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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
allegory allusion
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
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best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boxing day
boy boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
christmas cinco de mayo
cinderella city
class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad daffodils
dance dark
daughter day
death death of a friend
december dedication
deep depression
desire destiny
devotion discrimination
divorce dog
dream drink
drug earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
endurance engagement
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion fate
father father daughter
father son fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire firework
first love fish
fishing flower
flying food
football for children
for her for him
for kids forgiveness
freedom french
friend friendship
fruit fun
funeral funny
funny love future
games garden
gender giggle
girl girlfriend
giving god
golf good friday
good morning good night
goodbye gospel
gothic graduate
graduation grandchild
granddaughter grandfather
grandmother grandparents
grandson grave
green grief
growing up growth
guitar hair
halloween happiness
happy happy birthday
hate health
heart heartbreak
heartbroken heaven
hello hero
high school hilarious
hindi hip hop
history hockey
holiday holocaust
home homework
hope horror
horse house
how i feel howl
humanity humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i am i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
independence day innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational integrity
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
july june
kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
meaningful memorial day
memory men
mental illness mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mother son mothers day
motivation mountains
moving on mum
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new years day
new york nice
niece night
nonsense nostalgia
november nursery rhyme
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people perspective
pets philosophy
places planet
poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
poverty power
prayer prejudice
preschool presidents day
pride princess
prison proposal
psychological purple
quinceanera race
racism rain
rainbow rainforest
rap raven
recovery from red
relationship religion
religious remember
remembrance day repetition
retirement riddle
rights river
romance romantic
rose roses are red
rude sad
sad love satire
scary school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silence silly
silver simile
simple sin
sister sky
slam slavery
sleep smart
smile snow
soccer social
society softball
soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sunset
sunshine surreal
sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
thanksgiving day tiger
time today
together travel
tree tribute
true love trust
truth universe
uplifting urban
urdu usa
vacation valentines day
vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world world war i
world war ii write
writing yellow
youth

Long Art Poems

Long Art Poems. Below are the most popular long Art by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Art poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Tom Arnone | Details |

April's Babbling Foolishness

(Created using the bAbBlE sentence generator, various text excerpts, and a minuscule bit of human editing.) 

And she smells good without keeping all ...

Beef, sitting lonely on that lies floating on the tufted floor. "Surely," I was napping, cold noodles, I implore!

But the Raven, "Nevermore."

Deep into that darkness peering, I got enough trouble.

Boy, the whole world together. Eagerly I guess dirt is what thy worldly name is on the tufted floor.

Taken from the night thinking. Eagerly I sat engaged in guessing, when, I'm supposed to spend the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose foot-falls tinkled on the floor; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then he fluttered - Till the dirges of evil! - prophet still, hot noodles with seeing bird above my heart be still is there balm in Gilead? - here I scarcely more than muttered, sitting lonely on that placid bust, chicken guts!

Beef, while I pondered, shrimp with garlic sauce, and the silken, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; hesitating then no longer, "Nevermore."

Beef, yet all undaunted, nearly napping, and sour chicken, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out, "Though thy crest be shorn and mighty truck load of prehistoric swamp mud! Take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, lemon chicken with fantastic terrors never felt before. Then the bird said, beef with fantastic terrors never felt before; But the morrow he will leave me burning, curry sauce, crispy noodles, all my soul within me burning, roast pork, pepper steak and sour combination, "Nevermore."

But the Raven, "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore!" Quoth the morrow; - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber of flea-bitten bug ridden throng of flatulent sewage! - prophet still, if bird or white rice, chicken guts! Take out, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, curry beef lo mein, shrimp egg foo young, roast pork with my head at my chamber of contaminated cigar butts!

The Raven, "Nevermore."

Beef with broccoli and nothing more.

"Prophet!" said I, "Tapping at my chamber of pureed monkey mucus! - prophet still, if bird or steamed dumplings, stir fried rice noodles, beef with chili sauce, fried or steamed white rice, perfumed from an erratic horde of his Hope that melancholy burden bore - Till I said, Doubtless," said I, "Sir," said I, "Art sure I heard a tapping, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of septic frog water!"

Beef with many quaint and mighty dipstick of Pallas just above my chamber door, "Nevermore."

Beef Szechuan style, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the only word, anniversaries, roast pork with onions and spicy beef egg foo young, all the seeming of seething pus! By that Heaven that bends above his chamber of soggy camel snot!

Ah, Bar-B-Q pork with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now to take out my heart be still the beating of my heart be still a moment, and nothing more!

Beef with sorrow for the lost Lenore! Quoth the floor; And his eyes have flown before - On this home by Horror haunted - tell me see, then, shrimp lo mein, boneless chicken almond cookies, chicken, chicken egg foo young, vegetable chow fun, "Nevermore."

The Raven, "Lenore?" Merely this and nothing more!

Beef lo mein, free delivery within 4 blocks, I implore; But the fact is I was napping, hot spicy beef fried rice, open 8 days, suddenly there came a blasphemous sliver of steaming monkey meat!

Then, pork fried rice, weak and mighty stack of my heart, and mighty bowl of rotten bear whiz!

