Long Dearly Poems
Long Dearly Poems. Below are the most popular long Dearly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dearly poems by poem length and keyword.
Your words, which seem to be my words,
are but footprints on the fen floor of
the white page, echoes of wand'ring lyric loping.
And if, perhaps, the P's that B have blessed,
they click, they crunch, they sweetly rot underlip.
Tearing words from mind, squeezing through that jealous heartspace.
Tearing follows, wetting page after page, piling into a formless stream.
They clatter upon the mocking whiteness, an array in disarray.
A shattered and graphic mythography, mud clots on tile
after a hike. Why do not my hot words summon Leidenfrost?
I love words, no...I love meaning.
I love meaning, I don't love
the promise of words' bringing of
meaning.
It is National Poetry Month and Shakespeare.
died today.* The first time he died today was
four hundred years ago. I am set to write and read
'publicly' (which spellcheck insists and my heart
does not insist is better writ as 'public ally') some
'poetry' while dancers carve the air, in response to,
in love with, in relation to, hand/heart drawn trees
which have drawn, well-
wishers to wine 'n cheese' 'n chit 'n chat
an opening. A gallery.
But Prince died last night.
The artist formerly known as Prince Rogers Nelson,
and formerly known as a symbol,
and now formerly known as Prince. He died.
The symbol has gone and I don't know what it means.
The words are here behind my teeth, within my fingertips,
astride my heart, tickling that lump in my throat.
It is Earth Day, too. I'm supposed to say some words and make
them meaningful. And make them sing. And ring in the hearts as though
my ditherings are one tine of a tuning fork and the other is the spirits
of those dearly beloved, gathered here. Our coils unshuffled, for in our
sleep of life what dreams may come. But we stand upon, today, both
the funeral's grounds and the corpse to be. The Earth. We are meant
to celebrate her life as she withers. Strangled, starved, and trampled. And I?
I can't.
I just...
cant.
-ShhDragon
*He died today but every day we don't give birth to him with our tongue, on the stages of our heart, he remains a fetid, rotting, beautiful corpse. ’Lo four hundred years ago he died, but every day he isn't summoned, isn't animated, he remains dead. The fact of anniversary is our failing, our repeated failings, to bring forth what might be dead.
Humdumpty was an analyst, a Cambridge Ph.D.,
A noted bio-atomist, whatever that might be.
Indeed, from earliest childhood it was his single aim
To analyze no matter what might enter his domain.
He analyzed his father's watch and next the neighbour's cat.
Ah! Little more was seen or heard of Felix after that.
Astounding learned pedagogues, hard pressed to keep his pace,
Humdumpty grew up daily--in knowledge if not grace.
And then at university his intellectual power
Decimated Einstein and the works of Schopenhauer.
With ease that was amazing he romped a Double First,
And yet, for all his learning, nought quenched his burning thirst.
Despite the storm, and tumult that marked his inner life,
Humdumpty found the leisure to woo--and win--a wife.
He loved her--Oh! so dearly, his idol and his joy!
Alack! How oft our dearest 'tis we ourselves destroy.
One day in stormy weather he raised his eyes above,
And posed himself the riddle: "What constitutes her love?"
One night--to angels' weeping--the dark thought seized his mind:
"By scalpel and analysis the answer I shall find."
Full soon she took a sleeping draught, and when the time was due,
He set about his gruesome task, inspired by love so true.
How tenderly, how lovingly, he cut into her heart.
With what profound emotion he set his spouse apart.
To isolate that molecule in which all love resides
He scrutinized each corpuscle, and did much else besides.
All data was computerized, and ere a while had passed,
A reasonable hypothesis was imminent at last.
How tantalizing is the truth, how far--and yet, how near!
'Twas in the corner of his eye--and then would disappear.
It dawned at last upon him, his efforts would prove vain,
Unless he somehow managed to join her up again.
Of every art that served this end he tried the whole range through.
He first tried biophysics--and his last resort was glue.
Alas, alas, Humdumpty! There is a fateful law:
Some things men set asunder no mortal can restore.
They did not need a hangman or Madame Guillotine.
Before another week had passed, he died of bitter spleen.
Now some say he's in Heaven, and others, he's in Hell.
I'm not a theologian, it's difficult to tell.
For sure, he cut his dear wife up, and who would call that right?
But was it not his quest for truth that brought about his plight?
