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12
Long Poems
Long poem by William Masonis | Details

Hector

Poiseidon's waters roil and roar
All up and down the craggy coast;
Their winedark waves have brought the host
Of foreign men all drunk for glory,
For the sake of one man's vanity
They traveled to your alien shore
To write with blood and bone a story
Of the Gods' capriciousness towards men,
Of passion's triumph over sanity
Which they shall repeat: again, again.

The men will surge against your city walls
Ten long and doleful years;
As your children, born to violence, shriek, and widows' tears
Appeal to you, their hero Prince,
To drive them back to whence they came
As your father walks the palace halls,
As does his shade now, ever since -
Ever since you went out to face the foe
And pass to time your noble name,
Their legend and their martyr, hope and woe.

It would be asked by what Creed you chose to live
Before you fell to the Fates' perversity,
Before their undeserving Champion dragged you 'round the city.
"Honor the Gods", you said, cruel though they may be.
"Defend your Country", you said, though it be doomed.
"Love your Women", you said, as only they can give
Meaning to the madness from across the sea.
Your father forced to beg for your battered corpse; so many dead,
Their faces still now, 'neath the swaying plumes
Of shining helmets, others waiting in their stead.

     "Honor the Gods
       Defend your Country
       Love your women."

- Oh you grey heads who start your wars for Pride,
Go ask Andromache's ghost
What it meant to her.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2011


Long poem by Beatrice Boyle | Details

If I Were A Stone

If I Were A Stone If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite… the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen. All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me. My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook! Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way. I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home. And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men! I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.

Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011


Long poem by karl marszalowicz | Details

Images

"Images"
The God that never was, puts one shoe on at a time
And spends four hours in the make-up room 
Putting on mascara and eye liner for the darker look 

Occult man of seemingly rebellious nature 
Is deified by the masses that show up to performances
He, a man of strong portrayal even at a skinny 155 pounds 
Grows stronger with every compact disc sold and the overuse of base 
Blowing out of a sound system which rocks the car next to you
While you wait for the light to turn green
Abandoning social mores of quietness well into the night

The appeal grows everyday for a man really just making a living
Out of his fans age group they have no idea what he is
Whether the media builds him up or tears him down
As a good guy to hate and a bad boy at heart
Any press is good press, though infamy might be better for sales

Topping the charts and making parents sick of his songs
He is a beneficiary of childhood splurging and so inclined to be
The adults wish for a mere fifteen minutes of his fame
So their children would listen to them with the same respect
But who were they when listening to cassette tapes?
And the bands of the eighties put on make-up then
 A man of mixed persuasion people are drawn to his ambiguity 
The role model singing about jail time and Hennessey
A toughness to some is a weakness to others
It makes you wonder if the man knows who he is! 
Whoever that is and for all it's worth
There will be more than enough of him to go around
In his image that is larger than life

Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Sidney Beck | Details

AUTUMN IN UDELNAYA WOODS

AUTUMN   IN    UDELNAYA   WOODS



The smoke from the shashlik  fires  made us hungry
So that we could have eaten the falling golden manna from the trees
Offered to two wanderers in this sylvan wilderness.
Not forty years, but forty minutes in which life changed for us. 
It was only a field trip she said, to study the socio-environmental
Arrangement, the attitudes, of couples in the autumnal picnic grounds. 
She needed the truth for her dissertation, she needed my help.
Knight errant in the pursuit of knowledge, that’s me.
In pursuit of her, if the simple truth be known.
She gave me the golden opportunity I had been seeking all summer:
Now the harvest was at hand, and the reaper all too ready.
She needed photos to show the attitudes of the couples
No photos were  needed to show our attitudes. 
We were clearly a couple with attitude, and my socio-environmental
Score matched hers exactly: that’s scientific for “we fell in love”.
Look up! Such a glorious afternoon of yellows, and a blue sky.
Look down! The lake reflecting our faces filled with smiling delight,
Gold underfoot, and her lustrous flaxen hair draped over my shoulder.
The field trip showed the truth, she knew it and so did I.
It was forty years ago : we still remember it, tell our kids about it,
Especially on fall days like today.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .


Written by Sydney Peck  2 October 2011,   and    
Entered  in  Francine Roberts’s  Contest   “A Nature Tale”

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Mark Vander Poppen | Details

Path we Persue

Life as understood by many resembles a journey traveled in a daze.
yet you feel lost, we can't help but carry on.
As we travel up the hill not knowing whats on the other side, 
where the next curve begins,  when to speed up,
or when to slow our pace.
Even as it seems at times we are blindfolded at very least,
human nature tells us to keep pushing through.
our best interest at that time is to put the path of life on hold,  
and asses our situation. Even if common sense makes you believe it would be difficult
or even impossible to resume the path started so long ago.
When it all seems impossible or hopelessness stares you in the eye.
Now is the time to grasp our greatest tool in life, just as God said let their be light.
let our light be the knowledge and support of your friends & family.
Use this and not even the devil himself can use his power and influence to corrupt us.
When we have 100% faith in ourselves combined with love for all that is good and pure.
And the hope that our destiny is not being pursued in vain.
Only positive results are to be found.
If u reach hard towards your soul and gather the will to strike down all that is negative.
Then and only then do the clouds disperse the sun becomes radiant
and all becomes clear. And the realization that our goal is in our grasp once again.
so before i put this pen down and carry on with my quest of surprises
and not knowing whats to come.
a prayer has been said guidance has been asked,
and a sense of relief is then achieved.

Copyright © Mark Vander Poppen | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Odin Roark | Details

Energy's Suffocating Gallop

Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
                                  by Odin Roark

Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves 

Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction 
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks  

Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes

Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'

Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey

The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts 
Of time’s new-century-plague 
Ignored

As oil gorged tankers find port  
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes

Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness 
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission

Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet

Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Paula Larson | Details

RELATIONSHIP ROCK PART TWO

It seems the ring so sparkly, caught the eye
of some observer, stopping in to talk
the time I took to pray, no more a balk
about God's reason, yet I knew the walk!

The ring was gone ~ the visitor's compel
was just to steal my precious place of tell
engagement has a message, not a spell,
the years were growing on ~ the friendship . . knell!

I kept the rock for every venture then
and still had faith, that God would feel my yen
and finally God spoke ~ a "go there" call
the rock and I complied ~ just leave it all!

In kindness, in that interlude's recall 
God spoke ~ "Someday, the rock will also go"
He meant, the pain and hardship, reconcile
to serving in whole Faith ~ no regret, well!

My new encounter ~ challenges e'er mount
'til one day, just a rock, I felt a swell
and to the River I now went, walking with pride
and tossed the Rock ~  so lifeless ~ hearing tide!

Ker-plunk ~ and waves that came to meet my eye
God had his reason ~ for my life's comply
in that same spot ~ Missouri River bend
would meet and love, and love ~ again, again!

No more the reckless yearning of the Soul
the sunrise had tomorrow, a new goal
how awesome is the power God gives to Love
and from His giving ~ leadership acquit!

Each term relationship ~ wanting to fit
to that resolving Glory . . . true love's writ!


Note ~ A true story ~ In that same spot, years later, I would write and format
the cover for a book of Poetry ~ "Praying Love" ~ of which many of my poems
are on this Website.    Paula  (Read)

Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by ezer agyin | Details

My Mystical Black Rose

Did I tell you the story of my mystical black rose? Well let me In my troubled nights I took comfort in the scenery of my old window One tiny sparkle always shone its way through the darkness, embracing my sorrow Till the night I decided to visit my sorrow's whisker in the belly of midnight I wrestled through the bushes sacrificing my blood on the alter of their sharp leaves and thorns Till my eyes was paralyzed on this black rose that collected drops of dew in its petals and lightened them with the moonlight; that mysterious sparkle now lay bare in my eyes and in my reach for the first time. I'd never seen black so beautiful, but as much as I wanted to pluck it for myself my heart wouldn't let me, for I was not in love with just a black rose but everything else that made it sparkle my sorrows away; the moon and the dew. As I left with doubt clouding my mind, I saw its sparkling drops trickle down its petals. Can a rose cry? For I live now never to see it sparkle again ever since that night. I'm different now, beyond need of sparkles for my nights but I always walk to that old window waiting for my mystical black rose to reach my heart again. Even though I might see myself a gray haired man starring in my old window, I'll wait, just patiently wait, for my black rose to come alive again. And this time, just this time I will not think twice.
Read more poems and short stories by The Writer, ezer agyin, here http://ezeragyin.wix.com/the-writer

