall.
But maybe I’m just worrying needlessly.
Maybe there are others who broke the code – others who managed 
to shake off their tetherist and achieve survival whole.	
Tell me, dear reader, do you think that such a soul exists? 
That as a poet it’s possible to go through the beaten path, roll in the murk, 
become invaded by vultures and 
still manage to survive whole – unmarked, unadulterated, untainted? 
What would you give up to protect such a soul?
Would you submit, become star-struck or rise up in arms?
Will you embrace the
sayings or offer counter-arguments?

Think about it 
You cannot be friends with an unequal partner. 
In the world of 
the survival whole poet lives -
the opposers, the supporters, the tetherist, and the equal partner.
Therein lies another bone of contention –
The equal partner must survive whole in order to be equal.
Does this mean that survival whole is possible? 
That there is a soul that has already survived whole?
Or does it mean that the survival whole poet has no equal partner? 
Therefore no friend? Or can there really be true friendship between unequal partners?
And who is this tetherist? 
Obviously the tetherist is strong enough to put a leash on the artist. 
But does this mean the tetherist is stronger than but different from the poet? And
What happens to a tetherist who is overcome by a poet? 
Does the tetherist disintegrate? Become nothing? 

Suffice to say, I would conclude this way:
The tetherist may be a person but is not a person – 
The tetherist is the ideal that is embedded deep in every 
human being: the teacher, the judge, the executor, the speed governor, 
the total sum of the justices in the society. 

The survival whole poet is untainted, self-sufficient, utterly and completely free – 
Touched yet remaining untouchable
Tortured yet remaining unbreakable
One who the world endlessly seeks to 
do away with because such a soul is dangerous for their survival.

Not simply put:
The Survival whole poet is one who can completely obliterate the tetherist 
and rule the world. And then where will we all be?
Think again: If you knew of such a soul, what would you do?



