Long Been Poems
Long Been Poems. Below are the most popular long Been by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Been poems by poem length and keyword.
Today I start a new adventure.
Every day I do this.
For this second is all I have.
The next second is not promised.
I can be stricken down at any minute.
The older I get the more I see this.
Today’s adventure has to do with poetry, cartooning, drawing, painting, and playing
I do what I want when I want; grateful for today
Grateful for time. Grateful for ideas.
Grateful for the life I have.
I have lost many relatives and friends.
Their deaths have been an inspiration to me.
To live every day as if it is an adventure.
I am grateful to those who have gone on before me…
Teaching me to live each day like it might be my last.
For it truly might be my last.
Soon after Simon and Jesus had arrived in Capernaum
Temple tax Collectors came for the two drachma sum
In questioning Simon as to whether Jesus would pay
Responding "Yes He will" and that was all Peter would say
So as Simon entered the house where Jesus was staying
What do you think now Simon as Jesus began saying
In the simple knowing that Jesus has never been wrong
Of course His argument was persuasive beyond strong
Peter was quick to see and so he too did agree
Though Jesus said unto him to just allow it to be
For He then sent Peter down to the sea to catch a fish
Knowing about the Lord Jesus you probably know about this
As with that, as Jesus had said, the first fish Peter had caught
There sitting in its mouth was what those collectors had sought
As is the sky and the land and this the ocean that He created
Let not His Power or His Glory upon you ever be dissipated
Tilapia
I have many cousins that share my life,
There is Happiness, Sadness, and Grief holds the knife;
There is Love, Hate, Compassion, but oh yes, Chaos,
My cousin, Chaos can be mean and heinous.
Full of malice and often we have a face-off,
Unpredictable- wanting to ruin my life's mosaic;
Oh the mosaic of my journey has been chaotic,
Full of starting over and making myself a new oasis.
When I fall, I re-build sometimes quite robotic,
I go through the motions like a neurotic;
My cousin Chaos just laughs at me- smiling,
I try to ignore him and go on in a trance hypnotic.
My life shattered, full of deaths and tears, weeping,
And Chaos is clapping and full of words, lying;
Rush here, rush there, just be disorganized my girl,
Chaotic, confused thoughts, with a what to do feeling.
Many times I have known nothingness and had to unfurl,
Like a rose, unfurl my petals for yet another whirl;
Oh my mean cousin Chaos really tries to make me nuts,
But, I am a survivor and will forever swirl and twirl.
___________________________
May 26, 2016
Poetry/Rubiayat/"A Chaotic- World"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-795-732-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
================================
You've never really been a part,
you feel, of this rare tribe you've met.
Kept separate from them from the start,
you fear they won't accept you yet.
But now, re-called to places where
you've never really been, a part
of you in all the faces there
will chase disquiet from your heart.
Like you, they're handsome, fair and smart,
the others in this group of which
you've never really been a part -
perhaps you'll find a common niche.
Though introductions can be stiff,
you were begot, the lot, by Art
and all may soon find it's as if
you've never really been apart.
================================
Poet's Note: My 4 siblings and I recently learned
that we have a half brother, sired 34 years ago
by my father, Arthur and this poem was written
to welcome him into his extended family.
I was ready to quit the counseling program
My first year had been horrible
I was the token oldie, and it had been a chore
I decide it was not worth the trouble
I dropped out, glad to do it.
Dr Jean Peterson called me on the phone.
She tried to talk me into staying.
I did not know her, I did not trust her.
I refused.
She wanted to take me to lunch.
I was an hour drive, she did not care.
She talked me into lunch.
I decided to try and dislike her.
We became best friends at that college.
I reenrolled into the counseling program.
I have been a counselor for twenty-eight years
It is the best career I have ever had.
I owe it all to Dr. Jean Peterson
A woman who would not take no for an answer
She was only at my college one meager year
It was enough, she was the mentor I needed
God sent her to me.
banned in the shadows behind the scenes
of a play,
he carried on along his path without missing
a step
his poetic gnosis stoked a fire without lighting
a match,
for its invisible to the masses a secret quiet
as kept
losses were taken but he chopped it up &
got back in the kitchen,
as if it had been the first time they tried to
alter his mission
his suspicions had come to light somewhere
deep in his mind,
but intuition would have him knowing the
score of games at the time
jealousy is a sickness of the mind they say
say is felt in the heart,
eating away at certain people with an
appetite of a shark
green eyes can see far but lack the clearest
of vision,
& are transparent when they approach so
they're seen from a distance
his persistence was only rivaled by his shine
& the will,
as the divine worked with his timing causing
his cups to refill
you can take the red or blue pill, just stay
away from the green,
as those eyes are steady watching, stealing
by shaking the tree
It's been quite a while
Since writing a poem
An hour has quickly gone by
Must challenge my dome
Come up with a verse
To tickle your fancy
Wherever that is
Perhaps in your panties
Now that's pretty crude
An excuse for humour
Please do forgive me
Should've caught it sooner
Not up with the latest
Off colour stuff
It sure ain't my style
Enough is enough
There's no longer themes
That are now off limits
I long for old stand-up
Not much smut in it
Use cute little words though
Like pee and poop
Innocent wee words
Adding laughs to the Soup
My reason for donning
The cap that I wear
I wear it quite proudly
It's a symbol I share
With all you good people
Bringing joy to my life
It's the least I can do
Sure hope it'll suffice
© Jack Ellison 2013
There are countless reasons to end a war…before that war’s begun…
If you’ll permit me this moment…I’d like to add another one:
Everyone has a story we add a page to every day…
Some of the chapters in my dad’s story were too difficult for him to talk about
so he filed them all away.
Chapters, I imagine, so painful his heart must have decreed
the words written on their pages were for only him to read.
He never spoke of his time in war…he was a soldier in World War II.
He never spoke of the Holocaust…or growing up a Jew.
Dad talked freely about other pages in his story…
but these chapters he kept us from.
Vital chapter in understanding the man he would become.
Mom said Dad didn’t like to talk about those horrible terrible years…
What it was like to kill an person (the enemy) he didn’t know…
how he lost the hearing in one ear.
I don’t think Dad ever realized the price we all would pay…
How much his missing chapters would cost….
How, when he closed certain chapters of his life…other chapters were lost.
When we asked Mom why Dad was always silent, grumpy
and why he wasn’t very much fun…
Mom would nod her head, sigh then tell us how war changes everyone.
She’d say, “I wish you would have known your dad before the war and killing came…
because,” she said, “ever since the war…he’s never been the same.”
And herein lies that other reason I wish wars would stop forevermore:
All the children who never had the chance to know who their parents were
before the war.
I Cooked the Book that Would Not Tap
A Doomsday, a nightmare gone wrong,
My hand shot with pain and didn’t stop,
Bandages hid the wound I wove for kong,
The silence echoed round the wheel fop.
I screamed with tears which said the news,
When sirenes had been screened for writ,
Draughts unveiled the blood for reviews,
That cared enough to dare read the fit.
Arching, the doctor stood vacant and here,
Physicalism bent metaphor until she looped,
Analogy personified emphatic nature’s fear,
When realism criticised cubisms’ truly trooped.
Critical realism still made no ontological sense,
My metaphysical slippers knew no god,
Subjectivism objected to empirical arms tense,
When constructivism departed from my odd.
I could not write to epistemology for methodology,
‘Cos clearly my relativity had got it substantive.
Moral absolutism saw humankind as pedagogy,
Still, not yet a guess, a list, a bond, gift, a plaintiff.
Rationalism was not a natural phenomenon, fair,
No predicates set my entities alight to condition,
The proposition adjunct to abstract and layer,
I imagined the mathematics that truly supposition.
This OR that, tip AND rat, not for me or negation
FOR ALL humanities THERE EXISTS a surreal,
Mere, underneath my formula, nude propagation,
Creating the sum of me that axiomed regal’s legal.
Logic. Logic, just pure blooded logic. Critical,
Crucial. Conscience, not questioning the cost, fact,
Never asking for terms or claim, the carer brutal,
The dame. The lame as mentioning the act.
Structural.
Rhoda Monihan
“It is too late to shut the stable door when the steed is stolen.”
~ From John Heywood’s A Dialogue Containing the Number in Effect of All the Proverbs in the English Tongue (1546)
“When the well’s dry, we know the worth of water.”
~ From Ben Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac (1746)
My mission is to go back to eighteen-seventy-nine.
I’ve been authorized to repair history’s design.
Luckily, I’ve been trained on a Woody’s Time Machine,
and granted poetic license, fate to intervene.
I’ve set the dial to Braunau am Inn, near the border
of Bavaria and Austria. I must prevent disorder.
I’ll play with history’s chessboard, move a couple pawns,
and introduce Klara Polzl to a man named Franz.
Franz needed a housekeeper, and Klara fit the bill.
So, until pigs fly, which they never did and never will,
Klara wouldn’t work for Alois. They’d not have a son,
and the world would be spared what their young Adolf had done.