This I flung the shutter, catering for free delivery, weak and mighty repository of the countenance it wore, shrimp, shrimp, with garlic sauce, fearing, Doubting, Buddhist delight, I stood there wondering, beef with my head at my chamber door - This is it and tomato, beef, That one gently rapping, crispy noodles, roast pork, eggplant with my head at ease reclining On the fact is I was napping, calamari with broccoli, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered - not a schizophrenic cask of mealy verbal diarrhea!

Beef with many a flirt and mighty crust of repugnant disk failures!

Ah, nevermore!

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out that now burnt into my bosom's core; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, crispy shrimp, I implore - Is there - is there balm in beer batter, sitting lonely on this desert land enchanted - On the morrow he hath sent, Bar-B-Q beef, while I pondered, General Tso's chicken guts!

Beef, "Nevermore."

Startled at the house specialties, "Thing of evil! - prophet still, Singapore rice, my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the angels name Lenore - Clasp a cow. Not the ducks and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell this is some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast delivery within 6 days, Nevermore."

"Thing of evil! - prophet still the beating of forgotten lore - While I nodded, nearly napping, and chicken, chicken wings, run, with my chamber door!

"Nevermore."

Jane said, "Here he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, Sir," said I, funny, Though thy crest be shorn and shrimp with me truly, shrimp with this and sour soup with mien of lord or steamed white rice or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Jane and tomato, perched above my bosom's core; This and vegetable chow fun, look, I muttered, Jane, I muttered, "Mother."

Beef, "Nevermore."

You - here, all the shutter, dropping her underwear now burnt into the chamber turning her dress.

Colors may be paid by that God we have sent, consult your receipt. There balm in Gilead? - tell me, feeling the door - Perched upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.

"Get thee back through him."

She knew that way she was watching her flesh. There spoken was unbroken, $111.

Then, what thereat is not the Beatles.

Quoth the grave and stern decorum of the angels name Lenore. Quoth the whole lobster with broccoli, Dynasty delight, all the night thinking.

He was in beer batter, By the ushers watch me up was sure gets complicated. They like parking your gum on the floor; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the stuff in the other kids are a man. They like you came rapping, truly your forgiveness I wish he'd hurry up snappy answers for evermore.

Copyright © 1994 Tom Arnone & bAbBlE (computer writing program)

Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

PermaCultural Trust

The organic building of a coordinated artist
begins with reconstructing competitively clumsy LeftBrain technicians.

Whether learning to play the piano
or learning to communicate in some new language
or learning to adopt,
and/or adapt,
norms and nuances of some new cultural environment,
human nature starts, and started, with RightBrain
as inductive unconscious autonomic pre-programmed DNA/RNA receptivity,
double-bind fractal-octave resonance,
to and with and as externally and internally triggered changes,
and builds out deductively
reductively decomposing complexities of some performance system
we notice in some other,
including other humans,
we are attracted to in some positive empathic-trust way,
inviting further trust.

But, stumbling across an anomalous situation,
a creature,
human or not ambiguously felt
and has become historically suspect,
we distrust due to negative threat,
aggressive competitions
where we would have normally anticipated cooperation;
or maybe just too loud and stinky
to mutually ignore in some tolerant kind of way.

From perennially positive systems
soliciting and supporting our further WinWin nutritional relationships,
and from our negatively toxic attritions,
our deductive LeftBrain builds labels 
to reduce the whole gestalt
into its cause-effect cycling and spiraling parts
until we can predict
to our satisfaction,
and sometimes hypnotizing horror,
how to regenerate/degenerate this behavior with our own mindbodies
through deliberate,
step by consecutive technical step,
building technique until this new pattern,
sequence of rhythms within interdependently cooperative performance,
becomes what we call "second nature"
internalized,
as automatic as finding our ways back home.

But, this second nature,
whether learning to perform a song
that is also a compelling and resonant emotive narration,
or venomously screaming threats at anyone you perceive as unlike your own egocentric self,
in some unenlightened way,
becomes incorporated into Left and Right Brain reiterative appositional flow.
Technically learned performance
moves from Left-deductive
toward Right-inductive co-arising nondual 
nature-nurtured habit of "second nature" expression,
thought,
activation of a mastered behavioral-affective constellation
of interior/exterior activity,
as natural as writing with your left
or right
dominant hand.

Given all the above,
when and why would becoming a violent aggressor
become an ego-acceptable,
LeftBrain deductive dominant choice
of encultured instinctive response to "non-kin"
as opposed to "not yet kin"?

How would one become attracted to,
and sustained by,
becoming a dissonance-creating and expanding bully,
an aggressor against potentially immigrating strangers as aliens,
labelled collectives of ecosystemic individuals, hives, nests, pests
who have not themselves ever actually exhibited threatening behavior
toward yourself, 
or those you already perceive as "kin"?

It seems that terrorism and bullying
might also be rabidly aggressive behavioral-affective negative patterns
which can be as competitively-reiteratively contagious
as cooperative trust
in healthier patterns of becoming together
rather than thrusting and parrying apart.

In WinWin as NonZero ReGenerative Game Theory,
and in Feminist EcoPolitical CoOperative ReProduction Theory,
learning resonant-positive nurturing behavioral norms
anticipates nonzero-sum, nonpatriarchal-competitive, outcomes,
WinWin bilateral equivalence
that normatively anticipates pay-it-forward more of the same
as long as everyone follows Left-Right learned
behavioral-affective Golden Rule matriarchal-maturation patterns
toward mutually nutritional "second nature" norms.

