Long Day after day Poems
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...His starting point, after much hustling,
was a diner at the edge of the town,
the man who had once built massive bridges
now spent his days at work frying hash browns.
Working for a pittance, day after day,
the only place that would dare give him pay.
About three months into doing such work,
just after the breakfast rush was complete,
he saw a woman enter the diner,
with two young boys, she looked about forty.
Time had done little to Alan’s ex-wife,
Whitney was a queen, hallowed in his sight.
He tried to hide, but Whitney caught a glimpse,
a flabbergasted look clear on her face,
but he made no move to go talk with her,
and she had two kids, could not leave her place.
His heart pounded until Whitney had left,
seeing her moved over felt much worse than death.
She had proclaimed that she would stand with him
when the accusations first had been made,
but the media had taken its toll,
he had watched her resolve drain, day by day,
until the day that the verdict had come,
when he’d been locked up, then it had been done.
She’d started divorce, he didn’t contest,
it was something he could not do to her,
she’d wanted children, normal existence,
all the things that a good woman deserved.
With him in prison, that would be denied,
so he’d signed the papers, and said goodbye.
It had been simple, before he’d been freed,
when he had not had a reason to hope,
now, seeing her, with some other man’s kids,
seemed beyond his ability to cope,
a wound that wouldn’t heal, slowly bleeding,
making him question the point of being.
But the next day, when his shift was over,
and he was walking slowly for the bus,
he saw a G-wagon, and his Whitney,
and his heart started racing then because
there were no kids there, no shield she could use,
confronting this was what he could not do.
But she came forwards, her face fresh with tears,
struggling hard to keep herself composed,
until she broke down, and embraced Alan,
saying, “I’m sorry…how-how could I know?
I’m not sure how to deal with this because
I don’t know why she would do this to us!
“Now I’m left looking at a man I love,
that I abandoned, I’m ashamed it’s true…
We were so happy, but now all I see
is all the things that I’ve taken from you.
The life you deserved, that I thought we’d build,
her lies and my weakness…it’s all been killed.”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
O God! Will you answer my prayers?
O Lord! Will you take away my tears?
O Divine! I am so worried about my fears
We pray, but don't know the meaning of our prayers
Of course, most of the world does pray
Not many of us know the meaning of what we say
We just fold our hands and close our eyes
And call out to the one who we think is above the skies
If we pray, but don't understand what we say
Then we don't pray, at best we bray!
It's time to stop and find out the truth
What is prayer? Get to the bottom of the root
Who is God and where is He?
Aren't our prayers for God meant to be?
If we don't know God, but still we pray
Then who is listening to what we say?
We pray because we have some desire
Or because of problems that consume us like fire
Isn't there a reason we go to God?
Or just for fun do we pray to our Lord?
Some people pray because they truly love God
There are others who pray out of fear of the Lord
A very few pray to express their thanks
They evolve in life's journey and cross to God's banks
Prayer has a purpose, to God we do talk
Some stop to listen, they don't just walk
Prayer that works is a two-way communication
A tool that leads to ultimate liberation
There are rituals and superstitions in every religion
They make us get confused and cloud our vision
We are so controlled by what our scriptures say
That we just blindly follow, day after day
Is prayer all about mumbling something to God?
Is it about praying, not knowing who is our Lord?
Unless we first know who God truly is
We may say many prayers, but the main point we miss
Therefore, in quest of God, we must go
We must ask questions until we ultimately know
God is not someone made of bone and skin
He is a Power that lives within
How do we know that God is a Power?
When will we stop praying at some religious tower?
If we must realize the truth about God
First know, who is the one that's praying to the Lord
Self-realization marks the beginning of our quest
It asks questions putting every belief to test
Then we realize that we are not ego, body, and mind
We are the Divine Soul, this truth we find
What is the Soul? Is it different in you and me?
The Soul is a Power, different it cannot be
It is one Power that gives life to everything on earth
It goes when we die and it comes at birth
From New York City to LA; New Orleans to Chicago and Minneapolis Do not despair O little ones, cornered deep in America's metropolis So Little is ever spoken about you as if you really do not matter I remind you just now; you are loved and more than a shadow
You live there. You observe and feel the misery and pain You see the blood draining from some victim's veins Day after day you hear the promises of change, but everything you see remain the same
You wonder when or if the killing will end in your inner city I imagine your fright and think of you; I'm praying for you tonight
There is much decay, and I understand when you look down And sometimes you are forced to look away with little to say
I've walked your scary streets and have felt the terror of the nights I understand the fright, but I know that you will rise tomorrow to face a new day of visions and dreams that will cast away the nightmares
So despair not little ones. Look away until you are able to look up; and always understand that I'm thinking and praying for you tonight. So be strong my little friends; be not afraid and never give up.
8:23PMPT08092017TGFBPSContest, Late Summer Premiere, Strand
she cowers in the corner
when he comes home the
mere clomp of the boots
make their way to the room
wherein she is hiding her
breathing rapidly increasing
her heart thumping louder
than his footsteps growing
closer while she tries to
work out her next move she
is pulled out from under
the bed by her ankles what
happens next you imagine
in your worst terror if you
can picture a glass bottle
being forcefully thrown
point-blank at a plane of
brand-new asphalt smashing
splintering all over the place
cutting slicing hurting
maiming everything in its
path the shards never to be
removed but instead to inflame
infect to etch permanent
physical scars in her skin to
mirror to echo the emotional
the mental scars vibrating
maddening throughout her
body the cycle continues
day after day week after
week year after year the
whole while making any
possible memory of what
he was before it all began
when she swore herself to
him when they smiled
together when the proverbial
demons were nowhere to
be seen yet now they are
all that she sees without a
free moment to breathe
anything but fear sadness
blood still caked on the side
of her cheek she slides
quicker quicker quicker
into the red the darker the
color as the pain explodes
in her brain as each day’s
torment torture brings
what she never thought
possible a new surprise of
momentously malicious
proportions until she breaks
like the glass he broke a
hundred thousand times
she closes her eyes grips
whatever is heavy blunt
sharp killing device with
both hands comes crashing
down hard swift powerful
with every bit of strength
that she has inside her that
she has kept pent up inside
the whole while she has been
beaten beaten beaten for
years now always covering
up her wounds sharing not
a second of her story to
anyone always lying to her
best friends her family now
all ending all wrapping up
the story when his head
smashed like glass spattered
gushing flowing a maroon
pool all over the floor she
drops the instrument of her
freedom from him her freedom
from all the pain she lifts her
head she does not cry a
tear for all her tears have been
cried out she leaves the room
in silence a silence so sweet
it sings a million new melodies
which illustrate the possibility of
a new beginning.
The summer winds caress my skin.
Teardrops like squeezed lemon drops spill.
A joy ride down my cheeks.
Joy emancipated from sadness speaks
Splash, it splatters on the ground.
A crown like structure in slow motion seen.
Life cannot tarry, to embrace.
A little care, a little concern.
Love needs constant care.
But life is too busy looking fair.
A day has no divide.
No night or day defined.
Just doing my best, looking good.
My life is a unread book.
Money power within my fist.
Dreams are within my reach.
If only I can purchase my vision.
Like when I was a kid.
As a kid my prince swept me off my feet.
Was Caressed and cuddled and spoilt.
My dreams retold before I sleep.
I slept peacefully cuddling my dreams.
Knowing, I was within the reach, of his powerful arms.
Always there to break my fall.
Growing up was so swell, so much fun.
All my passions like roller coaster ride, up and down.
Teenage trauma like actors on a stage.
Well scripted parts Played.
Dialogues written by likes of Shakespeare in his plays.
Memories kept in my notepad archived.
Password protected from curious minds.
Visiting the saloon as often as I could.
Changing fashion to suite the current style.
Movies, picnics, sleepovers and dates.
Boys will be boys, society said.
I was strong enough to defend myself of their carnal need.
And time passes by defining my fate.
Now I am a grown up woman in full bloom.
My career well defined.
Insecurities in this world of Patriarchy everyday face.
Lewd remarks of macho fashion brace.
Learnt to brave these obnoxious moments day after day.
My moral fiber strengthened beyond grace.
But somewhere, deep within myself there is this void.
Need for love of a different kind.
The warm embrace of arms to comfort me.
Strength of arms to catch my fall.
Nimble fingers to caress and cuddle me.
A kind voice to strengthen me when l am weak.
A gentle voice that can whisper words of love.
A heart that can love me for what I am.
In books and movies have known of this type.
But in real life, I doubt, I can really find, that kind?
If, I should wait..? I don’t mind the wait.
And suffer, ignominy of society.
Do I follow the doctrine of natural selection..?
I don't think so..! My heart and soul have a mind if their own.
And so it shall be.
In better times, Anders Throne once was
a good husband and loving father,
married to his sweetheart, Rosie Smith,
who’d grown on the Chesapeake waters.
He worked as a lawyer, was well renowned,
had a little boy by the name Chester,
if fate were just he would’ve lived out his days
and saw his happiness never perturbed.
But when the war with the north broke out
to his country he was compelled to stay true,
he said good-bye and stole away north,
marching to war with the boys in blue.
His father-in-law said "Good riddance!"
and moved his precious daughter away,
to a big mansion deep in Richmond,
where he felt she could safely stay.
The war dragged on, and in the end
Richmond found itself under siege,
all in the city knew things were rough,
that there was no real hope of relief.
Day after day the big guns did roar on,
a crashing hail of fire and shell,
until one April day when the Union struck
and the town of Petersburg fell.
Unable to hold Richmond any longer
General Lee led his army to the west,
but Anders, arched into the fallen town,
hoping somehow to find his dearest.
But cannons and not the most precise of things,
and when he reached her father’s home,
he saw cinders scattered, shards of broken glass,
from the hallway ceiling’s grand old dome.
He found an old slave who explain it all,
that whoever had been inside no was dead,
a cannon-ball had ignited a great blaze,
and they died of the smoke in their beds.
Anders collapsed when he heard the news,
and roared out his agony and pain.
He railed at God,”I fought to free people!
And as thanks you go take her away?!”
Bereft of his son and his dearest love,
he walked away right then and there,
deserted the army and wandered off,
if they hanged him he did not care.
He aimlessly started heading for the west,
and as he walked along he wound find
the ‘truth’ of it all, so clear and so crisp,
took over his grief-battered mind.
God cared not for the trials of men,
nor the world that he had once made.
The beasts had it right, take what you can!
Destroy any who gets in the way.
The only rules that mattered were anarchy,
laws of the jungle, ever cold and cruel.
He was done pretending that there was a point,
manners and honor were lies for the fools…
CONTINUES IN PART II
The Seconds
[Excerpts]
(c) 2019, Anita Lerek
Section 1/4
First Generation - Before the Holocaust
Lvov, Poland 1930s. Mother, you were a Jewish girl but you were not expected to enter history. You played outside time like a star burning for trillions of years. Hands of pleasure created fire, and tossed in rags of exotic oils and sunflowers to heighten the mingling of school yard bodies barely formed. You lived inside bushes filled with chocolates, ghosts of guardians, and boys measured by swagger and expensive shoes
Your lives were handcuffed by words, set in the grammar of racial separation. But there was no one else, just you and your friends, beauty marooned in floodlit trance
————————-
Section 3/4
The Survivors
............
You lie on the beaches. You lie in the fields. You are bits of debris, tufts of life stuck together, shadows thrusting and contracting in search of embodiment
So many lost, beyond mouthing. What history removes, language cannot restore. Rather it is a burial ground, an anti-galaxy of boarded up stars. How many forms are there of nothing?
Ancestors cry out to you from pine trees and flowers, from buds and branches. You hear nothing. You seek out strangers. By touching them, you try to rouse a sleeping god of your lost civilization, to reach the boys, the sunflowers, the shadows begging to return
Your limbs touch, boxes smacking against each other, filling, releasing. You barely move. You let him have his pleasure. Then without a word, you leave, and return, to release the one valve, day after day; all others seized by horror. You never exchange names
—————————
Section 4/4
The Second Generation
..........
I was of the same cloth but not the same cloth. I did not occupy the same land as you. I grieved our severed skin
I come closer now, hover at your borders. Mother, your elements are wearing down, motions slowing, your fragments crumbling
Stop, stop, stop the cycle
of trauma: its birth, hardening into splintered towers, falling apart and re-forming
Let me into love before you leave me, here in this final land
where love crystallizes
into the expansive images
that cradle me
in beds of rock,
the last images
that I send up
to mend babel’s darkness
for trillions of years
I open my eyes
Don’t want to wake
I cannot face another day
I sleep as much as possible
Just to waste time
Dreams haunting me relentlessly
I wake crying for the life I once had
Everything seems bleak
No light at the end of the tunnel
No bright future for me
Just misery
Memories of the past
My face laughing
I barely remember it now
Every day is a struggle
I pretend to all I’m ok
I am not of course
Locked within my own dark world
Tears never far
I hate being alive
Being tortured day after day
I sit in the corner
Try not to think
But my brain is in overdrive
Thoughts travel through
At the speed of light
Nothing makes sense
It is all confused
Just jumbled is my mind
In my dark depressed world
The loneliest place you could imagine
It traps me and keeps me its prisoner
Sentenced to a life of pain and agony
Assorted thoughts merge into one
I can’t stand the noise in my head
Not wanting to speak
Fed up having to pretend
I don’t want to worry my family and friends
Some understand
Some don’t
I wish they did
So I don’t have to explain
Sometimes I don’t bother to get dressed
What’s the point?
I never go out
Sometimes I don’t wash
Or even go to the loo
I will sit for hours in pain
Because my bladder is so full
I abuse my body
In more ways than one
I have no respect or desires
I don’t live I just exist from day to day
I deserve it
I believe I deserve to die
Thoughts of taking my life
Drift through my head
I am a burden
A drain on everyone I know
No one will miss me
I am nothing to most
Just a frail frame that cries all the time
If you only knew what my existence is like
The isolation and hopelessness I feel
Fearing no end
Scared to speak the truth
I suspect the doctors know my reality
They learn from books but still don’t get it
Asking stupid questions I refuse to answer
If you only knew how cutting it is
To hear the words “pull yourself together!”
Do you not think I would if I could?
Do you not think I want the same as you?
My heart sinks every time I hear it
And it seems pointless to talk
If only you knew how hard it is
Talking for the sake of it
Pretending to be happy when you’re not
It is tiring
Both pointless and hopeless
Living with this torment night and day
No one understands
No one
"Missed"
if you wanted me
to write about
rainbows and unicorns,
I would have to say
romance was never
on the menu of
the grinning soul,
in the days
when war came.
lines drawn in sand, see,
grains easily blow away,
to reveal what of strength,
hard and cracked, yet so
tangible survives underneath
it all, firmly remains.
the thistle with
its royal violet inviolate crown,
its thorns like swords,
persistent, makes its way
to what little light
endures, holds out,
shoots its way through
the fallout clouds.
it blooms
like a revolution.
never changes its
regiment colour.
beauty in survival
allays arid memories
and relishes the rain
to grow new life;
and like a thistle
the petals will-o-wisp
like a halo up into
the sky, far away,
but the roots
remain fixed
strong and
militarily resilient,
day after day.
romance comes
in the flurry of snow
falling on an
upturned face,
faith in something
of grace, offers
a smile that sings
still life doesn't exist here,
tongue outstretched
sensually tasting
a poisonous life
remembering
the last naked
tryst and how
one survived
the assassin’s kiss,
though the shooter
didn’t fare that well.
the shooter
perhaps loved
the target,
too much.
the target saw
the transparency,
reality of truth,
a subtle softness
pouring out
in the bleed, could win
through
the atomic
missed.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“This is what comes of military training”, she said, ”born and bred from military - both air and land forces - one becomes habitually practiced and intuitively alert to the enemy's position. Strategically, one is always lethally equipped, both psychologically and physically, in surviving wars on the mortal plane. Particularly, much later in the singularity wars, for a neural neophyte piloting those missions of slippery inter-dimension”.
In the days to follow, this quality in her would stand her well, in both dark and light fields, contradictory yet complimentary, the two warring co-ordinates of the Cross Field in the new domain. It was the place of the in-between worlds, where her mission would be implanted and eventually executed, expeditiously and with great success. Much to her detriment.
This very day, 27 years ago a little boy met a girl and thought nothing of it.
Two innocent minds, two pure souls with no crooked intentions.
We shan't lie to the world that it was love a t first sight
For we didn't know the difference between wrong and right.
For we didn't know what love is or what pain is.
We chose to be friends, yes we became best friends.
With the passing of time, moments, laughs tears we shared and Gods plans,
With the synchronizing of two heart beats that longed to beat as one.
Two souls that fed each other, two minds and two bodies that were destined for all eternity
This we could not fight, for it was destiny, for it was God’s plan.
This love was beyond my control my love.
27 years have gone by and I am still in love with you as if it were our first day.
My love is still pure and innocent just as the minds and souls of that little boy and girl.
Loving you is still not a choice, loving you is not a decision I have to make day after day.
Loving you is food to my soul, loving you is what defines me, loving you is my daily bread.
You make me whole; you make me significant, for you make me one with you.
All these years have passed and all I see changing is time and not my love for you.
Loving you my dear is beyond my control.
Without you near me I am deaf, I am blind and I cannot feel.
For my eyes see only you
For my ears only hear your sweet voice.
For my hands feel only the smoothness of your skin.
When you are away I cannot smell nor can I taste anything.
For the only scent I know is yours.
For the only lips I know are yours.
You are my connection to the outside world
For I see through your eyes and know the sour sweet taste of air with your tongue.
For I hear the sound of the wind blowing with your ears and smell through your nostrils.
For I feel through your palms and your skin.
You are me and I you. For we are one
This love I feel for you is beyond my control
You are my one and only
You are my past, my future and my present.
You are my life; you are my heaven, my gift from above.
Every day I pray to the Lord to thank him for I have you, for I have it all.
I am yours always, I am yours for eternity, I am yours even in the after life
I love you. Wish us an eternity together.
This love is beyond my control my love.