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Long Race Poems | Long Race Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

BiPolar Dissonance

When oppositional cognitive dissonance deflects focus,
it tends to go back to when I deflected focus from her.
She sends me passive-aggressive messages,
bread crumbs leading back in time 
to where she began to feel alone,

If you don't want a sopping wet tile bathroom floor
because I have thrown all my naked Barbie and Ken parts,
especially their water-filled hollow insides,
and the five saturated pools of clean washcloths
I took out of that drawer just like you said not to,
and the nice sudsy soft bar of soap,
then you might want to reconsider leaving the bathroom
during my bath.
You might want to think of telling a story
or imagining with my behavioral lectures
I so mercilessly inflict
on the shattered heads of my daughters,
I mean dolls.

Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance 
is what Republicans have about Democrats.

If you folks would be so kind as to return to cooperative civic and civil discussion,
about our intrinsic dignity,
immaculate integrity as a permacultured orthodox tradition,
intrinsic to optimize sustainable and resilient health
for All Americans,
including those who happen to have become embarrassed
by their wealth of health and extravagant disregard
for uncommodified values,
like the synergy of all natural systems,
of religious cultures
delivering a united and interdependent positive teleology
that we all created this rapacious, extractive mess together.

So, please stop leaving the bathroom
every time we complain about your shitty attitudes
about wealthy compost and sustainable,
optimized economic growth.
Then complain when we go right on doing
what we intended to do
while we were throwing water
on your slippery-floor economics
of radical,
reverse-hierarchical interdependence and mutual subsidiarity.

our Democratic family value parents 
hear their oppositionally disordered Republicans
as if they were of some dysfunctionally alien species
devoid of deductive rational accessibility,
of even one of four corners of truth,
and  without capacity to empathize with their well-mentored praxis,
of continually forgetting you could not climb a higher priority
right now
than telling your oppositional daughter Dr. Seuss's The Lorax, 
interpreting each voice as your own Lorax,
wondering why you continue competing
to reach a Win-Win Cooperative Game,
and political
and economic
and ecological
and cultural finish line,
alone in your Permaculture Designed polycultural Loraxed paradise.
When you think about it,
you can see that your competitive political
and economic assumptions are not ecologically,
or even permaculturally,
sound, rational, integrated,
much less synergetic or holonically comprehensive.
You can't win a P=NP,
4-fractal/spiral (0)-sum
cooperative economic logistical plan
until everyone else has the freedom
and integrity
and ecotherapeutic orthopraxis comprehension,
to win-win with you, coincidentally.

With this perhaps un-Christian, 
and vaguely irreligious perspective
that Democratic political culture
is closer to (0) sum Core Value Balanced Heaven
rationality than appears to be the case
for our benighted Republican
and wealthy fat-cat residents of Earth,
we have turned rather too far
our spinning cultural revolution pendulum
away from the racist sin of polycultural difference,
poverty and the commodification of human lives,
and the commodification of other species,
and the commodification of Earth's fire, water,
soil and sky,
Her capacity to regenerate fertile seeds,
turning away from sin as insanity,
to now prophecy the sins of wealth,
and power,
and competing, dissonant tipping points
of monocutural,
monopolistic competing economic uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all nations,
including its more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of our EcoTribe,
multisystemic and polycultural Climax Community,
coincidentally straining and stressing to comprehend
Polynomial SpaceTime = Not-Polynomial Open Systemic Binomial Prime Relationship Temporal "Now"
as Yang-convex/positive = Yin-concave/negative,
as +1.00% QBit = +/-(0)% Soul Core-emergent universal Vertex/Dark Recessional Vortex (Perelman, 1993)

So, yes, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic logos.
Horseshoes don't fit elephants.

Now, where was I?
Oh, yes, she’s in the bathtub again,
better watch that floor.

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='RWANDA'S BURIED CALVARY'>


A hundred days of tomb-like silence; a hundred days of blind eyes and deaf ears; a hundred days of wooden hearts and cruel minds. This was long ago, but still its stigma is there. Years may pass but MY LIFE will never be the same again.

I was barely a woman then, carefree and with smiles touching my lips. I was enjoying the view of the sun shining over the tranquil green  hills  of Rwanda. But, in a blink of an eye, the beautiful calm scenery I enjoyed was tinged by some shouts I heard from a river nearby. Curious, I went to see. Meters away, I saw a happy huge man wielding a machete butchering another man on the ground. Before he could see me, I turned round and ran.

Ran as fast as I could!When I reached our home, immediately, I was told by my father to keep on running. To run to a Hutu Minister miles away from our home. To run and be safe. To run and beg for my life's safety. Paper white and shuddering I ran and ran until I arrived at the Minister’s house. Scared but kind enough, the minister kept me together with seven other girls. 

