Long Anything Poems
Long Anything Poems. Below are the most popular long Anything by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anything poems by poem length and keyword.
The Spirit of Truth deeply hurts and wounds a sinner exposed
universal facts none of us are perfect to be honest
the union between man and woman
strictly this is the only marriage God has ordained
Those of you that support anything other
stand against Christianity and the Cross
the plank in your eyes splinters with arrogance
Abortionists kill the innocent seed of creation
murderers of life cry victim
claiming to care about equality and loving an individual's right to choose
In the face of horror their soul's are deluded
this pick and mix culture has turned against the commandments
those of our Almighty Father
Everything about them promotes hate and division
every heart has value when it supports Jesus's words
Love one another as I have Loved you
Deceivers always show little mercy playing tricks
when it comes to hate attacking the Bible
then again so many lukewarm Christian's are on a fast track to hell
they do not know their Faith blindly heading towards the fire
The Word of God is Supreme Authority and Divine Justice
He takes no prisoners or pleasure in condemning on Judgement day
GANGSTERS PARADISE
South Africa has a high rate of crime, anything is probable,
Keeping out determined criminals is impossible!
This is the house that my parents built 40 years ago that we
We live in,
This is the house that we built a palisade fence around that
We live in,
This is the electric fence on top of the palisade fence of the house
That we live in,
This is the remote to get into the property of the house
That we live in
This is the security gate in front of the door of the house that
We live in
This is the thick wooden door with two dead locks in the house
That we live in
When it gets dark, we activate our CCTV 16 camera system in the
House, that we live in.
Finally when we go to bed, we lock two inside security gates, cutting off the
Sleeping area, from the rest of the house that we live in.
Many South Africans have emigrated
To Australia, America, New Zealand,
Japan, Europe and even Thailand
Only then, to have to face a terrorist attack,
Tsunamis, Earthquakes, or a stab in the back!
Once upon a time, Prunella
dwelt amid a magic wood
a dainty pixie most rare
whose temperament wasn't good
Last one of her purple line
in that dreary, dreaded glen
where beasts ever feared to tread
and mankind had never been
For purple pixies were known
to be devilishly mean
they'd terrified the kingdom
wherever they had been seen
So Prunella lived alone
and pouted, skulked and scowled
and dark nights when coyotes called
she piteously howled
Until one day she found them
some children lost in the wood
and scared the daylights from them
just because she knew she could
The children fawned and pleaded
to appease her rotten mood
this only made her madder
so she copped more attitude
But she'd miscalculated
when she made the last one mad
and felt the ammunition
from that slingshot-wielding cad
Wee bits of sweets kept flying
so like pebbles at her wings
until he ran out of those
then he chucked most anything
Around the wood she darted
avoiding him at some length
until at last she gave out
having used up all her strength
He plucked her from where she fell
and plopped her into a jar
then she began to bargain
as the village wasn't far
But Fred, both shrewd and clever
vowed to keep her locked up tight
'til they all were safely home
and ev'rything was made right...
So she charmed the fireflies out
to show them all safely home
bossily shouting orders
from within the jars glass dome
But once they were safely back
the boy quickly changed his mind
decided to keep Ol' Prune'
(as pixies were hard to find)
And 'though she was mad as hell
and her wings pulsed fiery red
she couldn't help but admire
this precocious, wily Fred
'Though he never let her loose
they became the best of friends
laughing with glee as they kept
his parents at their wits-ends
“What's with these wild ideas?”
They would grouse, and groan, and moan
unknowing those mischief-plans
were a pixie's- not his own!
Sophie Dog knows who will share their food, and who will not.
If my husband gets near the kitchen,
she can hear the cupboard from two miles out,
and she comes flying through that dog door.
If he pops the Tupperware container with the ham,
she is next to him in seconds.
He cannot eat without her sitting at his feet,
giving him pathetic “I am starving” looks.
I eat in peace, she is not interested in anything
I have on my plate because she knows
I am not going to be sharing it.
When he takes a bite of a sandwich,
Sophie Dog has her head on his eating arm.
When he has a plate of ribs, she is sitting in the center of it.
