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abortion absence
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giving god
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gothic graduate
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green grief
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guitar hair
halloween happiness
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heart heartbreak
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hello hero
high school hilarious
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home homework
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how i feel howl
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little sister london
loneliness lonely
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magic malayalam
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marriage math
may me
meaningful memorial day
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metaphor metrical tale
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
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mothers day motivation
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my child my children
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nice niece
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red relationship
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repetition retirement
riddle rights
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romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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sick silence
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simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
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solitude sometimes
son song
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storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
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surreal sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
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thank you thanks
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tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
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visionary vogon
voice volleyball
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water weather
wedding wife
wind wine
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Long Introspection Poems

Long Introspection Poems. Below are the most popular long Introspection by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Introspection poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Alexander Blackie | Details

I am my Father's Son

Listen to poem:
They were gambling in front of the house. Manservants and pages bustled about Serving Suitors who just curse and carouse. Few mix wine with water. I heard one shout, "Clean down the tables with wet sponges! Rouse Yourselves! And when you've done that lay them out Again!" Some others carve mountains of meat. I’m almost ready to admit defeat. Then I thought I glimpsed Athena (disguised As a man) long before the others did. Sat among the Suitors I’ve long despised, I daydreamed of how my father would rid This house of these hopefuls. I was surprised At the images - horrible, vivid - The Suitors’ bloody bodies heaped chest-high Slaughtered by the king they’d sought to defy. As I sat brooding, I spied a stranger At the gate, and went straight to greet him there. Great Athena's stratagem to change her Appearance at first kept me unaware Of her divinity. For, the danger Of my being overawed was unfair. Faced with a mortal, I could be at ease And act without feeling I had to please. I said, “Welcome. You won’t believe how glad I am to see you. Come drink, eat, and tell Me the reason you’ve come - good or bad. Please, sit close by me so I’ll hear you well. My mother's Suitors upset me, I'm sad To say, loud and insolent. Drunk, they'll yell, Shout, and tell bawdy jokes. Just ignore it. For decent company, they are unfit.” At that moment, the great door opened wide And the noise of feasting and merriment Grew louder and reverberated inside. Four of my mother’s Suitors hellbent On having a good time sat down beside Me and the stranger. It was evident They’d drunk far too much from their boorish ways, Rough, tipsy voices, and their glassy gaze. One, Antinous, said, “What’s this? No music Dancing or singing? Where is Phemius, The minstrel? Tell him to play or I'll kick His backside! Tell him, I, Lord Antinous, Wants everyone to hear how artistic He is with a sweet song harmonious And pleasing. Get to it, Telemachus, Get him to sing. Don’t look so serious!” I nudged the stranger to edge down the bench To get away from these aggressive drunks And avoid breathing in the fetid stench Of their sour wine-soaked breath. Their beards had chunks Of vomit on them as they tried to quench Their insatiable thirst for wine. Each dunks His face in food bowls like pigs at a trough Gorging so fast that they splutter and cough. I whispered to the stranger, “What I say Is, though I don’t mind a little excess And feasting's cheap when you don't have to pay, There, in some dark uncharted wilderness May lie the bleaching bones - or perhaps they Grind to powder in the surf relentless - Of my father, Odysseus, long gone, Whose wealth these greedy vultures feed upon.” Another brute, Eurymachus, stood up. He staggered unsteadily on his feet. Swaying to and fro, wine spilled from his cup. Eyes bleary, face white as a laundered sheet, He bared his backside, wagged it like a pup, And farted. “I thought I’d give you a treat!” He said, in generous mood, his speech slurred Staring down at his friends with vision blurred. Lord Antinous giggled. “You are unfit To grace this respectable, noble place. That stink would curdle goats’ milk! I admit You’re daring in baring your bum. Replace Your face with your bum – there’s more hair on it! The barefaced cheek you show is a disgrace! I suggest you sit on your best feature You ill-mannered, uncouth, ugly creature.” Eurymachus retorted, “You're no Greek god Yourself, Antinous! Fair Penelope Will choose me over you - you drunken sod! And, I can say, without hyperbole, She'll be transfixed by the size of my rod When I hook her! What a catastrophe For her if she handles your tiny worm - She’ll not even notice it twist and squirm!” They guffawed and shouted, “More food, more drink! Bring more bread - and more meat - and much more wine - Lots - if you don't want us to cause a stink! Bring on the dancing girls! We need some fine Young maidens to be sent to us. Just think What we can do with those girls, boys! We'll line Them up take our pick, kiss them quick and grope!” To the stranger I said, “I’ve lost all hope. These brutes, sir, would pray for much longer legs - For no amount of pleading would save them If my father came back. They'll drain the dregs Of the last of the wine, spit out their phlegm, And belch foul breath smelling of rotten eggs, I fear, before then. We will never stem Rumours of his homecoming. But he's dead. Now, sir, tell me about yourself instead.” He replied, “I’m your father’s friend, Mentes, On a voyage, here with my ship and crew. Our fathers - your grandfather, Laertes, And mine, were good friends, as he will tell you. I came here because I've been told that he's Home - your father, Odysseus. Not true It seems. I know for sure he isn't dead. But he’s not on the mainland, that's what's said. Therefore, it’s more likely he's held captive. Strange thing - there is a voice inside my brain - So strong I know it's authoritative - That tells me he will soon be home again. Your father is clever and adaptive. Thus, even though he's bound with iron chain, He'll find some means of getting back home here. You are his son? I see the likeness clear.” Mother says I’m Odysseus's son, But it's a wise child that knows his father. I would prefer to be the son of one Who'd grown old upon his own land - rather Than of that unluckiest of men - none Disputes - King Odysseus. I gather My father's doomed to die captive or roam The seas. Either way, he'll never get home. When my father was here, life went on well. Now, we don't know if he's dead or living. It would be far better if they would tell Us that he'd died in battle. In giving Such news, they'd allow us to break the spell He's cast over us, and start forgiving Those who killed him. Then, I could build a mound To his memory and our line renowned. But now he's gone without a single trace. I inherit nothing but sad dismay, And it doesn't end with my grief, the race To marry my mother is on. Each day They eat me out of house and home. We face Ruin by them while they pretend to pay Court to my mother who cannot decide Whether she will or not become their bride. I’ll call a state assembly tomorrow. Lay my case before them, and ask the gods To help me. More in anger than sorrow, Bid the Suitors depart. Reduce the odds Ranged against me. Let my dear mother go Back to her father. If her nature prods Her to wed then he can give her away. I’ll search for my father that very day. Alexander Blackie