We were placed then in a remote bathroom in the house. 

A bathroom three feet by four feet in size.  A bathroom where the other girls and I hid. A bathroom where in the next days, we alternately sat, stood and stretched. A bathroom that served as our refuge in times when the killers {Hutus} stormed inside the house. A bathroom where we ate beans and insects just to stay alive.

On the radio, we, Tutsis, heard our names  being announced as needed to be killed, too. There was a window where we could peek  and see people running and running. Clubs and spears a terrifying rain brutally killing men and women alike. Screams and cries a regular ringing requiem outside. Intense. Intense. Intense were the surroundings, I remember. In the bathroom, we maintained silence as if no one there. For at any time, we could be caught… Raped… Killed. And we knew back then that, the green hilly Rwanda was turned into a garden of bloody wails and tortured tales.

Then one day some troops came, stopping the genocide and finally we planned our liberation day! 

It was through courage. Cunning. Prayers that we are alive. Rwanda, may seem peaceful now, but for us victims and survivors, our life will never be the same again. I can't seek revenge for our loss: families, property and the trauma I experienced for it would only prolong my Calvary. I would rather forgive and hope that such genocide will never happen again.

© O. E. Guillermo

Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan Contest Name	
Placed 1st... :)

Oct. 11, 2014

Long poem by Jae Arlique | Details |

Seeing Green

I encountered the same question daily
Students asking to touch my hair
My hair was jet black and wavy
All the children would stare

At times I would oblige
Hearing your hair is so shiny and soft
I said I get it from my mother
I wished they would back off

I never wore my hair down
My mother said it was a sin
I always had a long thick braid
Attached like a dorsal fin 

At least once every year
The school checked the students for lice
I said I couldn't take my hair down
Unless I would surely pay the price

The nurse said I had to
So I slowly undid my braid
I knew I would quickly regret
The choice that I had made

The students were in awe
Saying my hair was so long
The teachers said my hair was beautiful
I just wanted to go home

After my inspection 
I felt so exposed
I kept my natural hair a secret
But now everyone knows

I tried to rebraid my hair
But it didn't turn out very good
A teacher offered to help
I didn't think she should

I got on the bus
Dreading going home
A girl behind me started talking about my hair
I asked her to leave me alone

Her name was Tanisha 
She had never been very nice
She poured potato chips on my head
And said the nurse missed a spot I have lice

why did she dislike me
Or choose to pick on me that day
I shook the chips out of my hair
I had nothing to say

She said I didn't speak English
Said I was from Africa,told yo mama jokes
I was usually even tempered
But the beast in me awoke

I told her she was just jealous
Because I had hair and hers was gone
And it didn't matter where I was from
Talking about my mother was wrong

Soon it was my stop
And after I had gotten off
Tanisha yelled something out the window
But tried to cover it with a cough

I ran the short way home
With tears in my eyes
I told my mother what happened
She just rolled her eyes

She said Tanisha was ignorant
Due to my atypical looks
I didn't believe my mother
Her opinion I never took

I went into the bathroom
And thought about destroying my hair
At least I wouldn't be as different
Only my mother would care

The next time I saw Tanisha
She was just waiting for me
Said my hair was fake
And called me an ugly darkie

Random kids began touching my hair
To see if it was real
All the kids on the bus
Tried to cop a feel

I told them all to stop
Thinking they'd leave me alone
But the harassment continued 
Until I arrived home

I didn't understand
She was my color, why was she so transfixed?
She assumed I thought I was superior
After she learned that I was mixed

Long poem by Mari Roberts | Details |

This Poem Wants 2 B A Revolutionary

This poem wants to make a change . . .

To be a strong yet silent raised fist in Mexico, 1968.

To stand at a window w/a shotgun writing the words
“By any means necessary”

To sit in at a lunch counter in Birmingham, Alabama
Until it is read

To start a breakfast program in Compton, California
In order to feed hungry minds

To stand up for its rights in Akron, Ohio and shout,
“Aint I a poem?”

To integrate an all white book store under protection of the National Guard
And when George Wallace says to it,
“You will not enter unless it’s over my cold, dead, body. . .”
This poem will gladly take him up on his offer

But now this poem feels that perhaps it is too militant,
Maybe it and Spike should just “Do the Right Thing” . . .

Take the hand of other poems deep in the South Georgia woods and lead them to freedom
Under cover of night-light

Take its brothers and sisters out of the man’s world and
Into Aaron’s “Boondocks”

Play its own music, live in Jamaica and
Grow Nappy Locs

Start a union with A. Phillip down at the docks

Be read by Martin while being pelted with rocks

Find out what would happen
“If Beale Street Could Talk”. . .

