Long 9th Poems
Long 9th Poems. Below are the most popular long 9th by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 9th poems by poem length and keyword.
Dangerous, courageous,
My lovely little girl,
A tough one, a rough one,
Strength in every curl,
Never mad, never sad,
But plots a secret scheme,
Shy away, I tell you,
From those dark eyes’ laser beam.
Did you know she sees through us,
Who stumble, fail and fall?
She knows full well to get to me,
To her my heart’s in thrall.
A neat girl, a sweet girl
That she’ll never be.
Not for her obedience
Suppressing every need,
No more than twelve but prescient
She knows where that could lead.
But
Believing me fast sleeping,
Unseen in her good deed,
She tucks me in lest I catch cold,
Tending to my need.
The soft side, the sweet side
She keeps them both at bay.
It’s true, I know, that outwardly
it may not look that way
But for the fact I was awake
I'm thankful every day
Everywhere
Kevin Davis, 2024
I look to heaven, searching for your face—
and find it shining everywhere:
in morning sun that warms my skin,
no matter what I wear.
In deepest night, the scattered stars
hold echoes of your eyes;
wherever I turn, you linger still—
in drifting, silvered skies.
Your presence moves like quiet song,
so tender, full, and free.
the wind through leaves becomes your voice,
a soft, remembered melody.
The waves along the waiting shore
repeat your distant laughter,
while birds in rising chorus sing
the note I’m ever after.
Your love is cast on nature’s canvas,
bright in sunset’s glow—
a portrait shaped by unseen hands
in colors only you could know.
The blooming flowers catch your light
and mirror back your grace.
the rainbow stretched across the sky
feels like your heart’s embrace.
In quiet hours, I feel you near
along a forest way.
in softened air, in stillness deep,
your peace outlives the day.
And after every passing storm,
when calm comes gently through,
I feel you woven in my soul
with every breath I drew.
I live my life both with and for
the gift of loving you.
each day we share becomes a light
that makes the whole world new.
Wherever I may choose to go,
whatever I pass through,
in every blessing that I find
there lives a piece of you.
The question I ask is
Simple
One that has been asked
For thousands of years.
I ask God,
Crying.
The family,
Remembering.
The doctors,
Angry.
Nobody can tell me
The answer to my question.
Silence meets my plea,
My demand,
My scream to the universe.
Others ask
My question.
Everyone wants to know, but
No one does.
The question
That inspired genius,
That broke boundaries,
That wrote and rewrote the limits of this world
Is short.
Three small letters, yet
It feels enormous in my mind.
Three small letters, yet
It seems the most important of all.
Why?
Why is there death?
Why did he die?
Why did they say he was fine?
Why could they not save him?
Why,
Why,
Why?
I will never know.
We will never know.
Me, and everyone who hurts.
We know we cannot find out why.
We know it is pointless,
But still, we ask.
Why?
So maybe I should ask
A different question.
Like,
How?
How do I heal?
How do I move on while still remembering?
Or
What?
What can I do?
What should I say?
Or
When?
When do I cry?
When do I laugh?
Or
Maybe
I should not ask a question.
Maybe
I should love
I should care
I should be there for the people who need me
Even when it hurts.
Maybe I do not need
To know why.
Because I cannot know why
It happened
I can only know
That it did.
I could fight
For justice
For the doctors who
Said it was fine
Said it was normal
Said he did not need help
When he did.
I could make them pay for what they did.
Or I could choose
Forgiveness
Even though
They don’t
Deserve it.
I am selfish.
I do not want to forgive
I want to hate.
But hate will not bring him back.
And I am ashamed.
Ashamed because
He would have forgiven.
So I will not ask why
And I will forgive.
In memoriam J.R.F.
Unrelenting blitzkrieg deadly
assault upon psyche
pounded defenseless
vulnerable mindscape accustomed
to shelter within aproned crease
mama proffered manna, especially
when untethered meek docile lad
subjected to blistering hellfire
infamous hoodlums wantonly unleashed
verbal bombardments lobbing poison
spear tipped invisible blackened barbs
manifold times more agonizing
piercing, targeting, xraying...
guaranteed fatal skull and crossbones
unseen insignia wrought utmost damage
one hundred percent accuracy
ferociously besieging, jackknifing, pummeling...
successfully character assassinating,
a diminutive boy cursed with ideal traits
strongly tempted, delectably savored,
violently bullied (short of physical
stature violated, though seditious)
emotional violation wrought lifelong
oppressive worthlessness complimented
amply by absolute zero self confidence
distilled thru conception in utero
until parturition on a bitterly cold
January thirteenth (apparently small,
medium forces at large, sans right
buffalo wing conspiracy) instigating
ear splitting wailing testing threshold
of tolerance, no crying game, but
palpable anatomical and physiological
dislocations afflicting yours truly
with breathing difficulty courtesy
submucous cleft palate pronouncing
strong nasality, when acquiring speaking
ability more cause to ridicule upon
commencing attendance within Lower
Providence School District, where kids
said nastiest, meanest, foulest, cruelest...
unsolicited comments pointedly jabbing air
mocking severe twang plus pigeon toed gait
the latter rectified with custom made
contrivance crafted by papa that forced
little feet turned outward during sleep,
which less significant aberration became
corrected as I got older, but self shaming
and blaming assimilated thru incessant
intimidation, inundation, invitation...
passive personality tacitly allowed,
provided, and enabled entire classroom
to assail helpless looking human creature
'pon entering home burst into tears!
