Long Called Poems
Long Called Poems. Below are the most popular long Called by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Called poems by poem length and keyword.
THE WAILING CRY OF MAMA AFRICA.
Who shall I tell this story
Who will heal this injured glory
We were like Jack and Jim
We climbed the hills together
Like a cock poured hot water
My comb is fallen with no feathers
To beautify my skin
The pride of my womb lies desolate
Who will suck this firm breast up before they become fallen
Cried out Mama Africa
The portage of hot yam have been served
My children are eating with bare hands
Stained by their red bloody thick pourage
What baffles me is how hungry they are
But still eat with heated hated courage
Cried mother Africa
As she watched down from the Futajjan
Asante Asante Asante
With his golden stool he accended
As mama Africa enchanted
The fire wood is ready for fire he seated
My son the woods have been used for cooking while you were asleep
As Mama Africa hissed
There comes my son Odudua
With his brother Eri looking angry
The water in the coconut have excaped
It was never sapped
Woo-hoo woo-hoo woo-hoo cried mother Africa
Who chased the spiders and break the webs
Now they travel on their own in peace and shame
Mama Africa cried out
Anansi where is your trick your brothers children have faced a puzzle they can't solve
Chiwara she called the beauty in thy horn now
Have become thorns on thy head
Mawu-Lisa the twins, where lies the beauty of your marriage
Kwakwau kwakwau kwakwau Mama Africa cried with all her children lost in thought
The Obodom drum beat can no longer withhold my tears
Abbassi and Attai whispered as she cried
Chineke moved out in confusion
As Arusi quickly brought his snuff box
Even my evil heart can not bear this shame Adrao murmured
Damballa my son you failed to govern my children's will
You allowed my children forget the road and work the hill she queried
Roog,Mwari reject the sacrifices your brothers are at war Mama Africa cautioned
Chuita tell Obatala that his handicapped children need healings
who will dry my tears shouted mama Africa
As she wailed aloud.
As all her children gathered around the fire
Tired and retired they all joined their mother to wail
As they watched from Futajallon so they took of their crown.
Parody of Crocodile Rock/an Elton John/Bernie Taupin song
(some of the lines may seem strange, but I truly tried to imitate the exact syllable
count of the song Crocodile rock, and in some lines you have to sing the words
extra fast!)
Reading in Bed
Long ago before VCR,
The internet and DVR,
I’d hang out with family
‘cause there were only four stations on the TV.
With my records playing, I would get
A little crazy dancing; then in my bed
While my sisters played, I lay and fed my head.
I was cozy with my nose-y in a book, in my bed.
Chorus:
While in my bed reading, I sure was feeding
my small head with fantasy!
And when my Mama called out for me,
in my bed is where I would be!
Oh, how I just loved my Stephen King,
romance novels, Lord of the Rings.. ..
Yeah, that reading in bed was a cool thing!
Wow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow
Well, the years have flown , and now I’m all grown
but I hardly know how to work my cell phone.
All night commenting to friends on the net.
Reading their poems is all the reading I get!
I’m so busy, by midnight I’m dead.
Can’t imagine my reading in bed.
It’s a cure same as counting sheep.
‘Cause now when I try it, I just fall to sleep!
Chorus
(Repeat first stanza and Chorus one last time!)
For John Heck's "Dear John" contest
My neighbor, Pete, is very frustrated
For two weeks he has been constipated
Then, in Poetry Soup
I heard him yell, "Whoop Whoop!"
His laxative had been activated!
He eats spicy food and lot of legumes
Where he shows up, a gaseous cloud looms
Pete is kinda kinky
When he makes a stinky
He likes breathing in his odorous fumes
Beth's twenty years married to Pete Cooper
When he didn't flush, she said a blooper
Pete left a huge floater
And now I will quote her,
"Pete's poops always leave me in a stupor!"
One time dumbass Pete clogged up his commode
After his bowels dropped a giant load
Beth called in a plumber
Who was even dumber
He just watched as the toilet overflowed
Pete's a n a l gases continue to leak
Can't stand being around them cause they reek
When his farts are expelled
I threaten a butt weld
To solder it shut, Pete is such a freak!
No one sits near Pete at the town meeting
No friendly smiles does he get in greeting
People are of like mind
Beware of his behind
When his flatulence keeps on repeating
Beth's face becomes twisted into a scowl
She told Pete that she's throwing him the towel
Next time his fecal matter
Is 'neath the lid in splatter
She'll not clean his crap stains again. They're foul!
She won't wash skid marks from his briefs either
Nor cook bean casseroles for him neither
Beth's taken a firm stand
Gave Pete a reprimand
She's hoping that soon he'll want to leave her
Angst of unfed hunger prevails
Beseeches God to fill the need
Hoping truth of compassion creed
To work well, shutting woe-filled wails.
Wrestling amidst rigorous plight
Heart yearns that unfed hunger end
With heaven to open and send
Ticket toward triumphant flight.
Communing with the Lord brings joy
Smiting grievous sorrow and pain
Stopping unfed hunger to reign
Over worry’s doubt that annoy.
Supplication to Christ for grace
With earnest faith of praise-filled shout
satisfies hunger* without doubt
as soul finds peace in His embrace.
Intimacy with gracious King
Tied to His contentment delight
Suffices hunger against blight
Of grievous greed that keeps on lurking.
Around the Saviour’s caring vow
The spirit claims fulfillment-zest
Assured of great miracles' best
Since a hunger unfed dies now!!!
*Matthew 5:6-9 Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
March 31, 2024
3rd place, "This or That, Vol 24" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 4/8/2024
Laid with words
the writers stone
A fortress was columned
my only real home
The poetry safe
as it stammered and tried
As my feelings unbridled
from the outsiders lies
Each year added substance
to this home of the verse
My thoughts never silenced
or my feelings there terse
All that’s needed to go there
blind captured belief
All that’s needed to know
is that time is the thief
My vision unshaken
from this chair with two wheels
The advice from the experts
to wither and yield
But my place more than sacred
an invincible throne
Independent of body
times seed now unsown
And the moment before
I take my last breath
I will enter forever
where before I had left
The trumpets will sound
as immortality calls
To that space then my refuge
the sum of it all
As the memories chase reason
the facts storm again
But the tents of my solitude
keep out their wind
For generations that follow
and their children that ask
This place I now dwell in
is for all hard and fast
Just believe in its message
and its fortune to change
Just believe in transcendence
with all things the same
Until the day that that final
trumpet may blow
And everything seen
is all there’s to know
Your message then solid
as the door opens wide
And those things that are yours
to the heavens arrive
And the joy that you feel
thinking back on it all
From that place deep inside
—where first destiny called
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Mama brought me
A dog for a present
I was smiling and very pleasant
I called it Maxi
Maxi used patrol the streets of Atlantis
With a pal called Twiggy
They were unstoppable
It was a doggy, dog world
When I was alone in the car
Maxi was my bodyguard
Our neighbour was cruel one day
She poured boiled water
On my best friend
Even though I wasn’t there
She was in good care
Mama nursed Maxi with motor oil
Maxi regained her glossy light brown fur
She made a full recovery
Even though that what the neighbour did
Was bugging me
Maxi I embraced her hugging
Glad to have you back
Still Maxi and Twiggy
Be roaming these street of Atlantis
Intruders and strangers beware
These k-9’s are armed with their teeth…
Non stop appointments…
Non stop worry, nobody to listen
Nobody to care,
Frustrations over nothing,
Too much noise, where are her headphones…she’s 22 but acts like she’s 8, this is autism in a nutshell, 24/7, we don’t get a break..because we don’t have family to help, everyone has their own life, luxury trips, red carpet parties to attend.
Stress is building up, the house is a mess, no relief in sight, just built up anger, please go amidst your day, don’t worry about our life, this is nothing new.
Doctors, psych appointments he tries to make, all while skipping lunch, the only hour to himself, we don’t make our schedules..
Never ending phone calls, being out on hold for eternity…how is he still coping with this all? Im speaking for all families of special needs, doesn’t this sound fun?
Trying to convince the county to pay for a fence, so our son, daughter won’t run off, a leash we put on so we know where they are, but oh the states we get, maybe you should walk in our shoes for one day, please do…
Evening has come time to unwind, wine in our hands, candlelight dinner? Yeah right, not us we have to spend the next three hours trying to get our child to sleep, the meds aren’t working.
The school called twice today, our child was being disruptive in class, we are at our wits end. Nobody understands, all the fingers are pointing at us, I’m so close to tears, remind me again why I became a Mom?
Lord I didn’t ask for this help us out here you said you’d never give us more than we can handle, why then are we exhausted, we don’t get invited anywhere by family friends, because society doesn’t understand autism, maybe they never will…
I wanna just give up, I’m so empty inside, no more fight I have in me, I’m raising my hands up to you Lord, take it away..
Spleen
by Paul Verlaine
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The roses were so very red;
The ivy, impossibly black.
Dear, with a mere a turn of your head,
My despair’s flooded back!
The sky was too gentle, too blue;
The sea, far too windswept and green.
Yet I always imagined?or knew?
I’d again feel your spleen.
Now I'm tired of the glossy waxed holly,
Of the shimmering boxwood too,
Of the meadowland’s endless folly,
When all things, alas, lead to you!
Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets." Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, Paris, spleen, rose, roses, ivy, depression, despair, sky, sea, blue, green, red, black, holly, boxwood
They'll never allow you to believe this, but...
You didn't lose because you're a woman
or because you're a person of color.
You may have lost because you had
no clear vision or concrete message
For ALL of the citizens.
You may have lost because you ignored the porous border.
Mixed in with innocent refugees
are criminals, cartels, and fentanyl.
You sacrificed our sovereignty and safety
for illegitimate votes and a favorable census.
You may have lost because you dismissed the middle class....
In so many words called us racist trash.
Clumping the blue-collar woman and man with radical elements.
You never considered or addressed the mayhem of runaway inflation.
You may have lost when your boss stumbled.
Then you tossed him into the trash.
You never earned a vote from your constituents.
You plucked the crown from your former king.
You saw yourself as the second coming.
Most saw it as the coup of shallow victory.
You may have lost because you didn't meet with our most loyal Ally
during his nation's darkest moment.
Instead, you partied at a sorority event.
During the Floyd riots, you helped set up a fund for violent rioters.
Ignoring the victims of the rioting.
You wanted to defund the police while blood flowed freely
down our streets.
In short, you met 76 million desperate voices
with word salad, disrespect, and a dismissive cackle.
If you had put we, the people, first.
I would have been proud to call you,
Madam President.
Here in our land where words take flight,
Where verses dance with pure delight,
Lies a poem, misunderstood, open concealed,
Its essence lost, its meaning revealed.
"The Most Misread Poem In America," is called,
An enigma, a riddle, a mystery by all.
Lines crafted with care, like a delicate thread,
But tangled interpretations cause it to be misread.
Oh, how the words do twist and turn,
In the minds of readers, hearts eager to learn,
They skim the surface, blind to the depth,
Missing the treasures this poem has kept.
They search for the literal, the straightforward rhyme,
Yet this poem transcends the limits of time.
Its metaphors dance, its symbols transcend,
But they remain unseen, they fail to shine.
The opening stanza, so beautifully designed,
A call to awaken, to expand one's mind,
But they rush through, in haste to the end,
Unaware of the message it intends to send.
The middle verses, with their enigmatic prose,
Unfold a story that nobody knows,
They brush past the imagery, the vivid scenes,
And wonder why this poem remains unseen.
The closing lines, a crescendo of thought,
A plea for unity, for battles to be fought,
But the readers, they miss this call to action,
Their eyes, blind to the poem's true satisfaction.
Oh, America, how you misread,
This poem, so timeless, it yearns to be freed,
From the shackles of ignorance, of shallow minds,
To be understood, its beauty defined.
So let us pause, take a moment to reflect,
To delve into this poem, to truly connect,
For within its verses lies a truth untold,
A story of a nation, waiting to unfold.
"The Most Misread Poem In America" it may be,
But its power, its essence, can set us free,
Let us read with open hearts and open minds,
And rediscover the treasures that this poem can bring.