Long Absent Poems
Long Absent Poems. Below are the most popular long Absent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Absent poems by poem length and keyword.
This is my first attempt at blank verse
Don't expect a lot of content
It's a blank verse for goodness sakes
So the dialogue will be absent
How much of a clue do you really need
The verse is supposed to be blank
Do I really need to explain it any further
Don't wanna sound like a crank
Some may find this a little ridiculous
Trying something so bizarre
A poem that doesn't contain any words
Devoid of ABCs and Rs
I'm always game to try something new
It's my very first poem about nothing
Instead of a bunch of silly old verses
Bout lovemaking and passionate hugging
So what do you think of my first attempt
Did it make any sense to you
If it did, then my efforts were a total failure
So it's back to the quatrains, Magoo!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Everyday games we play
grow productive successes
and over consuming failures.
Every day and night
we try to reduce
RightWing dominant overproduction
LeftSoul underconsumption,
Gap growing devolution
of bilateral failing anti-invitation.
Every mutual distrusting day
quick fix addiction
fuels competitive co-dependency.
Every cooperative night
constrains rabid Lose to Lose competitions
spiraling monstrously inhumane growth
of toxic tumors,
rumors of mutually whispered mendacity.
Every day
amplifies chronic stress
in between successful productions
and all-consuming capitalized failure
to play this insane Win to Lose competition game.
Every day and night
life and death of ego-consciousness
wants to play Win to Win together cooperation,
but Left and Right,
like Ego and EcoEnvironment,
see SacredOther healthy wealth communion
immune from suboptimizing Win to eventually Lose.
Every night
descriptive and prescriptive WinWin performance
gradually fails to focus light,
like Full Moon dwindling down
to New Moon's absent bright.
Every day
we each try to react successfully
to satisfy responsibilities
to achieve one hundred percent
of each competitive opportunity
and thereby consume our capitalized lives
while producing no ultimate
single-minded healthy wealth
of multiculturing outcomes.
Every day and night
the harder he pushes production
the harder nature
pushes back to consume her soul.
Every day
every person
every government
every monoculture
consumes every healthy resource
belonging to Win to Win cooperativity
to every time
and every living ecotherapeutic Soul.
Every growing day
and underinvested night
we push to produce healthy success
more than loss of growth
under-skirting cooperative Win to Win
all-consuming democratic passion
to health-wealth systemic green
gaming LeftNature as RightSpirit growth.
Every day
high incarceration rates inevitably rise
while Win/Lose crime levels recede
Only if you have gospel faith
that punishing imprisonment
is not itself a soulless crime
unconsoling Win/Win's soulful nature.
"knowing this love is eternal"
as the year approaches its end
we sit by fires with all desires
knowing this love is eternal
reflections of spring show our start
with growth of summer and light
unexpected unplanned unveiled
autumn draws us to passion and flair
winter holds us close to each other
within reflections of luminous shades
from the onset of spring to now
we're grateful for winter and desires
knowing this love is eternal
SkyWatcher
12-07-21
just a short note in case I am absent once again
I would like to wish everyone a healthy and safe holiday season
life has been tough for many of us
thus may we get through the upcoming weeks and days ahead
and yes of course I had to sneak one more entry of love
remain safe everyone
thank you
I fly through the trees, my eyes fixed on a cup
of water
That drifts
between Heaven & Hell, since
smiling drugstores sell ice
cream for
cancer, until midnight captures
stars reflecting
The Carny's bark of deliverance, while
mice sleep for
centuries, as
Wagons circle around junipers, parched jasmine
lays
forgotten until
reports of muskets shake power, absent 'till gold
surrenders to floating
Shards of glass, speaking mystical tongues from
mouths of
Mustangs trampling
religion that heralds Cathedrals of Angels-
voices, my Grandfather promised
tomorrow
voices,
my Grandfather
promised
tomorrow
(an All Poetry feat to walk in
the poetic feet of Robert Frost)
Bucolic New England, circa
Early twentieth century New England
awash with dynamic harmonic leisureliness,
when much of North America favored rustic
visual whirled wide webbed watercolor
waiting afield at dusk, the thrum
of nature all abuzz didst feed thine
dizzily green jovial mien
unlike mean Gary Lewis
veritable innocence and naiveté
rollicked with mine lanky frame
relishing ambling into my own quietude
an infinite breadth, length and scope
of infrequently trammeled near virgin
woodland paths grown over with brambles
nonetheless a faintly trussed harbinger
marked by weatherbeaten
for sale signposts
with here and there an abandoned plow
long since given over
to rust when the pasture
seasons elapsed since
farmer(s) left unharvested
fecund fields absent
the cloven hoof,
and deprived enrichment
manure, sans ungulates
ceased sufficing healthy
free ranging bovines,
where etudes punctuated
the terribly gross fresh air,
now no longer audibly quickening,
snapchatting, nor twittering
with the last word of a bluebird
deathly silence now 'cept
the wind in the willows
whispering woebegone laments
tree tops pining to cradle
idle youthful dreamers
boughs devoid of
psalm quivering romantic songstress
clattering debris merely
delivering echoed whooshing refrains
continually disintegrating among
in a disused graveyard
prescient ken aches with nostalgia
hallucinogenic nightmare slams
irrevocably shut the door in the dark
closed for good upon the onset,
wrought genocide against
the vanishing Red man,
a ghostly scarification meaningless ritual
wrested, removed, and highjacked
from indigenous peoples
without rhyme, nor reason
as fraternities no
longer pledge allegiance.
