Long Belong Poems
Long Belong Poems. Below are the most popular long Belong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Belong poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, give me a home where everyone is free to roam,
sharing hugs and kisses with family and friends
Where there's nothing to fear 'neath the capitol dome
And my combatant countrymen have made amends
I want incivility to stop, ending the bitter hostility
Brother vs brother, hating each other with animosity
It's a misnomer to call ourselves "The United States"
when any topic discussed turns into chaotic debates
I desire a state of well-being; a country free of ill-health
Life is more important, compared to any material wealth
When did belligerence become accepted by so many?
What happened to smiles we wore? I no longer see any
If it were possible, I would paint everyone in a sepia hue
No blacks or whites; color would no longer have value
Medicine would not come with side effects that could kill
America would be great again because of man's goodwill
Freedom would belong to each man, woman, and child
We would respect nature and protect animals in the wild
Americans would live together in harmony; honor bound
Proud of our homeland, and once again world renowned
I long to see the U. S. have representatives who care
about our beautiful country, and keep oaths they swear
I want Old Glory to fly high, not used in domestic battle
dishonored by rioters, stampeding like a herd of cattle
Arguing over who's at fault has only brought us shame
What good are words and fingers pointing out the blame
I'm ready to move on and it's my hope that you are, too
Americans, remember what John Kennedy asked of you
* * * * * * *
March 9, 2021
What You Really Want Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
Once upon a time there was a sweet one-eyed gal.
She lived her life, alone, let’s call her Little Mal.
Her mother and father kept her in the dark.
They hid her away, and made her feel stark.
One-eyed Mal, in a one-cat-owned house.
Lonely girl sadly raised by a louse,
Except in her case it was not only one,
It was two, and life was not so very much fun.
When she was six she broke free of her chain.
She ran outside, and she danced in the rain.
The neighbors quickly saw and ran out to see…
She was a nice little girl, this one-eyed sprite, so wee.
The community took her in, and gave her a life.
Took her away from this horrible man and his wife.
She learned to love, and she discovered herself.
She learned that one-eyed gals don’t belong on a shelf.
She runs an orphanage for the ones who are hidden away.
She has a pet owl who brings them all swiftly her way.
One-eyed Mal, living her dream, thanks to a day in the rain
When she danced in the rain, after breaking her chain,
Moral of the story is easy to see, in a little bitty rhyme…
If you are miserable discouraged, or sad most of the time,
Then please break free, and fly, right now, yes, you, please do!
Life should be wonderful for you my friend, yes, you, Honey, YOU.
As I was approaching the main door
everything was dark no sign of light
this all looks suspicious to me
thinking to myself this doesn't look right
Then a voice speaks darkly aloud
come into eternal darkness all around
but I say there must be some mistake
this isn't where I should be found
The voice speaks asking why not?
I say I have believed in the Lord
Jesus Christ himself has saved me
putting all my sins to the sword
The Lord died as my substitute
shed His precious blood just for me
gifted me His imputed righteousness
forgiving me all my iniquities you see
Jesus has made me heavenly fit
to dwell with Him to be free
so now let's get on higher plane
bound with the saints all to agree
So make sure you're on the highway
for home's above not down there
we don't belong to the dark road
only with Jesus bright and fair
(this is based on a story of being sent to the Gates of Hell by mistake so Convince the gatekeeper you shouldn't be there)
I am crushed by the shape of what is missing.
I remember being here before in the quiet—
carrying the weight of rust and neglect—
encased in the void of a vanished world,
bleak as unturned steel.
The house I served is lost to the grounds,
demolished, bitter, left to its own decay,
reduced to a whisper of distant awe.
The beams that once carried warmth within
can no longer support their mangled frame.
Yet this brass still drags my resolve to belong,
heavy as a foundation of bricks and stones,
insisting that survival is something to endure.
We believe life’s splendor must be clear of stain,
but absence is a shadow you cannot ignore.
You are gone—you have been gone for years—
still your presence lingers, a voice in the woods;
louder than the machines that tore you apart.
Through the lingering stench of diesel and turned earth,
Memory is an artisan, bringing forth from shadow to light,
crafting its art from discarded planks.
I turn the key one more time in the dark—
And the phantom door opens.
Poem written for the beautiful impossible contest sponsored by Sotto Poet.
"Note: AI image generated to complement the themes of my original poem."
"I love night, because at night,
I don’t have to be someone—
Running codes with syntax and logic.
At night, I can be what I’ve always longed to be—
A poet,
And weave all the magic with my pen.
Night feels so much like me...
Dark, silent, with a cold breeze,
Peaceful—silencing every noise,
And alive, hearing only my heart’s voice.
During the day, I live how the world wants me to—
The world owns my days,
But the night—
The night is mine to breathe and belong."
—Beloved
—Let them take what they will—
The night is the only thing they can’t steal~
So many Americans think,
For us to truly succeed,
We must be an athlete.
With eyes on the black men,
They all assume we must,
Have good ball skills.
We have more abilities,
Than good sports agility.
We are not here to cause,
Problems and wreck the peace.
We just want our voices heard,
But instead they are ignored.
No matter where we are,
We just don’t belong.
We are always seen as,
Doing something wrong.
Whether walking on the street,
Or going to Starbucks to meet.
I hope there comes a day,
When we’re treated the same.
When we’re judged by actions,
Rather than as a distraction.
No matter what people say,
Discrimination has not gone away.
Suffering depression, desperate for help.
Found a book on meditation.
It provided useful guidance for one's proceeding.
Try to find a quiet time every afternoon.
Then sit in a chair, alone, in your very own room.
Light a candle, then place it safely on the floor.
Watch the flame for some time to help your concentration.
Then close your eyes and clear your mind of all possible distractions.
In 12 days, a feeling of drifting inward did occur.
Each succeeding day I traveled ever deeper,
moving in a tunnel, a tube with walls of cotton.
Up ahead, a brilliant light appeared.
Suddenly this lumen totally engulfed me,
a deep, eternal love so tangibly uplifting.
Then the notion, I'm out of place.
Go back! You don't belong here.
I quickly receded down the tunnel,
awakening in the chair in my room.
The lighted candle still burning.
Yesterday’s Wishes 6-25-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday’s Wishes
Yesterday’s wishes never grow stale,
Immortal dream walkers glint in platinum.
Fresh hope with wings, like moonbeams in a mason jar,
Nudges wrinkled wishing stars
To capture a prayer implored on the first star,
Slipping through starlight on a chivalrous quest
Determined to take destiny outside the ephemeral.
One fluttering penny never scarred by disbelief
Lives in moments of perpetual could.
A breath, ever new, kisses Heaven
On a still pond without wrinkles
With a heartbeat that shakes time and astronomy
By blasting beyond algorithms and black holes
Into the unexamined fantastical.
Ever youthful wishes charge past the iron will of probabilities
When heartbeats flutter outside of mortality.
Possible stomps on the impossible in resurrection
Grabbing Eden’s fragments, fancies of faith,
As yesterday’s wishes belong to eternity
And live in a forever dawn waiting to bloom.
"Christmas is a season of
not only rejoicing but of reflection. "
Quote by _ Winston Churchill
I unwrap the Christmas decorations,
stored in tattered boxes for years;
such old, delicate, fragile creations,
and I am soon weeping sad tears,
for I can hear the ghostly whispers !
Some have been passed down and down,
and now they all belong to me;
I see my great-gran shopping downtown,
where the snowflakes fall feathery,
as I place balls on my Christmas tree !
Yesteryear Christmas's joyful and sad,
I still feel all those gone above;
and knew that Santa was really my dad,
such great childhood wonder and love,
and outside is a chirping white dove !
Later, friends are coming over for some cheer,
do you wish pie, sugar cookie or a tart;
will serve coffee, tea, wine and beer,
Christmastime will always be in my heart,
and my memories will never depart !
____________________
December 12, 2021
Poetry/Quintain/Christmastime Is Like A Dream
Copyright Protected, ID 12-141-584-12
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Winter Quintain
sponsor, Francine Roberts, Judged 01/19/2022
I Do
Emotion over comes me
And I can barely speak
You said, “I love you”
And I felt my knees go weak.
You have spoken to me
And told me about your life
I told you about mine,
Now you want me for your wife
I have often wondered how
My future would turn out to be
But until this very moment
I could only see it with just me.
You said to me, “Hello my pretty”
And so our story began
And we have come to this point
Of you asking for my hand.
I shall always love you,
My heart and soul belong to you
And it shall be that way forever
And I’ll cherish the moment I say, “I do”
Connie Moore
Sept 8, 2013