Long Identity Poems
Long Identity Poems. Below are the most popular long Identity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Identity poems by poem length and keyword.
OH MY JESUS SAVE US FROM THE FIRES.OF HELL AND LEAD ALL SOULS TO HEAVEN ESPECIALLY THOSE MOST IN NEED OF THY MERCY MY GOD PETE WHY DID YOU TELL ME YOU WERE IN HIDING THIS WAY LOOKING FOR A NEW IDENTITY TO HIDE BEHIND I REALIZE CIRO’S IDENTITY WASN'T A GREAT FIT ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU WEREN'T TWINS NO WAY YOU BOTH BORN IN 1934 YOU IN OCTOBER CIRO IN DECEMBER IT'S CLEAR ALL THE CARDS AND LETTERS FROM MA YOU WERE BORN 1937 UNLESS YOU AND CIRO WERE TWINS BUT THEN NO TWINS HAVE EVER BEEN BORN 2 MONTHS APART NOW HOW ARE YOU GOING TO GET AWAY WITH BEING BORN IN 1949 YOU SHOULD REALLY TRY SOMETHING NEW SOMETHING FITTING YOUR AGE YOU ARE A GARGANO FOR CHRIST SAKE WHAT ABOUT YOUR KIDS GRAND KIDS WHY ARE YOU SO ALONE IN THESE TENDER YEARS I DO FEEL AWFUL TRULY MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND AND I DONATES TO ST FRANCIS XAVIOR OH PETER ARE YOU WELL HOWS YOUR CANCER YOUR HEART WOWBI MUST PRAY FOR YOUR SOUL RIGHT NOW AND YOU PRAY TOO HOW'D YOU SURVIVE CIRO’S MADNESS HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE JUST ANOTHER BIRTHDAY WHY YOU'RE ONLY 88 YEARS OLD I DON'T KNOW HOW I COULD HELP YOU I AM SURE THE KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS IN SAN CARLOS BEACH AND YOUR WONDERFUL FAMILY CAN PROVIDE YOUR CONTINUED CARE HOWS SANDY AND CHRISTINA WHAT A BLESSING TO HAVE SUCH A HUGE FAMILY OF LOVED ONES MOST OF ALL YOUR LOVING WIFE WHY YOU GUYS HAS BEEN TOGETHER OVER 60 YEARS NOW PETE TRUE PIONEERS ALL THE BEST WOW 88 YEARS AND STILL STRONG AS EVER KEEP STRIVING PETE GOD BE WITH YOU ALWAYS
Found me raised
in the Antebellum South
born an academically gifted
whip smart, (and any other
apropos) above average adage
smart son with a
healthy dose of Melanin and Melania
donned and trump petted
asper a proud black is beautiful,
sans ebony badge,
whereat me instrumental mama and pop
acquired grudging cunning
insinuation to cadge
teaching material convincingly
claiming lofty aim
intent to instruct
slave master's children
all to eager to accept blame,
when any vicious rumor
got afoot with "FAKE" claim
that lessons did
critique and declaim
antithetical quasi Aryan racial superior
viewpoints (preceding Adolf Hitler
by about a century),
knowingly could enflame
status quo, which feigned
"playing dumb" duh -
faux blockhead frame
(wha ya mean massa) game
at very bedrock foundation
pre politically correct cursor meme
lee complex edifice
slave owning name
acutely aware intent esse chew
wing such societally
radical implications, to due
tee fully fortuitously, gradually,
and hopefully, un glue,
(especially via schooling impressionable
young African American
or other ebony hue
shaded skin with Jew
whoosh propositions of equality)
righteous precepts nullifying lou
duck criss bastardizing American moo
nuff phish witch hunts (sea thing),
a gimcrackery, mockery,
and travesty poo
poo wing credo, ethos,
highlights, et cetera sow
wing equality, harmony, and liberty in tow.
(A bit of fun for Thomas W. Case - I think he lives in Iowa)
Hawkeye pride burns bright in Iowa City,
the place where Tennessee Williams learned to curse.
Iowa City hosts the 4th of July, Iowa speedway race, unique perhaps
because the cars have to stay behind a tractor for the first 199 laps.
How polite are the people in Iowa City? I saw a news report where a man was mugged,
traumatic? Sure, but the man still remembered to say “Thank you” before the perp bugged.
There are over twenty-six churches here, people can be a bit pious and obnoxiously reflective.
There’s a Hawkeye infestation in Iowa City because of the university, classified as ‘moderately selective.’
Geographically, Iowa’s where the rolling plains meet a limestone rise.*
Did I mention that the bars close at 2am? A travesty in any serious drinker’s eyes.
Some noted authors came from Iowa City, the locals are proud of that and own it.
Most were playwrights and novelists, luckily, few of them turned out to be poets.
* whatever that is
note...
We’re in Paris (Peter and I) at the Régis oyster bar. We just polished off a dozen oysters (each) and we ordered "Plateau de fruits de mer" (a seafood platter) and they’re taking forEVER to bring it. Peter’s reading a book. “Mind if I.. ?” he’d asked. I looked at the cover, which read, "Heavy Quark Physics." ick.
So I pulled out my iPad and Thomas W. Case - a poet far above my station had, once again, lavished my latest piece “Brilliant and Wonderful,” (which I seriously doubted). But it inspired me to pen this (while we waited) - his poet page says he’s from Iowa. (5 minutes research on Iowa and 5 minutes to write.)
