Long Fearing Poems

Long Fearing Poems. Below are the most popular long Fearing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fearing poems by poem length and keyword.


Under a Dying Sun

Under a dying sun.


We are a dying people, on a dying world;
We are constantly dying and all we have left is hope.
Under a dying sun, the clouds of doubt are formed
And we head into an unknown future, afraid and alone.


Without doubt we need faith, to journey on for,
Behind us is a memory of all that came before.
We are a God fearing people; some say it is a Godless world.
With God at our side, anything is possible.


The stars have always been with us
And they will be there long after we have gone.
When you are lost in the darkness, you will find what you need.


When the world has been emptied and all nature is lost;
We will realise this land we call our home is only borrowed,
So let us be free of apathy.



(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
© Aa Harvey  Create an image from this poem.
Form:


Premium Member When Wrong Goes Right

When bad 
unhealthy
unsafe choices
speak in WRONG! voices
delivering shame,
deserving shunning
and irrepressible self-blame,

Reconsider this jump
from bad choices
to "wrong" voices
unable to consider tomorrow's
potential more right rejoices.

No one of us humans
has divine omnipotent might
to make all the right omniscient choices
spoken belatedly by unchosen judgment voices

To be omnipresently good
and regeneratively healthy
and impenetrably safe
for ourselves
for our loved ones
for our species
for our plants
and living planet
at all times,
in all multicultural inside places,
and polyculturally robust
outside wealthy spaces.

On better days,
well fed and watered and rested,
we may try more benevolent curiosity
about why feeling good
and healthy
can seem so frustratingly short
and insignificantly small
compared to long time
and large resources

Invested by patriarchal god-fearing
straight white corporate capitalists
to entertainingly seduce
and identity reduce
you into isolated producer
of bad faith consumer
feelings

Erupting in egocentric
left-hemisphere dominant voices
that habitually collapse
bad 
unhealthy absence
of potential co-relational rejoices
into inevitably wrong
unwealthy feminine marginalized
divisive survivalist choices

Speaking in wrong voices
delivering shame
deserving dark fame
swamped by irrepressible self blame

Not man enough
Not human enough
Not humane enough
to be truly
and beautifully divine.

Premium Member Go ahead shoot to kill me cause Right now I am not fearing any man

Your severe terrorists threats ring out like bombs like I’m bin laden when actually you used your corrupt badge to try and extort my American poetry for my killers thee Gargano crime family obsession with my livelihood because they blew up my skull with a car bomb because Peter adored my American poetry terrorist threats because my African American grandfather was hired to protect the cardinals future pope’s catholics hiding from Hitler at Saint Sebastian church your bullying shoot to kill U66 shoot to kill represents a shoot to kill on my life to be killed because I refuse to allow gargano to extort my American poetry U66 shoot to kill civil rights activist leaders and their children no I will never ever forgive American domestic terrorist you are fake news fraud bullies terrorizing me for not allowing an imposter to extort my American poetry kill me now I’m American I am American back off Gargano crime family of corruption you are dangerous violent scum shoot me for my own poetry well I’m Medger Evers go ahead shoot I’m Mr Little shoot I’m Martin Luther King shoot me many have died for less and I have been suicidal not sure if I could go to heaven but I challenge you to shoot me Ciro Gargano Peter Gargano and your entire clan shoot me over my American poetry invest my traumatic brain injury claim go ahead shoot to kill me 1966 shoot all civil rights advocates and their families what a perfect death good idea I’m in I’m unafraid shoot to kill me you missed 8-14-2003 Rasta Andrew died coming to end my life over my American poetry so now you’re back shoot I’m here do it 

God bless America
Supreme Court Justice 
Civil rights advocates 
Organized Crime law
Form: Nazm

Premium Member Esmeralda, As Told By the Poet Pierre Gringoire - With Apologies To Victor Hugo

I had been placed in chains 
Where the cripples shed their canes 
And the blind regained the art of seeing.
It was a robbers’ den 
And as all God fearing men, 
I had assets needed freeing.

Sometimes the poet’s muse 
Is a bride who will refuse 
All his conjugal solicitations.
He must lure to bed 
Any tramp that turns his head 
With unchaste alliterations:

And so it goes...

