Long Connected Poems
Long Connected Poems. Below are the most popular long Connected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Connected poems by poem length and keyword.
THE BRANCH THAT STOOD ALONE
CONNECTED TO A TREE THAT HAS OLDER VEINS AND ROOTS
CONSTANTLY BLOWING IN MANY DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS
TRYING TO DESTROY THE BRANCH ALONE
JUST BLOWING AT A HIGH DESTINATION TO BE GONE
THE BRANCH STILL STANDS ALONE
ALL OTHER BRANCHES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER
STAYING WITH EACH OTHER, AS IF THE BRANCH DOES NOT MATTER
THE BRANCH ALONE STILL IS STANDING
UNTIL ONE-DAY THE BRANCH ALONE
BUILT-UP THE STRENGTH, REMOVED AND WAS GONE
HAS FOUND A NEW PLACE
A NEW TREE, A NEW GROUND
A GROUP WITH LOTS OF LOVE
AS ONE STILL SEEKS GOD ABOVE.
NOTE: THIS POEM IS FOR PEOPLE THAT STANDS ALONE WHEN SOME FAMILY MEMBERS, FRIENDS, CO-WORKERS, OTHER PEOPLE HAS DIS-CONNECTED YOU FROM THEIR CIRCLE FOR AN UNKNOWN REASON. YOU STANDS OUT. ATTACKED BUT NEVER DESTROYED.
YOU ALWAYS FIND YOURSELF BY YOURSELF. PEOPLE ARE TALKING SAYING NEGATIVE THINGS ABOUT YOU ALL OF THE TIME NEARLY ALL OF YOUR LIFE. BUT, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHO'S YOU ARE. STAND TALL. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. KEEPING THE FAITH ALWAYS.
FROM EXPERIENCE.
Along The Magnificent Mile in Chicago, there
is one of the most beautiful Great Lakes. Some
90 miles away from Lake Michigan there is a small
city in Indiana called Winona Lake. I've not touched
the waters of either, but they hold treasured memories.
In 1971-72, I found myself commuting between
the two lakes. It was not a commute to work
but one to love. The vehicle drives to see her were
not very often or predictable because I did not own
an automobile.
We were then engaged, and I was a senior in college.
We both worked in a ministry with ex-drug addicts for
the same organization. She lived and worked with women
some 90 miles away from my home in Chicago where I
worked with the men. We both were connected to a LAKE.
These were the laid-back days of pre-internet and pre-Fed Ex.;
the days of 'snail mail' and expensive landline telephone.
We mostly communicated between the two lakes by way
of letters affixed with inexpensive postage stamps.
031523PSCtest, Writing Challenge-'L' Words. Constance La France
There are few things that provoke me anymore or are apt to make me curse,
Except fer the guv'mint a-meddlin' in my life and a-pickin' at my purse!
Fergive me fer expressin' myself with such crass and inelegant verse,
But, I git so irate at times that I feel like throwin' rocks at a hearse!
I receive tons of mail in my box beggin' donations fer this and that.
Yesterday, there was a sobbin' plea for dough to save the marsupial rat!
I even got a letter askin' fer funds to help develop Bin Laden's legal brief!
That's akin to askin' Mrs. Custer to donate to the Fund For Indian Relief!
Mr. Washington, our first Commander-in-Chief, established a solid legacy.
The following quotation he left for us to muse upon for posterity:
"Happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected!" he did bequeath!
Never have truer words of wisdom been uttered through falser teeth!
Now, I ain't the smartest guy around and I often git confused.
I often confound my spouse, leavin' her to state, "We are not amused!"
So if a perplexin' problem arises and rather than be misunderstood,
I'll pose, "My understanding of this situation ain't very well understood!"
I doubt I'll be nominated fer a Pulitzer Prize fer this masterpiece,
Nor will I be considered fer Poet Laureate fer this nonsensical piece.
But I refuse to write about doom and gloom or especially to eligize,
So, Mr. Pulitzer if you don't appreciate it, you can keep your prize!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Look at me —
glorious, glowing —
bathed in blue light,
dying slowly with 4G speed.