Copyright © ezer agyin | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Redkite In-Flight | Details

Hypocrisy of the Village Flock

Hypocrisy within the Village Flock As the seasons of my life changes, glorious it may not be!! Valley bells summons the flock to chapel. Heavily polished Pews squeak, as Village flock take their seats. Distant ghostly voices ring out with such shallowness. “Chapel roof raised with such false faith” No attention paid to the sermon. The congregation floored by jealousy, as each man mirrored by his own status. Women competing, against their hats and frocks. Jealousy worms weaving through their gowns, feathers in hats, quivers as the coven moves through the vestry door. Minister excited to the jingles of the collection box whilst being passed around and around. my soul lays upon a bed of thistles. Whilst the thorned crown compresses the thoughts within my head. Lurking within the shadows of the cross . Whilst the gruelling over the sacrificial lamb So-called reputable men “ that should not be” The pitch pine pulpit, creeks with despair. Parishioners best clothed with shiny shoes, “all hypocrites congregate here”!! Layer upon layer of blasphemous faith, create a stain on uneasiness upon the so-called sacred walls . Each Private hymnbook worn by sweating hand, fidgeting tell- tales of fear through ware. Each before God and un- easy to what conscience they happen to bear!! “ If this is faith, then I want no more,” All false faces glance, finally and for the last time. I exit through the memories, OF that stained chapel door.

Copyright © Redkite In-Flight | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Mike Hauser | Details

Bubbles

I was flabbergasted when given the chance
To join the renowned Roscoe's Oddity Of Circus
With no actual talent to speak of
I was pretty much dead in the water worthless

But Roscoe in all of his wisdom
Put me in charge of the Bubble machine
Low and behold people
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"

I started out with simple patterns
Blowing one treasure at a time
As things progressed rather quickly
I soon had Bubbles dancing in Mumba lines

There wasn't a Bubble imagined
In which I could not achieve
But like I said at the very start
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"

I even perfected what I like to call
The "Fantabulious Bubbles De jour"
In the Bubble circles in which I blow
I've become quite the Bubble Lore

My Bubble forte soon became
Floating Bubbles of Super Stars
I'm not one to "POP" Bubble names
Suffice it to say you know who they are

These days you don't have to go to the Circus
If you'd like my talent to see
I'm the one who does those Bubbles with the tiny words
In the Sunday comics you read

Why I've even been to the U.N.
Where the "Big Cheese" was highly pleased
The way I blew name tags and place mats
For all the visiting Dignitaries

But my favorite pastime after all these years
Even with all the fortune and fame I've found
Is relaxing with my Circus buddies
And blowing Bubbles of "Bubbles the Clown"

Just think when I joined the Circus
I had no talent in which to show
Who knew all it was that I needed
Was one good bubble to blow

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Robert L. Hinshaw | Details

Bacon, Biscuits and Beans

A cowpokes life is a rough one and when he draws his monthly pay,
He mounts his hoss and gallops to town to visit the local cabaret.
He scrubs the manure from his boots and dons a decent pair of jeans,
Hopin' to find some tolerable grub instead of bacon, biscuits and beans!

He spends his days herdin' ornery longhorns and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Ridin' in nasty weather and eatin' dust 'til he nearly loses his senses!
Fer all of this he expects some decent grub at the end of ever' day,
But Cooky dispenses bacon, biscuits and beans the same as yesterday!

Chuck is served up on battered tin plates and tin cups fer slurpin' joe,
And if'n you don't like it, Cooky is mighty quick to tell ya where to go!
The fellers complain to the trail boss but it don't do a damn bit of good.
He tells 'em, "If'n you don't like it here, find yerself another livelihood!"

At the cabaret he's confounded by the chinaware and fancy silverware,
And instead of sittin' on the ground to eat, he sits on a rickety chair!
He consumes a colossal steak with sweet peas and smashed pertaters,
A couple of beers and a salad of onions, lettuce and fresh termaters.

He and his old cayuse slowly meander back to the ranch to hit the hay,
But he'll return to the cabaret next month when he collects his meager pay.
He savored his scrumptious meal of countless calories and proteins,
'Cause he knows that tomorrow he'll be eatin' bacon, biscuits and beans!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Robert Lindley | Details

Withheld And Released, Love's Greatest Treasures

Withheld And Released, Love's Greatest Treasures

I-                                    (The Start)

Behold
Resplendent vigor,

Dancing upon rainbows
Drinking sweet red wine

Hold her in sweet embrace,
whisper, darling you look so fine

Await that moment you know will come
That softest kiss, sent to find just you

A memory gifted as a very great treasure
Painting etched into clear mind's eagle eye

Remind yourself she is treasured gift
Promise never to say goodbye

Hold that blessed moment
Snapshot in time

Resplendent  vigor,
Released.

II                                          (The Answer)

Release
Love's power,

Bliss so profound
Like cool Spring shower

True love's heart and journey,
Promising an eternity in your arms

No treasure can this blessing ever compare
Fantastic depths of love, two lovers may share.

Life rewarded true love's, heart and faithful soul
With hope, joy and deep romantic splendor

Paradise found within each heart's embrace
Jubilant kisses, so softly planted

Mornings, face to face
In love's embrace

United two
Joined.


Robert J. Lindley, 08-14 -2015  (Part I)
Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2017    (Part II)

Note: Part I
Verses word count,  Ascending order 1,2,3,4,5 6,7,8
Descending order- 8,7,6,5,4,3, 2,1

Note: Part II
Verses word count,  Ascending order 1,2,3,4,5 6,7,8
Descending order- 8,7,6,5,4,3, 2,1


Note:
Not sure of the form (maybe new?), a poet showed me this with her fine poem.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Brendan J. Simons | Details

Why is it Today

Why is it, today?
Is it the demons playing games again in the ethereal realms?
Are they yet again trick-or-treating hidden hoof to helm?

The third of your eyes is sighing yet again,
At the inventive sight you hide within,
Calling forth the smokeless fire,
Whose embers summon djinn.

Fancy you and your godless gloat fearing feelings from fabricated imagination,
Stunned in terror by ghouls and ghosts that haunt the souls who hail creation.

So if it isn’t the fiction of religious diction,
For you’ve read more than followers know,
Why is it today, you feel such fright,
Are long-legged beasties’ clumsy limbs bumping in the night?

Why is it, today?
Is it the intelligence agency again and their covert operations?
Have MKULTRA and COINTELPRO made you a tireless terrorist in their nation?

Your head is yet again sobbing and throbbing,
Pumping in an overstimulated state,
Calling forth the remotely viewed,
Status of project STARGATE.

Behold the brain inside the boy that absorbs that which it breathes,
Stunned by directed energy weapons concealed in tedious household sheathes.

So if it isn’t the surreptitious deceit,
For you know more than a psychopath knows,
Why is it today, you feel such fright,
Are you critical to the crosshair on an archer’s bow?

Why is it, today?
That you are such a sham,
What happened to your once-magnificent body and mind?
For you are no longer me but a puppet on strings,
Humming strummed sounds a ventriloquist sings.

Copyright © Brendan J. Simons | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by James Edward Lee Sr. | Details

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT Mama Daddy Spank Me

Capital punishment
What year is it
I'm being spank with a switch
I am guilty
Mama whooping me
In 1960's
With a switch
a belt
some schools then a 2 by 4 paddle
For what I've done wrong
Lying the stealing
Who am I to call foul
God knows I know ma and pa do to
Even Jesus got whipped 
But the difference 
HE WAS TRULY INNOCENT
But the Father's plan
Him and Jesus allowed soldier man
To whip Him take His life
To pay the price
To save all mankind, their life
This sinless MAN CHRIST
Who always done right
Paid the price took the whooping's shed blood for us
Now if you spare the rod
You'll spoil the child
Far better to be spank righteously
No emotions or mali just reprimanding
Spank just as givin better for you to do it
Thank for the world to whip them
You'll make them just shed tears
While the world will draw blood and steal their souls
For what I've done wrong
Lying the stealing
Who am I to call foul
God knows I know ma and pa do to
Capital punishment
What year is it
I'm being spank with a switch
I am guilty
Mama whooping me
Now I'm a man grown up
What happens now when I'm disobedient
The Father spanks me
But His mercies and grace
Gives me another chance
So if I just turn around and change my ways
Capital punishment
What year is it
I'm being spank with a switch
I am guilty mama whooping me
Yes I was guilty so not to change the subject
I dottily dissevered capital punishment


