Long Forego Poems
Long Forego Poems. Below are the most popular long Forego by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forego poems by poem length and keyword.
A marriage formed by insisting parents
To join lands and force grudging events
We stood stiff, shivering and apprehensive
Each of us nervous, fearful and defensive
He was over six feet one inch tall
I was only four feet eleven inches small
Clutching wilted wild flowers to my breast
Wearing a shapeless yellowed white dress
His shirt was murky grey his suit was done for
Pants too short and his coat an eyesore
The minister mumbled words barely audible
Yet we heard him say without any fumble
I now pronounce you man and wife
Together you are forever joined for life
Dizzy, I fell into shadows and confusion
But my new husband moving with precision
Caught me his enclosing arms fixed firmly
Saying softly in my ear and only for me
I’ll take care of you, I promise, wait and see
We began our marriage studying each other
Faking indifference our interest under cover
My husband was confident and never grim
I became proud that folks respected him
His humor was dry spicy and often wicked
I’d blush and laugh I just couldn’t help it
His cursing was mild but if he was riled
He’d switch to Croatian no translation required!
We began to thaw to be at ease to yearn
Each of us maturing determined to learn.
We worked hard to make a stable marriage
Careful to find nothing to dislike or disparage
The core of our marriage was warmth and contentment
As we tirelessly worked towards a life-long commitment
Laughter and tenderness ensued sharing passion
Soft endearments whispered even if old-fashioned
We had stops, starts, and minor setbacks
As we finally tread on true and straight tracks
We cultivated a strongly anchored life and love
That enclosed us like a favorite and well-fitted glove
Our foundation cemented as the years sped by
We had no children and only God knows why
We filled this lack by composing and teaching
He a sports coach instructing and training
While I by feeding and seeding in writing
To those young minds uncluttered and seeking
A short path is upon us as we rehearse our final bow
Our off-stage exit beckons as we share a loving vow
To never forego our familiar and loving banter
That has been the link forging our balanced center
That cultivated our strongly anchored and enduring love
That now resembles a familiar and favorite well-fitted glove.
Revised March 22, 2019
What would it be like to start all over again,
I mean isn’t that the reason, so many of us pen,
It just opens up every unknown possibility,
Some beautiful some dark, others downright ugly,
But alas the truth is, we’ll probably never know,
Unless I endeavor to reverse time’s flow,
Oh here we go again, he’s still living in the past,
Well actually I’m not, it’s more a forecast,
Picturing the future, not as hard as it seems,
We do it every night, yeah but only in dreams,
Still have to wake up, and face tomorrow,
Make ends meet, work, pay back what we borrow,
Now this is the bit where I go quite insane,
Stand back as I cast off these holding chains,
Oh Christ! he’s just done another line of cocaine,
No I’m clean and sober, or so I maintain,
Gonna get hypnotized by this shrink I know,
Put in a permanent stupor, my life I’ll forego,
Wander this planet, with my head in the clouds,
On every continent have a fabulous house,
Leave behind the rat race, start a new religion,
Where there’s no big brother, and no supervision,
Do all this by surrogate, from my own living room,
Embedded forever in this simulated womb,
Will make time go slowly, say one minute a year,
So a day is a Millennium, time will almost disappear,
When I make love will last, the whole century long,
The agony of ecstasy, oh my will is so strong,
Passion will be bliss, happiness put on tap,
No death, gonna rid my world of all this crap,
Write beautiful poetry, til the cows come home,
Muse about Italy, Venice, Naples and Rome,
Oh god I’m flying high, soaring unchained,
Not an ache in my body, slight twinge or pain,
A demigod of nature, gladiator fighting to be free,
come on join in, spend a moment here with me,
All the haters, you’ll be expelled to hell,
Liars and time wasters, yeah you as well,
I will not stop, gonna raise the dead,
Well only the good ones, under my bed?
Boy that was great, was it good for you too,
And for a moment, I was really there, it’s true,
No need to get drunk, wasted out of my mind,
Open up your imagination, it’s simply sublime.
85 billion neurons, in the average human brain,
Stars in the Milky Way, more or less the same,
Please listen when I tell you, never be restrained,
Reality of truth’s alive, not to find it is a shame.
By
David Kavanagh
Doctors (particularly biomedical engineers)...
really trolley train hard to keep track of patients
Eye tell ya we (spuds)
pulled up stakes after four yar
and zero scores ago living in Bryn Mawr
salutary heart and lungs figurative
storied Main Line Health medical network
latter part of June tooth thousand seventeen
approximately July first
same year bidding au revoir
bid good riddance account
to slumlord - hood did spat and spar
moved to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
unsafe to ride bicycle without handlebar
economical, geographical, practical...
subjected by Grosse and Quade tyrannical czar
dom low income facilities housing
nattering nabobs of nihilism whose intellect subpar
candidates vetted by Jaclyn Geiger registrar
courtesy nepotism unexceptional manager
thanks be to her papa, she drives fancy car
unlike this pauper and the missus
limited to schlep near and not far
afforded by rattletrap motorcar,
no driving prohibitive number of miles,
crossing sketchy territory warning signs
picturing dangerous avatar,
(especially during inclement whee thar)
determining risk to forego
top manic kin Michelin
money grubbing cannibalistic
surgeon's earning equivalent silver star,
or comparable civilian rating touting specialists
while bonafide topnotch indivisible tailors swifty
stitch ink, viz tattoo back parlor shop whar
exemplary Patients Matter Always
buzzfeeding, inoculating, kickstarting...
healthy medical network,
hobnob, kibitz, schmooze...
drown lackluster lovelife at the bar
parting paramour with such sweet sorrows par
for the course during pouring rain how bizarre
necessitated our lucky find locating physicians
supreme nsync with Google high reviews
receiving, scoring, nabbing,
incorporating... truevalue re: vector and scalar,
we veteran trooper seasoned renters
luckily blessed chance
cost us pennies on the dinar
general bang for buck amazingly
found yours truly strumming his air guitar
pleasantly situated among picturesque poplar
resort within Skippack Village, a tourist
mecca for devout or
secular gourmandizing, earning
catering and acquiescing savoir
ole mighty faire Benjamin
legally tendering expensive bazaar.
Quivering lowest limb
namely mine little feet
medication side effects
analogous running dead heat
most often while fast asleep
the missus claims thrashing feet
easily mistaken for epilepsy
disrupts her pleasant dreams
claiming legitimate grounds
for kickstarting divorce
bachelorhood amenable
versus her furious
expletive laced outbursts
crying out loud
further under_scoring, necessitating,
mandating, accentuating...
feasible solution for Pete sakes,
thus favoring me night owl schedule
mine circadian rhythm
easily reoriented,
reestablished, realigned
when she goes beddie bye boo
I feel unbounded energy reserves
bubbles forth courtesy microcosmic
La Brea tar pits interestingly enough
preserving fossilized traces,
when shut eye cycle
regarding yours truly
synchronized more optimally
with counterpart, which
vagary linkedin with
one or more
pharmacological prescriptions,
yet this mister loathe
to forego synthesized agent
that calm emotional provocateurs
particularly diminishing
frequency and intensity
formerly debilitating panic attack,
which vestige chronic anxiety
prevalent thank you sweaty hands
profuse dripping perspiration
during torpid heat waves,
where combination
central air conditioning/
(albeit malfunctioning)
doubles as warmth
generating source
one bedroom
apartment unit B44,
which aforementioned detail
lacks relevance in toe toe
with healing power of
selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors
cuz clinical depression
linkedin with diagnosis
constituting genetic package
biologically bequeathed
to this anonymous hominid
amazingly graced with
psychological ills affecting
academic and employment functionality,
hence lifetime struggle
to live hand to mouth
hardscrapple existence
plaguing dependents and spouse
dealing with mailer daemons
compromising her mental health
translated as without income,
therefore financial shortcomings
lured by castles in the air
pipedreams, a lottery winner,
I dream of genie - in a bottle...
which farfetched stroke of luck
less likely than
getting struck by lightning
with sunshine illuminating
man cave within
which scrivener scribbles away.
Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long,
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.
I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.
The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.
Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive. There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.
A car is cruising by our house. The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.
Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name. In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.
We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us. So we turn and go inside.
I’d extend an invitation
to all in the congregation
through this speech of inspiration
which is quite a compilation
yet I expect no adulation
and no gest of adoration
for in my own estimation
it’s a trifle occupation
clearing out the obfuscation
of a simple predication
o’er the course of this oration
through the rhyme of this dictation
See it’s a feebly built narration,
or an errant adaptation
sitting ‘top a weak foundation
grounded on some old quotation
writ in archaic notation
which seems to bear no strong relation
to the current held fixation
on the poorly built translation
which is more of a mutation
than an actual citation.
Now to give a brief summation
I will fight off the temptation
and my present inclination
to continue this vocation
and I’ll risk your irritation
with this act of abdication
and upset your expectation
by using this line instead
to add a bit of variation
as the only deviation
in my final recitation.
Now please stifle your elation
as I offer resignation
for I’m out of medication
and I fear the obligation
to interpret revelation
meant to spell out your salvation
is to my great consternation
causing meal regurgitation
and worse stomach ulceration
though at best the correlation
is just my imagination.
So I’m taking a vacation
to a tropical location
lost in wild vegetation
where I’ll watch in adoration
those grass skirts in their gyration
and sip drinks of fermentation
to avoid the dehydration
that always comes by deprivation
or by over-conservation.
If it’s any consolation,
after lots of vaccination
I’ll pursue my destination
through a week of navigation
on a vessel of flotation
as my mode of transportation
and forego all aviation.
So I plead, dear congregation
understand my situation
‘spite my freedom from taxation,
just suppress your indignation
toward my dreams of recreation
though I have no explanation
save this current presentation.
And though there is no valuation
for true acts of consecration,
after much consideration
if you’d show your dedication
with a generous donation,
I could use the insulation.
Amen.
Your lover’s drawing straws without you, better bid farewell;
he’d never time for rhyme or reason, so it’s just as well.
Slip out the curtained window quick, the future winks and calls,
ignoring paths of pagan gods, where faulty footsteps fall.
Identify faint flashbacks, cloaked and clustered in a heap
and sort out those you treasure most, you need or long to keep;
Forget about the epoch past, which wasn’t what you’d sought,
pursue instead remaining dreams before they come to naught.
Reflect no more on what it was he’d meant for you,
strike out ahead where something waits, has sent for you.
The graveyard night is haunted still, it hovers where you sleep
recalling souvenirs amassed, the ones that made you weep.
The poets poised in dungeon vaults, now growing old and bald,
retrace their palsied pleas in dust, like those that you once scrawled.
Except for runic proverbs carved on stone walls ill defined,
assumptions will not dog you that you dare to leave behind.
The fortune-tellers waiting at the moat for you
read tarot cards while setting sail a boat for you.
The road behind is empty now, the sky is painted black
so gather all the wisdom gained, no time for looking back.
Forego the prophets’ prophecies, so tempting to pursue -
although they might be asked advice, they seldom have a clue.
Reject the secrets they reveal, enveloped in their guile,
which be betrayed between the tombs in ruins of their smile.
They’re waiting with a fractured rule of thumb for you
while beating on a perforated drum for you.
A sand-glass dribbles distant dunes, the sun dial’s shadow’s late,
so now’s the time for slipping through the open swinging gate.
A joker wild defies the fools to read between the lines
in search of cryptic radiance the future world enshrines -
“the days ahead will wake again like waves before the dawn
when picking up the pieces left behind a passing pawn.”
A noble knight awaits to clear the board for you
when, soon, a cup of nectar wine is poured for you.
Written: August 24, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Where oceans meet, the edge of the sky,
I cast bones onto a pyre, flames soaring high.
In this realm of dreams, where reality suspends,
I find solace amidst blazing amaranth trends.
The exposed palette of nature's artistry
Paints bittersweet views on my heart's tapestry.
Tangy perceptions awaken my senses anew.
As I stand on the precipice, with a view.
Staggering, the momentum of a ghost
With chestnut eyes that haunt me the most.
Drifting along the fall and rise of time,
I hear a careless song, sung purely off-key, in rhyme.
Melodies of the azure whisper in the breeze,
Carried by the waves, dancing with ease.
The Symphony of the Sea, a lullaby for the soul,
Guiding me through life's tumultuous toll
With each crashing wave and gentle tide,
I feel lost but alive, a vast abyss as visions collide,
The melodies of the azure echo within.
A symphony of emotions is where I begin.
Sky's edge, where heavens kiss the sea
I find serenity—a place to be free.
While the sun and moon were my guides.
I navigated this journey with nothing to hide.
The melodies of the azure carry me afar.
To a place where dreams and reality are ajar.
In this harmonious dance of colors and light,
I am embraced by the vastness, day and night.
So let the melodies of the ocean continue to play.
As I surrender myself to their sway.
For in this symphony—I find my peace.
Where oceans meet and bittersweet thoughts cease.
Melodies of the Azure, forever I'll hold,
As they guide me through life's story untold.
In the embrace of the sea and sky,
I find my purpose—as time goes by.
With each note—a memory, a tale,
Melodies of the Azure, never to fail
So let the waves crash and the wind blows.
I'll follow the melodies wherever they forego.
For in their harmonies—I find my soul,
And in their rhythms, I am made whole.
So let me drift along the fall and rise,
Of these melodies sung flawlessly off key, in disguise.
Hey girl, what's up?
just called to check on you,
Cuz when you're part of the sisterhood ,
that's what sisters do!
Be times good, or be times bad,
rather you woke up happy,
or rather you woke up mad,
A sister will listen,
she doesn't always give advice,
she's thoughtful in her responses,
thinking it over twice.
Night or day,
it really doesn't matter,
she'll say girl, let's have some ice cream ,
and get a little fatter.
Be it the kids, the husband,
the job, or another issue,
sisters sit down and grab a box of tissue.
What I have is yours,
and what you have is mine.
Have you ever seen three sisters,
share a single dime?
Well as sisters, that's what we do,
I wouldn't say it ,
If I knew it were not true.
In the sisterhood,
We leave the crabbing, the backstabbing, and
vindictiveness behind.
For it takes too much effort,
and we have too little time!
So sisters,
Let's build each other up,
not tear each other down,
Let's greet one another with a smile,
and forego the nasty frown.
Each one teach one,
is what I say,
let's make empowerment the word of the day!
Let's promote the positive,
or say nothing at all.
Let's lift each other up,
not make each other fall.
Let's be truthful, thoughtful,
and prayerful of each other.
Let's strive to take each other,
just a little bit further.
I'm brown, your tan, she's dark, she's light,
One sister is Puerto Rican,
and the other sister is white.
Our complexion, our race, doesn't play a part,
because the sisterhood, cares not about color,
or status, it's all about your heart!
We won't always see eye to eye,
or always agree,
but I've got you girl,
and I know you've got me!
Storms may come,
but we weather them together,
trying to stay dry,
beneath one umbrella!
So ladies,
When things are bad,
and you can find no good,
there is always comfort to be found ,
in the sisterhood!
As women, we are often misunderstood,
So ladies,
I thank you, for promoting sisterhood!
What happens to all the brown-skinned girls?
Sitting on the stoop waiting for the ice cream man to come
20 plats in their hair
Turning the double dutch rope
Sitting in the middle of the classroom
You know, that one girl . . . what’s her name?
ponytails neither pony nor tail
Who aren’t allowed to wear their hair down
or sport Brand X Jeans
Who can’t wash that Diaspora right out of their hair
or erase their royal heritage
The ones that pop their gum the loudest
Run the fastest
Fight the hardest
Dream the most
Ones who don’t wear pants and go to church all day Sunday
got tattoos
wear makeup
or slide into their short skirts on the way to school
Who are picked first for the team
picked last
or never picked at all . . .
Girls - who don’t have time to hang out ‘cause they “gotta go to work!”
for their new dress
or in their old car
to pay the light bill that momma “forgot”
Girls who roll their neck
and their eyes
their hair and their hips
to the rhythms of the Congo, Bronx, or the Swats
Girls who sing in the mirror as they glue, braid and towel on that
long . . . wavy . . . hair
Who, “hate that stupid light-skinded girl” because
“she thinks she’s so cute”
or hate themselves because they think so too . . .
Some may have never had him hold their hand
call them beautiful
take them to the father/daughter dance
come to their rescue . . .
See he was
in jail/out of town/in denial/out of time
insane
to forego all the love that just one little brown-skinned girl has to give
Girls. Not little Halle, Beyonce, or J Lo
But young Angela, Carol, Michelle, and Alek
Those awe-inspiring girls who don’t yet know
that they are
Elegant, intelligent
engaging
enchanting . . .
Who don’t see themselves
On movie screens - in magazines
The eyes of the world, little boys
Their own
Who buys them a bomb pop when the ice cream man comes?
Tastes the sweet undertones buried in dark chocolate
Loves them?
Loves them for themselves
Who loves them
Loves them
Who loves