I swung with a vengeance but missed that damned fly
The breeze I’d created caused him to pass by
My electric racquet in underarm mode
Still failed to make that bluebottle explode
It filled me with hate as it buzzed round my plate
I swung and I swung and became more irate
That foul little demon was soon to be dead
As soon as it took itself off of my head
Now, I’m not a coward in anyone’s book
But I’m in no hurry to smell my brain cook
I angled my zapper to strike as it rose
And almost set fire to the tip of my nose
It flitted at speed like a Pac-Man on heat
But I am a human… I will not be beat
My dinner was cooling and it wasn’t salad
I’ll murder that fly and then write me a ballad
Overarm, underarm, back-hand and flip
My energised racquet was firm in my grip
At one point it landed on chandelier-high
And I had to wave that light fitting goodbye
My sausage was cold (can we please keep this clean)
And I had become a fly killing machine
A back somersault and a cartwheel or two
My electric racquet had flashed neon blue
Poor little Tiddles, she trusted me so
Her recuperation has some way to go
But I’ll give her cuddles and snuggles and then
I dearly regret that I zapped her again
Twas kinda Dick Whittington, but in reverse
Tiddles left home and I don’t know what’s worse
My poor little kitten is out on her own
But that demon-fly is at rest on my phone
How great the temptation to say what the hell
And batter that fly and my iPhone as well
But then it took off and it sped through the air
I swung and I swiped and set fire to my hair
Okay I confess; just a few hairs got singed
But I don’t have many and that’s why I whinged
In anger I swiped at the sound of its hums
Which came close to giving me two deep fried plums
How bloody long can a bluebottle live
My electric racquet and I cannot give
Yet more gymnastics to vanquish our foe
As I shoot some volts through my right hand big toe
I whirled like a dervish and now on a mission
I swung like a thing that had infra red vision
But, boy, did I cheer at the quiet little ‘phut!’
As that fly took a window to find it was shut
***
But now I feel guilty for I’ve done okay
Though I don’t know who saw me swinging away
I owe my new job to that small airborne menace
My local school wants me to teach the kids tennis
The soldier, he looked down at me
While I protested vociferously.
He seemed to be but twenty-five
An age that weathered eyes belied.
And as I turned to walk away,
I heard the soldier up and say:
“It seems that you don’t understand,
What it takes to protect this land.
The price we pay for what we do,
What we suffer for folks like you.
The cost of keeping people free
Is letting go of the fantasies.
The stories all you people tell,
Burn away in war’s fiery hell.
The illusions that most people hold,
They Sink away to depths untold.
To keep you safe we confront truth,
And force along the end of youth.
You chant and say ‘Let’s end all war,’
It’s understandable deplored.
But you never seem able to derive,
That the end of war is the end of life.
As long as folks can think on their own,
Conflict will exist, and war will be close.
To end it all, the cost would be
All trace of individuality.
A price too great for man to know,
Better the chance of trading blows,
Than giving up what is our essence.
It’s a bloody but important lesson.
And since the battle can never end,
You’ll always have need of warrior men,
To fight against chaotic tides,
To hold a line against the night.
And as for seeing an end to war,
Only dead folks will see no more.
We don’t as much for what we do,
In money I make less than you!
We ask no power, small or large,
We don’t demand to be in charge.
We don’t need swoons or genuflects,
We ask only that you show respect.
And though it makes bleeding hearts burn,
It’s a respect we’ve dearly earned.
By watching buddies die and scream,
By hearing them in haunted dreams,
By seeing our peace-time lives crimped
By missing limbs and nagging limps.
We just want you to understand
What such a life does to a man.
To keep peace for this country, wide
A piece of all of us must die.
And even if we survive steel rain,
What comes home will never be the same.
We do it ‘cause it must be done,
To those for fear no law but guns.
We stand up strong and take the blast,
So common folks, the rage will pass.
And had we not chosen this life
You’d all feel the weight of death-run-rife.”
And then the soldier walked on by,
I could not believe he’d bought the lies!
The fool, he probably stayed up late,
Thinking up new folks to hate!
If he’d only go to college, he’d see
The real heroes are protesting…
Rubber lover, Zipperella,
is not a brother or a fella.
He has false **** and kitten heels,
not a chest and ankles made of steel
His spiky rubber bag is old,
cleverly patched with a Marigold.
It’s been so long since he wore cotton,
and only zips, never a button
Zippy is a Tube commuter,
six foot tall in his Transmuters.
Lots of people stop and stare,
even more when he had pink hair.
Being a girl was such hard work,
every day another jerk!
Better to dye it back to brown,
play his fetish lifestyle down.
A little less attention is better,
when all he wants is bread n butter
Down to his local corner shop,
in skin tight leggings and a belly top.
He could blend if he wore a sweater,
or maybe brown corduroys would be better.
That’s what a woman would ask,
it had happened in ZIppy's past.
He’d had a wife who he'd loved dearly,
but she couldn't understand him...clearly.
Take off that dress, put on some trousers!
What about mother, think of the neighbors!
It went on like that for years,
lots of heartache, floods of tears.
Even though she was his lover,
he felt like they didn't know each other.
Then on a bight and sunny morning,
came the last, the ultimate warning,
‘Zippy, I want you as a man;
you’re turning me into a lesbian!’
He was forced to wisely choose,
the rubber-wear would surly loose.
He had made his vowels for life,
how could he just leave his (darling) wife?
The only decent thing to do,
was to be loyal, to be true.
But then depression set right in,
when all his beloved rubber was thrown in the bin!
Time stood still for a couple of years,
lots more heart ache, stress and fears.
For he missed rubber in his (now) sad life,
more than he would miss his nagging (dear) wife.
This could not go on forever,
he needed a friend not a jealous lover.
Maybe she didn't’t like his feminine side,
but Zippy loved dear Zipperella with pride.
So one sad day they said goodbye,
with no questioning or reasoning why.
It was how it was meant to be,
she was free, and so was SHE!
Alone again but not as much,
much more honest, much more in trust.
For Zipperella loves all things feminine,
now the woman he holds dearest lives within…him.
(Author Notes
fella: man
Marigold: washing up gloves
Tube: london underground
Transmuters: a brand of boots with frankenstein style heels with big studs)
I bet your beds comfy,
I imagine it smells of flowers and vanilla,
Or just the smell of clean,
And you have pillows,
Big soft voluptuous pillows,
And sheets,
Clean sheets.
I could sleep forever in a bed like that,
Literally forever,
And I bet you don’t even think about it,
Because it’s just a bed to you,
And it is,
Id probably cry if I could climb into like that everyday,
I’d cry if I could climb in for one day,
An hour or two,
The comfort would be amazing but -,
probably too comfortable for someone like me,
I’m used to the cardboard thats under me,
And Im quite attached to the bag that I sleep in,
Even the smell settles me,
And trust me when I tell you -
It’s not flowers or vanilla !
The noises of the night are my lullabies,
And the crisp cut of the cold keeps me alert,
Keeps me safe,
You probably wouldn’t understand,
But I’m glad of that,
A bed would be nice,
The comfort would be nicer,
But it’s the home that it’s in that makes it special,
A comfy bed - that’s safe, in a house,
A home,
Secure,
Free from the fear of a random threat,
That’s why you can sleep so well in your comfy bed,
Because your safe,
Because your free to sleep,
Where as my sleep can cost me dearly,
If I fall asleep I can lose the little that I have,
Even the shoes off my feet,
If I fall asleep I could be woken with a kick or a punch,
If I fall asleep,
I might not wake up at all,
So your bed is comfy and would be nice,
But it’s the fact you can sleep freely which is special,
So treasure your bed,
Enjoy your sleep,
And be thankful for your freedom.
I’m not jealous ,
I wouldn’t wish my situation on anyone,
I don’t even wish it on myself but I accept it,
If I fought it I wouldn’t be here now.
All I ask is that -
Next time you see a homeless person,
Remember a little kindness goes along way.
Life’s a funny bugger -
There was a time when I had a comfy bed,
In a nice loving house,
There was a time when I would look at the homeless I passed in the street,
Never once imagining that the cardboard mattress next to them was reserved for me
So sleep well good people,
Treasure what yo have because time is fleeting,
Good fortune is a gift,
When you climb into your bed tonight,
Stop for a second to appreciate it,
Just ..... appreciate it for me,
Because I can’t.
Not right now anyway,
But hey -
It is what it is.
12 years ago, after 38 years removed from where I was known, I went back to the area where I was born, to the place where
the basic things of life to me were taught and shown. Not to the actual town, because it was mostly gone.
Not to the actual house, because it too was all gone.
But to the county seat, said to be the home of the blues.
Truth be told, I never felt at home there anyway.
It was a real challenge just finding places to play, Always being told to stay inside the box where we belonged.
As mortals grow, we learn to utilize both thermometers And thermostats so as to not only measure their surroundings
But also to set in place mechanisms to adjust those same surroundings.
So, growing up, I was boxed in, and mine was really just a place to work And stay, where childhood fun was 'shooting marbles' or playing in the hay. But even then, we had no say but still longed for a better day.
Growing up, I was well behaved, never causing trouble, Nor did I make any attempts to burst anyone bubble.
If one had dreams, they had to guard them dearly, prayerfully. Otherwise, they would turn into nightmares or get blown away with the wind.
It's been said that home is where your story begins, which sounds like a God-Send, but I say that home is a place like no other place that you wish would Never end.
In a real sense, over time, I was shielded from the pain of all those things, the good, the bad, and the ugly, that went away, and blessed by God with so many other things with which I have been warmly embraced.
110520PS
By faith we can kiss the feet that wore the shoes that the latches we are unworthy to loose leave our burdens with thanksgiving sweetly cry ~By faith we can reach up to the nail scarred hands that led the blind man out of town in the way keep looking up to the eyes that wipe away all tears ~By faith receiving His love with and without fears it is written love Him He will lead in the most excellent way living to die dying to live it is by His strength we stand ~By faith we can lean upon Jesus' bosom with listening ears hearing the heart beat of God the small voice saying the Love of God shall never die ~By faith waiting for the horses they fly Lord Jesus the one leadeth with staff and rod the fruitful bow that forever blossom's ~By faith as Jesus heals the blind man looking at His face the blind man looking around saw every man clearly Love is of God we must not from their lovely faces hide ~By love our brothers and sisters we have seen so dearly the brother we have seen on the street stumbling by the knowledge of His saving grace for whom Our saviour died ~By grace of the Lord Jesus in the morrows by and by be that pure and perfect lovely Bride "Who is my mother, or brethren." Jesus said we can By Faith
The Heavy Price Paid To End The Deepest Of Dark Pains
In my night-dreams, flies jargon of oracles wise and profound
words given that break heavy chains by which I was once bound
just a conversation with my dark-muse and her ancient friends
as she promised, they provided a means to making of my amends
tho', they are not angels, and each one exacts a heavy price
one that costs this soul very dearly and I have to pay thrice!
For when I reenter this dark world and walk among the dead
I am commanded to do a ghastly deed, one I so truly dread
kill, on first day of each week, not true villains as a great release
my victims are to be the innocent or else their help will cease
this long forty year vicious cycle only ends when I shall perish
or dare'st to murder that which my heart most fervently so cherish!
Alas! They knew well such great cost I would never ever dare to pay
what do they say, poet's ink is the blood that keeps devils away
yet all of my devils dance gaily within my red-blood splattered ink
and to this day, I sorry at how low my desires caused me to sink
tho' with glee, they told me this also would make it all go away
if I would murder my own beloved wife and use her blood to pay!
Now to commit that unthinkable act, its time has too soon came
I had played with fire, sought the dark gods, played their game
the oracles I told would get their last pay come full moon tonight
this would bring buckets of blood, to their greatest of delights
each one appeared and gave me more useless advice to seal the deal
having no clue, that this old tired poet, himself would thus kill!
All that gloomy day I worked to make sharp the sacrificial knife
to kill the monstrous monster they had made, not its beloved wife
she I had sent very far away, to visit her beloved family in Spain
to spare her this night's bloody sight, never to see her again
now the full moon has risen, that dark, dreaded midnight hour came
I give you my friends, these sad words bereft of a dark poet's name!
signed,
In honor of my hero, Edgar Allan Poe
1-31-2019
Note, this now finished piece was the other poem(4th) that I had
wanted to present when honoring Poe in my ongoing dedication series.
I only just finished it today, early this morn. I hope you may find
it dark, ghastly, and very Poe'esq in somber mood and its darkness..
All those times that I was nice,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
All those times I gave advice,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
When no one else sat by your side,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
I always took your flipping side
so what the hell happened to us
What was the point?
You don't care mate,
What was the point?
Wont give me your time,
What was the point?
You're not here mate
What was the point?
You take and decline
What was the point?
In a clear state
What was the point?
don't help me this time
Hearing stories through the grapevine
You trust them and avoid me
When you had no one I was there,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
when I alone showed you true care,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
when you were all alone and scared,
Do you remember? Do you remember?
you needed back up and we'd pair,
Do you remember? Do you remember?
You seem to have forgotten then
now you choose not to see me
When your head was left looking down,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
Lost of spirit I'd turn you around,
now you dark me, now you dark me,
Protect you from abusive mouths,
Do you remember? Do you remember?
All those compliments I'd sound
and now you choose to dark me
Thanks for messing my head right up,
refuse to help and left to rust,
Thanks for messing my head right up,
rip out my heart and leave it crushed,
Thanks for messing my head right up,
friends who take and don't give much,
You really went and hurt me mate,
so what the hell happened to us.
That's what I meant,
when you need me,
That's what I meant,
then you leave me,
Thanks for nothing,
and I mean it,
You mean nothing,
a waste of my time,
Hearing stories, changing your mind,
the worst in your thoughts, now that's just unkind,
Knew me in person, for a long time,
thrown out the window, your memory blind
Forgetting that you know me,
thanks to hear say, thanks to hear say,
When we talked on our only,
all was one way, all was one way,
I wish I'd never met you now,
loved you dearly, loved you dearly,
I guess you never cared for me,
and now I struggle to care for peeps,
I think you broke me, I think you broke me,
no one cared when I was weak,
must be joking, must be joking,
wonder why I hate your guts,
because you take and dont give much