Long Elegiac Poems
Long Elegiac Poems. Below are the most popular long Elegiac by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elegiac poems by poem length and keyword.
I moved the mountain,
and all I have left is the valleys;
I filled the valleys
with love and manna from above;
So I'm yearning, but yet I'm learning
Lord to depend on you
and only you
you who are tried and true;
I moved the hills
and all I have left are the rivers and streams;
I crossed the rivers waters parted and I led my people through;
Still yearning, but continually learning
Lord to depend on you
and only you
only you
Lord your tried and true
I stood on the edge of the universe;
and I moved the planets and stars;
Lord I depend on you
and only you
only you and you, only you will do
I've crossed across galaxies;
and still have the victories;
Still yearning, but continually learning
Lord to depend on you
and only you
only you
Lord your tried and true
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from the anthology "Really"
July 02 2017(c)
You give your offering
Time, money, sometimes talking
Where there's tit for tat
And all that
You were called to be a blessing, yes you were
Called to be a blessing
Called to be a blessing through Christ our Lord
And. . .
you help the poor
give gave given you gave more
You love, your praise, your life you hope, your name
Father, I thank you for giving me fortitude
and Father, I thank you for
Your wisdom and guidance and gratitude
And...
You were called to be a blessing yes you were
Called to be a blessing
Called to be a blessing through Jesus Christ
And...
with your words you shall be heard;
thanks be to you my sister, brother for those words
You love your praise your life your hope your name;
Again and again and again I'll sing. . .
You give your offering
Time, money, sometimes talking
Where there's tit for tat
And all that
You were called to be a blessing, yes you were
Called to be a blessing
Called to be a blessing through Christ our Lord
And. . .
You were called to be a blessing yes you were
Called to be a blessing
Called to be a blessing through Jesus Christ
From Anthology "Purpose and Calling
Once, my world was built on trust, its perfect form,
my sister and my friend, a solid foundation.
That perfect glass now holds a cruel, mocking storm,
distorting the image of my own creation.
"Look at how she texts," a whisper, then a laugh,
a code of cruelty I am not meant to break.
My words, once just mine, are cut in half,
a terrible mistake for their scorn's sake.
My clothes, a strange and pathetic act they can reframe,
my real-life love, a joke on endless repeat.
I feel myself shrinking as they play their game,
a heart turning brittle, a final, slow defeat.
your jokes, they aren't funny
not when they're aimed at everything I've become.
This isn't teasing; it's ugly to the core,
and my courage feels hollow, my spirit numb.
Once I believed in your light, a moth to its glow,
but now my heart leaps from your approaching feet.
The act of "alright" is a forgotten, empty show,
each insincere smile leaving a taste I can't defeat.
your words, they do hurt me,
a constant cloud of sorrow hanging in the air.
I trusted you both with the real, flawed me,
only to get lost in an endless maze of despair.
What did I do to lose the shelter we once built?
My own sister, my own friend, wielding a blade.
I am burdened by this crushing, senseless guilt,
for the person I was, for the monster they have made.
your laughter, it pierces my soul
an empty sound that drowns my silent pain.
It reminds me that I've lost all control,
and everything beautiful is now washed away in the rain.
Elegiac Lyric... Jesus has Risen!
"It is time to stop knocking on the doors to a tomb"
...Daisy Aldan
Perusing Mom's final daily entries in her journal, I stumbled upon her barely legible cursive, inking as I've been doing, a reflection in verse across from her writings...
As per, Mom begins " my darling"
"not exactly sure what day/time, I am very confused, I'm calling for morfine, hoping I wake up next to you "
Earthquakes erupting across from this page, alone on Easter for the first time in 68 years, tears welling in my eyes as Cardinals erupt in territorial song out my window. It is not yet my time to fade into the dark unknown, yet God"s Presence is all around me, only His footprints appear in the sand as He Carries me. Easters past flash across my eyes, a solemn church service followed by a joyous gathering of family smiling, laughing & sharing food lovingly planned and prepared, all grateful for the Blessings bestowed us. It is time to reach out now, in His Love to practice the lessons slowly learned by example from my loved ones here and in Heaven. You have showed me I am worthy of Your love and I will rise from the depths of sorrow to champion Your love.
4/20/25
Inspired by deathbed utterance of George Washington :
“I die hard, but I am not afraid to go”
The gloomy night fell through the mist,
swathed by the solemnity of farewell.
The worn out unbroken voice expressed
the restrained realism of dying hard,
not as a complaint, but a confession of strife,
recognizing death not as extermination,
but a natural termination of life lived
in the shadow of providence with faith in divine edict.
In the final analysis life recognizes
the mortal limits of human acuity,
ingrained within the stoic ideal of classical virtue
of acceptance the reality without fear,
revealing the contrasting dimensions of frailty and pride
as the dual facets of existence that connect
sorrow with bliss, mortality with immortality.
The truest form of bravery lies not in daring death
but in meeting it undefeated with poise and quietude
at the moment of departure as the essence of completion
that transcends the human failings,
marking the moral victory over fear and doubt.
The acknowledgement of the frightful notion of dying
is the mark of honesty while the fearlessness testifies
that the soul is the supreme master of the body,
conveying the eternal truth that moral might lies
in confronting death without fear in a dignified manner,
for the ultimate realization that destiny treats life well
is the final expression of trust,
a surrender to the divine doctrine.
You found the door -
The door which protected my worst nightmares
I didn't know existed,
and sheltered the basic needs my heart shunned
but never new it pined for
Tell me you didn't
You found the key
that unlocked the spring to my eternal winter,
the warmth to an endless frigid existence,
the glow within my ceaseless, hopeless night -
the feast no mind could hide,
but mine could not imagine -
from the bottomless famine that almost devoured me,
until you found the key
And I unlocked the door
Tell me I didn't
But you left—
the key that once unlocked an eternal spring,
stropped razor sharp -
etching immortal wounds that my blood once approved of
as you walked away
And now, life feels a shade darker than before—
like never having known the ecstasy of rich, dark chocolate
until, for one dazzling moment, its sweetness graced my tongue—
That taste—so sweet, so transformative—
is now forever lost,
leaving behind a bitter void
as I wander through days haunted by the memory
of a flavor I can never reclaim,
a hunger for a sweetness that vanished,
and a despair deeper than any winter's chill
Destined to never again know that door
now forever shut
aint no doubt bout it
aint no shuffling round
me and you together
gotta nice ring
gotta nice sound
aint got me second guessing
aint gotta worry bout silly things
do what you do
let me do my thing
and we'll get along just fine(ahh!)
aint no secret tween you and me
we can be serious and jive
we gotta good thing going (right you are)
what we got can only thrive
full support of my endeavors
got my back gainst yours
in good and bad times we together
got engagements to support our cause
influencing metaphors
keep us dreaming
help me with your dreams
and I'll help you with yours
A HARSHNESS OF EXPRESSION
IT IS THE WINDOW THAT SHOWS
HIS POVERTY
SHAMED HE DECIDES NOT TO LOOK
IN EFFECT HE IS A DISREPUTABLE CHARACTER
THE HARSHNESS OF HER GLANCE
SHE DECIDES TO SPEAK FOOLISHLY
TO FURTHER SEPARATE HERSELF
FROM THOSE AROUND HER
THE HARSHNESS OF HER HANDS
SPEAK OF THE LACK OF
CONCERN FOR HER BEING
TIRED SKIN
AND A MEAN LOOK
THEY OFTEN EVER SMILE
EVERY EFFECT OF POVERTY
THEY WISH TO ESCAPE
THEN THOSE WHO WISH THEM POOR
MIGHT SEE THAT THEY REMAIN POOR
OR POORER
THOSE WITH SUCH POWERS MIGHT
HAVE CAUSED THEM TO BE AS POOR
AS THEY ARE NOW
WHO'S EFFORDS MAKE YOU POOR
SPOKE THE NARRATIVE
IN SUCH NARRATION MIGHT ONE
FIND A DISRUPTION IN THEIR
OWN TIMELINE
January twelfth two thousand and ten
witnessed near annihilation and destruction
of the Haitian nation
whereby countless/ nameless individuals
e’en the strongest Herculean type men
crushed by humungous slabs of building facades
practically demolishing every creation
since this island settled, which indigenous tribes
sought safety in any geologic den
seeking solace and salvation from wrath of nature
by paying obeisance via oblation
perhaps giving credence to clear water
in tandem with rooster and hen
that laid a golden egg,
especially as encroaching savages affected violation
particularly when Europeans foisted
forfeiture of land with primitive implement like pen
no matter that travesty, trickery, mockery,
et cetera wrought humiliation
pleading invaders to forsake such actions
that rent asunder culture beseeched god when
these brutish, nasty and (shortish) simians to cease desecration
yet the peoples of this dominion rose
from the ashes like the phoenix like bird
no mattered genetic pool
underwent white washing from scouring influx
from western thumping proselytizers,
which alien beliefs hard to swallow like curd
and basically bribery (with lustrous trinkets)
and those coveted legal tender bucks
foisted/ forced the unpleasant alternative
(wanton slaughter) to be clearly heard
yet within the very fiber of tropical man grove persons
patiently lined up their ducks
and declared as the first African American peoples
INDEPENDENCE to be the word
whence adulation, elation, inspiration akin to the sound winged fowl clucks
until the advent of the major earthquake
composed by this aging hippy type nerd
whereat remote control san voodoo affect every bloody word!
BLACKLAND PRAIRIE
From Red River down to San Antone,
The Blackland Prairie’s all but gone—
Scoured clean by progress, tilled and torn,
By “civilized” greed, excess born,
A plundered land that mourns the dawn.
Where bison and pronghorn used to roam
In numbers lost in time and stone
Now parking lots and outlet malls
Stretch gray and wide in sterile sprawl—
Concrete vice buries the loam.
Ghosts drift where tall grass once did sway,
Sad silhouettes lost in furrowed clay.
Buffalo wallows—now just names—
Erased beneath the plow’s steel frames.
That black gumbo soil, wild and deep,
Swells in sorrow where once it did sleep,
Its spirit stripped for cotton’s cash—
The prairie buried and turned to ash.
And the prairie wept.
Fire was its father,
Rain its sacred hymn.
Crickets echoed softly
As the dusk grew dim.
Bluestem bowed low
To the buffalo’s tread;
Fields stitched with wildflowers—
Blazing red and violet spread.
Nature held her courts
In the Blackland meadows.
But the prairie wept.
Now less than one percent remains
To carry what the prairie claims—
Memory stitched in roadside seams,
Shadowed by asphalt and lost dreams.
That “Blackland gold” once vast and grand
Now clings in patches along the land.
Switchgrass, Grama, Indiangrass—
A lineage mown too short too fast.
Their names replaced by foreign green:
Bermuda's blade and Augustine.
And still, the prairie weeps.