Long Annotated Poems
Long Annotated Poems. Below are the most popular long Annotated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Annotated poems by poem length and keyword.
"Shrine"
Messages delivered
Upon the wall of
your Shrine
Love
Shines through
Love
On bended knees
you'll see my feet
Inside
Out
There you will find me
Messages delivered
Messages received
In you there is
The Key
All Roads Lead Home
to
Me
Elemental
I am
seen through
the Sun
Earth, Air, Fire, Sea
The inner voice
you hear
All Roads Lead Home
to
Me
eventually
Love
Shines through
Love
unconditionally
Higher
vibrational
above
Inside
Out
All Roads Lead Home
to me
eventually
LOVE
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Null & Void: Where I Wait" - (feat. Dave Gahan) The Hacker Remix
https://youtu.be/hgXZZHiR7Vc
"Your words were spoken
Carefully chosen
For me
Each one a message
And insight
To some degree"
"Null & Void: Where I Wait" / Lyrics
https://genius.com/Null-void-where-i-wait-annotated
The silver king{1} banded with the dark queen{2},
United under the all-powerful one{3}.
Off to war, of armies of four{4},
together with the warrior son{5}.
Battle was fierce, many were slain;
The wounded wound-up in the history books{6}.
The militant{7} family crusaded on,
Striking fear and bringing heavy-hearted looks.
Victory was assured, no doubt to be had.
Until the mighty three{8},
Heads of armies be...
Rose to crush the combative family!
The military may trump the house of royals{9},
the farmhands{10}, and those of trades{11}.
But aces rule high, and the army spread thin{12},
So goes the game of Spades.
1 King of Spades: second highest ranking card in the game of Spades
2 Queen of Spades
3 Ace of Spades: highest trump card
4 The four suits in a deck of cards: Spades=military, Hearts=royals, Diamonds=merchants and traders, Clubs=farmhands and peasants
5 Jack of Spades
6 After each trick in spades, the resulting four cards are collectively known as a book.
7 suit of Spades
8 The aces of Clubs, Diamonds, and Hearts
9suit of Hearts
10 suit of Clubs
11 suit of Diamonds
12 All of the trump cards (the spades) are spread out amongst the four players through the randomness of the shuffle.
I am slid into the core of the big white tube.
It will reveal all my moving parts
all the flagging and wheezing organics
that reside in the same apartment block,
share the same airducts and plumbing,
but otherwise hang in semidetached hutches
strung around my walled city.
My neck hurts, the cat scan takes time.
I get to thinking about cats,
how they curl up to rest
in the most unusual places. Cat’s would probably
sleep well in this softly clicking tunnel.
My head needs a pillow, arms akimbo aching.
After ten minutes of thinking in this sterile cylinder
I am an annotated movie of my life,
a surface feature for the paranoia of clinging plants.
I trawl stagnant pools for whale calls
or anything that can sing in my turgid being,
but only a headless language
floats up.
I can only listen to organs stirring; some drool,
some open small gummy gobs and gills.
Dim rheumy senses squint. Pulpy cisterns gurgle,
glands groan under a weight
only a shut-in darkness can weigh.
Transportation hubs and their arteries
continue their tireless gift-wrapped deliveries.
Muscular chemicals continue their Peloton workouts,
but the body as a whole is still wearing away
what it can’t afford to lose.
“All done,”
a disembodied voice declares.
I am conveyed outwards
on the worlds shortest rail track,
leaving parts of my mind behind to clean up stray fears -
remove the litter of mad ponderings.
Results will be days away,
until then black cats in lightless rooms
must find a way to be seen.
I want a lived-in face—
a body that curves and stretches,
each line a crease carved by laughter,
grief, survival.
I love life etched into skin.
We are the narrators of our days,
our bodies the pages,
our faces the margins,
annotated by time.
We are art—
life’s sculptures—
one arm or two,
too thin, too wide.
What old lies we’ve swallowed
about beauty’s mould.
Perfection?
That polished cage—
stitched with labels.
I wore the names—
Chanel, Louis Vuitton—
as if they could spell beauty
on a tag around my wrist.
I spent myself chasing flawless,
burning joy like cash,
saving nothing for self-love.
I was lost chasing the dream—
of thigh gaps sold as grace,
quiet hunger wrapped in silk,
airbrushed lies reflected back
in mirror-glass approval.
And in all that gloss,
I missed the glow
of my own skin,
weathered, soft,
and holy in its truth.
They told me I was richest when untouched,
when time hadn’t left its mark—
but youth is cheap.
Real beauty accrues.
Each scar, each stretch,
a kind of interest paid in grace.
I long for truth.
Gray hair, wrinkled hands,
a tooth gone missing like a childhood friend.
My curves have curves,
but my heart is open,
always has been.
My mouth will sing
even if a note is off.
Even if pieces are missing—
it matters not.
Confidence? Still a struggle.
But intelligence…
oh, that disarms me every time.
A woman or man who can think—
who listens with their eyes,
and speaks with care—
now that’s divine.
Beauty or the beast—
it matters not at all.
Each one a masterpiece,
every rise and fall.
EASYGOING
a simple
bit of
gratitude
in
fragments
of
conversations
annotated
with
words
&thoughts
curlicue
murals
creep up
walls
of
everyday
simplicity
being
the
essence
of
abstraction
to open
the gateway
of daily life
domesticity
of
in the
many possibilities
attractions
& complexities
to illustrate
the radical
pursued
&
perceived
in the
spectrum
of
a new
day
in
a feel good
factor
with
a
smile
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
the basic instructions before leaving earth
the book that will quench your spiritual thirst
the B.I.B.L.E. the anointed word of God
the manual on how to live that we should take to heart
it's been in existence for over 2000 years
so there must be something of substance in there
the tenets of God and the teachings of Jesus the Christ
the basic instructions how we should live life
the #1 best seller since its inception
but today still receives mixed reception
it can be found on the shelves of most every book store
the #1 best seller that many still ignore
it's full of wisdom, power and Godly insight
history, poetry, truth and might
KJV, NIV, the Message or the Annotated
Contemporary, Amplified of Living, no version is ever out-dated
it tells of kings, queens, prophets, prostitutes and the ever-present poor
lepers, beggars, tax collectors, sinners, disciples and so many more
a continuous account of the nature of mankind
as seen through the lens of grace and the sands of time
the #1 best seller you should get this book
and once you start to read it you'll probably get hooked
the #1 BEST SELLER
THE BIBLE
When they died,
it was not only a heart that stopped,
nor merely a voice that fell silent.
A library burned.
Not the kind of library?built from stone and timber,
with catalogues and numbered shelves,
but one assembled slowly
from years of seeing, wondering,
remembering.
Whole aisles vanished at once.
The exact shade of evening
on a childhood road.
The joke that grew funnier
with every retelling.
The face of a friend
whose name no one else could recall.
The lessons learned from mistakes
never written down.
Volumes collapsed into ash.
There were books on grief
annotated by survival.
Books on love
dog-eared by devotion.
Books on ordinary days
that seemed forgettable
until no one remained
who remembered them.
Some shelves held facts:
birthdays,
addresses,
recipes,
directions.
Others held things
for which no language exists—
a mother's glance,
the weight of a hand on a shoulder,
the private meaning of a shared silence.
And though a few books
had been copied,
lent out,
quoted to others,
most existed nowhere else.
Now the doors are closed.
The lamps are dark.
Dust settles where stories once stood.
We gather what fragments remain:
a sentence remembered,
a photograph,
a habit inherited,
a tale told secondhand.
Yet we know that countless
volumes are gone forever.
For every person who dies
takes with them a collection
that can never be rebuilt—
a singular archive
of a singular life.
And so we mourn not only the one who left,
but the unwritten histories,
the unshared wisdom,
the irreplaceable library
that disappeared with them.
~Johnny Adicks
2026.06
Inspired by what my wife Cindi said, “When a person dies, that library of knowledge dies with them”.
"Poetry The Big Easy"
Poetry
the Big Easy
going down
on thoughts
Where are
the real
Strawberry Kisses
Silver Spoons
daily tasting their
game of Twister?
Where is the
LIFE
coursing like
sex through the
veins
pumping Love
out onto a
single
neverending
line on a page?
The world’s
your stage
Sapiosexual
sitting
behind your
screen -
What one
wants
in the morning
is to be
woken with
touch
to
be seen
Not to slip
through the
caressing
arms of
an unseen
body of work
Your portfolio of life
like an
old coat hung
on a hook
Outside of
boundaries
No mere book
"The Chronological
Order of Lost Time
and Lost Lovers"
Where is the Poetry
Rain on Skin
Physical
Tasted
Tangible
Skinny dipping
in your
Blue Oceans
Addicted to
Sapiosexual
A smile seen
forming slowly
for real
says,
TRUTH
is
Touch
of Skin
Real
Tactile
Winning
like
a scene from
Scorsese
amplified
Poetry
The Big Easy
Flights depart
at ...
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Easier" / Masonair
https://youtu.be/Ja9IUKElT5w
"Month Through" / XavieRinato
https://youtu.be/ZJ65vWmHDRU
"UFO" - Mallrat
https://youtu.be/KseMumZEZ0w
Lyrics:
https://genius.com/Mallrat-ufo-lyrics
1. "Easier" / Mansionair - Lyrics
https://genius.com/Mansionair-easier-annotated
2. "Read" / XavieRinato
https://youtu.be/0g3_GkNDyd4
3. "Month Through" / XavieRinato
https://youtu.be/ZJ65vWmHDRU
As those inflicted by greed and corruption
become Angels of death stalking the land
with crimson flaming eyes
they search for those chosen to die
and fill their stomachs with satisfaction
to quench their thirst and hunger
The arguments are many from the lips
of those so inflicted
they laugh out loud at those who crawl
and wither on their bellies swollen from hunger
beneath poluted skies of warm air
These lies are plucked like fruit from a dying
tree of reason, succulent portions to be eaten
through the ages like sacrifical lambs
carted down the road of insanity
to the hidden altar of greed and corruption
It's where men gather their armies
complete with marching bands
as they bow before the annotated false God
with eyes of exhalation
these inflicted souls, these open sores
lay torn on Nature's flesh
pounding their blood soaked fists upon their chest
sreaming "I am here"
wrapping their well fed bodies in the cloaks of Priests
praying on Sunday, devoid of morality the rest of the week
sitting in judgment, demanding money for the chosen few
Blood drips from their callosed and cold hands
from the digging of graves
that lay in the graveyard of expectations
from a promised ring
Those they leave unburied lay on the side of the road
their trampled flesh left to be devoured by vultures and rats
to be seen as a warning to mere mortals
who stumble towards the horizon of hope
dirty and naked, trying to fulfill a dream
while escaping the nightmare of madness
from those whose eyes
have turned a crimson flaming orb
8/8/20
contest Infiction
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant
how subtly innocent and eager
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow
and envy for even the inimitable
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink)
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement
saucy, exposed hips
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy
(and not returning without discerned effort)
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo
adding to the sassy attitude
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus
faultless, blue-white smile
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours
the gods themselves are sobbing ...
the gods themselves.