Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Long Usa Poems | Long Usa Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Inaam Al-Hashimi | Details |

Final Wishes of a Poet

Final Wishes of a Poet 
Arabic poem By: Rukn-al-Din Yunus
Translated into English By: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
========================
(Part 1 of 3)

Lend me a handful of earth
So that I may make you a statue 
You have not seen the like before
In your dreams.
Lend me a breath of spring
I’ll paint you cities, seashores 
And passionate rendezvous.
Lend me some of your crazy letters 
And I will dispatch couriers
To deliver them to gardens
And send elegantly dressed devotees
With a touch of sadness 
To receive them from the gardens
And read them to the river.
Lend me some of the words
Escaping from under your hat, 
Which has no resemblance to Pablo Neruda’s,
To write you an epic 
Spelled out by tyrants
Every night 
To cry their own fates in the morning.
Lend me an evening you could spare
To romp through virtual streets 
Named after living poets 
From different generations
Wherein a river of music goes over the heads of passersby
Drowning all in ageless glamour. 
Lend me the rest of the golden letters
In your pocket
To disperse them over the outskirts of my words
And the lanterns of my dreams
To light up what’s left of the opaque sentences 
In the imagination of the painter
And the wisdom of the poet 
Who is crazed about the clay
On the banks of the Hilla River.



(Part 2 of 3)
--------------

I'll die tonight...
O my dear wife!
I’ve never liked farewell ceremonies
In my life
So let things be normal and quiet.
Forgive me! I will not kiss you tonight
Just lie down beside me on the bed
For now.
Don’t tell the boys about my no-return journey 
Don’t let the girls cry with you
Especially the married one
And the little one
The middle one as well.
Let everything be as ordained for me
By those I don’t know
All I know for sure
I will die tonight.
How? ..... I do not know!
How? ..... I do not know!
At what time? …. The mind of the poet is unable to tell.
I will die my dear wife
But....
Don’t forget to feed the dog “Yoyo” early in the morning.
Don’t neglect spraying the garden 
First in the morning
Even if it was time for the funeral.
And don’t forget the seven o'clock news
Listen to it for the sake of your love for me
They always mention news of the lost homeland.
Don’t forget ever....
The chicken feed
I’d like to hear 
The cock’s crow every morning in my grave.
And hide the empty wine bottles
Out of the sight of mourners...
I don’t want them to accuse poets of infidelity.
And if they ask you 
What was with him before he died?
Just tell them:
He forgot to live!


(Part 3 of 3)
--------------

Before I died
My wife made me a clay statue 
And cried at it
She and her five daughters did.
But my two sons took no notice
Of their mother crying
Nor of their sisters wearing black 
But, rather,  
They seized the opportunity
And went out to join their peers
In a football game!

Before I died
My friends vied 
And jostled in front of  
Mercenary and non-mercenary newspapers’ buildings
Led by “Riyadh Alghareeb”
To provide their elegies for my immortal soul
Which reminds them of their own
As they greet death.

And since that day
I am holding on to my soul
Lest it slips away 
In a moment 
Of inattention
From me
The poet
Rukn al-Din Yunus
***
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
USA
November 2013

* Rukn-al-Din Yunus is a poet from Iraq



Long poem by Darryl Ashton | Details |

AN ODE TO DAVID CAMERON

AN ODE TO DAVID CAMERON


Now I go taking freebies – just
like Tony Blair,
But my wife isn’t keen – she’d
rather wash her hair.

We like to go to America – and
stay with Obama,
But when I’m with the wife – 
she always wants her momma!

I am the prime minister - and 
the leader of the pack – 
But when we’re in the house
of lords – we deserve a darn
good smack!

I went away on holiday – but
Parliament was recalled – 
What the heck is going on – 
more terrorists, I am told?

Me and the Mrs, never pay
our way, 
Just let the tax payer pay – 
we then shout; Hip-Pip – 
HOORAY!

We are the Tory tossers – 
who hate the disabled more,
They take far too much in
Benefits – enough to start
a war! 

Smoking is now banned – 
nearly everywhere, 
But we can smoke in the 
Parliament – we simply do 
not care!
   
