Long Idyll (idyl) Poems | Poetry

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Long poem by reagan musore | Details

HISTORY WORTH WRITING

Gone are the days,
However unforgettable days
Of great loss of humanity,
Where people were preys to others,
Killed massively,
Yet innocent enough not to deserve even a pinch,
Eliminating one ethnic group in favor of the other,
The ones being favored were the same killers(the hutu),
The Tutsi was the ethnic group being eliminated,
Yet innocent enough not to deserve even a pinch,
May their souls rest in peace.

Am speaking about those days
When peace,love and mercy seemed like hidden treasures
To the extent that some killed their own blood
Talk of the wives,relatives,children and even parents,
People's hearts were like those of an injured lion,
Seeking for revenge from whoever it meets,

The 1994 Genocide of Rwanda
Remains history worth telling,
Beyond that worth remembering,
With a heart full of woes
For the past experience,
And went away with many innocent souls
That would have played a big part
In the building of their nation.

Who should i blame for what happened?
Is it the killers,the political leaders by then,God or something else?
I keep wondering who to blame,
People's assumptions about who to to blame
Would be as many as possible,
But the final judgement remains in the hands of the creator GOD.

The bad ideology that existed
Being possessed by political leaders by then,
And later spread among citizens,
However specifically to the hutu
Being told how bad the tutsi were,
Can maybe be taken as the root cause.

Given the scale of trauma caused by the genocide,
Rwanda has indicated that,
However thin the hope of a community can be,
A hero always emerges,
Although no one can dare claim,
That it's now a perfect state,
And no more work is needed,
Rwanda has risen from ashes as a model of truth and reconciliation.

Great thanks to the the heroes
That emerged at moments,
When Rwanda was almost perishing,
And saved it from moments,
That would have been life time scars to all Rwandan generations,
Be it in the present or coming generations.

I would like to show courtesy,
To all Rwandan heroes who took a step,
In saving the nation,
To those who died on mission,
May their souls rest in peace,
Talk of the Late Gen Fred Gisa Rwigema,
And many others who if listed would be countless.

Not forgetting to show great gratitude,
To the current President of Rwanda H.E Paul Kagame,
Who has seen Rwanda come from poor roots to rich shots,
Great thanks to all heroic figures in the country.
And the ruling party at large.

To; The Government of Rwanda.

By; Reagan Musore






Copyright © reagan musore | Year Posted 2017


Long poem by Matthew Brackley | Details

THE FOUR QUEENS

The Spring Queen....... 
Delicate blooms 
Fresh and new 
Emerging colour too 

Her dress..... 
The colour of new green, 
finished off in blue 
Edged in snow drops 
They follow her too 

A walk through the trees 
The lightest touch of her hand 
and the leaves come forth 
Banishing the winds from the north 
That special bond... 
With spring honey bees 
The colour................ 
All from the Spring Queen's wand 

A crown wrought from gold, 
set on flaxen hair 
Set with jewels and leaves 
The colour to unfold 
Such magic the wand weaves 

Spring Queen......... 
budding colours........ 
to be seen 
Fresh and green 

Spring Queen,  touching summers day 
The full blossom 
Summer Queen 
Tumultous green 
The colour at play 

The summer flowers 
The colour glows 
The Summer Queen walks through 
Forests and meadows 
The colour changing too 

Summer queens' crown 
Finest gold............ 
Bejewelled in flowers 
A caress of hand............... 
Petalled land.... 
All around 

Dense leaves 
of forest green 
Gild the brocade....... 
of the Summer Queen 

Summer beginning to fade 
Autumn coming............. 
Autumn Queen, 
sweeping through the glade 

Leaves turning, 
the sun , no longer burning 
Rich orange and red 
Yellows and browns too 
Colour changing, 
with Autumn's tread 

Shades of brown and red......... 
on her cape 
The leaves begin to fall....... 
With a toss of her head 
She makes her way to the hall 

The quiet rustle....... 
Of Autumn....... 
On her bustle 
The colour to fall............. 
As she walks to the castle wall 

Her crown of bronze...... 
and turning leaves 
Scattered trail........... 
To the hall 
Welcoming hail 
The end of Autumn 
The Autumn Queen grieves 

The passing of... 
The wand so... 
North wind.......... 
The first winter snow 

Winter crown.......... 
of the Winter Queen 
Platinum and fox fur......... 
The finest seen....... 

The wand changing too...... 
Once bronze....... 
Now blue, 
chased with silver..... 
The stars flew 

Quiet fall of snow......... 
From the north wind 
So long ago........... 
Lost reasons.......... 
The changing seasons 

The four Queens 
Within......... 
Natures ring..... 
Natures call 
The castle wall......... 
The wand that binds them all 

Copyright © Matthew Brackley | Year Posted 2006


Long poem by Olvie Brown | Details

to my future daugter

 To my future daughter.
This world is a disgusting place
This world will not allow you to be fragile
I have grown to learn.
You and I are made of iron and steel. 
I have several dents but no one has managed to break me. 
I have pieces that have been chipped away but as my mother always told me it shows how strong we truly are. 
I've fought my way through life as it tried to drag me down with temptation and lust.
I've fought wars within myself because I wished to be made of satin and silk. 
I've tried to cover my tough skin with a fragile exterior but that doesn't work for us, dear. 
Our hearts have a way to beam with light.
We are here to help people heal both body and mind
And I am so so so very sorry to have to tell you
That you can not heal those who wish to stay wounded.
You will try to stay and help them, 
But they will curse you even with their dying breath. 
Even if you have spent countless hours taking care of them, making sure they are fed. 
Bathed.
Clothed.
They will still blame you for their misery.
Your heart is one most rare, 
It is both a curse and a blessing. 
There is no way to block it.
I've tried to block it out with cigarettes, drugs, and liquor.
But I am afraid there is no cure for those pure of heart.
You will see the good in everyone. 
Even the blackest of hearts. 
It will make you vulnerable. 
It will cause you to go blind to their cruelty. 
It will break your heart in every way imaginable. 
And in the end, you will still be able to stand,
And laugh in the face of their hate,
Because they don't see their own beauty, 
They don't see their own light,
So they continue to live in darkness. 
They continue to hate what they cannot see.
Keep your heart close to you always.
But never be afraid to love,
I wish for you to love fearlessly and unforgivingly.
Never let someone define your worth,
Live as though you are scared of nothing. 
Laugh like a lunatic and smile all the time. 
Allow yourself to show compassion and forgiveness even when it is not deserved. 
Your mom is always here for you, 
And i will never let you fall too hard. 
But you do have to fall sometimes 
But only sometimes. 
i beg you
never forget
 you aren't made of wood and clay
or from bricks and mortar
Nor silver and gold. 
But of iron and steel. 

Copyright © Olvie Brown | Year Posted 2018

Long poem by Emenaha Godwin Holiday | Details

The Dream

This life has turned around 
many curves past many 
beautiful places that have 
beckoned me to stop and walk 
among the wild flowers.

I have stopped to walk among 
the wild flowers bending low to 
smell and gaze at their intricate 
colors wondering if there is 
anyone out there that would pull 
me down and explore the 
wonders of this world ?

I look for a woman to complete 
me to bring to my world what I 
can not give.

I dream of a woman that I will 
pour a bath for , light candles 
for that I will wash her back in 
the moon light and ask her to 
dance to the sound of the 
waves.

 I dream of a woman I smell on 
the breeze , who's eyes I swim 
in dropping all pretenses on the 
shore. My skin is so soft that a 
baby will coo when she touches 
my chest. 

She would appreciate me not 
for my beauty, but even more 
for the beauty inside my soul.

She has a smile that comes 
from inside and some would say 
rivals the sun. 

She will move with confidence 
and she will look for a man 
whose touch is tender and this 
touch awakens all who meet 
him to the fact that there is love 
in this world.

When ever she is near I will not 
be able to contain myself and 
my body will respond 
automatically pulling her gently 
to me. 

My heart will always want to 
make her smile. Yet she is no 
twig to be broken. 

She is strong and resilient like a 
willow bending but never 
braking in the wind. 

Her sadnesses is deep he knows 
the pain of this world, but her 
joy brightens a room. 

She calls to the man in me to 
love her so deeply, to find every 
way to pleasure her and she 
wants to do the same.

I could hold, kiss , make love to 
her all day and she would beam 
when we stepped outside to go 
for a swim. These are my 
dreams this is the heart I carry. 

I am gentle and I am 
independent but I love oh so 
deeply! Is it you my woman?

Copyright © Emenaha Godwin Holiday | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Mohamed Manzur Bah | Details

Welcome Home Brother

The trees and the hills are singing songs of blessing in your mother’s land paving into Kingdom of love banging into healthy situation to welcome you. My brother I have been crying for you for billions of years, my tears are Oceans of happiness, all the animals and the people are cheering you.

Because your arrival all the enemies and friends are now happy to welcome you, my cup of teas is happy to serve me tremendous energy to welcome you. Flowers have been reporting missing you here after centuries of dreams, many years of loneliness, thousands of years of sadness raining in my heart to heart attack full of misconceptions.

Since nature whispers your arrival, there are lots of fanfares and drumming dribbling to dragon shape on the faces that affected with poverty is happy to welcome. The nights and the days are competing to win your arrival; I curse any obstacle on your way to send them to rivers of darkness, marginalized situation becomes most mattered like mathematics.

The boy was completely marginalized by the margin line through equity, now everybody is interested to take part to enjoy his fruits on fractured sycophant love. Unworthy becomes worthy, the impotent become potent hundred percent per se, the nut noted to the notice board to birds control.

Now everyone fights for his or her dear life to achieve the gold to the glory on the expenses of God’s destiny, beyond the core ownership to shipwreck. Family becomes burden upon individual beyond God’s destiny, and the core ownership, family become burden upon individual for supremacy to control the rain only for his or her door the others do not important.

Forgetting that Allah is in control upon everything, after the cake put on the table everybody is aspiring to eat everything without considering the others despite we are cemented with the drop of semen.

Copyright © Mohamed Manzur Bah | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Jasmine Cameron | Details

19

I'm 19.
That may not mean much to you but it means everything to me.
It means I've already out lived most of my friends and family.
It means I'm smarter than most in my situation.
It means with out hesitation I've given myself the modes and the means
To get what I want and do what I need.
It means I have more hope than most to leave.
I'm not the concrete rose.
I'm the dandelion seed
Ready to leave, waiting on a Gail or a child to come blow me free
So I can land in a better place to take root and take lead.
I'm only 19.
But I've seen enough black on black crime and self-destructive hate
To ever forgive the streets
For turning me against the mirror image I see,
Or for blinding my brothers so that they could not see that they're killing their own
brothers sons of their own sisters and mothers
Or for tainting my sisters with hate, replacing they're hearts with that of a snake, and
leaving them with no self-esteem,covering there eyes so all they see is green
For pimping our children making them turn tricks for treats, closing their minds making
them think "you better start rapping, better get them feet tappin or pick up a ball if you
ever want to get from me get from me" turning them into dancing, singing fools instead of
the future educated black enterprising leaders they need to be
I'm only 19
And already I've been to far to many wakes too ever sleep
Seen far too many mothers grieve and cry
To ever permit myself pity
Seen far too many holes dug six feet deep for those who have falling around me to sit idly
by and wait for mine
the one assigned to me by some stray bullet or how ever death sees' fit to take me
I'm only 19
I've seen enough
I'm done

Copyright © Jasmine Cameron | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Redkite In-Flight | Details

Lie's My true Idyll

My cottage becomes a mystical Universe                                                        In retirement beyond the World.
Eminently perched along side the river Towy,
Lie’s my True Idyll.
I survey the ever changing landscape,
from here to where the river reaches
“The Sky.”
Below, shimmers of waters. That ever flow
and flow without pause.
Only to be broken, by the splashes of the
allusive Brown Trout whilst feasting upon 
the hatching of the Elegant May Fly.
In broken channels Salmon lie, in their
quest to swim upstream to spawn 
“ as many will die.”
Above us ‘ Day-Blind Stars ‘ awaiting
to take their turn at night.
The warm breath of  a Spring  breeze,
tickles the fur of the Bumble Bee.
Now! with splendour and vigour,
a profusion of growth with every tree.                 


In readiness to give birth to ‘buds’, cut
like Beautiful Emeralds.
To sit and listen, whilst each Wild Bird
heartfully sings each song twice.
Behold danger as a Goss Hawk ,
lives here too!!
The adventureous Egeret walks upon air.
Mirrored by still pools, as he stands to stare.
A duck streches her wings to reveal her brood;
A single tear of joy she sheds.
Across the flow, grassing herd of Cows
to lick the morning honey dew.
As the rain drops fall from Swallows wings.
To ‘Kiss a blaze of Meadow Flowers’.
A Dragon fly, pauses to rub a leg over its head.
             A Spider plays ‘ hide and seek’ within the hedge,
to the ‘barks’ from the Jack Russell.
I am in Heaven. All that I survey, 
“Enriches our Souls “      
 





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Copyright © Redkite In-Flight | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Daniel de Culla | Details

NO MORE LOVE POEM

NO MORE LOVE POEM

“”..... Ander her picture when she cut her wrists and so the kid saw the picture and his prick went Whoop Whoop Whoop,,,”
- Trantino. The Great Blafigria Is.

