Long Cities Poems
Long Cities Poems. Below are the most popular long Cities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cities poems by poem length and keyword.
Stepping out from the
tunnel of champion,
Where my soul and victory
have been bonded as a
union.
Climbing higher than
mountains,
And for sure my victory is
certain.
Fought many battles
harder,
And came through even
stronger.
I race across every finish
line,
And makes the top stories
and headlines.
I can hear the cheering
crowd,
And the screaming of my
name aloud.
Roll out the drums,
And blow the trumpet
across cities and kingdoms.
For earth has begot a hero,
A hero of class and defined
ego.
Even when i don't get
much love from my haters,
The taste of victory grows
even much sweeter.
Victory at last in the end,
With so much foes and no
friend.
The joy victory kept me
going,
And the zeal of winning
kept me moving.
Created with the power of
an immortal,
That makes every
conspiracy futile.
Inbuilt with the soul of a
human,
That's why am a super
human.
Now standing at the
pinnacle of greatness,
After working through the
road of success.
Hearing my name all over
the corners of the earth,
Gives me immeasurable joy
i never once felt.
Each time i crumble or
stumble,
It makes me even more
humble.
For winning is the aim,
And victory is my name.
Finally am a success story,
To God be the glory.
No matter the amount of
hate i get,
The more victorious i get.
The more they think i will
fail,
The more i make them look
pale.
Even when my chances
grows thinner,
It really doesn't matter
because in the end am a
winner.
THE SCENT OF EARTH
Modern cities have grown in all possible direction
Captured by construction, expanses of soil aren’t seen
I live in a concrete jungle, our avant-garde creation
An uprooted tree, at all times I feel suffocated within
I wish so much I could go back where I had once been.
I remember fondly the green hamlet where I was born
On my eyes childhood memories hang like framed picture
The grass-covered land rolled with trees to the horizon
The land and the sky made for me an enchanting pair
I grew up there imbibing the pristine elements of nature.
After the scorching summer when the first rains fell
In relief the parched soil sighed exhaling the scent of earth
Embraced me with aromatic arms of nature I knew so well
The scent still wafts in me, nobody in city knows its worth
With the first rain I’ll return to a green land in my next birth.
February 18, 2018.
How do I start retirement? With grandsons galore, cooking and cleaning, barrel of fun, and a runway to the twin cities. What’s next, you ask, on this escape from my library duty? Well let’s say it arrived by mail. A timed gift for the week I return. A night out? A rolex chuckle? The grand surprise? A two month jaunt downtown. I will have a seat to listen to arghhhhhh grand jury court. One day I just might begin my life. For now, I do my civic duty and for others with an arthritic limp to boot, and fireworks.
ups and downs, stairwells
leading every which way —
life’s possible house
6/22/2021
665.
The 5th Period of the American Era of Philippine History:
The Liberation
Rule of Japan over the Philippines was short-lived
Relief & revenge from USA was soon perceived
Return of MacArthur with American forces so vast
Release from the Japanese happened that fast
The “Largest Naval Battle” occurred in this country
The enormous Japanese forces were annihilated in Philippine Sea
The helpless Japs retreated to Luzon
The beginning of their inevitable eviction
If their entry to our country was like an unstoppable lightning
Their exit from here was also like a blitzkrieg raging
If on their coming, our islands fell unto them one-by-one
On their leaving, their light gradually dimmed like a setting sun
One-by-one the Philippine islands were emancipated
One-by-one the Japanese strongholds were eradicated
Not long after the Liberation of Manila, the capital of our country
Atomic bombs smashed the cities of Hiroshima & Nagasaki
This is the 5th Period of American Era – The Liberation
The return of the Americans had brought us redemption
The victory of the Allies, the downfall of the Axis
God made the Philippines an Armageddon of powerful countries.
-05/24/2019
*Periods on the Eras of the Philippine History
A scrap of ore breaks surface.
The metallic pebble is already colonized
by moss and fungi factories,
in a millennia rocks will churn
a green spawn into small rural towns.
Fields of new growth
must be planted in microscopic slime.
The Shawnee come and go,
as fireflies on a summer night they pass,
raw boned settlers,
add their calcium to the earth.
Small time-seeded towns sprout.
Hands work wood, stone, then brick.
More foundational pebbles are unearthed
Tornadoes clear the land, reconstructed
malls ride the roads.
Antique stores blossom in the dust.
Art galleries and cake shops
vie for customers, donuts triumph.
Arts and crafts stores signal the end
of old railway lines.
Cities of iron and coal bud and blight.
The moss returns and flourishes.
Somebody should kindly tell if we hail from greed.
For so many years’ darkness has thrown its effect on a nation,
Everyone on the globe tries to please each other.
Sounds of slavery is tearing the heart of humanity into distress.
Cruelty rules all over the beautiful cities straight down to the hinterlands.
In the midst of danger, hills fight against mountains.
Breaking down the core relevance defining peace.
Shame is running down the veins of men.
Blood is seen on a sword,
The sword belonging to a deadly lord.
Who is killed?
I guess a Dracula`s belly is already filled?
No statement found as answer.
Weakening true power through untreatable cancer,
No place for righteousness to dwell in as a secured goal.
Inequity seems to be the head of a broken home,
Where bad leaders keep fix to get its head bone.
Across the borders do we see sets of deadly flags,
Towards us are singers of horrific tunes against blacks.
Oppressed under alienated rule,
From hundred years ago with a deal to make a Blackman a fool.
Society got nothing to change a mood,
Condition is teaching about the pain of stings.
For what then have all got to break out of doom?
Perhaps, that`s when mediocrity is deleted from what Africans think.