This poem will get accused of “Ego Trippin” but 
will not take it personally, declaring,
“And Still I Rise” 

It will invite other poems to a free concert headlined by
Marvin, Stevie, Chuck D, and Black Thought

It will do what it should, not what others think it ought

This poem will be munificent . . .
Will give because so much has been given to it

Will do because so much has been done for it

Will be able to sit down because so many others have
Stood up

But this poem can not sit still for long
Because this poem has been disenfranchised . . .

This poem was told there is no longer a need
For affirmative action
only to have it replaced with definitive inaction

This poem cast a vote in Florida, 
only to be told that it did not count

This poem observed its commander in thief, fly over rising waters in the Lower Ninth Ward 
just to keep his feet from getting wet

This poem watched its country expand our “melting pot” to include all types of ingredients, 
Then scrape the black off the bottom of the pan . . . 

and send it back to Haiti on a raft

This poem has been pulled over for being DWI
(drafted with intelligence)

This poem was profiled at Hartsfield Airport,
And made to take off it’s . . . blues.

This poem never planted any genus of Bush, 
It’s not concerned with whom you marry,
Nor does it desire to trade the blood of young soldiers for oil, but look what it got

No wonder,
This poem wants 2 b a revolutionary . . .

Long poem by Jae Arlique | Details |

Learning to accept who I am

When I was a child I went to my first pow wow, my mother is part Cherokee
I had never been to one before, I couldn't believe it was a part of me
Soon after, the questions about my heritage began
I read very many books so I  could learn what I can
I had never met my mother's mother but soon we would meet
Weeks later I was in her house, and ushered into a seat
A woman came out of a bedroom, I knew we were related
She looked just like my mother, even more than I had anticipated
I had no filter back then, but I was obsessed with her looks
Before I had a chance to stop myself, I told her she looked like the people in my books
Fortunately she didn't take offense she just flashed a toothless smile
I didn't want to look away I just stared at her for a while
She had strong Native features, her long hair braided down her spine
I was in awe of my grandmothers features they were so defined
She told me to come over and sit on her knee
She said to my mother,"She looks like me".
She played with my hair and commented on the length.
She told me to never cut my long hair, it was my strength.
She told me I was a beautiful child something I'd never heard.
My sisters said I was ugly, that was their favorite word.
After our short visit my mother drove back home
I never saw my grandmother again, I was on my own.
I had low self-esteem by the time I was in second grade
Because my school was not diverse, my ego paid
I refused to ignore my heritage, I wanted to honor my grandmother
So when I had to circle my race on standardized tests, I purposely checked other.
I kept my pride until I moved to my sister's who abused me
So I cut my hair very short because I looked at life differently
I ignored my heritage until I went to family court, I was 14 by then
My mother petitioned for me to be sent to a reservation in foster care where she had been
The court said I can't, though the paperwork had been filed
The Eastern Band of Cherokee said they wouldn't intervene.I wasn't considered an "Indian Child"
I was used to being rejected by people, but not a whole tribe
I no longer acknowledged that part of me, I lost my pride
I no longer had an identity, but I still had that letter
I forgot about my grandmother, I never should've met her.
Then last year a stranger stopped me on the street
He said I have to mixed with something my features are so unique
I was caught off guard and didn't think he was referring to me
But I've had many people tell me this, so I proudly said, I'm part Cherokee.

Long poem by brian stewart | Details |


It seems the path Iam on  is changing everyday
the road uncertain just an endless shapeless gray
some would say it would all be clearer if I took up there religion
even with the doubt Iam not scared enough for that decision

I see the faith you placed in one of the many saviors
I lame excuse for the centuries of mad behavior
Iam sure your prophets where the very best of man
but your church and bibles where never in the plan

so every race has a version of there own
stories stolen from the gods of the past spoken out like it was always known
not one of these faiths is open and understanding
they keep others down and your soul churches are demanding

then you history holds no science no enlightenment
dogmatic foolishness written before free government
and every soul that is afraid to die or to ashamed to live
if you stop thinking then heaven is what they give

even now the human mind is found wanting
but reality is intelligence is hard work and life is daunting
if only the concept of good will and love
we understood without some sign from above

if you need the ancient fiction to ease your pain
I respect you and to all other men you should do the same
your saviors were righteous there’s know doubt
in there time they worship but no church was there twist whets its about

there have been many Christ’s since the beginning of man 
the Mayans and Muslim have had tales since they ruled by the roman
dry king ghandi and many more sacrifice there life so others could be free
in my mind that’s what Jesus is what he is supposed to be

even know there some man of great worth he has no money no powerful church
he’s  giving of himself and and loving the lost I dare you to search 
and see the truth were in this together and this is paradise
we are the only keepers of our fate we must realize

