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Long Remember Poems

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Ralph Sergi | Details |

Film Noir

Film Noir

By the lampost at night
with the pale moon shining bright
but obscured by the fog
I saw her in the harbor
standing where my boat lay moored
but she knew that
her azure eyes beckoned me to come
smoke from a cigarette in her hand
trailing upward and blendng with mist
and a gold braid around her wrist
I remembered my gift

I stood there transfixed
if for only a moment
then I walked to her slowly
and tipped my fedora
and the little joke we shared in love
I asked,”Where have been all my life?
Waiting for you, she said
I laughed at her resentfully and said
You left me here from this place
without a note, without a trace
I scoured old haunts, you weren’t there
you left as if you didn’t care

Remember our walks along the shore
your favorite drink, our special place
in a cafe by the window
where the sun would shine on your hair
and leaving a golde glint
as it did on my boat when it was in full sail

Then one day you went away
our love became a mystery
that was never solved
now you’re here and I ask you, why?

There was a war she said
I lost this guy and you came along
to fill the void and share my grief
I loved you, Jake,your silly hat
the way you tipped it, the boat ,the cat
who begged for fish after after every catch
she paused and lit another smoke

Then one day, he showed up, his name was Cilve
the guy I mentioned had survived
and left his tags with a guy who died
and he became an MIA
he was hiding out in Mandalay
involved in something, he wouldn’t say
but he wanted me there, he promised me fame
I was a singer you know
and all the dough that I could want or I could take
I just had to know how to play the game
but I thought of you, Jake
and what we had and I told him ,No

He got mean, Jake
and threatened to expose me 
for what I really was
and I couldn’t bear for you to hear 
my sordid past, my constant fear
We’re both alike you and me, he said
we’ll take what the world has to give
or grab it by the throat
or I’ll expose you if you don’t

As time went by it didn’t take long
to see he was singing a different song
his lies, his schemes, his other dolls
I lost my respect and I didn’t care
I had to get out, I needed a plan
to rid myself of this rotten man

There was this guy, Buck
who ran the bar, he pitied my plight
that I was in, he hated Clive as much as I 
I told him I watched Clive at the end of each night
the cash he hid in a special place
no doubt to leave in a hurry when things got hot
he would check to see how much was stashed
if it was worth the dare, we would split down the middle 
and make our departure as soon as we could
I knew a Burmese captain of a scow
who asked no questions for a fee
he’d  have some cabins for you and me

Just before closing, I feigned getting ill
and called for Clive to aid me somehow
to stay awhile and give me a pill
and while he was there, Buck went to that spot
took the cash and lit out that night to wait for me
at a pre destined place


My bag was packed in another room
I told Clive I would rest and join him soon
but as soon as he left I slipped out
to the back grabbed a bag and headed
for freedom away from that man
thinking of you and to make things right

She paused for a moment and put out her smoke
and I thought I saw a drop of blood 
form on the corner of her mouth
she quickly wiped her hand across her face
and continued her story at a slower pace

I arrived at the pier where the scow lay docked
took one look behind me and looked at the clock
on the building we were to meet
I checked my watch and matched the time
I saw a jeep and he saw me
two grips in his hand and a smile on his face
he said, I got the dough , I’ll leave the jeep
it’s the least I can do for that miserable creep
I said ,there’s no time to waste, just show me the dough
we’ll split it up now and get ready to go
he said, Oh, I’m ready but the plans have changed
I’ll leave you enough to change your luck
this one’s for you and this one’s for Buck

I suspected as much and I scowed as he grinned
but his mouth formed an O as he looked down below
a knife in his stomach pulsed blood from his guts
too late I saw his gun come up as he fell
I felt a pain in my side and clutched at my coat
I picked up my bags and summoned the strength
to get onto the boat

I said to the captain, there’s double the price
if we get away soon just pick up some steam 
and head for Rangoon
he patched me up as good as he could
with the aid of rum and smoldering wood
to cauterize the wound for awhile

I knew it was wrong to take his life
but I was prepared to kill him 
to end all this strife
as a precautionI took the knife that we cut bait with
a long time ago the knife stirred up memories
that you and I had
that pressed my decision to leave that cad
the wound didn’t heal, the lead stayed inside
i was resigned to my fate to see you once more
before it’s too late…and here you are

