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12
Long Poems
Long poem by William Masonis | Details

Get An Education

"The boy's got a broken brain!
- Fix him for me now,
I can't do a thing with him."

     - So I hear you say,
     Though he seems intelligent enough.

After all, he's smart enough 
To know the whys and wherefores
Of every deal that goes down on his street -
Every $ passing hands in the dark,
Summed and totalled in his head.
But Math - Forget it.
And you'll never see him crack a book for study's sake.

Perhap's that's because you broke his heart,
Long ago, though his face will never show it.
Because he bleeds inside,
Though to hear him talk you'd never know it.
You tore his shadoworld apart
Just by never being there -
You broke his proud red eggshell heart
Because he knows you never cared.

Perhaps this is why Rage is his religion,
And he only values Gain,
Why Payback is his Creed,
His only currency Pain.
This then is why he wears the shirt 
That reads, "Never Forget, Never Forgive";
This why he's unafraid to kill or die,
Yet terrified to live.

So go get an education -
 Start with a hard look at yourself -
You that schooled a nation
In the politics of Greed,
Builders of the conflagration
Of burning, unmet Need
Now threatening to consume us
As it climbs into the skies,
As it whispers warnings to us
From his vacant, coldstare eyes.

You broke his heart,
A wound more deep
Than I alone can mend,
I, just one beleaguered horseman.
Cannot set it right again.

You must help put things back together,
If you want our nightmares to end.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2008


Long poem by Le Incendié | Details

VISUAL BLUR

The Cannabis Queen
Rides her Snow Chariot
A glass shard still remains in his heart
And his heart still remains ice.
This is his true state of existence.

He worships the Queen,
Because now, all is pure,
White and still.
He kisses the back of her palm
In deep submission
She smiles and takes him to her lap
And together they ride the snow filled country side.
Here, there is only love,
Only acceptance,
Redemption and forgiveness.
Together they merge into the fog,
Their silhouettes lost in a holy blur.



In a cold secret chamber,
The maid and the drunkard make love.
She kisses him not,
For his mouth reeks of wine.
N yet she clasps to him and does not let go.
There is,
Such passion,
Such want,
That nothing stops her from having him.
And as she moves rhythmically on top of him
She looks into his eyes
Where the power of wine
The power of an orgasm
The power of a sleepless night
Blur into a holy blur.



In a place called Xibalba
Through which the dead pass
From the confinement called life
To the liberation called death
One soul readies to take the plunge,
To come to terms,
To be one with the eternal.

In one cosmic leap, the soul
Splits into a million tiny pieces,
Of its many laughs
Of its many cries
Of its many loves and hatreds
And its each tiny emotion
Each tiny memory
That came to be in its journey through life,
Becomes a star,
Studding the eternal silver sky,
And transforming it into a holy visual  blur.

Copyright © Le Incendié | Year Posted 2010


Long poem by Carolyn Devonshire | Details

Fleeting Freedoms

Elderly man’s fishing net hangs in his shed
The fish he caught in his backyard stream multiply
Net use was banned; he couldn’t afford a pole
Joy and sustenance gone, a tear falls from his eye

House Bill 875 would ban backyard farms
Forcing vegetable growers to invest cash
In overpriced produce on supermarket shelves
Uncle Sam flexes his muscle, makes his whip lash

The right to freely worship is endangered
As prayer is prohibited in public schools
Government intrusion invades all our lives
Public pleas are not heard by those who make rules

Freedom to choose our doctors is now threatened
Socialized medicine diminishes choice
Speech censorship? Just ask the Smothers Brothers
Who canceled their own show with a stifled voice

As crime escalates, look to the constitution
The NRA spends billions to protect Americans' rights
To bear arms against oppressors while thieves laugh
And sue owners of homes invaded in the night

Can this be what our forefathers had in mind
When they sought to escape a king’s tyranny?
Our rights are being limited more each day
In a nation spawned to promote liberty

Natural disasters prelude Judgment Day
Eerie escalation – tsunamis, earthquakes
But perhaps when the dust finally settles
Those who survive will learn from our past mistakes

Governments will form only to preserve peace
Not to strip away rights ancestors pursued
Don’t blink!  Precious freedoms are now endangered
By those who feel they’re elected to intrude

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool 
In a slow steady struggle sealed 
In patience, persistence, perseverance…

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneer’s label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.