1/28/2014
Vicky Tsiluma 
Motif: Philosophical


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Pink Pink Pink


Pink- Pink- Pink- Every peak has its own attractions, Like the mountains, The mounts of a woman, Have always remained, Her pride possessions. 01 It has the charms, More intoxicating than wine, As it reveals the beauty, Of a woman's alluring binds. 02 These mounts gives, The wings of imagination and colors, In the mind of an artist, And they arise the passion, In lovers mind.03 Their rise and fall, Has shaken great empires, Under their cool and peaceful shade, The dreams of a child form shapes. 04 Its serenity has given birth, To most pious and holy figures on Earth, And their warmth have shaped the dreams, Of many powerful kingdoms on Earth.05 They feed life giving milk, To every new born light, Every time they laugh and cry, These lofty mounts, Help in forming shapes, When the child begins its story. 06 But these pride possessions, Of a woman, These lofty inspirations, Of Poets, Writers and Artists, These magical charms Which often become more attractive, Than the face of a woman, Are facing, A wide spread pollution,* Which is the unwanted gift of Modern living and They are also the gifts, Of worst living habits, Adopted by thousands, and millions of woman, As they fall prey, Before the charms, And shows of modern generation. 07 Many such wonderful women, Who are in the grip of this pollution,* Have brought this curse on them, Mostly because, Of their own follies and errors. 08 Many such suffering women, Can really get rid of, From the curse of this pollution,* If only they can show, The courage to adopt, The natural way, Of living and breathing, Possible under the boon like shade, Of real Yoga. 09 The reasons, Of the distortions,* Of their pink pink ribbons, Are mainly the results, Of their own creations, And these results, Are not something, For which, One should blame, The destiny or God every time. 10 Some of the serious reasons are, Not caring rightly, For one’s own pride possessions, And the lack of, Physical manipulations. Not keeping, A cool and calm mind, And eating, From morning till night, All the junk foods and wine. 11 And working, Beyond all time limits, While stressing, your peaceful mind. 12 Running and more running To catch others, So that you may not leg behind. 13 And madly crying, For more and more wealth, Even if you have sufficient, For your life time. 14 Are the reasons, Which invite the pollution,* To sow its rotten seeds, To spoil, The enchanting valley, Which exists, Amid the mounts of, Pink pink flowers. 15 The pollution,* Can still be derived out, With the little practice of Yoga, But it remains untouched, And unsung about, By most of the modern women. 16 These otherwise elegant women, Regularly face the problems, Of distress, Lack of peace, And sound sleep. Which ultimately take away, Their happiness, And coolness of mind, Resulting in strengthening more, The un sprouted seeds of pollution.* 17 Still it is not too late, If they can only change, Their life styles, Their eating and drinking habits, And adopt from today, The way of natural living, By adopting, The boon like Yoga. 18 As the practice of Yoga, Not only add years to your life, But life to your years, as well. 19 Ravindra Kanpur India 15th Nov. 2012 *Pollution- The other name of Cancer. Those who want to share their views on My above Poem may write to me on my yahoo mail id: kapoor_skk@yahoo.com I would welcome your brief comments and if possible I will reply you. Thanking you in anticipation. Ravindra K Kapoor Inspired by Poet Destroyer I am dedicating this Poem to all those women of the world, who are facing any such problem of Pollution* And to those also who are not facing it, so that their life my feel the joy of living under the blessings of Yoga. Ravindra
TO OVERCOME OR TO TAKE PRECAUTION ON THIS PROBLEM UP TO SOME EXTENT- ONE CAN START WITH ANY ONE OR TWO OR THREE OR ALL FIVE OF THE SIMPLE YOGA EXERCISES I HAVE GIVEN IN MY ‘YOGA IN POEM’ SERIES 1 TO 5 ON POETRY SOUP IT- SELF. YOUR COMMENTS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=490745 IMPORTANT NOTE: The best effects of Yoga can only be obtained if it includes the main exercises of essential ‘PRANAYAMA’ otherwise it wouldn’t yield the desired results and PRANYAM should be learn properly first. Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

SCOFFING LOVE

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````March 27, 2013
Vicki Acquah




WHICH WITTY POEM
 DID YOU INSPIRE IN ME,
WHAT SINCERE PRAISE
 DID YOU GIVE MY WORDS
WHEN I THOUGHT 
ENOUGH OF YOU
SEND A POEM YOUR WAY.
WHICH LINE DID YOU WRITE WITH
MY SPIRIT SURROUNDING YOU
.
WHAT SONG DID YOU SING WHEN
YOU THOUGHT OF MY NAME
WHY DID YOU SAY YOU LOVED ME.
WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MAKE YOU SMILE,
HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HEAD ANYHOW
.
WHAT PART OF ME DID YOU AROUSE.
WHY DO I SAY I LOVE YOU.?
WERE YOU SINCERE WHEN YOU SAID "AMEN"
TO THE WISDOM THAT I SHARED
WERE YOU ONE OF THOSE WHO THOUGHT
YOUR MOCKING,WAS MORE VALUABLE
THAN COMPLIANCE.
 
 I HAVE LIVED WITH THE
RESENTMENTS OF SCOFFERS.
I DIGEST YOUR RESPONSE WITH A GULP..
I THOUGHT SO MUCH BETTER OF YOU.
 
I DO NOT HAVE A REAL CLUE-AS TO WHY YOU
WOULD BE THE ONE TO UNDERMINE
AND SCOFF AT LOVE-WITH SNIDE REMARKS
OF FALSE PRIDE;
I WAS CALLED TO THIS THRONE
YOU SEEK TO BANISHING ME FROM.
 
HOWEVER THIS can NEVER BE DONE,
NO MAN CAN PUT ASUNDER
WHAT WAS SET IN MOTION
BY THE HIGHER LAWS OF NATURE
 
I SPEAK OF THE ILLS IN SOCIETY
I SPEAK OF FALSE REALITIES.
WHAT YOU DIDN'T SAY HOLDS FAST INSIDE.
I SAW WHAT YOU DIDN'T DO,
AND WONDER WHY.
 