My soul is buffering.
“Talk to someone,” they say.
As if I haven’t
typed my grief a thousand times
into search bars
and still got no answer
but a smiling emoji.
I know 842 people.
They watch my stories.
But no one remembers
my voice
when it’s not performing.
Connection?
Yes, darling, I’m well-connected —
to cables,
to curated illusions,
to people who’ll send you a heart
but forget you exist
the moment their phone dies.
My loneliness wears lipstick now,
because apparently
pain should be aesthetic.
Even despair must have
a filter.
I posted a cry once —
cleverly disguised as poetry.
Got 217 likes.
No one called.
Isn’t that love in the hyperconnected world?
I smile with my teeth,
but not my eyes.
My inbox is full.
My life is not.
They say:
“You’re too sensitive.”
As if sensitivity is a disease
not caused by this world’s
cold, charming cruelty.
So here I am —
applauding the silence,
dating my own shadow,
sharing reels with the void,
saying “I’m fine”
in high resolution.
Darling, this isn’t loneliness.
This is
performance.
This is
existential comedy with bad lighting.
This is
the echo of a world
that forgot how to feel
but never forgot how to scroll.
His voice pulled her into the dream...
"You are a fan of Strictly, right?
So wear a swirly twirly dress.
We're going to a dance tonight!"
The night kicked off with lively beats
Some Charlston and some Jive.
As they began to synchronise
They never felt more alive.
There was a pivot in the music
A change inside this zone
Their care-free fancy night of fun
Took on a deeper tone.
Up to now, they boogied at arms reach
This tune called for closer proximity.
Toe to toe, heart to heart, locked in embrace
Melting in to their new found intimacy.
Once again the style had changed
Neither felt prepared for the next number.
They opted out and had a drink
During the sizzling snake-hipped Rumba.
A Waltzing melody sounded out
So they took to the floor.
The world around them disappeared
At the build of their amour.
Her eyes reflected back to him
The flames of passion that filled his.
Could this be their opportunity
To share true loves first kiss?
But there was hesitation.
A shy awareness overcame her.
He softly smiled as she looked up
His fingers followed the waves of her hair.
When they leant in for their first kiss,
This lady and her man...
She woke up feeling really annoyed
Because her bladder had another plan!
'Being decisive and confident' are powerful assets, but "I don't know" is asinine. Whole hearted and half hearted people are not half, but whole worlds apart.
A famous baseball player once said, "Don't look back, something might be gaining on you". Looking back over the years of my past, I have observed a pattern that portrays the fact that I have rarely returned to places I once have been. It appears that I finished the work or the assigned mission, moved on, and seldom looked back.
I have sometime wondered, but not seriously, about the direction my life would have gone, or the path I would have taken, or the career choice I would have made, if only I had joined my best friend in Tennessee rather than start out in Chicago; or if I had been drafted and sent off to Viet Nam rather to college in Chicago; or if I had not gotten sidetracked and forgot about the enrollment fee I had payed for a Texas computer school; or if I had not misdialed that telephone number that connected me to a school I was not looking for that became the school from which I graduated; or was it really a misdial or the pathway to my destiny? Or what if I had accepted that promising job offer while still a sophomore in college?
I have never been bothered by the 'what ifs', 'why nots', 'why me', and 'maybe'. Still, sometimes I think, but not seriously, "What if I had not gone to that college where I met Bob through whom I met Carlis through whom I met Barbara to whom I have been married for 48 years with whom I have had three children who have given us six grand children"?
There may be long and short answers, but I've always believed in getting to the bottom of things, getting to the point. That's not to say that life is all 'black and white and no greys'. Sometimes, maybe, maybe not, my 'what ifs' would have taken me to New York and not San Francisco, but I think now as I thought then, that the proper decisions and chosen paths were the right ones for me. And I don't mean maybe.
