Long ii Poems
Long ii Poems. Below are the most popular long ii by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long ii poems by poem length and keyword.
It started with finding the letter.
Sifting through the trunk in the attic.
Smelling of sweet rose water.
Faded yellow with time.
The paper folded and worn.
My Dearest Love,
Despite the violence surrounding you,
The demons you say haunt your dreams,
Being in constant fear of what you have done and seen,
I understand how you would feel like you are crazy sometimes.
I don't know how to do crazy baby.
Crazy scares me.
It makes my heart ache,
So deeply my chest hurts.
My hands fly up to my cheeks,
And I cry baby.
I weep so hard I can't catch my breath.
It started with finding the letter.
Sifting through the trunk in the attic.
Smelling of sweet rose water.
Faded yellow with time.
The paper folded and worn.
My Dearest Love,
Despite the violence surrounding you,
The demons you say haunt your dreams,
Being in constant fear of what you have done and seen,
I understand how you would feel like you are crazy sometimes.
I don't know how to do crazy baby.
Crazy scares me.
It makes my heart ache,
So deeply my chest hurts.
My hands fly up to my cheeks,
And I cry baby.
I weep so hard I can't catch my breath.
I love you.
But I can't do crazy John.
I won't be here when you get back.
But thank you for your service.
Kind Regards.
Betty Tayer
I left the letter for you on the kitchen table.
I crossed out John, and wrote Joe.
Lastly, painting the lips you said you loved to kiss,
A luscious red,
I crossed out Betty's name and left you one
Last kiss goodbye.
Our war is ending today.
I love you.
But I can't do crazy John.
I won't be here when you get back.
But thank you for your service.
Kind Regards.
Betty Tayer
Systemic Strain Part II
Proof that survival is an art outline,
And you paint it daily with any scraps
They embark you.
They monitor your struggles without seen
In the prototype of the broken appliances
Behind it.
The group blame the person
Instead of the patterns.
They call it "Personal "
Responsibility ".
When it's genuinely Systemic Sabatoge.
But you-
You trudge with a spine that recalls everytime
You bent and still didn't quit.
You speak with a voice that carries the
Parroting of every barrier lifted.
And you say it plain, loud enough for the
Block to hear:
This tautness ain't mine
This fault ain't mine
This fight was allotted to me by a system
That never cultivated how to hold its own
Bulk.
I'm not the Crack.
I'm the pressure point.
I'm the vocal cords that named the real culprit
And to carry it's shame declines.
* * *
The trapper looked for the oddly-dressed man,
but could no longer see him, or his tent.
He glanced around, so supremely confused,
now where the devil had that darned fool went?
He searched along the whole of the lake shore,
but of the strange man he found no sign,
scratched his head and wondered if the thin air
was somehow playing tricks on his mind?
Though a bit unnerved, he just gave a shrug,
gathered up his gear and headed back down
to where he and Postlewaite had made their camp
in a ravine on a patch of good ground.
Ol’ Post already had a small fire going,
he was preparing the stew for that night,
the trapper walked up, said,”Post, I just had
myself one hell or a troublin’ sight.
“I saw up on that pond I found yesterday
a man in the most peculiar clothes,
his pants made of fabric they use on wagons,
they were slung down on his hips real low.
“He had no hat perched high up on his head,
and spectacles made out of some dark glass,
his coat looked like fleece, but also like cloth,
with fancy leather boots, laces and brass.
“His tent was some cloth that I’ve never seen,
but that wasn’t the strangest of it,
he kept saying that to trap in these peaks
I would have to get myself a permit!?”
Ol’ Post looked at him, said,”Gilborne, my boy,
did you get into the corn whiskey?”
The trapper shook his head,”Nary a drop,
I swear to your, this is what I did see!”
Post looked the young man over once more,
then gave a shrug and let out a big yarn,
“Don’t know what to tell you, since we’re alone,
no good way to explain what you saw.
“Maybe it is like the Injins tell it,
’cause I’ve heard it’s said by the Blackfeet,
that ghosts live up here in crannies and cracks,
haunt the high places of these cold Rockies.
“But we’ll keep an eye out, in case I’m wrong,
being careful out here is always good,
but this here fire just ain’t hot enough,
see if you can go scrounge up some more wood.”
Gil went about searching for dry branches,
wondering what he’d really seen on the strand,
yet neither trapper nor, nor Eamon,
would ever again see the other man.
...I use these two as examples,
but this trend goes far beyond them,
the lefties just pick out some traits,
unchosen by women and men,
then build those traits up into walls,
pens and paddocks, like we are cows,
demand we stay where they placed us
by shouting ‘community’ loud.
But it’s all a load of garbage,
humans are not wired this way,
we are mixed matched with strangers,
amidst all them life’s game is played.
Communities aren’t skin color,
sex choices, age, weight, or gender,
communities are who we live with,
the people who make our work turn.