IN-SPITE OF YOUR MOCKERY
I STILL HAVE A LOVE INSIDE OF ME
THAT ADORES THE GREATNESS IN YOU
EVEN IF YOU CHOOSE TO UNDERMINE
THIS ONLY BOTHERS ME
BECAUSE OF THE EFFECT 
IT WILL HAVE ON YOU
 
ONLY MY FRIENDS WHO ARE GENUINE,
WILL CONTINUE TO RIDE ON MY CLOUD NINE.
RECEIVING NO THREATS, AS
HUMAN I BE, HUMAN I AM 
WITH THE ATTRIBUTES OF
GODDESSES AND MAN
 
TAKE WHAT YOU LIKE AND LEAVE THE REST.
BECAUSE OF THE WORTH I SEE IN YOU .
BECAUSE OF THE WORTH I SEE IN YOU .
THAT'S WHY I SO PERFECTLY ...TOLERATE YOU .
AND OF COURSE WHAT IS LEFT 
NEED NOT BE DISTURBED AT BEST
 
ONE DAY YOU WILL FIGURE THINGS OUT,
ONE DAY YOU WILL KNOW WHY
I SHARED A PART OF MY LIFE WITH YOU .
ONE DAY YOU WILL SEE
THE VALUES THATS BEEN  PLACE IN ME
.
BECAUSE OF THE MIRACLE--
OF LOVE AND FATE COMBINED
ONE DAY REASON WILL COMPLY
WITH YOUR FINITE MIND.
I KNOW WHO I AM EVEN 
THOUGH YOU DON'T
YOU DO NOT RIDE ON MY RHYTHM
OR STEP TO MY DRUMBEAT.
 
BUT STILL you will -TWEAK TO MY HEARTBEAT.
YET MORE WILL BE UNDERSTOOD BYE AND BYE..
AND FOR THOSE WHO FEEL,AND
APPRECIATE EACH OTHERS POETRY or story                                                      
EVENTUALLY ...THE reason will BE REVEALED
 
SO... WHEN THE SLIPPERY HAND OF HOPE IS
EXTENDED UNTO YOU
REACH UP AND GRAB IT
MAKE SURE YOUR GRIP IS FIRM.
 
BECAUSE WHO KNOWS 
WHY SCOFFERS SCOFF 
WHEN LOVE SPEAKS OUT OF CONCERN 
JUST BE PATIENT AND WAIT
SINCERITY AND LOVE
NEVER NEEDS DEFENDING .
ALL YOU LESS CALLOUS , 
WHO SEEK UNDERSTANDING
AS OPPOSED TO MALICE
 
I WILL JUST WAIT AT THE MOUNTAIN TOP  
ONE DAY WITH OPEN EYES YOU'LL COME
THE SLACKERS SHALL JOIN US THERE. 
NO NEED TO COMPARE,WE ALL NEED PRAYER
 
AS LONG AS WE ARE NOT STUCK IN RUTS
OR ON THE SLIPPERY SLOPE OF CONTEMPT 
AS LONG AS WE WHO HOLD THE ROPE 
ARE WILLING TO PULL OUR BROTHERS UP
WITH OUR WORDS,THE POETS WORDS  
THE MESSAGE FOR THE MASSES IS HOPE..
.
SO I LIVE FOR THE POEMS YOU SEND MY WAY 
FOR I GROW STRONG IN OUR RELATIONSHIP 
SAILED BY THE WINDS OF YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT
TO MY POETS MY TRUE FRIENDS,
I TRULY KNOW WHO YOU ARE, and...
DON'T EVER THINK I DON'T.              

