Long Followed Poems
Long Followed Poems. Below are the most popular long Followed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Followed poems by poem length and keyword.
Caught up in a wicked game where inflicted pain leaves a twisted brain
We all playing on different levels with different devils scheming with demons man everyday it's the same
In the streets we compete, we do it for the love of the sport, like Allen Iverson even though I hated practice the fact is still I never missed a game
When its go time its show time but the wins & losses here shows it costs to care, them shooters carry tactics & the snipers in the air got vicious aim
I know any friend of me could bring an end to me
So I observe beyond the surface places they go & tend to be
To the way their faces glow when their hatred shows, I can see the nervousness in their tendencies
I pay attention see, & know what's coming before they ever even mention me
And while I'm viewed as hopeless or at least I pretend to be
They're losing their focus sinking to their lowest, drowning in that Hennessy
Now let's begin the show for both friends & foes, as we get back to the topic of profit & how it's a risk for gain
Life's an everyday circus followed by dark clouds, roaring thunder, heavy mist & rain
From the crowd still hear the stereo sounds playing on the burial grounds, becoming the latest victims of this twisted game
Shaking hands on forsaken land not knowing where we stand is the land in which the wicked claim
And the s a shame that we treat life like the s a game
But reality is we'll all fade soon we can't evade doom
I already carried the world on my back til I damn near collapsed & felt pain in both shoulders like it was game over, chasing the record so close but no toast playing this game of life in the arcade room
But with no more credits or coins in my pocket so now it's open season for the next to line up with a shot to try & top it cuz my run is done & unable to continue due to me missing change.
Believability and Truthfulness
By Franklin Price
10/6/2018
Believability and Truthfulness
Are often not the same
Politicians, very often,
Think they're only just a name
What happened to those good old days,
When a man's word was his bond?
What could it hurt to stretch the truth
From coast to coast and then beyond?
So far, in this century,
Washington has shown the way
When truth does not produce for them
They try believable to say
Lately that's not working
They've stretched them both until they've popped
It's time to tell the truth again
And this playing games is stopped
If you,ve followed their example,
Lied for your party's hope
You have cursed your reputation
Should have your mouth washed out with soap
I believe the politicians
And the truthful words they say
This stanza writ with fingers crossed
And tongue in cheek today
By inclement seas, malevolent sands bob
Lashing atrociously in their cyclonic hurl
Assent to winds that beat wild, Oceania!
Can the derelict heart reclaim its pacific,
keeping latent hurts as a glossed wreck?
Pearling gloss spot-lights aversions to keep!
Embraced is animus to understand its cause
Anoint scars so they'll dissipate in the anima
Restoration gleams of a copacetic dreamcatcher
Lacing over those broken veins of love's infernal
8/14/21 – Inspired by ‘Broken’ contest hosted by Craig Cornish;
pearls are an oyster's kintsugi :)
BLACK PEARL I
***
sheen like no other
iridescent mother
of pearls shining on
I recall that first black beach:
the night sky fallen at my feet!
Soles tickled by the stars
twinkling in sandy myriads;
toes curling in awed jubilation ~
followed by the jaw-dropping
cascade of a sparkling curtain,
where the sun-sequined waterfall
spilled over the black rock,
and I drank of more stars
in refreshed elation ~
The rest collected in pools
of eons-cooled lava tubes
We soaked away low tide's heat
bathed in crystalline sensations ~
Heaven!
You smiled
The Nevada desert, lifetimes later,
my son and I gazed at the black sky:
meteors showered, shimmering us ~
Heaven!
my iridescent black pearl
a sheen like no other
smiling on
***
(4/27/18: Memory of a special time with mother walking back from Buokonikai to Tabiang and stopping at the falls where I saw my first black-sand beach. It was so different and I was so thrilled by it; went back there 3 years ago and found the land erosion has turned the beach a muddy color)
I don’t know why I fell into that hole.
It was a very unique way
I was feeling it.
I followed a master
who had saved several soft people
from falling into that hole.
Why did he push me into it?
I tried to grab his collar.
I tried to grab every stone I could,
but how could I
if I wasn’t ready for my life?
Maybe it’s my fault.
I shouldn’t have committed those things
that weren’t listed in humanity
and weren’t accepted in society.
That teacher taught me
how to be a human,
but never told me
how to understand one.
And I think that could have been
more beneficial for me—
because it’s better to talk
to the people inside the body,
not on the other side of the hole.
The fae of the forest watched as they
Gaily slung the discs on their way..
And it glowered hatefully from where it stood
As again and again their discs struck wood.
Surely for their offense they'd pay!
Patience was hard as it followed and sought
A punishment befitting for this offensive lot
Laughing in merriment when their discs struck chain
Strung from the iron poles that his wilderness, stained.
His fiery hatred grew hot!
But the iron and machine that invaded his realm
Weakened his magic, did arcana o’erwhelm,
Even as they climbed and hiked and played,
He studied the lot and his hand was stayed,
Three men, two women shaded ’neath elm.
So he bid the day increase its heat
He bid the trees their discs defeat
He slung small magic to deflect their discs
Off-course into thorns and other risks,
Yet their discs flew to basket’s entreat.
As the eldest wished for the trees to stop
Snatching his disc in flight to flop
On the ground, its flight outshined,
A horrible, evil thought sprang to mind,
Ahead the mad imp hopped.
In the false meadow set the devil his trap,
“No trees? No trees!” And with an evil clap,
As the eldest stood at the edge of the meadow
The younger’s disc flew errant, powerful, into elbow!
Horrific thud, not a light rap.
No truer could any aim have sought
Nor more devastating than the nerve it caught,
Waves of nausea wreaked by such pain
Stunned the warrior, he couldn't regain
His feet. The younger man was distraught.
Yet on they played, and gave no ground
Stubbornly threw their discs and found
Joy in every basket’s clink
And caused the evil imp to re-think
The awful paths he'd bound.
Twice more, throws askew were slung,
Twice more was impish, hurtful magic flung
Once at the mother’s head- wisely, she ducked,
Then again, feebly hit the youth’s leg, whose laughter clucked,
Mocking laughter, his leg unstung.
Sorrowfully, the wood devil gave in
He could not defeat this family's win
Even the old man's arm wouldn't bruise
How could the imp do ought but lose?
And so did the disc golf end. Fin.
So if you, enjoying family time fair
Seek to enter the forest imp’s lair,
Take cover from friends as the disc is cruising
Lest the wood devil, offended, send you a bruising
As from shadows he hates and stares.
Here I am, a young girl in the cemetery,
holding the hand of my mother in a parade,
I wore a new white dress
and my new shoes were pinching my toes.
All around the cemetery we followed the priest
as he prayed for the dead.
It was Whitsuntide,
and no tears for the decayed were to be
but a celebration was beginning . . .
We brought flowers for the graves
and a choir sang holy songs.
I felt disconnected and was thinking other thoughts,
as it was an awful, dreadful place
with moss draped tombs and weeping angel statues.
Grandma was at home preparing a Whit-Sunday meal
and there would be dancing and singing for days.
This confused me and I began to ask questions,
I, a young girl.
Like why were tombs engraved, and mother read
the words, sad words, unable to speak the words . . .
It was Spring and we carried flowers . . .
to be divided and laid on the graves to fade tomorrow
but today, it was so festive and beautiful in the cemetery,
with the people smiling and talking joyfully
celebrating Whitsun.
_______________________
May 20, 2017
Verse/Celebration
Copyright Protected, ID 902984
Brian Strand
25 lines
The Green Madonna
She arrived draped in constellations,
wearing a crown woven from the silver bones of moons,
her emerald hands folded in a prayer
older than the first star.
The galaxies bowed.
Not from fear,
but from recognition.
For she was Mantis,
Celestial Madonna,
keeper of forgotten hymns
and patron saint of wandering souls.
Her eyes held entire nebulae,
spiraling cathedrals of light
where comets burned like votive candles
before an altar without end.
She spoke no words.
The universe listened anyway.
Planets turned more slowly
to hear the rustle of her wings,
vast and jeweled,
stretching across the velvet architecture of eternity.
Each movement scattered stardust
into the dark places between worlds,
and new suns were born
from the fragments.
She wandered the heavens barefoot,
her feet touching neither cloud nor stone,
leaving trails of luminous roses
that bloomed in the vacuum of space.
The angels followed at a distance.
Not because they were commanded.
Because beauty itself
had become a destination.
In her breast burned a sacred flame,
neither mercy nor judgment,
but something greater:
understanding.
She knew the language of the broken.
The dialect of the lonely.
The silent prayers spoken by hearts
too weary to believe they would be heard.
And so she gathered them.
The exiles.
The dreamers.
The forgotten children of distant worlds.
She carried them beneath her mantle of stars,
where no wound was mocked,
no tear was wasted,
and no soul was abandoned.
Above her,
the heavens unfolded like a jeweled fan.
Below her,
the darkness learned to sing.
And there,
upon a throne carved from dawn itself,
Mantis sat as Celestial Madonna,
Mother of Starlight,
Queen of the Infinite Bloom,
her wings embracing creation
as though the universe
were a child finally returned home. ?????
I once worked with a youth who had gingivitis
Twenty years younger yet she already had arthritis
Pretty enough in spite of her dermatitis
She so craved attention we all thought caused by meningitis
Winters seemed worse with time off due to bronchitis
Bouts in hospital for appendicitis and diverticulitis
Regularly like clockwork she came down with severe vacationitis
After each self-prescribed vacation she’d strangely suffer from moneyitis
She talked our ears off we kept hoping she’d get laryngitis
But no, it was only bursitis and colitis followed by gastritis
Ms. Black sure was high maintenance with her neurosis and neuritis
AP: 1st place 2025, Honorable Mention 2020
There is no more the need
Requirements as well isn’t there
Without a target I need no longer seek
With only the world remaining to only dare
Decidedly, I am gonna pace as I choose
Simply gonna see and let the world move on
One thing for certain now I’m not gonna lose
My one self, I’m finally to see to belong
Let the world pass me by
As I to the world to let it flow
For that one day perhaps too soon I’ll die
Yet never too late have I learn to let go
And with time passing without the hour
I took my time as I ought to but slower
As I listen, the world became softer whilst I... louder
A genuine smile was followed by my laughter
Of years with so much need
I met requirements without ever achievements
A target for the world never to reach
Shall we but share a laughter in assumptions?
We followed the path to the top of a hill
not knowing what we might find
What we discovered was a lone headstone
surrounded by a circle of pines.
There was only a last name written on it
neath the words… ’In memory of’
but all around the headstone
were other indicators of love.
How do we know this person was loved?
Because this headstone sits on a tiny hill
where it looks up and out at the mountains
where the air is surprisingly still.
We imagine friends of this person came together
and created this design…
a resting place with a beautiful view
shaded by a circle of pines.
There are no dates on the headstone
no way of knowing when this person was enshrined…
We guess it was a long time ago
judging by the height of the pines.
Over the years the pine needles have nestled
making a soft bed under the trees
It is a beautiful place to rest for a moment
or recline for an eternity.
And we feel blessed to have discovered
a place where the elements of nature intertwine…
to form such a beautiful memorial
in the midst of a circle of pines.