Long Cancer Poems
Long Cancer Poems. Below are the most popular long Cancer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cancer poems by poem length and keyword.
I am not talking about color
By the way any color can be dark
Including white, that's right
Darkness can mean horror
Death, cruelty, murder, violence
Chaos, evil, Satan and intolerance
Brutality is a form of darkness
Racism is a form of darkness
Deceit is a form of darkness
Invasion is a form of darkness
Darkness does not happen only at night
Darkness can occur under the light
Of the day, when the sun is shining
The parrots talk and sing
Parrots are birds too
And pirates were never good
People, but crazy fools
Who use all types of tools
To attack and kill for food
Fortune and gold. They sue
For no reasons, because they lie
Like frying oil and they will get by
By any means necessary
They're no different than brutal offenders
They are violent insurgents and vile rioters
Darkness comes at anytime
Darkness is a serious crime
I see real darkness live on TV
Where darkness destroys liberty
Spits and soils the constitution
No, that was not a revolution
That was a modern coup d'état
That was the invasion of darkness
I saw weeping, with my eyes, America
The Beautiful. That was a disgrace
Many people wept and I wept too
That was shocking, crazy and new
I saw horror and darkness
That was an abhorrent mess
Darkness under the Capitol's light
Has nothing to do with black and white
Greed is a terrible cancer
Racism is a hateful danger
Darkness has no fear for the sun
Darkness fears no laws and no one.
Copyright © January 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
As if in thoughts the quiet road seemed lost
As evening shadows looked longer and dark,
Young winter’s chill felt like December frost,
On tall treetops Sun still looked somewhat stark
But smaller ones were all wrapped in darkness,
Grief-like I felt the sombre shades of grey,
Birds hurried home to their nightlong address
To rest and recoup, fresh for the next day.
In no undue hurry to reach back home,
And trudging slow I saw a sunflower
On a farm’s thorny fence muddied with loam
Bringing to mind’s view a bright face turned dour
Along sad memories of my sister,
Of sunflower looking more sinister.
________________________________________
Sonnet | 11.12.2025 | allusion, sad, sister, sunflower
Note: The reference is to my youngest sister who lost her husband some time back. He was a busy oncologist with directorship of a cancer institute. She too with her own work in the field of education, and only now the two had the time enough to cherish a ripe, mature company of each other to continue with their hobby of literary work. All memories he mind from time to time. Alas, sad memories leave a deep-set scar.
Beneath the warm sunshine’s glow and moon’s soft silver light
We vigorously hiked through countless trails and rugged peaks
We walked for miles at a time throughout the day and into the night
Your playful manner so unique and your joyful howl was all we’d seek
A squeaky toy or ball would occasionally catch your eye
Seeing your fluffy coat with a beautiful silken gleam
Watching you energetically play was boundless joy you’d supply
Your fur softer than anything we’ve ever felt or seen
At night you'd jump up and sprawl out across our bed
Your tail wagging a few more times as we scratched your ears
Dreams of the day’s fun-filled adventures filling your head
We were by your side to pet you if fireworks awakened you in fear
You were a guardian so fierce and would stand your ground
But life cast a dark shadow and suddenly you grew so weak
Sometimes battles blindside us when they come around
This fight was too tough for us and the climb far too steep
Cancer unexpectedly and abruptly stole your vibrant flame
Now we walk these lonely trails without you feeling alone
One thing is certain our love for you will never wane
Each step we take your spirit is in the surrounding stone
You were larger than life and missing you is understated
A loyal friend who left well before his time was due
Even though the ending was bitter and the day ill-fated
We will forever miss and cherish the time we had with you
My mom has surgery this afternoon, a hysterectomy, to remove cancer. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you!
He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34
STORMING THE ROCK
such lonely life in the dumplings,
clingstone as a cancerous mass —
robotic fingers
like a precise hurricane
must excise, smooth out, set straight
12/15/2020
From wikipedia: Clingstone is a house built in 1905, perched atop a small, rocky island in an island group called "The Dumplings" in Narragansett Bay, near Jamestown, Rhode Island. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clingstone
Wow my apartment is so quiet
I can literally hear my heart beat
My muse seems to have retired
In my broken down hp pc
I’m forced to freestyle
Let my imagination run wild
Get in touch with inner child
And red reasons to frown to smile
First thing is my monk friend
Texted me at 5 am with greetings
And two of my three men
Are part of thoughts so fleeting
I think I have to admit to me
I like the idea of lavender love as wealth
As soon as red flags start flying
I miss my Buddhist ways of health
I am such a free fuchsia spirit
I also embrace Christianity
Deep in my heart I feel it
That the way is not limiting
What if the highest one
Is like a path that one will find
As long as you seek enlightened ones
And denounce everything evil in kind
What if your mind is open to
Good and wholesome love
And your heart becomes renewed
As your peach path opens up
I have no amber answers
Only amethyst analysis hazel hopes
That hate won’t be a cherry cancer
In us or U.S. help Holy Ghost
As I said my muse is confused
Trying to revive from an iPhone
I know that my heart will choose
Holy love first as hearts home
3.
The Last Good Day
All looks well when half a week's gone,
Though I wish the same might be said
Of the outside world.
As morning sunlight streamed into my lower-floor room
Shining bright among the hopeful on a cooler morning
Just as Gulliver's god was beginning to matter to me again,
Madness claimed the rush hour.
Five random shootings occur
All over the nearby city
Marking the opening
Of a festival of Death
Soon to rage 'til October's end.
Now each day that follows
No one outside of walls can call themselves safe.
Unknown to me then
I was no longer safe myself.
Invisible snipers of a different sort
Collected to come for me.
All seemed so well;
The crashing feeling of the Sitting-Up Ritual
Was receding, the ally of morphine
Less and less required.
But a strange constriction announced itself,
Some subtle, unseeable python
Was beginning to coil about me;
The drawing of breath gets harder and harder from this day forth,
No one seems to know why.
I surrender
My anger right now to God
Because I need to get rid of
My anger
That is slowly growing like cancer
I surrender my diabetes to God
Because I need to be cured from
Diabetes right now
Because I want to be healthy again
Also I am sick of being sick
That is the truth my God
My God can you keep me alive tomorrow
If that is possible God
Yes God we are at the end of Summer again
Now we are going to change the clocks back
One hour
And the days will be shorter
You don't know how much I hate that
My God
I also surrender my depression to you
Because I want to live a life
Without depression
God you know me very well
Because you are the one that created me
With your holy hands
Verse:
Yo, Caribbean Ride, you think you got the vibe?
But your beats be so weak, like they barely survived,
Tropical rhythms, but you lack the real heat,
Got me wondering if you ever felt the street beat.
You swing like a hammock, just swayin’ in the breeze,
While I’m grindin’ on the hustle, bringin’ fire with ease,
Reggae roots? Nah, you’re just a watered-down clone,
Callin’ yourself island, but you chillin’ alone.
Dancehall dreams, but your moves are so stale,
Tryna ride the wave, but you just set sail,
You’re a poppy little flower, in a field full of thorns,
While my rhymes hit hard like a storm that’s reborn.
Your lyrics be light, like a feather in the sky,
I’m the hurricane comin’ to watch your hopes die,
Catch me in the booth, I’m the king of the scene,
While you’re lost in the tropics, just chasin’ a dream.
Take a shot at me? Man, you’ll miss every time,
I’m the pulse of the islands, you just a nursery rhyme,
So step back, little rider, it’s time to step down,
I’m the voice of the culture, you just a lost sound.
So pack up your vibes, you ain’t fit for the crown,
In this rap game, boy, you just a clown.
Next time you think of flexin’ on the mic,
Remember this diss, and retreat with your spite.
Someday
the singer of the song assures me
through my car’s speakers
things will be easier
brighter
Someday
Someday
Someday…
I spent decades believing
that bunkum
holding fast to hope each evening
my someday would arrive
with the next sunrise
Someone would rub the sleep
from their eyes
so that they could see
something special in me
fortune finally turning to smile my way
as I worked my ass off
merely to survive
while waiting patiently
as the clock kept on ticking
and the calendar kept flipping
Time running in rivulets through my fingers
Someday never came
for the cancer patient who died today
or the homeless person who passed away
tucked into their torn and tattered
sleeping bag under the overpass
to shield them from the rain
For the battered child whose
broken body was discovered
dumped in a ditch
For all those who chose this day
to put an end to their pain
How I loathe that song
though I still sing along
One for my comfy onesie, a word not invented yet in 1953.
Two twins – me and my sis against the world
Three favorite foods now are mashed potatoes, corn and chili beans
Four times the fun when our two cousins come over
Five means we get to go to school; we are in room five
Six and losing teeth fast, learning to rhyme- six, fix, icks, micks, licks
Seven – my grandpa went to heaven, on November 7
Eight cousins now, five girls and three boys, a tasty number for grandma
Nine and learning my multiplication table, nines are the most fun!
Ten little Indians – a movie that brings me to Agatha Christie’s books
Eleven, two one’s , double sticks, my legs look like an eleven
Twelve – one of my friends dies of cancer, twelve o’clock funeral
Thirteen -awkward age, I feel thirteen other girls are smarter and prettier
Fourteen – a boy much older is staring at me, is this the fourteenth hour?
Fifteen – I become best friends with my husband; he is an annoying fifteen
Sixteen- nothing sweet about it; no sweet sixteenth party in the Midwest
Seventeen – I am working full time at Super Value Store number 17
Eighteen – hopeful for the future, will graduate on May the 18th.