Long Ian Poems
Long Ian Poems. Below are the most popular long Ian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ian poems by poem length and keyword.
ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
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Not For Contest
That Blessed Door
O the rain...the rain...the falling rain
that fell and fell and fell again
keeping you from my door...O my door...that blessed door!
O the sunset...the sunset...the carnelian sunsets
how I long to hold them in my hand...so when you are blue...so blue
so deep dark blue...you can come to me
and I will open my hand so
you can wonder...O the wonder...wide open wonder
Xanthus yellows and amber golds streaming
from my palm...my palm...my humble palm
and so you will become immortal
O if only I could keep you there
...you...only you swathed in light and warmth
safe...and sound...close to me forever
You who I am lost to...the vessel-ed seas
O how I long for the sea...O the sea...the sparkling sea
in its emerald greens and topaz hues
it's passions, powers …a relentless muse
I long to place it in my heart...
my heart...O my a thousand times broken heart
so the pieces can wash away and I can float free
into the wind...O the wind...the wetted whipping winds that billow the sheets hung in my yard
whispering wild and wondrous things to dreaded demons
washing them away with the rain
...the rain...the falling rain that fell and fell and fell again
keeping you from my door...O my door...that blessed door that opened
to your face -one cold crisp morn...
So blessed by God ...O My God...My Gorgeous God!
if only I could hold you in my soul…O my soul …my sodden soul
that I would not get so often lost in my shadows ...O the shadows
my small and tall...wide and slanting shadows and the darkness
...O the darkness...the black coal darkness
that chases me down alleyways of night and telling taunt me under the slivered moon...
O the moon...my beautiful mindful midnight moon...my crescent and my full moon
O my love ...my love....my eternal love
if only I could sprinkle you like confetti...upon the earth
and every life
O life...the very thing life...the breathe that enters that which wasn't and so then is till cradled in death
Death....O death...O damned-able death!
if only you were not so draped in confession that I must pray
I pray...O how I pray that the vastness...the vastness...the great and cosmic-ian vastness beyond is more splendid still than Earth...
Our Earth...our blessed wondrous Earth
perfect hungry sad beaten tarnished dirtied Earth...O MY EARTH
...how I love you!
The Lie
I am an insect waiting to be squashed!
I stare hard at the ground
as if fascinated, enthralled by it
while, above, eyes of cold-cobalt
wait to gouge and burrow out
any self-belief that might still remain.
“WELL?”
It always starts with that unsettling word.
Ironic as ‘well’ it certainly is not.
“COME ON!! I haven’t got all day!”
The next sharpened remark; his checkmate,
and the denouement usual swiftly follows.
I try to speak but my weighted words
require a wheelbarrow to carry them out.
I am snagged, on the jag, of repeated criticism
which over the years has shrunken me;
diluting my beleaguered confidence.
Most of my childhood years I understood
and welcomed the fluctuations of emotion
however the grammar and punctuation
of every day skirmishes of family life:
the questions marks, the exclamations, the..... ellipses
were rules, restrictions that became impossible to follow.
So here, once again, stands my father’s temper
attempting to confront nay dominate me.
At this point, if my body had consented,
I would have galloped over the nearest horizon
however all my moving parts had gathered together,
loitering, on a corner, spreading rumours and gossip
that had rendered me rigid and immobile!
My only escape, my bolt for freedom, lies… in the lie.
Yes, an untruth, that had lain in the top shelf
of my mind for many troubled days,
fermenting in its own insidious juices.
Now sliding treacherously from the corner of my mouth,
this worded assassin, homes ruthlessly on its target
…my firework of a father.
Suddenly his face tightens, a thought frightens,
his rigid body a jolt of electricity,
as disbelief snakes its way into his thinking.
His anger reddens, his reasoning darkens
and his fists…..boulder.
But the lie has lain down beside him
fabricating disappointment, bewilderment, distrust
deep into the windows of his eyes.. then...much deeper.
Gradually I turn the key in the ignition of my pride
carefully closing my hands, knitting my fingers,
creating a statement of both prayer and defiance.
Later a thought dangles in a corner of my mind,
a consideration, a contemplation of how far the lie
will layer down into my father’s subconscious
before he understands that the lie is a…
Trojan horse carrying … the truth!
Ian Souter
In the dark dark year of 63
Britain's most gruesome murder spree
A conscious betrayal of innocence
With acts of barbarous decadence
Left five young children, in a hole, on the moor
And no one knows if there are more
For silence followed with lips shut tight
Across fifty years, day and night
The most evil couple that spurned from man
A couple with a killing plan
On a promise of puppies and sweets
He was the outright antagonist
His callous blonde lover willing to assist
While silently waiting holding his breath
With her female trust they were led to their death
Have some apples, I have kittens to stroke
And a murderous intention
To help rape and to choke
On a promise of puppies and sweets
All of these children totally perplexed
Forced to engage in unnatural sex
Then pose for nude pictures before being raped
With all of this heinous so casually taped
Then bludgeoned to death with insatiable force
The boot of a car and onto the moor
A cold wet grave for the body of a child
On a hostile moor, windswept and wild
On a promise of puppies and sweets
Tortured and bludgeoned with axe and with scorn
No pretty flowers nor graveyard for mourn
Outrageously thrown in a hole on the moor,
Where they lay undiscovered for a score year or more
Come little one, come follow me
Come see the puppies, come now and see
I have sweeties and apples and playthings for you
And a callous intention, to end your life, too
As the killers closed their eyes to the gore
On a promise of puppies and sweets
This is the tale of Britain's worst crime
This could not happen, well not at this time
But happen it did and a nation left reeled
As five innocent children lay dead in a field
Continuous silence continues today
Where children are buried, they would not say
As they danced on a grave and took photographs
With Myra so happy, so happy she laughed
Ian looked so proud as he stared at the floor
With a freshly dug patch of a huge hostile moor
That had no divining line, where the land and sky meets
On a promise of puppies and sweets
Both of these monsters spent a long time in a cell
Until the devil welcomed them, to join him in hell
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
Deservingly so, that is the truth
Inspired by the lovely dance scene between the beautiful Elena (Nina Dobrev) and handsome Damon (Ian Somerhalder) in Season 1, Episode 19: "Miss Mystic Falls" of the alluring and magical TV show, "The Vampire Diaries". The intimacy of not quite touching as part of the dance steps alludes to a simpler and nobler time of romance.
Duet ballad.
Take me to eternity
By Michelle Morris
29/03/2023
You're dangerous
It's obvious for all to see
The world knows your power
You're a sinner who wants to believe
In love and ever after
In trust and happiness
Loyalty and true devotion
Is there something here for us?
So close we are in the here and now
Not quite touching in the here and now
Do you think we could ever be?
Do you think we have the magic we need?
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
In times gone by
I'd be your knight
In times gone by
I'd do everything right
Now, here we are
Not quite touching
Dancing together
Moving in unison
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
You're mesmerising
It's obvious for all to see
The world knows your beauty
You're an angel who wants to believe
In love and ever after
In trust and happiness
Loyalty and true devotion
Is there something here for us?
So close we are in the here and now
Not quite touching in the here and now
Do you think we could ever be?
Do you think we have the magic we need?
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
Oh, oh, oh...
Take... Take all of me
Take me to eternity
Take... Take all I am
Take me to your freedom
© Michelle Morris, 2023
i treated your loss just like death
grieving for you as i did my mother
i still wonder if the universe
wasn't teaching me a lesson in karma
for you were a personification of heaven
which surely meant there would be hell to pay
for a year i tried to drown you out
with illegal drugs and spirits
something to wipe away the memories
numb the gut wrenching pain
and to quiet the nightmares
that made me fearful of sleep
you still remain
after my previous endeavors failed
i sought out pleasurable company
calling on old acquiantances
and admirers of our once shared love
dull, boring, lacking in every sense
and that is putting it mildly
then that lonely august afternoon
an unexpected surprise
chiming from within my apartment
your tender voice on the other end
everything rushing back
my soul revitalized
your freshman year in your rearview
returning home to gather creature comforts
inviting me for a ride along to arizona
after all others had declined
i hesitated thinking it a bad idea
but knew the courage it must've took to ask
hey danny, do you remember
sleeping in the cab of your truck
at that shady looking truck stop
just over the new mexico state line
you nestled up in my arms sleeping
just like old times
i remember climbing with you
through the catalina shadows
chasing roses instead of lilacs
jumping over chasms
eating prickly pears
and showering in the springs
three days i spent in your bliss again
while three days you sharpened your dagger
waking up to the sight of ian
hovering over me, smiling
like a buzzard mocking its pray
unaware i'd been mislead
our time together cut short by my request
unable to bear the thought of you having moved on
standing alone at the terminal side-by-side
your hand reached over to cup mine
turning i could see the tears welling up in your eyes
your voice cracking now with apologies
one final embrace
your face buried into my chest as you sobbed
your eyes opening shedding tears
one final kiss
feeling just like the first
under the fall
a decade has gone by
i've sworn off love in hopes
someday you'll return to reclaim what's yours
now and forevermore
even after all we've been through
you still remain
~ fin ~
The Expert in Death
She reluctantly closed the book,
locking the painting back inside her mind,
then a sudden frisson of emotion,
another surreal-reveal moment,
and her smile was flint; lips unmoving
as slices of memory were being served…cold.
The relationship began with an Internet handshake
and a few engaging discoveries about each other.
It developed weekly, daily via the telephone,
stretching from Whitefish, Montana to Dover in Kent.
Initially, they felt distanced from each other
but soon they were emotionally in the next room.
