Long And then Poems
Long And then Poems. Below are the most popular long And then by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long And then poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell Somebody
We walk through life from day to day,
Sun up to sun down; and then hours into the night.
We try to find a path that will meet our feet,
with challenge, and not regret.
Regardless it is a hard road.
Yet…
Miracles are real.
Have you ever seen angels dance?
Have you heard a child laugh,
after being sick for a long time?
Have you ever seen a mother,
hold her infant close? Safe.
Have you ever listened to rain drops on leaves?
Wind rushing through trees?
Bird songs that echo like memories,
we… long to repeat.
I have walked in dark places.
I have a need, to speak.
All that I must say…
I have no words!
I would sing you a song, but I am bad at that.
I would cook you food that might help with the shakes.
Yet, it is never “I”, but “Him.”
A small bird can do nothing else,
but spread seeds as they do the very thing,
they are meant to do.
Amen.
I have my own truths
I'm sure you have yours too,
sparkling gems of experience
that no one else will ever believe.
I remember the first time you left me
deep in Mother Earth's womb,
I awoke and you were gone,
It was supposed to be me.
Did God put his foot down
and change everything..
Pops use to tell me
that I was good for nothing,
I believed him.
and then he wanted me to reach
for the stars, soothe his worried mind,
expected me to feel loved,
expected me to show love
but I never learned how.
and now, even after all these years
I'm still haunted by his voice
Good for nothing.
So why do guys expect me to know
what I have never known.
What did I ask for
that was simply too much?
But take a look at yourself
because I am not the only one
who was left feeling unlovely.
Unlovely flowers wither
and drop from the stem.
Only plastic flowers please them.
I don't really believe that
but I need an excuse
for being me.
I lied,,,,,I felt it from the door,
Too scared to admit I loved you more,
You ask when did I start feeling? I said suddenly,
That wasn't a lie, but I never said from the beginning,
Cautious of my own feelings, I've been tricked before,
So I tested the waters of my heart to see more,
The search ruined the love later with time,
It took away from what I felt, and changed my sight,
Surprisingly, my love for you never faded away,
In the end, the search was useless and just caused more pain,
What have I learned from this awful experience?,
It's not smart to doubt your heart, don't question it as interference,
Keep loving, and then loving some more,
Stop trying to control what love has in store,
Be honest with yourself and let it ride,
No one ever said you wouldn't get hurt this time,
And if you do, it was meant to happen,
Because you took the control out of the experience, and let love work it's magic,
When your learning to ride a bike, your palms are sweaty with a tight grip,
But once you understand the ride, the love oliminates this,
You loosen your grip, and allow love to be,
You won't regret the experience because you trusted to see.
I sip compliance from a cardboard cup. Tight fine steel lines, hoist five lifelike life sized paper mache white swans. The birds seem to wing from sunlit atrium up and over an oak railing to the mezzanine. Dazzling beneath skylights, they depict ascent, flap, glide, brake and then descent towards wrought iron tables. They mimic our trek from mall entry up the escalator to feast at the food court. I sit alone at the railing, gliding swan overhead, and pretend to eye my phone. Today I secretly study humans. Food court stuffed with youthful staff, bargain hunters, transit transfers, mobility scooters, mothers, babies, bags, phones, the braggadocio of men meeting, gaunt faces of the needy. Bodies milling, streaming, yearning. The bubbling cocktail of pop rock, chit chat galore, languages, slanguages, giggles, and that one guy yelling. The carnal essence of commercial cookery. Unspoken competition for tables, at times nearly a blood sport. Each of us tiptoeing through our daily hopscotch. Only children wonder at the swans. Do mall swans search for lost wetlands, or do they strain to join us? Mythology has it that swans shift between human and avian form. The enchantment of Tchaikovsky’s swan, princess by night pirouettes into swan by day. In the wild, sudden bright white, raucous landing, huge bold birds calling, splashing power and grace. I wish we each burst into swan. But flight feathers do not anchor to my bones, nor contour feathers pierce my skin. I vow to visit the wild ones, and leave.
published in "Unbroken" 2025
When I think of poetry
I think of a child manipulating
his first steps, the wobbly nature
of his strides~that confused, meandering
toddle, and then trip and fall – the dear
first efforts of us all. When I think of poetry,
I think of my introductory cords attempting
articulation: the naive study of lips, the spitting
aspirations, how the throat struggles, and then the
mouth opens to the notion of sound. When
I think of poetry, I think of the squinting and the
rounding of the eyes first awakening to light –
how the heart adjusts to thought...and how,
somehow, it is all related to love, the cooing,
caressing of a mother, before weaning.
Then when I think of poetry, I finally think of nothing...
empty myself, letting poetry think for me –
become my sight and voice, my very direct
line to God~knowing best the language
of creation.
And in my dream I walk corridors with old creaking floors,
deep in the sanctum of my soul voices stir calling me to come;
and soon, I enter a hall of doors, doors and doors . . .
red doors painted bright, green doors with polished knobs.
Blue, deep and dark lovely blue, and varnished doors,
a heavy ornate church door, is ajar with beckoning hymns drifting;
one hundred year old doors with brass chimes- portals to long ago,
wide barn doors in antique grey, with open wide thresholds.
Doors with chipped white paint- oh my beating heart,
rounded doors, broken doors, some to push, some to pull;
through a long forgotten door- the wreckage of my life . . .
A door opens, new and polished- the entrance to where?
Closed doors, swinging doors, locked doors with a sign Do Not Open,
doors with steps, doors with brass keys dangling;
and doors with chimes, press here for access, my dear,
then, I see two doors side by side, a simple cedar door- a golden door.
Oh, I stand unsure, which door? I hesitate and then,
I put my hand on the knob of the golden door- Nirvana is beyond;
then, I open the simple cedar door, which takes me to the here and now,
and I breathe a sigh of relief, yes, this is exactly where I need to be.
______________________
March 24, 2017
Poetry/Prose Poetry/Doors
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9602-78-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
stuck during a winter storm while on vacation
we decide to make a big ole pot of chili and a bid ole pot of spaghetti
we take out the texas toast and decide on a grilled chicken salad
we talk about old times while listening to oldies from the 50, 60s, and early 70s
we laugh and talk smack
we talk smack and laugh
we look out the window in amazement and disbelief
thank God that we both took two weeks off and that all the bills are mostly paid
i cannot believe we stopped arguing enough when we first met to make the most amazing life together
you most certainly have kept me on my toes for all of these years,
and i have most certainly taught you to calm yours down at times
here we are, seeds planted naturally, still working and still learning
and then in unison we exclaim 'WE FORGOT ABOUT DESSERT!'
i then come to the rescue and pull out the coconut cream cake, the cookies and cream ice cream sandwiches, and the cool whip
you playfully put your hands on your hips
we then come back closer to get our kisses
feeling that feeling after feeling certain places on each other,
we both realize that it is probably a good idea to head back to the kitchen
I've seen her there, most every day, rocking on the old front porch
She lives alone, I've often heard....she must get lonely on her perch
She watches the world passing her by...seeing her there,...just makes me sigh...
Sometimes I'm on my way to town, ...sometimes on my way to church
She's called out a word...inviting me in, ....but who has the time...? I'll just grin...
And wave a little....and then...I'll pretend I hadn't heard....is that so unheard of??
Well! Good grief....you see....I have things to do...important dates!!
Too much to do that cannot wait!!
If I were to hesitate...even for a minute...walk through her gate
Well...heavens to Betsy!! I might be late!!...
No...I couldn't stop.....! But I'll wave and smile....For heaven's sake!!
No time on my hands, to simply fritter away!
So I pass on by..don't miss a step....Don't look back, feeling no regrets!
It's my day's journey...I really must scurry...I hurry away, not a backwards glance
Perhaps another day...then, we'll see......Perhaps another chance, when I'm free...
But then....oh dear, how would I know, you see, life passed her by,
And when it was over....well....."that was that!"
But my ears still ring out...from her calling me "Please come in and sit a spell"....
Well.....I must not dwell...what is past is past...
Yet......I don't understand....what's the matter with people??
You see.....I've been rather unwell.....under the weather....Oh, ...it's a bother!
I'm too sick to go out, ...too sick to walk....but no one will stop to sit and talk
What's the matter with people??? Don't they care??
I called out to a friend...but she went on her way....she passed on by
Like I wasn't there....
Why doesn't anyone care??????
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Inspired by Paula's word contest "PASS"
I was broken I was a shadow
No one will ever make me feel that low
That’s all now internalised
Damaged and impersonalised
My mind takes me back to childhood
Even deep into adulthood
Silence is my friend
A comfort I have to defend
Trust isn’t automatically given
Just because they died doesn’t mean forgiven
I’m happy on my own
I don’t really feel alone
I choose the people in my life
Avoiding disagreement and strife
Hiding and isolating
I don’t find it violating
Covid lockdown was like a dream
Isolation not too extreme
People of authority make me fearful
They have a habit of giving an earful
One body movement makes me freeze
Like I’m a child that has displeased
So now my present
Maybe unpleasant
May not conform to society
Fills me with anxiety
But I am the only one who can break myself
My screwed thought process can damage oneself
My manic demeanour
Maybe scars from an abuser
But he will never break me again
I think about his passing now and then
There is a whole other story about that
For now however I’m only in combat
With myself
As I claim my own parcel of solitude
from yesterday's banging boom,
I see heaven expanding through you
in me: fireflies glow rare as Sunday’s bliss,
never mind if there is a call for patience
when holy hours rise upon the lines of your mouth;
resting on the ledge of a private oasis.
This I cannot enter... the night curfew drifts
gently and quietly yet full of love's spaces;
O the hush of your mouth tender as harp's rhythm
I want to kiss.
My parcel of quietude becomes yours
while we listen to the same monastic silence,
gazing at clouds alone and together
until we rest lovingly inside our gentle, holy world.
Into near midnight with eyes closed, we slumber and then...
John Hamilton's Your Best Free Verse Love Poem--2
2/19/2017