Long Gay Poems
Long Gay Poems. Below are the most popular long Gay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gay poems by poem length and keyword.
Dreaming shows you many hidden things in your mind; it opens you to alternative thinking…
What are friends? Are friends someone you can trust? What is trust? What is trusting? I've always asked myself this, but never really answered it... Friends are always something I have struggled with.
How does someone become your friend? Is it an unspoken thing? A mutual agreement? A strive to be popular? Or is it a feeling that everyone has?
Throughout my elementary years I had 6 friends. Brandon, Mattia, Isaac, Matthew, and 2 girls, Emily and Sydney. When I hit 5th grade, Isaac, who was my best friend, moved away.
I had one big problem, people who I saw as friends, weren't really friends. There were a lot of things said behind my back and people would use me as a fall guy.
Onto my dream...
My dreams as a kid, before I trained myself to lucidly dream, were, as far as I knew, real. And to be honest, for the most part I don't know what was a dream and what wasn't...
I remember the new "cool" game to play was ZAP... If you don't know what zap is it is pretty much you put a name on a hand and a time and they can't look at it until that time or they must ask them out. This also happened to be the time the term "gay" had hit my school, so I had a guys name written on my hand. So once I found out what it was I went and washed it all off. so as we went back in class everyone who fell to peer pressure which was pretty much everyone but me got in trouble.
Now I told the teacher I had it at one time but I washed it off at lunch because Iw anted to be honest.... She just said that was the right thing to do.... But everyone started laughing at my calling me gay and such because it was a guys name... So when asked who satarted it someone said ask the gay kid.... Well of course I got blamed with it so I was sent to the principal with not one, but two reasons to be in trouble... I woke... got ready for school, and as I was getting to school guess what I saw? A new friend, and its name was Zap.....
What is a true friend? Is it someone who will stand for you? Someone who is always there? Do you have a true friend? Do you trust that person? Now answer that again, do you really? Ask yourself a third time, how do you really know they are your friend?
P.S. Thank you all for all the support, I have really appreciated all the positive feedback on my work... Jarrod D.~
When I Give You My Heart…
The love I give to you dear one,
Is love I know belongs to me,
To think that it is yours alone
Is adolescent fantasy.
For if this love weren’t really mine
How could it then be mine to give?
If heart is always True Love’s home,
Without a heart how could I live?
It may not bring you comfort love
And you may never feel secure,
But dreams my heart is only yours,
Reveal a heart that’s immature.
For you to tell me that’s your gift,
Suggests that you’re naïve at best,
For even if you think it’s true,
The emperor is still undressed!*
At least most men aren’t made that way,
Our futures never are for sure.
And pleasures taken while we can
While praying there might be a cure.
A sick child cause our love to end,
Even our jobs drive us apart,
Though no one plans on stuff like this,
It spells disaster for the heart.
A partner that decides they’re gay,
Somehow an accidental death,
The day your spouse does not come home,
The world can take away your breath.
So when I ‘just’ give you my love
Please check your heart to know it’s true
And realize that lover’s chose,
It’s really all that one can do.
A witches spell, a chain of fire
Cannot restrain decay to dust,
A lifetime all we have to live,
Where good days start with hope and trust.
Brian Johnston
August 29, 2014
Poet's Notes:
* ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ – A tale by Hans Christian Anderson about two weavers who promise an Emperor a new suit of clothes that is invisible to those unfit for their positions, stupid, or incompetent. When the Emperor parades before his subjects in his new clothes, a child cries out, "But he isn't wearing anything at all!" The tale has been translated into over a hundred languages. From ‘Wikipedia.'
Few go into a relationship with the expectation of love not lasting a lifetime, and yet we all know our relationship too will end, sooner or later, hopefully the latter. The time spent may be quality time or more of a learning experience, usually a mixture of both. But nothing can totally prepare us for the future except to be honest with ourselves and to admit, we are not really in control. That understanding can make things easier for those able to embrace it. Failure may always be failure, but being able and willing to forgive, to love yourself too, is the only path to future happiness in my experience.
