Long Delete Poems
Long Delete Poems. Below are the most popular long Delete by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Delete poems by poem length and keyword.
Whenever you feel lost
Or when you feel to reset
To look back and feel refreshed
Click the “Home” key
It’ll open the door to inner prosperity
A heart filled with joy
For there’s no place like home
When you feel like something is missing
Or you are missing something
You look through the woods and see a forest
You finally decide to run away, don’t!
Click the “insert” key
It’ll make space for a missing heart
A missing soul
Or a missing leter
Then the letter makes a word whole
No need to panic, insert!
Each time you feel you wronged someone
Or there’s something making you look or feel terrible
There’s a key called “backspace”
You can hit it way back to fix all the wrongs
All the mistakes that find you mistaken
Forgiveness is such a key, no, backspace
A sure way to fix things
Anytime you foresee danger
Trouble lingering ahead, impatiently waiting for you
You know you’ll lose it
You’ll lose her, him, them
Click on “delete”
It’s there to save you from the bad
It’s not gonna happen
It’s never gonna happen
Then you know you are safe
When you feel squashed and need to make way...
When things are compressed and you need to breathe
Take a walk and visit “space”
Bet you’ll need this guy as often
Might become great friends
Don’t be afraid, you need air
And space is there to give it to you
Sometimes, in order to go forward
One needs to reflect
See what you have, or have had
Some highlights or flashbacks
Can go a long way
You need “PrtSc”, print screen in full
To observe for you what you cannot
Through the naked eye of ignorance
Reflect, it’s a good part of moving on
One wouldn’t argue that
Now and again you could use a “tab”
From one place to another
Hop forward, this is a slow train
Why not adjust and keep the format most suitable for you
This is your life, take a tab!
Whatever life throws at you
You know you are the only one
Who is in possession of this special key
It’s a key to happiness
It’ll transport you to any place you ever want to go
It’ll give you anything you need, and want
This key has a name, like no other
“Ctrl” is the only key you can ever use whenever you want to
It’s never far from you
It’s on both your right and your left hand side
Always reachable, always available
You should try it sometimes
Life can be computerized
But what if a computer is personalized?
ELOQUENT GEMS
Part 2
But it’s show time, word genius making a fuss within ya brain hemispheres,
I’m rear in all the ages, pages outdating your solar systems burning spheres,
I leave ya mind scared with the truth, scared of what you will lose,
These writings are like hip hop and blues, blowing your mental fuse,
Your used, abused by your ignorance, cant advance from ya current mind stance,
With plans upon this planet, over running ruins, within ya delusions, ya say plans?
You ran away from your divine land, residing instead blind following lies,
Firmly as earning spiritual advice, nice and nicely played out well,
As you fell I tell a real story of glory of the real history with fury,
Furious but word notorious, worry about these things, they are nearly near,
Yeah bearing witness to those that stumble and don’t get up, find ya wings,
Hear the voices singing songs, lethal sequels seeking ears to hear,
Fear the mighty word warrior, steer your vessel, bless you from the summit, right up there,
But I don’t care, I steer a mind behind the vessel, as I wrestle good and evil,
Always climbing levels…. Depart devils, be gone please, ya don’t stand a chance,
One glance of these words puts you in a trance of stagnant brain operation,
Change up ya station,
Excellent, your seeds growing,
Into a plant with enhanced reception,
Tuning in, dismantle the stress,
Confess your ruining ya perception,
In the life of Mass Deception!!!
The completion is to reach them, all of them,
Mindfully seen through intervened letters to them,
Them? Who’s them? Remnants of the mighty men of old?
The Chosen few… come on I don’t know….
So I can’t just follow in blind faith,
Distasteful foul ways of the fools,
Who are schooled within disgraceful enslaved schools,
Check ya schedule, Like King Saul you will fall,
Slayed by your own sword and missed out on the reward,
Plagued by an evil spirit, devils mindset absorbed,
Records show a man that didn’t grow so jumped overboard,
Absorb these words, sort what distorts and delete,
Don’t retreat and be defeated in this heated war of good and evil,
Find your tranquil place and be seated, meet the inner self,
Where the real help resides, inside your house, your temple,
Disassemble and reassemble yourself, resemble principles possible,
Irreversible when awake!!!
Quincy Mac
date written: 5.12.2015
i said goodbye to u
i locked all of the memories away with the others
i gave in to the emptiness
and i was completely incomplete
6 days and i thought i was safe
and then u came right back
let me beg and plead to keep u here
even without ur love
u are the only one who could bring me here
take me by the hand and lead me with spoken good intention
and then leave me desolate at the end of ur road
just staring thru the tears as u go away again
and i should just prepare myself for the days ahead
when i know u have gone away, and i am not in ur eyes anymore
and i remember why im here
and why u need me when u do
i am only the skin that holds this ruined heart
i am only the eyes that u forget cry for u
i am only the body that turns u on
i am only the want and desire of ur selfish ways
winter is on its way again
and it will be short days and long nights
cold and alone, curled up here alone
and always waiting for u.
maybe sleeping u away was the best thing i ever did
and i dreamed u back into existence
and here i am stuck in love and being ur whore
just like ive been since the first man looked my way.
ill just sit here thru the months and try to remain empty
without expectations, without feelings of my own
and when u come to me, on rare nights when u need a release
ill put the smile on my face and the sparkle in my eyes
the whole time ill be hoping...
to get ur love back
to earn ur hearts attention
and have u all alone.
i was once an irreplaceable love, the only thing u needed
and we would watch the other sleep and be amazed in the morning
and time was never an issue, and life was a possibility
and u said that there was nothing that would keep u away...
well im no longer ur little jewel, am i?
i am no longer the goddess, the woman of ur dreams...
i am the mistake that u cant get rid of, the girl u dont need anymore
and i am the girl u keep hurting with ur ways.
i dont know what to do with this anymore
i wish i could hate u too, and i wish i had also given up the fight for us
but my heart and head are still all absorbed by u
and u will never ever know.
u are still the man i love forever
u are still the one i want for life
the only one who touches me
its all just a memory, but one i cant delete
and i would still fight this war alone
if it werent killing me every battle
but the love will never die
and u will never ever know.
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
You where the breath of my joy and heaven,
now you are my curse, blotch, and you delete the rainbow of my smile
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the fountain and rose of my heart,
now you’re the thrones that grow on the hills of my rose
and make my rose look like a mountain of pain.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the highly skilled love miracle maker that turned my tears to wine
and give my cry special effects,
because when I am crying and I think of you, I suddenly start laughing.
But now, you turn my smile to clay and my tears to a red river of agony, and you roll my cry with your temper of hate down the mountain of darkness.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where the pure guide that guided all our belongings with your cloud of kindness,
and you never did without showering your waters of affection on me.
But now, you scatter all that belongs to us in the deepest pit of unkindness, and you bleed away what we felt for each other through your rain of anguish.
You always said to me,
that theirs no such thing as heartbreak,
because you will never ever leave the path of our purple love, and you shall always be there for me like the stars that set on the eyes of skies.
But now, you boldly crush and pond my heart in your mortar of anguish and walk away leaving my skies blind.
Why so, woman of mud?
*Sobbing*
You where the light that lighted up the candle of my soul when I was damp and hollow and this made me glow intensively. You also always told me the darkest secrets I could not even tell you.
But now you blow so hard to wind away the light of my soul, flushing me dip down into the land of isolated slaves, where I hear your gossips about me.
Why so, woman of mud?
You were my brightest sunset and you never did without hugging and holding my hands, for you always saw me as your palace of refuge in times of traffic danger.
But now, you’ll rather become hell, just to see me cry and burn, and you’ll rather also just walk gently into death, so as not to call me your hero.
Why so, woman of mud?
You where my law of pleasant admiration and I could never carry on without you by my life, because you where my dramatic wonder of love.
But now, you are my flaws of unpleasant admiration and I have no choice nor muddle but to move on in my soberest mood, without you woman of mud, because you are now my thunder of hate,
Woman of mud!
Blood and now…
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
Blood and now…
Bite the bullet
taste the sweet blood near
near here flowing from the heart
free as life blood can be
free to give back life you see
our two hearts might beat as one
as we lay together on the floor
our blood groups matched
so were not ignored
not one litre not two but three
I willingly gave to thee
There is more of my blood in you
than what is left in me it’s true
your life this day I did save
by giving my blood just so
on February 29th you know
there is one leap year in four you know
I see your face your stubble chin
the worry lines your forehead shows
now and then I see them you know
as my blood into you does flow
I have always admired you you know
from a distance I hid my glow
my face did blush I know it’s true
it did every time I saw you
I knew of course from that first time
you were to be my Valentine
but in the hue of the fights
that special time was never right
could you not feel the heat from me
did your eyes not really see
my heart was worn on my sleeve
all my colleagues could it see
were you really blind of the love of me
should I now take the chance
of this day and its romance
tell you what I really think
gosh our clothes really do stink
I had not washed for a week or two
the nurses were so good it’s true
we were bathed that was luck
but to put our dirty clothes back on
what was with that that was so wrong
I think I will swallow my pride
and ask you to be my Valentine now
as it is only one day in four years so
so years of tears will go this time if you will just be my…
Valentine
NB. A little explanatory note to say the hero of the hour was a young general of feminine power, recently out of training school, but well blooded in warfare. And the man upon the floor, a private soldier, not to be ignored and yet in days of not too long ago fraternising with officers was oh no, no, not allowed. Love however knows no bounds, you know. And that is why this poem thus did flow.
I do not know if the blitz was correct, or indeed the eclipse, perhaps in your marking you could advise me on that. Thank you.
Stanley
(The new mad author)
******Please delete from competition Valentine's Blitz-Poetry Contest Sponsored by Dave Will.
I let lust lead.
So when I speak on this,
I’m not guessing.
I’m not judging.
I know what it does.
It rips your heart.
Messes up your mind.
Twists how you see people
how you see yourself.
It cages you.
Makes you smile in public
but cry in secret.
Makes you feel too dirty for grace.
Too broken for mercy.
Too far for forgiveness.
And the worst part?
It makes you think God’s done with you.
And truth is — He should be.
But He’s not.
Because Jesus didn’t die for the cleaned-up version of you
He died for the broken one.
The ashamed one.
The addict.
The liar.
The boy with secrets.
The girl with regrets.
You can’t delete demons with a filter.
You can’t kill sin by willpower.
You can’t win this war by fighting flesh with flesh.
You need the Spirit.
You need God.
I tried everything.
Fasted. Blocked sites. Prayed.
Deleted apps. Made promises.
And still fell.
Until the Holy Spirit whispered:
"You don't get free by pretending you're not bound.
You get free by bringing it to the light."
So I did.
I confessed.
Not to impress.
But to survive.
To finally live.
And you know what?
God didn’t cancel me.
He covered me.
He didn’t shame me.
He saved me.
No lightning.
No thunder.
Just quiet conviction
and loud mercy.
Now, I don’t boast in my strength.
Because it wasn’t me.
It was always God.
Every time I said, “I can’t,”
He whispered, “I can.”
Every time I fell,
His grace picked me up again.
I still fight
but now I fight from victory, not for it.
I’m not perfect
but I’m free.
And I write this for you.
Yes, you.
If you’re stuck in ****,
trapped in shame,
thinking it’s too late
It’s not.
Jesus didn’t just die to save you from hell.
He died to save you from this.
This secret sin.
This silent prison.
This hidden addiction.
So bring it to Him.
Say it out loud.
Let the light in.
Because when you confess,
He doesn’t walk away
He walks in.
He breaks chains.
He still does.
And I am living proof.
So let the world hear this:
My little secret sin is now exposed
not to shame me,
but to free someone else.
Because if He did it for me,
He can do it for you.
Let the world hear.
Let the broken repent.
Let the captives run free.
Let the light shine in the darkest room.
This is not weakness.
This is freedom.
This is Jesus.
And He is still breaking chains.
Merely personal green salvation
is necessarily incomplete,
All by myself,
sure to face sinful defeat.
Yet universal climate redemption
cannot become sufficiently replete,
to help my heart feel
less ignorantly stuck on re-delete
For monocultural remediation
we historically
and culturally at least try
multicultural mediation,
nonviolent communication,
polypathic emancipation,
polyphonic optimization.
Personal comparisons
and interpersonal companions
and ego/eco-bilateral
environmental habitual passions
can be divisive
dismissive emancipations
Competing religiously dogmatic theory
and natural/spiritually felt experience
schizophrenically competing
bipolar dissonance
empowers secularizing
minimizing
separating
dividing
unnatural desecration
anti-religious negativity
supremacy
missionary zeal
evangelistic violently prophetic communications
of natural environment mortality
and sinful conspiracy theories
and other bipolar forms and fields
frames and functions and flows
of dissociative bad news.
And,
internal spiritual v natural external contrasts
can yet distinguish analogical resemblances
between nurture and nature
Complementarity of open holistic religious systems
can become complexly unitive,
integral
negentropically cooperative
Rightbrain polyphonically prominent
redeeming our children's healthy climate
through mutually cooperative
communicating positive wealth
of bicameral energy
Suggests leftbrain dominating
disempowering negativity
About rightbrain polypathically more prominent
actively working and playing for green redemption
of healthy bilateral positivity,
So,
Merely personal salvation
is necessarily incomplete,
All by my leftbrain dominant ego-self,
sure to face sinful defeat.
Yet open, whole Earth climate redemption
cannot become sufficiently bicameral replete,
to help my heart feel resonant,
less ignorantly stuck on sinful
short-term profits
unresilient
compassion re-delete,
permanent social-cultural distancing
experienced as eco-political apartheid defeat.
For pathological climate remediation
we historically
and culturally at least try
multicultural health mediation,
nonviolent communication,
polypathic emancipation,
polyphonic optimization
restoring green ecofeminist pacification.
Poem: Memories
Poet: Sulamani P. Dukuly
Netus N. Nowine, Jr.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: I once had a memory and never will I forget
I can't stop picturing all of the moments
we once had and shared together;
I once had a great dream
And that dream brought all the lovely moments,
I felt like all was over until I saw a memory of you,
I laugh, smile, and all of a sudden, all my broken pieces were blended.
Netus: You took away all your pictures
But you can't delete your memory;
They are stored in my brain
In my brain your memory stays
For they will never go away
When I fall at sleep, they play.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: Whenever I think of your memory, I feel embraced
Because it heals my wound and my heart sticks together:
Your memory is the best thing that I have ever experienced,
Your memory reminds me of all the good times we once had.
Each time I dreamed, I see you, although you are gone
but your memory keeps blowing my mind and it feels like we are not done.
Netus: In my mind, your name and face are stored;
They will never find an exit
For I have well sealed it,
In my mind only your memory fits
And it is unforgettable;
It helps me to be upright;
For you left a positive mark in my heart.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: It is true that memories don't die
And yours is a living testimony to that
It is impossible to get it off my mind
It's true that you are out of my sight
But your memory will keep reflecting till I depart.
Netus: When I sit, I imagine your face;
Pains come to me when others romance
I always think about when we used to dance;
I used to joyfully wait for you outside your fence
For we kept our love real and intense;
I was well clothed with your love sense.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: For each time I picture you
it usually reflects my mind back to the old days,
Your unforgettable memory has lightened up my day
And it can't stop bringing out the smile in me
Whenever I think of you, I can laugh and smile,
Thanking God for such a Queen like you.
Netus: When I inhale, your love comes in
Mixed with my blood and travels through my veins
Relieving me from pains;
Your memories help me to focus on my aims,
I recap all the scenes correctly
Never do I record the sorrows;
Your memorable scenes are well packed in rows,
And you return, I will give you rose?