Long Carelessly Poems
Long Carelessly Poems. Below are the most popular long Carelessly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carelessly poems by poem length and keyword.
Pretending to be different, pretending to even care
Pretending to be what you are not lies within your stare
Sad to see how unhealthy a life being lived this way
Sad to see how uncharacteristically the Saint you portray
Selfishly to only be something other than what you are
Selfishly to only be your own little shining star
Carelessly you choose not to see the truth in what you feel
Carelessly you choose to be a punisher rather than heal
Intending to be what the liar you intend to be
Intending to be everyones silent enemy
Sad to see the misery that you so desperately need
Sad to see indifferently the knife pierce as your blood bleeds
bmdavey@10/04/2022
When was it, the day we first spoke?
When was it, the moment I stood next to you?
When was it, the time all guys came to me yet I seeked for love?
Maybe, I couldn't see you because from all of them, you were above.
You were right there, when I made new friends.
You were somewhere in all my pictures.
You were present as I embraced on my fears.
You were one of the voices when the whole crowd cheered.
When the whole crowd cheered, but only I couldn't hear.
You were right there, as I danced holding strangers hands
You were right there, when I saw it all break apart in a glance.
In the room of my rumours there was a presence of your stance.
Why didn't I ever realise this distance.
Coincidence, how we were the only ones unbothered.
Of all those people, was it you who really mattered.
How fate turned the tables of life giving her own name,
We both fell for her trap the very moment we entered the game.
Did you have to be the one to hate me from the start
Did you have to be the one to see me fall apart
Did you have to be the one who gets my words all stuttered
Did you have to be the one to make my heart flutter
I forgot the demons I formed alliances with.
I freed my old love and called it a myth.
I try hard everyday to fill this void,
And harder to run away when your thoughts collide.
All I wanted was to explore carelessly and wander,
But suddenly your presence started to grow fonder.
Irrational how we clung on so soon,
Now do I stay for us or leave on my own?
Love In The Library
by Edmund Siejka
( East Of Seventh, poems by Edmund Siejka available on Amazon)
He was a scrawny kid
In 1st grade his lunch money
Often disappeared
By the 5th he was street wise.
Mother worked in an office
And Dad assembled radios in a factory on the West Side
On his own most of the day
He had a choice
Of going to the Boy’s Club
Or the library
For some reason
The library became his favorite place
A place of books and knowledge
A place of hushed voices
Bespectacled librarians
Hard wooden chairs
Light maple rectangle wooden desks
Marred by carved initials
Grownups
Reading
Sleeping
Or glancing at their watches
That’s where he met Susan.
She was twelve years old
A year older
A little taller
Red hair and freckled face
Aggressive
Attractive
And smart
She asked if he would walk her home
To a tall apartment house
On 12th Street
Bricks the color of pale mustard
Leaving her by the lobby elevator
He listened to its muffled sound
Gliding effortlessly
To a place he was never invited.
In the privacy of his room
He dreamed of her
Incessantly
Clutching his pillow tightly
Making believe it was her
Blood flowing
Roaring sounds in his ears
Dreaming that they were always together
Holding hands.
She, wearing a starched white shirt
Carelessly unbuttoned
Looking deeply into his eyes
As he leaned forward to kiss
Her with every passion he could muster
That Spring
His days were inspired
With dreams of her.
One rainy morning
Awakened by familiar kitchen sounds
He wandered in
Yawning
Arms folded
Fighting the morning chill
As a feeble day
Silhouetted the rims of the fire escapes
And the sea of blacktopped tenements.
In the misty light
Among the empty rooftops
She danced in the air
Her body turning
Twisting
Spiraling away from him
A fixed smile on her face
Mocking,
Mocking,
Mocking him.
Four Billion years or thereabouts
Earth has orbited its appointed place
Slowly and surely developing into
A safe and hospitable living space
What a strange year this has been
Year Two Thousand and Twenty Two
You seem to have bern so long passing
And I’m so glad to see the back of you.
A year of invasion and Warfare
Of bullies flexing their might
Seeming secure in their belief
That might alone is right.
A year of political spectres
Of crooks, spivs and ghouls
Carelessly showing to the world we
Are lead by blatant self seeking fools.
The greedy and avaricious seem
To want, and take, more and more
Leaving even less for the peasants
To fight and grub for off the floor.
The rich man in his castle still,
Security light and guard at his gate,
More and more decrying the excesses
Of the battered remnant Welfare State.
So goodbye twenty twenty two
Heaven only knows what we’ll see,
More of the same and worse I think, when
They usher in year Twenty Twenty Three.
Four thousand years give a century or two
That’s just about as long as it’s taken
For man to abuse Earth’s delicate balance
And leave it stunned and badly shaken
Apologies to Time
I'm sorry I didn't find myself when you called out silently to me again and again,
I thought you were rushing me but you were only begging me to look with open eyes,
I'm sorry I used you like something endless and without clear boundaries,
I'm sorry I spent you healing wounds that had no need of healing.
I wasted you carelessly when you were telling me what matters and what doesn't matter,
you were giving me signs and I answered with my sins called weakness,
I called them habit, I called them life, I justified them with empty words and excuses,
I dragged you even into my love asking you to wait with me there.
I remained loyal to hope loving someone in silence like a cosmic mute,
believing that waiting was proof that my feelings were pure and sincere,
I told myself that love needs time so I waited and waited,
without knowing the difference between patience and the fear of moving forward in life.
You spoke through weary mornings and through conversations half-finished,
through dreams that kept returning because I refused to end them when I was awake,
I blamed you for my age and for the heaviness in my hollow chest,
for the mirror that asks questions I wasn't brave enough to answer.
But it was never your voice only my cowardly and continuous avoidance always,
I said I have time when what I had was actually just fear and dread,
I said tomorrow when today was already breaking into pieces beneath my feet,
I said I will become when becoming needed sincerity not waiting.
I'm sorry I turned you into a threat when you were trying to be a teacher,
I'm sorry I cursed your speed instead of understanding your warning,
you never took anything from me you are not the thief of my lost life,
I gave everything away slowly and knowingly pretending not to notice how it all disappears.
If this sounds like regret it's because I finally listened to your clear voice,
and if this sounds like truth it's because you left me no more room to lie,
I'm sorry because I didn't find myself when you called out silently to me always,
I thought you were rushing me but you were only begging me to look at reality at last.
The sunshine has started writing the poetry
A line or two it has already brought out
On the white rectangular paper
I left carelessly on the threshold
Of the dawn and dusk
No overt volition there had been
Might be the absolute instructions
From the deep inside
Of the black ocean
That drove away the guard
When you opened the door
Did I get the whiff?
Of the breeze from the hills
That had arrived surreptitiously
To darken the sunshine
With the rains and the silver mist
I don't know
Do you
When exactly the dew waits
On the blade of the leaf
For the first sunlight to meet
I know you will now enjoy
Bringing out the lines
Until it is a compact sonnet
The condensed vapour for the shower
A warm welcome
The leaves wait
To collect the rain drops
The buds wait
To relate to the rainbow
The farmer has the seeds to sow
This is the life
Whether human or animal
The same purple strife
_________________________________
February 20, 2018
Sunshine and Showers - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by :Robert Haigh
Why am I laying right beside you?
Didn’t I tell you that I’m through?
I’ve been cuddling you all night long
And I don’t understand where I belong
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
You say - what’s wrong with me?
I pray - free me from captivity
From tremors’ captivity
For, I’m trembling...I’m shaking like a winter leaf
For, I’m stumbling...I’m in need of some sort of relief
Can’t you share with me your love, not your hatred?
You do so carelessly and I feel the despair instead
Dread and despair is my only friend
Till positivity’s joy meets me at the end
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
You say - what’s wrong with me?