When I feel compassion
with my positive needs
for love
health
trust
safety,
When I feel compassion
for my fears
wounds
negative fortress wants
to overpower perceived threats
against my egocentric compromises
with ruthless capitalism,
soulless patriarchalism,
strategic genocide,
extractive ecocide,
smug and heartless anthrosupremacy,
aggressively diseased LeftBrain dominance
inside my ruminating self
as schizophrenically viral
outside Those Evil People
voices
without kind choices,
When I feel compassion
with my healthy integral potential
and for my pathological capacity
to do more harm
to further wound EarthTribal consciousness
to militarize my fearmongering
and anger repressing words,
When I feel compassion
as the guy who loves listening
to friends and family, and even foes
excited about our multigenerational attachments
to multicolored
and fabulously gay designed
exotically sexy fragrant flowers
Is also the coempathizing guy
who shares DNA
and bicameral neurosystemic flow structures
with Vladimir Putin
and those who voted for him,
with Adolph Hitler
and those who voted for him,
Donald Trump
and those who voted for him,
Mitch McConnell
and those who voted for his Straight Corporate Man Party,
and possibly even Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene,
and those Georgians who voted for her
bad blond self-image
Which is decidedly not Green
in any feminist compassionate
organically cooperative
and co-empathically engaged way
and means to truth
and healthy resilient life
Maybe,
as I have sometimes whispered,
not-green Greene is a toxic infestment
machine
planted by an alien aryan planet
When I feel compassion
what do I need?
want?
crave?
CoEmpathic cooperation
and healthy co-investment,
experiences of win/win strategic game playing,
celebrating our resonant
positive
social neurological systems
for restorative health
for cooperative
long-term
EarthTribe safety.
When I feel compassion
for my engaged side
AND my dark and ominous potential
to fail in my own indigenous
humane
natural/spiritual development potential,
Then I can at least laugh
with my own creative conspiracy theories
and against my own tragic Earth-degenerative
Mutually Assured Destruction,
MADness that might take out humanity
Or,
even worse,
eradicate Earth's wild
and domesticated flowers.
Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
I've seen what trauma does, I know how hard it hits. Every one I know who has it, knows it doesn't quit.
I've been in the darkness, where I felt like a waste of space. When I went into a crowd. I would put a mask on my face.
I never spoke about how i felt, when I did I felt I complained to much. I'd hold it in and explode, because the pressure would build up.
I've been through hell, and I still survive. Because I can't let pain, take my life
Now you will struggle, you must do your best, all that trauma, is your test
If you fail, you'll never see, all the wonderful things, that you can be
Now we all go through hardships, and I know its hard, its all the same deck, we just have different cards.
Now there is people who love you, I am one of them. I will always be by your side, I'll always be your friend
I have issues, that I've never really said, all this imagery, flowing through my head.
I always have been missing, the one I call my dad, now I really need a father, that I always dreamed I had.
Life is sure not perfect, It was hard for me to learn. I still have the scars on my heart, from every time it burned.
I grew up with my aunt, I never had my mom, I also grew up thinking, I did some thing wrong.
I do not blame my mother, because it as was all my dad, when she came to see us, he treated her so bad.
I also lived with my uncle, who came and left again, fighting an addiction. A fight he never wins.
I was taken from my family, and put in foster care. I hated everything. I always said it was not fair.
I had my demons, I battled every day, I always jumped a hurdle, but they got bigger along the way.
I struggled with my self. I knew that I was gay, but I hated my self for it, I was told its not okay.
I always tried to fit in, but it was nothing but trouble. Every piece I tried, never fit the puzzle.
I never was comfortable, with who I was within, depending on who was there, I tried on different skin
I've been crossed, and ive had a beating, but through it all, here I am still breathing.
I've Told you this story,hoping that it helped you, I want you to know , you can always break through.
Now for the closer, i wake up every day, and just before I go to bed, I pray that your okay.
What doesn't kill you, will make you stronger, once you keep that in mind, you will pain no longer
Janice Avery loved deep green nature; like cherry sunset owls, gawping.
She dwelt with her parents and Sissy, when old, golden days were walking.
They lived out in the hilly country, where orangeish stars could be seen;
And summer seemed to last forever, for days held a predominate sheen.
Noons were filled with happiness laughter, that foreshadowed pink moon.
Life was young, but blue world was old. Burgundy butterflies left cocoons!
Mauve fog was doing its fadeaway, as never failing, friends came calling;
When feisty fandango flowers flopped-in scent breezes, sweetly recalling!
Future blooms were dreaming buds, in the spring of faultless, family visits,
Via paths, lined with flowers of familiar hues. Birds sang in willow thickets.
Janice lived in the house of cool shadows, beneath lovely, sheltering oaks;
With colored birds at each window! Back fences, saw many tales and jokes!
Rich, raspberry sun lent sights to remember, on their road of blue flowers.
'Ere reverent night fell richly! Like marmalade change, expected in hours.
Numerous hued clouds were etched nebulously, on dusk skies, blackberry,
When nostalgic neighbors came fondly, as a turquoise moon rose, solitary.
'Midnight valentine' camillas felt Cupid's arrows, under yellow stars of thrall;
And 'Lady Margaret' passionflower vine, in burgundy, crept late to the ball!
'Gay goblin' flowers indulged red revelry, as 'brilliant lilies' rivaled the sun;
When 'sultry scarlet' blooms pined for sunset, like nostalgic noon, undone!
Janice was a birdwatcher, for she loved pretty songbirds' chirps and trills;
But, she wanted to see them up close! So, she put seed on her windowsill.
One day as she was entering the room, she saw a red cardinal, hopping;
And pecking her seed as he hopped. Janice ran, but he was not stopping!
Yet, Janice had gotten a good glimpse of red, like sunset skies, before dark;
With a shake he'd flown into azure sky, destnation garden, or green park.
Janice realized moments are precious, and the briefest, might be golden;
And those are the ones most likely to revisit, once twinkling time is olden!
'Once I saw a little bird
Go hop, hop, hop,
So I said: – little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?
Then I was going to the window
To say "How do you do?"
But he shook his little tail,
And away he flew!'
Let's take the world as it began. First, there
was Earth, animals, and then man. Let's finish
this case: then came the human race--people of
the human face. Where did all these human laws
come from? They came from them who are us,
along with fun.
Then came sex to complete the human deck,
given to life to promote more of it. Sex is not
only a physical thing. Sex is a feeling that's in
every human being.
Be you straight or gay, sex is as real as night,
love and day. There was a time when the same
sex made love under the heavenly stars above.
This was before the laws of man; it happened
over and over again. And, of course, there
was sex between man and woman or wife.
Who made the laws of what's wrong and what's
right? What was the issue what was the fight? If it
was right then, then why is it not right now? Laws
were made by who where, when, why, and how?
Okay, no answer needed for that. Let's go to where
it's really at.
The ***** gives life and gives love; it was given to man
from God above. Well man needs love, like woman too.
Maybe that's what the ***** was made to do. This may
knock you on the floor. Perhaps the ***** is the key that
opens the locks to love's door. Perhaps some men can't
feel love before it is felt. Just think about that to yourself.
And maybe the same goes for woman too, except
they can also make babies too. When this is put into
context;makes one wonder what comes next? Well, the
world seems to lack the love it needs, instead there's
hatred, pain, suffering and greed.
They say God is love and love is God; without that love
the world gets odd. Now, I'm not saying what's right or
what's wrong. I may be asking the question, where has
love gone? Very little of it exists today. Maybe it's because
we have not allowed the other way.
Man is master under the sun; he controls what is and
is not done. But what happens when man has lost himself?
His suffering is felt by everyone else. Now, in the beginning,
there were straight and gay. Why can't it still be the same way?
Some may say the animals in nature don't do that,
but you are not a dog or a cat. Humans are on a higher
plane, animals and man are not the same. Maybe some
men do need love from another. Then it's good if that
love brings a love-starved world together.
Today, we saw the handwriting of imperialism
On the walls of our democracy
Today, our sovereignty is on the scaffold,
Pilloried by a white supremacist,
Who threatened our country and her people.
Mr Secretary has written a long list
Threatening our leaders from venturing on their soil;
A proclaimed God's own country,
Where God really does not matter,
But desires that are too alien for a normal thinking mind.
On Blinken's List
Are names of men who bear our names and culture
And the Africanness that we portray.
We are no second-class people
Whose leaders can be threatened by the power of arms by America.
Blinken wrote to teach us right from wrong
But right in His backyard, more evil looms,
The US election is under scrutiny,
The Texas shooting is still fresh in our minds.
Blinking or Blinken
Mr. Secretary, stop blinking
For we are wise enough to know your inkling;
The lands you have ravaged,
And the people that have gone back to the dust,
Through the power of ammunitions you wield,
In Afghanistan and Iraq
And your love for the zionist oppressor.
A Visa Ban
One meant for your barn
And your land which will
Never be close to the beauty of paradise.
We no longer believe in you and your values
And we have no resources for you and your cronies to loot.
Tell us what good is in your country;
Hell packaged in a pleasure box
Sought by those ready to be doomed,
All your men are fast becoming women
In the name of being gay.
And your fallen dollar value
Should be a headache from the BRICS.
Tell us what is good about your land,
The drugs and the constant shootings that have become a norm,
The vices and the oppression of which your castles were built
Are issues enough for your table.