  EVENTUALLY ...THE MEANING OF THINGS WILL 
BE REVEALED, SO... WHO KNOWS WHY SCOFFERS 
SCOFF WHEN EVER LOVE SPEAKS OUT.
 JUST BE PATIENT AND WAIT, SINCERITY AND LOVE
 NEVER NEEDS DEFENDING 

.ALL YOU LESS CALLOUS PEOPLE,WHO SEEK 
UNDERSTANDING AS OPPOSED TO MALICE, JUST WAIT
 AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
ONE DAY WITH OPEN EYES 
THE SLACKERS SHALL JOIN YOU THERE. 
NO NEED TO COMPARE,WE ALL NEED PRAYER,
AS LONG AS WE ARE NOT STUCK ON THE
SLIPPERY SLOPE, OF CONTEMPT , 
AS LONG AS WE WHO HOLD THE ROPE
 ARE WILLING TO PULL OUR BROTHER UP

WITH OUR WORDS,THE POETS WORDS :
 THE MESSAGE FOR THE MASSES IS HOPE..
.SO I LIVE FOR THE POEMS YOU SEND MY WAY,

 FOR I GROW STRONG IN OUR RELATIONSHIP 

BY THE WINDS OF YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT,

TO MY POETS MY TRUE FRIENDS

,I TRULY KNOW WHO YOU ARE,
 DON'T EVER THINK I DON'T.


Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

Deep Dark Poem

     ~Deep Dark Poem~

Tonight I want to go deeper in my soul
I want to be born again tonight I want
to go back in my mothers womb and feel
my happiness of my first cry yet feel her 
real pain while she was delivering me
I want to feel both all her pain and the 
little of happiness I had since I was born.
I want to feel each breath I breathed since 
that first night I want to see my fathers
eyes if he had a tear of happiness while 
holding me for the first time .
                 
I want to walk talk laugh cry climb defeat 
succeed breath suffocate scream eat drink 
revive my senses I want to hold her breast 
and be a baby again I don't want to grow 
Old yet I want to remain a new born in her 
arms to feel safe I want to hold my fathers 
glasses and see the color of his eyes will I 
have them will I have his nose will I have 
my mothers softness will I cry for help will 
I see and hear and listen and run and walk 
and hold her hand to feel safe I am lost 
tonight I need her grip.
                     
I need my brother who carried me where is 
he today why did he leave me so early and 
die so young I want to eat with them I want 
to share with them in what state of mind 
I am in tonight I want to go home tonight 
to my mother and fathers home I want to
see their light at their home as I am living
through my darkest hours tonight.
But I cannot as all what I want 
I cannot have.

I want their faithful love I want to sleep 
on their bed and feel the warmth of their 
love in our home where I was born and 
after years I was torn away from them 
to live in another mans home. 
                   
They forgot to tell me how much they 
have suffered when I left their home and 
went away they forgot to tell me so many 
things that iI am experiencing them now
today yesterday and tomorrow my life 
passed away so quickly busy bringing up 
my kids busy giving them an education 
busy cooking for them busy working to 
provide for them everything busy washing 
busy crying busy going out busy busy where 
are they now where was I when my father 
left to climb up his ladder where was I 
when my mothers turn arrived to climb up her
ladder and stay next to him they went up to 
meet their son who left them years ago he 
was only 29 years old they had to live suffering 
suffering missing missing him their first born 
for years and years.
                     
Father of my 2 boys thee only ecstasy 
I had during that marriage nothing was 
real except my kids nothing existed except 
them nothing meant anything in my world 
except them nothing ever passed before 
them they are my light when i am blind 
they are my laughter in my inside they 
are with me with every breath I breath 
we are inseparable even when they are 
far I see them when its dark I see them 
when I am deaf I hear them through my 
strength I survive to keep them alive. 
I walk alone yet their shadow never 
leaves my sight they call my name from 
far I call them back I write to reach out 
for them to read through my lines how 
much I need to be cared for even one day 
maybe half a day maybe a few hours even 
one second is more then enough to pump 
my heart to go on.
                  
