Long Ellen Poems
Long Ellen Poems. Below are the most popular long Ellen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ellen poems by poem length and keyword.
Hold on your horses!
Did you just say that women can't?
Did I hear you say that they are inferior?
Or did you just call them household helpers?
Gone are the days when women did nothing,
Gone are them days when housewives was their career,
Gone is the era when their existence was to please men,
Gone is the slogan that women can do what men tell them to.
Women can make earth a better place even better,
Look what Joyce Banda did,a greatest leader of all times,
Take a look at Winnie Madkizela,a greatest force in Anti-Apartheid,
Look at what Ellen Johnson Sirleaf did,isn't it credit-worthy?
We need more Maya Angelous in poetry,
We need more Chimamandas in literary works,
We need more females who can think freely and talk their minds,
We need a generation where women's voices will be heard.
This will come to pass if only we embrace change,
This will only happen if we decolonize our minds from male chauvinism,
And this will begin from empowering our sisters,
For one that educates a girl educates a community.
©Poet Igweee
Dennis Cummings
1844-1920
To my friends of the 41st Infantry!
My men, my brave brothers from Wisconsin, are invited!
Invited RSVP to my domesticated, but dignified digs
On south Milton Street in Whittier town,
There, above the tracks of the Southern Pacific
There, surrounded by my better half’s tulips and pumpkins
There, surrounded by unequivocal respect and love
Of my loyal and nagging better half, Ellen, and
Of my dutiful and loyal son, Lee Roy.
There is a window upstairs facing north,
North to the rising green hills of Whittier town,
North even to the Stars and Stripes
Of my Wisconsin brothers
Of my fellow Wisconsin freedom fighters!
Nightly there, I light a candle for my friends.
My intrepid men, my brave brothers!
Those charging advancing storming souls
Those rampaging, death-staring warriors of the 41st!
Like the fiercely flowing rapids of the Tennessee
There in Chattanooga, and thereabouts,
My brothers and my friends braved the bullets,
Faced the fusillade of fire, the unspeakable violence, and
Even found glorious sacrifice,
Found glorious death in battle,
In the suffocating smoke and sulfur
Of fifty thousand muskets.
Yes, you are invited my brothers! My friends!
Come to my humble home here on South Milton Street
And look to the upstairs window.
There is a candle burning there for you.
Burning with respectful gratitude.
Burning with a proud silence
For my brave brothers,
The storming rampaging men of the 41st.
The Doll Collection
The necklace scattered: all into little pieces
Another quiet doll for my collection
I twisted her throat until her eyes shown dead
Into the night they stare so very red
I stand her up, on a small doll chair
Crafted with loving hands that freed her from breathing air
They are all in a row, so pretty they are, staring at my wife
She is paralyzed you see, her neck would not even tear for me
I collect dolls, for my loves doll collection
She doesn’t move, only stares in murky recollections
Small pieces of deep anguish leak from her eyes
She recoils at the new dolls I give her as a surprise
They sit in chairs; the doll house is so pretty
With amber and gold, I wrap a necklace around each
Such pretty dolls, that me and my love keep
Each doll face is my path towards guilty redemption
No one knows the secrets we have hidden so deep
No one knows the dolls that we collect and keep
No one knows I have saved them all, they shall never weep
No one knows my wife, paralyzed; so shall never speak
That fateful night she refused to die
Her necklace so beautiful wrapped in blood so dry
In our doll house, my shrine devoted to her
Her tears rain down her face mercilessly clear
Notes: I had just purchased a book called “The Doll Collection” a compilation of short stories edited by Ellen Datlow. For one purpose, I was sure it would inspire me some poetry, of course on the dark side. Then I read a poem by Andrea Dietrich called “The Necklace Broke” From that I had my idea and off I went. I borrowed a few words from Andrea with her permission, and did so on purpose to pay tribute to another great poet here on Soup! Even a poem is so completely different, I think its wonderful that reading other poets provides such great inspiration. I would also ask that people read her poem, and here I provide the link!
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_necklace_broke_831425
With the surprise arrival of the stormy might
Came to pass the long-feared fight
First standing proud and quietly brave
Then bled white by wind and wave
The ocean rose, there was no lee
Her trusted timbers stole by the sea
And as their initials floated away
Pained authors huddled ashore to stay
Her planks once were the open hand
That invited us to relief from the land
A bench to rest, a rail to lean
The simplest wonders, untold serene
She gifted the site of dolphin or two
And delivered each day her readied view
Our walk upon it was one of a kind
That pier, that day, and you entwined
My Dearest Most Beloved Barbara, ~ My Dearest Only Beloved Lenore
My broken heart began to live again ~ My Love for you is “Forevermore”
Filtering the Heat of Life: Once more ~ My Heart beats for YOU, as none before
Holding hands, beside YOU ; I Stand ~ The LOVE I feel just holding YOUR HAND
To Know once again: LOVE is Grand ~ I shout of my LOVE Throughout, the LAND
See LOVE reflecting from Your Eyes ~ Flowing AUBERN hair : below Your behind
Caressing the beach of Sandy blond hair ~ The Jade-Emerald Light reflects in Your
Eyes
Sweet smell of LOVE wafting in the Air ~ One could see This Light although Blind
Everlasting LOVE is what I have for YOU ~ Eternally : LOVE in my Heart Belongs to
YOU
Inspired By 2 very Special POETESSES' and their " Contests "
"ONE in a MILLION" Spondsored By Linda-Marie " Sweetheart of P.S. " (and Me)
"Sentimental Love Letters" Sponsored By " Audrey Carey "
Dedicated to MY Heart's LOVES " Barbara Jean Gorelick "
&
" Lenore Ellen Johnson "
“All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.” – Ellen Glasgow
The old ways of life are like an endangered species
Lost in the cycle of life that brings us more
More houses, more jobs, more value… or
Does that really mean less - if the truth were spoken
There was a time when we all shared our meals
Around a kitchen table where hope dwelled
There we prayed, learned and grew strong
From home cooked meals served with honest love
There was a time when we knew right from wrong
We didn’t need any instructions other than God’s word
To remind us that we were doing something sinful
Losing our morals or damaging our values for some indulgence
Is it valuable enough to call it worthy, meaningful and alive
Like the past we’ve left behind along with God’s authority
Pop watched some of the Olympics with me last night. It
was the first time he had watched television
in over two months.
He wasn’t refined enough to appreciate the figure
skating, However, liked the speed skating
quite a bit. He said it
was more like track and he liked the Summer Olympics
more than the Winter. He asked me for a
shave and I obliged.
In the past this was always by my suggestion. He’s been
having quite a few visitors and I think he
wants to try to be presentable.
Mom says he embarrasses her when they have company.
He can’t always hear what’s going on in the
other room and calls for her.
“Ruth Ellen, get your ass in here!” is not the proper way
to call for my mother. Ralph E. has already cleaned his
plow about that once before.
I’m not sure how much he’s really aware he’s doing that
sort of thing. I’m sure he’s lonely and stir
crazy and just wants her company
most of the time. Maybe that helps keep his mind off
what’s happening. I’ll call if there’s a change.
Love You Both, DAD
Conjured by gravity,
she shape-shifts in adventitious magic
Apprehensive of resistance,
she folds, bent into his charisma
Rough rocks spiny are smoothed to bubbling baubles rounder
Rough rocks silent are cajoled to gush repartees that thunder
Inside their walls they shine beguilingly,
holding her in radii, even as she spreads,
spilling her misty veils on them to escape-
Ellen first, she gliding-sways,
serpentine-sculpting with ease,
longing for the deep stillness of his pull
where she can pool
Long her limbs grow,
as she turns into Carrie under control...
Ellen or Carrie, autonomy of form’s forever beyond her scope
Never was a fate more apparent –
to flexibly flow and drown
(6/17/2021)
Broken battered angry deranged parents
Try to break their children at an early age
So they will not be alone in their misery
It works with some, however, with others
It completely backfires.
They take their pain and shake it into poetry, and art.
They write it into songs and musicals that become world-renown
They ease their sad experiences into ways to help others
Think Oprah, Shirley Temple, Maya Angelou, Tyler Perry and Ellen DGeneres
Children who shine the brightest as adults were often the ones
Who were put down, tromped on, slapped, whipped and
belted when they were children.
Our most proficient writers, authors, poets, singers, dancers, and actresses
The ones whom we all look up to, were often put down as children.
Listen, you broken battered angry deranged parents
Beware, your pain-inflicting will not work.
Worse, when they become rich and famous,
They may wipe their shoes of you
And not help you at all in your old age.
"It is quite possible to leave your home for a walk in the early morning air and return a different person - beguiled, enchanted."
~ Mary Ellen Chase
We enjoy the whistling wind as we walk,
The cool morning breeze calms and charms us,
A peacock is perched on a peepal tree,
Its fine feathers flowing fascinatingly,
Its sound of squawking seems sophisticated,
Like mystical music to its magnificent mate;
The butterscotch-orange ball blooms in the blue,
A snake slithers silently in the sewer nearby,
Songbirds tweet tantalizingly in the tall trees,
Vehicles plying on the highway are a vision to view,
Blushing bougainvilleas have blossomed in bunches,
Numerous neem trees line the narrow footpath,
A squirrel squeezes through a small, square hole,
And we uncover God's wonders as He unveils a new day.