Written by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©
4/19/18
   


Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by Leilei Brooks | Details

Stagnant

I think I’ll sit and wait for it to rain.
I doubt much will come of it.
A few dark clouds, some thunder maybe?
A lake cares little, about a few drops.
The gods care little for the insignificant.
Yet we foolishly think lives matter.
Who needs water, when clouds cry?
An hollow vessel?
A desert mirage?

A soul is empty when the spirit dies.
Homeless creatures seek solace, inside a carvern of wants.
Grasping onto nothing makes loosing seems easy.
Dried blood, on bended knee.
Falling down only breaks bones.
Strength is what defines the weak.
Why get up, if crawling works just fine?
To search for hope?
A desire to stand on feet?

To break the heart, one must break the mind.
Foolishly forgetting locks have keys.
Trampeling through doorways, we stumble over needs.
Always searching for tomorrow, incandescent dreams.
Slowly wasting time, chasing Idiolic things.
Captured inside a web, spun from disbelief.
Why leave the cage, when abilities have gone extinct?
An chance for survival?
A need to be complete?

When reality shatters, it melts like broken glass.
Incessant memories form illusions, casting today into the past.
While seeing false perceptions, time drips into the cracks.
Endlessly going nowhere, strapping burdens on our back.
Like sand looped in an hourglass, always feeling trapped.
A mermaid washed on shore, wrapped in fishing nets.
Why chase shadows, knowing only you are left?
Looking forward to tomorrow?
Leaving no regrets?








Copyright © Leilei Brooks | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by Chris Green | Details

Winter's Perfect Heat


Winter's Perfect Heat “Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings” Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes “Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds” Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving Satin petals excite at the touch, firming Mouths meet across milky shoulders “Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal” Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly Passion emanates from quivered partings Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite “Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains” Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held Eyes look back, smiles meet motions Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed Deeper finds the pristine moment “Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways” Names loudly called, enchanted nirvana Faster still, bodies in charged friction Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap “Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures” Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond Numbed in devotion’s destinations Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world “As our love provides winter’s perfect heat” Good night Soupers

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by Spidey Williams | Details

Nobody Told ME

Nobody told me that the road would be EASY,
Believe ME.
With every BREATH,
I begin to feel one with DEATH.
Wondering why it’s not me lifeless in the GRAVE.
Wondering why my life is being SAVED?
The more I breathe in this world’s AIR,.
The more I seem to CARE.
The more than I APPRECIATE,
Every time I AWAKE. 
Every time I CRY,
Every fear I FACE,
I’m realizing I’m living NOW,
 for a purpose, while preparing MYSELF, 
for a better PLACE.
I do not know what tomorrow BRINGS,
But I know what today IS.

My tomorrow results from what I make of TODAY!
Today determines what my tomorrow may BRING!
Yesterday helps factors a fraction of my TODAY!

But nobody told ME!
The weight of the world would be carried by ME.
I knew it would be HARD,
but never did I think it would be this DIFFICULT.
I never thought I would actually loose so MUCH,
before I gain so LITTLE.
I never thought the little gain, would mean so MUCH!

I never realized how little I CRIED,
Until when I TRIED,
 		no tears would FLOW.
And when they started they would never STOP!
And when they stopped, the feelings would still REMAIN!


Nobody told me I would loose so many KEN.
Nobody told me I would loose several of my close FRIENDS.
Nobody told me I would feel so low DOWN.
Nobody told me I would be hurt by words SPOKEN.
Nobody told me my heart would be constantly BROKEN.

But even if they had told ME, 
all of this and much MORE.
It would have never prepared me to be the CHOSEN!