I can no longer people pay to pray and talk down to others who dont believe what you say
but Christ himself did not hang with the saved he knew the hopeless so he could see them ok
but times have changed were not ruled by religious empires mad with slavery
we fought for those rights not with one mans good with collective human bravery

a new age is upon us and the true test is coming not one of prophecy
the makers of worlds the stars the cycle of suns chaos of the galaxy
I hope soon we see are only time is now there is no second chance
are race needs to come together  and make a united stance
if faith keeps us apart do we even have the heart

Long poem by Abraham Shaw | Details |

What Burden

I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free
 Because the burden of slavery is no longer on me
 I've seen the thunder and the rain
 But like a plant outside, only growth I've gained

Stopped by the police, he just wanted to see
 What a black man was doing in a Grand Marquis
 Was reaching for my insurance, he said it was a gun
 Just a book about black man's struggle he had overcome

But see, he thought I was scared and wanted to hide
 But I sat in my driver's seat with all of my pride
 He couldn't get me mentally, so he drove away
 Yeah I' black, and my car came from a mom who would pray

See these statistics say black males just fight, kill and fail
 Do a poll on me, guarantee you'll change ideals of a black male
 See you think my emotions are bursting at the seams
 But I'm not an idealist, I'm a realist with dreams

My intelligence is leaving you scared, putting you in fear
 Yeah I said it, didn't Tyson your ear so I know you could hear
 The past is the past, back then they'd have to fight
 But I don't have to cause I was born with rights

America loves to call black dads deadbeats
 But can't acknowledge the ones finding their kids food to eat
 My black mama did it on her own and never had to steal
 And made sure me and my sister always had a meal

The first male in my family to go to college for a degree
 Yeah look passed the nappy hair and beard before analyzing me
 Been passing racial slurs generation to generation, it's time for an interference
 Cause I'm not a colored man, I'm a man with a different appearance

Yeah Dr. King fought for me and other blacks
 But he's gone now, so I don't need his actions on my back
 Don't read me wrong, I'm thankful for what he did
 But integration is wide open and segregation has a closed lid

These old racists need to go and plead the fifth
 So that future kids can see racism as just a myth
 Let this grudge end and just live your life
 Cause you're only stabbing the Constitution with a knife

Thank you for the slurs, lynchings and KKK
 Cause now you're all too tired to block the future so get out of our way
 My father in heaven made me, so I was meant to black
 He instilled wisdom in me, while you're intelligence slacks

So please tell me what burden do I have to bear
 Success is my future and now you're in a scare
 My light beams bright as the sun, you're unlit
 Struggles are done, I'm hear to stay so deal with it

Long poem by Olusegun Akanbi | Details |


He had the heart of a lion
And the strength of a bear
Ripping his enemies apart
He would crush and tear
Man of steel
With charm and grace
No one can dare confront him
Or look at his face
He is all over the world
And all over the place
He stands on the silver clouds
And drift through the winds
The colour of his skin matters less
As long as he is bless
By God
Samson! David or my Mohammed Ali
Roosevelt or Lincoln
Whatever name you may be
Oh! Superman
He has come to rescue us from harm
I love the way he looks
His carriage and charm
You remind of Horatio Nelson
The way you fight with one arm
And he looks above the horizon like a demigod
His composure was calm and undisturbed
Oh! Superman
Messenger of God
He prays hard to the Almighty and serves the Lord
Oh Superman!
The strongest man I have ever seen
A man  a thousand men can not win
He had the strength of Samson 
And the wisdom of Solomon
He is the king of us all
But he will not acknowledge
that title
Firm like Stalin
When it is time to take a decision
Never look back
Takes no permission
The true hero of the revolution
Was Leon Trosky
Washington of our time
Deliver us from the Great Evil
No matter where it may be
Oh Superman! Oh Superman! Oh Superman!
He lives in me
I am determine to sacrifice my life 
For the sake others
So that all men will be free
And stand for the rights of men
Where ever they may be
I will seek them in the lions den
And send evil doers to the past
With one blast
And that will be their last