We like to visit Sir Richard – 
Branson is his name,
Holidays for free – is the
name of our game!

Sailing in Hawaii – and 
surfing in the Med,
Then the wife starts to
whinge; “she’s now off
her head!”

I’ve even had some dinner
with a man called Bush,
But the waiter didn’t like 
his table manners – so he
hit him with a brush!

The Texan buffoon had an
ego edge, 
If I ever go skiing with him – 
I’ll push him off a ledge!

Air Force One - is a super jet,
and I feel part of a jet-set, 
When I come back to the 
USA – I’ll hire this for my pet!

No? It will be free – that is a
perk of my work, 
The tax payers are my friends – 
but they all think I’m a jerk!

I have to tell George Osborne,
that creep who handles the
cash,
Be very careful with my dough – 
it is my only stash!

Then Nick Clegg, the wimp who
knows nothing – 
Even on the tuition fees – he 
really was just bluffing!

Did you see him on TV? He
had a lively debate – 
Nigel Farage won the war – 
and now he’s in a state?!

I’ve promoted a few young
women – well, I have to
show I’m keen.
But when I arrive home late
at night my wife asks; 
“Where’ve you been?”

And then I have that fishy
bloke, you know who talks
nonsense,
All he does all day – is yap
about Scottish independence! 

Then Vince Cable – a doctor
he used to be,
Well get you’re bleeding 
money out, sir, your 
prescription isn’t free!

He has a silly title – something
to do with business – 
He sold off the Royal Mail – 
that caused a bloody nuisance!

There are a lot of doctors – and
lawyers in the cabinet – 
But why give up that status – 
and join the poorest set?

They really are running scared,
of that guy with a garage – 
You know who I mean – that’s
right – Nigel “Lord” Farage!

But one man is missing – the
honest one of all,
He is due back to the cellars 
of Parliament – to answer our 
urgent call?

The spirits of all spirits – a hero
to the English – 
Please meet Sir Guy Fawkes – 
the man we all do relish!

What a dream this would be – 
and welcome to a new Prime
Minister – 
Nigel Farage and Sir Guy Fawkes – 
gosh, it does sound sinister!

Well, roll on the next election – 
let the battle run,
As long as we defeat that Tory 
cretin – the “honourable”
David Cameron!  

BY
DARRYL ASHTON
         


Long poem by Shanity Rain | Details |

young American days


              
                   To be in a young America ~
           visions of a ship upcoming statue of Liberty
               the young lad holding tightly to his Mothers leg
             in all excitement of a new Land to call their own
      celebrations of apple pie and fireworks on the 4th of July 
          
             thoughts of the old Hollywood on screen 
                films without 3-D costing less then a dollar
        Greta , Monroe , Betty Davis eyes tantalizing blue glare
       The Wizard of Oz or books written by Steinbach, Capote, Mark Twain

             exciting new visions of creating new concepts 
                 before Capitalism bought all little ones to bigger
           songs came from the hills of Virginia to the black Mountains
               surfacing in Tennessee for all to hear and wish to see  

          The day when one travelled by car on the road travelled
             every town a story told , learning history we once shed blood 
         American Indian tears to the British man whom choose freedom of taxes
            Boston held a tea party , now wishing they threw out marmite instead
 
         The day when we knew our neighbors and bought homes with a paystub
             Everyone had a chance to make their own with pride , even through wars
        When Martin Luther King stood proudly as did President Lincoln for Freedom 
             How many streets have been named after the man whom had a dream ?

             When milk was delivered on doorsteps in Glass bottles 
                 Babies wanting the very first of the top being cream 
             leaving doors open , watching news with your family at 6pm
                cartoons were shut down and it was now grown up time 

                      Cereal being a cheap snack for after school 
                         school supplies costing twenty dollars 
                      Grandma school clothes shopping for fifty 
                   before the internet , cell phones , and text for hello ~

                         2 week Vacations not afraid to put up Camp 
                Christmas sold in December with the sentiment of Love not money
        a day when if one were sick , you could actually get penicillin without question 
         The Doctor treated everything calling it General Practice no fear of Malpractice 

               Never forgetting our Motor city  
                 Old Ford Trucks Chevrolets and Dodge
                  The city that brought Ottis Reding and Marvin Gaye 
               

                     What happened to us ?  Where did America Go ? 

