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.
The Paths We Choose
by Edmund Siejka
When I was a young writer
I read all the greats
Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Yeats, James Joyce
And so on
I could write like them I said
So I felt good about myself
And wrote a play
In the heat of August, 1976.
Beating the lines on an old portable typewriter,
Rubber mat placed under its steel frame,
To keep from annoying the neighbors
But the walls in the East Village were thin
And next door guessed
What are you doing writing a novel?
She asked
I kept typing
And the rejections piled up
It was then I realized that I was attempting the near impossible
So I stopped.
Something came over me
I started writing again in 1992
Two unpublished novels
And inevitably
The mailman would trudge up the front steps
Lips pursed in a tight, thin line
Rejections coming in like a winter storm
I poured over each one trying to decipher their true meaning
But it was no use.
I wrote a poem in 2009
To my surprise it was accepted
Followed by an email from the editor
Requesting more of my “stuff”.
Someone recommended that I give a reading
At a local library
Start small they advised.
And so I found myself
In a crowded room of poets and strangers
When my name was finally called
I approached the podium
Determined and focused.
After reading my piece
I searched
The audience for their reaction
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Post a poem here
but only if you dare
they might give you a vote
they might give you a scare
Forum rules guides us there
give them your support, they declare
So while you're focused on your share
don't forget this forum to beware
Quick to write with that care
to avoid any excessive flair
ultimately finding words that pair
you think your poem is extraordinaire
With an open laptop lying next to your chair
eyes in the library begin giving you a stare
nevertheless, you seem to pay them no care
off to your posting like your very own prayer
Hardly finished but you can feel it in the air
somethings going on, something rare
fixated on that email button as your hand draws near
your fan club is calling, you've caught their ear
Once again you've been told, with a reader's tear
just what your poem meant to them, it's so very dear
finally arriving to this worthy conclusion alone to bare
what a world of difference have you made, moving others to Care.....
I keep a ledger of small disappearances:
the umbrella I left on the train,
the phone number I forgot to save,
the name of that restaurant
where we had the perfect meal.
These aren't tragedies
nobody died,
but they're not nothing either.
They're the slow leak of a life,
the way a boat takes on water
so gradually you don't notice
until you're ankle-deep and sinking.
My grandmother's recipe
died with her because
I never thought to ask.
I can still taste them onions, garlic, ghee.
But, taste is not the same as knowing.
Taste is just another form of missing.
The books I lent and never got back:
each one a small betrayal,
not by the borrower but by me,
for believing things could return
unchanged,
for thinking I could trust
that what I give away
will somehow boomerang.
There's a word in every language I've studied
that I've forgotten,
and somewhere
there's a person who remembers me
in a way I no longer remember myself,
a version of me that's preserved
like a fly in amber, unchanging,
while I've moved on and morphed
into someone who wouldn't recognise
that earlier iteration if we passed
each other on the street.
The songs I used to know by heart
now come back in fragments:
first verse,
chorus,
then nothing
like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing,
the picture there but incomplete,
edges leading nowhere.
I think about archaeologists
centuries from now,
sifting through
the digital ruins of our age,
trying to reconstruct us from fragments:
an incomplete email thread,
a corrupted backup file,
a social media account abandoned mid-thought.
Will they understand that we were always
losing ourselves this way,
leaving pieces scattered like breadcrumbs
that birds have already eaten?
Some nights I lie awake and try
to catalog what's gone:
addresses,
passwords,
the plot of movies I once loved,
the faces of people who mattered
then somehow stopped mattering.
It's not Alzheimer's,
just life
the natural entropy of memory,
the slow dissolve of detail
until all that's left is feeling:
I was there.
It was important.
I can't remember why.
Maybe this is how we become ghosts
even while we're living:
layer by layer, we fade,
until we're just outlines,
just the impression of a person
where a person used to be.
DEADLY FRAME UP PLOTTED FIR ME BY CORRUPTION CIRO GARGANO CROONIES SET OUT TO RACKETEER MY IDENTITY MY WAR HEROS IDENTITY THEN FRAME ME RIGHT THEY GATHERED WASTING A LOT OF USELESS MAN POWER FAKSIFYINGNLIES AND UNTRUTHS GOING WAY BACK TO MY FIRST ABUSIVE EX FINALLY MY SECOND ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND CIRO GARGANO GATHERED SEVERAL IMPOSTERS TO AUDITION AND IMPERSONATE ME WHAT I BLESS WHEN THE FRAME UP LANDED MY IDENTITY THIEVES WERE FRAMING EACHOTHER NOT EVEN KNOWING MY REAL NAME OR MY REAL BIRTHDAY THIS RESULTED IN MY IDENTITY THIEVES BEING FRAMED INSTEAD IF THE GLOVE DON'T FIT YOU MUST AQUIT FUNNY WHEN FALSIFYING DOCUMENTS PLANTING EVIDENCE TAMPERING WRONG INFORMATION STRAIGHT OUT LIES GARGANO TRIED TO COVER MY IMPOSTERS IMPERSONATING FRAUD UPON ME AND MY WONDERFUL WAR HERO HACKING INTO EMAIL ADDRESSES HACKING INTO MEDICAL INFORMATION IN GOVERNMENT OFFICES CIRO GARGANO AND MY STALKER ACTUALLY TRIED TO OPTAIN VETERAN BENEFITS BY USING MY HUSBANDS NAME A WAR HERO SINCE VIETNAM WHEN THE SCAM DIDN'T WORK GARGANO BEGAN TRYING TO FRAME ME TO COVER HIS IDENTITY FRAUD UPON A VETERAN STOLEN VALOR FRUAD IN RENO PURPLE HEART CONVENTION AUGUST 7TH 2025 I AM A LIFETIME MEMBER AND SERVED AS THE PRESIDENT 2016 AND 2017 VOLENTEERING CHARITY DONATIONS HELPING OUR TROOPS MY STALKERS CORRUPTION HACKED INTO THAT TO TRYING TO CHANGE MY NAME EXPOSING MY IMPOSTERS ONE USING MY FIRST EX HUSBANDS NAME THEE OTHER IMPOSTER USED MY SECOND HUSBANDS NAME FINALLY CLASHING TO PERPUTRTATE FRAUD AGAINST MY THIRD HUSBAND AND I IRONICALLY IDENTITY FRAUD UPON MY IDENTITY THIEVES THEY ALL CLASHED MY HUSBAND AND I RECIEVED THREATS BECAUSE CIRO GARGANO AND MY IMPOSTER WAS PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME AND MY WAR HERO THIS IS WHY HE SET OUT TO FRAME ME FINALLY ENTRAPPING EXPOSING MY ORIGINAL IMPOSTER IN A TWIST OF FATE I SUPPOSE WHERE THE IDENTITY FRAUD BEGAN
king monada,who can forget that track malwedi.
every ears heard your music.
and everybody happy for it.
and danced for it.
you are a true superstar.
Makhadzi who can forget that joy you brought to the everyone.
Your track haka matorokisi made it.
Your track muya wanga made it.
Your track sugar sugar now is doing it.
You are a queen of africa and a superstar as well.
Master kg how did you do this?
Your music arrived to the world.
Who can do the wedding without jerusalema?
Your track is smelling around the world.
You are a superstar.
South africa you are a rich now.
You are shining light.
You are really like the moon.
Everyone can see you now.
Makhadzi,master kg and king monada we are proud of you.
You made south africa to shine.
We all love you more than the word love.
Limpopo province you definetly made south africa shine.
poem by munyai ndidzulafhi patric
email. [email protected]
cell number 022254263
I read soup mail from Mrs. Doris Bettencourt
which would be a waste of my time to report
She claims to be ill and wearing widow's weeds
then goes on to tell me all about her needs
I'll not reply and her message I shall thwart
She wants me to email her, but I know it's a trap.
I guess this culprit must think I'm quite a sap.
She has a charity mission which must need money
but not one penny will you get from me, honey.
If you got her mail, don't fall for this scam crap.
The diagnosis is about her chronic illness skin
Words written backwards and that made me grin
She threw in breast cancer to get more sympathy
I repeat, whoever it is will get nothing from me
Playing upon a person's empathy was the lead-in
Don't write [email protected]
This scammer could be in India, Guam or Viet Nam
No poems are posted by the bearer of this name
So, how do they send us soup mail? It's a shame
If I had their real address, I'd send a stink bomb.
Patradoot or The Messenger13 /Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
Such enchanting beauty, you would find every where in India,
By seeing only such alluring charms, do not get lost,
As your mind may get filled with an intoxicating pleasure,
But remember dear, you have to deliver my message to my beloved.
Way ahead, the lovely method of Rahut * by which
The farmers irrigate their fields, would attract you,
And listening the Corus, sung by village girls,
Would pour honey like nectar, in your ears.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 28th May 2010.
* Rahut. Persian wheel for drawing water from wells.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Note:
In order to protect the publication of Patradoot or
The messenger in Hindi and English, I am
discontinuing the Hindi Transliteration of Patradoot
from this part to protect the original work of my father
late Dr Amar Nath Kapoor. From now onwards
only English version of the Patradoot would be
placed as usual.
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
has any question or queries, they can
send me an email on [email protected]
Patradoot in Hindi written by my father late
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932, when he was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. 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.
eating quietly
watching the mud after the rain
wondering why she ended it
wanting to call her
knowing she will not answer
wanting to email her
knowing that she will not respond
wanting to text her
knowing that she will block me, if not already
putting on a jimmy ruffin 45
that song's chorus defines the current state of my emotions
then the questions come
then more questions come
i will probably be up all night staring at the ceiling as even more questions come
sneaking in from the side is old man regret mercilessly aging me slowly
i guess i got what i deserved, but when momma has cancer,
all personal life happenings freeze like icicle frames
merry christmas to my broken heart
“The Darkness Can Be Shattered”
by Positive Mark
My Father died, mid-argument.
An email never opened.
I hear him sometimes in the night, when I’m vomiting and groping.
Maybe the next rhyme will immediately restore hope, and
the darkness can be shattered by the ember I’ve been stoking.
This is a matrix, a puzzle with high stakes.
Where twenty of wood has you feeling so good that you cuddle with rattling snakes.
You’re numb with olfactory flakes.
Wake up with your face in her cakes.
A twenty year stretch, where you stick out your neck, as if life has but so many takes.
So tell me what’s real when you swallow that pill.
You came with a nine. Who you fixin’ to kill?
I hate to come off like my name’s Jimi Hendrix, but this is my hundred. I’m ‘bout to go spend it.
I’m taking this dame out to dinner and sports, while you sit in the dark, sucking down them Newports.
And you’re thinking of popping a round in your head?
I hate break this to you Homie.
You’re already dead,
like my Father.
well now, it seems like...
yesterday...over again...
the poem is missing...
not just its meaning...
but...its very existence...
flash pan poetry...
there one minute and...
got email confirming it...
felt like...twilight zone...
so what is real proof...
that the poem existed...
people did read it...
should meaning matter...
metaphor is poetry...
memory of mind...
all are different...
especially perspectives...
no two are the same...
existence...what clues...
without memory there's none...
there and gone...one hour...
i must write a book...
publish it...not publish...s h i t...
hey man...i've seen...t h i s...
internet destroy...
copyright evidence...now..
write...science fiction...
sand