Copyright © Alexander Blackie | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Trisha Sugarek | Details

The Ash Can

The Ash Can  ©

I got the call on Sunday night.  I was traveling on business.  When I looked at the caller ID
 I wondered why my husband’s boss would be calling me.  I was unprepared for what
 he told me and my legs turned to water when he said that my husband was dead. 
 ‘A heart attack?  An accident?’ I asked.  ‘No’, he said, ‘John committed suicide.  
 They found him in your garage this morning.’  I heard someone screaming and 
wished that they would stop so I could hear the rest.  His voice was very far away
 and the woman just kept screaming.  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’  I need to hear.  I clapped my
 hand over my mouth when I suddenly realized it was me who was screaming.
 I don’t remember hanging up or getting on the plane. (beat)  Yes, John and I were having
 problems and we had been separated for about three months but nothing was official. 

 After thirty years of marriage I never believed that we couldn’t weather this and share 
the rest of our lives together.  This was just a phase he was going through…some sort 
of mid-life crisis.  This had to be some horrible mistake, a case of mistaken identity.  
My John would never do this, leave me like this.  (beat)  

I stumbled into our home around nine the next morning.  The house looked like a woman
 hadn’t lived there for months. Dirty dishes in the sink, groceries half put away, empty 
beer cans and a full ashtray by John’s chair.  Seeking comfort I walked over to his chair. 
 Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror over the
 fireplace.  Some wild looking woman with mascara smudges under her eyes and smeared
 lipstick looked out at me. I walked closer to inspect this stranger in my house.  
She looked old and used up.  Who was she?  What had life dealt her to look so worn out? 
Oh, God, it was me.  Staring out with those eyes bleeding hot, raw pain.  (beat)  I curled
 up in John’s chair and closed my eyes.  Was this all I had left of my husband?  This slightly shabby piece of furniture that still smelled of him?  How could I tell our children?  Could I bear to go into the garage?  What would I find? 
 I knew that they had taken his body away but what had they left there for me to see?  
Maybe something there would prove that this was truly a mistake.    I rose to my feet and 
walked into the kitchen and through the laundry room to the garage door. (beat)