She collapsed in my arms and I held her tight
with tears in my eyes , her audible sighs
gasping for breath and leaning toward death

And before she expired her hand on my face, she said
Where have you been all my life?
waiting for you , I cried, waiting for you

*This poem is a tribute to the black and white movies prevalent in the
late 30’s and 40’s ala Humphrey Bogart, Alan Ladd or George Raft and the phrasing had a special charm.There was aways a failed romance, war, misguided loyaties and clandestine 
treachery that separted these lovers. I received an N/A  because it may have not been poetic enough or too long but I tried to portray a dialogue and atmosphere of that time 











Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Legend of the Red October Run

Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic” 
Than the Red October Run.

The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.

There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.

By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.

“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.

The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.

Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.

Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.

No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers?  The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.

The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense 
   and find a way to win? 

Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?

Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.

It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be 
   ticket buyers.
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?

The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.

Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.

Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.

Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.

Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered.  Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
    had been renewed,

There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.

For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.

But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.

At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”.  Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.

The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.

Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.

Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.

Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.

To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.

-----------------------------------------


Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Mark Massey | Details |

The Redemption - Part 2

The Procession

With love they make the passage into light,
in gardens lush each mourner stood abreast.
Then hand in hand they walked up to the site
she chose to be her final place of rest.
They all had gathered 'round the open ground
to sprinkle petals on the coffer tomb.
Cold silence seemed to be the only sound
as bearers placed it in its earthly womb.
And far behind the mourners stood a pair
of men in whisper as they viewed in grace.
One spoke about his life now in despair
and other days that brought him to this place.
  “No god of love would leave me in such pain,
   alas my faith in thee could be in vain”.


Faith in Vain

Alas my faith in thee could be in vain.
I’d called on you to give me strength to fare
the tragedies that fell on me like rain
and in that hour I could not find you there.
My son and wife are now three years deceased.
Malignancy has filled my mind with fear.
I’ve given up my search for inner peace.
Now only manic demons harbor there.
I still aspire that one day soon I’ll be
released from mortal shackles that I wear
and seek to find in heaven my relief.
Through faith in thee I hope to find them there.
  I wonder why the god of grace would plan
  to test the mortal circumstance of man?


The Cancer

To test the mortal circumstance of man
my body fights a battle from within;
the cure too strong for many to withstand
with poisons meant to make you whole again.
My ravaged state had left me but a shell
and made me wonder why I even tried. 
And as I drifted deeper into hell
my life was saved but for it faith had died.
My guiding light had been my family,
in darkest moments there to lead me on.
I realized that he watched over me,
providing strength in them to keep me strong.
  To know my loving family sustains,
  In death a living memory remains.


The Death of a Son

In death a living memory remains,
the patriarchal heir shall carry on.
In vain I walk because there is no name
to call a father who has lost his son.
He stood by me when I was in despair
and as those hopeless visions filled my head;
so futile my request that life be fair
or pray for death to take me in his stead.
My grandchild's birth, his son, shall free this pain;
too young to know his father could not stay
reminding us the best of him remains.
But sorrow won and death soon claimed its prey.
  With family we conquer life’s demands;
  one man cannot secure such futile plans.


The Widower

One man cannot secure such futile plans
to ever mend a mother’s broken soul.
She was my lover and my cherished friend,
the anguish finally took its mortal toll.
We placed her in the ground atop her pride,
this single grave now binds me to this ground.
And soon our bodies will be placed aside
with fleeting hopes our spirits can be bound.
I called to Him, “Have mercy on me lord,
in my surrender, I’m a broken man.”
I knew it was his judgement I abhorred.
But who was I to doubt his holy plan?
  A granite stone engraved for evermore.
  The only way that memories endure. 


The Emptiness 

The only way that memories endure
when all my hopes have withered into dust
and everything in life I once adored
is gone and now in nothing will I trust.
My shredded faith I’ve cast into the air
in pieces I may never find again.
With you my friend these memories I share
so in my sorrow you may understand.
The friend just stood in silence for a spell
and turned to look into the mourner's eyes
then spoke of this great gift that had befell
upon him just before his son had died.
  Your faith in life and love you can restore;
  they live within the hearts of those so pure.