Copyright © Spidey Williams | Year Posted 2006

Long poem by Judith Angell Meyer | Details

Rebuilding the Shed in the Backyard - Again

My son is out fixing up the shed.
Winter is coming on. Needed doing he said.
He had the time and the bound-to’s.
I’m not used to this thought process, I’m not. Not from a child.

I watch him for a while.
Opening and closing gates as needed.
The dust, sifted into powder from summer’s heat, poof’s with his steps.
The heels of his jeans dragging strings on the ground, erase the tread of his 
boots.

The shed is old. There is algae or lichen on the north side boards,
where the wood is splintery gray.
Some of the lichen florets are the color of sage, some the color of a bright orange 
rust,
Circled with gray ones and black, their life cycle played out.

He hammers nails and screws in screws while holding boards in place.
Sweat glistening where skin is exposed, making long dark stains in his black 
shirt.
Veins standing out against the strain, and
Muscles laboring to prove he can do the job well, without a mother’s help.

While he works I think about his father and how differently they work.
His father preferring team work and orchestrated smooth motion
working side by side, no extra movements – and he whistled.
My son needs to prove his skills first – alone.

The shed is done and it will brave another winter, keeping the horses sheltered 
from the elements.
The wind, snow and horses milling about, will obliterate the trail of pant cuffs, 
Along with the memory of one cool day at the end of summer, 
When a man worked hard to rebuild their shelter.

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer | Year Posted 2007

Long poem by esther robinson | Details

CRYPTOGRAM DECODED

Cares pull my spirits down
Always force me, ‘wear a frown’
I heard, “You’ll in darkness drown;
For weeds in you are also sown.”

Seeds like unknown fear and worry
Sprouted in my nursery bed of merry
On watering, I nourished misery
Unable to differentiate their finery

Gradually grew seeds called health and wealth 
But sorrow and sufferings sapped its strength
I battled and struggled to save my breath
Expecting someone to fill my heart with mirth

With this frame of mind
No way of escape I could find
On reaching office, I read this thought
Recited it several times in my heart

That every sad day
Is followed by a glad day
As a team we discussed the layout
Of a very important handout

Green is good and soothes the eye
Yellow and black never get an instant goodbye
Red and navy blue give a professional look
Lavender or sky blue, gets anyone on hook

Everyone suggested a hue
And it granted me a cue
Of great surprise among a few
That if colors carried a clue

Of a top secret message 
Then I remembered a passage
For this world Jesus is the true light
Who makes the face of any man bright

He’ll weed and make me alright
My life like aroma will ascend in His sight
If each and every shade
That Almighty has made

Reflects God, as a mighty tower
And also expounds His awesome power
Unique His way of having seen my form
Being formed in womb like a worm

Fearful yet surprise filled is His greatness
I wonder and move about carrying His likeness

Copyright © esther robinson | Year Posted 2007

Long poem by Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Details

An Ode to Turkeys

An Ode to Turkeys
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

I
There was a time, year one thousand A.D
U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight.
Usefulness seen.
Native American's hunting delight. 
The white meat of a turkey is quite lean.
So much healthier than man knew before,
Nothing one ever could say,
In any way,
Would make Americans free turkeys anymore.

II
Thanksgiving comes and goes.
Wild turkey gobbling slows.
Ben Franklin watched their plight.
Nominated, though laughter did flare.
Turkeys beneath the moonlight
Were beautiful out there.
Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird.
But eagles know, it was not so.
And turks in history endured this nations birth.

III
Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly,
Toms might in spring be found.
Fluffing, dancing around.
Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red
Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead.  
Although turkeys fly strong,
The hunters by day kept watch in the fields.
Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song
And hens under bushes sat on eggs long.
When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields.
But on Thanksgiving Day...
Run away!


Note: Carolyn, thanks for the video suggestion.  It is very funny.  I decided to post the link 
here.  The HISTORICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1213z9KHNs  
(TIME HEALS ALL: We do LOVE you, MOTHER ENGLAND... from you we were BORN.)
The HYSTERICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnLyqBtU_F8

ENJOY the FUN!