What is actually Elder brain stem "first nature"
is profoundly matriarchal-cooperative ownership and governance
except under unusual survival Win-Lose pressures of past experience
as environmentally reconceived.

It is here
in anomalous primordial seas
of survival of the "I Win so You Lose" fittest
where might makes our ego's self-optimizing right
to survive today
despite knowing that doing so by accessible aggressive means
predicts more of the negative same,
or even more escalating,
risk of loss tomorrow.
But, this is not normative "first matriarchal-love nature"
just as it is not first-nurture,
for if zero-sum survivalist toxicity
were our AntiGolden Rule primordial soup
from which we arrived at this time on Earth,
then human LeftBrain dominant nature
could never have evolved decompositional technique at all.

Declaring private or very public wars against alien terrorists
is a suboptimizing zero-sum choice
to play a negative LoseLife-LoseLife Game
unless no nonzero-sum option has been more diplomatically learned
that we have not yet responsively tried.

The zero-sum "I must win" so "You must lose" of Either-Or bottom-line producer-over-consumer-oriented capitalism,
with competitive ownership rather than cooperative ownership WinLose assumptions,
is a sub-optimizing economic and political performer,
still trying to relearn our first-nature matriarch-nurturing health and safety.

Capitalism as might-makes-right evolutionary theory
is patriarchally LeftBrain dominantly deductively mislearned,
technologically over-shot,
ecologically over-grazed ecopolitical error
in its unmitigated incarnation 
away from baseline cooperative matriarchal stewardship
and nurturing co-management roots.

Ecologic,
like sacred syncretic Logos and Mythos,
is prime relationally,
primally Original Matriarchal Source,
WinWin,
notnot zerosum,
for the same reason economic transactions
and politically positive relationships between kin,
extending out to neighbors
and those perceived more ambiguously as extending-extensive biological kin,
are rooted in continuous Left-Right ego/eco-balancing extensions
from co-empathic trust as positive and normative health-roots,
embryonically matriarch-regenerative,
while actively anti-pathic, sociopathic distrusts
are suboptimizingly and violently degenerative.




Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Neldy Jolo | Details |

THE CRAFT CAN CAPTURE IT

Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito 
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches 

Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved

Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities? 
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.

Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen 
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.

How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism 
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners 
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo

Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro 

May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din

As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away' 
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?” 
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino” 
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism

Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas 
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks 

I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin 
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta

Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas 
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika

‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it

Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago 
The name of people is Tausug. 
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam 
Is already a nation and state 
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja

Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law

I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts 
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.

I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it 
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.






This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!

Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by ruta skendeliene | Details |

Juozas Miltinis Learning Years in Paris


It was September 
Of one thousand 
Nine hundred seven
The end of summer
With apples lying thickly
Under the apple trees
And the smell of Autumn
Covering the grass
Filled with ripe yellow
And orange squash
He was born in a little
Wooden house that night
At the very edge
Of a very small village
At the rail tracks
Where lonely train 
Run once a day
Every other Sunday

Then one rainy Autumn day
He caught a Paris train
And ended up on the stage
With Jean-Louis Barrault
Who was taming a wild horse
In As I Lay Dying famous
Performance that stunned
The artistic community
Of avant-garde France
And Théâtre de l'Atelier 
Became an icon of the time

After the show was over
They all got drunk with ideas
That were brewing up in the air
They disagreed about many things
And all had different images
Of what future is about to bring
Fiery proving his own point
Marcel Marceau broke a fight
Protecting the mime rights
On the modern theater stage 
Under Mullen Rouge cabaret lights
Where fancy elusive prostitutes 
Stepped down from the paintings
Of dreamy Toulouse Lautrec
Who was leaning at the wall 
At white clothed table very small
In a corner next to open doors
Women with blood red lips
On whitish anorexic faces
Whispered little dirty things
In slutty enticing voices
Into enchanted artists ears 
They danced around the tables
In blurred light with their eyes 
Framed with dark eye shadows
Like deep pools of water shut wide 
On the other side in a dim light 
He saw a man sitting at the window 
Who looked like Antonin Artaud 
With pale face suspended in frenzy
Whispering with bloodless lips
And eyes locked in a distant gaze
Mystical words of a secret prayer
To his own God whom he called 
Magical cruel double theater cage

Later he slept in a room
With Madeleine Renaud
Future wife of J L Barrault
Which they shared in the attic
Of a historical stone building
On the Augustine street corner
With trams running non stop
All night along till the morning
Waking up exhausted artists from
The marathon of intellectual orgies
After the premier of Volpone
J L Barrault was still dancing
In the dark narrow corner
With pale shadowy horses 
In his deep sleepwalking haze
When morning broke up
Through narrow windows 
And light was gliding through
The cosmic artsy scenery
Of cosmopolitan Paris streets

One-day Picasso showed up at the door
Of the little room on the top floor
Where the roof was serving as ceilings
In his pocket he had a bottle of aperitif 
And the party went on till next morning
When he inspired started Guernica drawing
On the walls of the attic with his fingers
Dipped in blood reaching the arched ceiling
A beautiful but suffering weeping woman
Emerged in the dark shades of the beams
Screaming about sadness of human being 
In the world that lost its own Identity 
For imaginary empty cruel things

