Long Arenas Poems
Long Arenas Poems. Below are the most popular long Arenas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arenas poems by poem length and keyword.
Conscience
Rattling around through the attic
Of twisting pathways –
Buried deep in cellars
Waiting to speak
Always present –
Illuminates
Returning phantoms of ambivalence
That won’t stay out of sight;
Lies
Refusing to stay silent;
Rationales pushed down
Jumping out like a jack in the box;
Marginalizations march
In maddening circles of consequence;
Ghosts of indecent decisions
Unable to rest in peace;
Sly designs of deceit
Slow eat away at the tender marrow;
Masks of deeds conceived in darkness
Fear the face unmasked by transparency;
Anxiety of sins uncloaked
Trembles at the eyes of the not yet;
Buried bones of sneaky words
Speak out unbidden;
Houses of flimsy excuses
Fall like dominoes;
Hallucinations born of if only
Become reality;
Sleep and solitude
Look away;
Pacing arenas of grey acres
Reject clear sunlight;
Music in the mind runs wild,
Refuses resolution;
Ever present truths, twisted in tornadoes,
Remain.
8-11-20
Contest: Infliction
Sponsor: Silent One
Once again, they horde the fuel
Tricking everyone to blame the gov't spoil.
Weeks ago, they pledged loyalty
To serve her faithfully with all might
Yet here they are, inflating prices, pocketing taxes.
They saluted the flag with pride so grand
But in their eyes, Sierra Leone is a battlefield
Where, like a jungle, the fittest survives
Even if leaving compatriots to die
To a grueling inferno on a highway drive.
Like a puppeteers, they toy with prices
Steal and champion every vice there is
Their loyalty to the country is a hollow shell
Where offsprings of deception dwell
Their places of worship arenas to trample the hearts of their compatriots
Treating each of us like idiots.
A heartless patriot, an empty shelf
Striving to fill up, putting country behind self.
Wretched monsters by all indication
Boasting of knowledge and the best education
But the day of reckoning looms, where truth will eclipse their deceit.
In the heart of the evergreen state where mountains touch the sky
You’ll find the PNW Poetry Guy under Mt. Rainier’s watchful eye
With the South Sound’s rain-soaked landscape boasting tall fir trees
The PNW Poetry Guy’s verses are penned in the cool misty breeze
From Seattle's shimmering skyline to Tacoma’s tide-flats
The PNW Poetry Guy honors his roots wearing many hats
Observer, consumer, and admirer of the beauty mountains to sea
The PNW Poetry Guy inspired by an Emerald City spirit so free
Mossy paths winding through sprawling foothills in the Cascades
The PNW Poetry Guy enjoys the forest-covered steep hiking trail grades
Through the Puget Sound whispers to Ocean Shore’s rhythmic songs
The PNW Poetry Guy writes among scents of coffeeshops, fish grease and bongs
City Center, Montlake and SODO are special places energizing Seattleite’s hearts
The PNW Poetry Guy at the stadiums and arenas as our teams do their parts
Sure, we have problems but through diversity and inclusion they are addressed
The PNW Poetry Guy is proud to be born and raised in the majestic Northwest
The Dawn Ballet
Let me dance for You,
before I put my feet upon the floor.
Let me sing out your praise,
before the day has a chance,
to be anything else...
but a blessing,
in Your name.
Born again, and forgiven,
paid for by blood,
yet imperfect...
as I am not the lamb.
I am the worthless,
the unclean,
set free by Him.
I am allowed...
a place in heaven,
by His Grace,
His Glory.
My heart yearns to serve,
to somehow give,
more than I have received...
Impossible.
I am small,
and that is good to be.
As the sins of my life,
although nothing to some,
dragged me around by the hair,
and beat me in both public...
and private arenas,
to show that I,
am like them,
they are like me,
and we... are all without worth.
The Lord called me,
from the place close...
and far to my heart,
were fear was comforted,
and kept.
He pushed it aside,
then through it out.
Now there is only...
And I, am at peace.
I lift my limbs slowly,
those that I still can;
everything still causes pain.
Yet, I am unconcerned.
I am alive.
For the first time,
since I was born.
A life of beauty and happiness denied, of innocence
smothered like a flame--I have always lived; but when
I am touched by your kindness, O Rose,
Now, I am free!
I was dead before I even entered into this world, a
place cruel and without feeling, cruel and without
the love and compassion I finally know in the rich
lovingkindnesses of your heart, O Rose!
They set me free.
Before I could even hope to bloom like a young flower
hanging breathless and exposed in the first, rainy
sunbeams of life a great evil--the menacing hostility
of a dark, soulless figure spilling over with
hatred--transformed me into a joyless
waste of ashes.