The Child

They live within the hearts of those so pure.
Each mourner grieves the passing of this friend.
The life and death for all is to insure
that everything that ends begins again.
A child is such a blessing to receive,
so filled with love it heals our earthly pains.
Just take this child to heart and you’ll receive
the blessing of the love he has ordained.
All those gathered stood for one last prayer.
With silence broken each then found their way
along the paths where others shared despair
among the stones where mortal remnants lay.
  The soul will find its way to Heaven’s door
  A stone shall mark all those that came before.


The Redeemed

A stone shall mark all those that came before,
the solitary soul shall reign unbound.
With mortal flesh interned forevermore,
we pray the soul is now eternal bound.
Through faith we seek an everlasting life,
we hope our prayers are heard on heaven high.
A fragile son cannot escape the strife,
with love they make the passage into light.
Alas my faith in thee could be in vain
to test the mortal circumstance of man.
In death a living memory remains,
one man cannot secure such futile plans.
  The only way that memories endure;
  they live within the hearts of those so pure.


                        Heroic Crown of Sonnets
                                        A. Mark Massey

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

I See You Looking at Me- Collab with DM

I see you looking at me
There is an old pang in my chest
there where your hands used to caress
where your lips loved to roam
there where you called your home
There is an old flutter now
What is that in your eyes?
Is it real or just a disguise?
I see you looking at me
That way….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, it can’t be
And in that instant your memory consumes me
   A roaring fire lighting the room
   Shadows dancing on the walls 
   We are drunk on desire
    .....breathing you
    .....holding you
    .....caressing your breasts
    .....kissing your body
    .....tasting your love upon my tongue

Unbelievable . . . panic seizes me
Don’t look at her -- flee
But in that moment my shattered heart
Leaps with joy 
I see your eyes 
    ....and I feel the earth
    ....moan with delight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wish the world would go away
How can this be?
It must be a dream...
I turn away from your stare
Look down at my shaking hands
I'm breathless...overwhelmed
I need to think....
Why now? Why here?
Out of nowhere…you appear
Oh, but....I want you
I sneak another peak
As my mind brings to my eyes the memories
It seems just yesterday
you looked at me that way
    ....when you undressed me
    ....when you caressed me
    ....when you made me understand
how a body can speak
the language of love
Never before
Never since....
has my body spoken
with the same eloquence
That language I first learned with you
I want you
But....the pain won't go away
you were too proud to say,
"I'm sorry"
Oh....but my lips are getting moist
hungering for your kiss
I look your way
My heart will give me away
Thundering in joy
It won’t be still!
    .....Let me think
    .....Let me THINK!
Oh...Oh...but....I want you
Here you are….
You’ve made it over to me
Here you stand
Looking down at me…
Reaching for me….
Oh…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking you into my arms – lifting 
Your eyes -- dark pools of honey
Your lips – full . . . moist . . . inviting 
Our bodies embrace – I am home
My prayers for another chance – answered by your kiss
Our words tumble over each other
Tears, laughter, kisses . . . relief
My beautiful darling – I’ve missed you
   ....Your smile
   ....your touch
   ....the way you look at me
Making love until the dawn
Our bodies intertwined 
My head resting upon your breasts
Listing to the rhythm of your heart – my heart
How beautiful you are my darling – 
Your love is fragrant and radiant
Filling my heart with light  . . . 
Look – I am glowing from within . . . 
But…wait…what’s this?
I feel a stiffness creeping into your body
WHAT –  fear seizes me – I can’t breath
My darling – abandon the hurt, the pain I have caused . .
I am on my knees begging 
   your forgiveness
   your love
How can I prove my love – 
   earn your trust?
I won’t leave – never again!
I love you
need you
you
you . . . 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
What if you hurt me again?
This time....I won't recover
This time….I won’t survive
It has taken so long
for this heart to mend
Down on your knees
Your eyes plead
I see the tears gather
Can I risk it?
Can I?
But then again
Can I risk going back to the emptiness
that you left behind
A life without you
was only days and nights
of longing...for you
My fingers reach
For those unruly strands of hair
You turn your face into my palm
Planting a kiss
Your arms go around my waist
as you rest your head against my body
We're lost to the world
Our moment
Our truth
You're finally home
I bend down to whisper
"Stand up and walk me home
There is a language….
I want to hear your speak to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that night
In our hungry bed
The eloquence of our shared language
The body syllables of desire
The sound units of passion
The language of our love
Was heard by the world