But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,
Sighed VICTORY AT LAST!

He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer. 

Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Details

The Powerfool and The Powerful

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

And I saw the duo on the road,
Together on a journey in a tussle,
Behold! The powerfool and the powerful.
The powerfool: a powered fool, the power-fooled:
Tooth and nail he fought,
Burgled the mandate, picked a race,
Unwary was he that
Power-fool-ness is not powerfulness.

They deserve the power least;
That desire the power most.

I was fated to behold it all:
How the powerfool took the hold by force,
The power bought he, with the blood of the innocent and the guiltless,
Who in allegiance went, their duty to do.
How the powerful came calm with query;
And chased after the powerfool 
In a slow steady struggle sealed 
In patience, persistence, perseverance…

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.

I was fated to know it all:
How at the first three junction of the road
Which was destined for four,
The auctioneer’s label was hung on the truth;
Our trust betrayed for a trifle;
And our lynchpins victimized with riffle.

They deserve the power most;
That desire the power least.


But the fool cannot but fool a fool.
At the fourth junction I saw it:
As the powerfool in a derisive confidence
Met his dreaded waterloo in a corner,
Where stubbornness is stupidity,
And where all help is no help;
Caught unawares; the end of the road in sight.
And the powerful in a gallant gesture,
Given the power that to him belonged,
Sighed VICTORY AT LAST!

He that laughs last laughs longer;
He that laments last laments longer. 

Copyright © OLUWANIFISE MOSES | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Sahitya Poonacha | Details

The Injured soldier

He fell, fell to the ground
At the gunshot that created such a sound
Nobody took notice of the injured soldier
He was left there lying as the war grew thicker.

He screamed from the pain growing in his shoulder
Nobody realized the pain he would suffer
Trampling feet and screams grew monotonous
The injured soldier tried to ignore the pain that was so venomous.

He made a decision for himself
If he was to survive he'd have to help himself
Nobody was going to come to his aid
Not when each one was looking out for their own head.

He winced in pain as he got to his feet
He wouldn't give up now, not when he still had an army to beat
His shoulder cried out to him in vain
He had already chose to ignore the pain.

He took his rifle up
He adjusted his helmet and refused to give up
He kept fighting till the war was over
Each soldier fighting for their country, their home and their lover.

When the war was done and the battle was won
Every single soldier put down their gun
the injured soldier's shoulder still bleeding
now blinded him with pain and made him lose all feeling.

This time they gave him attention
This time he was treated to friendly affection
He wondered what would have happened if had given up that night
Would they have still won after all that fight?

But he was glad he hadn't for he would have been seen
As a pitiful injured soldier who wasn't keen.

It's the choices we make
And the chances we take
That set us apart
Only when, of course, the decision is made from the heart.

Copyright © Sahitya Poonacha | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Robert Ball | Details

Pets and Children

Many people in this world love their animals.
From cats, dogs, birds, all imprisoned in kennels.
To own one they pay for shots, and adopt.
The pay for licenses, fees, finally they are bought.

Now we as animal lovers care immensely for them.
Making them part of the family, like next of kin.
Sadly they care only for pets, not humans.
Plenty of children need adoption, left alone among men.

People all over the world are starving and dying.
Little children go hungry, many are weak and crying.
Did you ever have to go to bed sick or hungry?
Wondering where your next meal will be, it’s not funny.

In Africa, Libya, Sudan, Ethiopia, children are suffering.
Many nations try to help; many don’t try, not caring.
The Lord says “let the children come to me.”
His children are important, he wants them spiritually.

Children go hungry, one in five in the USA.
Inner City, our Cities, feel the crunch everyday.
As parents, desperation and panic set in.
So crime rates soar, as they try to feed their children.

Something is sadly wrong when pets are fed and children suffer.
Caring for animals, while children go hungry, Sisters and Brothers.
Desperately they turn to crime, drugs, robbery, is an epidemic.
Animals over humans, something is definitely wrong;
While humans suffer pandemics.

A new world, with Jesus at the helm.
Will bring an end to suffering, we will overcome.
A new thought “Love” will appear on earth.
It’s been promised by God what before our birth.

