Long Forgetting Poems
Long Forgetting Poems. Below are the most popular long Forgetting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forgetting poems by poem length and keyword.
Theirs No Time For Us
Time is fading away
So many burdens to carry
The hour-glass is draining
Our relationship is dying
Our bodies are decaying
Our minds are forgetting
Our youthful days are gone
There's no time for us
We took each other for granted
We can’t live forever
So many smiles left behind
Our love has strained
Where did all of the time go?
Time waits for no one
So many empty spaces
Words that we should have said
Under the earth has captured my lost soul
Theirs no harmony in the dirt
Theirs no place for the unforgiven
Bonded in chains, below the darkness
Where did I go wrong?
My second chance is gone
Insanity
Our today society
Many are afraid of truth
It threatens them system
Their propaganda agendas
Manipulation and programming.
They get into your mind
Through the media's
Religions, government and more
Same Jesus, different denomination
Dividing Christianity
Forgetting Christianity
Without Jesus, is religion bondage.
The news, all created
Some true, others manufactured
Just to create scenes and to program the mind
Giving the gossipers and jobless
Topic and message to spread around.
Even me trying to tell plenty
In few lines
It's not easy to understand
Some will say crazy, a lazy writer
When words are too much it becomes void.
11/2/2023
* Angel Falls! Is a fictitious name for a city.
It has nothing to do with angels. *
Do you ever truly wonder who you are?
Perchance a being, with the heart of a star?
Who in this vast world are we anyway?
Stumbling along on this grassy, human pathway!
Thinking we are gods with pens, telling each
other what to do, where and when??
To all this, conceit, I say ,Amen and Amen!
I have done all of this, too and far more.
As if one can find respect or love in trophies galore?
Sought the loud applause of the loving poet crowd.
Sometimes, in the end, you get in your back, a nice,
sharp sword.!
I am sure poets have experienced this sharp angst
throughout history.
Forgetting, that “the other” is possibly,far more important
and significant than we!
It is simply a fact, I wake to, every now and then.
What good can I do for another, besides impressing them
with a very dull and inglorious pen!
Our mortal ends do come sooner, alas, than we think..
I am certain there is far more to do in life, than pen, with my
dull, insipid ink!
~~~~~~~~~~
Note…. I an finding these poems I wrote a few years ago.
I thought of erasing them? No reason to.! It is still timely.
Let me know if you understand me, hugs, Pamgie
I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it
Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…
Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.
Tadhana…
shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it
He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves
just somehow seemed to soothe him
People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...
She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…
He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…
The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back
He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam
Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?
Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her
and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles
She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun
and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart
It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else...
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger
Tadhana.
Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.
** tadhana is a Tagalog word, it can be translated as fate/destiny/kismet
July 25, 2010
Is it fair that youth is beauty
That the best we can ever be
Is before we are twenty three
Why can't a wrinkle be sexy
Who says grey hairs are icky
Contact lenses are too tricky
Comfort and ease of eyeglasses
Tri focal eyeglasses
But why, but how, when
Did youth escape and old fogey begin
The burden of life's responsibilities
The worry of offspring indeed
The need for success
The desire to impress
That weather our smooth silky skin
Into worn leather feel rough and thin
Tooth loss and baldness
Nose hairs and body aches
Disease and numbness
Hot flashes and body shakes
Dimming of senses
Enlargement of ears
Shrinking by inches
New things are fears
Tired blood and blue veins
Forgetting whats her name
Corns and bunions
Yelling at them youngins
Jello instead of steak
Maalox replaces milkshakes
Eat dinner at four asleep by nine
Can't believe the speed of time
Is it fair that youth is beauty
Why can't being old be better
Then aches from change of weather
To using a cain instead of raising it
Gumming a steak until you can't spit
Just think how sexy you will be
If you finally reach forty three
Lets change our perspective
Not be so narrowly selective
Enough of the smooth shapely firm
Cute bouncing buns we had and yearn
Let's hear it for the pale faded
Wrinkled saggy way nature made it
Posteriors of the more mature crowd
On second thought without my glasses
Youth is beauty
Enjoy while its yours
The Clanking Chain of Wild Geese
I was watching the September sky every day,
With a hope to once again get a glance,
Of the clanking chains of those lovely wild geese,
That suddenly appears with their music melodies,
But quietly they disappear every year,
Like a Rainbow that comes and gets lost gradually.
No one knows when like a rainbow,
The wild geese would appear suddenly,
While changing their forms like clouds in the sky,
Mesmerizing our eyes for few seconds or more, and then,
Disappearing in the sky, like the dim vanishing evening.
The wild geese often appear in the sky,
Forming a shape like the garland of God,
And quickly changing shapes, like our emotions,
While moving in the sky like an arrow,
They sing the joyous songs of today, not tomorrow.
Forgetting the past and the future like an arrow,
Which keeps running, until it reaches its marrow,
The destination to pierce a heart,
They create either a joy or sorrow,
While singing a song of today, not tomorrow.
Oh, September sky I watch,wonder with ,
And hope to see them once again,
My childhood friends wild Geese,
Coming from north and vanishing in south,
Like my thoughts which arise and fall.
But this year, I did not see the winged necklaces of God,
Neither could I see a rainbow being formed,
Nor even hear their chorus like songs,
No clanking of wings, No music of their joys,
No rise and fall of images like thoughts,
No sounds and music touching my heart.
