Long Fragments Poems
Long Fragments Poems. Below are the most popular long Fragments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fragments poems by poem length and keyword.
A Found Poem from the Bing Homepage
Earns record-breaking medal,
a boxer apologizes, is sad,
wins US Senate primary.
Campaign raises $138.7M,
to lay off 15% of workforce,
US launches antitrust probe.
Child sex abuse sentence,
Utah abortion ban halted,
net neutrality rules blocked.
Rain showers,
a Christian petition rebuking,
conservative attacks receive thousands.
50 icons famous after they died,
Charlamagne tha God on racial attacks,
'I don’t give a damn.'
The 1-ingredient upgrade for eggs,
complete fantasy,
a Western movie brutally assessed.
Egyptian women’s beach volleyball team,
slams French hijab ban after Olympic match,
Kamala Harris's lucky break.
Encrypted memories, time has sealed.
A tender heart, a fragile mind,
Innocence lost, left undefined.
Electric currents surged with might,
Shocking waves through a soul so slight.
Torn fragments of a childhood's grace,
Lost in a haze, a haunting space.
The surgeon's hands, a silent thief,
Erased emotions, causing grief.
A flickering light, a fading spark,
Etched scars upon a wounded heart.
But through the darkness, seeds still grow,
Resilient spirit, beginning to show.
Unraveling the tangled web,
Reclaiming strength, where once was dread.
From shattered pieces, a mosaic blooms,
Whispering secrets, breaking through gloom.
I rise above, no longer confined,
Encrypted memories, now unbind.
ADMIRATION OF ANTIQUITIES
fragments
advanced
as enhancements
unravel
incorporated
in original frames
partially pseudo
a near profile
enlivened by figures
so elegant
in elevated status
an
artistic
tradition
integrating& enduring
notions
from a
feathered
consciousness
efforts in the venerated
tradition
with predilections
so
renowned
in traces
of a particular
treatment
achieved&
envisioned
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Tossing and Turning
Night does not come gently anymore—
it arrives heavy, like a question I refuse to answer.
I lie between breaths and truth,
caught in the quiet war of what is felt
and what is only received.
You love me—
not in fragments, not in hesitation,
but in full, unguarded offering,
like open hands that never learned to close.
And I…
I stand there, holding everything,
feeling the weight of gold I never asked for,
afraid to drop it,
afraid to keep it.
There is a kindness in you
that makes my silence feel like cruelty.
A gentleness that turns my uncertainty
into something almost unforgivable.
Because how do you wound
what has only ever healed you?
How do you turn away
from a heart that never turned from you?
So I stay—
not out of love,
but out of fear dressed like loyalty.
Not out of longing,
but out of the trembling thought
that leaving you might break something
that cannot be mended.
And so I toss—
between honesty and hesitation,
between truth and the comfort of pretending.
I turn—
away from the mirror of your devotion,
away from the echo of a feeling
that refuses to grow inside me.
You deserve a fire,
and I am only a flicker
trying not to go out.
You deserve certainty,
and I am a doorway
that never fully opens.
Still, you remain—
loving me in ways I cannot return,
waiting in spaces I cannot fill.
And I, restless in borrowed warmth,
keep rearranging my conscience
like sheets that will not settle.
Morning always comes,
but it brings no answers—
only the same quiet ache,
the same unspoken truth:
that love, when not returned,
becomes a place
where both hearts slowly lose their way.
NB: Written for a friend to a friend
You might not remember; it was so long ago.
Our memories devise tricks to flush away pain.
But I walk here in the alleys of remorse
During the darkening final days of the year.
I seek to atone for my neglect, all my plunder.
Our life was torn asunder; all my hollow thunder.
I hunger now for any light; it is true.
But I taste your ghostly wounds in the night stew.
Some of my stages of shame perpetually replay.
No amends, no expression of regret relieves them.
Hedonism never realized its promise of pleasure,
A sugarcoated cereal deadening life’s flavor.
Roaming alone through twisting backstreets.
Survival crawled by irritable, temperamental, impersonal,
My sharp edges and dim wit drove me out of bounds.
I was a delinquent turned out at all the sanctuaries.
I lay in exhaustion, my head in my arms.
Something pealed, yes, some sort of carillon
Again, again, chiming, crystal tones climbing.
Notre Dame, Westminster Abby,
A chorus of cathedral bells tolling, extolling
Clear harmonies rolling, springing, showering,
Towering, overpowering, a new belonging,
A new donging, a new righting of wrongs.
Here, spontaneous essence self-assembles,
Deepest being chiming, dinging in time,
The flood and flurry of bells rain down on me.
I can never repair my failed fragments
Returning like a tiresome uncle.
But perhaps I can thrive, fully alive.
Ringing and pinging, singing of my new self.
For all I have failed to be,
I celebrate my outpouring of love,
my season of rapture.
