Long Assume Poems
Long Assume Poems. Below are the most popular long Assume by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assume poems by poem length and keyword.
THE POEM IN MY MIND
It is all in my mind
you might say; Yes ...
everything I know and
I know everything.
It's those poems in my head
that can never be expressed
in words music or in deeds
The poem in my head that is
connected to my soul's being.
If the poem in my mind were
to be uttered, I assume – would
sound like the whirlwind
And there are no mnemonics
to allow the poem freedom to speak.
These poems are shadows of
my past and the oracles of our future.
Many poems born in my head
concerning wisdom and love.
Poems of outrage-apologies
never received or made.
Poems of empathy and compassion
Poems that have taken me
places that I have never been
or that I have visited before.
The poems in my head recite
silently the unrealized dreams
Poems inspiring faith
In the flesh of my reality.
Poems connecting me
to the human emotions
Alerting me to feel what you feel,
To think how I might come to
understand your difficulties.
Enabling me to Connect
to your Joy and your pain
The depth of life's secrets
allowing me to smile at
what you don't say.
React to the sounds
you don't make.
And to know the reason
that you smile back at me.
While the poems that we write are wonderful
and the scripts are acted out in
some awesome performance we portray.
It is when we turn our eyes away...
and Blink! It is then we think
how deeply the still waters run
in the rivers of our memory banks.
We listen to the masterpieces in our heads-
though, we cannot speak or scribe-
nor describe- The knowing runs deep;
Deep into the fibers of our roots.
The poem in my mind, I presume if heard
would sound a bit like the whirlwind.
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
When at last we go silent
deep within this internet hive,
will the delayed surprise
travel more or less than a minute or an hour?
Did she or he die, or were they always
apocryphal names written on dead air?
If we ‘pass’ known only to a few
who knew our covert compulsion to speak
to the invisible, to write to strangers,
(a secret we may take to the grave)
shall we miss being so mislaid?
Will a minor fame, a little flame,
die with only an ethernet epithet
knowing it left a mark so digital
it could be deleted by a fingertip?
When we go silent will they suspect,
assume that we are just gone away,
or imagine they hear once more
a phantom voice on distant lips
some other day?
Aliens DO exist and they are observing us guys
The way we interact with each other
What advice do you think they would give us
Would they throw up their hands in disgust
And say, “it's no use... people of earth, you just don't get it!”
Or would they see hope for us and offer to help
Perhaps they've gone through similar “growing pains”
Wherever they come from
And wish to share their experiences with us
At my advanced age, I hope I live long enough to see that day
To suggest that we are alone in the universe
Is absolutely absurd and beyond my comprehension
There are billions upon billions of other galaxies
With billions upon billions of other worlds like ours
To assume otherwise
Is UTTERLY PREPOSTEROUS!
From beyond the horizon of time,
Our roots unending, choose life -
For, as in the beginning, there was light.
When even in the dark of night
We must climb,
When challenges we must face,
Rather than taking flight -
We must look right towards the light,
Even in winter, we are as flowers.
May we assume any color?
In the good scheme of things,
Assuming any form,
In whatever haven we choose,
Like a rainbow following rain,
we will rise!
We will rise with the sunlight,
On a clearer day,
Even in winter, we are as flowers.
From the innermost chambers
Of our conscience came we,
Saturated with thoughts for life -
Springing forth day and night.
Like a rainbow smiling, we will rise!
We will rise delighting in life's gift
Of a new day,
We are as flowers, even in winter.
*
I was traveling all alone;
Hundreds of miles from my home;
I stopped in the hotel bar to have a beer and watch the game.
It was a town in the Midwest;
I was a little down I will confess;
The town was small and the hotel bar, just the same.
I sat between two girls and a guy;
They’d had enough to no longer be shy;
Within minutes we shook hands and shared our names.
They were really happy folks;
We told stories and many jokes;
Before we knew it, the bar’s one o’clock closing time came.
I charged the drinks to my room;
Said my room number aloud, I assume;
We said, “Good-bye, hope to see you sometime again.”
I was in my room, five minutes, no more,
When there was a light knocking at my door;
I thought, “To my wife, how this, could I explain.”
I quickly said me a prayer,
“Oh Lord, please don’t put temptation there.”
I am weak, a little tipsy and totally lame.
When my visitor I did espy,
It wasn’t one of the girls, it was the guy;
Not what I expected, but my prayer was answered just the same.
He was harmless enough,
But I’m not into that kind of stuff;
I sent him back to his room without inflicting any shame.
The next night at the same time,
I revisited the scene of the crime;
It was only me, the bartender and a baseball game.
I was telling her my story,
She winked and said, “Oh boy”,
“I knew those girls liked you, or Rosie’s not my name.”
But I said, “That’s just the thing,
“It was the one with a ding-a-ling”;
We laughed so hard, you’d think we were insane.
When I got home to my wife,
The best friend in my entire life;
I told my story, but she found it kind of lame.
The one thing that this taught me,
Is that there really is a divinity;
My continued monogamy, answered prayers share the blame.
I've heard many talk about honesty,
As though it is the best quality.
I know I hoped to be truthful,
But deep inside I acknowledge I was only brutal.
