Long Answer Poems
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JUST WRONG
Throughout my life’s journey,
I chanced to see,
Many things to this day that bother me,
Of which I was guided to the destiny,
for me, the straight and narrow, meant to be.
I saw at a grocery parking lot,
a young girl with her grandparent,
weather seething hot,
Swearing and belittling
her own grandmother
a berating like I never heard from another.
I saw a man mercilessly beating his dog,
Two policeman beating
two black boys in a fog,
I saw in an abandoned parking lot,
two parents stripping a branch,
child screaming a lot.
Their teen daughter cried out
in the rear of their car,
As they both administered lashes
and likely a life altering scar.
I saw a man teaching his toddler to read,
His badgering comments spoken,
made my heart bleed,
A black child in her classroom,
smart as a whip,
Raising hands, trying to answer,
yet constantly skipped,
And when overcome with dejection,
hurtfully cried,
Seeing the favor upon the others
her goddess teacher applied.
Scolded and made to feel
she was a problem child,
Became jealous and disruptive
and labeled wild.
I saw a tearful mother slapped hard
by her child,
Fearfully tempered her voice
pleading, all the whole while.
Seemingly entirely vacant
of parental authority,
Asking her child’ “Please behave.
You’re embarrassing me.”
These things and things alike,
are all around,
indicative of a morale
that's utterly cast down,
Our country spirals into
a very dangerous spin,
As our society implodes
by poverties within,
Yet seemingly more powerful is money,
than morality,
Leading our country into hatred
and cold-hearted senility,
And the power of the stars,
called celebrities,
Swaying all of Americans living,
in heroic hypocrisies,
Yet the true heroes are struggling,
and are underpaid,
with classrooms outnumbered
with our children to save.
I just have to believe
as my life continues on,
That more than I am a witness
of the things that are just wrong.
On the paths of cheap thinking, steps are lost in the dust
Of a road worn down by conformism demanding its toll,
For it's costly to step out of line, to defy the line drawn
With white chalk on the board of life, where lessons are clear,
Black or white, right or wrong, and we learn to expect
Reward or punishment like a Pavlovian reflex,
Rolling through time, becoming ideologies unwittingly,
We define ourselves by jobs, birthplaces, diplomas,
At the intersection of these lines, template ideas are born,
Mainstream and accepted by the masses, as well-behaved
As a gray suit in the university hall, where jeans
And a t-shirt are acts of rebellion, expensive as a freedom
Paid in coins of image, for the inverse of norms
Is a road paved with risks, and public choices cost.
But how not to get lost in this web of conventions?
How not to let the invisible hand push you forward,
On the worn path, free of headaches,
Where the suit is a shield and thinking, an easy shortcut?
There are many trivial subjects where cheap thinking
Finds its place, but few are those that demand depth,
Where there's no room for laziness, ideology, or conformism.
Do I do things because I believe in them, or am I carried
By the current that pushes me like a leaf on water?
In this stream of consciousness, I lose and find myself,
Seeking the melancholic magic of an authentic choice,
A dance of shadows and lights under the emerald sky,
Where every step is a question and every answer,
A discovery of a self unbound by norms.
Tired
haven't thought of a name
just wanted to write
to a few thousand people
one of you will answer
how they aren't a sheeple
words are my sword and seems
noone hears me loud enough
im a writer not a talker
read your damn messages to understand
my plan is simple, there will never be one
too many days with too few hours
sleepy, talking in my sleep
watching all the silly people bopping
hopping around, count them, damn
now you see it... sheeple
following orders and schedules
letters to teas, appointments and knees
trees are bowing and silent
but still seem more interested in
whats really going on deep dark
down on a simple surface of know-
ledges too? yea Im tired, maybe asleep
wait!
Am I dreaming of you?
from his rock he sends out a deadly summons
that calls
the demons up to hell
that calls
the devils home
a call for the barbarians to answer
a cold wind blows through to a man’s soul
as eternity waits
inside the furnaces fire
and Lucifer sips
upon the dregs of society`s ills
the wake to realities nightmare
of devils and demons living
inside hells fires and brimstones
where the stench of death and suffering
invade the living
and the walking dead
the demons can cage a man
the demons can break a man`s spirit
but they can-not cage a man`s minds escape
an minds escape
upon wings that fly
he dreams of lazing on a sun soaked beach
a drink in hand staring out at a pacific blue
sitting upon golden sands
then he wake from dream
to nightmares reality
of devils and demons
living
side by side inside Hades
living
side by side inside Dante' s fire
where upon the silence dark
a nightmare screams
at the sound of rattling chains and steel iron
at the sound of lashes from fire
that sting upon open flesh
and the empty echoes of the hangman’s call
despair is born out of lost hope
when the demon tighten his grip
his grip around a man’s soul
upon the empty shells the beasts breed
the devils fire burns
as the demon wears the mask of innocent
then walked upon the path of gold
but all he found was burning fires and brimstones
it`s a place where
a whirlpool surrounds when the mighty winds blow
an arctic chill that blows with a haunting sound
whistling
a freight train into lost hearts
across the bay
the devil
comes a calling
Ever wonder what your life would be like if you made different choices early on
The decisions you made then were they right or could they be wrong
How would we ever know for sure that we chose the right path
Endless ideas were presented to us, you do the math
Life journey presents an endless array of changing events
What if everyone on the planet early on changed their course would our time be better spent
The answer to the question may never be known
Would we have gotten married or would we be alone
One thing I know for sure is we can change the path we travel on
If life is not what we want it to be, change it before it's gone
Collectively we have made the world we live in through our actions
Let's all strive to make our earth the number one attraction
rain reflects the tears I’ve cried,
memories who’ve fought and died,
as this world continues in its pride,
forever unaware, will I always hide,
secrets who I’ll one day confide…
rain echoes the dew of the dawn,
after the night has finally gone,
revealing grace who takes a chance on,
reminding me of One to whom I’m drawn,
will I never silence the fear I often slip-on…
rain exposes the joy and the tears,
voicing the gentleness of the years,
remembering the beauty who endears,
inviting the soothing of One who cares,
angels are entertained, unawares…
rain ponders the moments of grace,
experiencing love for the human race,
like heaven, this joy will never erase,
music falls light across my face,
inspiring my heart to hear, just in case…
rain vibrates like the trembling kiss,
sweeter than it’s ever been, pure bliss,
freeing hearts to believe in this…
love from Him who we won’t dismiss –
He is the answer to prayers not amiss…
rain falls gentle, touching the soul,
lifting the heart to make it whole,
quieting every tear so we can extol,
praising the Creator, who is in control,
the One who gives grace, will always console…
rain pouring out its soothing poetry in verse,
with words and rhymes, my heart does converse,
shushing all the darkness with a heart not averse…
to the joy of knowing God who created the universe,
God who is light and love and who will disperse…
rain so peaceful it feels like His love being poured out
over the world, over the heart, over every doubt…
so that, believing completely, we’ll raise our voice with a shout!
So, what is a poem, anyway?
Should it have a fixed number of lines?
Should it rhyme all the time?
Should it be passionately romantic?
...As my lissome Latina lover
let the wild wind dance
through her fragrant hair
igniting my eager lips...
Should it be EdGyyyyyyy chIC O-SO A T Garde?
V N
A
maybethereshouldbenoformofpunctuationofanykindatanytimeperiod
And what abouty all those new forms? The haiku, the senryu, the question-ku
the Pantoum, the Rondeau, the Cinqku, the Cinquain, the Clerihu, not to mention that old Suessian special, the Horton-Hears-a-Who
And then there's always the matter of meter ... or is it metre?
Should a poem always have to feel like riding a horse?
Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered, weak and weary...
I thought that I would never see
A thing as lovely as a tree...
Well, my friends, were I an actual poet, I might answer your queries
But as one who merely dabbles, permit me to leave you with this:
In all poetry there is one common part
~ The beating of a very, very human heart
“Wisper words of wisdom, there will be an answer, let it be”
By John Winston Lennon, & Paul James McCartney,
Wounded Whisper. 22nd May 2023
"Living with a man with dementia isn't easy, but she makes it seem so."
THE TWIST BY THE POET.
When all seems lost, and I am in my darkest hour,
She comes to me whispering words of power.
Loneliness drapes a morbid veil, and all seems sour,
She comes to me whispering words that tower.
When pain spears my heart, I don’t know why,
She comes to me whispering words on which I can rely.
When sadness streams but grown men don't cry
She comes to me whispering healing words I can’t deny.
When confusion swarms it strikes an ugly blow.
She comes to me whispering clarity, for me to bestow.
When I am down and there are things, I don’t know.
She comes to me whispering love on overflow.
When all seems vague, trouble causes blindness.
She comes to me whispering words of kindness.
When it seems, there will never be any fineness.
She comes to me whispering words of divineness.
When she tries so hard to make my life freshly new,
She comes to me whispering solemn vows so true.
When I know she has done all that she could do
My wounded whisper can only say to her ‘Thank You”
This is not a message of destruction,
From my heart I still receive instructions,
I am a man who disregard general instructions,
We all need someone anyone to give our attention to,
I hide behind my looks as a form of protection.
May I stop rhyming and whining,
I give to you, by this, an honor Your Highness,
I saw so much of you, even when dehydrated you gave out tears,
By them my heart was of a soldier in to spears.
You see all I need to glitter, in a world that only triumph,
Its hard to find a living when all you have is a doubt,
Hard to find an answer when the question won't come out,
Your only considered mature when you know what love is about,
Farewell to you, a she who scares away the dark,
Be strong woman, one day in love you'll get stuck.
Was life so bitter
That it wore you down
Turned you blind and indifferent
To the good around you
The magic died long ago
Nothing marvels you ever
Your eyes sealed tight
Slowly your soul receding
Slowly your heart shriveling up
Till no one can reach you
Or reach inside
There but distant
There but not
You turned into an empty shell
While some people
Didn’t stop to notice
Others tried in vain
To answer the muffled cries
For help to fill that void
That painful abyss
With warmth and love
Or something like it
You didn’t want the help
You gave up on yourself
You gave up on us
AP: 2nd place 2025
Submitted on June 10, 2018 for contest HOLLOW sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSEN - RANKED 4TH