Ooo! Here comes our platter - bye!
I am so George Carlin, I am so Carol Burnet.
I am so Lenny Bruce, I am so Lucile Ball Arnaz.
I have a question for all of you So Everybody Else.
Why can't you be So You absolutely unique to yourself"?
I would never say, "I am So So and So."
I might say, "I aspire to go further than So and So had a chance to go."
There is nothing wrong with admiring and being inspired by somebody,
but when you assimilate them to the point where you lose your identity,
you are stagnating yourself and limiting the potential of your abilities.
Don't tell me how similar you are to somebody else.
Show me how unique and special you are with your knowledgeable wealth.
There is clamoring
In the courtyard
For the feast to come
Guests in their rooms
Trying on garments
To display all they've done
Singing and shouting
Dancing a muck
Thanking the gods
For good fortune and luck
All is perfect
Timing is right
To lay out the final plan
Bodies floating in rivers
Fires burning land
Last moments of vile man
Both sides present
Good and evil in balance
Minds subdued to accept
The inspired valance
Did a pin just drop
As the earth split open
To reveal a falling star
No denying TRUTH
Naked and dark
Revealed, just as you are
Both sides played
Like a long awaited sequel
Easily loved and honored
If not for the clue in the prequel
Wasted matter is forgotten
Like chaff in the wind
Waiting to be devoured
But never you, picking a worthy cause
To see blinded humans
Miss the mark
As you arise, Man of the Hour
Our eyes have seen
Our hearts know TRUTH
You ate Atlantians
And made everything new
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-052024
I was born before language could hold me—
before syllables stitched identity into skin,
before sound became a cage disguised as recognition.
You see, names are borders.
Invisible fences hammered into the soul,
claiming ownership over something
that was never meant to be owned.
They said,
“This is who you are.”
Handed me a label like a leash—
soft at first,
until I felt the pull.
Call me by the way I grand rise
after being erased.
I am the question that refuses
to collapse into an answer.
I am every version of myself
that existed for a moment
and then dissolved without apology.
I am the fire that learned
how to look like a flame—
just to survive long enough
to burn again.
I am the child who spoke in galaxies,
before grammar taught my mouth
to shrink the universe into sentences.
I am something
you feel
when everything false
falls away.
Because I am not something
you can summon.
but because I am too full
to be poured into something so small.
I went down to the Caribbean Sea,
An island paradise ahead of me.
I meant to go for just another lay,
So I went and got myself smashed that day.
I saw he standing there, with coal black eyes,
And long dark hair, that didn’t disguise,
The curves she had, caught me off guard
She was the finest thing down in that bar.
As I drew up near, my ride began
I should’ve feared that Creole woman.
What was in store, I did not know.
She waved me one, so I had to go.
She gave me love, oh yes, so much,
A helpless fool at her tender touch.
A night gone by, the best I ever had,
The kind of lover who drove men mad.
As morning came, I thanked sweet God,
But she was gone, and I was robbed.
I stumbled out onto the sand
I cursed her name, Creole woman.
My passport she left, that one small gift,
The cops said she’d given the many the shift.
The tropical waves lost their attraction,
I hopped a plane, got back to Jackson.
It started soon, the identity thieving.
Had to fight every step, the stress unceasing.
A lesson learned, but which still does vex,
The things that woman can do with sex.
Next time I vacation in Japan,
Far as I can get from Creole woman.
Ice is so very cold in arctic circles
Where time begins as cream
Climates cling to hope
The Aurora Borealis give texture to white
Turn it around the corner of reason
Space time ice cream comes in no flavors
Worth articulating
Colors are void, taste of nothing
Are not particular to thought
To the ways of thinking
Rocks set aside differences to light
Like ice they appear hard to the touch
Sit on the Earth and spin with synchronicity
Let gravity do the work
Ice could not be colder if it tried
Light does not pass through it motionless
Space time remains indifferent
Ice cream still tastes delicious
My friend, do you know me?
I am a Pharisee
No, not per the dictionary
Which mischaracterizes my beliefs and me
For while he keeps the tradition, it's true
A Pharisee's an ever-evolving Jew
He delves deep into the Talmud to learn the ways
to deal with the problems of the world today
Thanks to the Pharisees a Jewish-Israeli farmer
can halakhically* 'Sabbath-milk' a cow in its barn, or
devotedly observe Passover or Yom Kippur
be he in the jungle, outer space, or Kuala Lumpur
What's more, be it abortion, euthanasia or homosexuality
the Talmud treats current issues of controversiality --
A Pharisee views the times in light of the Talmud, you see
~ differentiating his faith from Hebraic-Christianity**
________________________________________________
* halakhically = in accordance with Jewish Law, in this case
the laws of the Sabbath
** Practitioners (for a few generations after Jesus Christ)
were known as Hebrew-Christians.
When we communicate with another
Via verbal or written correspondence alone
We have no idea what that person looks like
So we form an image of our own
Sometimes that image is close
Other times completely incorrect
Always so interesting to see
If they look like we suspect
Hypothetically ,wouldn’t it be an intriguing experiment
To gather a group of faceless P.S poets we have connected to
Without speech or interaction
Ask each person to guess just…who is who?
I wonder if anyone would choose correctly
If there were similarities in what they had visualised
Or if they are polar opposites to our minds image
The way they look a complete and utter surprise!