I've told them the horrible things many have done,
As a hypocrite, one could assume I held an empty gun.
I could pull the trigger,
But the bullet wouldn't speed past,
The only real difference would be the expressions so vast.
This would make me a liar,
but isn't that what the performance arts are?
the production is based on lies, but it seems as though it is the truth from afar.
Would being a liar truly be a sin?
If being truthful is what makes others hurt within.
One could consider every lie white,
For it may be the wrong words,
but compared to the honest, a liars' intentions are right.
Day 1
I fall—not through space
something thinner—
like light stretched
too far
across the skin of a thought
I buried years ago
The tunnel hums
with memory—
a child’s scream rising into laughter,
the sting of ozone before the storm
the flicker between blinks
where everything vanishes
Darkness
Sun blinds—
Day 2
The sky is a calm equation—
no clouds, no noise,
just light folded neatly
like fresh hospital sheets
The grass soft as breath.
No bugs. No bruises.
Everyone wears a gentle smile
like they’re born with softness
“Hello, Alice.”
They say it like a blessing.
They say it like I belong.
The air is perfectly
warm, like an infant’s cradle
Day 7
They say God
carved this world out with scalpels
—not one corner flawed
Every turn I’m greeted with
a warm, prepared smile,
“Hello, Alice.”
Nothing bleeds.
Knives are ornaments.
They assume I was born
with the scars on my wrist.
Even sorrow comes in silk-lined boxes,
labeled, packed,
ready to ship away
I tried to cry
The air wiped the tears dry
The silence tastes sweet here
and I cringe at the taste of sugar
Day 18
I tore up the garden today.
The tulips giggled
as I snapped their necks.
No dirt beneath—just
velvet lining.
I screamed into my reflection
in the lake with no ripples.
She smiled back
lips curled at a planned angle
I wandered around the city
grabbing strangers by the wrists
I want to shake their smile off their faces—
What hurts here? I ask
They blink:
What’s that?
Day 19
A couple invited me to dinner.
Ray and Jay.
They’ve never fought.
They finish each other’s sentences
like synchronized clocks.
They agree
on the color of the sheets,
the taste of strawberries,
how long to hold eye contact.
I watched them toast to peace.
I wanted to scream
just to see if they’d flinch—
I don’t know how much more I can take.
Day ??
I stepped off the roof
Not for death, no—
i just want a crack in the lined tiles
hair unravelled by wild wind
a cut that stings before it heals
But the air caught me,
soft as a baby’s first blanket
I landed on a bed of
roses with no thrones
Ray helped me up
while Jay offered me apple tea
“Hello, Alice,” they said
“Welcome back to the dream.”
I smiled as I ran across this old red tie in my closet the other day…
because in my hands was the reason why…
when I was teaching autistic students…I never wore a tie.
“You should wear a tie to work.” My principal said to me one day…
I responded that with my students I thought a tie would get in the way.
“Still, I think you should try it.” He said with a condescending smirk.
So that night I went out, bought this tie, and wore it the next day to work.
Jackie was a beautiful young girl…caught under Autism’s spell…
and to make matters worse…she was prone to seizures as well.
You learn to detect a seizure…moments before it happens…
to pick up on signs that, to some, may seem small.
It gives you time to run to them and help to break their fall.
I knew Jackie was about to seizure…I could see that glazed look in her eye…
as I caught her and her seizure started…she grabbed on to my tie.
Of course she had no control over her hands…she grabbed my tie involuntarily
which meant as I was trying to comfort her…she was inadvertently choking me.
With every throe of her seizure…which was not going as I had planned
as her arms flailed in all directions…my head was following her hand.
The seizure ran it’s course…and as you might assume…
With Jackie resting comfortably…I threw my tie across the room.
I keep this tie as a reminder…
of Jackie’s smile…
of a time in teaching when
we both survived her seizure…
And why…I never wore a tie to work again.
In the cockpit, in the air,
The pilot’s in control,
The safety of the passengers
His most important goal.
His second in command is there
In case he needs assistance,
No matter what the weather,
Destination or the distance.
When traveling, I never think
About the cockpit crew.
I just assume that they will do
What they’re supposed to do.
But hearing of this deadly crash
And what has been surmised
May stir up much more panic
Than can likely be disguised.
When buckled in our seats, though,
We’ve no choice but to adjust
And presume those in the cockpit
Are deserving of our trust.
Seven years
I’ve tucked ‘em away
Seven years
Been hoarding it all
Seven years
For a rainy day
Seven years
Better get on the ball
Potting shed, potting shed
Gonna build me a potting shed
Potting shed, potting shed
Tears to the eyes of the newlywed
Potting shed, potting shed
Joy in the garden and all the beds
Potting shed, potting shed
Planting and potting, that’s what she said
A fool and his barns
In the back of my mind
A fool and his barn
Been storing too much
A fool and his barns
Lord’s words weren’t kind
A fool and his barns
His possessions a crutch
The one barn is full now
Seen this coming with dread
With all that I’ve hoarded
Need to build me that shed
Better keep this one smaller
Don’t build bigger, He said
Hope my life’s not required
See the dawn here instead
Don’t assume, and don’t presume
Just because you’re making room
Might be building your very own tomb
But springtime’s coming, get ready to bloom