He’d lived his life alone 
In a hermitage of stone 
Where he rang those bells for all occasions;
Like the feasts of saints, 
For the widows’ sad complaints, 
And for joyous celebrations.

It's said confusion rules 
At the Festival of Fools 
And the scene below just seemed to prove it.
So he clambered down 
And was regent of the crown 
Till Claude Frollo’s hand removed it.

He smelled her perfumed hair 
From across Cathedral Square 
And the fragrance soothed his loss of hearing;
For her silent dance 
Cast a soul ensnaring trance 
Both enticing and endearing.

She was a barefoot girl 
With her gypsy skirt a swirl 
As the minstrels played a tarantella;
Graceful as fabric spun 
From a gently setting sun, 
And he pined for Esméralda.

But when the maid fell hard 
For the Captain of the Guard 
As a villain plotted her seduction,
His trust was put to test 
On a futile, wicked quest 
In abetting her abduction.

And so he bore the blame 
When the warden called his name 
As they bared his back to take a whipping.
He felt each lash stroke bleed, 
The injustice of the deed 
Set those righteous scales to tipping.
 
While the Archdeacon's kin, 
Who was guilty of the sin, 
Stalked the halls as Satan’s emissary, 
A young girl’s tortured plea 
Brought his fool to guarantee 
Esméralda's sanctuary.

In a defiant act 
When the rebel mob attacked, 
He strained his crooked back to save the maiden;
And called the angels home 
With the tolling of Guillaume,  
Like hard currency to trade in.
 
He ran from wall to wall, 
Hurling curses at them all, 
Raining molten lead down on the rabble,
From the gargoyles’ throats 
To the beggars’ ragged coats 
In a symphony of babble.

But it was all in vain; 
He could laugh himself insane, 
Still those oaken doors were being battered,
And the dénouement 
Left his ashes in the straw, 
Proving love was all that mattered.
Form: Lyric

Premium Member Another Storm

Another storm threatens to come in,
feeling my responsibility
for uncaring
and unresponsive history

Fearing you
more than loving us

Setting out your pails
and plastic tubs
to catch cold
and dreary drips

Impaled remembering
past wet enemies
becoming darker spots
as moist tears terrorize,
building mold untold
as yet 
by angry contagious lips

Dripping windowed frame ups
and ceiling fractured fixtures
of your felt losses
not equally carried
by more comforted me
opaque with more tender crosses

Buried
in how lonely
love can feel
hidden in Earth's evolving top,
improbable to see

Our together threatening
leaky roof may drown,
which you would have fixed
some months ago,
if you could do so
on your own.

This storm pauses
and brighter rays suggest
a sun still shining
behind dark uncivil distress

Clouds could uncover
our disassociation,
poor and hovering
coveting a sun-drenched recreation

Calculating our assurance cost in cash,
but not in minds and bodies
to stop stormy smothers
of inside raining
draining issues,
deep core tissues
thundering crash

Warning we must get this done
before another wild wet storm
fearing you
more than loving us,
undone

Darker clouds build to leak again
while I explain why
you still can't trust me
to invest in unstormed peace

A contenting roof
unconditionally solid
and synergetically done

So all EarthTribe
can safely put away our pails
and nails,
defensive weapons,
buckets,
overflowing pans
and spans of climate panic

Now rumbling receding thunder
of fearing you
more than loving us

Turns toward replacing damaged health,
repriming stains repainting wealth
of more warmly wild respect
while together musing
about who is bare surviving
so not win/win thriving
with what prestorming care,

Remembering who is dry
and fair
and prosperous
and why
we fear this tragic cold calculating storm
more than loving softly weathered 
wet yet warm.


Perpetually Lost

Of the many roads that I have taken
the many words which I have forsaken 
Never could my passion bring 
The lonely heart from which my cistern drinks

Gloom, the comfort of my tears
Tears, the instrument of my fears
Fear, the ransom paid of daring to dream 
Dreams, the reward for all my gloomy ideals 

Come! Feel the bronzie-blood upon my sleeves 
Tilting Forcibly in  that brazen breeze
Groaning for you to release thee
Begging in silence, pleading  devotee....

          Floating,
                     Hoping, 
                                  Wandering, 
                                               Despairing 


                                                 ,Fearing
                                     ,Soothing
                          ,Exhaling
            , Calming ...


Once again, once, .... again
What more can I attain
Must I dare to say
Drifting, 
                slowly, 
                             dis-mem-ber-ed  prey


Date : 4 Feb 2016 ( Inspired by Beethovens Moonlight Sonata )

Afia Achiaamah

Before trust,she lives with love, 
Up above feelings,her voice builds inspiring sentiments. 
Looking up to the skies,her face is drawn on the clouds above the horizons. 
I guess you don't have core-knowledge of this person?
I'm dealing with this personality born with dorminant beauty. 
Yeah,the kind that would make you wonder in seduction. 
Beating up on reality, 
Nothing speaks against her perception. 

God fearing lady with nativity conviction.
Qualified with intelligence and honour.
Meet her kind of Charisma, 
That which attracts attention as corolla. 
And you'll not afford to let go of her.
Affableness and diligence holds whatever she deter. 
When she appears before me,I recall the first day we met. 
The day that I can't forget. 

Hey...she goes by the name AFIA ACHIAAMAH.. 
In fact,I'm honoured being in her contemplatable love attire,
And she is highly venerated even from afar. 
If smiles fall on my face that means her voice is heard in ears. 
Pretty looking of her greatness is trending through years. 
This got to be a decorative spectrum,  
Of which grace and self-discipline always dare to make AFIA ACHIAAMAH a blissful medium.

Premium Member On the silver sea, under the clear moonlight, I venture forth

On the silver sea, under the clear moonlight, I venture forth,  
In search of songs lost in the depths of time,  
The moon, my silver guide, draws my path among the waves,  
Towards a melody that calls me from afar, to uncover its secrets and rhymes.  
Fear did not shadow my heart, courage was my shield,  
But to the mast, I tied myself with heavy chains, cautious and wise.  
The moon whispered a prophecy of sirens singing,  
And fearing to lose myself in their song, I anchored myself to reality.  
I sailed on trembling waters, searching for that dreamt refrain,  
But the waves, in their play, seemed to hide my destination.  
Unbeknownst to me, they called me into the depths, in an unseen dance,  
And the sea began to boil, awakening the spirits of the abyss.  
From the abyss, a siren's song envelops me,  
In their foam, the desire to abandon becomes overwhelming.  
I would tear the mast, break the chains that hold me anchored,  
To let myself be carried by the voice that disturbs my soul.  
The song becomes a call, the sea itself sings it,  
The wind, in gusts, amplifies it with every wave.  
It penetrates my soul, stirring my heart,  
And my ship, unexpectedly, heads towards your shore.  
Only then, belatedly, did I understand,  
When the path back was untraversable.  
That I was sailing on a sea of love, captive in your heart,  
For a long time, without knowing, chained by longing.  
And thus, in this vast sea of feeling,  
My ship, guided by your song, found its harbor.  
A journey on the waters of love, where every wave taught me,  
That your heart is the port where my soul finds solace.
© Dan Enache  Create an image from this poem.

Bumped His Head

An old man walking up the steps
Fell down and hit his head.
We ran to help him, fearing he
Was hurt or maybe dead.

This happened leading to the park,
The ground as hard as stone,
Material to crack your skull
Or maybe break a bone.

The man sat up quite slowly;
There was blood upon his hair.
We said we’d call an ambulance;
He’d suffered quite a scare.

But he refused; we helped him up,
Repeating we could call,
For he should see a doctor
After such a nasty fall.

He shook his head; I’m 86
And I will be okay.
We watched him as he climbed the stairs
And slowly walked away.

He might have a concussion
And perhaps made a mistake
But the ultimate decision
Wasn’t one for us to make.
Form: Rhyme

An Eternal Love

Specks of gold are shimmering
In your eyes that's glimmering
With a deep and caring glow
Letting everybody know
There's a special someone who
Turned your dark black skies to blue
With sweet kisses every morning
Leaving you so weak and fawning
For more passion every night
Nothing ever felt so right
Hugs from arms so big with muscle
Your heart starts to beat and hustle
to the tune of all his caring
Your heart and mind are never fearing
This situation falls apart
You were glued right from the start
Stuck together with a love
Lasting till your called above
To a bright heavenly cloud
Cuddling you like a shroud
Soft and warm is how you feel
A true love that is so real
Form: Rhyme

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