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Robert L. Hinshaw | Details

Finger Gossip

The grandfather clock just struck twelve, that magic hour of night,
And there he sits drumming our fingers musing about something to write!
He's been biting our nails and running our fingers through his hair,
Scratching his head, searching for witty or apt verse to prepare!

Ah! Now he's flexing our digits and I detect in his eyes a gleam.
We think he's collecting his thoughts to concoct a masterful scheme.
Something comparable to works by Whitman or Riley, no doubt.
These fingers should get some credit, no matter how it turns out!

What will it be?  A poem about religion, politics or the billowing seas,
Little children, old soldiers, love gone sour or scarlet hued trees?
Perhaps a few stanzas about cowboy lore - only the Lord can tell!
Our fingers just fly over the keyboard - that old coot types pretty well!

We're getting numb and need rest but he provides no reprieve.
He's typing at least seventy-eight words per minute, I do believe!
But never fear, we'll manage to keep ahead of his versatile mind,
And keep pounding away as thoughts from his prolific skull unwind!

Well, he has completed what he considers a masterpiece at last.
We're petered out and ready to curl up - we have typed so fast!
But all of us from our thumbs to our pinkies have had a blast!
We pray he never gets writer's cramp - that would leave us aghast!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

1st Place in Linda-Marie's "Finger Frenzy" Contest - June 2010

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Holly King | Details

Kirsty (one)

Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,
Remembering...
Stale walls echoing lamenting calls,
their house...
A nightmare flickered in the red herring of betrayal.
Stumbling hormones, skinless evil.
it breathed...
Blood red lips snarling, capturing someone else essence, bone dry.
A nightmare...
Deliberately slithering up my calf, I grasped a cube of insanity as a last hope.

The shock...
Dead eyes feared a toy box, a fragmented sense
clung to my only protection, my untouched hell.
Blood soaked, dripping sweat, saturated fear I escaped...

I awoke...
Demons hell-bent on demise. Curiosity craved,
crushed my soul into submission,
But it's just a box...
Teeth exposed, chattered, blindly shoved fingers in to catch my tongue,
the taste of soured flesh.
Wait...
A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.
He escaped...
Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?
Go to hell.

Run...
Pounded at death's door, let me in...
Dad...
Warned the worm of the vulture, coming to devour its soul.

Something didn't fit, the sacrifice seeping into the floor smelt half human.
A twang...
Realisation, cold, the door creaked, locked,
grinning gruesomely, the veins pulsing along a sadistic mind,
Quaking, i flinched around to a lubricated nightmare,
clenching my muscles, the hiss of hell's rapture...

A prison shook, a prisoner shrieked,
Sanity split like perfect fission, slime coated his
perverted call...

Come, to daddy.

Copyright © Holly King | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Edward Orozco | Details

A light forgotten

I do remember you, your brown curly hair that stole scene entirely The day my eyes met yours, and how I dreamed of having you in my arms Then they moved; your lips and out came the most beautiful voice that to an angels You stood no judge and took me in to a warm embrace Your heart felt the sorrow, and scars that my soul carried, and yet you held me Hours came to be days and days came to be months and our hearts grew I awaited the sun to wake up and stand on top of the day, so that I could see you again Your laugh, your scent, your smile that drove my heart to swell in affection The butterflies that you made come to life within my stomach grew and I took flight Then only the heavens were the limit A glimpse of hidden light I called you, and a verse I wrote for you that stole your heart I too recall the glow in your eyes as I held you and kissed you You said it was too good to be true, and then the truth came to surface Fear was rich in your heart, and slowly you drove me away And I stood to do nothing but see and feel the fire draw to not exist Seconds became weeks and all in that you became a memory A beautiful memory that I will not forget, as I became stronger at your side I wonder if you think of me, as I think of you Our first kiss beneath the sun, our first hug our first laugh I see your smile from a distance every now and then, beautiful still I will always think of you and what we could of had You are a star forgotten To G.V.R

Copyright © Edward Orozco | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by frank halliwell | Details

Dorry's Ridge

                              Dorry's Ridge
                                                                     Frank Halliwell

In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
We climbed the path that winds to Dorry's Ridge..
Where the crispness of the autumn air fortold a snowfall soon
On the rolling hills beyond the Springtown Bridge.