Those people are community,
and those people can’t be defined,
because shallow, superficial things,
pale before the soul and the mind.
Les Braves
(Iambic Pentameter)
Tan sands conceal deep furrows of their pain,
As churned emotions scream on the light breeze.
The rushing lather bubbles with red stain,
While mortar clouds suppress the dying wheeze,
That madly dared to reach the cliffs in vain.
The hostile bluff still taunts a flying skein,
Where warriors bravely tried to scale the crest.
The rock secretes long tales of plaintive strain,
Of ones that fought abreast for the oppressed,
and finally achieved the winning gain.
Yet no win comes without a shocking loss,
As the escarpment holds the treasured sons,
That fought the menace of the iron cross,
to fall heroic to opponents’ guns,
but proudly rest in peace ‘neath the grave’s moss
Note: Just came back from a visit to the D Day beaches and the American cemetery at Colleville-sur-mer, a great place of reverence.
3rd place trophy winner
10.21.22
Contest: 3 stanza poem in quintain (Sicilian)
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
Edvard's exile could not deter
the course as it flowed
or blood that drove
through his body
life had to change
when the soldiers came
bringing tanks and arms of oppression
machines of war rolled and crushed
Europe was hushed
marching on the 15th
raising flags and ideals
London resigned to opening doors
a haven of sorts
for a few
families and friends
were left to defend
breaking cogs to dismantle and hinder
the view
hiding to assemble
coded messages
that were shared and leaked
though aggression peaked
proving too strong to overcome
yet hearts still beat
and there lay a pulse
duty could not be ignored
as the voices aligned
with a throbbing increase
representing a nation
two and more gave themselves
and rose to the call of the people
standing up
proving no longer the victim
for human passion will smash and smelt iron
selflessly with a cost that would seem to outweigh
the weight of a loss
of one soulless life
we remember that day
the 27th of May
when Jan and Josef gave their all for the fight
and with them hope and freedom were alive.
Now all that remains is a silver framed photograph
A reminder of when there was a splitting of paths
Between one realm and the other, a bridge uncrossed
One day to be readjourned, but for now is just a loss
Tears are what waters the remaining greenhouse residents
As only one of two remains to stand and be present
Though flowers blossom and continue to grow
The color disappears in the heart that was bestowed
Snowflakes fall as autumn turns into winter
The seasons marching on as timelines are splintered
The moon keeps giving light, but inside it's disappeared
Death stabs the soul like a three pronged spear
Now the two only meet up in the plane of a dream
The tears they cry together make saltwater springs
And just like that they fade away, nothing to remain
Where life has to continue on, always to sustain
Morning knocks on us
As I commingle with him,
My mentor ,with dread of poetic locks
With God, not of them became parts
For my thoughts still shrouded of secrecy.
Of no count are them
Drinking from the calabash of ignorance
Ascribing artificial misery of man to God
Dreaming of it a time of His ascendence . . . throne
To the abysmal of our own earth of gloominess
For a case already settled in Paradise
Heaven knows that God has given water freely
But they tag price on poor pure satchet for us
Our land speak of bountiful crops
Yet our mouth chew bountiful hunger,
NO! No!! No!!! not a case with God again
It is a case of them the ruling vampires.
The dreamers must stop dreaming
Time for the ignorants to join us
To bring down the vampire's empire
Our case is with them, not with Him up above.
Alayande Stephen.T
16th, August, 2006
2.35am
our December
In the twilight before the morn
Scattered over grass unashamed alowed
Silence in the air ash for clouds
A Fire burnt out and twilight at dawn
Life in vain for a purpose not known
Empty pockets wealths secret cost wrought
Like unknown treasure to lost to be sought
Promising riches never owned
Frozen yet still full of hope
For pacts were made
without ability to cope
Into uncertain stomy seas i waded
And no lifeboat according to dotted line abaded
The down and out ontract declined
For useless has become a truth that once shined
Far from goal and far from youth
Wisdom however always aloof
Wishing a u turn in times everlasting run
Not to have lost but to actually have won
Defeated by a lust for its own making...
Soul left bare for the taking
Evil eyes is silent wake
This time to home a journey I make
Not to embracing the failure of me
Never around no more to see.
Oh Aphrodite, Goddess of love
For you, my heart yearns for Olympus on high
As my lover's eyes scan sunsets above
They pour love into the birth of a sigh
I'll follow the course of a lover's stream
To argue with Zeus over what is a sin
As we leave Olympus with love and a dream
Love will cause us to be mortal again
To make love's diamond from blackest coal
And scorch landscapes with smoldering desire
Yet, be the flames burning out of control
With mortal hands, we'll light the raging fire
Oh Aphrodite, Goddess of love
My heart will steal you from Olympus above
3/23/18 contest Love Letter II