One day, I was stunned to hear,
The species of goose are in great danger,
Man has stolen many of even God’s necklaces,
The rainbow of birds and the grandeur of sky,
A great heritage of Nature is vanishing before our eyes.
Oh, my sweet friend,
Will I ever be able to see and hear you again?
When you would clank your wings, in the windless sky,
Creating a dance and music, on such lofty heights,
Where no musician can ever fly,
With a hope till I am here on this earth my friend,
I would keep waiting and watching
For you O wild Geese in the September sky.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 1st Oct. 2010
Dedicated to my loving wife Dr. Shashi Kapoor, as a birthday gift for her
Birthday on 2nd Oct. who loves animals and birds more than any thing
Else.
When I, like an old professor, scoff all to shape;
My inner child scratches me within, like an ape.
I laugh aloud forgetting all belittling ills;
He says, I'm a hyena, and thus my zeal kills.
I cry and he says you're a soft sensitive girl;
And my emotional eruption gets a curl.
I lay peaceful wanting to have 'Kumbkarna' sleep;
He laughs at me and says, sleep has nothing to keep.
When I, like Buddha, go to the 'Bodhi' he says;
Any tree is 'Bodhi' if you're in Buddha's ways.
Each work he criticizes yet he's not ill-willed,
It's because he's my true and only inner child.
My child is critical yet so objective too,
He is, to his conscience, always honest and true.
It's he, yet, my life, like a judge, evaluates;
Owing to him, as the sun, my life operates.
Times might change; years become eras; life designs all;
The child in me, like the polestar, directs my call.
N.B:
1. Kumbkarna is an Indian mythical figure who slept for six months continuously every year and slept again once his appetite went down.
2. Bodhi is the holy fig tree under which Gautam Buddha received enlightenment.
9 September 2021
Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
i see her there staring
out past the kitchen window
with daisy print curtains
partly obscuring the sky
her eyes daunting amid the sunlight
shining deeply upon the beauty inside
i address her while undressing her in my mind
i stroke her cheekbones
and lay kisses upon her neck
so soft, smooth, supple and truly divine
caressing her demure deity
that's begging to unwind
the wind wraps her body
exhaling persuasions of mind
fingers frolic engraving wonderment
enhanced to the pressure inside
we disentangle
lost in a moment
forgetting time that has slipped us by
I could shout it on the streets,
I could glisten and I could gleam
add a shade of every colour and make myself believe
that each day I don’t see it, that look on their faces
or that I don’t hear them half listen to every word I say.
I can pretend that I’ve been saved from it all,
been freed from a silence and that I am living my truth
but sometimes the truth is far more ugly:
it’s the reason you never quite become friends, it’s the reason everything always has an end or how every joke lands at your expense because your sensitivity is clearly the strongest in the room.
I’ve always known that my interests just can’t be of interest
that my humour is not what’s being laughed at, in those rare moments I feel I can let loose.
I’ve been conditioned to not take up space
told not to go and shove it in their face
yet when this month falls I’m to go and parade?
Forgive me if I’m now playing the victim
forgetting the sacrifice of so many braver than me,
forgetting the privilege of roaming free
but when your difference brings you so much pain, when it paints the most prominent double yellow you’ve ever seen, you can’t quite seem to feel proud not even for a month.
You think of the secret messages that you’d send to Chris or to Nick or to Jay or to Ben knowing in truth, that you’ll never meet, that you would ignore them if you passed them on the street because it wasn’t you they wanted or they didn’t want what matters; with your clothes still on, the interest just flattens.
You think of life events and how you’re still quite far behind
you’re surrounded by love but it never quite reaches over, you just float in its orbit and congratulate the others celebrating two or more years soon to be three while you sit alone at home, hoping someone can see that you’re desperate to be held, you’ll take just a few moments at this point, you feel the lovelessness flow through you, and how it stiffens all your joints.
A month full of pride? Or is it a month to hide
the crippling ripples of shame that stem from a name
Too many thoughts were assaulting me,
Paralyzing my mind, body, spirit, and soul.
They overwhelmed me with the anxious demands of now.
As I wrap myself in a particular warm blanket of reminiscence
I travel away to another time.
Ah, Summer –
Picking strawberries in the field on a clear June day.
My uncle yells to me “gloves might help you pick faster pokey.”
I wipe my muddy shoes off on a piece of solid straight metal
fixed to the stoop landing for this purpose.
The scent of homemade apple slices suddenly confronts me,
Slowing my run through the long front porch,
While the billowing yellow curtains waved me on.
The aroma of bread rising on the kitchen counters
Almost makes me stumble as I walk into the parlor.
Collapsing on an old dusty sofa just as hot and dirty as I.
Completely forgetting my task.
I pulled the blanket of reminiscence tighter.
Not quite yet ready to return to the now.
I was home in the second home of my childhood.
The fragrance of apple cinnamon mixed with the aroma of yeast-raised bread.
Sweet spaghetti sauce bubbled on the stove.
Supper must be soon.
This was the event not to be missed.
It seemed as if 20 people were sitting at that table
On summer evening with calm and peace settling down.
In Aunt Rose’s Kitchen.
This is oft where I go when the life of now
becomes burdensome,
Failures assault my mind,
And shame will not release my soul to peace.
How I long to visit the farm again.
It is packed away in my memory.
Someplace insignificant,
Hidden in a warm blanket of reminiscence
that is only mine.
I sat quietly as the life of then and now slowly merged.
And I smiled.