080120PSCtest, If Only, Maybe, Sometimes, Silent One. 5P
My body is here, yet I'm not
My thoughts are lost in a distant thought
To a place that's dark and lonely
Where I'm safe from the world's disarray
A place where I can hide and be free
From the chaos and uncertainty
I watch as a mere spectator
To my own life, a mere spectator
It's a strange feeling, you see
To be aware of the present, yet not really be
Floating through existence, in a state of confusion
A coping mechanism, to avoid any illusion
My heart beats faster, but my mind slows down
Everything seems foreign, like an unfamiliar town
The only thing I know for sure
Is that I'm out of range, I can't endure
I try to make sense of what's happening to me
But it's hard to explain, for others to see
The fog that obscures my vision
Making it feel like a difficult mission
I long to feel connected and alive
But dissociation is a barrier, hard to survive
Trapped within these walls, I view my life
But I struggle to break free from this endless strife
Desperately searching for a way out
But I'm stuck in this cycle, filled with doubt
Feeling alone and lost, I can't escape
This dissociative state, a lingering shape
So here I am, my body is present
But my mind is floating, far and distant
Lost in a world of my own creation
Caught in a never-ending dissociative fixation.
Written by starrynight October 2023
Disconnected
I wish my child could write a poem and open his channels
I need my channels open too, because no one’s talking to me.
My loved ones and disliked ones whom have made their
transition, none of them will talk to me, they pay me no attention.
I need communication from the other side.
I got channels to open, no one’s talking to me...not even my child.
They gave my child a vaccination, which was so sadistic,
they knew this batch of
medicine could leave my child Autistic.
So, I called upon the ancestors to help
communicate.
My babies like a zombie, there's no light in his eyes;
They told me that he'd be just fine, but they were telling lies.
The side effects were harmful, more harmful than the cure,
I hate what I am thinking now, I know my thoughts impure.
My child is now a prisoner he is buried deep within
no wit, personality, or charm....
That dag-blasted vaccination has caused my baby harm!
I would love to hear the voice of my disconnected child.
I call upon my ancestors, but only the wind is blowing;
Sadly, I sit, moping all alone.
I call upon my forefathers/and mothers...
I got channels to open.
I try to hold my child; my hug is rejected;
I want to reach my baby-
But he is now Dis-connected!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2010
("Nonbinary", 2023, original encaustic)
You’ll Never Come Back…
Thrown into an ocean
Deeper and vaster than thought
Carried on waves of sound
Waves of light
Propelled on waves of bliss
Through a portal
That has no name
No place
No time
But here and now
Washed up on a shore
After the storm
Bathed in warmth
Exhausted of all content
Left alone
At the heart of it all
Connected to it all
Without a doubt
Someone whispers
Somewhere
Just beyond sight
“You’ll never come back”
And in an instant
I am thrown into doubt
Back to what!?
To this timeless place
Or what I left behind?
And then in the next
Caught up in those waves
Propelled
Life goes on
Same as it ever was
Forever changed
Forever fresh
Forever
(9/27/23)
I long to think in great lofty thoughts
Instead I'm stuck in the mud they brought
Filling the cracks of my mind with lessons taught
I sought out respect yet that's not what I got
The reading of books knowledge to obtain
Unwrapped the cellophane putty on my brain
Thinking I knew answers but I couldn't explain
Each thought looped in large circles down the drain
Within papered prison thoughts shrink and grow
I strive to know what so many others know
Free me from myself let my mind flow
Not all ideas emanate from a lamps glow
In the real world I grab onto the prophets hand
Walking through the desert footsteps in the sand
My skin cracked, his is soft and tanned
His thoughts mine, I feel my world expand
Original Poem
This one received only one comment. Thanks Donna for commenting.
Interface Broken
He has lofty thoughts
Yet he's stuck in the mud
Stepping through fields of regret
A brilliant mind filled with cracks
Longing to be given respect
Reader of books
Putty for his brain
Absorbed within his core
He thinks what he thinks
Yet knowing can't unlock the door
So he's trapped in his prison
Of all that he knows
Knowledge didn't set him free
The interface is broken
He can't help others to see
Perhaps he's a prophet
Far beyond this world
It is really hard for me to say
I sit with him and listen
Wishing to turn night into day
For Marugu's Least Viewed Contest.