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Long poem by Reshad Yahyaie | Details |

2 humans 2 hearts And 1 love

Once there was a girl with a tough personality. She was considered to be a friendly and talkative. She was extremely tough regardless of love and crashes. She had wishes and dreams but was never sure when it’s gone come true. She was hard working always to satisfy her family and be a great daughter. She was tough about love but at the same time she knew a special and incomparable person will come to her life, who will be very different than others. When and where she will meet him, she never thought about it because she believed that we shouldn’t look for love, the reason was that love comes itself. However let’s see how and where she finds that special person. 
One night after working so hard of her project she was bored.
“Oh God I am so bored let’s see if my friends are online I will talk to them but at the same time gone download a song” she got online but unfortunately non of her friends were online so she thought to herself why don’t I make a new friend she requested a random boy who she never knew before.  After a week passed and that boy accepted her request but they never got the chance to talk to each other.
“Oh this boy looks so cute but why can’t I talk to him” although she wasn’t trusting any boys but her heart would tell her that this boy seems to be a good boy. So she used to leave an offline massages for him in order to contact each other and be friends. One day they both were online so their conversation started.
Boy…Hi
Girl…Hi 
Boy… how are u and how did u added me
Girl… I’m fine thanks well I was bored last week so I randomly added u.
They started questioning each other and she asked him have you got a brother or a sister he answered I have 5 sister but no bro. She reply but I have 2 sis and no brother. The time of Salah came and she had to pray and she asked if she can leave the conversation and pray but he was surprised that she prays. After she did her prayers she asked him why were you surprised when I said its time for me to pray? He reply afghans who live in foreigner most of them are not religious. 
Weeks passed and one day she was so excited.
Girl… You know what
Boy…what
Girl… I have a new baby sister
Boy… congratulations 
They kept contacting each other even though he had exams on that time but he would still take out some time for her. At the same time he would study for exams. 

Few month later they became best friends and one day he told her that he like her but she didn’t understand what does he mean by like. She called her best friend and told her he told her that he likes her but she doesn’t know why he said this because he loves her or just a simple like. 
Hey dude … he told me he likes me but I don’t know what he means by that.
My Friend…  ha ha stupid liking is the first step of love I think he loves u.
She also liked him but she needed time to know him more. He was so innocent and respectful boy she had ever meet. They became so closer and their friendship turned to love after a passing of time. She didn’t know much about his family and background but however she loved him and thought he is a right person for her life partner. 
For every relationship to became stronger and trust worthy it needs time. Relationships are like building a house. Some relationship ends fast because it was build quick and the foundation was not strong enough but some relationships last forever the reason is that the foundation which that relationship was build was strong. The foundation of every relationship is trust, promises, honesty, truthfulness, modesty, respect and most important thing is a true love. Be the kind of person you would like to be with. Some people come into our lives, make footprints on our hearts and we are never the same. People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.    
She always wanted someone who is respectful and modest towards girls. Someone who is honest but she never saw any boy with those qualities in him, she only saw those qualities in him.  Even though she faced so much hardships, impenetrability and tests in life however she knew that when Allah tests you, it is never to destroy you, it’s to teach us something in life that we do not know. When he removes something in your possession it is only to empty your hands, for an even greater gift. She learned so much from those test and tried hard to become better Muslim. 
 Now they know each other and they love each other a lot.  She has a full trust on him more than herself. Even though they sometimes have argument for some Issues but their love is strong enough and they are a smart people to find the solutions. No matter what we face and how we act towards it but it shouldn’t affect a person’s trust and love in relationship because it’s so hard to make one and takes a second to destroy it. This was a good story. It’s sad that it takes a long time for people to understand values and life. We as people are so consumed with our own lifestyles and duties we have made for ourselves. 
I miss him more then he could ever know, I often ask Allah why did he have to go? I fell in love and he means so much to me, if he could look into my heart then he could see. I found something so special and it is for real, being without my love is so hard to deal. I'll be here waiting until I can be with you again, because not only are you the love of my life you are also my friend.
I just want to tell you,
I think of you every moment of the day.
And how much I love you,
Words could never even say....

I just want to tell you,
I love you with all my heart.
I wish for us to be together,
Never shall we be apart.