Life is
Life is never easy
everyone will say it’s true
Especially if the palette
is a dismal shade of blue
More than one can handle
when the weight is far too much
Loneliness and sorrow
and some other things and such
Life is not an object
you can put upon a shelf
Toss into a dresser drawer
to keep it from yourself
Paint it with a magic pen
that’s filled with promised ink
Hide behind a photograph
no matter what you think
Life is not a carpet
you can vacuum day and night
Gathering the fragments
that have hidden there from sight
Mix it in a blender
till its creamy satin smooth
Pack up in a cardboard box
when you decide to move
Life is not a fantasy
with castles and their kings
Paisley painted paragraphs
or any written things
Butterflies and daffodils
along the garden wall
Nor a day in springtime
or an evening in the fall
Life, though if you look at it
can be so many things
If you just turn in the past
for what tomorrow brings
For it can change, I know it can
A beautiful display
That’s why I’ve written down these words
So to you I can say
Life is what you make of it
each morning you arise
If you wear a smile
as you open up your eyes
You’ll find a world that’s beautiful
out there for you to see
So come on now, its waiting there
see what your life can be
Ok, not one of my best. But I hope you like it.
To Montale and Hopkins
''God descends to only a few'', Montale
I’ve heard the songs of the Lemon tress
They’re filled with liquid golden light
Reflected from yellow cathedral fruits
Singing out even unto the unholy noisy night
These fragrant melodies stir the mind
Carrying along life’s sweetness in a rhyme
Out of Capri, Naples and Sicilian bays they sing
Wrapped In their warm glow of divine sunshine
I’ve listened to the Lemon trees
I’ve heard the songs they sing
I’ve even heard the Boxwood sing
The Peach and Cherry too
I’ve heard their voices come in Spring
Singing psalms for me and you
Knowledge that their music brings
Of God’s perfect fragrant light
In perfumed whispering breaths
With them and nature all is right
Their leaves shine out in holy love
and all an athletic growth of grace
Reflections of God’s holy will
Revealing His divine face
Their songs all cannot hear
when living in a discordant fog of sin
Under fragments of a broken sky within
Their songs live within His enclosed embrace
Their songs all cannot hear
From inside cracked and covered pots
of dark earth’s blackened clay
faces hidden, ears closed each day
When rains come down
sustaining melodies flow out
Rising mists incarnating divinity
Praising God’s eminent magnificence
You were the mesmeric moon for me,
gleaming in the cradle of the argentine night,
slithered in the silken sky I called mine,
a turquoise trail you traced in my heart.
Thunder clouds surged from the edge of night,
the debris of the splintered sky swathed me.
I saw you retreat through the glare of anguish lightning,
searing the strewn fragments of my cracked heart.
In the resplendent hours of the rising sun,
I painted with fervent fervor,
on the blank canvas of my mind, your flushing face,
sedately smiling, the eyes sparkling with my dream.
I travelled through the tempest of tough times,
that destroyed everything I made,
but arose from the ruins, retrieved the painting
from the recess of the mangled memory.
Your unsplit smile was saved with all its splendor,
my yearning shined in your eyes as ever,
devoid of ravaging sign the stroke of time inflicts,
although I found the canvas cracked.
_______________
March 6, 2023
Contest : Cracked
Sponsored by : Anthony Biaanco
Lines Written In Nineteen Ninety Three
((with apologies to Rabindranath Tagore)
Where fear stalks the mind and the head hangs in shame;
Where knowledge is twisted;
Where the country has been broken up into fragments by narrow walls of caste and creed;
Where words are mouthed for short-term gains;
Where insatiable lust stretches its arms towards seats of power;
Where the clear stream of reason has dried up in the scorching heat of the forest of communal
flare-ups;
Where the mind is led backward by Thine enemy into ever-narrowing thought and action –
From this nightmare of licence,my Father; let my country awake.
There are long years to come ,and I know
I would never lick fresh sweetness
from the sugar of your lips
Nor will I taste the salty tears of last goodbyes
But my beloved...
there will never be a sunset without me thinking of you
I'll think of you with perpetual affection
As I stroll by the river,I seek your reflection
I touch you,I'd feel you through fragments of memories
Memories of better times
Of flowers and breeze,Vineyards and fields
I touch you in memories that will never leave
I see you,I see you with the eyes of a child born blind
beyond the perception of shade and light
I see you in the same way He sees his world, and lives each dream
With a crazy sensation of intense hues
above the spectrum of unrecognized blues
And I love you, but how do I love you
I love you with all that I was and all that I'll be
I love you with my silence and solitude
With my spirit's exhale,and all that is me
I love you with the depth of where my heart resides
Between what is real,faith,and where illusion abides
I love you not with my flesh and bone
But with a bleeding emotion that lives
in my infinite soul.