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story of a chance encounter between two old lovers
~~~~~~~~~Love lost and love found~~~~~~~~~~
A Collaboration by David Meade and Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by William Masonis | Details |

The Ghost Dance Part V

                             The Ending at Wounded Knee

This is what happened:
Two worlds collided,
And the elder one died.

Pony soldiers and Indian police,
Triggerhappy and jumping at shadows,
Killed Sitting Bull at Pine Ridge;
     His horse pawed the muddy ground and danced
     To the thunder of the shots as they rolled over the plain and back,
     Shuddering through the grey empty space
     To toll the birth of another memory.

When change rolls through, things happen fast.
Reason gives way to confusion,
In the manner of beginnings and endings.
This is how the dancing ended
And the Spirits evaporated into silence.

Leaderless, his people wandered
In the cold of The Moon When The Deer Shed Their Horns,
They set out for the Badlands
To join their brethren in the New Faith.

Searching for Bigfoot's camp on Cherry Creek,
Unaware that he was to be arrested, as a "formentor of disturbances."

He and his were en route to Pine Ridge
To seek protection under Red Cloud.
Chief Bigfoot traveled a dying man, chest rattling with the wood of his wagon.

He ran up the white flag,
Parlayed with the pony soldiers who stopped them.
Major Whiteside said to go to the cavalry camp at Wounded Knee Creek.
Chief Bigfoot nodded,
Red drops raining from his nose
To make red flower stains on the snow.

They arrived in the twilight,
With pony soldiers all 'round in the frozen glow,
Ice crystals flashing in the air like Winter fireflies.

     Somewhere nearby, the Dancers all knew,
     The heart of Crazy Horse lay buried in a secret place
     Somewhere his Spirit walked, in converse with the winds.

Major Whiteside posted his men about the camp,
Placed cannon on a rise,
Sent his surgeon to see to the Chief.

     In the deep, bitter darkness
     The new 7th Cavalry arrived,
     Set up 2 more guns
     Spent the night drinking whiskey.

Came dawn, the prisoners were assembled and told to disarm.
Unsatisfied, the soldier chiefs had the teepees searched,
Then, finally, the warriors' blankets as well.

Their Shaman, Yellow Bird, had had enough.
Strong in his faith, he stamped the Ghost Dance steps into the snow,
Singing a Sacred Song.
"The bullets will not go towards you;
The Bullets will lose their way."

What followed might yet have been avoided,
But at last the soldiers found a gun.

Black Coyote, who was deaf, resisted,
And somehow, it went off.

     With that, the killing ensued.

In the chaos that followed
Carbine fire made death;
White smoke rolled like fog over the fallen.
The guns on the hills roared like Heaven and Earth
Being torn asunder;
Shreds of teepees, women and children
Blew like scattering leaves
And blood fell to frost like hot rain.

     And what of the magic Ghost Shirts?
     - Back to buffalo hides; the Great God had changed sides again.

The Shades of the Ancestors stood by in silence
Robbed of Faith's power
As the dying stared into the slate sky
That heralded a coming blizzard on its descending breath.
It was the End, All knew it was so.

In madness' aftermath
Pony soldiers collected the wounded,
Piled them on open carts like cordwood,
And rode on back to Pine Ridge.

Their caravan arrived in the velvet darkness.

Their dead lay where they fell,
Contorting into strange frozen shapes
Beneath the snow that fell all night to bury them,
Holding a great Counsel with the Ancestors
Full of such questions and answers as only the Gone-Before conceive.

The Pine Ridge barracks were full,
So the wounded were left out in the bite of the wind
While other accommodation was sought.
At last the Episcopal Mission was opened,
And the broken and bleeding brought in and lain on hay.

     'Twas 4 days past Christmas,
     Year of the Christ, 1890.
     Festive greenery yet hung about,
     And by candlelight those mothers who could read,
     As they lay groaning in this rough Nativity
     Could scan the words writ large
     On a banner above the pulpit:
     PEACE ON EARTH, GOOD WILL TO MEN.

"Why, oh Why," they must have thought,
"Fathers, were we yet forsaken again?
Was it too little Faith, or too much?

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by William Masonis | Details |

A Hospital Stay - Part V

                                                                  5.

                                                        The In-Between

     There, in the In-Between,
     No trumpets sound
     No beings clad in gold celestial fire
     Arrive as guides to the heart's desire,
          Only silence falls
     Throughout the velvet deep profound.
     At the In-Between,
          No Savior calls
     For there is naught but nothingness;
     An emptiness entire.

Strangely, I sensed myself suspended
In a nevertime of not-quite-being.

Such was the In-Between, where now I wandered.

As though it had always been,
I felt myself afloat, adrift
Upon some frigid river full of ice
Which had no source and knew no end,
