Long Discovery Poems
Long Discovery Poems. Below are the most popular long Discovery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Discovery poems by poem length and keyword.
I am more than scarred flesh,
and spirit.
I am more than the memories of his pugnacious tone,
and invective words.
I am more than my poor choices,
more than the flashbacks tearing at my soul.
I am more than just a victim,
more than my own malefaction.
I am more than the agony,
and desolation of being misunderstood,
I am more than all assumptions,
more than judgement.
I am more than a truant friend,
more than the maltreated.
I am more than the rejected one,
the disappointed one.
I am more than what you think I am,
or who you think I should be.
I am a woman. A mother. A wife.
I am a survivor. A giver. A taker.
A smiling face.
I am a solitary tear, hanging on for dear life.
I am a mystery.
I am imperfect. Broken.
But there is even more to me.
More than even I know.
Vineyard discovery
Winery cellar somewhere in Pennsylvania
It was an Escorted Tour by Defuncted BISS TOURS
We tasted several wines
The alcoholic Apple Pie wine caught my attention
The blend of ingredient
No nutrient
Senses of aroma opened and taste
I am no wine drinker
I was intrigued in the Apple Pie wine
It was genuine
No bake nor oven
Quality at its best
From the very first sip
That was my tip
Brought a bottle of the Apple Pie wine to take home
Remember and always will of that wine
Didn’t get drunk
First time hearing of Apple Pie wine
Compelling name
No shame
Only the taste taking aim
12/15/2023
“Each of us must choose his own path or way.”
Or
“ Ognuono di nuo deve scegliere la propria strada.”
I dreamt I awakened, a bit sleepily, at dawn in Venice.
Alas, if it were only my actual, vivid reality.
But one’s so confined by time and mortality.
To be sure, I’d ride in a glorious gondola.
Dinner, later, by her softest, loving candlelight.
Then walk her streets, bathed in Venetian moonlight.
“0 Sole Mio”, the smiling, joyful, accordionist would play.
Spellbound, I, by the deepenining, welcoming shadows .
Back in my room, so moved by the power of Dante’s
poetry from his ~“Cantos.”
Dedicated to my late Uncle Pietro! Thank you for the fun and
love you brought into our family.And you were the only man
who had the grace to do the Vienese waltz with me in full ball
gown and you in full tails..
Pure magic you and joy you were!
You were magnificent! Thank you, beloved one! You also were
Elena’s godfather.! Gracias.
Form:
The fever comes upon the mortal
Through it he seeks his mind to see
What lies behind the hidden portal
Behind the scenes of his reality
He sees forces that furiously unravel
Upon the souls of the flesh and blood
They seek the despair, the power, the emotion
To discovery the new in their immortal now
They sense his eyes looking at them
His consciousness swimming in their unknown
They look back, with a desire for pestilence
Troubled as he is, afraid he now becomes
Rotten his reality, begging for the something
To the few that notice .. his futility on the streets
He craves for his status, his power and his money
The things that depraved him of his soul
Yet nobody looks, nobody hears and no one understands
The earth has closed his gates to his mouldered soul
Trapped between the world of vision and the world of now
His mind starts planning his devious return
Life is ephemeral…it goes by quickly…at times this could be cause for resentment…which is why, I imagine, we tend to cherish our moments of contentment.
These are easy to spot in a person…you’ll find them usually sitting quietly…in one place…watching what is going on…with a smile on their face.
They’re using this moment of reflection with friends and family near…to capture a moment of contentment…before that moment disappears.
It could be sitting in their favorite chair…with their family all around them…you’ll see them close their eyes for a moment…as the joy of laughter surrounds them.
It might be walking in the woods in the morning as the sun’s about to spread her light…or hand in hand on a deserted beach in the middle of the night.
It’s a feeling they get in the bottom of their heart…one they hope will never stop…like when their sons or daughter call them Dad…or a grandchild yells…PopPop.
You’ll see them looking around at any moment…feeling blessed they’ve gotten so old… they’re able to remember earlier moments of contentment…as new ones, before them, unfold.
How blessed are we as humans…to have these moments…sitting in one place….watching what is going on around us…with a smile on our face.
Blessed to enjoy the moment with friends and family near…and blessed to capture that moment in our memory…before that moment disappears…
Blessed long ago in our life to have made this simple discovery…
That the more moments of contentment we have captured…
the more contented we will be.
An Orwellian Explanation
Orwellian in nature, data-collecting agencies are necessary.
They keep adding information to the files created at someone’s request.
Everything gathered is retrieved, analyzed, and assessed,
so there’s no need for alarm. Live your lives as you see fit,
and maybe, at worst, a minor infraction discovery occurrence
and a penalty imposed—nothing unbearable: “a small price for forgiveness.”
Focus on the big picture, and be rest assured, there is purpose without flagrancy.
After all, we seek the same things: peace, prosperity, health, and a clear conscience.
And when glitches are found, they are expeditiously corrected by the agencies.
So always remember, information is vital. Continue to be an obligatory participant.
Exercise discipline for yourselves and the children. You are a generation of promise.
Individual sacrifice is honoured for the greater and common good of the entirety.
“Where shallow waters flow, there, I cross with many.
I journey as far as I’m living; faith will do the rest.”
The inn of my Heart
has many rooms;
I thought I knew them all.
They were peopled with
husband, children,
family and friends.