See the reds and golden yellows of the woods up on the hill
Where the maples stood all summer dressed in green.
Can you feel the breath of winter in the early evening chill
With the north wind stealing down the lake unseen?

Does a sense of wonder fill you, when the wild geese fill the sky
As they start their yearly journey to the south..
And the strung-out chains of emigrants call loudly as they fly
Past the rocky point down by the river's mouth..

And when once more it's silent, and our world is still again,
And our geese have disappeared beyond our view,
I'll lead you down the ridge, along the pathway from our glen,
And wander back along the lake with you.

On Dorry's Ridge the snow lies deep, and up along the hill..
The maples stand forlorn; their branches bare.
The lake lies deep beneath the ice; caught tight in winter's chill
The fox is sleeping soundly in her lair.

But one day soon the spring will come, the land will blossom then,
And life will wake again, as nature planned.
We'll climb the long path to the ridge, returning to our glen,
And watch the geese returning, hand in hand..
                                          o0o

Copyright © frank halliwell | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by MoonBee Canady | Details

Queen Esther The Song

(Esther 5: 2)



(Chorus:  Part 1)

Walk In Majesty
Walk In Grace
Walk With GOD
Shining On Your Face
And You Can Walk
Thru Any Place ...
                      Embraced


Prepare Your Steps
To Bring GOD Praise
Keep Your Stride
A Steady Pace
Walk In GOD's Ways
Thru Every Space ...
                     Embraced


(Chorus:  Part 2)


Walk Like Queen Esther
Brave & Beautiful
Walk Like Queen Esther
Divinely Dutiful

and Every Step You Take
Please Pray
and GOD Will Guard You
On The Way


... Walk Like Queen Esther ...



Walk Like Queen Esther
In Love & Trust
Walk Like Queen Esther
and Move On
If You Must ...

and Every Step You Take
Please Pray
and GOD Will Guide You
Through Always



and Walk Like Queen Esther
Walk Like Hadassah
Walk Like Queen Esther



(Main Song)



The King Held Out To Esther
The Golden Scepter
That Was In His Hand

She Was His Queen
The Woman Who Fulfilled His Dreams
One of The Most Beautiful In All His Lands

There Was No Hesitation
In His Heart's Designation
Towards This Woman Who Stood Royal & Serene

She Held His Affection
and Did Not Suffer Rejection
As She Humbly Walked In, As His Queen

But Oh, The Interplay
of Emotions That Day
Between This Woman & Her Loving Man

When The King Held Out To Esther
His Golden Scepter
... That Was In His Hand

* * * * * * * * * * * *


so Walk Like Queen Esther
Walk Like Hadassah
Walk Like Queen Esther


( Walk-On Hadassah - Walk-On ! )


             Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/17/2013 
              by:  MoonBee Canady

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems
12



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10th grade 11th grade
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6th grade 7th grade
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abortion absence
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adventure africa
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dark daughter
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fashion fate
father father daughter
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fear february
feelings film
fire firework
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football for her
for him for teens
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french friend
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fruit fun
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games garden
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girl girlfriend
giving god
golf good friday
good morning good night
goodbye gospel
gothic graduate
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green grief
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guitar hair
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hello hero
high school hilarious
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home homework
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horse house
how i feel howl
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husband hyperbole
i am i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
independence day innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational inspirational love
integrity international
internet introspection
ireland irony
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light literature
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loneliness lonely
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Lullaby lust
magic malayalam
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men mental illness
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miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
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mothers day motivation
mountains moving on
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muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
mythology native american
natural disasters nature
new year new years day
new york nice
niece night
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november nursery rhyme
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october old
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paradise parents
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pashto passion
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people perspective
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poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
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prayer prejudice
preschool presidents day
pride princess
prison proposal
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quinceanera race
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rainbow rainforest
rap raven
recovery from red
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retirement riddle
rights river
romance romantic
romantic love rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
spiritual spoken word
sports spring
star stars
storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
sunset sunshine
surreal sweet
sweet love symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
technology teen
teen love teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving thanksgiving day
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
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visionary voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world world war i
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writing yellow
youth