                   

         
  


Long poem by James Fraser | Details |

Hiroshima, Theodore Van Kirk, RIP

On that day in Aug 45 Bomber over the city that's very much alive Nervous crew, cloudy day Pilots instructions, open bomb bay The words above as the pilot has said What happens next the World dreads The catch releases as Little Boy goes Are they really enemies, are they really foes As he lands without a sound As he plummets into Japanese ground As he ignites his awesome power As he sprays his atomic shower An eternity clears, in hours I hear No City which once was here Where are the people, no where near In Oppenheimer do I detect a tear If that's the worst The USA tells Nagasaki is next as the death toll swells Lo and behold that day has come The second city is indeed gunned down This Uranium gem as the Yanks declared Our troops at war will all be spared Not to think of these Japanese folks Who in Atomic ruin their lives now soaked Buildings gone where they once were Populations vaporised without a care This Mushroom shape will shadow ever Their day in History will never sever The following day as I look around A bustling city which has no sound I stand here bleeding, burns and sores Skin dripping family torn All around me, broken burning shapes Trying to make sense of what this all makes What could have created such destruction as this On this City where yesterday was bliss As I limp down my street in an imaged spree Shadows of neighbours I will never see Silhouetted in shape in many forms Is this my World, it's not the norm Weeks have passed as I start to feel ill Once I was ten, now I feel nil Body sored, lacerations and boils This human life entering it's toil As I look to the sky some birds still soar Those lovely doves I will see no more As my life fades as my eyes gently close Should anyone receive those blows Now I'm gone as I look down, once a city, no more a town Where once were dots all running around Most are gone blown from our ground Where mediation was never met, discussions were never said Two cities many dead ( Lyrics by Queen ) Teo torriatte konomama iko Aisuruhito yo Shizukana yoi nir Hikario tomoshi Itoshiki oshieo idaki Let us cling together as the years go by Oh my love, my love In the quiet of the night Let our candle always burn Let us never lose the lessons we have learned Are our lessons learnt, time will tell Berlin Wall, barriers fell Is it a start, or a start to come Is this race always on the run We need to look, and look around No more we hear that whistling sound It seems to be a more silent kill Typical Human, in it's typical will Reposted in memory of 'Theodore Van Kirk' the last of the 'Enola Gay' ..


Long poem by Andrew Crisci | Details |

THE HEROIC PILOT

The plane takes off before three o' clock
from La Guardia Airport, but in a few minutes,
it is suddenly struck by a flock of geese killing both engines;
and the undaunted pilot with his forty years of flight,
has to make an emergency landing on water,
and he's telling the passengers to hold on tight...
while getting his strength together, and with will and power,
he lands the Airbus A320, in the Hudson River, flat!


Many who have seen this incredible landing,
believe this is a miracle unfolding before their eyes;
and how quick the emergencies rescue teams rush
to the airplane sinking in the frigid waters;
and in a flash of a minute many more ferry boats
come to help while the sirens are loudly waling!
On the wing through the back emergency door,
every single passenger gets out safely....telling each other to be calm,
because they believe that angels are guiding them;
and is one of the angels tapping the fearless spirit
of this kind , selfless and courageous pilot:
putting their safety first, instead of his well-being?


More heroes like him are needed by us: 
when most folks seem uncaring and cold,
and he has acted with a humanity that's really indescribable
and a boldness that only God endows someone with;
he has confronted danger relying on his amazing skills...
and knowing for certain that his swift thinking
would be so daringly successful!
" Thank you ", I hear everyone whisper
as they are given hot coffee and a warm blanket;
" Thank you", they're sweetly saying 
in a prayer expressing their gratitude...
for the bravest man who has saved them from hell!  