Oh, I have plenty of time darling
I just have no time left for you,
I don’t care what you are doing,
Have done or are going to do.
I don’t see you as a husband now
Heck, I don’t even see you as a friend,
Just so you are sure- it’s because of you
We have reached this bitter end.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder
But you were absent with your heart and mind,
I tried so hard and for so long to keep us going
-Part of me dying each time you were so unkind.
Every single night I spent crying
Waking every day feeling further away,
Praying the distance was a nightmare
But reality would hit with the things you would say.
I would have done anything to save us
But you wouldn’t give me ten minutes of your time ,
Yet , it’s me who feels this loss
With the deepest , darkest sadness down inside.
But now I feel angry and betrayed
Tears are something I no longer have left,
I feel alone, belittled, damaged
And emotionally bereft.
So, I now withdraw the offer
Of always being there,
Of wanting to be with you
Sharing love, hope and care.
I’ll no longer be there waiting
Hoping you will choose me too,
It’s hard enough for me to admit it
And it’s something you just weren’t strong enough to do…..
Sometimes the
lines between
happiness and sorrow
love and hate
are thin (barely visible
to the naked heart) –
(a healthy heart
needing more than
a steady-beat
to be truly healthy) –
hearts not created
merely for pumping;
nor for expressing
exclusively within
the Body-visceral
while excluding
the vaster realm
of metaphysical being
(confined within a cage of bone)
(drowning in its own
oxygen rich fluids)
No, the heart truly
reaches out -- beyond
muscular attributes:
exceeds surface
perimeters of flesh
and blood –
transcending
the core-less Atheist
concept, absent a
spirit and soul
for greater inspiration…
refutes the materialist,
who sees only
superficial reality,
excluding the essence
of divine interaction
and miraculous manifestation –
The heart I speak
stretches the rulers
of medical Measures –
remains an enigma to science,
and by contrast -- the light
apposing dark-sided men
who reject Christian-unity daily
as did those prosecutors
of The Son of Man
who rejected Christ love
and His revelation
of Divine Source
and Holy Trinity….
Pain rains down on us sometimes.
That rain goes on and on and on.
You may feel as if you’re on a boat
filling up with water. It might sink
in waters of despair.
But friends, there are people in this world-
people who truly want to help us.
They carry umbrellas of compassion
and with their buckets of aid,
they’ll bail you out of trouble
as much as they are able.
Such selfless people can be found
at shelters for the homeless or
at safe houses for victims of domestic abuse.
Some man hot-lines for suicidal people.
There are ministers of churches
who also want to offer their help.
Organizations exist in which
groups are formed according to
the particular trial faced by each group.
In these groups, people can hear stories
similar to their own, and share their own woes.
Talking sometimes is all people need.
Sometimes the winds of hopelessness
blow stronger than people can handle.
Before wind storms turn into tsunamis,
we should seek out those willing to offer
us a harbor of safety.
If friends or loved ones happen to be
unfortunately absent in your life,
seek shelter where you can.
Help is everywhere as long as there exist
people with compassion.
Strange people
are scurrying
here to there
each toiling in odd
obsolete jobs
I watch the timbers lean
to and fro
around the ancient grove
I find it odd that the trees grow
not where they stand
only bare limbs and broken fruits
strange people hid
their large watering eyes
blind to words of
oppression and opportunities
odd jobs and absent divinity
burning humanity
trees
tower drift in the mist across
a wasted landscape
obtuse objects drift absently
over bare auto parks
shopping malls as figures
wonder absently
stumbling strangers, odd, elongated
figures from obscure and ancient jobs
I see leaves in the dark
lit by moonbeams
drift to and fro
falling
falling
in the obsolescence
of the grove, they stand not
in the moment
but grow in fractured time
broken fruits lie rotten
upon the ground
strange people will be picking
up the pieces
in another few hours
as oily black eyes
stare out from windows
in burning houses, absent
in divinity’s sublime
strangers linger here, there
I find it very odd
oblivion objects
float on ancient skylines.
Hearken to the wind that blows across my face — a reminder of everything I once poured into you. The appreciation, the attention, the devotion I gave so freely was taken for granted. Each time we stepped away from the screen, it became a moment of reflection, a pause meant to nourish us rather than consume us. Yet the distance between us grew, not because we were apart, but because you stopped meeting me in the middle.
The attention I gave you when you needed me most was meant to be a foundation for our future, but it was quietly supplanted. I offered understanding, patience, and love. I wanted to build something lasting with you. But when fear rose in you, you overlooked me — and you did not reciprocate the affection I carried so openly.
Every dismissal, every silence, every moment you did not make time for me carved a tear from my heart. What I invested in you was more than time; it was presence, care, and the softness of a dove offered during your most fragile moments.
You once asked what would happen if you went to Texas — how we would pursue our relationship, how we would face the questions others asked about us. My answer was always the same: we would cross that bridge when we reached it, and God would guide our steps. We looked good together; even that old man said we made a cute couple. But you insisted it wasn’t official, even as you smiled — and I wondered why you denied what felt so real.
Whenever I needed you — for guidance, for conversation, for simple human understanding — you were absent, as if you had lost the strength to show up. And now, I find myself at the edge of goodbye.
I cannot keep pouring emotional investment into someone inconsistent and confusing. I have achieved what I needed to achieve, and I know you will return — but you were not there when I was building. So why would I wait for you now, when the bridge is already complete, built with someone who truly loves me?
You are amusing in your unpredictability, but I am done being undone by it.