So sorry my fellow poets tonight when 
you read through my lines you will forgive 
me as I am sentimentally in pain affectionately 
in pain tonight my pen was agonizing missing 
my children missing to see them how do I survive 
daily without them I don't know I know I have 
been doing that for the past 35 years seeing 
them on and off due to the war in our country
& unexplainable circumstances. 
Tonight forgive me. I have no more tears.
                                                                                   
                                                                                            Therese Bacha
  Deep Dark Poem for contest of PD  (Win.No 4 )                            22/2/2013


Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Dante's Divina Commedia translation

The difficult translation of first Canto of Divina Commedia is here completed
In the part published before, Dante imagined to find himself in a dark forest where he met three beasts. 
Now he is going to meet the poet  Virgilio who will bring him through the Hell and Purgatory. 
The original italian is omitted for simplicity.
I ask readers to comment even negatively this hard work.

.......
And such as guy acquiring with decision,
And comes the time which brings him then to lose,
So that his thoughts with sorrow find collision;

Similar the peaceless beast with strong abuse
Coming against me direct bit by bit
Constrained me with shadow to confuse.

And while compelled to slide down and quit,
Before my eyes just the faint view appeared
Of who for long hush seemed to have no fit.

When I saw him in the wide desert cleared,
“Miserere of me”, I screamed to him,
“If you to shadow or to man adhered”

Replied: “I'm not now, man I was not dim,
Lombard my parents just certainly were
Both from Mantua, their home with vim.

Arose sub Julio, even late occur,
And lived in Rome under August good
In times of liars false gods and faith blur.

Poet I was, and sung of that with just mood
Anchise’s son who came in a trip from Troy,
When superb Ilion burned as a wood. 

But why you follow of trouble the decoy?
Why the delectable hill don’t you rise 
Which is the start and cause of  a full joy?”.

“Are you now that Virgilio source wise
Who spreads of words a so ample river?”.
 I answered him with my shameful eyes.

“O of other poets light and honor giver,
Might I have gain from long study and love
Which made me look for your work with quiver.

You are my master who inspires above,
You are the only one from whom I took
The stile admirable of my honor shove.

The beast which made me run away now look;
I beg your help, indeed famous wise man,
‘Cause me a trembling in veins and pulse shook”

“To take another trip better you can”,
He answered, when saw my weeping pain,
“If out of this savage place you want to scan;

Since this beast , which causes your complain,
Nobody allows  its way to align,
But fights against him until is slain,

And its nature is so ruthless and malign,
That never fills in its greedy will,
And is hungrier after than before dine.

Many are the animals with which joins still,
And even more will be, until the hound 
Will come, and shall it painfully kill.

This one by richness will not be bound
But by wisdom, love and virtue alone
And between two felts will come and found.

Might help that Italy to humble prone
For which lost life Camilla virgin pure
Eurialo, Turno and Niso killed as known.

This one will hunt it hard in every moor,
Until it will fall in the deepest hell,
Just where from it started envy impure.

So for your sake I think and judge well
That you should follow me, your guide,
 And I will shepherd you in endless dell;

Where with desperate shouting you shall collide,
You shall see ancient spirits in their pain,
Who are all shouting to be again died;

You shall see those who happily sustain
To stay in fire, hoping to come back
No matter when in the blessed domain.

Where you can climb following the track,
A more worthy soul than me will be:
With her I will leave you, this is my tack;

Since the great emperor who there up can see,
'Cause I was a rebel against his law,
To guide you there forbids that I be free.

He commands everywhere and puts his awe; 
Here resides his domain and lofty throne:
Lucky the people elected to this joie!”.

And I to him: “Poet, my need is here shown
In name of God you did not even know,
To escape this evil maybe not alone,

That you now bring me where you told to go,
So then I see the true saint Peter’s gate
And also people you tell afflicted so”

And when he moved, him I followed straight.           


Long Poems