Long Delayed Poems
Long Delayed Poems. Below are the most popular long Delayed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Delayed poems by poem length and keyword.
Well I broke out of Cook County Jail,
With a plastic knife and a wooden pale.
Me sentence was 2 years to me despair,
I decided to escape, dig me way out, it took me 3 years to get out of there.
Apparently, the guards knew about me escape
Now I’m on the most funniest people cause they recorded it on tape.
I digress,
I must confess.
This isn’t the story that I wanted to tell,
I just went off on a tangent for a spell.
It happened six months after, I remember the day,
Yes, you guessed it, it was at the end of May.
I remember I invented new words, how to cuss
For I had an interview and was delayed by the ### Bus
When it did arrive it was packed like sardines in a tin
But the door open and I managed to squeeze in
Well I ended up in the middle of the bus
Educating the other passengers in me new words how to cuss.
When I suddenly stopped in mid sentence you see
For SHE was pressing back to back with me
I could feel her long hair tickle me back
And her awesome firm J LO ass
Me mind started drawing pics of what she looked like
From the twitch of me bits, told me she would tell to take a hike
So I thought I would cop a feel
With me hand I’d give her J Lo ass a squeeze that was the deal
She wouldn’t know who it was, it being so packed tight
Me hand would be concealed by the others out of sight
I… gave her ass a squeeze
Heart was pumping with excitement and me brain saying “Don’t forget the other
hand please.”
But…
I felt a tap on the shoulder
And the throaty voice that made me feel colder
I turned to see
A huge long haired, cross eyed, man staring at me
Now for some reason the bus had emptied at the previous stop
And left me with an ex-biker gang that made me eyes pop
Well the last thing I remember was the tattoo Bullet Johnson
He was the one that threw me out the window of a moving bus in Westconsin.
Dear sweet email,
sent at a bright and early 5 in the morning
who is greeted by my parents with a groggy groan -
but to me, you are no groan-able sight.
To me, sweet email, you are
a beacon of light, shining and bursting with hope
A white flag, waving high, sent through the barracks
of the endless war between myself and school’s 7am start
declaring a delicious delayed departure
for myself and my sisters.
You grant me the gracious gift
of turning over on my pillow,
setting my alarm to 7, and swiftly getting back to dreaming.
You instill upon my day
A day that cannot be anything but great, grand, perfect
For that day is shortened, and starts at 9.
Oh, two-hour delay, you are as rare as a four-leaf clover
but as welcome as a long-lost friend on my doormat
each time you choose to stop by
you will never be turned away.
Album
by Michael R. Burch
I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane—
and I see how young they were, and how unwise;
and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane,
their blissful arc through alien blue skies ...
And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed—
are also wings, but wings that never flew:
like insects’ wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed,
their features never changed, remaining two ...
And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens
or in shadows where It crept on feral claws
as It scratched Its way into their hearts, depends
on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws ...
and slavers for Its meat—those young, unwise,
who naively dare to dream, yet fail to see
how, lumbering sunward, Hope, ungainly, flies,
clutching to Her ruffled breast what must not be.
Keywords/Tags: youth, young love, first love, dating, courtship, engagement, marriage, honeymoon, album, picture album, memory, memories, mementos, keepsakes, photo, photos, photograph, photographs, time, grief, loss, travel, trip, flight, flying, plane, airplane
Subways canceled; buses, too.
Cannot visit park or zoo.
Broadway tickets? Outta luck.
Far from home? You might be stuck.
Baseball games not being played.
Flights postponed – at best, delayed.
Museums closed and so are gyms.
In churches, there might not be hymns.
If you’re residing in Zone A,
Evacuate without delay.
For all the rest, have flashlights, please,
‘Cause Con Ed has no guarantees.
Stock yourself with food and drink;
Here we totter, on the brink.
Get supplies or you’ll regret it.
When Irene hits, you won’t sweat it.
Nature loves to throw us curves
And newscasters pump up your nerves.
Still, I’m all set and won’t complain,
Just waiting for the wind and rain.
I wonder, though, if they’re mistaken -
If it’s sunny when we waken?
Experts will say we were spared
Because we were so well-prepared!
the truth is a power
stronger than stone
it last forever
once it's known
the truth is living
and never ever dies
no matter the deception
or how many lies
the truth is painful
but sometimes a joy
something to keep
something to avoid
sences detect
ears are annoid
a constant threat
to the eyes
it destroys pledges
when it decides
it doesn't pity
those that denigh
it stands still
allthough it's defied
inescapable
you cannot run away
for a while it may be hidden
but it can only be delayed
at the speed of justice and vengence
the truth is on it's way
condeming the guilty
with it's terrible plauge
no one is above the law
writen or unwriten
things that conceil the truth
most surely are forbiden
a display of thunder and enlightenment
wielding deadly power
weather for good or evil
it can kill or grant desires
The gods were deleted and the tribes archived
the Vista-View—two bedrooms
beige-on-beige a fungal beard
colonizing the microwave’s lip
You watched the iron bars then the glass
then the greenish biometric light
the glass drinks the whorls of your thumb
a cyan leech labeling the ridges before
the neurons arrive early
coaxing a instinct to open its eye
matter blinking awake in their wake
always a beat behind
its outline—stubborn delayed—stumbling to catch up
A vertebra clicks and the world misfires
the locker room’s thick lactating reek
wet cement and the chemical musk of
Axe Phoenix—a scent so violent
it strips the insulation
it kicks you back into the teenage animal
gristle of your own neck
3:14 a.m. at the Wawa parking lot
sodium lamps stutter in saltatory arcs
leaking amber data into the asphalt
a signal failing to hop the gap
unsure which reality they are meant to illuminate
You a prisoner
You the Ouijaboard
the opera is transcribed in unpaid late hours
stripped myelin pale lipids drifting like snow
the white noise of your own making
slowed to an unmarketable frequency
The listening that is not a listener
does not want your confession
it waits for the precise imperceptible
asymptomatic instant
your respiration falls out of compliance
Status: nerve sheath thinning
Status: saltatory conduction faltering
Status: epineurium issuing final instructions
when fire strips the field
ashes cool on barren lands—
the weeds arrive first
ruthless, quick to seize the space
filling voids with tangled thorns
when goodness is lost
a vacuum fills the heart—
empty hands delayed
cannot fill the space with grace
so cruelty takes its place
the fall of empires
begins with regime collapse
leaving empty void—
tardy freedoms swept away
replaced by quick iron fist
societies fray
when the shared values decay—
trust becomes brittle
complacency cracks resolve
doctrines fail on melting ice
beware silent void
for it demands to be filled—
if no light returns
the shadows gather swiftly
and darkness becomes the law
I stepped into the emerald square,
Where manicured shadows groomed the air,
And pigeons in their tweed vests read
The news to pigeons yet unfed.
The weeping willows sobbed with grace,
Dabbing powder on the water’s face.
The clockwork ducks swam perfect lines,
Ignoring the economy’s declines.
A jogger floated by, quite neat,
With levitation on his feet,
Tethered to an iron smile,
Running simply for the style.
I sipped a latte, pure and white,
Bathed in artificial light,
Thinking, what a pristine view,
This world is manufactured for the few.
Then suddenly—
The bronze statue of a banker sneezed,
And all the foliage froze and seized.
The grass un-greened and turned to toast,
While a very bureaucratic ghost
Appeared to issue tickets for my sighs,
Charging me per cubic ounce of cries.
The sky unzipped a neon seam,
Spilling reality into a dream.
The ducks turned into paper clips,
And the joggers grew electric lips,
Reciting tax codes in the breeze,
While weeping willows chopped the trees.
Nature’s beauty—neatly tamed—
Was gone, and everything was blamed.
I tipped my cap to the absurd,
And swallowed a satirical word.
The air grew thick with copper gears,
As seconds dripped like heavy tears.
A grandfather clock began to swoon,
Slumping beneath a plastic moon.
It draped itself across a bench,
Oozing a sour, timeless stench.
The numbers slid right off its face,
Abandoning the human race.
The hands turned soft like liquid cheese,
And pooled around my shivering knees.
“You’re late!” the melted ticking cried,
Though hours had already died.
The corporate wind began to blow,
As numbers froze to slush and snow.
“Efficiency!” the puddle shrieked,
As all the park’s foundations leaked.
We stood inside a puddle of delayed success,
Where time was just a formal dress.
when there is something on our hearts
and we are waiting for things to come
sometimes it can feel like a long time
but God's will be done
God's Timing is perfect
it is never too early or too late
the Lord brings all good things
and renew the strength of those that wait
God does things at the right time
at the right place
bringing joy to our hearts and a smile to our face. Amen
PROMISE FROM GOD:
Habakkuk 2:3 . . . These things I plan won’t happen right away. Slowly, steadily, surely, the time approaches when the vision will be fulfilled. If it seems slow, wait patiently, for it will surely take place. It will not be delayed.
isaiah 40 verse 31 But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles.
They will run and not grow weary.
They will walk and not faint.
Ephisians 1 verse 9 - 11. 9 God has now revealed to us his mysterious plan regarding Christ, a plan to fulfill his own good pleasure. 10 And this is the plan: At the right time he will bring everything together under the authority of Christ—everything in heaven and on earth. 11 Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God,* for he chose us in advance, and he makes everything work out according to his plan. Amen
Benjamin Netanyahu,
you once stood as a symbol of Israel’s resolve,
but power gained through fear and manipulation
is a flame that burns its master first.
You rose through the ranks
on speeches of security and pride,
but history has already spoken—
the tears of Gaza will not be washed away by silence.
Every forty-five minutes, a child died,
and the world watched—
but the soul of humanity did not.
You used democracy as a shield,
and genocide as a tactic.
But let this be known:
Crime is not policy,
Genocide is not defense,
And justice delayed is never justice denied.
You weaponized trauma,
turned memory into modern tyranny.
Silenced dissent, painted resistance as terror,
and called mass murder “self-defense.”
But power, when abused,
invites its own destruction.
The world—Jews, Muslims, Christians, and seekers of peace—
has awakened.
The global voice is no longer a whisper.
It is a roar.
We, the citizens of Earth, demand:
You will be tried and prosecuted,
Not by vengeance,
But by the International Criminal Court,
Under the very laws you mocked.
With you, every architect of this atrocity—
every profiteer, every silent partner—
shall face the reckoning.
This is no call for blood,
but a call for law, truth, and moral repair.
Let history remember:
No flag shields the criminal,
No alliance protects the tyrant,
And no lie outlives the truth.
The world has turned.
The streets have spoken.
The survivors remember.
The innocent are watching.
And justice, though slow, walks with sure steps.