I slowly opened it and was knocked back by the remaining stink of gas fumes.   
John’s car sat in its parking spot, the garden hose hanging from the back window like 
some obscene snake.  I gagged and pressed the button to open the garage door.  
The passenger side window was open so I could look inside without having to touch the car.  And what I saw on the seat told it all.  There was John’s cell phone, an empty bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Excedrin.  (beat)  And something else…a second cell phone…what in the world? I was only allowed five seconds of blissful denial before it all came crashing down on me.  The second phone…the secret phone that men who cheat keep to talk to their lovers.  All those protestations he offered during the time that we were apart.  ‘No, there was no one else’, ‘I just need to find myself’, ‘I don’t want a divorce’, ‘I just need some time’. ‘I love you; I’m just not in love with you.’  Lies, all lies!  How could I have been so stupid?  Then I notice a crumpled manila envelope on the floor of the car.  Anger driven, I opened the door and picked up the envelope and the two cell phones and went back into the house.  Sitting in John’s chair once again, I smoothed out the envelope and read what was written there.  
‘Ricky, tell Sherry I love her. Tell Sherry I can’t live without her.  Tell Sherry not to cry
 for me. Sherry, I’ll love you forever. I’m sorry.....John-Boy.’  Who the hell was Sherry? 
 Did my husband of three decades kill himself over some tramp?  Some other woman 
whom he barely knew?  I picked up the second cell phone and scanned the history of calls.
  Where was area code 864? As I set the phone down my eye caught the partial title of 
a book lying on the rug under the table.  Picking it up, I read: ‘How To Keep A Long 
Distance Relationship Exciting and New.’  I opened it to the first few pages and found an
 inscription,  ‘To my tiny dancer, until we meet again.  Love forever, your John-Boy.’
My God, John, how could you?  How could you do this to us?  I yelled as I threw the 
book across the room; will this hellish nightmare never end? (beat)  I picked up the
 cell phone and scrolled down the history; Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman.  No other woman, huh, John? South Carolina…hence the long distance relationship…you’re such a fool, I told myself. There was voice mail saved and I listened to the most current ones.  Those messages told a story of a married woman who had a son and a new grandchild. 

Another sad, pedestrian story of a restless woman trapped in a loveless marriage but
 unwilling to leave.  The daughter-in-law apparently would not let Sherry see the child. 
 It seemed that John, in a misplaced attempt to help, called Sherry’s son to insist that
 he let Sherry see her grand-baby. 
 Only to succeed in blowing up that family.   The final message was not so sweet and 
sexy from his lover. Sherry had dumped my husband. (beat)  I didn’t know whether 
to laugh or cry.  I seemed to be trapped in a crazed, unbelievable soap opera.  But what 
is it that they say about truth being stranger than fiction?  I sighed.  John had always
 wanted to rescue anyone in trouble…even when they didn’t ask for help.   He had crossed
the line calling that woman’s son.  Oh, John, what were you thinking?,  I asked the empty
 room. Didn’t you know?  You were her dirty little secret.... (more)

(from my book, Monologues 4 Women) 




Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Mark Martin | Details

Brave new world

(based on Aldous Huxley's book "Brave New World")

Human hatchery

Clink clink clink clink...
Test tubes prattling past
along the chrome plated production line.
Glistening under fake fluorescence
humming in harmony
with the magnetic motors
of conveyors, centrifuges and camshafts.
Biological blobs of gamete goo,
vials of vile biology,
a tempest of sperm and ova,
neatly confined to a pyrex womb.
Organised, sanitised, harmonised.
Fordist fertilisation.
All equal under Ford.