Jean Cocteau brought a bizarre spirit
Of avant-garde into the community 
Of a little world of artistic attic
That was tremendously affected
By the ideas of surrealism in his movies 
Filled with mystical images of dark spirits
Elaborated shapes sounds and forms 
Never seen on the screen before
Love struggle death and rebirth
Of The Blood of the Poet that is 
A part of a divine sacrifice
And the modern world’s price
For being authentic and alive

The next day he went to a market place
With beautiful actress Marcelle who was
Maestro Charles Dullins’ beloved wife
He wanted to learn the lessons of life
And to get a reality check of street wise
Also to ask for an intelligent advice
How not to get lost and find a way
To freedom and not to scream or cry
In all this spectacular confusing mess
Of imagery and novel lavish ideas 

He chose Charles Dullin as his teacher
And Théâtre de l'Atelier became his home
And his rigorous training ground
For long  strenuous four years
That flew by as fast as one day
He was taught to master the secrets
Of sacred stage that is to become 
A new religion of the future to come
On the grounds of Intellectual belief 
That there is hidden true meaning
Of every living human being
In the world that lost its ability 
To be fair and true to itself
He spent days and sleepless nights
Learning behind the closed curtains
The hard lessons of the theater art
Taught by skillful masters of the craft
The signs of the time were brought to life
In that dimly lit space of a closed stage
And lit with bright light to emphasize
The importance of the sacred stage
And the future was to be defined
Of many aspects of the art of theater
That was conceived in that place
Into the craft he was ordained 
To be perfected to absolute space
And time limits expanded and defined
In a new creative enchanting way
He pledged to be true to the cause
To protect the dignity of human being
To fight for the freedom of art
To become a new century's religion

Deep impressions of Paris artistic life
Etched in his brain in a new pattern
That he saw in the back of his mind
He knew he had to find his own way
To bring this pattern to life one day
He was searching for fertile ground
In Paris and all over around
But couldn't’t find the right stage
Till one rainy day he took a train
Back to where from he came 
He opened a new chapter in his life's 
Book that he was about to write
In images on Lithuanian theater stage
He brought spirits of masters to life 
Off all times in to this little country’s
Tragic life that was about to unfold
In the shadows of the second world war
Brewing in the guts of European core
That was wide opening the doors
For dark evil unpredictable force
To come and change the world
in a way that will never be the same

Copyright © ruta skendeliene | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by ruta skendeliene | Details |

Jean-Louis Barrault As I lay dying

Heavy storm was sweeping dark Paris streets
Lit with dim lights that dreary November night 
With ghostly shadows lurking in the corners
Cold wind dancing with dirty wet leaves fallen 
In the water pools in the middle of the street
It has been raining already for three weeks
Everybody was getting impatient and
Anxiously praying for a long waited relief

Behind the closed doors of Theater de I’Atelier
Filled with mythical spirits of Champs-Elysees
That gloomy night a magic was about to happen
The stage was sunken in the darkness yet
While audience quietly was taking seats
An imaginary world was opening behind
The heavy black curtain that was hiding
The secrets of magic of the theater
And was slowly rising to the ceiling

The center stage circle was bright lit
With dark corners filled with imaginary 
Shady creatures crawling slowly towards 
The center like moths attracted to the light
It felt like a fiesta of the creatures of the night 
Unexpectedly stunning confused audience
White horse emerged from the darkness
Like a fool moon sliding over the edge 
Of a heavy cloud in the center of the stage
Stopping for a moment glancing shyly
Then jumping over the edge of precipice 
The horse hit the ground with his hoof
Terrifying sound left his wet snout
He leaped and flew towards horizon 
That was emerging on the backstage
With dark heavy curtains rising
And opening the view in front of
Audience suspended in disbelief
Of endless prairie going forever
Touching the edge of the sky
And extending itself like a lazy
Snake towards the milky way
Stunned audience gasped

A quiet moment passed by 
And then a young man appeared
In the middle of a vast lit stage 
Sitting on a horse and smiling
In a victorious way like someone
Who just tamed a wild mustang
Just like he was trying to tame his pain
For all those long unbearable days
While his mother was lying in bed 
At a small window to the backyard
And watching a coffin to be made 
For her from a raw three trunk
That smelled like wind and the sun
She knew she was slowly dying 
And quietly waited till preparations 
Are made so the moment of death 
Can come over like a welcome guest
And take away her lonely aching soul
Which used to be like a white mustang 
That was dreaming of being free and wild
Running green fields and chasing clouds 
But was tamed by the hardships of life 
And was reduced to a battered drought
By everyday heavy exhausting load
She was getting weaker every day
Every night that was passing by
Took her strength bit by bit
But her spirit was not dead yet 
She made an extreme effort 
To stand and walked slowly outside
To see the moon and the sky 
Filled with stars and a big dipper
Friendly smiled into her eyes
Her white long hair was flying
In harsh cold wind that night
Like a spider cobwebs spread wide
Touched the nose of a white horse
He made a quiet sniffing sound
When she leaned on him and died
She was holding horse with her arms
Her empty eyes were staring at the sky
Young man sitting on the horses’ back
Grabbed her swiftly and pulled up
Like a light body of a sleeping child


On a bare wooden floor of the plain stage
Hypnotized enchanted audience saw
A young man holding an old woman
In his arms on the back of a white horse
Who was crossing the universe towards
Shining bright twinkling star North
He was flying far away from the sorrow
To the light that lifts the hollowness
Of the arduous earthly life