“Why doesn’t she do this to you?” he asks me as he hands her a rib.
Gee, I wonder why.
Why can't you like me?
Asked Life as it glared at me
With icy eyes
As if,
It could read my face
As if,
It saw in me,
A disgusting creature with
Vile intentions!
Why should I even like you,
Said I to it in a calm and fed up voice
I fell in your womb accidentally
I enjoy none of your temporary pleasures
I find not my place amidst your many games
I find nowhere where I could belong
I find no anchorage
Except when I strive hard
To be free from you,
Yes,
I keep dreaming of the otherworld,
Of the promises it offers to pure and true souls
Of how much of a comfort it is
Of how it seems to be like a bed of candyfloss
Amidst the putridity that makes you up!
Don't ask me what it is that I should have been
Doing for you
Like the rest of humanity is doing
See, I know you can get harsh on people
See you the children starving, see you the stress
That hovers over the adults, see you the greed and the race
For money, see you the broken hearts, the grievances caused
By Death, see you the diseased, the damaged, the ills,
The violences, the filth that fills you up!
I don't like anything about you Life
My satisfaction shall be given to me
Only when I shall be offered the keys to
There where I keep dreaming of,
There where only I and the Gods be,
Content, full of joy, deciding on the fates of mortal
Humans, beings who remain ruled by their senses
So much that they cannot even be gifted
With the boons of awakening!
Keep looking at me with your icy eyes,
I shall merely lower mine
And furrow further amidst your riddles
So that I may find that which I seek!
Deep at heart Tim is a dreamer and longs for 'that' dream
And still and in certain arrest he is a child of gone times
His parents Hans and Ida had told him in misleading terms
‘You can do anything you want. . .’
They meant he’s bright and energetic even perfect and
While they had been kind and full of encouragement
The died long before he would abandon that prison
‘We fought the war and you must be free’
A pragmatist full of rational shackles dead to the core
He ponders for meaning caught up in emotional files
Sits under a canopy of figs and waits for the Buddha
‘I see a forest but where is the tree’
‘They’ say that the path is destination its very own aim
The road arduous and tricky and full of obstacle’s way
Sisyphus’ boulder could encroach the slope of the cliff face
‘Let it go but the harvest needs tilling’
Contradictions keep contravening mindful anticipation
Opposites obscure the harmony of synthesized bliss
Subconscious shadows loom in archetypal struggles
‘The conquest fights the lonely survivor’
Tim forfeits his axes to grind and carves his own shell
Forges gun into ploughshares and picks up a flower
Confuses meditation with mediation and forces the mould
‘Leviathan did not levitate he fell on his sword’
Every now and then he can feel the wind of his change
It might carry him to a rainbow and the Source of it all
Yet while knowledge bodes well it is futile without action
‘His fugue eludes the flute of sweet fruit’
He cannot sit still for he is a doer constrained by performance
But the dog on his shoulders resembles a poodle in a circus
A puppet on strings of comical drama a Pavlovian canine
‘Grin and bear it but do not stay idle’
Unleashed by the fangs of Odysseus Tim travels his underworld
Face down belly up he reaches for breath in a bubble of light
Tears at smears and disguise of a mask larger than Venice
‘All water reaches the ocean’
There are bridges and channels and at long last a pier onto
Which he drags his weatherworn body his mind and his soul
Someone left a message draped in simplicity on the pontoon
‘The sole purpose is living one step at a time’
12th February 2019
What makes people family?
Is it a mom, dad, and kids?
Is it aunts, uncles, cousins?
Is it husband, wife, and in-laws?
Who decrees what a family is?
Family is people in your heart.
People who may or may not be blood.
People who make you laugh,
Who are ready to lend a hand.
They are the people that wipe
Away your tears and fears.
Family is people who you love.
People you will do anything for.
People who, if not were family,
You would not look twice at.
Family to me, is who you love.
Who love you, no matter if
They are of your blood,
Or if they are not.
My family is my world.
I do what I have to
In order for us to survive.
I put myself in severe pain,
In order to make our life.
I would give my very life
In order to give them life.
I make mistakes and so
Do they, however I do
Love my family with all
My heart and soul.