Copyright © Robert Ball | Year Posted 2012

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 MaryEllen Gozzo | Details

A Child Again In Love

On a river bank and holding a flower,
Plucking the petals one by one,
There I am 
Standing amiss behind a tree, 
Staring at me as if I don’t see you
There you are.
I ask you a simple question 
Why is life so complicated?
 And you walked out slyly
Because you didn’t know I knew you were there 
And you answered
If it weren’t, there would be no love 
But I don’t have that anyway
I reply 
And in your head I know you’re thinking
Oh but you do,
You have it from me 
But I sat there so obliviously 
I didn’t ever tell you 
But I loved you too
That was the only secret
That I ever kept from you
And when we chased 
Each other in the creek 
You didn’t ever tell 
That you were falling in love with me 
And we were just children
They would always say
But children are the wisest
In a special kind of way 
They see people for who they are 
And they don’t know corruption
As personally as they will grow up to 
But for now they look into each other’s souls
And choose their friends for life 
You see it all started as children 
When we all had our sight
But now we are blind
To the untruthful ones 
We could sense it 
Like we could sense that winter was here 
And that a big snow was coming 
But now we are so desperate
For love because it’s not so easy anymore
And we forget the simplicity of the emotion 
If you love someone, let the love grow 
Let it blossom like it knows no limits
And indulge in life on that feeling 
That you were a child again in love 

Copyright © MaryEllen Gozzo | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details

APOSTOLICITY

APOSTOLICITY I stood at the peak of the mountain and shouted – This is our time Lord. Glory is thou name. The sun was shining brightly. My words came as the breeze in the wind. I knew the Lord was beckoning me to do his earthly work. I sanctified my purpose to evangelical. I walked under gloomy cumulus clouds thinking about my next step. That perfected step that would take me closer to the Lord and his intellect. The day became glorious but a depressing state remained. I knew the Lord was beckoning me to take a stance. Once I made it to the home front, I retrieved the Holy Scripture and began reading The Book of Isiah. Chapter 14 Verse 27 bellowed these words: “All the forces of darkness cannot stop what God has ordained.” I paused in passage to scribe. This is what I wrote about - SECOND ECCLESIASTES: LIVING A RIGHTFUL LIFE . The Lord gave me a voice to apply in or to life. If I am not for right, who am I. Wrong is not a just God. Second Ecclesiastes is about rightful means bring rightful things. Second Ecclesiastes is about wrongful ways abominates. Like Prophet Solomon in his day and time via the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament, I seek wisdom. Gainful knowledge received throughout living a rightful life in a perilous world. Apostolicity is defined as of or characteristic of an apostle. |____________________________________________________| Penned on November 08, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by William Masonis | Details

The Ghost Dance Part II

                                                   2.

                                     Waiting for Wovoka

For some time the old ones gazed that way,
When there came a seer,
A man named Wovoka.
Who told them he had heard their voices calling in the night to him,
That voices spoke to him of better times soon to come,
That might be brought forth by a special way and a special dance
That would bring to birth a stronger magic than that of Progress,
That would dispel the evil changes.

They listened and they took heart
With the pitiful fervor of the desperate.
He taught his new believers his way and his dance,
And for a time,
     A fragile time in their trembling twilight
The sacred songs and their meaning returned to the silent brown lands,
And a joy was felt and shone in the proud faces of the faithful, 
And the long lines worn of care cracked and smoothed to smiles.

     The young know nothing of these things now,
     Nor do they care to know.
     Their lives are resigned to the long slow fade.

But the old, huddling close to their quiet cares,
And closer still to the quiet face of death in the shadows of their rooms,
Feel the spirit of a former time lying still upon their hearts,
A thing beyond the shallow grasp of youth.

     They sit stonily, unmoved in their fogs, remembering tales.
     And when no one looks,
     They turn their failing eyes back to the red mesas
     And recall the Dance of the Ghosts.


     







Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Clementine Hope | Details

Show me your land, my Irishman

Show me your land, my sweet man.
Show me the green, the fertile landscapes, 
the emerald dreams.

Hold my hand, walk by my side,
kiss me deeply until it is dark.
Hug me and protect me from the cold.
Paint in blue the grey of your skies.
Be the sun I will need,
and become my treasure 
at the end of the rainbow.

Show me the cliffs,
where the blue sea is deep down.
Make me feel safe,
hug me by my waist.
Make me trust you 
and never let me down.
I don't need any four leaf clover,
if mine is your heart.
I'll be the luckiest woman,
even if for me 
this is a foreign grey land.

Show me your land, my sweet man,
show me the castles,
tell me their stories.
When it is cold,
let's entangle our bodies.

Let's create our very own fairy tale,
slashing dragons,
you may become brave.
Not all are battles, not all are fights,
my sweet man, there are also golden days.

I want to see the green of your land,
in your healthy, tasty plates.
I want to see the blue sea,
every time when I wake up 
and I stare into your eyes.

Caress my hair while we watch the sunset,
whisper in my ear sweet secret words in Irish.
Kiss my nose and tell me what those words mean,
I dare you to make me blush.

I will count your beautiful freckles,
while I kiss one by one.
My love, is this paradise?

Let's skip the yellow lands.
Those look arid, and my heart,
for a long time has been dry.

Show me your land, my sweet Irishman,
but remember that my home is your heart.

Copyright © Clementine Hope | Year Posted 2017

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 Dave Streett | Details

Teaching you to love Loneliness

You’ll wanna forget, but I’ll sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.

My glory rides on a brick and a gram
You’ll never get more then half my mind.
I’ll eat ya to put you to sleep 
Cause my dick won’t step up half the time.
Your eyes shut to tapping my vein
Dancing through shards of moonlight, emptying your purse.

I can score while your searching your plastic case for your pretty face.

Sweet poems and construction paper cards were pregame.  
Now I finger through  your parents drawers, quarter rolls are good enough.

Do you still crave me babe?
How’s third place, my two best buds a needle away?
Even when my eyes aren’t dotted up it isn’t fair.
Just a routine, credit card debt and jail don’t scare.  
With me we’re always in the midst of thunder
Recoveries pink clouds in front but out of grasp.  

Absence of luck permits you to hang on to my spirit embezzling tears.
I’ll be smiling at the freedom, Ignoring your texted stabs.  
Long sleeves and 50 hour work weeks fooled your parents, but 
The mirrors sunken and pale my features lost to warmth artificial from my heart.
Everything is gonna be cool as long as no one sees my arms.   

Penniless,  I’ll dissolve all my cravings under my tongue… for a week.  
Steaks marinated in Pabst followed by talks of your creation.  
We can lay in bed alll day watching Hulu and melting time.  
For once I’ll be all your’s no more rocks disrupting my brain.

As soon as pay day hits I’ll sprint out the front door.  

Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Marcedies Rhodes | Details

The Years To Long From Before

The Years To Long From Before


How the years go by from the time your just learning to walk till the time you walk out of your parents house.There are time when you ask "Where did all the time go?"
Life is a dangerous games filled with birth life and death.If I could rewrite thing I think i would danger everything with only one note.Life isn't fair life is to short life is twist and turns and around again, one day we all will be faced with your death beds our coffin and then the dirt over us.I wish i could fall until I fall there no pain in falling there no worry in following there is no death in falling,can you ever relive falling until you fall to hard that you hit the ground that you fall broken? How do I steal your emotions so you can't ever worry again? Should I try harder to make you realize that the trust you put into me won't cause you grief won't cause you to leave me in a black box? There is this ever lasting light this perfect time to tell you that time before you grow up trust in me.Dear child dear sweet one what have I lost you to? you was young once bright you made my day full of joy and full of worry I can't believe that now I can't do but worry but then the way you stride yourself make proud.How many years gone by from your first words now look your to old for you to ask me to help.



This i dedicated to my mom,my younger brother and sister who even to day have stop needing the big sister and to my mom who know this feeling all to much,I love you guys so much

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Tammy Flanagan | Details

Music

MUSIC

The rythme progresses through me
Reaching to depths unknown
Leading me to another realm
Only I have ever gone

A place of solitude
Where I can be free
For my soul is the melody
To which I shall dance alone
And the beat is my life walk
Opening the walls that have never been shown

Oh how I love to sing
Especially when I hear that old familiar
That takes me back to the day
That I could just proceed along
No cares, no worries, just me and the world
Being free...... to my song

How many memories are wrapped up within tones
That have touched our lives 
How many people can we recall
With just one sharp# climb
Or with just one flat fall

The power of our melody is our own
No one can hum it 
No one can take it
Because our life walk is our song

We can take this empowerment as high as we want
Or we can take it to the lows
No matter how we play it 
It still grows

With each and every encounter
Down our blessed path
The music follows
With our every step

So embrace your sharps and flats
Knowing that it is helping you
Through this turbulent ride
Sing it loud and don't be ashamed
For your song knows you are doing your best

Don't let the bar line tell your ending 
Keep the melody flowing
Continue your lines without cares
And when your curtain rides low
And the rythmes come to a sway
Just look at the pages before
To where you started from
And to how you have become so much more today

Keep the music alive....even with a hummm

Copyright © Tammy Flanagan | Year Posted 2012

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 poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details

WAVE DANCER

WAVE DANCER In the stillness the sun smiles spanning wide her golden yellow teeth blowing wind is shadow quiet she is waiting waiting waiting.... Waiting and feeling.. slowly the stillness trembles! It is disturbed... little waves begin to creep and crawl.. Unabash! She goes! Brave and graceful to take the ride... Daring and excited to play with the waves... Up. Down. Left. and right sways... A rollercoaster along the foamy surface of sea She was not taken aback by what she lacks... An arm bitten by a stark sharp shark long ago Instead, She pursues the waves Fearless to stand - tango with the wave curves! a ballerina with a surf board moving ahead.. ahead ahead each tunnel wave... balancing on side and top of the wave.. power hugging made by the currents.. mind blowing love affair with the tides!!! her missing arm not forgotten but a precious welcoming history in embracing the world with her inspiring story of not ever ever quitting! of keeping the faith afire with each rough tough situation! of trusting Gods' reasons and purposes to everything.. of making the most even when something is lacking!!! a conqueror of weaknesses! a wave dancer of water tides and beyond! She is BETHANY HAMILTON!! ______________________________________________ Best free verse poem - Poetry Contest Sponsor SKAT A ~~~7th Place~~~ Olive Eloisa Guillermo 3:04 am, July 18, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014

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 Leneolame Thutlwe | Details

Talent

                                             TALENT	
For many years, in my infancy 
I had always thought, or rather, intuition had me believe that I was the worst there was to life
For because societal values and normative acts had me hypnotized
Then day by day, I degraded into what was believed to be a sordid incapable loser
Over and over again, I had my brain depleted into what was called mental deterioration
In all the years of my infancy, I worked harder than the word hard itself
To try to level with this ideal person society had created 
I tried just too hard...,
For some reason I was rather automated, made to believe that only a certain path was the one 
But simply because I am human, I was bound to make a mistake, only it’s just in such deserted times and random times that a mistake may be the best thing that happens in life 
Because I had failed in the chosen path 
And a terrible mistake I had alone or so thought of it as terrible mistake 
In that unbelievable way a mistake was miraculous
I discovered in the path I ought not to have taken, My talent
Through being able to regain peace of mind
It is then that thoughts of having the society mock me down for failure to become what they needed me to be were shuttered 
I have realized over time that, talent gives you strength when you are hopeless
It moulds you into someone or something when societal ideologies of success render you useless
Find your talent and be thus defined, refined and yes surely you

Copyright © Leneolame Thutlwe | Year Posted 2017

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 Ronald Bingham | Details

When The Bottle Lets You Down

 
Can I ask a question of you my friend?
   Have you started drinking from the bottle again?
You look so down it’s clear to see.
   What you really need is to be set free.
The answer to your problems they won’t be found.
   Coming from that bottle you just put down.
You don’t bend your elbow you bend your knees
   Trust me just once He’ll hear your pleas.
You’re hurting so, I can feel your pain.
   There’s a way out, and it’s so very plain.
I was where you’re at not long ago.
   But I had someone who wouldn’t let go. 
Now I want to be that someone that you can turn to.
   Help to guide your path and the things you do.
Are you really proud of your life thus far?
   Drowning your sorrows in some dim lit bar.
How many times were you too drunk to care?
   Well I can relate, yeah I’ve been there.
You thought you lost it all, that’s just not true.
   If you trust in Jesus I guarantee you, He’ll lead you through.
We all make excuses for the things we do.
   He’s heard every excuse there is a million times or two.
Quit trying to blame Him, He didn’t put you there.
   You know I’m right, But you just don’t care.
Listen little bud, you’re like a son to me.
   I care for you very much, I just want you to see.
I know I led you wrong for many, many years.
   Now you’re carrying all my demons and most of my fears.
I know you care for me a lot, that’s very plain to see.
   Now turn it over to Our Savior, let Him be the one to set you free.
                   

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | 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 Poems
12


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