That is his glorious and incomparable moment:
a heroism not read in books or seen in movies, 
and this is no fiction, but plan and blunt reality!
Read the joyful gratefulness in the passengers faces,
happy to be alive, because of the action of one who has cared;
see how ordinary people become legends...
when they take tremendous risks that some wouldn't;
realize how their perception is sharper and deeper that many,
and when they act...surely another miracle is bound to happen!
And like the caring New Yorkers, who have witnessed it
on this January the fifteen...you, too, can:
when someone gives all he's got,
to save hundreds of lives that were almost gone;
and will he accept a medal for his bravery?

  
Heroic pilot, who can ever forget what you have done today?
God remembers the good men who look up to Heaven and pray!


My poem is dedicated to Captain Chesley Sullenberger
of USA Airlines-Flight 1549  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Long poem by Darryl Ashton | Details |

THOSE NOSTALGIC USA WESTERN COWBOYS

THOSE NOSTALGIC U.S.A. WESTERN COWBOYS

Not one for afternoon TV,
But cowboy films appeal
to me,
Those Western romps from
years ago,
From Fox, Republic, RKO,

Gnarled prospectors pan
for gold,
(Not as much as they’ve
Been told)
Forced to buy supplies ‘on
tick’
And hope to file a claim
real quick.

A dusty stage brakes to a
halt,
The townsfolk get a nasty
jolt.
The saloon’s new owner
steps on down,
Peroxide hair and Paris 
gown.

She’s here to set the town
alight,
Bring entertainment every
night,
That evening, on a different
stage,
Her dancers quickly all the     
rage. 

Cattle ranchers rule the 
land,
Each with their own
distinctive brand,
With marauding Indians
ever near,
The townsfolk live in
constant fear.

But Randolph Scott or
Joel McCrea
Will save the day and
prove that he
Is constant, firm, upright
and strong –  
But then, we knew that 
all along.
 
The heroin’s virtuous 
and serene,
The baddie, dastardly 
and mean,
One thing you can be
sure and that’s
The villains always 
wear black hats.

The sheriff quakes 
behind his star,
When trouble comes,
he’s in the bar,
A weakling in the
rancher’s pay,
Don’t look to him to
save the day. 

A fight erupts, a bar-room
brawl,
And suddenly, a free-for-
all, 
But Mitchum, Widmark, 
Big John Wayne
Will bravely set things 
right again.

Or Audie Murphy in Yankee
blue
As the 7th Cavalry burst on
through.
The villain’s dead, his gang
in jail,
So all that good can now
prevail.

From Deadwood, Dodge
and Abilene
And all the trail-stops in
between
Our hero rides out, bold
and brave
Looking for more folks to
save.

He rides off in the setting
sun,
With peace restored, his
job is done.
With classics like High
Noon and Shane,
We’ll never see their likes
again.

With Gunfight at the OK Corral, 
Really lifted the town’s moral,
And when they saw Billy The 
Kid,
The baddies all ran – hiding 
behind a garbage lid.

Alias Smith and Jones
were there,
They didn’t kill folk – as
they did care.
Jessie James, and brother,
Frank,
They travelled the USA, 
and robbing the banks.

In the old wild west – the
cowboys knew best,
They would always draw
guns – to put to the test,
In the saloons they drank
wild whisky, and cavorted 
with women,
Then yelling and dancing – 
til early morning.

This is how; The West Was Won, 
Being quick on the draw – with 
their gun.
Blazing Saddles, was funny
from the start,
Especially those beans – that
so made them all fart!   

BY  
DARRYL ASHTON


Long poem by Jay Anderson-Taylor | Details |

“What price we will pay for believing in a politician?”

Every four years they come a courting us, wearing their fine woven suits with their Ivy 
League education, some are even lawyers or so called successful business men…they claim 
they have the answers to our problems…their mouths are full of words of encouragement 
and their brains high off their own egos of what's right or wrong. Once they do get elected to 
the highest office in the nation, they hire the brightest minds in our country to help them 
solve the very same problems that they claimed to have had a solution for when they wanted 
your vote during the election. I’m not a politician just a mere poet and a humble 
Christian at best… just taking a look at our situation from a layman’s perspective…at those 
we elect to fix our problems and frustrations. 

