Long Deep Poems
Long Deep Poems. Below are the most popular long Deep by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deep poems by poem length and keyword.
There are some who say,
that we were never close.
They are the ones who
made the connections impossible.
When you were born God had smiled,
and I cried.
Because we were told,
you were born without fingers and toes.
Father had lied to us,
and I never forgave him for that.
Such sad and wicked things,
we endured.
You were perfect,
in every way, Angela.
A new little sister,
A beautiful little Angel.
We grew up,
In a household full of stress filled commotion.
We never had stable love,
But you always looked up to me.
And I always tried to be,
Like a Mother to you, when you were small.
Angela this poem,
Is dedicated to you.
__________________________________
DELIVER US
The years have passed,
since you've gone,
thrown to heaven,
On a song.
I believed in you,
and the things you said,
I never acted on it,
It was so wrong.
Jealousies from the one,
who told you don't ever call,
I always waited to hear from you,
but she helped to build your walls.
I remember you telling me,
condescendingly she said you looked like me,
she had evil intentions,
hiding way down beneath.
I will always remember you,
you remembered me too,
It was me and God,
In your hour of need, that you last spoke to.
God has you now,
and some day,
I will join you,
together we shall pray.
For all the wicked ones,
who have no conscience,
no morals,
who are in this life an evil constant.
Rock-a-bye my sister,
sleep well and stay safe,
know that I love you,
forever and a day.
Vickie Hurtt-Thayer Poet
Upon the decaying tree of life.
A man contemplates, sits alone,
adrift upon the sea of life.
Rainbows - a holographic universe
lies before tired, old eyes.
In life… all changes, it dies.
Tear drops, from the heart fall, as heavy rain.
Flowing forth from the brain.
Ever there, awake… asleep,
permeating waters so deep.
The heart of another, not to keep.
A Beautiful Chinese Angel.
Images of, from heart shaped teardrops
stands between the lone man adrift
and the holographic universe
he contemplates, he remembers
her in a translucent, rainbow gown
B. J. “A” 2
October 27th, 2011
Beautiful Illussions
Beautiful Illusions, have fallen from barren branches
like a million Autumn, clocked leaves, falling from trees.
The roots of this craft, that supports this alone man,
drifting upon waves … from this sea of life - decay.
Dreams fragment, splinter, break down, dissipate
in the light of a reality… forced not chosen.
Dreams become a trillion, tiny, holographic particles,
adrift upon the light of morning breezes,
and the darkness of midnight hours.
Dewdrops, glistening, reflecting, refracting
the essences of songs never published.
Songs
Songs of love… lyrics I would love to compose,
if not, but for little deaths that dictate
the tones, the beat - the urges
guide what I seem to write - dirges.
B. J. “A” 2
October 27, 2011
Looking into a crystal clear river, itching to bathe my feet
Water’s look shallow, I’m buried in thought gone obsolete
The trickling liquid beckons me over, promising of a cure
My reality is a long time stolen, faltering into life obscure
Torn between instinct and choice, ambivalence devouring
I make a compromise to dip one toe, not too overpowering
Testing water proves difficult, distracted by gaps and voids
Cursing and blabbering alone, answering myself annoyed
Anticipation is conflagration, expectation being unknown
Dementia doesn’t have a reservation, comes with life alone
One thing leads to another, I’ve wandered out of their cage
This river’s measured now, my toe the approximate gauge
Looking again find I’m knee deep, as memory starts to fade
Pushing out further still, forgotten is the compromise made
Keep wading outward, I have no comprehension of bounds
River is unable to claim me, my mind was long ago drowned
Your Favorite Rhyme Poem in August 2021 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
10/08/2021
Some are born to carry shadows in their bones—
to know the weight of stones
uninvited visitors throw.
We are soldiers in a war with no front lines,
an army of one
navigating minefields,
exploding bombs inside our minds.
We live in nightmares dressed as ordinary days,
chasing peace through smoke and haze
while hope erodes like shoreline
beneath relentless waves.
The armor we bear is heavier than lead—
each plate hammered from a scar,
each rivet driven through the tender parts
we've learned to guard.
Tears descend in silent streams:
salt trails mapping territories of pain.
Trauma swallows us in waves—
pulling us under, again,
again—
until we learn to breathe
in the spaces between drowning.
Memories cling like winter frost
to window glass,
distorting everything we see.
They haunt the corners where light fails,
cruel melodies on endless repeat:
the songs life demands
we learn by heart.
Do you see me?
I see you—
the same fractured mirror,
the same shattered view.
But still—
In the caverns of my darkest days,
in the marrow-deep ache of surviving,
I find a strange and tender grace:
a gift the light-touched never claim.
This appreciation blooms
in soil where others see only decay—
I notice what they hurry past:
the way dawn breaks on broken things,
how shadows teach the light to dance,
the fierce beauty of a body
that refuses to surrender,
the sacred weight of second chances.
Even as I grow bone-weary,
even as I break and bleed,
I see extraordinary beauty
hidden from those who've never grieved—
The silver veining through the cracks.
The strength in things that bend, not break.
The way the wounded recognize each other
across crowded rooms:
a glance, a nod—
the silent language of survival.
The poetry in what we had to forsake.
This beauty rolls in with the seasons,
then away with winter's breath—
fleeting, precious, sharp as sorrow,
intimate as life and death.
We who carry melancholy
see what joy alone cannot:
the full spectrum of existence,
the terrible beauty we've been taught
by suffering,
by surviving,
by singing through the pain.
We are the ones who know
that breaking open
is how the light gets in—
That the cracks are not the ending
but the place
where we begin.
I can't be part of the conversation
Cause I always go mute
Every time they bring up the conversation
For why would I speak to them yet they call me a brute
They've already labelled the world black and white
And the white pieces always have the first move
So why would I use my only moves to only write
Myself more hate cause I'm afraid of making a wrong move
I hence chose to be deep in the silence
The silence of the injustices on us
Choosing to fight for sheer existence
Cause I can only count for change from us
That's why I'd chose everyday to be with people like me
Around the love that doesn't change with phases
That everywhere I look its people who are like me
With smiles the only things brightening our faces
The PO£T
my life is weather-stained with years
a garden ravaged . . .
since a child I have been collecting scars
s c a r s that will never heal
and storms shake the ocean of my sleep
the waves of time keep rolling over me endlessly
o, scars are the p a t h to the soul I heard
and my S O U L is a labyrinth
of jagged, sharp pieces
and my d r e a m s are flowers that have died
my scars a long chain of heavy lead
yet, I drink from the deep blue sky each day . . .
though the rare herb, happiness, hides away from me
my heart a window open but a door firmly closed
I dwell amid the dregs of past sorrows
that hang from d r i p p i n g branches
in the grey woods of my mind. . .
_______________________________
May 12, 2020
Edit from September 7, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/A Garden Ravaged
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1251-658-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to Brian's Choice A Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
Second Place
Each time I put them the under, They still want to test me
After all that has been said and done
His completions wont complete me, I have divided myself by one
Please stop asking questions...
I am the answer to His riddle
I am the portion of his wind
I am the spoon between tongue and teeth
and I dare not add my revision
for I dare not suffer twice
and I dare not be thy Christ
and I dare not dwell in the past
and I welcome any Khosi sitting in his plastic bench
waiting for joi to go
and I suffer here alone Lord, petted by my evil thought
How I have tried to stripped them from bone to bone
I have struggled and I have fought
Every jealous war intentions smuggled sown into jeans
Every hidden tendencies exploiting me in me
Each time I put them under, they still want to test me
I have been sitting here for what now seems to be an hour
I have raised every kept question from the dead and given power
to my absence of my sanity
Up above the highest testaments, down below the wooden floor..
the sag-gated womb will breach black and blue beneath the hidden door
deep beneath you will find attributes of drunken men who were banging their heads against the dead
each day he tries to stand, an as he stands he stands pressed against the very woman he loves
Kissing eyes and hips, embracing hips...
surrendering to her touch
and just at the valley of the very woman he touches
heart to heart
she pulls from his touch, because it is too much to bare
once they go apart
Robert Wylan. “The ocean stirs the heart, inspires the imagination and brings eternal joy to the soul.”
Shallow in many beaches, deep in other seas.
Vast in most places, shallow in others.
Seasons come, seasons go, that's life.
Tempests are common in the north or south.
Ships are built, mostly sturdy, mostly strong.
Tempests do not spare all, for some are sunk.
I dare to cross the Atlantic on a cruise ship.
Not the Titanic type, I'm sure.
There's fine luxury everywhere,
And no doubt, all prefer summer crossing.
Mind you, occasionally a tempest erupts.
Summer is lenient, and crossing is pleasant.
Shallow in many beaches, deep in others
Crowds huddle on the deck to watch,
People admire the sleek dolphins.
What a great sight to see them jump in unison,
Only to disappear in the vast seas afar.
By far the biggest sight would be
To spy a giant whale afar.
But no one liked to watch the deadly sharks.
Sun shines bright through the window
I feel no heat
Snow lay on the ground bright
I’ve lay hidden on the asphalt
My smile hidden somewhere deep in frost
Heavy sighs come and go
Where did you come from
How long will you last this time
I trip over the sunlight
down to the ground
Falling fast
Sinking faster
When I hit the ground
concert I found
For I could down no further
The rays of sunshine laugh at my back
The darkness caress my face
To rise is to pervil
For I must rise at some point
But to stay still
To let the darkness I see hold me tight
The heavy sighs to act as a mattress
This is easier
This is where I belong
I long for a warm hand to take me away
To rest forever more
I
Seated in a bray were three friends,
On chair,pavement,aisle did they fill.
Merrying,hopping,sharing their advice,
Like the hopping daffodils does in the
hay.
But a languorous serendipity perchanc'd,
And the three in decisions advanc'd.
Sadness to the utmost flew,
Joy opposite in decision yet in the land
drew.
While strife beneath the earth dived,
Making the three friends in separation
thrived.
Life seem'd vague when they unity despised,
And they all did in love's isolation lay.
With no hope of boosted liveliness,
All were bethrot'd to weariness.
II
Then came a fearful bright dawn,
Strecth'd wide in the sky like unto a lawn.
Sadness pierc'd her eyes through the sun,
It seem'd natures plotted against her.
Then said she unto herself like unto a
'street dancer',
Bellowing deep towards the shadow
'mancer'.
"I'll arise and return to joy,
That we along with strife will by unity
coil".
Then she arose and edged to joy her way,
That if she be not in the land then she'll in
the bray.
From afar Joy point'd her gaze like unto a
gun,
With " Is that not sadness...?",laying in
mouth her.
Then she dashed into her arm with
her in her sight,
And both did all their predicaments
recite.
III
The Nightingale often mock'd strife,
"Plumpy belly,disgusting snout", in
Nightingale lies.
Her atmosphere scolded her heartily,
That she ev'n in her dreams dwelt wearily.
Then she too rethink to revisit aged folks,
To at least enchant logs of pending talks.
And if by help they can bail him out,
" If Joy won't,Sadness will";She thought.
Then she picked her way towards Joy
abode,
And for hours she in anxiety rode.
A mile ahead,her eyes sensed steadily,
All in each sight, the three again met
merrily.
And again in the bray were the
three;
But can these really be?