I would like a human jester the tiger king announced.
The rest of the court laughed, and a cousin was pounced.
What would we do with a human? Another cousin said.
“I know!” Yelled his uncle. “We could make him dead!”
The entire court began laughing until the king roared.
“I don’t think it’s funny!” He said as he took out his sword.
The door opened, and a human jester was quietly ushered in.
He trembled as he walked toward them, spittle on his chin.
We will treat you well, the king assured him. Your food will be great.
The other lions were silent, as they pondered the human’s fate.
I don’t know if I can get used to this, the jester promptly said.
“Okay!” Yelled the uncle. “Let’s make this creep dead!”
The tiger king was unhappy, so he chased his cousin away.
I hope you will not hold this against us; I hope you will stay.
The human told some jokes, and he and the king laughed together.
They are usually in the throne room, good friends together.
His cheeks had bloomed up and over his chair
His mouth was extraordinarily large now, his face looked like a bear
Let me guess, toothache? I asked, recognizing the signs as my own.
His tongue was so swollen, he could not gasp, answer or phone.
I called up the dentist and made him an appointment for two.
I hate that place he said! What did you do?
It took a cancellation, and another couple of days
Before he finally gave up and waddled into the office of Doctor McVeys.
He had horror stories to tell, but I could not listen.
His teeth were black, hardly any of them gave a glisten.
That’s what happens I said, when you do not take care of your teeth.
He stuck his tongue out at me, my neighbor, angry old Keith.
There was no such thing as a perfect couple until Max and Maude.
They immediately began naming snow balls – Cherish and Claude.
Here is Cherish Maude said, as she lobbed it toward Max’s head.
Max laughed and ducked and slid away on a bright red sled.
Maude created Claude, Charlie, and Hacky Sack before he got back.
He had never met such a woman, she never gave him a bit of flack.
You are such a terrific find, he told her. I think you are my soul mate.
So, they got married in a Lutheran church at a quarter until eight.
They ended up with six children, who got seasonably round.
In the summer, of course, the family mysteriously slid underground.
They are perfect for each other spring willows and oaks would agree.
They loved the fact that they gave themselves readily to every tree.
Self-harm is my vice,
A vice that is not nice,
Nice is not the something,
The something to change the nothing,
Nothing is what I normally felt,
I felt trapped screaming for help,
Help that would never come,
Come watch as I feel like my life is done,
Done with these scars,
Scars that cover my arms,
Arms that bleed with the poke of a blade,
The blade in which my hand found a way,
A way to not feel numb,
Numb is the feeling coming undone,
Undone day by day,
The days are slowly fading away,
Away from me and what’s around,
Around me, my grave in the ground,
The ground soft yet thick,
Thick is how I describe the rope,
The rope that is tied around my throat,
My throat is slowly closing,
Closing as I notice something,
Something in the distance,
The distance not so far,
So far yet so close,
Close to me,
Me and death,
Death greets me like an old friend,
Friends are who we are,
Are you sure that death isn’t far,
Far not so close,
Close to being as dead as a ghost,
She sat grandly on our Christmas tree
hair of shining spun gold
her buttons sparkling
dress of white lace
an Angelic smile.
Her wings a shimmering silver hue
We watched each year
softly being placed
with loving care
atop the tree.
My mother standing back telling Dad,
move her just to the left Phil,
no, now right dear,
now forward.
Perfect!
The years have now come and gone
Mom and Dad have passed away
the Angel lay in her box now
her dress dirty and worn
hair frizzy & unkempt
buttons gone astray.
Memories are made and then stored
just like Mom's beautiful Angel
her radiance never forgotten
shining so very bright
each Christmas.
A Christmas Gift Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
12/4/2021
Central air conditioning quickly
found this creature comfort acclimated,
defies, contradicts, bumps uglies...
up against rugged individualist
I meekly profess to idealize
admitting propensity nothing
distinguishable differentiating
all talk no action, no less tolerant
than aversion to extreme heat index
burrowing into sixty degree Fahrenheit
climate control mancave
quite divergent weathering
humid, hot, and hazy
dog days of summer,
when boyhood at 324 Level Road
lacked luxuriating aforestated amenity
first poetic line
introducing anonymous reader
familiar or otherwise
regaling modest literary versatility,
whereby yours truly
dealt with temperatures
registering bajillion degrees,
especially level housing bedrooms
about half dozen steps above landing
suddenly experiencing indisputable
scientific principle hot air rises
undermining ability to function
no more active rather equally inert
as inanimate object
mainly cuz estate complex edifice
formerly christened "Glen Elm"
built approximately half century
preceding incorporating
said modern HVAC conveniences,
no modern building lacks,
plus ability to tolerate hardship
much more omnipresent
before yours truly
racked quite numerous
orbitz round the sun
versus now, when
greater sensitivity prevails,
I admit pioneer spirit plummeted,
and if forced to forego
custom tailored environment
would be immovable prey,
for even the most
harried styled carrion,
which admission would
only present challenge
predicated on severe disruption
compromising being hermetically
sealed, linkedin, cocooned...
within man-made dwelling
hardship analogous no name brand
garden variety slug
essentially homeless snail
shell lacked with mew cuss!