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Remorse with a Touch of Ripened Radiance xD

I grieve for your safety, sis, and I pray for you almost every day – 
Depression does leave a big impact on us in a negative way
But I think you think I’m crazy…tell me if I am…
My heart’s devouring curiosity, pain and sham 
And still – there’s questions left unanswered…
I feel awkward…I feel unheard like a loner at school, hovering around, yet 
feeling ignored
Staring at a blank screen before me…hurting my eyes a bit to a certain degree
I see that I have a long way to go with my writing process
I see my past unwind – set me free…the time will never leave me be
I’m living in a fairy tale, never truly bowing down to true success
Let me be…let me flutte like a butterfly out of its cocoon 
Let me be who I want to be…let me shine bright like the moon
I’m glistening in the moonlight – I love you more than before
I wish the night away…hoping for some sunshine
I’ll stay with you till the day I pass away 
We’ll fight this depression wars…if only you were mine
We’ll go through remorse and romance
Together…forever…we’ll dance in a serenity-indulged trance
Do you hear the wind, whispering their “goodbyes”? 
Clear skies beam upon me for a little while at last!
Nothin’ but joyous skies feels therapeutic to my eyesight…
Forgetting the dilemmas that I’ve encountered and the horrid past
Clear baby blue skies hang above our heads in polished delight
Can you see right through me? 
Will you ever see me in this reality?
You are bothering me, DEPRESSION!? 

(~!@#$%^&*()_+)

All I see is dismal clouds passing me by, accepting derision as a friend instead 
of a foe
Should I just move on with life? Why do I feel the urge to cry?
 I stab myself with frustration and hurt badly – I feel guilty for your crimes and 
your sympathy will never show…let the wicked wind blow!
 It pierces like an arrow that flies by night, hitting bull’s eye 
Regret shouldn’t get the best of me
Why should I have an unwanted guess by the name of Anxiety? 
I’m alone at last…but the future is left unknown
And, yet I don’t groan and God’s my backbone – 
I accept the truth of it all…
These scars won’t heal at all, 
Can’t help but be in the helpless frame of mind and the shattered state
The stars dim when city lights illuminate the ebony skies, revealing the 
cemented ink painted in the atmosphere, unwavering without a smear of fear
Hold on to the bars before you – hold on to me, my love – I can’t help, but 
hesitate – I keep thinking of my future, fretful fate
Please wait for me till the dawn scorches aflame like the planet Mars, but until 
then – turn the wheel! Turn the wheel! 
Hold on to the rope of hope – it won’t harm us, my dove! I can’t escape my 
ruins, but I can change for the better and pick all the pieces up and sweep 
away the debris  - all we are is dust on the ground, rising like the horizon of 
the sunset…stimulating our eyes with undying appeal
From where the sun now stands, 
I’ve been succumbing to tragedy and preparing for the battle that lies ahead

(~!@#$%^&*()_+)

How I wish upon Tomorrow to see you smile and lock hands
With me…with me…and go ahead of me – put your doubts and worries to bed!
Borrow happiness from me instead! You don’t have to return it back –
If it’s something you lack…come on and open up a crack!
Your hands as cold as ice in Antarctica…it’s frostbitten and I freeze to the bone
You’re concealing this warmhearted soul within you…do you want to be left 
alone?
But, I won’t leave you without a trace, hiking this mountain on your own! 
I know it’s dying to come out without a doubt like the dawn, 
Shyly pushing away nightfall by projecting the sun in the sorrow-whelmed 
skies, 
Giving us sunlit glee…converting into flourishing ecstasy – God has my back!
Put your heart at ease and make Depression your slave – 
Desert it forever and pick a different route to tread on…self-control keeps me 
on track
Oh! Perhaps, you were naturally made for me, but I must behave 
 I’ve had harder days than you – I’ve been through so much worse
Are you a refined, splendid gift or are you just another wretched curse?
You restored peace to my verse, angel of ambitious bliss, spreading about 
good news with glorious grace! 
(I can see your halo, spinning around and round and round your head like 
hovering auras)
Though I was tattered and torn by remorseful spirits, you were my childlike 
mirth – 
You and I dismiss the blues and we figure out the mystery’s many clues, 
placing our feet in other people’s shoes with empathy traced on our face!