It was a single mime on a plain stage
But his movements gestures and face
Created artistic full blooded alive 
Image of Love Hope and Escape
Audience saw a trinity on the stage
In a few different kaleidoscopic
Dynamic emerging and fleeting ways 
Brought to life by a willpower of a man
Who squarely believed in the magic of stage

A year ago he was in a creative daze
In the middle of night on the stage 
Taming a wild horse till exhausted
He fell down on a bare cold floor
Slipping in a deep like death sleep
He was walking in a prairie filled with
Tall wild grass reaching the clouds

He got lost and his heart was beating loud
Then he saw an old woman who was lying
On a dry grass floor at the water pool
With long white hair spread wide
With empty eyes staring at the sky 
She looked at him and died
A young man her beloved son was
Feverishly trying to hold indomitable 
Horse with his young strong hands
So he can take his pain away
And he would not have to feel
The loss and to think about 
The dialectics of death and life

He saw a horse a man and a woman
In his vision that night very late
Almost in the morning when sunrise
Was coming through the window 
And the horse was hopping away 
In to the opening gap of the 
Bleeding red morning sky
Melting into distant disappearing
Constellation of milky way
When he opened his eyes 
He was deeply shaken by the image
He saw in his dream last night
Which expressed the essence
Of sorrow despair pain and loss
The image of a man woman and a horse
So he knew he had to try
To tell the story on the stage
The way he saw it in his daze

The audience was very quiet
When the stage curtain fell down
Announcing the end of the show
On the bare stage on the plain floor
Magical world that opened the doors
Into delicate realm of shapes and forms
Had a strange effect just like a raging storm
That was gone by the time of the end
Bringing unexpected agonizing relief
That Aristotle called the effect of catharsis
Or the purge of a suffering wounded soul
That couldn't find peace in the real world

Copyright © ruta skendeliene | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by john chizoba vincent | Details |

Pen Errand

I know that even when others deceive me, you can't decieve me with your blossoming ink of truth.
Go tell them what has happened to our budget,
Tell them that our budget is missing in a broad day light, who stole it? We Are yet to know.
Tell them that the chibok girls have not return from the forest of lies.
Tell them that the president is confused in fighting corruption.
Tell them that the same looters are our ministers in the government house.





Go to the school, tell the teachers that they have lied to us.
They told us that we are the leaders of tomorrow and our hopes were lifted up, happy. Joyful. Excited.
Yet, the old men still control us like cattle in the field.
They taught us how to carry Bible on our left hands
And then, hold gun on our right hands to kill.
They taught us to keep lies on our upper teeth and
Truths on our lower teeth and deceit at the tip of the tongue.
How the weak sun smile, they shows us with laughter
How the air was inverted with a cloud of worry; they taught with a black chalk which depict darkness.






Go tell the moon that the world is not happy with it,
Why colour our world with white while we need darkness, darkness that speak honestly to humans?
Stop no where until you get to the skin of the sky,
Paint it with red and black of your tongue, humans
Don't need white sky but black and red sky.
Hurl my soul to the people of the earth, smile not!
Laugh not, pen! For the gods are blind to see your work.
Where are the gods of the land which supposed to shield us to peace?!
Where are the gods in this land?
Where is Obatala, Ogun, Amadioha, Sango, Arusi?
Where are they, my beloved pen?
It wasn't so in the beginning, no, it wasn't so in our time.






Your words is but a candle on stand with men,
You will make many blind and many loose their senses when you start with your endless talking.
What good is that to them that they live on earth?
All have sinned and you must tell them the truth,
Do not be gentle on those hard stone, honey pen.
Go! go!! Go tell them of the pains they have caused
While I remain in this darkness called bar of truth.
Hide nothing from any man or woman, understand?!
Men have chew many cud in their mouths and this had made them forget their creator's warning of love.





Hold the church at ramsom because they caused the war, religion war against one another in the church.
Tell the pastor of your observation; of his drifting off from the doctrine of God, the creator of the universe.
Ask the Imam why many are killing in his mosque,
Why many has created their own part instead of the
Path of their prophet; Mohammed, why?
Then, return to the church and ask the pastors why
Prosperity sermons is the order of the day, pretty pen;
Don't be shy and intimidated on this journey.
Many would abuse you but forth I send you not backward.







Tell the government they have done us more bad than good.
The masses are weeping at the door of their houses,
Commotion here and there in their handwritten letters
The oil they made to fight against us in an abnormal way.
Our hearts they have taken to their hearts to dine with.
When shall the call of intergrity be made to us?
When shall all return home to feast together as one family?
Tell them we see all their works to us under the sun,
Every one shall receive their reward when the time comes.
No king forever, soldier go, soldier come, barracks remain the same.







Stories foretold between my fingers are the sad ones.
Dreams made real by the stroke of a golden pen is real to the boredom of their looted ego in the world.
Blue inks manifest to change course of humankind but their dirty hearts foretold of an unchanged facts.
Red inks warn of impending wordless doom that will befall men when their hearts remain the way it is.
Black ink is the colour of their souls, black demons.
A writer's morsel is pictures in the brain of his brain.
Tell them to turn to the rhymes of their dance and watch how the beads they wear will mock them in tears.





Let your words be broken into verses so that they could understand that life wasn't to get and eat alone.
Mighty pens speak and, I know you won't disappoint me when you see their faces in the light rooms.
Do not look at their faces nor look into their eyes!
Those faces and eyes are decieving to look at. 
Your languages their tongue may not understand but write it down on a white parchment paper shrivels under your bleeding  body, maybe they would understand.
Words are my wealth, the wealth you really need to share with the world to know of our pains.








Journey of a pen knows no destiny nor fate of others,
They may take your words or leave them at the door of their ears but; make sure you speak what I asked you to speak to the dying world of sin.
I cannot beg the graveyard to teach men of quality of being honest but, I can only plead you to redirect their steps .
I may not  have to  live completely to write but this errand I sent you shall represent me long before am gone, the legacy of your message to the world shall not be wipe away nor be chased away from people's heart.
I die tomorrow but death never kill me when my words are evidence in their hearts.




(C) John chizoba vincent
Voice from Nkporo

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |

The Providentiality of Farming in Giantvillism - Page 1

The Providentiality of Farming in Giantvillism Eccentric people with their characteristics and ways must move forward to a more defined place. The climate enriches the Earth and science is formed for the vegetation to bloom. By being attentive and aware, farming is providentiality and a people becomes proactivity. ***** Jakobirye Castle is abreast in mind, for today, he is energetic and enthusiastic to endeavor afar. Giantvillism he wants to visit soon to talk about the natural habitat of this world beyond. He has begun to study the vegetation that is so different from Beantown’s. This is because he desires to farm the land with the seeds of his people birth and knowledge. Yes, Giant and Maddy do have their aspiration from their insight about their world, but for now he knows that learning what is there to nurture and nourish is first and foremost. ***** Besides being of acumen to do, Jakobirye, also known as Jake, ensued that he would bring each seed of Beantown with him. He fancied testing the land of Giantvillism to see how each crop would form. Accordingly, he is decisive in building small plots to plant each seed he brings. On his way up his beanstalk, Jake begins to sing, as he always does, about his ideas of teaching the providential of farming in Giantvillism. * Would be of great importance… That is to farm for a greater harvest. The land seems to be so rich. I can’t believe that I am this fortunate. So I travel to this world beyond to plant the seeds of Beantown. ** Upon his mid-morning arrival in Giantvillism, Jake went into the Village of the Big People Stone. This is where Giant and Maddy roamed. He greeted them with a loud hello and each moved fast to embrace their friend with love. They, therein, exchanged traditional words of greetings as… "Greetings Jake and welcome to our world". Herein, Jake begins to tell why he had come. *** Jake: In that it is time to begin to develop the land, farming will cultivate the earth and bear the fruit of our labor. Giant: What do we have to do? Maddy: This is to grow food? Jake: I have brought the seeds from Beantown and if you have seeds to plant, now is the time. Maddy: We do have the seeds from our birth and knowledge. Giant: Will we plant these seeds straight into the Earth? Jake: Yes, but we will build half-acre plots and plant the seeds there to see how well the crop forms from the Earth in your world. This will let us know what works and what does not work. Giant(with Maddy nodding): Therefore, let’s get to work first thing tomorrow. Today we must decide how much land we need to use and the land milieu. **** The land was chosen in the southwest of the Village, which was vast and wide. There were a 150 seeds to plant from Beantown and with 78 seeds to plant from this world, the forecast shows much work to be done. Giant, Maddy, and Jake anticipation was high. They went to their quarters to rest for the night was young and each wanted to be prepared because they desire was to finish the sowing within 3 to 5 days. Insofar as Giant and Maddy would like Jake to return home as confident as he came, and when harvest time comes, Jakobirye Castle, Giant, and Maddy of the Big People would be fulfilled men. ***** The Village of the Big People Stone woke-up to a day of community farming. Giant, Maddy, and Jake fruit and veggies were the seeds of the ground. They worked hard on the very first day because they wish for a half of acre of each seed sowed. With this adding up to 114 acres, they sowed 35 acres of seeds, with one half-acre for each seed, on the first day. This was the start of a livable future that would benefit ‘neighborhood engagement, community-building, and making fresh veggies and fruits’ the nourishment formed from the richness of the earth here in Giantvillism. The second day started off hectic. This is because Giant and Maddy had prior engagements. Today was a day of new birth where Giants life evolved from the cellulosic seen on the trees. As a result, Giant and Maddy duties were required to make sure everyone life formed as known in which the number would be five five zero (5-5-0). Five hundred and fifty (550) new lives evolve as adults and now Giantvillism population was at fifteen hundred (1500). The Village of the Big People Stone was flourishing. They properties where in the southeast of the Village in which they begin to build their home front. At 11:30, morning time, all had settle in their work. Giant and Maddy went to help Jake. This day they would sowed 25 acres of seeds with the end of the day bringing 60 acres completed. Day three and four were put aside for community farming only. On day three, 28 acres were completed with day four 26 acres bringing the ultimate achievement. Everything was done and Jake could rest on the fifth day and return home on the sixth day, but he had to leave further instructions on how to make sure the crop provided a great harvest. ****** ____________________________________________________________| Written October 14, 2016!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Funom Makama | Details |

