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Long Poems | Long Poetry

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12
Long Poems
Long poem by A. Kathy Moss | Details

Among Elk

Up before dawn, a feeling has drawn 
You into the mountain and trees.
Till the silence within, upon the whispering wind
A chime of bugles tease the breeze.
That majestic call, that is heard each fall
Since before our forefathers birth
And for those who take time, through rim rocks and pine
Listen and value their worth.

Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes,
No two ever the same
They are all unique and if a chance to critique
Upon our hearts they claim.
We are put into state and can hardly wait
For the dawn of the upcoming morn
To glimpse hoof print in stride or a patch of hide
Or a tip of antler horn.
Just out of reach, lessons he’ll teach to those who play the game,
The tension and pull of a phantom bull, a soul never to tame.
While waiting and yearning, eyes straining, ears burning, 
Ringing till you can’t hear a thing,
To early to late, can’t hardly wait,
Patience like a bee sting.

Like a ghost in the night they filter through site
They tease and bugle and  brag,
As tell tale sign, weave and wind
Through timber, rocks and crags
Where a sapling tree, used to be
Now a twig broke scarred and torn
Velvet left there and shed of hair 
To tell the rut has been born.
Strong elk scent, down wind is sent
 From their bedded layer    
They are up once again and start to transcend 
 Letting us know they were there.
A little to late can change a state
Hopes almost fell,
But all rise again when a bugle begins
For among elk, we dwell.

Copyright © A. Kathy Moss | Year Posted 2005


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 Carrie Richards | Details

Distraction

I meant to do my work today
Instead I spied a nest among the maple leaves
 where birds were singing in the trees
   and others splashing soft brown wings 
                in the birdbath by the old porch swing

I meant to do my chores today
  But clear blue skies, a soft spring breeze
This cloudless day, and blooming trees...they filled me with distraction...

I had my rusty rake in hand, some ground to till
   a hedge to trim, some weeds to pull....but clouds above the rolling hills
                                                                                    all led me to distraction....

 A butterfly, all black and gold, flitted soon across the field
             And once again, it took my eyes yet further still...

The garden hose, curled sleeping by, in noon day sun, awaiting me
        instead I sigh, and 
           once again my wandering eye, 
                among tall grass, some bugs I spied, 
                            I must explore the whole outdoors before this lovely day has died

I hesitate, ....my chores can wait, 
                                it seems that fate says "Work can wait!!
                                                      Enjoy!! It says, this splendid day!! 

These  most worthy,  so pleasing, never bothersome, soul satisflying, quite heavenly 
                                                               
                                                  distractions !!


___________________________________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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 Audonus Taylor | Details

If Only I (Song)

The end was growing closer
I could feel it all around
Before you said it's over
from all the times I let you down
As I lie beside your pillow
It's getting hard to sleep at night
Every single lonely tear knows
That I did not love you right

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,
If only I....

The last thing that you told me,
Before you walked out of the door,
Baby you never hold me,
How can I make you love me more,
I wish I would have listened
To the thing you tried to say
If I would have paid attention
Maybe then you would have stayed,

If only I,
Could turn back time
with the words of a rhyme,
I'd be someone instead of me,
I'd show you something new to see,
Girl I need you in my life,

If only I,
Could live when you were mine,
And learn to let love shine,
I'd show your heart a better me
And be someone instead of me,
To keep you in my life,

If only I, could have been
what you needed,
Since I hurt you,
our love's bleeding,
Out of time
and out of sight,
If only I could
make this right...

If only I,
Could turn back time,
when you were still mine,
I'd be everything that you need,
And give your heart a better me,
I miss you in my life...
If only I...

Copyright © Audonus Taylor | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by jeffry cohan | Details

if you crossed ELVIS with michael jackson you'd get michael presley or vice

  A BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER QUIET

‘Tis the infancy of yet another day
And I hear it crying for its bottle now
But I know the sun is no child anyway
It can be a sadistic son and it will teach you how  

I live under a tunnel on the highway’s right
Yet wrong I may ever be
I found an old mattress the other night
so discomfort doesn’t bother me

Today yesterday is but an artifact
An ancient find to hunters of the past
But it seems the sun and Satan have some sort of pact
Alas, whatever it is will probably hold fast 

I’m lucky enough to live with my lover
She’s agreed to live free along with me
And often when it rains we needn’t run for cover
The umbrella is our love to be

The term “shelter” means different things to different people I know
Shelter to some might mean a mansion in France
To people like me and my lover “shelter” means just somewhere else to go
Moved by an emphatic embrace and the lives we each enhance

To us rain, cold or snow doesn’t mean we get up and go
It’s the tortuous sun we know will eventually come
So we weather the weather knowing all we need to know
For my lover and I may be homeless but neither of us is dumb

Now let’s get back to the infant son and the fear of it’s adolescence
Because as we know children can often be rambunctious and rude
In the heat of mid-day we suffer an adult son’s insolence
And being fully grown it only treats us kindly when its in the mood  
                © 2011.….free cee!

 







Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by jeffry cohan | Details

i NEED a quarter o, i AM sorry I MEANT A QUART OF VODKA

  A BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER QUIET

‘Tis the infancy of yet another day
And I hear it crying for its bottle now
But I know the sun is no child anyway
It can be a sadistic son and it will teach you how  

I live under a tunnel on the highway’s right
Yet wrong I may ever be
I found an old mattress the other night
so discomfort doesn’t bother me

Today yesterday is but an artifact
An ancient find to hunters of the past
But it seems the sun and Satan have some sort of pact
Alas, whatever it is will probably hold fast 

I’m lucky enough to live with my lover
She’s agreed to live free along with me
And often when it rains we needn’t run for cover
The umbrella is our love to be

The term “shelter” means different things to different people I know
Shelter to some might mean a mansion in France
To people like me and my lover “shelter” means just somewhere else to go
Moved by an emphatic embrace and the lives we each enhance

To us rain, cold or snow doesn’t mean we get up and go
It’s the tortuous sun we know will eventually come
So we weather the weather knowing all we need to know
For my lover and I may be homeless but neither of us is dumb

Now let’s get back to the infant son and the fear of it’s adolescence
Because as we know children can often be rambunctious and rude
In the heat of mid-day we suffer an adult son’s insolence
And being fully grown it only treats us kindly when its in the mood  
                © 2011.….free cee!

 







Copyright © jeffry cohan | 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 Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Details

Jesus Christ' Parable - Master's Return


Being Prepared for Judgment
MT 24:45-51
MK 13:34-37
LK 12:35-48

"Gird your loins and light your lamps, be like servants who await their master's return from a wedding, ready to open immediately when he comes and knocks.

Blessed are those servants whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival.

Amen, I say to you, he will gird himself, have them recline at table, and proceed to wait on them.

Should he come in the second or third watch and find them prepared in this way, blessed are those servants.

Be sure of this:

If the master of the house had known the hour when the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into.

You also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect.

The Son of Man will come."

But if that servant says to himself, 'My master is delayed in coming,' 

Begins to beat the menservants and the maidservants, to eat and drink and get drunk,

Then that servant's master will come on an unexpected day and at an unknown hour and will punish him severely and assign him a place with the unfaithful.

That servant who knew his master's will but did not make preparations nor act in accord with his will shall be beaten severely

The servant who was ignorant of his master's will but acted in a way deserving of a severe beating shall be beaten only lightly.

Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more." (Taken from LK 12:35-40, 45-48)

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by Shea Hunt | Details

Your Doll

Why are you the way you are
On minute you seem like
The Best thing that this
World can ever do to me,
But then you can also be
The worst thing that I have
Ever and will ever know

Why do I even feel like this?
I said to myself that I will
Never again feel it but now
Now that I know you I can't keep to that.

I hate myself for even knowing you
At times, but just another smile
From you change everything
You stealing my heart right
Out of my clutched hand.

How can this even be possible?
I try so hard to say away,
But when I do all I think
Of is you and your smile.

You make plans to see me,
But do you think that you will
Ever see them through
You say that I am special,
But you never act like I am

Yes your words make me
Think that it’s so true but 
Your actions towards me
Makes me feel that you
Never want it to be.

I feel like I am your doll
That when you feel lonely at night
You divide to take me down for
A game or two, but when the sun
Rises you put me back up there
And act as if I never existed
In your life not even as a friend

I am over playing this game
That you are into
I think that you should look at
How you are acting and make
Up your mind on what you
Want, coz I am over playing
This gamiest either me
Or not once you have made
Up your mind let me know
So I don't have to sit here

I am over feeling empty
Just want to feel complete
Again, but I just
Guess at this point in time
It’s not meant to be

Why just like someone
When you can love them
Or in fact even
Die for them

Copyright © Shea Hunt | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by stark hunter | Details

Olive Frazier 1854 - 1895

Olive Frazier

1854 – 1895

To my many august friends,
Mere survivors under this hungry consuming California sky.
Before you can reach high to the stars, my friends,
Both feet must firmly be set upon the ground first.
This, in essence, is the lesson of a lifetime.
Here in Clark Cemetery, the soil is rich and fertile.
In my prime years I have walked here
Walked on many an afternoon and many an early evening.
Walked and slowly strolled and ambled
Like a solitary tumbleweed in a restless wind.
Like a knock-kneed crab in a dark watery place
Commiserating with the barnacles.
It was on such a stroll
That I encountered the handsome Mr. Frazier.
Milton by name, bricklayer by trade.
We watched the sunset that evening.
Two hawks in flight high in the blue
Swaying effortlessly in the high breeze.
We found love in the dust
And we found heartbreak in the endless shadowed distances
Of Clark Cemetery.
I left this earth giving birth to my baby.
And now together we peacefully reside in this deep hole.
Together with Milton, my love.
Together now and forever in the dirt and the dust.
Milton, I am sorry I left you alone when I died.
So sorry you had to go on without us.
Often when the clouds above give drink to this dead land,
I think of us
Wondrously and miraculously alive,
Strolling to the east under the canopy of the walnut trees.
Your hand in mine
Your heart and mine intermingling magically.
Thank you my husband.
I was indeed privileged to be your wife.

Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013

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 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 Geraldine Douglas | Details

Jewels of Africa

Jewels of Africa.

The saffron Queen spins the lilac sky,
her rays flick crimson cinders into Royal Blue Oceans.
Submerge, sizzle, frizzle...going, going, gone! ...But Not.
Cumulus clouds drizzle pepper fog over pink Flamingos, homeward bound.

Tea-green Botswana bush,
teeny, tiny Hummingbirds hover over brink-pink Balsams,
feast on elixir of nectar.
Royal Albatross rides the last whip of wind.
Sulking Stork swoops through veiled mists above marshy meadow ponds.

Sword sunbeams lash chrome, coppery twilight.
Mooned dusks, a violet cape cloaks bathing blooms.
Nightscape sky sparks, preparing morning’s thin blue...aurora hue.
Camouflaged branches stretch, tickle studded clouds
as ribboned roots cling to crevice homes.

A spook- silver ring appears from nowhere, pearling ripples aluminium.
Beams spill across the sea like lines of glittering fire.
Ethiopian wolves howl composed solos, 
phantom echoes shudder Tarantula’s lair 
as Flax Lily spurts scent...Frankincense and Lime.

Sultry Savannah’s secrets passed on by rhythmic lip-smacking Baboons,
cracking jokes in the knitted canopy, 
teasing and tickling clowning Hyena’s below as
a blinkered platoon of Jet Wood Ants march to their Majesty.

Dawn draws indigo voiles over Nephthys, Goddess of Night
slashes of Sunrise surge shadows as the Bush Lark spangles jewels in the air. 
The Alize wind dies in respect to heavenly panorama...
Mountains reflected, seen to be varnished into still, smalt-blue sea.

Copyright © Geraldine Douglas | 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 Leon Enriquez | Details

LITTLE BAY, DAY TWO: DAY LIGHT




Sunday dawns bright by Little Bay,
Rise from dream flights as sleepy stays.


Explore the space of rental spree,
Succinct fine pace Air BnB.


A homestay neat as tempo scales,
A lovely feat as trip avails.


Rain keeps things wet and off we go,
Car drives to set agenda flow.


Seek out the place: The Rock Sydney,
Old wharf, holds space:  flea market spree.


Baby sleeps well in stroller ride,
Yes you can tell how outing strides.


Sit down to eat at the Pancakes:
Feast on fine feats with gourmet stakes.


Hungry mouths feast on lovely meals,
Dessert at least completes warm feel.


Then by and by, we walk around,
Savour fond highs upon these grounds.


Stop by coin stall to pick fine choice,
Souvenirs call to buy fond poise.


By artist stall: caricatures,
Stop to see all, such fine textures.


Stop to sit down by Munich brew house,
Beer sips, cheer clowns, with taste aroused.


Photo snapshots gain currency,
Laughter frames lot in funny spree.


And as we pass hot mull wine shouts,
Sip on warm glass as we stroll out.


Car ride home feels a carefree high,
A relaxed thrill flavours our sighs.


Old dwellings here tells a story,
Strange and odd cheer to feel and see.


Along the way sheer curious looks,
A pleasant play as flair now hooks.


Rest for a while till dusk descends,
Then seek to style what to attend.




Leon Enriquez
10 June 2018, Sunday
Sydney Tour Day Two/
(13 June 2018, ACT)


Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by Rhia Madison Thomer | Details

[IN]SANITY

I've counted the bars of my prison walls. 3 sides of 10 bars; 30. One solid wall,
cold, wet, molded concrete.
I've lost count of how long I have been here,
I hardly remember when I got here, but, it’s been winter
for a long time.
I've forgotten what it is to move in grass and amongst other bodies.
I am chained in here,
thick steel cuffs chain me to the wall.
I've counted the faces, whose names I can't remember,
and then lost count of them
as they flash and flicker, fast forwarded in my mind.
I've been motionless for a long time,
I’m not sure I even remember what movement is.
I’m not sure I can even remember to move.
I’ve forgotten who I am, my name, how old I am
how tall I am, my features, likes and dislikes;
there are no mirrors.
I’ve been nameless for a long time, and there is no one else
here in this vast blank expanse but me and these bars,
and one wall.
I’ve realized I don’t even know what I am
and that panics me, but I know not what this feeling is?
What Is feeling?
I’ve thrown myself at the bars, clawing at the nothing
that lies behind them.
What Is nothing?
I’ve discovered there is a name that echoes and echoes In the vastness,
how do I know that name?
Is it mine, yours, theirs, his, ours?
I’ve remembered, the memories crush into me,
a weight I had not known for unknown amounts of time.
No go away! Again, please...
I’ve tried to forget,
but the white walls are somewhere out there, waiting.
and I? Why, I do not even exist.
[IN]SANITY

Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by colin mitchell williams | Details

Senseless ( part one )

Senseless

What is it inside the heart of man
That cannot appreciate another’s suffering
Were we born with this senseless implacability

Is it from life itself we grow these calluses of the soul
Are we created not to care
Is the face of nature so coldly ruthless
That we must come to be so

For what belief in anything in which to believe
Should we maim and destroy and kill
What is it that we know so well
That the idea of difference can cause such conceited violence

How do we become so voluntarily indoctrinated
Is it some desperate need to have sense amidst the senseless
To have at least the illusion of a purpose

When then do we celebrate the diversity of our sense to make sense of the senseless

Should every woman and man dream and aspire
And have every man and woman dream and aspire to the same
Or say this love is stronger or this way is better
This truth more truthful than anything anyone else can know

Who’s despicable spirit can live with out some measure of guilt in overfed luxury
While others starve and die in poverty
Are we not as one with this the global identity we call humanity
Are we not basically and essentially all the same

If right there is to pass on righteous judgment
For cultural and social and political and religious difference
Such conviction and contempt is that all we see in our own reflection

When then do we celebrate our diversity of sense to make sense of the senseless


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

Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Monica Contreras | Details

THE UNIFORM

I noticed the uniform, and the heavy soled shinny black boots
Not the man within it, I apologized.

I remember the clean fresh smell of maleness, as they stormed into the house,
Broken glass, ripped down hangings, a slashed sofa, a pulled curtain,
A sudden maneuver to throw my brother’s bear across the yard,
Such military worries, hidden bombs in a child’s best friend.
Your broken cross I buried in our garden after they left.God, come back to my house, I am 
waiting.

All I saw were figures painted the colour of grass and bark,
with gilded edges traced by some crazed church painter's brush,
faceless with pockets full of bullets and chords,
Their arms intertwined with red eyes and swollen hands of my teachers,
Stiff figures against the soft jeans, sweaters, and knitted hats below.
Standing witness in the yard above watching, I waited for her to die.

Shinny black like the dirt dug from the mass grave,
Full of crumbled human bits, decaying coloured cloth,
while the sun scorched the group sorting the cellular samples
I saw the black boots etched into the bone fragments.
Lost bones of lost loved ones from empty families,

Standing in the desert, I wait for a name.

No, I do not see you the man, just the uniform.
I see the butt of the gun, the dent of the boot, the slickness in the air,
the cruel power of the swirl jungle green print with gold trim.
As a witness God left me, and I was waiting.

Change, let me meet the man,
maybe the waiting is over.

Copyright © Monica Contreras | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Sierra Biersack | Details

If I Had The Guts

I know i have kept a lot from you.
I know its not fair. 
I know i should tell you.
I know i have to tell you.

Maybe i can tell you some, but not all.
Maybe i can keep it secret just a little longer.
Maybe i can hide it from you more.
Maybe i can get the guts to tell you everything.

Everyday, i wanna tell you.
Everyday, i hope i get the guts to tell you.
Everyday, i feel bad for not telling you.
Everyday i think about you.

Sometimes, i dont want to tell you.
Sometimes, i just want you to know it all.
Sometimes, i wish i never knew you.
Sometimes, i wish you were all mine.

If i had the guts, i would tell you everything.
If i had the guts, i would tell you how much you mean to me.
If i had the guts, i would tell you your the only reason im alive.
If i had the guts, i would tell you my biggest secret.

Just knowing that i love you.
Just knowing that you may or may not love me back.
Just knowing that i care.
Just knowing that you probably dont.

Breaks my heart.
Breaks my soul.
Breaks my dreams.
Breaks my life.

If i had you, my life would be complete.
If i had you, my life would be perfect.
If i had you, i would be happy.
If i had you, i wouldnt have to search anymore.

I know i should tell you.
I know its not fair.
I know i have kept a lot from you.
I know i should tell you.

But, i dont have the guts, 
The guts to tell you i love you,
The guts to tell you your the reason im alive,
The guts to tell you,
I need you in my life.

Copyright © Sierra Biersack | 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 Jim Pemberton | Details

Our Country's Soul Is Being Torn Apart


Our Country’s Soul Is Being “Torn Apart”

The very soul of America is being “torn apart.”
It’s a problem that’s striking at our very heart.

There’s a “blowing wind.”  A “time for change.”
As the country’s moral fabric is being “rearranged.”

As many question what the true meaning of life is for…
Many don’t seem to know what’s wrong or right anymore!

As so much pornography is allowed into our homes…
The moral decay is “eating” right at “the bones.”

Many have a hard time “defining what marriage is.”
So many are really “messed up” in how they live!

The news seems to be “fascinated” by man’s depravity…
Leaving a huge vacuum of a monstrous “moral cavity.”

Many who attend church want what’s
 “soothing to their ears.”
A God of holiness and righteousness
 is what they “fear!”

As we look around as to what our society is becoming…
God’s judgement is soon!  It is surely coming!

We must come back and leave all of our “false idols!”
We must come back to the God of the Bible!

Jesus must be our cord of love the forever binds!
It’s only in him can we find true love for our minds!

It’s only in Jesus that we can find a purpose and meaning!
It’s only in him that we need to put our
 trust and start believing!

He is and always will be the right choice to be taken…
Without him, our country’s is “doomed and forsaken.”

He brings healing and righteousness
“beneath his wings…
He is what we truly need!  
He is our EVERYTHING!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012

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

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