Even God had a room,
and I visited them all frequently.
I really didn't think
there were any more rooms;
Until one day,
while walking through my Inn,
I discovered a suite of rooms
unoccupied.
"Who is this for?"
I loudly asked,
"And why have not these rooms
been used?"
No one could tell me who,
and no one could tell me why.
So I stumbled around the rooms
exclaiming over the things
that I found there.
But as surely as day must dawn
the realization slowly came,
and with such a sense of discovery,
I stood there in awe
wondering what I would do.
For I had entered the rooms
filled with the essence of me.
There were all the hopes,
and dreams,
and feelings,
of one human soul.
And when I looked with understanding,
I saw that even the ugly things
had not been forgotten here.
It was a fearful thing
to be confronted with myself,
to see so clearly all the things
I had long ignored.
You see, the things we ignore,
hoping they'll go away,
simply move into our rooms
and wait for rediscovery.
Your turn will come,
if it hasn't already,
to enter your suite of rooms
and be confronted
with all the essence of you.
What will you do?
And, what am I going to do now?
Escape and close the door?
Lock it?
Build a wall in front of it?
Try to forget the things I found
in my suite of rooms?
Put my blinders back on?
Or will I have the courage
to move into my rooms;
to become familiar with those intangibles
that exist in all of us;
To learn to live with
the ugly things,
and not be defeated by them;
To sort out the useable
from all the rest,
and use it with enthusiasm;
To know that what I found here
won't always suit those around me,
But acknowledge it anyway.
I stand now in the doorway,
looking out, looking in,
wondering . . .
Submitted 17 Sept 2016
To Contest: What Might They Find There
Today I argued about a poem I wrote,
I was proud of this poem I wrote,
But was this a poem a poem?
They said not.
I called it free verse,
they called it a story.
I said it was descriptive,
they said I don't see it sorry.
I showed this poem to someone else who said it was a poem.
this person was my music teacher,
who teaches I.B. English,
they said my poem was fine.
To Day I walked home from school and I saw a bus,
This bus was full of people but it displayed,
not in service.
so now I wonder what makes a poem,
what makes a bus in-service?
It is weeks after now,
I have answered my question.
A poem is what we make it to be,
the bus and I are poetic,
though a city bus doesn't write.
It still made poetry.
So my dear people,
do you remember Shakespeare?
He broke the rules of English so often,
His words became the rules.
If you remember what this man once said,
Then the question, you will understand.
I have asked it differently,
his answer was incomplete.
To be,
Or not to be?
But to agree or not agree.
that is the question.
that is poetry.
I OPENED A DOOR
IN THE UNIVERSE,
MUCH TO MY SUPRISE ,
I STUMBLED UPON
A LONG LOST TRUTH
THAT OPENED , UP MY EYES.
THERE IS MORE ,
THAN ONE DIMENSION.
WHEN IT COMES TO BEING.
THIS IS WHAT ,
I STUMBLED UNPON .
ONLY NOW , I BELIEVE , I AM SEEING.
VISION BEYOND PERCEPTION .
EXISTENCE ,
BEFORE THE DAWN OF TIME.
ONCE CONSIDERED THE OUTER LIMITS ,
NOW EMANATES ,
FROM WITHIN THE MIND.
LIKE AN EXOTHERMIC REACTION ,
THAT RELEASES ENERGY
IN THE FORM OF LIGHT .
THRUSTING US FORWARD ,
INTO THE FUTURE ,
LIKE THE ALTERING OF DAY AND NIGHT.
FASTER , AND FASTER ,
THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT
REVERSING , ALL DIRECTIONS OF TIME.
MEANING , THE SOUL WAS HERE ,
BEFORE THE BODY
BOTH , CATCHING UP WITH THE MIND.
DELIVERING US
FROM DARKNESS
NOW STANDING IN THE LIGHT,
WE WERE HERE
THE ENTIRETY OF TIME
WE WERE MEARLY OUT OF SIGHT.
Michael E Harris
07122025
In the stillness of a soft-lit room,
where whispers dance like fireflies,
our breaths entwine,
the air thick with unspoken thrill,
a tender hesitation lingers
before skin meets skin,
warmth igniting in quiet anticipation.
Fingers, fumbling yet eager,
trace the curves of new terrain,
a map yet to be explored,
charted by timid hands,
nervous laughter bubbling
like wine between us,
each sip a step deeper into the unknown.
Eyes meet—
the world fades,
a universe exists in that gaze,
full of promise,
where we dare to dive,
into depths both exhilarating and uncharted,
the pulse of heartbeats syncs,
a rhythm of two emerging souls.
The rush of sensations pulls us closer,
as if gravity itself has surrendered,
lost in the sway of our bodies,
each movement a declaration,
a symphony composed
in the language of sighs and gasps,
the crescendo building,
sweeping us away on waves of discovery.
Time dissolves,
and we are sculptors of this moment,
carving intimacy in the softest of whispers,
embracing the blush of inexperience,
the electric spark of skin on skin,
a mosaic of unfiltered delight,
a tapestry woven in daring trust.
With each breath drawn,
we break barriers,
the first time—a memory etched,
etched with laughter and a shaky cadence,
reminding us both
that every beginning holds magic,
and tonight,
beneath the muted glow of moonlight,
we are no longer just us,
but the promise of every possibility unfolding.