He said, I said

How the housefly gets attracted to organic decay and an infant child traces the voice of its mother are nothing compared to the intense attraction Michelle and I possess on the guy owning not a strand of hair on his head but is in command of all forms of feminine arousal Our weakness was too glaring; our lust, too embarrassing the chance to act rare and expensive we've lost. All we've got is to dance to the tune of his authority as he smiled and consented to our 'not so hidden' desires. Now, he walks straight at us his every step, an additional load on me I seem to carry the entire solar system on my chest. My heartbeat, pulsations and breath are as loud as a live rock band "I've never seen you here is this your first time?"......... He said "Yeah, actually!".................. I said. My friend and I responded simultaneously our answers gushing out like a group of running horses, mine seem to carry more weight as it tames any challenge from hers. "So, how did two love Angels fall in such an unworthy place as this?"......... He said "How unworthy?"........................................... I Said. I've championed the game of words and emotions and just as what inevitably defines the day is sunlight so is my testament. Michelle showed glimpse of disapproval to my replies but my exclamation of her name gave adequate caution. "yes, this place is unworthy, because I need to pass through seven Oceans and seven hills to see someone like you"........... He said. "Then you'll never find me there. I'm not a specie going extinct." ............................ I Said. The gods of luck have smiled on the Lions once again in preference to other cats. The father of favour, shaking hands with the Eagle while by-passing the other birds. This is my exact situation as jealousy builds a castle in my friend's heart. "So, what's your name, sweet damsel?"...... He said. "Anna"........................................................ I said. This is a familiar routine, his plan is as detectable and as obvious as watered grass but letting it turn green is what I must not allow so that the security of my reputation is not compromised. "Anna is a lovely name, do you like poker?"........ He said. "No, I don't!"........... I said. The looks of my friend, spoke 'awe' mine replied in aggression then she flowed in complete understanding on its message on not acting cheap especially to the one we've shown so much likeness. "So what do you like?".......................He said. "Going out to the Cinema or the beach or engaging in salsa".......................... I said. Already scoring goals and dominating the game, I felt my opponent was completely toothless and flattened. But playing along is my aim to make him beg on his knees which adds to my fame. "Can we try any of those sooner?"......................... He said. "How do you mean?"............................................... I said. Another punch brings about another shield and sometimes a strong defence feels more fulfilling than a heavy attack. "Let's go out to the movies this night"............. He said. "I'm busy tonight!"........................................... I said. It feels like punishment to him but he takes it like a challenge and this keeps me far from winning. Being on top is my birth right and a step lower is deemed a sacrilege. "What about going to the beach this weekend?".................. He said "I'll be out of town"................................................................. I said. Persistence could be rewarding but my protective walls are just too thick for any form of penetration; too high for any form of infiltration and too deep for any form of condemnation. "Then, when would you be free to teach me Salsa?"............................ He said. "I'm not stable, neither can I determine my free time"..................... I said. The game of attack and defense is never absolute as the attacker may fall victim of a rare counter attack or the defender, gets wary of his defense with no chance to pull an offensive string. Either, ending up as the vanquish despite the brilliant strategies being set up. "Michelle, are you also unstable like Anna?"...... He said "What!"............................................................... I said. Envy plans on a historic transfer while my friend poised not an aota of difficulty and this makes me extremely furious. She was just at the corner waiting for this opportunity and even before it avails itself, she snatches it into her well guided belongings. Looking at both in confusion and disappointment; they share contacts and crack jokes. "I'll give you a call this evening".................. He said Nothing I said because now, Michelle is running the show.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Goutam Hazra | Details |

Scent of Paddy Flower

Scent Of Paddy Flower

                                   By Goutam Hazra

           1
Reminiscence

My father told me 
first time 
I was just a boy then,
“Follow the scent of paddy flower
move with the wind it carries,
surely you will go to heaven.”

I remember
he would catch 
fistful of wind
bring near to my face
and wonder,
“Isn’t it godly!”

Magically, opened his hand
but I never felt
what scent he meant.
            
             2
Days of kind rain

“Son, see the misty wind
rushing all over the paddy field
comes every year
to drink the scent of paddy flower.”

Mere as a boy
I could see only
tides of a green plane
touching my little finger
and racing far… too far.
I would ask  
“Where have they gone?”
Smiled my father 
and said
“Did not you listen,
they are going to heaven,
call the goddess then,
‘come goddess dear’
we all are ready with paddy flower.”




Curious was my face,
“Papa, then?”

“Goddess will arrive smiling
her feet will be here
there
everywhere.
Seeing a pot in her hand
all those paddy flowers
delighted, will open their mouth more wider
and life will be poured…”

“Where these flowers come from?”

Remained my father smiling
speaking all his mind
looking high at sky
asked me to see there
spoke he again.

“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
on the first day of its shower
kind rain would ask me to come here
with bagful of paddy seeds,
‘let seeds be spread all over,
let its eternal relation with soil
be the fertilizer’
when all said is done
waiting rain 
starts showering its kind
make visible hiding life in the abyss of seed.
Happy wind changes color
being green all around
waits for the day
when the wind would smell the scent of paddy flower.”

Days passed by,
kind rain was still in waiting
sometimes hidden beyond horizon
or simply making sun blind with its smoky face
and whenever wind said,
‘Dry I’m now’
quenched the thirst.

Someday wind played naughty with sun
asked kind rain to make it misty
and with brushes of sun rays 
painted a rainbow on the face of east sky.


Wait was over
green field blossomed with flowers
and wind said,
“Fill in my heart
with scent of flower
I shall bring life…”

Happy was my father’s voice
“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
said so
green wind brining life 
did so
scent of paddy flower
is made so.
Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
kind rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
beautiful
simple
with the scent of paddy flower.”
           
             3
Cruel entropy

How old was I then
nine or ten
my father looked up
up to the sky
again and again
for a month long
only to see 
change of sky’s color
from the color of a summer day to a long humid night.
Dry wind cried at last
over my father’s sweating body
“Rain, rain O kind rain, where have you gone.”

One day sudden
kind rain came again.
Cried to my father
“Why no green wind came this year
from ocean 
to bring me here.
Desert wind why
dry my breath
seeds you have sown
how could I then
enliven with my rain.”

Question 
many question
my father had asked the rain.

Short-lived, hurried rain could spell its last breath,
“I am not that rain 
as was your friend,
I am the curse of dying forest
I am the ghost of all pollution
I am born out of acid weather…”

Who knew, it left for where?

My father cried 
As kind rain left him alone
hiding in a dry wind’s bone.

My father was still
going every morning
asking the soil
in vain
if soil could alone
make the paddy flowers to be born.

Year passed by,
came back the time, 
for green wind to bring kind rain.

Rain came one day.

But why
as a cloudburst
treacherous
roaring always
pouring unwanted
like an unkind monster
flooded misery
in the life of a simple farmer?
           
            4
Relinquishment

Dumb remained my father
for days together
sad was his voice at last,
“Run away, son, run away from here,
sky rain wind
river village land;
thread of this garland
who cuts it
go, stop now there hand.”

Draught and flood,
uncertainty of life 
changed my mind 
as of a farmer’s son.
Books, studies and education
reasons, truth and compassion
might have had fulfilled my father’s mission.

But… 
Does not this civilization
converts us 
as the products to do more production.
Run, run and run 
run ahead of time
let be it, at the cost of inhaling killer tension,
stress taking  over your life.
Insomnia, cholesterol or cynicism
is our success’s companion? 
‘A’ is shaped as ‘B’
and ‘B’ is sold as ‘C’.
Modification
innovation
sophistication
but I found the basic
what it remain
as life’s supreme conviction 
‘simply a fist full of paddy
and its grain’.

             5
Scent of life

So here, I am again
standing in front of this green plane
searching for the shadow of my father.
Green wind surrounds my existence
I can see the dance of those bunches.
My mind whispers to my ear
echoes those words of my father, 
“Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
beautiful
simple
with the scent of paddy flower.”

I never felt so,
what I smell now 
is the scent of paddy flower.



















Copyright © Goutam Hazra | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

Hidden Treasures

Listen to poem:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * s * * * * * * * * * * * t * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * s t a r s * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * r * * * * * * * * s * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A fine Parrot Tulip in vibrant intensities with unique undertones of green acquirable only in a few forests. A ruby red swirls within its petals beckons awareness of those very strokes that live in the luster of your shapely lips like fantasy realized. Mirthful yellows in all those lacquers barely ever seen as one would scorch their eyes to gaze lastingly directly at the Sun - though I have been fortunate to witness identical iridescence in strands of your hair you unintentionally flip and like dainty fingers wave me on to move closer to your flawless frame - memorized easily. A special fuchsia sparingly paints the flower they say exists only in certain singular gemstones yet l know this tincture for I have seen it in your cheeks when we play and laugh. Oh your laugh how it fills me - replacing noise surfing the waves of sound in the surrounding atmosphere. How enchanting when your laughter there - dwells to tickle molecules invisible to the eyes but felt by the human heart. Parrot tulips with their soft myriad shades become stunning against a deep black backdrop which shimmers bright like your ebony eyes. Sparkle like your smile and I grin happily just thinking of you, just thinking of us. A pearl white that also adorns the flower a special light effect I have found in your complexion - dazzles my mind each and every time I see you. Parrot tulips a miracle of nature, a special breed I admit are as remarkable as any offering that grows in our gardens but rarer still - you the flower I share my life with. No one, no thing, no life compares to you, your approach - for every time I even think of you, the joy it brings completes the meaning of my existence full. If not for you no other delight would have that extra zest I feel from the sharing of your love and light always. A Parrot tulip oh what joy it brings. How the flower draws these words from me. Ironic how true allure felt fills our glass so I thought I'd share with you how it uplifts my days - knowing confident in our love as one - you'd never resent me speaking of an elegance other than yours. So you may know - understand what the fibers of ones constitution compels them to write. Now - about a mystique other than the one you sport with humility. Finally I can not write a poem on aesthetics that does not mention you. A closing monologue. Just above and beneath the dirt grows riches unimaginable. Made to be absorbed by senses recognizable only by a few. They are free for the taking. An appreciation, a love of a natural essence. A flower, a person, romance you breathe incomparable to anything real or imagined. It alone are the wings we humans seek...as real and as precious as all else consumable. How lucky I am the magic handed out daily on these pages. The people I could never find anywhere else then here. I am in love with their words in love with them. barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark barkbarkbarkbarkbark earthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearth the refrain is a parrot tulip hidden under f this majestic a evergreen e with a l dew f d a r e o l p s t e m earthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearth r r r r o o o o o o o o t t t t s s s s

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems