Long Cries Poems
Long Cries Poems. Below are the most popular long Cries by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cries poems by poem length and keyword.
The moon, a pale eye, watched the lake below,
Where White Rock shimmered, cold and slow.
A shroud of mist clung to the water's face,
And whispers rose, a chilling, spectral grace.
They say a woman, dressed in purest white,
Walks these shores, a haunting, mournful sight.
Her screams echo through the silent night,
A chilling cry, lost in the pale moonlight.
The wind, a phantom hand, sweeps through the trees,
Rustling leaves, like ghostly, whispered pleas.
A chilling moan, a sudden, sharp despair,
A woman's grief, heavy in the air.
They say she fell, a lover's cruel design,
Her blood spilled red, on waters now malign.
She sought her peace, but found a watery grave,
Now doomed to wander, a restless, ghostly slave.
So, keep your distance, when the moon is high,
And shadows dance across the glassy sky.
For if you hear a whisper, soft and low,
It's just a ghost, a tale of ages ago.
The woman in white, forever tied to shore,
Her mournful cries, forevermore.
A chilling reminder, etched in the night,
Of a love lost, and a soul lost in the white.
I am a monster born of woe,
From shadows where the lost winds blow.
My cradle was the mournful night,
My lullabies, the fading light.
My skin is woven of silent cries,
My eyes reflect the stormy skies.
Each step I take, the ground will quake,
Beneath the weight of hearts that break.
I feast on tears, a bitter stream,
And wander through a restless dream.
Where laughter fades, my echoes dwell,
In hollow caves where sorrows swell.
But in the depths of what I claim,
I hold no joy, I seek no fame.
For every wound I’ve ever sown,
Has bound me to my aching throne.
Yet still I long, though I can’t show,
To shed the chains of grief I know.
For monsters born of woe can yearn,
To feel the warmth they can’t return.
As dawn calls subtle sun to rise,
twilight cloaks clouds in charcoal hue.
Robins arrive with their trill cries.
Smoke puffs loom as the last star dies.
Moon hides behind shades of slate blue,
as dawn calls subtle sun to rise.
Poppies open to charm tired eyes
in fields with lustrous beads of dew.
Robins arrive with their trill cries.
Nature's heart glows to alchemize,
casting breath-taking morning views,
as dawn calls subtle sun to rise.
Windows shine bright as folk arise.
Pots boil as people make a brew.
Robins arrive with their trill cries.
Gold, purple pastels highlight skies.
Saffron flames prepare to breakthrough,
as dawn calls subtle sun to rise.
Robins arrive with their trill cries.
History moves in cycles, tides of energy
And interest, passions and powers.
What was becomes replaced
With what is
Until it too is replaced
Often with just a reborn version of the old.
But symbols hold more than mere meaning
They hold power, or rather unleash power,
And so when old symbols are reborn,
So too are their powers released.
So with the return of the goddess,
The pagan forces of nature,
Once replaced in full by something
More spiritual and new,
Now rise in a secular materialism
An idea and ideal of a Heaven on Earth
In the form of Marxism, Fascism,
Communism, Feminism, Environmentalism,
Globalism, Post-modernism, Hedonism
Or Shedonism. But whatever the ism,
The gist is always an obtainable dream
To have and to hold, here and now.
So we get equality and equity for all
Regardless of who actually deserves it.
We get a women’s lib
Which in effect takes on the worst aspects
Of masculinity, or rather applies
The distinctively masculine
To what is by nature its opposite and complement.
The result, of course, is the expected chaos
Of women acting like men
And men acting like women,
And I don’t mean trans,
Just simply hard and soft.
What was always yielding by nature
Has become rigid and tough
At least on the surface
As the heart inside withers and cries,
A virtueless victim of its own desires,
Its body in need of healing
Futile rituals of body-count reset,
Like a baptism of renewal
In endless lunar cycles.
But no amount of reset purification
Can make you really feel like a virgin again.
The goddess has returned
But it is not the form
Of a pure and chaste Athena we see.
Instead we have Inanna-Ishtar,
But now an Ishtar on the pill.
And if she somehow manages to get herself
Knocked up, then heaven help us,
Because her form is then likely to become
A child eating Lamia.
You shudder and laugh nervously
Or in outright derision of a repressive
And repulsive patriarchy I see,
And yet don’t you see, all around us now
The goddess has returned, but not
To her sacred core, instead in outward flight
With a vengeful attitude and score.
History moves in cycles, tides of energy,
And on the tides
All the flotsam and jetsam
Of the past rides too.
(10/7/26)
[Verse 1]
Vikram lands so softly
Modi on the moon
India cries out victory
Modi on the moon
Pragyan rover ready
Modi on the moon
ISRO team so steady
Modi on, Modi on the moon
[Verse 2]
Russia, U.S., China
Modi on the moon
Russia, U.S., China
Modi on the moon
First to land at South Pole
Modi on the moon
Finding water one goal
Modi on, Modi on the moon
[Chorus]
Modi say
It's not just India's day
But today
Belongs to all humanity
What a way
To demonstrate technology
A-Okay
"India is on the moon"
[Verse 3]
Chadrayaan-3 successful
Modi on the moon
Rocket science stressful
Modi on the moon
We must work together
Modi on the moon
We can live forever
Modi on, Modi on the moon
[Chorus]
Modi say
It's not just India's day
But today
Belongs to all humanity
What a way
To demonstrate technology
A-Okay
"India is on the moon"
[Outro]
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
Don't give up, don't give up
[fade out]
I appear in the realm of your bedroom.
I could be destroyed by a broom.
Or, I could lurk forever.
I do not have any endeavor.
I built a little fortress.
Hidden by a mattress.
You would be a fool.
To remove me by some tool.
You would be careless.
You would feel the stress.
Of dust in the air.
Of dust in your hair.
If you use a vacuum.
If you use a broom.
We will make you sneeze.
As you say “please.”
Dust in your eyes.
We hear your cries.
We are the dust bunnies and we want to survive.
Under your bed is where we thrive.
So when we see you faint from the dirt in the air.
We disperse everywhere.
We are like ghosts that cause allergies.
Through an open window, we feel a breeze.
We spring out this window.
But then the wind starts to blow.
This wind is not gentle and freeing.
We start to struggle with what we are seeing.
As we leave you to struggle on the bedroom floor.
We find we are dust bunnies no more.
We are simply particles in the wind.
We don’t know how this happened.
We thought we were free.
To hop through the trees.
But for how fragile we are…
And it’s not like we can drive away in a car.
Now, we feel guilt.
Together, we all wilt.
Us in the breeze, and you on the floor.
As you finished your very last chore.
She is picture perfect in broken glass,
Wearing the look of a heartbroken lass,
Lilacs bloom, but she's not aware, alas!
~
Lavender life goes on, leaves her behind,
For it knows of her hopeless state of mind,
She's in a flux, a depressed black hole bind;
~
Who can rescue her from this forlorn mood?
For she seems saddened and by sorrow blued,
Shards pierced her heart, she cries in solitude;
~
Let her free her mind and bawl in silence,
Bipolar woes have given her license !!
Help her stand against strife in defiance !!
~
Be there for her when she goes through such times,
Pick up the shattered mirror shards sometimes,
Aid her as she builds from them tinkling chimes !!
©Joanna Daniel (26.08.26)
Darkness in the horizon,
one Sun seems to be not enough;
distant cries of vultures dig out
carcasses of haunting days
from the grave of my memory.
Those mascara eyed women,
whom I once adored and gave my heart
without getting back theirs'...
for whom I had many toddling nights
with slipping peg from my hand...
are the causes of what I am today.
They never cared to look back,
but how much did I long for them!
Even today,standing on the brink
of my life,I know I love them!
So I created Raven,
this mascara eyed beautiful,mystical woman,
for,I always wanted my death
to be beautiful and mystical;
and Raven is my death!
I kept her waiting in the mistful graveyard
among those ghost like gravestones,
with the vultures crying and circling above
in the leaden gloomy sky.
I know this will be my perfect end;
the final moment has come,
I will approach her,kneel down
and pray for her hand.
This time she will not refuse me,
I will take her hand and kiss it..
she will come in my arms and embrace me;
how I longed for this...
the eternal embrace of life and death!
Wait Raven.......... I am coming......
========================
By:kash poet
-I love the simplicity of the old one. But this extended version is special, I think...-
Caskets unmade
Naked bodies sprawled in waste
Yellow, white and pale brown skins all in one
Emaciated fear lingering in the pale eyes
Spines tingle at the crunch of excessive skeletons
Grimy boots unmercifully stomp
Nostrils used to the stench
Ready or not, embracing the ash
Afraid to express
Afraid to breathe
Unable to stop the grief
Colder eyes than the dead themselves look on
They are bored, it seems
Untainted by the sound of groans
Unmoved by the crack of weak spines
Spineless themselves, these guards even smile
Frozen, blue eyes iced with a sneer
Black, demonic pupils steadied overtime
The corpses reflected in their transparent gloss
Teeth grind
A young boy picks up a dried hip bone
Small, calloused fingers clutch the last of his father
The eternal frowned mouth is caked with drool, tears and muck
Hair whitened as if ghosts have stolen his youth
This bone is jagged and worn
Once used by force as a bowl for his insect-infested meal
Shakily given to Her—the last She would eat
Before the officials watched Her slowly starve
Today the bone will be used as a shovel—his final labor
Last effort for closure
The boy knows they are all looking
Both the enemy and the oppressed unified
All experiencing, all watching
He simply knows that overtime,
Tears of hope will decompose the hardest of hearts
And the boy drives his shovel into the hard ground
Pounding away at the chilled, blood-stained soil
Drowning out the groans with his own cries
Flooding the dryness with his sorrows
Breaking up the surface to bury Sleeping Kate
Sleeping Kate showed the officers
The skeleton she built out of bone fragments
Sleeping Kate told them we were all the same inside
With this truth, she died
With their guilt, they continued life
They tried. . .
The officers tried to bury Sleeping Kate
But Sleeping Kate is always alive,
Building skeletons in their minds. . .
Hush, let birdsong riffle vacated air,
And the tender flutter of angels’ wings
In jaded ears alights as babel’s heir.
Hush, let lovers whisper when stillness reigns,
Hear a canto canter in candlelight,
When with the moon and stars a poet drinks.
Hush, thrill to the music of thoughts in flight,
Bound for a rare tryst with crowds-shunning Muse,
Ensconced high above earth’s clamorous plight.
Listen as oft a faux energy fills
Each hour with men shouting above the fray;
Into every home singsong babble spills.
Shush those shrill cries, let quiet have its day
And soft-spoken beauty for once hold sway.