Or at least until your fate and fortune 
are forced and fixed at forty metres.
Not nature (abhorrent), 
not nurture (disgusting),
not what you know,
not who you know,
but the viability of your cell.
Destiny by DNA.
What will you be?
An Alpha Aryan?
A Gamma gopher?
A mass produced Epsilon?
Will you be genetically enhanced?
Or poisoned and asphyxiated?

Perhaps you'll be discarded
as excess bio-matter
by the second trimester
at ninety metres?

Or survive to be hatched
at one fifty metres?
Neatly sown along furrows
of sterile steel cots.
Rows and columns,
ranks and files,
levels and floors
of battery babies.
Chemically conditioned,
weaned on sleep whispering,
embracing their place in a perfect society.
United by soma!
(a gram is better than a damn)
Disease designed away!
All praise Ford!
Everyone is happy!

But nothing is perfect.
Bernard is cursed.
Excess embryonic alcohol
injected at one twenty metres.
Someone wasn't paying attention.
Industrial accident.
Disruptive misfit.
Unhappiness.

Beta's hypnopedic haikus

Alphas lead the way
Grey matter, grey uniform
Alphas rule wisely

Betas work less hard
Mulberry clad skilled workers
Glad I'm a Beta

Gammas are stupid
Wearing green! Ugly as trees!
Ignore the Gammas

Deltas are dummies
Khaki clones, oxygen starved
Bokanovsky batch

Epsilon primates
Brutish, black robed underclass
Disposable drones

John's suicide soliloquy

To be or not to be?
I cannot be.
So I decide not to be.

How can I be noble and suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
when the arrows have been broken
and the slings put aside
by this ugly utopia?

Should I shuffle off this mortal coil
and enter the eternal sleep
perchance to dream without soma?
Will I enter paradise
paid for many fold
with barb wire and thorns,
with torments and trials,
with utter utter heartbreaking longing?
What sense does this make
when paradise lies at my feet
that I've not suffered enough to deserve?

How can I earn the love
of the woman I love
when she gives her love so freely
to myself and others who scantly earn
the meerest slither of her golden fruit?
Love so sweet to the lips
but diluted by banality and promiscuity
to the tasteless sterility of boiled water.
Yet I still yearn.

And when I attain my unimagined dream
I reject her with anger 
and sow the seeds of confusion
in her innocent eyes
and watch the weeds of fear
choke her very essence.
What demons have hatched from my soul?
What has this world manufactured in my heart?

And so I seek solace in solitude.
A lonely lighthouse keeper
in a stormless sea of soma civilisation.
Absolution with abject poverty,
the stings of self flagellation
barely noticed against my rented heart.
The madness of mixed up mantras.

Yet retribution comes from a hornet's nest
of helicopters carrying the inane.
Spectators of the spectacle.
Curious about the curiosity.
Fascination with the forbidden.
Cultures sparking across electrodes.
Moths drawn to taboo's acetylene flame.
I curse them! I curse them all!

I was born savage, then made savage.
Marooned on Prospero's isle
by insanity's tempest.
I can brew and boil 
and billow and burn
and cast down purifying bolts against the outside world.
One asylum to another.
Never knowing peace.
O brave new world, that has such people in it.
But this world is not for me.



Notes:

BNW society is divided into five major classes. From highest to lowest: alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon

Original BNW quote - sleep conditioning for Betas - "Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."

Bokanovsky is a fictional process of human cloning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokanovsky%27s_Process

Hypnopedia is the process of sleep learning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep-learning

Gametes are cells used in reproduction (sperm and ova) - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamete

Soma is a drug mass produced by the BNW government - citizens are sleep conditioned to become addicted

"a gram is better than a damn" is a BNW mantra used by its citizens to encourage non-conformists (i.e. are unhappy) to take soma

John was a savage rescued from a reservation by Bernard Marx for his own political agenda. 

Bernard Marx was a physically and mentally imperfect Alpha misfit reportedly caused by excess alcohol injected into his embryo during his hatching.

John's soliloquy is a parody of Shakespeare's "to be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet. Since John learnt to read from an old copy of Shakespeare's works, this seemed appropriate.

In BNW, Henry Ford is revered as a god - the Christian cross is replaced with a T (as in the model T Ford, an early affordable mass produced car).



