Long And sad Poems
Long And sad Poems. Below are the most popular long And sad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long And sad poems by poem length and keyword.
~My Water Pearls Of Wisdom~
(Free Verse)
Wishes stands in multiples
Pride stands alone and sad
Peace is for us to spread it
Love if for us to give and share it
Pain and sorrows are to transform us
Hopes are to bring us more pieces of dreams
Faith is to keep us always in place
Dreams are to bring us more pieces of joy!
Wisdom is to teach us to be better people
Peace is to fill us with more inner glow
Truth is to bring us more freedom and light
Love is to give us the real joy
But only God can really transform us and
Give us life!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
January,16,2015
Write words on water
No ever after
Feel each feeling swirl
Seek that unknown world
Joy and sad now seek
Calm from conflict peaks
Happy turns to sad
Wonder why that bad
Aqueous momentum
Fleeting each datum
Ink drops in the rain
Words in brief contain
Stop to linger here
Icy touch endears
Water oozes moist
Coldness bears low hoist
Write if you must then
Lost cause knows when
Decide on intent
Blotting odd content
Sad story jerks well
Mad murky mind spells
Write and write again
Tensile troubles train
Leon Enriquez
28 August 2016
Singapore
If I had a million dollars I would quit my job,
and be depressed and lonely, and unhappy and sad.
I would hear from every relative I have not heard from in sixteen years.
They would tell me all their sob stories, and want me to be their cousin, big and bad.
If I had a million dollars I would buy some of my relatives’ cars,
Hoping they would like me better, or maybe at all.
But they wouldn’t and they would resent me for it, and they would be unkind
And talk behind my back about how uppity I am and stuff
If I had a million dollars it would ruin my life, so please
Give it to someone else, someone who does not care as much as I do.
Someone who wants to hear from their riff-raff-I-hate-you-relatives
Someone not in love with their job. Thank you in advance.
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around.
It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home.
When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. “OMG!” I remember thinking at the time.
I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting”
Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces.
As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented.
When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd.
How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter.
As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower. It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
In my thoughts poetic words are swirling, twirling,
tumbling and whirling.
Like caged birds trapped and reckless to be set free.
I must find paper and pen and release the fluttering.
My muse is screaming in my head or is that me?
I start to write and sad poems come creeping.
Words bleeding, oh do all poets struggle or just me?
And as I pen my verses I find myself weeping
The words done, exhausted I sigh because for now,
muse has set me free?
_________________________
July 6, 2015
Rhyme/Like Caged Birds
Copyright Protected, ID 687040
Tragedy is a spinning wheel
which stops at its own will,
and when it does an earthquake, flood or tsunami strikes
poisoning the pristine environment, wiping out endless lives....
such was the fate of unlucky Japan,
the island off the Asian mainland.
When destruction was everywhere and fear was deep,
people miserably wept searching for survivors through the debris and mud...
feeble voices were occasionally heard from underneath;
how helpless, and frustrated and sad they felt not to be able to pull them out!
Fakushima resembled a graveyard with sprawled corpses,
unfolding the horror of a massive catastrophe before their saddened eyes.
Let's show our heartfelt sympathy
with a kindness which surpasses all credibility,
remembering that tragedy is a spinning wheel
never telling where it will stop to make a kill...
and as Japan asks for our help, we should gladly offer it
with open hearts and arms and they will thank us for it.
Two brothers, once so close and dear
Now torn apart by greed and fear
One claims he deserves the lion's share
The other says it's not his fault or fair
They fight and argue, day and night
They curse and slander, with no respite
They forget the love their father had
They only see the wealth he left them in his will
They hire lawyers, file lawsuits
They drag each other to the courts
They waste their time, their money, their peace
They lose their friends, their family, their grace
They do not see the folly of their ways
They do not heed their father's last words
They do not care about each other's pain
They only care about their own gain
They end up lonely, bitter, and sad
They end up losing all they ever had
They end up realizing, too late
They end up regretting, their fate
Pivot Point ~ Poetry by Christine A Kysely
I have traveled far throughout my years
about a Fulcrum's Path...
A Pivot Point that has held my life
to a course already given.
Nothing at all random...
Nothing ever unplanned...
Everything is certain...
The Fate's control of Man.
Belief that in the Father...
Belief that in the Son...
Belief that in the Future...
Whatever will be
Will come...
I have followed the Paths of Planets...
I've traveled 'round the Sun...
I've seen the Tides both rise and fall
I've seen the Moon as it has hidden the Sun.
I've seen Great Meteor's cross the skies...
I've felt the Akasha winds...
I've seen the Season's easily come and go
I've felt myself create...
Both life within and art without
I've seen both love and hate...
I've seen myself grow happy and sad
Without ever too much complaint.
Pivotal laughter...
Pivotal tears...
Pivotal moments...
Pivotal years...
Pivotal decades...
Pivotal births...
Pivotal endings...
Pivotal mirth.
Pivotal extremes...
Both highs and lows
Pivotal Speeds...
Both fast and slow.
I can't really tell...
From which direction I have come?
Did I come from high above...
Or did I travel from down below?
All that I can really say...
Is that I know I've traveled far 'round and 'round.
I've seen the Seven Wonders...
of all that's come before
and I often have to ponder
where I entered
through that door
and where and when I'll exit
When will I leave this life behind.
How many days will I travel
around my pivot point
and will I really be ready
to stop circling round and round ...
And will my exit simply be
like moving on to a different town.
Will my pivot point stay the same...
Crossing from here to there...
or will it simply
disappear...
like contrails in the air?
Copyright Christine A Kysely November 20, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Before my oldest and prittiest sister died at fifty-three,
her romace stories bewildered me!
Barely eighteen, she wrote , " Ortensia. "
a beautiful and sad love story
of a Neapolitan girl who fell in love
with Mario a guy much older that she was;
more manuscripts she hid in her treasure throve
and she called it, " Il Tesoro Di Maria. "
She never mentioned it, I found it behind old books.
Ah, the memories of the late sixties immensely intensify:
when I open the pages of that book and she's there beside me,
but surprise and joy are the emotions that make me cry!
* Italian Translation...
Il Tesoro Di Maria : Maria's Treasure
Entered in Linda- Marie's contest,
" Treasure Throve "
Written by Andrew Crisci
I am happily teaching my second grade students two bully-proofing strategies earlier today.
These powerful anti-bullying techniques are "the thank you" and the "skip away" both invented by me.
First I explain that the mean bullying types are sad inside, so they want others to be mad and sad too. which is why they choose meanness to do and say.
I need to know who they are, so the children write down the names of any child they have seen being mean, for only the teacher and me to see.
We practice the "thank you" this way. I bring up a student who gets to call me names. All hands shoot up. Everyone wants to bully me, until they get up here.
Today I gave twenty-three examples, and I implored the teacher to come up and call me names after two children tried, but failed me.
The teacher, a personal, great friend of mine,said, "I can't do it! But Cameron can." Cameron ran up as if he was being chased by a bear.
BAM! Five mean and ugly things came out. I was amazed and thanked him profusely for each compliment, even did a two-step and a skip to my Lou.
So don't let them see you're mad. Don't let them see you sad. If your face is giving you away, use the "skip away." Jimmy yells out, "Can't we just run away?"
"If you use the skip away, they wonder why you are so happy. " I tell them as they laugh at my bad skipping. "Skipping indicates happiness too."
The children returned to their seats to write down the names of all children who have said or done something mean that they have seen with their own eyes or heard with their own ears since Easter Day.
I say, "Not since kindergarten or first grade. Not something you have heard someone else say that they said. Only write down names of children whom you SAW or HEARD do meanness. Okay?
I was asked thirty-two times if they were supposed to put their names on their paper, curious since there are only 29 students , and two were absent today.
I made a little tally sheet and gave it to the teacher, only. One teacher asked if she could share it with her class, I said "No, because I promised the children this would only be seen by you and me. I smile at my own clever petard.
That's when things turned.
The teacher got a bit snippy. And I quietly skipped away.