I pray - free me from captivity
From tremors’ captivity
For, I’m trembling...I’m shaking like a winter leaf
For, I’m stumbling...I’m in need of some sort of relief
Why do you have to bring me to your solace?
Didn’t I tell you that I was extremely hopeless?
I’ve been around town with a frown for so long
Lately, I’ve been bound to fall in love all along
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
Can’t get rid of the tremors
When we try to make love
You say - what’s wrong with me?
I pray - free me from captivity
From tremors’ captivity
For, I’m trembling...I’m shaking like a winter leaf
For, I’m stumbling...I’m in need of some sort of relief
There’s so much to do to get over you, get over you
There’s so much pain in my heart that you can’t undo
We are rivers apart from each other, each other
Life and time sure has a way to bring us back together
-Dedicated to love that doesn’t work out well in the beginning but ends up working out in the end. Inspired by Love in the Dark by Adele.
“As daylight returned and hummingbirds called from nearby nests, a woman, wise in age, rose from beneath her quilted covers and walked slowly across the dark room.
One side at a time, she drew back each dated curtain before forcing open her stiff, condensation-clouded bedroom window.
Whilst quietly admiring the hummingbirds, In a soft whisper the woman spoke out loud to herself and said ,“How freeing it must feel to fly.”
Closing her eyes just a moment longer, she deeply inhales, recognising the familiar comforts of her decades-long ritual: the fragrant scent of lemongrass tea freshly brewing upon the stovetop, and poppy seed muffins rising beautifully within the warmth of the oven.
Turning slowly from the window she had loved for most of her life, the woman let her fingertips linger upon the worn wooden sill. Time had softened its edges much like it had softened her own.
Having moved into their family home at only twenty years old , this corner of the house became a place belonging only to her. — a quiet refuge where thoughts could wander freely without interruption. Here, she had watched storms gather over distant hills, children would race carelessly long into the auburn sky lit evenings, and the seasons arrived so faithfully that they became companions of their own.
The woman could still feel her husband's lips press caressingly against her own for the first time under a towering orchid tree forty years ago. That summer of 1986 she had married the love of her life. A man whose arms still embrace her lovingly under that same orchid tree each day.
The view beyond the glass no longer resembled the one she first knew.
But the woman has never forgotten how happy she was in those moments, often daydreaming in gratitude at her journey of a lifetime.
Minding the crooked staircase and its steep descent, the woman traced her hands along the wall as she carefully made her way downstairs. Now more awake, the brisk walk from the dim hallway into the busyness of the kitchen felt deeply rewarding. With more years behind her than days ahead, she had learned to cherish the small mercies of movement her body still granted her.
So frequently we sat inside
those holy dwelling places,
All Saints for all our sins,
knowing that true grace is
here in the pulpit, there in the pew.
So shamelessly we sat inside
those holy dwelling places,
Salvation found at fingertips
touching through forbidden spaces,
clinging, cold in the shadows outside.
So carelessly we sat inside
those holy dwelling places.
Do you recall the Chapel,
side by side with angel's faces,
where you first dared to touch my hand?
Across each threshold, love, My love,
we carried burning traces
of that blackest, basest love,
which no rosary erases.
The forest's morning sunlight tip-toes through the trees
casting puzzle pieces round, oh so, carelessly;
hiding all the corner bits scattered by the breeze.
The slighter boles of ash whisper endlessly
as their upright slash of gray teases 'tween the green
while their larger cousins stand, oh so, stoically.
And, the sky far over head blues the in between
back lighting, spruce and pine, as far as the eye can see.
Man intrudes like a child, man and his machines.
Knocking down the squirrel's nest, disturbing the bee
leaving waste along the path, muddying the stream
misplaced is his disregard in that we all agree.
Oh so brashly, mankind walks through nature's domain
a misfit son, a terror, crippling while he reigns.