From that terrible moment on I fought all the ugly and horrible assaults
as his unwilling property, a child-gladiator in the arenas
of his constant abuse and
intimidation.
But when I know your forgiveness and now recognize your tender-
ness and compassion as unearned gifts meant for
me
despite my childish self-loathing
and my unworthiness
I feel the love and self-esteem denied me, taken from
me simply because it was too easy to rape from
a child whose only fault was that he was not born
white
or with money or status.
O Rose! Because you finally arrived in my life and rescued me--now I am free!
Free from my years as an abused prisoner in the arena of his constant
abuse and attacks,
able to bloom like a young flower hanging breathless
and exposed in the first, radiant sunbeams
of life again!
Keep working and don't stop,
Keep pushing like a running back.
There's no time to stop now,
You must keep going
Until you make it out.
If you give up now
you won't make it out.
Push through the hard times and
Enjoy most of the good times.
If you want it bad enough
You will not let anything,
Nor anyone hold you back
From reaching your goal.
Keep working and don't stop,
Keep pushing like a running back.
There's no time to stop now,
You must keep going
Until you make it out.
You can still do it so long as you
Have breath in your body.
Don't stop until your dreams
become a reality.
Keep fighting until
the final bell rings
Over the speakers and
throughout the arenas.
Keep working and don't stop,
Keep pushing like a running back.
There's no time to stop now,
You must keep going
Until you make it out.
If you read the reviews
And review the reports,
You'll conclude I'm a dude
Who is no good at sports.
At badminton, lawn darts, or table tennis,
No record of my name's in that book by Guinness.
When I tried to play baseball
The coach was sarcastic.
I ran like a windmill, he said,
That was spastic.
But the rest of my teammates said they had no bothers
'cause I kept the bench nice and warm for the others.
Gymnastics, wrestling, touch football, the same,
I was simply no good at those physical games.
Even when I tried golf
All the caddies would scoff,
So the country club canceled my guest privileges pass.
So, suffice it to say my abilities lay
In arenas requiring less sweating.
I eschewed the life athletic
And pursued one more aesthetic,
But two things I excel at, I'm betting.
I'm quite good at remembering small victories I win,
And my flops I am tops at forgetting.
Entered You Choose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Jan. 11, 2023
Honorable Mention
Thanks, Brian
From the dark arenas of violence,
from the shackles of oppression,
from a land reeking of the smell of blood,
they flee bloodied and bruised.
these scraps of humanity,
alienated from their moorings,
have no possessions
other than the sky above
and some inches of land to curl up
that they carry with them as they move.
before them gapes an abyss of emptiness,
disturbing them like existential absurdity.
they differ, speaking disparate tongues,
like those heard in the tower of Babel.
but they have a single identity.
they are all REFUGEES,
driven by war.
they have a single destination,
a promised land of nowhere!
…………………………………………
Nov.19.2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Horses! Poor victims of man's inhumanity.
How many had their lives destroyed without pity?
Drag carts in dark mines without seeing the daylight.
Charge in battles, inhale gases, die in a fight.
Worn out carrying plows for men who disparage.
For the travelers, pull heavy horse-drawn carriage
Under the blazing sun, the rain, or in the haze;
And for silly, heartless tourists still nowadays.
You strongly curse these exploiters, powerful nag!
I read in your dreams, thoughts, even in your fibers,
And guess how you see your heaven ideally.
In arenas, these sinister people, in rag
And despair, join circus tamers and bullfighters
Condemned to kill each other perpetually.
Written: April 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
***********************
Inked impressions intricately
inscribed into the epidermis,
and a story evolves.
Splintered by the subtle stroke
From every exquisite edge,
echoes of experiences emerge.
Across the colossal swath
of humanity canvas
A chronology of events,
Love and death entwined.
Expungement—a sharp
razor cuts off relationships.
As boundaries are drawn closer,
the heart aches.
Home becomes far-off beaches,
but ink never changes.
Stories remain long,
after our bodies do not.
Dreams allow the tattoos
to tell their stories.
Utilizing a vibrant version of hues
or somber, shadowy silhouettes.
They discuss dynamic drive
on the fierce force of faded erasure.
Art reaching beyond barriers
Art advances across all arenas
and barbed wire lines.
their claim: my tattoo is gang-related
From a secretive sanctuary
to vivid memories,
every brush challenges
the grasp of forgetfulness
However, feet may stray
from well-known pathways.
As a bird confined in a cage
I felt helpless
until I induced myself
to suppress my madness.
The ink has its origins
In the depths of the soul's embrace.
The goal of banishment
is to obliterate all trace
of one's physical presence.
But individuality lives
in colors carefully chosen—
an everlasting monument
to the inability that
Any mandate can quell.