“ … For I dream I know not how¡
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.”
-The Bridal Ballad. Edgar Allan Poe

Please Stop.
I don’t want falling in Love
& being pretty smart 
O mamma mia. 
When the Train is Gone
 I thrower in motion:
I don’t hit the nail on the head¡ 

 I’m going wild against the Wall
Slap-up meal. 
My brain’s been ****ed
When yr love is come 
Toot toot 
Damn ***** ate my dog.

 Then haemin’s yr Ass: 
Love is a silly thing
 Fancying that
All over the place 
And to die 
Of a broken Heart, ja, ja ja.

 Hey captain¡ Hey captain¡
 My arm chaplain is incapable.
Hey Captain¡ Hey Captain¡
 I think we’re gonna cum
In the twinkling of an eye:
 The end of the love
Lies inside you¡

 Do you know Do you see:
All lovers are Rapier pigs
 bastard Gentlemen of rape
Looking out at all rissoles
In the churches’ streets 
& saying:
” let me darkle
Or let me daze”.

 With Langston Huges’ motto
As we live and learn:
“Dig and be dug
In return”

No more Love Poem
Darkly Vampire.
Carry me to Yr Black Ritual
Of bloody Love
 Leaning lip-poised.
 We tremble to receive
The darkly ****ing Eucharistic 
To touch Perceive
Touch Explore
 And yet with utmost Sinful care
 Slide Melt
Devour.

The *****Cock 
And Chicken 
In the head of lustful night
Carry me.

Copyright © Daniel de Culla | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Sharon Downer | Details

At the Cottage in the Morning

I like to wake up in the morning at the lake,
I sleep out on the porch, on account of I hate snoring,
so I can hear the tremelo of the daddy loon calling to the babies,
and sometimes I just sit there and listen,
to the kingfisher back in the channel,
and the wet flop of the dogfish early on.
If I listen closely, I can hear a woodpecker on the opposite shore,
hammering away with its rock-hard beak.
Then when I open my eyes,
it's like looking at a fantasy painting,
with pillars of steam rising from the lake,
like fog from a Jurassic swamp in ancient times,
with dragonflies zooming about in the mist,
hunting the doodlebugs and damsonflies 
that hover obliviously over the glasslike water.
The sun rises on the Eastern side,
casting glories of light on the lake in its stillness.
There are no boats out yet,
it is far too still and placid.
I can barely see from my place on the couch
the mouth of the wide channel,
and if I'm lucky I see the family of swans that lurk down there.
I see a white dot drifting away,
and smile when I know I at least saw  one.
Behind the island, which when I was little I called "City Crap",
the remains of a bonfire are just damp piles of ashes,
the remnants of a party someone threw the night before.
I look back up to the sky, which has already turned purple and pink,
and swing my legs out of the bed, and stretch,
awaiting the minute I could slip into that clear, cool water.

Copyright © Sharon Downer | Year Posted 2006

Long poem by zamir osorov | Details

The micro world of macro love

 
I wanna hiding  with you and escape
from this moody realm  in bathyscaphe
that  made from one pea seed or nutshell,
but inwardly this little chamber 
must been craftily and exactly  
prepared as yacht of Abramowitz,
with precious dine room, cupboard, sofa, nice kitchen,
and others fashion  utensils and commodities
protecting gears and comforts setting, -   
have you been happy, satisfied and saluted me,
if we are going to trip and dive in depth of joyce and luxuries 
in such excellent solitudes
swimming nowhere and everywhere?

I wanna vanish with you in silk cocoon
of mulberry worm, 
have gone forever
from all these problems
and hard solved tasks -
jealous, stupidness, side back glances 
from this and others world.

I wanna creating own universe personally,
where all have been simple, the best and informal, 
boarding the airbus of hollow bean pod
to fly somewhere
there no one to step before us,
diminishing for the tiniest blade of grass
gone to one dust,
fluctuating in Brown chaos,
wrapped to molecule,
absorbed in the cloudily world of atom.

And even punishment in the electron
flying with great speed and for no one known
place in universe 
in every instance, 
i am gladly received
as get such life and principle of uncertainty existence,
if only you, my dear, have been happy and satisfied 
with me in that extraordinarily environment 
in micro world of macro love
living nowhere and everywere. 
  



Copyright © zamir osorov | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems