Long Diary Poems
Long Diary Poems. Below are the most popular long Diary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Diary poems by poem length and keyword.
I always listen to your unbelievable story.
Everyone doesn’t know your real mystery.
Express brilliant thoughts and write it down,
Share those feelings that are terribly down
You take me to your extreme emotions
You always talk about your same ill notions
I’m your friend every second of your life
I know what’s happening in your entire life
I may not talk nor respond to your heartaches
You are gladly satisfied when you share those incredible aches
Just say it to me and I’ll always listen
I’ll make your day totally glisten
Use that pen and scrape it to me
We are friends like a strong entity
Dear Diary is what you always say
Tell those stories in this expressive way.
I will be okay, I’ve got plenty of time,
It’s only the 10th so I’ll be fine!
I check my diary, I should make a move
It’s now the 15th, should be in the grove!
It’s the 17th, just a week to go,
And to date? Simply nothing to show!
It’s the 19th but I don’t have the time
To plan ahead, this shopping of mine.
It’s the 21st, but it’s still not too late,
I’ve only the wife to facilitate.
It’s the 23rd, I cannot believe,
If I don’t act soon she will be aggrieved.
It’s the 24th and the high street is packed,
At 6 o’clock just a few shops left stacked.
I haven’t a clue what present to buy,
I cannot believe how the time’s gone by.
I call in the pub, for I need inspiration
But it’s really an act of pure desperation.
It’s the 25th, it is now Christmas morn,
And I’m certainly looking, very forlorn,
For a packet of nuts does not represent
The kind of gift I’d like to present.
Ruth and her six year old daughter Annie, were moving along the countryside by Train. Ruth was reminiscing. She was staring deeply into her six year old daughter's beautiful brown eyes. Ruth was feeling emotional, and had a deep sorrow filling up her worried heart. The train proceeded. She clutched her daughter close to her with a special mother daughter bond. Anne, her daughter, looked up at her, innocently and asked, "Mommy why are you so sad?" She kept repeating, until her mom answered her. Not wanting to worry her, she replied, "Honey your Mommy is not sad." The six year old intelligently asked, " Mommy then why were you crying?" Her mom replied, " I'm OK sweetheart, now relax, and hold me." Ruth was experiencing a flood of thoughts of Annie growing up as a child. She was asking Annie if she remembered the first time she told her that she loved her. Annie said, " Yes Mommy I remember." Ruth kept a special Diary of times and dates, of special moments she and Annie shared. Ruth thought of Annie's first birthday, when she took her first steps, and was falling forward as she caught her, preventing her from hurting herself. Ruth reached in her jacket and said to Annie, " Honey, always have with you this diary. Annie took the diary and started looking through it. She said, "Mommy this is so special, thank you Mommy." Annies dad was imprisoned, and it added to Ruth's turmoil inside. She was trying to ascertain his whereabouts but was difficult to do so. Annie kept reminding Ruth of her father. She constantly was asking, " Where's Daddy Mommy?" " We will be with him soon." Was her repeated reply. The train made its way through and a Loud whistle blew. It started slowing down, and just before it stopped the whistle blew again. Ruth looked at Annie and said to her, " Always remember honey your Daddy and Mommy, will always love you. Promise me you will never forget." Annie replied, " I promise Mommy to remember." As the Caboose door opened Ruth held Annie's hand. Annie asked her Mom, "Mommy where are we?" Her Mom replied, " We are going to see Daddy and Grandpa, and Grandma." Ruth was shaking inside, and the journey was finally over. The SS Nazi Guards motioned them forward, and directed them into The Auschwitz Concentration Camp.
Michael Tor
The result of whips and chains,
I need to do some sort of catharsis, to flush away the terrors that push me to terrorise.
Insomnia and schizophrenia got me needing paraphernalia to really zoom in on my demons and find a hammer to squash them one by one.
Educated by the streets, trained to pilfer and make a profit out of bullets and a pockets knife. The home l know is pirison, in and out like a quick heist.
What's so wrong, feels so right for the oy right l exercise is the fact that l deserve to be heard and the projects that made me barely sends a shout out!
This place is a gateway to a coffin.
I pray the Lord forgives me for all my sins, l am certian he sees how hard we try to escape the reality of being Black and poor, we do not choose to be thugs... No!
Slavery is to blame for all of this.....
I Make the Best
I make the best so easily
of what the fates have handed me,
there's no real need to sit and rue
the things I dreamed but did not do
or dwell upon life's irony. . .
I've sown; I've reaped. And what will be-
I can't foresee. My recipe
instructs me not to feel "too" blue;
I make the best!
Each day I find a fair degree
of pleasure. . . and there's poetry
sustaining me. It sees me through
along each course that I pursue.
To steer away from misery,
I make the best.
Nov. 2, 2017 for
Broken Wing's 'Enter A Poem Called, From My Diary' Poetry Contest
Picasso, oval face and olive eyes,
always solemn and searching.
Pushing boundaries, challenging authority,
his artistic torch cut through the fog of life.
At times his scrutiny turned inwards.
Self-critique of the physical and the psychological took hold.
Could it be self-doubt or ego which drove him on?
Or was it simply a visual diary of moments in his life?
1901, subdued bluish tones portray young Picasso in an older light.
Sadness and solitude emanate from the cloaked figure.
Though beset by trials and tribulations
he stands proud gazing at his audience.
1907, the face of cubism unfolds
angular features with large searching eyes.
He seems lean almost undernourished.
His sombre outlook dominates the vista.
1972, and then the end draws near.
Staring his own death in the face
there is fear in his sunken eyes.
Flesh nearly gone reveals his skull for all to examine.
Pablo asked, “Are we to paint what’s on the face,
what’s inside the face or what’s behind it?”
The recognisable image becomes less and less distinct,
until what is left is the naked soul.
And Pablo said, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
But eventually the soul becomes dust and all that is left is a memory.
We will always remember Pablo,
for art is life and life is art.
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2020 published in PS: It's Poetry, pp.286-287
2019 November 26 *1st Place*
Your Favorite Artist Contest
Sponsored by: Anne Cooke
There are many different hearts
Hearts in love
A heart that is happy
Hearts that jumps in your chest
A heart that weeps
Broken hearts, we have all heard of
Hearts suffering in pain
Sweet and delicious chocolate hearts
Hearts showing us where the toilet door is
Hearts that are red or pink in our diary
Hearts may look cute and small
Those I like best is the waffle hearts
with strawberry jam on
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22.04.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
When I stop playing music,
I still want to listen to more of it.
When I stop talking out loud,
I still want to make good sound.
When I stop writing diary,
I still want to communicate.
When I stop having food,
I still want to look good.
When I stop loving you.
I still want to think of you.
When I stop crazy about you.
I still want to see you.
When I stop thinking properly,
I still want to be explained clearly.
When I stop holding your hands.
I still want to touch and feel them.
When I stop drawings,
I still want to see your images.
When I stop travelling,
I still want to move constantly.
When I stop breathing,
I do not know what is next happening.
Notes of B-Flat during the days of C sharp:
Amma permitted me to listen and sing with a music teacher, the year was 1985-1986. In 1985 we used to live in Mymensingh. After moving to Dhaka, I could practice for a few months more, a harmonium and my musical notes in my own diary.
The teacher I got first was a strange humble guy. Some of the Tagore songs were of a mature kind, but he simply did not mind. My brother could also one of that, “bara asha kore”, was another famous tagore song, like that.
With whom you sang a song, with whom you played your harmonium. A list to be made.
A Saturday tribute to this classic reserve of Bangladesh.
Tonight, the sound of rain, drizzling mourn
Remember your face, once.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, with eyelashes clouded in aches
Hide your face , on another side.
With heartache, witnessing duo in melancholy
You, soar with your wings, high above, O holy!
With heartache, witnessing duo in melancholy
You, soar with your wings, high above, O holy!
You are sitting there, alone
You forgot the way back home.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, hide your face, on another side
Tell me, how far will you go?
Tell me, how far will you go?
Your path will find me as a pleasant companion.
Tonight, the sound of rain, drizzling mourn
Remember your face, once.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, with eyelashes clouded in aches
Hide your face , on another side.
Based on a famous Bangla song of Niaz Mohammed Chowdhury
My daughter wrote a story for her class project.
It is about an imaginary voyage of a 13-year-old
with her family from Spain to America,
In the year 1673.
She used an excellent vibe to bring the effect of
A handwritten note in a diary.
The paper, soaked in the liquor of tea overnight,
looked exactly like an old page from a diary!
I was astonished to see the finished product.
“Marvelous!” I thought.
The laptop battery died today; I am tapping with
Words with the charger connected; It is tied down with its destiny.
There is good news, bad news, many news surfing
through the internet.
The story of one boy, killed
As he was a suspect as a terrorist….
A huge beep on the phone with an amber alert, active right now.
I am tapping with words with the charger connected.
Through all these, I need to reach somewhere, badly.
God, please grant me the strength to live for one more day,
Let me be alone in my bundles of pieces, notes which I love!
Through my poems of life, I would like to see a brighter day
Just like a prayer, through the wisdom of introspection, above!