We are Africans
We are a people of worth
Who will never bow to any bully,
We are a loving people
And we can't be forced to roam our streets like your naked ones.
The days of colonisation have passed,
We can no longer accept your acts of re-colonization,
Through your list of deceit,
Where our professors are being pummelled
And our leaders are being accused
Of a crime which they never committed.
Like you have traitors
We have the treacherous
For we are a people of varying tribes
And of sages and scribes
And we also have a right
To stop you from stepping on our soil.
Ayinla Muyideen
(C) 2023
I keep hearing them say it
in the media these days,
we need representation,
it’s the only thing they say!
Now if they say it that much
they must be quite serious,
so I looked on into it,
and ended up quite non-plussed.
’Cause based on demographics
it seems to me rather plain
that if we’re to make progress
then we’ll have to make a change.
You see I’ve noticed on screen
a third of people look black,
and for the longest time I
thought nothing was wrong with that.
But then I say the census
and I was rather amazed
that blacks were thirteen percent
of this country’s modern day,
which means there are too many
getting jobs in Hollywood,
overrepresentation
I assume is not that good.
what people have lost their shot
of being portrayed in film
because of miscalculation,
how many folks never will?
So if we are to be fair,
represent folks properly,
start firing black actors,
or you hate diversity!
But even more worrisome,
and even more out of whack,
are the percentages of gay
characters that people act.
The way our TV shows it
one-fifth of the people are gay,
but according to surveys
only three percent feel that way!
Which means what’s on the TV
does not represent real life,
and if we cannot see ourselves
how can we develop right?
To balance out the numbers
means drastic measures, I fear,
to correct representation
means less stories about ‘*****.’
But that’s not the start of it,
look at the folks some call ‘trans,’
cause celebre in Hollywood,
are they woman, are they man?
See so many in movies,
but if we’re to represent
then I will have to point out
they’re.02 percent.
Once again they’re too many,
and something has to be done,
since being represented
is vital to everyone!
To cast so many trans folk
can really do lots of harm,
you’re underrepresenting
all of the people who aren’t!
Unless, of course, these crusades
are only a load of bull,
nothing more than a charade,
a chance to virtue signal,
so shallow people feel special
without having to do work,
a chance to puff themselves up,
look down on others as jerks.
There’s nothing people like more
then feeling they’re somehow great,
and if the truth impedes that
then reality becomes ‘hate.’
I suppose we could go back
to hiring on merit,
but they’re not gonna do that…
someone might call them ’bigot.’
I am scrolling down hill,
folding the pills,
elongating the tree's
and simplifying the breeze,
I am a song to be played-
earlier than you might say
in the day,
when hearing is a complaint
and danger is delayed,
but you are a spade,
to be wondered and craved,
you are your own way,
with the sing of the slave-
underground-
above the haze,
glazed with the betrayed,
honed in on like waves,
so stubborn your gay-
holding on to the page!
Don't you walk that way!
Troubled little weaver-
always weavin' in and out of the days,
with your face,
and two others that may show you the way.
So...Whenever there is game,
whenever you are just being insane,
two others can ring your ping-
scratch at your lawn,
ease your bickering fawn,
who is ages old-
cranky and yet cold,
shines like the rivers of silver soles,
wasted and bold.
...Blanketing and broad like the system of the slots,
put in a coin so you can jog-
with your eye's,
and with your pogs,
fall to the floor,
while dude ranchers await cry's out the doors,
become single and slower,
dangerous like snow blowers,
manned by cats
with fake joints hangin' in their lips crowin,'
as they are growin,' croppin,'
and sowing,
the stage is set to start goin,'
but you stay all knowin'-
with the people out there- asses a blowin'!
Like the sound of the tick was that on it-
like the leaper out of time was so subordinate,
you know you could have grabbed mine,
you know about other ways to shine,
but still you sit and grind-
sleep and unwind,
base your catches on other famous people's finds...
I don't confide,
I really don't try,
I just hear god and ask about the water in the sky,
why doesn't it come down on African pride?
When they need it most?
When we know 911 proved evil the most...
But sit here and boast
and you'll hear gods jokes-
he's got what a man needs,
he's got you underneath a sheet,
so don't breathe!
Just start running,
got the mustard?
Pray for a plead,
because random people leave
while friends try and greet,
an acre of land with animals and plants couldn't please,
even if they spoke the language, and cured the disease,
sorry if I sound meek-
but pride comes when I'm done writing these...