Form:
After 12th,
we stood at the school gate
longer than necessary.
Like if we didn’t move,
time wouldn’t either.
You said,
“Don’t forget me.”
I laughed.
As if forgetting you
was even possible.
We promised forever
with exam ink still on our fingers.
We thought love was strong.
We didn’t know
love is fragile
when life begins.
The first few weeks apart,
we tried to be brave.
Good morning texts.
Good night calls.
“I miss you”
typed more than felt.
But slowly
our conversations turned into updates.
“How’s college?”
“Good.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
Fine.
That word destroyed everything.
You started sounding distant.
I started sounding desperate.
You were busy building a future.
I was busy holding onto a past.
Some nights
I would scroll through our old chats
just to feel something familiar.
The way you used to say my name.
The way you cared about small things.
The way you needed me.
Now
you don’t need me.
And that hurts more
than goodbye ever could.
One day
I noticed something terrifying.
I stopped being your first call.
Then I stopped being your habit.
Then I stopped being anything.
You didn’t leave me.
You just slowly
learned how to live
without me.
After 12th,
we didn’t end loudly.
We faded.
Like chalk in rain.
Still there.
But unreadable.
Now when someone mentions your name,
I smile like you were
just a classmate.
But inside
there’s a classroom
still echoing
with the version of us
that believed love
was enough.
After 12th,
we didn’t become enemies.
We became strangers
with shared memories
and no future.
And sometimes,
when I pass a railway station at sunset,
I still see us
Two teenagers
who thought distance
was just a number.
We were wrong.
While churning soil for my tiny Eden
I bumped into a cluster of stones.
They weren't jagged and mean
but smooth and friendly,
Like they once belonged to a sandy shore,
Very much out of place.
Like anything in life
when something seems out of place
we dig a little deeper,
deeper into
truth.
These stones were in a scattered pattern
perhaps a circle turned into a broken something.
There were small bones amidst dollops of dirt.
Then another and another,
Bits of cloth were bathed in time and faded.
Then I found it, a diamond-shaped skull of a small animal.
I held it gently in my palm, as any precious gem deserves ....
Half expecting it to say something, and it did...here are its words...
"I was a beloved pet
laid to rest in the satin of love and respect.
you wanted to create your Eden
but performed a desecration of
something far beyond sacred".
I wrapped the bones in an old satin pillowcase...
and as you would a little white lie.
Quickly buried the precious and the destruction together.
in the soft, cold, muddy mist
of a child's tear-torn pet.
O to give from ifs and buts free,
To feel happy, pleased just to give,
Feel good that gift is well taken
And that, receiver too feels good,
Charity’s not to show who’s tall,
Give as, to gift is good nature.
It is flowers’ innate nature
To flaunt fragrance and spread it free,
For ego’s sake nor to feel tall,
They give till too wilted to give,
By birth bestowed with this trait good,
Happy, their fragrance is taken.
Lamps like, its light’s lead is taken,
It is the lamp’s born-with nature—
To smoulder till they are no good
To do so, they wish light’s spread free,
For, lamps are born their light to give,
And care to feel good nor yet tall.
A cloud never shows stature tall,
Has always given, scarce taken,
Born with a benign bent, it’d give,
To rain, drain its inborn nature,
Its virtue’s to give, and give free,
It loves to find earth green and good.
Man condescends to give, feel good,
To show off his pedestal tall,
Seldom is his charity free,
Weighs: what in return be taken,
Give so as to take— his nature,
Born is he more to get than give.
Birds be or beasts, their best they give,
Not for any altruistic good,
Because that’s their innate nature,
Not to show off their stature tall,
Yon of things given and taken,
Birds be from all worldly ways free.
Alas, head rules and heart’s not free
To decide, head all commands give
In this world by head be-taken.
____________________________________
Sestina | 01.08.2006, revised Feb 2023 | charity, heart
Poet’s note: Sheer instinct makes birds and beasts look after their newly born without expecting anything in return. But we as humans look forward to our children reciprocating when we are old, not do things in altruism. Why? Because man is being increasingly ruled by head, not heart, this Sestina feels.