He had the heart of a lion
And the strength of a bear
Ripping his enemies apart
He would crush and tear
Man of steel
With charm and grace
No one can dare confront him
Or look into at his face
Samson! David or my Mohammed Ali
Roosevelt or Lincoln
Whatever name you may be
Oh! Superman
When he was born an old witch 
Saw a prophecy
That a king is coming soon
Because the Moon was still shining even at afternoon
And the sun was still sleeping in his lazy crib
To live a promising life of adventure
Little did his parents know 
That he was a man as a child 
Before he would grow
And his glory would glow
Like the Alpha Centauri
Oh Superman!
From dusk to dawn
He lays awake
And would take 
Any challenge that comes his way
And would live his life like every other day
And he would live his life for the sake of others
Defender of justice and freedom
Thinks like an old sage
Because he has wisdom

Long poem by Adam Hapworth | Details |

Their Final Race

A figure, sickle in hand, wearing a dark cloak
approached a couple of woodland creatures.
He decided to choose them due to their features.
The Hare he noticed was a nimble and fast bloke,
and a Tortoise who would continue on no matter.

He offered them a race.  (Something they’ve done before)
The grand prize to be announced at the end.
The finish line had yet to be decided, somewhere past the bend.
Hare needed to hear no more, ready to settle the score.
Tortoise agreed in his slow and quite manner. 

With a wave of his sickle the race had begun
Hare as always is off like a flash nothing ahead but this goal
Tortoise picks up his claws and started his march, a stroll
Neither knew how long it was of a run,
till they would reach that finish banner.

Hare fly’s down the road nothing in his way
All sights around just a blur 
Sounds ignored like a rambling slur
As his energy began to fade away
He decided it was time for a rest, by the water 

The Tortoise with his steady pace
Looked around seeing all to be seen
A little butterfly at his side, the trees so green
Sounds of the birds chirp, water bubbling apace
Continuing on at his steady trotter

As day turns to night and just past the dawn
The Tortoise walks past the Hare
“Good morning my friend how do you fair”
The Hare startled awake, stretches with a yawn
“I’ll catch you Tortoise without bother” 

Hare catches Tortoise with his quick gate
Suddenly a line appears and there he stands 
The figure with sickle in hand.
“Ah you tied!” he says “Let’s learn the winner’s fate.”
“Welcome both of you to your death.” he said in calm candor

“This is no prize! I won this race!” said the Hare in a huff
“Oh but there is a prize that you both receive, which is the winner will depend.
Your prizes are the memories from this race. They will be all you have for now till times end”
Death said with a smirk. The Tortoise looking around lets out a puff.
Hare arguing it’s not fair, while Tortoise agrees and takes one last gander.

Hare realizing that he has nothing to remember,
No sight, sound, smell or friends from blind sight of his goal,
begins to ball uncontrollably as he enters his eternity alone, dark and cold.
Tortoise now resting by the water he saw, the sweet smells of September,
with his butterfly friend to talk to forever in such a pleasant manner. 

Long poem by Woodrow Lucas | Details |

If by Woodrow Lucas

Rudyard said it best, but now it is my time to build on another’s table,
If you can shun the word I can’t, and embrace the phrase, I’m able,
If you can watch the world you love, be torn apart and rent asunder,
But not give way to hate it, or join in wicked plunder,

If you can lose your mind and heart as well, but lift yourself from such that hell,
If you can watch your labor tossed aside, but work on despite the pain inside,
If you can hear advise from friend and foe, that works to mock your toil true,
And yet apply the good that’s said, and rise to climb the mountains new,

If you can lose your love when comfort fades, but rage on through that stress,
If you can endure the trials of this life, and still not worship tests,
If you can achieve the most from Gifts within, yet not give in to greed within,
If you can seek to share, and watch your house unravel while others bleed you 

If you can feel the weight of atlas on your back and see Christ’s body torn,
And yet refuse to relinquish hope to see the dawn of earth adorned,
If you can love all women but none too much,
If you can love all things with open touch,

If you can be a fool, and still forgive yourself for errors of your past,
If you transcend sin, yet still restrain the pangs to judge your sister’s lapse,
If you can run this race with gentle care, yet unafraid to risk it all,
If you can fall, and fall again, and yet again, but never lose your faith,

If you can run this race, yes sometimes slow, and without reaping still yearn to 
If you can trust in God, through thick and then, and not give sway to doubt in men,
If you can love like Christ, our God above, yet still resolve to confront wrong,
If you can see affections wane with time, yet still acknowledge angel’s songs,

If can shun all ugly sounds, yet still embrace the beauty that keeps you true,
If you can stand all things, and still at end, love you for simply being you,
If you can be the gentle sort of old, yet still rebuke with mercy bold,

Then you will know the truth of God,
Then you will see the life that drives and helps us strive throughout our lives,

If you can run this race my son, and love and live despite the cross you bear,
Then my son, and only then, you’ll be a Man who dares to dare,
To yes believe in God above,
And be a vessel of her love. 

Long Poems