A month later, in London, they met,
a spill of nervousness, a thrill of emotions
and that night jazz developed their relationship,
an allegro rhythm which rose to a presto beat
and then ‘hey presto’ they were moving in together.
He, a job in London; she followed, as did their marriage.
The months hustled by, the clock ticked relentlessly
but their allegro rhythm slackened, slowed to adagio.
Then gradually he began to control, to criticize
and, on one occasion, even bully with bruises.
It pleasured him, darkened him, reminded him
and slowly he began to feast on it.
But he hadn’t noticed that someone else had moved in!
The artist, Salvador Dali, had slipped into her imagination
and had decided to settle, to stay, to simmer.
So now the surreal had entered their relationship
but what he did note was the tickling cough again
and the spit of pain, occasionally scoring his stomach.
Preparing the evening meal, she felt for the perfumed bottle
caressing its curved edges she flushed with excitement,
soon she was adding seasoned drops of Aqua Tofana,
those special ingredients: arsenic, lead and belladonna
and she slyly sed at the irony of the situation.
He thought HE was the power and SHE knew he wasn’t!
Very soon now she was to be a widow…..a black one
but she knew she wouldn’t cry, she’d been disconnected,
and after all, she was now an expert in death.
She thought once again of the book, the painting,
the Salvador Dali image - Death Outside the Head
and then of the enduring journey of her subconscious.
Ian Souter Nov, 2024
What a beautiful, romantic day
Most wonderful day of my life
I soak up the sun, every ray
We're going to be husband and wife
The wedding cake's beautiful but where's the knife?
And where's my dad? He should be here
To give me away, oh my, oh dear!
Oh my God! What a Stag Night
I can't quite remember, what did we do?
Why's there a tattoo on my butt on the right?
And why is half my hair blue?
I'm panicking now about what will ensue
When in the shower blue dye starts to disappear
And the girl's name just dissolves from my rear.
I'm loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer
A triple dare
Of a husband number three
My beautiful day, I swirl for the show
Hubby number three won't be free for a while.
Still puzzling, how did I get here?
A triple trouble stands in front of me
The bachelor party a couple of nights ago
I wish I was free again
The knife in the cake crumbles as the sweet cake is savoured.
As the blushing bride I look all around
My brothers and sisters, eyes open wide
They look at the cake and at the groom frown
But they're smacking their lips but not at the bride
The church doors are locked, everyone is inside
When will the service be over, how long will it take?
Before they can get their hands on that cake.
As the blushing groom I nervously look at a sister
The brothers are scowling, her kids just grinning
Don't think you can back out now mister
My fate is sealed, my head is spinning
The priest calls to order, the service beginning
I glance across at the majestic cake
Like Kilimanjaro no knife could it break.
The wedding day rings dancing on the plate
Waiting to be worn on this forever date
The service ends, the wedding bells still ringing
The now wife and husband each having
A million thoughts running
The groom takes a quick glance at his years of single
The bride not holding back on this mingle.
She loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer, a triple dare
Of a husband number three
He is still puzzling, how he got here
The cake demolished to only one crumb
Just like his chances of being free
The Shed
...was Granddad's before he died.
And now its loneliness reached out to the boy
from the shaded, shuffling shadows
that shushed the sheltered garden.
They pulled, they tugged at his guilt-filled absence
until he slink-slunked through the greenery,
standing to attention outside its wooded frame.
It had been Grandad’s domain, his citadel,
built from leftover bits of wood and insulation
collected, or purloined, from…wherever.. whenever.
Slowly, respectively, the boy sneak-peaked the door ajar,
slipping inside, stepping into the window’s filtered light
but he was unprepared for the shock that shook him!
Memories of Grandad unfolded themselves everywhere
his tools: ruler, chisel, plane, saw and his Swedish workbench,
the unfinished projects and most of all…..Grandad’s flat cap;
it angled from a hook like an ageing photograph.
The boy sensed his skin tighten, his breath narrow
as precious memories skipped into his head;
the alchemy of playfulness, tomfoolery, inventiveness
that forged and built those ‘togetherness’ wooden creations.
Then Grandad’s voice resounded inside the boy’s head,
“Aye well I’m a little bit different lad.
I like to imagine left-handed bars of chocolate
and he’d touch his nose and add, “The nose knows, you know!”
The boy folded up with emotion as he remembered
how his words were shy around others … never Grandad.
He encouraged, praised, sparkled a smile that polished you up
like a warming pat on the back, adding a phrase like,
“We’re two forks sharing the same plate, mate!”
And then all was well.
The boy now left the shed with a rucksack of renewed memories
and a resolve to undertake a new project in Grandad’s shed.
He touched his nose whispering, “The nose knows, you know!”
then remembered Grandad’s favourite saying,
“What do great minds do?” He could hear Grandad ask.
And this time the boy replied, “They think…… for themselves!”
And he smiled himself all the way down the garden;
Grandad’s creative essence would live forever in his thoughts.
Ian Souter April, 25