That traveled 'round and 'round and back again upon itself
Rising and falling over distant hills and bearing me with it
- Or rather, what was left of me -
Along in its meaningless, endless circuit.

Nor dark nor light intruded.
Vision compassed only what might be envisioned,
Images forming and fading
Within the little cavern of my skull.

Voices without discernable words.
Murmmerings within the waters.

Something like a sword
Was lodged down my throat.
I gagged upon it, over and over;
Unseen hands would withdraw it, then shove it down again.

The main thought flickering in my head
As I lay in this place
Was of how I seemed to have become some frail remnant
Of whatever I once was.
No longer did I have that sense of flesh
Containing the shape of me,
Nor the feel of muscle, nor the bone beneath.
I felt I had somehow been rendered
Some modern scientific wonder,
A creature flayed alive yet living
In some embryonic form, possessed of such shape as it could claim
By virtue of a remaining mass of nervous tissue;
A minimalist miracle
Preserved in a nutrient bath by the power and will
Of a conclave of white smocked High Priests of medicine.

Strangest of all, perhaps
Was that this perception of my fate
Occasioned in me not horror, 
But rather a regretful sadness.
"What will they tell my wife?" I sighed in my mind.

     Yet, by slow degrees the feel of the outward world
     Stole in upon my little hell of shapelessness.
     The throbbing thing I seemed to have become
     Refleshed itself somehow,
     Though the sword in its throat remained.

Distant voices resolved into speech again,
And as they did I felt myself begin moving again
'Round and 'round as before, still on circuit
But no longer floating on ice.
Now, instead, I seemed lain on some unseen track
Circling through a low-roofed sandstone cavern.

When I passed the band of light 
That marked the faroff entrance of this cave,
I would hear the voice of that Boy Who Would Be Our King
Exhorting the Disunited Nations
To join his crusade to punish his chosen scapegoat
For an evil he had helped loose upon the world.
The long silences that followed his harangues
Revealed the skepticism of his audience.

     I could sense that a long roll call of the dead
     Would soon be scrolling past the world's collective eyes,
     Be his call accepted or no;
     This was for show, decisions had already been made.

I regained perception of how dangerous things were becoming out there,
Out there where I'd lost my way, to stumble into this place,
How long ago I could no longer recall.

I knew this to be its nature, though
And as well that this was where I belonged, Out There
Where the only source of peace or peace of mind
Was the hope we wove between ourselves
With threads of unstoppable possibilities
The human way spins for itself.

I knew where I belonged, and reached out for it.

     I came back to be within
     The folds of all I love
     To seek the mystic shine of life
     Expressed in friends, relations, wife
     Awaiting my return.
     I began to climb Above
     Back to where all hopes begin
     To where desires brightly burn
     Until their ash shines whiter than
     The purer feathers of the dove.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Went Fishin'


Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
------------------------------------------------

Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.

A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.

My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.

He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”

He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip 
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”

While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”

As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on.  My hands were steady.

Yellow with black dots and a weed guard. 
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.

As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.

So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. 

About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!  
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”

When the Bass broke water, it scared me. 
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook!  Set the hook!”

When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.

My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.

“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez.  Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed, 
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”

He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready.  This is the part that’s great.

I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”

Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.

My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”

“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”

“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…

but for the great stories we get.” 

I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.

You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.

They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by John Posey | Details |