They all have visions of solving all our social woes and frustrations, these same types of 
politicians have had hundreds of years to right their past wrongs. But, instead once elected 
they turn a blind eye to the greedy corporate spending and banks who own most of the 
country and yet they claim to be broke… some of their CEO’s live better than whole nations, 
but those same politicians we elected rewarded them for failure with millions of taxes payer’s 
dollars in secrete exchanges for political favors. Strange once they get elected, they pretend 
that now they no longer see those drug dealing nations or the very same puppet 
governments that their predecessors helped to put into place. 

They claim that they know nothing about those crooked car companies who sell cars here in 
the USA for 300 times more than what other countries pay for those same pieces of junk! As 
if that were not enough, those same politicians gives out our hard earn tax money for cash 
for clunkers to all these rip off car dealerships who then split the ill gotten profits with those 
same crooked car companies and banks who put us in this slump, with their poorly produced 
products and the banks with their over inflated interest rates they give to us. 

They no longer see how the very same oil companies that we made rich now raise oil price 
for oil we already have here in the USA. They try to correct other countries on civil rights 
violations and equality for women, when we ourselves still live in the dark age in some place 
right here in the good old USA…So, I say to you my fellow man not as a poet or a Christian, 
but just as a layman looking in… if a politician is the answer to our problems? Then who has 
been running this country for the last hundred or so years?


Long poem by Sidney Beck | Details |

VISION QUEST

VISION  QUEST

The Sioux chief Brown Eagle taught me self-respect 
And I saw my life as an Englishman must have greater purpose,
And that these "savages" were actually my saviors.
The spirit of his tribe drew me; to resist was useless. 
 
The closest spirit was Brown Eagle’s sister :   
But Bright Water could  marry only a warrior-chief :
To prove worthy to marry into the tribe, and  to lead it,
I had  to endure long  tests and trials of grief.  

I studied the ways of Brown Eagle, 
Whose many scars  were openly displayed,
Showing  his warrior-status,  as well as reminding all  
Of the torture ritual in the tribe and the respect to be paid.

The tribe medicine-man explained what should happen:
I had to undergo a series of ritual  tortures and tribulation, 
Including an  O-Kee-Pa  style chest-suspension ceremony,
And its most grueling part,  the Sun Vow Initiation. 

I was  hauled up to  the roof of a huge tepee
By buffalo-bone hooks through my pectoral muscles, flowing  red:
Excruciating exquisite pain - as my former  life was torn out of my chest:
My spirit  ascended  to the  roof and I saw my own body dead.

In a sincere desire to become one with the tribe my spirit left 
The tepee on a shamanic journey into another order of realization, 
A landscape of magic and mystery  -  and during this ordeal 
Manitou came to me in the form of the White Buffalo - a sacred vision:   
 
Hooves pounding, eyes flaring, He emerged from a vast prairie fire.
And of leadership,  duty and responsibility I heard Him speak:
And His huge presence ran with my horse and guided me over the endless 
Short-grass  plains to Bright Water’s flowing creek.

Attention and energy of my small self was removed from its centre; 
The world around  expanded correspondingly, enhancing 
A changing, fluid, magical, and mysterious realm of the unknown.
Deep-etched imagery, a dream of death-and-life entrancing.

My emotional state transcended any normal boundaries 
In sacred time and space  -  because of the ritual, the ceremony,
The  privation, the torture, the longing for communion.
I drank from the flowing creek and returned to the tepee.

Helpless,  I was cut down from the tepee roof, rejoined
To  the world of flesh and bone; but  my fire-baptised  
Spirit had new authentic power, and Brown Eagle took my arm:
What is your name, brother?  I proudly took the name  - Buffalo Eyes.

From the culture of the High Plains Sioux in the USA
Inspired by the movie A MAN CALLED HORSE (1970) starring Richard Harris.


Long poem by Inaam Al-Hashimi | Details |

Homelands

====================
Homelands
Arabic poem by: Adel Said*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
=====================

At the end of the line I stand
As should a professional homeless do
Exactly at the end of the line
Before the committee on homelands distribution 
Among those who fall in the overflow
Over the needs and capacity of time, place, 
Maps, 
Population records,
And cemeteries. 

At the end of the line I stand 
Hanging like a teardrop in a funeral 
Collecting what have fallen of my years,
My fables
And my extinct dreams,
In the bundle of my childhood that missed her doll
And my deferred share of my mother’s tenderness.

I have a flavor the midwife failed to sever
With the umbilical cord
In my heart, there is still a nursery rhyme
About a duck swimming in a river
And a songs about a fair maiden’s tear dripped down with  kohl
And my fingers are still trembling
In fear of the lesson and the swish of the teacher’s ruler.

I have in the piggy bank of my life
Volumes about hunger and wars of social classes
Burned by the fascists 
Who also snuffed out the tears of forbidden love.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Dates I saved of palm tree’s yearning for the land
And some palm pollen dust still traveling in my lungs. 

I have no signs of prophecy on my forehead 
And no halos of saints 
But my homeland that’s sitting there 
Amidst the committee on the homelands distribution
Will recognize me
And I'm in the queue 
I will not compete with the homeless comrades 
For their homelands 
And will not accept that illustrious one on the right 
And not that opulent one on the left
I’ll accept only that one,
That one whose head is a palm tree 
And whose arms are two rivers.
 
- You , O Mister!
 You who was at the end of the line,
 You haven’t been recognized
 By any of the homelands gathered in the committee,
 The exiles snuffed out your flavor
 And withered your songs;
 Despite the high level of adoration in you
 No homeland on earth
 Understands your language.

 - Even  that one? !

 - Even  that one ..
And out of pity 
We decided to grant you a berth,
A berth that will never come to an end
You will waste on it  
All that’s left in your lifetime’s piggy bank 
Of tears, 
Of dreams loitering outside the fence of life 
And of years flying, like neglected pieces of paper,
Out of the window of history! 

===========
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam al-Hashimi
USA
*  Adel Said is a poet from Iraq who resides in Norway


Long poem by Elton Camp | Details |

Why I Hate Shopping at Snarl-Mart

Why I Hate Shopping at Snarl-Mart 
  
By Elton Camp

The parking lot’s hard to bear
For it must be a mile square

Any spot close to the door,
No parking there anymore.

Dozens of them are labeled
“For use only by the disabled.”

Enough for every wheelchair
Within a hundred miles of there.

At the door, I nearly start to choke
Employees around taking a smoke

Seems the store should care
About them standing there

Also, people sitting at a table.
“To give to us, are you able?”

If not when on your way in,
Upon your exit, we ask again

“I came here for prices cheap.
What I have, I need to keep.”

Have to leave you in the lurch
Don’t believe in your church.

Once I am inside the door
I find shopping carts galore

All lined up in a neat row
Maybe washed a year ago

Of customers there’s no lack
Every aisle the shoppers pack

In groceries, where I first go
Everything is from Mexico

I buy it only with a sigh
Hope it won’t have E. coli

When I look for my favorite cans
Been replaced with store brands

Bakery goods look a delight 
But trans fats in every bite

No care about customer health
Only interest is chain’s wealth

To other areas, I then leave
There to find an awful peeve

Nearly stirs up my angina
Everything is from China

Their buyers surely must prize
What’s made by slanted eyes

When goods there have been made
It makes worse the balance of trade

It’s very hard, in this day
To find, “Made in USA.”

I gladly would pay a bit more
But isn’t to be found in this store

Unemployment at a high percent
Very clear where our jobs went

However, they’ve got us on the spot
Impossible, foreign-made to boycott

Next, it makes me want to shout
At long it takes me to check out

Does no good for me to complain
Nobody is working express lane

Checkers working only two or three
No matter how long the lines may be.

If some items just won’t scan
Seems they have no simple plan

All those in line will be delayed
The store’s price must be paid

Checker says, “It’s not my fault.
Just doing as I’ve been taught

Bag the groceries not too well
Taters on bread? What the hell?

There is such a powerful rush
Cans atop eggs, which they crush

So many items put in plastic sack
Handles tear off before I get back

As I enter kitchen door
All will spill in the floor

I hope this explains the reasons why
At Snarl-Mart, I truly do hate to buy.

Yet, I have to return another day.
The other stores, they ran away. 


Long Poems