I put my daily worries and distrust to sleep… I can see you weep…

The laments hits us too deep…I’m out of luck…all I thought I was was a loving 
creep

But, I was enchanted by the mirror and what it reflected with jubilation that’s 
as shiny as a silver, noble sword – 
A new spirit, radiant with compassionate, elegant elation …my heart beats in 
accord


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Long poem by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Details |

Sister -- a poem in 3 parts

I.

End-Cut Prime Rib of
Beef,  Crab-
Cake, Lobster Tail,
Sea Scallops.

I feel — no — need
to, eat those foods
you 
asked that I get
you. So I scour the
internet 

for upscale
Manhattan restaurant
menus, listing,
first and foremost,
roast prime rib of
beef, 

confident that, if I
find that, the
seafood items 
will appear on at
least one of them,
too. 

It’s the Post House,
on East 63rd Street,

that has everything.
And, on this day, 

the 1st anniversary
of your death, I’m
eating 
the foods you
craved, yet, I do
not savor 

a morsel. But not to
worry, Renee, 
for next year, same
date, I’ll try
again, 

and maybe, just
maybe, I’ll find it
easier 
to enjoy what you
surely would have, 

if only I’d realized
there was no time
left.
No time left, as I
held your hand 

and watched American
Idol 
while you morphed
into what-

ever it is one
becomes at death. 


II.

Regarding Robert
Frost, I muse, if 
he’d taken the other
road, would he 
have moved to
England, where 

his poetry was a hit
from the get-go; 
would he have been a
constant farmer, 
or teacher, or
newspaper reporter —


not a bard who
crafted the simplest
words 
into mysterious,
memorable poems; 
not a father who
couldn’t prevent 

his children’s
deaths; not a
husband 
who couldn’t keep
his wife from 
sinking deep into
depression.

Every day, since
your death, I think 
about what I
could’ve done and
should 
not have done as
your sister, your
twin. 

How I’d sat on my
laurels and let you 
navigate on your
own, with me never 
whole-heartedly
trying to steer away


from conflict with
you. Me, who 
found it too hard
staying involved 
in that life of
yours. Truth be
told, if 

there’d been two
diverging roads for
me 
to choose one, way
back when, neither 
the worse for wear,
I would’ve sought 

you out — asked you
which one 
you’d take if you
were me, and surely 
I’d have taken the
other.


III.

I sent you an e-mail
hours ago, 
right after
rereading a few from
you, 

out of the many
final ones I never
deleted. 
According to AOL,
the one I sent you 

today, dated
3/30/2014 11:42:47
AM 
Eastern Daylight
Time, was delivered!
 

It’s been 2 years, 1
month, 7 days, minus

approximately 9
hours, 

since you died, and
I’m wondering if 
my message reached
you?  I made it
short, 

wanting not to
rehash what we’ve
said 
and written to each
other since 

the moment we could.
Renee, if 
I don’t hear back
from you, I’ll
assume 

you can’t make
yourself be heard,
or choose 
not to. Although, it
could be, I’m not
listening 

well enough — much
the same as when 
you’d lived. No
matter, I’ll be
writing you 

from here on, and
I’ll stay on
high-alert, 
lest I miss a single
word or whisper. 

P.S.  It’s 3 days
later and my e-mail 
has been returned as
unread: “Undelivered
Mail 

Returned to Sender -
MAILER-DAEMON,” 
which prompted me to
look up “daemon”  

in the dictionary:
(in ancient Greek)
archaic spelling 
of “demon” —a
divinity or
supernatural being
of nature 
between gods and
humans; an inner or
attendant spirit 
or inspiring force;
tutelary spirit;
genius loci.

So, thanks to AOL, I
(tend to) believe 
you’re out there,
somewhere in 

the electronic (or
otherwise) universe,
perhaps, 
in a place
universally known as
heaven. 

You, out there,
watching me
grappling with 
your death 24/7.



Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

SWEET SOLITUDE

                                                                                          June 27, 1919

Dearest Molly,

	I trust that all is well. Pray tell, are you enjoying London? Your last letter brought me a great deal of comfort and I reread your words, frequently, especially on gloomy days. Truthfully, all days are gloomy, as late. How I miss your wit and companionship, Sister. The nights are dreadfully long. Poetry brings its comforts, but I miss the sound of your pen scratching harmoniously alongside mine. 

