Long Email Poems
Long Email Poems. Below are the most popular long Email by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Email poems by poem length and keyword.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
Momma
She doesn’t want to hear from me no more
I'm tired, she cried
Pointed me in a direction
But I see that door
Would it be selfish on my part
To grip her palms and ask for more?
Though it's not on her chest
She simply hopes that her customers tip the best
If I said she hated me
I wonder would she put these lips to rest
In this post digital life
I got an email from a past friend
Point the icon to reply
Started to type but I had no words to send
Like a small whisper it said love won't last
As if to hold my head I didn't bother to ask
Rub the hurt
To keep her above the dirt
She tried
She held on with what she could
Until she died
I said I'd never shed a tear
But I lied
I took her hand and cried
Before you leave this story alone
Maybe there's something you could do
To piece together the worry at home
In moments that it really counted
I guess I just would not listen
At times when I should have softened
My heart did nothing but stiffen
I guess that's just the way life is
Think about what you love and lost
What was once yours was always his
I never saw her but once
But she never forgot
To send me peace on my birthday
Sometimes I wonder
Did she lose me in her worst ways
Then again
There isn’t much I can say
She tried
She held on the best she could
Until she died
I said I'd never shed a tear
But I lied
I took her hand and cried
With a little help from you
We put together withered ends of a string
In better hope that one day, one of us
Would suffer once more to hear the other sing
Sometimes fantasies are life
But most of the time
You just want to find intimacy with your wife
I'm not trying to make amends
But it's all over when it ends
So love your child
Make your everyday float above his smiles
I couldn't sympathize for your illness
For every person maintains their own struggle
So wipe away your tears
Let us not become absorbed by the puddle
Keep doing what you do
no one can stop you from pursuing it but you
The consequences, the awards
I'll happily push my cart
Further down the morgue
So close your eyes
If I were to take my last breath
I'd still wish you the best
She tried
She held on with what she could
Until she died
I said I'd never shed a tear
But I lied
I took her hand and cried
Patradoot or The Messenger 39 /50
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
When in the nectar pond of her mouth,
My kiss use to take breathe, dear,
Even the pride of the beauties of heaven,
Seems faded before her charms, dear letter
When during her extreme laughs and passions,
The rows of her pearl like teeth appeared,
They use to wave like necklace of pearl,
In the red shines of her lovely lips, dear letter.
The round mark of her forehead used to disappear,
Whenever her face shined with luster dear,
Also during our love making,
When pride ever came in her mind, dear letter.
Such lovely face, of the moonfaced my beloved,
You would find without a smile dear letter,
The face that never bent in self respect,
You will find plight full, dear letter.
Her limbs which she used to keep covered,
With the softness and colors of beautiful silk sarees,
You would find them covered now with,
Coarse cotton Khadi colorless sarees, dear letter.
Seeing her motherland in miseries,
And her people unfed and uncovered,
She must be wearing that coarse clothes,
On her tender body in sympathy of her people,
Ravindra
Kanpur India 013th Sept 2010 continues in 40
Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
20FabelSEVEN
Charlexes Fabels
Gardenor
A Mexican sweat is just a teepee with a fire made hotter and a rock placed where
you can pour the water on the hot rock to make some steam come up and they
add some pine to make a smell so sweet to tired alcoholic lidded eye eye did my
time cold TURKEY and never needed one. One man who works in landscaping
as the gardenor becomes too busy to notice the other man escaping on the
sidewalk it is the thief the gardenor is using both his hands in his effort for
release the other man in shadow land appearance coinciding with the worker
there just thinking while he is walking hands in pocket just holding on to nothing
as he sort of Saunders bye? Saunders
For over 60 years Saunders Manufacturing in Readfield, Maine has made top
quality Form Holders and Clipboards for millions of customers worldwide. Now
our new Portable Desktop line continues the tradition. Just a coincidence please
Gentile reader ewe must understand the non commercial usage of this poem
business. A Random act of kindness to your senses.
Charles (surname)
Charles is a given name for males, and has its origins in Common Germanic
where it originally was used to indicate a free man, but not one belonging to the
nobility.
While eye was typing this the contact email on the link opened up into a brand
new page and never made connected to the name? please people if you put the
actual name of your email address then we the customers can copy and then
past the thing and then you could have read my fable and had a much better day
oh Mr. and the Mrs. Saunders. The Gardenor may read this missive iff eye bother
to make the translation into Spanish for the bulk males of the working force is
Mexicans.
GARDINER: From the Danish for "garden keeper." A noble profession and a vivid
name. Relatives: Gardener, Gardenor, Gardner, Gardnard, Garden, Gar.
Namesakes: Erle Stanley Gardner, John Gardner. Eye am just a Charles
derivative a CHARLAX iff ewe will of some great import a relic not a derelict of
duty a lover never a fighter a want to be husband to the ewe oh ewe please smile
as ewe aer reading this one and be sure.
Jealousy is never meant to make us harm but only to make love come back so
strong to make the other one in love return a little stronger than she was before
the Jealousy.
An email written to eldest daughter
December 28th, 2019,
which unwittingly, magically, accidentally...
resurfaced while scrolling
thru outdated emails
and OpenOffice documents of mine
thee evening of February 20th, 2022.
The remaining lines
comprising reasonable poetic rhyme
sent to said offspring
more than two plus years ago
and dada feels grief no more, cuz time
heals all wounds.
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp faux claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler Craigslist curb alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
courtesy lack of income
rendered paternal bond disastrously dire
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
Patradoot or The Messenger 38 /Many
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
The charm and beauty of her lovely eyes, dear,
I could not find even in the loveliness of a deer,
Such are the fascinating charms of her eyes,
Even the Sun would not come out feeling shy.
If any tears would appear in her eyes by mistake,
It would get burnt by the shine of her eyelids, dear letter,
Even the bunch of deer moving here and there
Would feel shy to behold the beauty of such eyes.
Such lovely pairs of my beloved’s eyes would be luster less
Because of her long waiting for me and her silent sobbing,
The moment she would see and hear you, dear letter,
Tears would start coming out from her eyes like rivers.
Her face use to shine like the full Moon, dear letter,
After the tender touch of my love rains,
In compassion of seeing such beauty of her, dear,
The Moon too would feel shy to appear before her.
During the chewing of beetle leafs dear letter,
Her lips used to get red, darker than the lotus petals,
Seeing even Sun with its alluring redness would feel,
Shy to come out before my beloved, dear letter.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 09th Sept 2010 continues in 39
Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Patradoot or the Messenger 34/Many……….
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Like a naughty girl, she acts in many ways, dear letter,
To attract our attention by laughing or even weeping,
And often she gets angry on us still she wins our hearts,
When she sings her broken melodies, while sweetly mumbling.
As a lovely doll, she attracts and wins,
Everyone’s attention and heart, dear,
Remembrance of her sweet face,
Has made my heart so heavy,
As a newly come-up charming bud,
She is dearer to us than our life, dear letter.
She is even a darling of all the plants,
Trees, creepers and flowers of our garden, dear.
When the memories of her dear father,
Would be splashing in her tender heart, dear letter,
She would be going amid the plants and trees,
To distract the memory of her father, dear.
She is the hope and strength of her mother,
When I am away for freedom struggle or in jail,
In the lovely face of my daughter, you would find,
An image of her father, dear letter.
By the time you will get acquainted,
With this lovely child of us and of nature,
You would recollect immediately, dear letter,
My message you have to convey to my beloved.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 3rd Sept 2010 continue in 35..
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
You know I love you
But you’ve made so many mistakes
Broken so many promises
Made me cry so many hours
And I can’t take it anymore
For years I’ve kept this in
Just beneath my skin
Building up the courage
To take you down
To tell you how you made me feel
But then I’d see you
How could I be mad at that face?
The big brother I always wished I had
But I’m done letting this go
So I’ll give you a little taste
Of what’s been keeping me up at night
I find it extraordinary
That I’m just barely secondary
To everything else in your life
You put this weight on me
That I know I’ll have to carry
Making me so weary
I feel like Atlas
My god damn back is breaking
All you’re ever doing is taking
And I’m shaking
From the rage I feel
How dare you treat me this way!
You can’t even bother
To stop for a moment
Passing me on the street
To make chit chat
Ask me how my day is going
And I am very aware
That you don’t care
You never wanted to share
So you don’t know the burdens that I bare
You’ve just never been there
And when I had that scare
You didn’t even show
You’d think a “brother” would know
So I let this anger grow
And now it’s ready to blow
When my life was derailed
I gave you the test and you failed
This ship has sailed
I’d tell you not to talk to me
But you don’t even check your email
Never taking my calls
Never writing me back
But guess what?
I don’t need you anymore
I was weak
But now I’m strong
I can’t believe I defended you for this long
Now I can see that I was wrong
Trying to convince myself that you loved me too
I let myself believe that I was defective
Or something
It wasn’t you, it was me
But now I see you for who you are
You’re so emotionally crippled
That you could never live up to my expectations
And I guess I can’t blame you for that
But I also can’t help how I feel
Like it’s just not fair
My whole life I waited for you
Waited for someone to be over-protective
Whose shoulder I could cry on
Who would cover for me, defend me
At least take a ****ing interest in my life
And out of all the disappointments
You are the most disappointing of all
I know you said you would step up
Even though all you do is screw up
But you know the sickest part out of all of it?
Is that when you tell me, “I love you Chess,”
I can’t help but forgive you
Because I still love you, no matter how much I hate you.
Patradoot or the Messenger 35/Many……….
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
The moment she would notice during her plays,
She would shout ‘ltter’ ‘ltter’* in her broken voice,
Showing the expressions of amazing happiness, dear letter,
Because you would be arriving, from her father’s place, dear.
Her innocence would come out from her expressions,
And from the melody of her broken words, dear,
When, she in her lisping sweet and broken voice,
Would express her affection for her father, dear letter.
While adoring and loving you in her sweet little mind,
She would take you towards east, dear letter,
To tell her mother that you have come, she would,
Convey that in her broken sweet words to her mother.
Filled with the happiness given by the girl child,
In the garden, you keep moving towards the door,
Till you reach and see my beloved sitting there,
Singing a lullaby for her darling child, dear letter.
Keeping her eyes on the front door with hopes,
She was praying for me from police atrocities,
With wishes and hopes in her mind, dear letter,
She would be waiting with love in her eyes for me.
Ravindra
Kanpur India Sept 2010 continues in 35.
*Ltter. Letter.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.