The Way Home - 1st Part

When we think of traveling we most often think of going from one location to another. That’s good but I sometimes like to return in reverie to times in my past. Places where I spent my childhood are precious to me. 

We seem to race through childhood never slowing down to enjoy the moments we may seek to recover in years to come. I remember the place of my early years. Cameron, Texas was the only world I knew until I was eight years old.  Names and landmarks still cross my mind in moments of remembrance. 

I still remember the path that led me home hundreds of times from Ada Henderson Elementary School. It passed through a park about two city blocks in size. In this park were the normal things such as those galvanized metal slides polished by literally thousands of khaki or denim clad rear ends. Two slides stood side by side. One was a simple one-hump slide. The other was over twice as high using two humps on the journey to the ground from what seemed to be such a lofty height. The kid sized slide was seldom used after one had experienced the thrill of the ‘big’ slide. There were seesaws that weathered years of teeter tottering by excited boys and girls. There were simple gymnastic pipes that were just the right height to sit on and do back flips, nearly slamming your head into the ground beneath. All these things were so much fun to a kid and his friends as they made their way home from another day at school.

But one fun piece of equipment always furnished the thrills that last a lifetime and are remembered in the fondest reverie.  About halfway through the park was a merry-go-round made of the strongest and seemingly indestructible pipe. It, too, was polished by years of holding on by squealing children, lest they be thrown off by the magic of centrifugal force. It was about 12 feet in diameter and the center pipe was about 8 inches in diameter and must have been anchored somewhere in China since all the many years of use it yielded not a fraction. There were some 8 or 10 pipes on the outer portion of the merry-go-round that allowed you to grab and step onto the running board and hold on for dear life. Kids would grab these posts as they came around and spin them as hard as possible. The speed they built up was surprisingly fast and it took some agility to master the art of stepping on and grabbing the handle.  I have no recollection of grievous mishaps, just an occasional scrape or bruise. This contraption has served at least 4 generations of school kids and has not changed the last time I saw it some 20 years ago.

Farther down the path home was a giant gazebo with a stage and seats around the outside. It was equipped with public restrooms beneath the gazebo. It has been there for many years and sometimes I can close my eyes and see that gazebo and hear the faint strains of Sousa marches from the brass bands that played summer concerts there. I remember many happy times there on family picnics and occasional reunions. 

God watched over the kids and me whose paths home took them through the park. Just past the gazebo was a huge drainpipe, which during heavy rains drained water from the park into a ravine running through the park.  It was some 50 to 60 feet in length and about 6 feet in diameter.  It was always on a dare that we would walk through that dark, dank and scary tunnel. We were sure there was all manner of creepy crawly creatures lurking in the shadows waiting for unsuspecting kids to slowly make their way through this scary conduit. I remember going through it once and that was enough. I’d rather walk through the cemetery alone …. But that’s another story.

Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Owen Yeates | Details |

New Year 366 Page 3

Me

If I'm going to meet all my loved ones when I die
Why is it that those I leave will have a cry?
They really should be happy thinking where I've gone
Knowing that they will be with me anon
So when I go be happy think of me with a smile
If you want to see me read my poetry a while

Automaton

Send me forth to be
Anything you want of me
For I will do my best to be
Everything you want from me
I'll put my life on hold
Give you my life mould
When you’re done you can look back
To show me all the things I lack
Then send me forth to be
The automaton that you've made of me

My Bro

I want to tell you about my bro
The greatest friend I'll ever know
He has his faults but don't we all
But he's always there if I should call
For forty seven years friends we've been
Ups and downs lots we have seen
Yet our friendship has stayed strong
It grows as life moves along
I hope you all have friends like my bro
It's a friendship I will not let go

Nicola

We laugh and we joke whenever we meet
My Sis is my friend together complete
Meeting my Bro led to friendship with you
Adopted somehow but a friend oh so true
Always a place in my heart there will be
For Nicola a sister you are to me
Touch Lamp

I am just a simple touch lamp in a large bedroom
Touch me once and I will hardly light the room
Touch me twice a litter brighter I will be
Touch me for a third time luminescence you will see
I will shine so you can read or write if you've a mind