Then switch to what enlightenment brings.
in the Quilt that is History
History is not only the sound of the cannon or the ink of treaties,
not only the triumphs sung aloud in cities or carved in stone.
It is also the quiet hum of mornings never known,
the brushing of hands in kitchens, the unspoken promises,
the small choices that ripple unseen across centuries.
It gathers like dust on windows,
settles in the corners of rooms you and I will never enter,
stays in the sighs and sights of people who passed without fanfare,
leaving traces only in the trembling of the air.
Each patch a life once lived—
a mother singing to a child
who has grown and gone,
a letter never sent
that still trembles in the folds,
a smile faded like sunlight through glass.
And yet, for every patch we see,
there are millions more,
voices swallowed by streets we’ll never walk,
hands that shaped stones we’ll never touch,
eyes that glimpsed skies we’ll never see.
The world is too vast for all stories to linger.
A single life may pass unnoticed,
its echoes fading like dust in sunlight,
its beauty held only by the quiet earth.
And still, somewhere, a heart once beat
with joy or grief or hope,
and it mattered,
even if we never know it.
And maybe that is the true shape of history—
not monuments or names, but the quiet overlap
of millions of lives brushing against each other,
like threads in a vast, unseen tapestry.
A hand held, a word whispered, a smile shone—
tiny flutters that shift the course of days,
like a butterfly stirring winds across oceans,
so that even the smallest life
can carry echoes we will never trace.
We are all patches in that endless quilt,
fragile, bright, and fleeting.
And even if no one remembers our edges,
even if our voices are swallowed by the vastness,
we leave traces in the trembling of the world,
small sparks that quietly, beautifully, persist.
Sun, moon, stars, and universe are captivations,
Scenes, sceneries, lands, landscapes are activations;
Like a child, at each lovely scene, I do wonder,
Today, to a certain concept, I surrender..!
=====
===
While third-degree punishments of severe beating,
Depriving prisoners - of food, drink; ill-treating:
With piercing needles betwixt nail and flesh and nose,
Electrocuting; What else? Who exactly knows…?
Indian prisons have become hells here on earth.
For killing and getting killed within, there's no dearth.
Poor imprisoned for the crimes of their rich masters,
Die and decay as though natural disasters...!
=====
===
Prisons of Norway are my captivation, hence.
Healing the criminals is in their moral sense;
Offenders are offended; why offend them again?
Pain is filling them; why, again, inflicting pain...?
It's another home for them though they are sinners,
Who’s not a sinner? Are all, outside, are winners...?
Environs and situations cause persons fall,
Isn't, yet, dignity given equal to all...?
Healthy food; clean shelter; reliving medicines;
Penances and atonements to get rid of their sins;
Training for the unfit to fit into this world;
Making them, in nature, like flowers to get furled...!
Dignity of women, like pearls and gems, preserved,
When needed, like remedies, protections reserved;
Male chauvinism, like cobras, when rises its hood,
Feminism too enters in and does what it should...!
=====
===
World that believes in cruelty to criminals,
Researches on these Norwegian principals;
Finds, Lo, herein, are criminal activities -
Lesser than other international cities...!
09 October 2022
Captivation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
A nation built on shards of captured light,
Demands a gate—a silhouette we keep in sight,
Where laws are carved by calloused, steady hands
To mark the brittle edge of shifting lands.
The law is not some distant, hollow plea,
But a substantiated pulse of a shared liberty;
Yet, for the weary souls who wait in line,
The border requires more than lines drawn by design.
When the boundary is breached
Without the word, or silent weight of trust,
The system frays—a tether worn to dust,
Where sovereign duty meets the breaking strain.
Our primary vow is quiet, simple sleep,
A promise held while the restless cities dream;
To turn away the sharpen’d hand of crime,
Tracing the threat before it finds its time.
No shadow should provide a hollow space
For those who seek to fracture or to bend,
For peace is harvested where justice clears
The fog of uncertainty from our streets and fears.
With measured breath and cold intent,
The iron message of the law is sent:
That those who bypass every guarded gate
Must face the turn, and meet their heavy fate.
To lift the burden, to clear the thickening path,
Without the bite of some aimless, frantic wrath,
We hold to what is true—
That old, weathered laws must be carried through.
For justice rests on uneven, honest ground,
Where the seeker is finally, quietly found,
Provided they walk the way
The statutes of the land convey.
I wonder
How far we’ll go
So desperate for heroes who are first
Criminal enterprises
Romanticized as rebels
Lies wrapped in a maybe-he-could-make-it-all-better?
From what?
To what?
We do not consider
Perhaps for lungs
A bowl of water
A slice of sun shone through a winter window
If I had fingers
I’d perch atop an Oak
Squawk to the mountainous clouds
Construct a nest from its torn cotton
If I had wings sharpened by a falcon
I’d drink the egg-rims of Saturn
Return to Earth
A different person
My milestones of shame truly forgiven
But that is as impossible
As utility pole lines heavy with crows of time
My descendants already cupped from the sand
Castles
Moats
Draw bridges
Guards lined along the walls with weapons
Drawn
A priest edging the ear of the new King
But not for purposes of truth
He seeks his own hold on power
Will deliver the masses
Who will suffer oppression
And poverty
Hunger disease and war
The remembrance of a once-was-my-house
With laughable heat and light and glass and wood
And brick mortared together in order
As it always is
Cities inside the walls will crumble
Into utter shocking misery
From our neglect
Our blindness
Our mute swan unfolded between our legs
It never seemed possible
But neither did the aftermath of a starved body
Reduced to caves and scouring ants
Ribs gathered by an archeologist
Ladders
Lowered
Into our graves
Of blame
When greed
That original hunger
Was both the first and final hour.