The clock is crass and full of spite, It bustles like a bee, Hours pass, I can barely write For you are far from me.
I envy your sojourn, despite its gravity. Cousins Annabel and Dorette must be missing their mother. Are you enjoying your new role as governess? You are ever so accommodating, Sweetling, and I worry your new charges will run you ragged. Still, after their loss, your warmth should be a consolation during this difficult time. Father’s health continues to decline and mother’s main concern, oddly, is to find me a suitor. Apparently, eligible men of an esteemed background, high moral character and certain affluence are a rarity in this county. I’d rather tramp through pigsties than face another long look and braying compliment, Heaven help me.
Our Mr. Brown drowns in stale ale But Mr. Green is poor Now Mr. White is pale and frail, So please show them the door!
I am currently reading Beeton's The Complete Etiquette for Women, a guide to womanly arts. It is difficult to read these passages with a straight face. Truthfully, its author believes that ladies should at all times conduct themselves with the highest degree of decorum, even in their most private thoughts. Oh, it is vastly diverting! What would he make of our capriciousness? We are creatures who can not be so narrowly constrained nor defined. A woman’s heart is easily moved by the wonders of our maker, and a woman’s mind is often sharper, wiser than the male of our species. Why must we be so restricted? The garden is in full bloom, now, and I comfortably slip between rows of roses and ladyslippers. I wandered the path, amused at page after page of virtuous advice, keeping myself poised while within I was bouncing like a peony. Oh, the air was heady with lavender, and the sun was, finally, obliging. Several cheery nuthatches decided to keep me company. It was such a spiritual moment, as though nature itself had built a church with blossom archways, a sanctuary of greenery and horizons. I was alone, and yet, felt the presence of divinity.
Sweet solitude, a gift for me to piously applaud, With gratitude I joyfully spend precious time with God.
Molly, Dear, write when you can. I miss you terribly and, be merciful, send me some of your newest verses, please? Be happy, stay hopeful and I will strive to do the same. Love, Victoria * A westernized conversion of the Japanese haibun, which contain haiku instead of quatrains. I chose to try something new.


Long poem by Jesu Johnson | Details |

Examples-I call you

The World can be Bruising, to the flesh, Battering, to the soul, Beating, upon the mind , trying the whole body, to control. Brainwashing, a dowsing of it's trials, negative, as I live, invoking grief, purposely, by design, trying, at times, to replace what's rightfully mine. My thoughts, my beliefs, my smile, my dreams. But it's time, that me and the world, get a whole new, understanding. YOU SEE. When the world tries to sow it's seeds of: Fear,Worry, Doubt, Hate, Shame, All of those terrible things. Followed by: Humiliation, Degradation, chased with Devastation, and such. I hear you, my brothers, my sisters, say to the world: "ENOUGH!!!!" Then the world can't SHOW or TELL me NOTHING about Striving, about struggling, being pushed backwards, falling down, but not staying down. Getting Up!!!! Rising Up!!!! Standing Up!!!! FEARLESS, WORRYFREE, DOUBTLESS, CONFIDENT, I'm restored, PROUD, & PROFOUND. My brothers, My sisters, My examples. I CALL YOU, &....... NO matter the subject, the matter, the topic at hand, Me and the rest of the world are about to get a better understanding . Then the world can't SHOW or TELL me NOTHING about PRIDE, DIGNITY, OR LOVE. I CALL YOU, & I GOT THIS, No matter what the world's throwin' or showin' but that's another matter, stay tuned, a different Poem .


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Love Restores Peace

At 8:30 AM,
"Get up, LAURA! Charlie! Wake up...Robert...Wake up."
No reply...no reply...just ignore my wake up calls...yell at me all you want
You make me cry...cry...just shatter me like glass...you place me in the trash, but I still feel this discontent
Deep inside of me...
There's a sea of remorse swirling around me...
At 12:15 AM,
"Hey Laura!"
No reply...no reply...
"What are you doing?"
I just want to cry...a river...why?
She still ignores me...now I'm feeling the anxiety...
She still jokes around with me, but I feel so angry...and so empty...
She's texting her friends again...I must talk to her sometime
She still doesn't answer my calls...she doesn't care to wipe off my grime
Sponging inside of me...
I guess I'm left with my chores for today
My heart is swelling up in dismay...and my sky turns to gray
And I pray...for relief and I just want to say...
I love my sisters and brothers, but they truly don't care for me...or at least that's what I think till this very day
This lonesome feeling sufficates me...
Go ahead and ignore me, sister
You just added another blister
In my mouth, my hopelessness avalanches all over the ground
You make me frustrated...and now my head spins round and round
And I feel bound...
By stress and torment! 
Go ahead and neglect my voice
My heart is seeping out misery...pumping with fret...
while you text your friends and rejoice
In my head, my painstaking regrets torture me profoundly
You don't care to listen - live your life without me
My soul is left in the cold...
Oh! Go ahead! Let me mold...mold...
I worry about you, sister...
But you left me to dry like glue...you made me suffer
don't beg to differ...
Go ahead! Blow fire in my direction...
I warn you...you don't want to see an eruption
I don't want to be ensnared by my corruption... 
Please God...pick me off from the ground...
and show me some direction
Or I'll be broken down like the titanic...
And You don't wanna see me panic...
Panic...
At 1:00 AM,
I decide to pray to God for protection...
I pray...I pray...
I wait for His reply..........................
He helped me fight 
my depression wars
He unchained me from the cage...
and taught me how to fly
He cherished me...
He understood me 
and He still does till this day...
He healed my sores...
And He doesn't ignore my calls! 
He makes me feel content 
even in the midst of hardships - 
I pray...I wait...I cry...
For His comfort daily...
to nourish me 
when I feel ignored
Or when I'm stabbed in loathe...
I pray that Your peace be restored
In our family once more.
I wait
For peace
To fix the broken glass...to fix the emotions breaking us all
I pray
For the chaos to cease
To make the whole world rejoice...to encourage us to stand tall
Will love make us whole again?


Long poem by J Eliza JAMES | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/natures_single_dads___the_australian_emu_372914' st_title='Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu'>

Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu

Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days

Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test. 
His pedigree line
has proven with time

that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay; 
there is not enough
food for them all. 

They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance 
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation; 
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin. 
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride 
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.

With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time. 
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth 
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending. 
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right, 	
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
 	
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally 
to deliver these in
your own way.”

After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes, 
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect, 
so with care he
covers every one
well.

He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure 
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by; 
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.

The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch. 
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood; 
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.

to be continued...


Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

The Scar

“Only girls cry!…Oh, boo hoo!” laughed my brother, (as big brothers often do)
 He had been taunting me, teasing me, heckling me, as I whined, complained.
 Neither of us would have won a prize, for being the angelic sibling pride, 
 of Kirby street one day outside, in hot July...
              “You jerk!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me.. 
               He smirked, while our brawl played out for all the world to see.

No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… I was the butt of his demeaning jokes 
and by then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!

So HUGE, was my disdain for this smug, big thug, that grinning face, 
so....in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw....! But then.....
it broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
cowering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…

Instead it left a gash, an ugly wound, I was aghast...!
Above his nose.........a bloody rose
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us 

Well, we would repent, with orders to spend the day becoming friends...

The afternoon sun was hot in the yard….  
Until, a sudden, lightning shot
..tires skidding loudly down hot asphalt
One unguarded moment fell, and things came to a halt

As if a horrible spell, was cast upon the day ….
 there was a car,.... around the bend 
  the game we played, about to end....
         his dog, (a sweet dalmatiion friend) was hit
               ....and then....  
                      all time suspends........

My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…with weight of the memory lingering on….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later

I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar,
above his nose.... can still emote…    
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.  
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
            we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
                    ..And hey,...ya' know what? ..That’s okay, too.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Carrie Richards


Long poem by Johnny Murphy Jr. | Details |

once

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Chops"

because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A



And his mother hung it on the kitchen door


That was the year that Father Tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus

And his little sister was born

with  no hair

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant

And his father always tucked him in bed at night

And was always there to do it.


Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to write more clearly

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because of its new paint

And the kids told him

that Father Tracy smoked cigars

And left butts on the pews

And sometimes they would burn holes

That was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus

And the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed a lot

And his father never tucked him in bed at night

And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it.


Once on a paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Innocence: A Question"

because that was the question about his girl

And that's what it was all about

And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her

That was the year that Father Tracy died

And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister making out on the back porch

And his mother and father never kissed or even talked

And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup that made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do

And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly.


That's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

Because that's what it was really all about

And he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

And he hung it on the bathroom door

because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.


Long Poems