Just remember when you’re done to turn me off that would be kind

Carol

I wouldn't be a friend or poet true
If words I could not find for you
When first we met you thought me a pest
You could have poisoned me at best
Years changed us friends we became
Always there always the same
Your one in a million you deserve the best
Our friendship in time has stood the test
Carol I'm glad our friendship grew
Friend forever I'll call you

Loveseat

He went out and bought a love seat
For their holiday retreat
He thought when they retired there 
The love seat they could share
Sometimes plans they don't work out
The spanner thrown in leaves no doubt
Death has shrouded him in its gown
As in that loveseat alone in her tears she might drown

Ted

I think that Jesus needed our dog Ted
In my mind’s eye by Jesus he is led
I can see him sitting at Jesus's feet
Dancing and rolling over for his treat
I know that Ted he sits and waits
To give a welcome to all at the pearly gates
I don't think he's alone other dogs are there
Others like him with so much love to share

Pokémon

Ash Ketchum I would like to be
With my Pokémon walking free
Six Pokémon I would tote
So the gym leaders I could smote
I'd travel from Kalos to Kanto battling as I go
So that the people could see the Pokémon I love so
A Pikachu a Cyndaquil and a Treecko too
A Piplup a Geodude and a Swellow would do
Finally my grandson Kieran side by side with me
For he's the Pokémon master we would make them all flee
For we'd be invincible impossible to beat
Soon from myself and Kieran they'd all be in retreat

Ingratitude

How can you show such ingratitude?
How do you live with your attitude?
Do you feel big making tears to flow?
Ignorance to one who loves you so 
Who gave you all they could and more
Look in the mirror grow up mature
Don't think an apology can rectify
Dry the tears you have made them cry
Why from their love did you disengage?
Will you change or even act your age

Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Walter T. Ashe | Details |

Some Timely Advice


              "Some Timely Advice"


         Long ago when I was young
               some good advice 
                   I did receive.
           I carry it to this very day
                      and in it 
                I greatly believe!

                   You were told 
               the very same thing,
            maybe in a different way.
              It's locked in my mind,
             it's there all of the time,
               and now I get to say!....

                "Early is on time!
                     "REMEMBER!"
                  On time is late!
              Late is unacceptable!
                For NO one does 
                     time wait!"

             Arising in the morning,
                  getting ready 
                 to go to school,
          I would mess around and 
                   want to play-
                   My Mom said 
        "Boy, don't you act like a fool!!!"
          "Now get yourself together,
           the bus will soon be here!"
                These very words,
              I can hear them now.
                   They sound 
                 so loud and clear!

               "Early is on time,
                    "MY SON!"
                On time is late!
             Late is unacceptable!
                For NO one does 
                     time wait!"

              Did military service, 
             later, as a young man.
          In it the same thing is said
               but is shouted with 
                 a "COMMAND!"
                 You had better 
                    "LISTEN!!!"
        They will not repeat it twice!
                    Believe this 
                  when I tell you,
                  they will NOT 
                 shout it out nice!

               "Early is on time,
                   "SOLDIER!"
                 On time is late!
             Late is unacceptable!
                For NO one does 
                     time wait!"

              In the day to day 
                   work world-
             "There It Is Again!!!"
           When you're punching
           that working time clock,
            you'd better know the 
                     "WHEN!"

            Lacking punctuality is
              a crime and a sin!
          If you don't want to get
                the "pink slip",
          you adopt this regimen!

             "Early is on time,
                "EMPLOYEE!"
              On time is late!
           Late is unacceptable!
              For NO one does 
                  time wait!"

                  In any and 
              everything we do,
        we should remember this....
              the importance 
              of always being 
                  "ON TIME"....
              so not one thing 
                 will we miss!

                I hear it over 
               and over again
            as if it is on a loop!
               It's a pleasure 
                  to share it
                  in this way, 
                  here with....
                "Poetry Soup!"


                   

                  (WTA-IV)
                  3/9/2016

Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems