Long Forget Poems
Long Forget Poems. Below are the most popular long Forget by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forget poems by poem length and keyword.
Poor Ruby Hummer looks confused,
searching for her favorite feeder.
It was right there when it last was used,
in September, in the cedar.
Above the Bee-balm and Lobelia,
in my pollinator garden,
so sorry, Ruby, yes I feel ya,
and I truly beg your pardon.
I’m late this May, you came so soon
from your Yucatan vacation.
2000 miles from your lagoon,
a miraculous migration.
500 miles without a stop
o’er the Gulf, you must be famished.
A marvel that you didn’t drop,
and now your feeder’s vanished!
Just last week we had some snow,
a freakish mid-May specter.
Please be patient, please don’t go,
I’ll brew you up some nectar.
Meanwhile, check the Columbines
while I go and fetch the feeder.
And don’t forget your Trumpet Vines
that wind behind the cedar.
Come grace my garden, cheer my heart,
you’re my favorite garden guest.
It’s time to fatten up and start
to build the family nest.
Here nest materials, soft and pliable,
give shelter from the storms.
Next Spring I will be more reliable,
I’ll institute reforms.
June 2020
Garden Contest sponsored by Constance La France
(Lady)
Listening to the sound of feet padding across the floor below me as I dose
Walking slightly to the sound of voices talking in the early morning haze
Of beings moving about as I rest
As I surrender to the beauty of awareness inside and out
my heart beating softly... the rythym of nature creating an ornate symphonic piece. peace
And shred by shred I am torn into pieces
As beauty she inspires me
As Secrets I am destined to keep
As blissful emotions that are bitter to my heart still
I can't mistake her for a woman ignorant of it all
(Lady)
If I fall, its only to the ground and not to the depths
My conscious surround
If I am empty it is only for now
A reflection of time, space, condition
A mirror of what I see, she blinds me
And yet I am not deceived
Better yet I'm only bound to overcome
And as I rise from the ashes assassins surround me
My path in life is treacherous
And her eyes scream don't forget to prepare yourself for the unexpected
(Lady)
Who could ever prepare for madness, chaos, absurdity
A live coal burns from within pushing me forward holing me back
And it burns hotter with each new attack
A fight on every front accompanied by fear - relief
Fear that the day must end
Like every cycle there is an opening and a close
And punctuation to end the prose
And perfection to behold
And its a special event and special since
The passions joins and u and I create a force
I see brilliance and i cant say I'm lucky enough or brave enough
From time to time she says if u see then I will show u more
The bullets did not fly into the wind,
They struck, leaving indelible scars,
Blood on the pavement, pain in impure souls,
The bodies fall, but the eyes remain wide open.
The pains we hide become a torment for the oppressed,
A cry that screams the truth of injustice.
They call it an accident, but the accident is a clean version,
A lie in a suit and tie, served on a platter of indifference.
The walls have become loudspeakers of these silent tortures,
Lives shattered beneath muddy boots,
Dreams crushed under the law of silence.
How many more bodies must collapse before we hear?
How many more heads must bow before we stop lowering our eyes?
There is a gap between reality and their truth,
Between power and the dust they trample underfoot.
The sirens of chaos do not sing the praises of peace, they howl with anguish,
Badges, those stars of iron, shine only on the skin of radicalized natives.
But we cling to resistance, like a final breath before the abyss,
For those we call criminals do not wear the same chains.
It is their guilty determination that condemns us,
Their hands full of fear, tears, and wounds, but not remorse.
Lamentations are no longer enough, nor are the images,
The forces of anarchy hide their racist savagery behind shields of lies.
They conceal the hatred of their racial instincts under uniforms with a deceiving shine,
But we see it, the rage, in their eyes that burn justice.
They are not our protectors, they are our jailers,
Their decisions are not the law, they are decrees of death.
And you, up there, do you think amnesia is a strong currency?
Do you believe time erases the pain?
No, history does not forget, the memory of the people weeps,
It screams to those who close their eyes, to those who close their mouths.
It is no coincidence that injustice always makes the same sound,
A sound of blows, of screams that fade.
My wife maintained her spirit and humor all through the pre-op preparation process. She
joked and laughed with the nurses, assistants and doctors as they poked her, pushed her, squeezed her, took blood, took measurements, poked her some more and basically, just abused the hell out of her in preparation for what we knew was a serious operation.
Many of the healthcare professionals did not know what to make of her smiling face,
sarcastic tone and bubbling humor as they were all well aware of the seriousness and risks involved with the upcoming surgical procedure. But her good humor was unwavering.
In the six months since her dissection and the two months since the decision to perform this operation, my wife did her homework. She knew exactly how serious her condition was and the risks involved with this necessary operation. And yet, she kept her spirits high and her optimism never dipped.
When the anesthesiologist came out just minutes before they rolled her into the operating room and explained, for what seemed like the one thousandth time in the last two weeks, the risks and seriousness of her procedure, for the first time, I noticed signs of fear on her face and saw tears well up in her eyes.
Holding my hand as we approached the operating room where I was to be left behind, she looked up at me and said, “Take care of yourself and our Spencer”. The doors swung close and the six hour operation commenced.
It’s now seven days later and Cindy is well on her way to a full recovery. The doctors could not be more pleased with how the surgery went and with the rapidity of her recovery. There is no reason to believe that, within 8 – 10 weeks, she cannot be back to her normal, active self.
She is back to joking, being sarcastic and a regular pain in everyone’s ass – she is slowly
becoming Cindy again.
I will never forget, however, in the one second of fear and worry, how her concerns were
about the well-being of me and our son – and, not about herself.
I love you Cindy Flach.
And, I hope that if you ever decide to read any of my poems – given you do not understand my obsession with writing these silly things – I hope like hell, you choose to read this one.
Welcome home, love.
She thinks about fear
with quick step of right foot
And thinks about why
as she swings with strong left
Why she can't think
of a name
When He's deep in his greed
for more fame.
Should it not be the case
famous greed has a face?
This greed for His fame
should have Her blazed name
for His infamous Self
Hidden
yet naked
green greed of Her ego-less
to be known
and renowned,
pre-nouned
and revered.
She thinks about envy
to be set apart
with slower right steps
toward most famous of all parts
on His left.
She worries Her right
to collectively fight
to forget her DearLord's clearly wrong
infamous death,
A long-term event
in autonomous greed
known only in crossing
His terror maligning Left deed
He longs for omnipotence
She knows as lack
of enduring co-empowerment.
He belongs omnipresently right
She feels nowhere left
to polypathically go
and multiculturally come.
He wants self-righteous omniscience
She fears nothing cooperatively fun
left to learn
Where greed envy colonies
greet Her past sullen deeds
and furious inflamations
wrestling with fear
stepped out and in right
of fame's polyphonic refining destinations
steeped left
Marching and arching
preening while gleaning
knitting while needing
sleeping while slurping
leeping while lurking
blaming in shaming
disgusting and lusting
crusting while rusting
lacking more lucking
Infamous need
to find absence of greed
in original silent green
winning ultra-nonviolet
Her compassion seeding womb
His humble defaming greed tomb.
‘I don’t want you to get over me.’
‘I don’t want you to move on.’
‘I don’t want you to forget me.’
All the confessions, the desperation and the shameless, selfish desires.
The way you’d admit to the craved crimes yet to be committed.
Your words of devotion wrapped in the promise of a threat; I’m wherever you are.
The way you’d hold onto me, so tight, I didn’t know if the pain bordered on comfort or captivity.
The look in your eyes when you’d whisper, “you belong to me.”
The dilation of your pupils, as the black swallowed the brown.
The muscle that ticks in your jaw as you refuse to look away.
The fear in my eyes as I’d lie to myself that you don’t mean it.
Because you didn’t.
Right?
I leave the house and I double check for the illusion of footsteps behind me.
My heart skips a beat at every red car, but I can’t seem to look away.
The air leaves my lungs; every man seems to be you.
Because you’re everywhere and you’re nowhere.
The paranoia wraps around my bones like silk; I can’t decide if it’s too cold or too familiar.
I can’t decide if it’s electrifying or horrifying.
A dream or a nightmare.
I can’t decide if it’s everything I’ve ever craved or everything I’ve ever feared.
Because the truth is I’m a runner.
Since the vex of your skin, the trail of your scent and the promise of a hunt.
I can’t hide, I can’t think, I can’t wait.
Because I’m thrilled, I’m terrified and I’m waiting.
Come find me.
The older I get the more I grow
It’s apparent to me I do not know
There’s always something to learn
Keep on moving as the world turns
Why are instincts in animals so strong
To thrive and survive and carry on
Yet in some humans who have despair
Suicidal ideation thoughts are there
No one is perfect and minds can be
A source of pain a source of peace
Coloring life’s lenses we silver see
Sifting cleanses setting souls free
Do not forget in your pact with death
You may transfer pain to someone else
You must be certain that you persevere
Despite cherry challenges fuchsia fears
Lift up your spirits with the Holy Ghost
Always near us when we need Him most
Form:
July 3 Faith in God Bible Meditations Based on Psalms 103-106
Key Verse – Psalm 103:2 Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.
FAITH IN GOD WHO BLESSES US WITH HIS BENEFITS
God blesses us with His benefits along precious redemption
He knows our faith of humble trusting condition
As He ransomed us, giving us eternal salvation…
Our souls He freed from hell’s eternal damnation.
God blesses us with His benefits along heavenly bestowment
He secures our faith upon His settlement
As He assured us His pardon from everlasting judgment…
Our spirits He enables by His empowerment.
God blesses us with His benefits along blissful serenity
He encloses our faith around His Word’s certainty
As He quiets us against unbelief’s calamity…
Our doubts He smites by His Scriptural authority.
God blesses us with His benefits along His mercy and grace
He keeps our faith abounding in His loving ways
As He teaches us to work well while running the race…
Our steps He guides upon His discipleship-brace.
God blesses us with His benefits along His leadership
He directs our faith for service around His partnership
As He instructs us to abide in His fellowship…
Our stewardship He commends for our sincere worship.
God blesses us with His benefits along His greatness
He upholds our faith against weakness
As He strengthens us to continue despite weariness…
Our well-being He cares for by His goodness.
God blesses us with His benefits along triumph-delight
He increases our faith during our prayer-plight
As He drives us for great commission-height…
Our ministry involvement He protects from sins’ blight.
July 3, 2025
Zig Zag Free steps to the mic, deck in one hand, jazz poetry in the other, bass line buzzing in the air/He’s a jazz poet, a poker player, forever chasing that ace-high flush life/where luck dances with discipline and rhythm keeps time with fate/
On stage, the room digs him with a trio or a lone conga whisper, and Zig flips syllables like cards, letting melodies deal him into new possibilities/
His genre is a fusion, a street corner orchestra: jazz, funk, rap colliding in friendly combat, syncopations jagged as city shadows, delivering truths in a blast and mighty roar/ He digs deep into Amiri Baraka’s spark, Gil Scott-Heron’s jazz spoken word-rap, Miles Davis’ cool fire, Albert Ayler’s skock to the cosmos, letting their ghosts tune up the room while his own words improviseto the sound of jazz/
Zig studies cards the way a monk studies breath—practice, patience, a little luck, and the art of when to fold or not/
He learns from every shuffle: the tell, the tilt, the courage to reveal what’s underneath. He uses cards as metaphors for his jazz poetry, life: risk, balance, probability, and the mercy of chance/In his word delivery, the syllables swing and swing back, a double-stacked riff that asks/What does it mean to win if you forget to listen to the masters/
What does it mean to lose if you’ve never learned to love the moment you’re dealt? He doesn’t chase a flawless hand—he chases the feeling of being fully alive, the ace-high flush of now, where every breath is a bet and every beat is a return to his jazz potery keepin' Zig Zag Free alive
A period of peace
When peace reigned In the year 1334 or so the residents in Alhambra thought Catholics chimed too early on Sundays at the time, Granada was ruled by, The Muslims, who went along fine with the Christians, who were good farmers and makers of wine not to forget, the Jewish population ( people of the book) kept, the pecuniary, in shape it was agreed that the bells should not ring before seven, but the beautiful gardens behind tall walls
must be watered at five in the morning.
It was a peaceful time, but nothing in human history lasts forever; the Church of Rome had ambition, Muslims fled, and the Jews went into exile in Portugal and were shattered around the towns and villages and became a part of the general population