Written 10th April 2017
Entry to "brave new world" contest

Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details

A Long Loud Sigh

genius?
sometimes you are in its minimal spotted light...sometimes!
other times you just know you've been touched and you freeze,
moved but frozen...like a stranger it moves in, does its work and leaves.

...maybe it's been a while since you two spoke...
when the dead sea still hosted life,
the hanging gardens of babylon grew in sinc with the breath of the planet,
before the tower of pisa started to lean or mayan buildings were in ruin.

so you write words...any words...they might at least soothe your hurt
hold your heart in a protective shield.
you know how crippling unrequited love can be.
do you still dream of its hug...genius?

life and love share more than a first letter
(like the first letter you wrote under the veil of inspiration).
they also share good and evil...it's a flip of the coin.
either way is fine with you. you'd bathe in holy water or sell your soul.
life, love...passion...somewhere in there...it lives, genius.

all of nature a reflection through its transparent figure glows dark 
like the shadows live in the radiant illumination of evening rays.

so let me speak of us!
recently when i tried to hold you...
you were like a ghost in the bright of day,
a phantom out of its element...
there was nothing of you...i could embrace.
when i tried to enter you a freezing cold ran through me like a winter brook.
you exhaled me 
as if i were fog on a deserted country road invisible to absent eyes.
still you were my drug of choice.
addicted, i chased the dragon...you...genius.

memories fill me...
days when we would paint words,
stitch in a metaphor or two,
weave in music, 
write instruments to fill in the spaces,
ordain a voice.

i remember...

you wanted to taste me
i was overwhelmed 
how you put your fingers on my lips 
how you licked them...you...genius.

you were that giant pine i would climb in the dead of winter
(why do they say that "the dead of winter"? winter will die 
when hell freezes over. winter isn't death it's purgatory.)
the one with the needles that punctures human skin.

come to me again and touch me...
like the butterfly does the wind...barely but thoroughly.
(is it true that just a tiny flutter of their wings could be 
the start of a hurricane? are the icebergs melting?)
i didn't just write that out loud...did i...with you I'm shy...genius.

GENIUS?

fine!
hide.
don't show yourself.
don't speak to me.
fine!

don't bother with rising the sun today.
forget those showers you create your magic arc with,
vacuum away all the plants.
lower your wall of blue.
i'm not interested anymore in those pillowy shapes i use to love so.

i've always known it is fire that cleanses, water that burns,
it is the moon that breaks the heart,
the stars that slaps the face...with...i don't know...reality.
i've always known by the time we see a star...
in real time...it's already extinguished...already dead.

it is our friends that will use us...our heroes that will lie to our face...
our blood will betray our trust...our teachers will fail us...
our leaders treat us like just another job...
the devout that will exhibit hatred.

still i believe. no matter what else...the rose will always survive.
the petals deceiving. they will repel all that is unholy.
grab it by the neck and squeeze out its black ooze,
leaving a gentle soul there to admire its adversary.
don't even get me started on the orchid
or even the flowers all...alphabetically.

i dare confront the beauty of nature's art unframed...
canvas loose to admire...genius!

i miss you but i am out of tears.
do drop in though. 
i can offer you a cup of dry warmth...
soothing like burning logs that crackle with laughter.

or 

take you to my secret place.
behind the camouflage of forests dense,
where vines grow through spiral staircases 
made of turtle shells and dressed in discarded snake skins.
green is the theme there. it is everywhere,
unabridged, unabated, unaffected, undisturbed 
with a fuming, burning, yearning to be touched.
so let's...let's grab...hold...squeeze..
feel free from the cheap paradigm offered.

i don't think you know, even while you sleep, i hold your hand, genius.

dream a full rainbow on a fingernail moon night,
feel february twenty ninth its absolute might,
taste fully the slight of a pheasant in flight,
yearn eternal life, wish a vampire's bite,
concoct rhymes nicely fluffed with built in sight.

genius?
on this sombre morning the sun is blinding.
damn my eyes.
there is a negative entity drapes our children's world.
shame on us...shame on you...i need you.
i am reduced to an objective observer.
life glides on the little wings of its carrier,
its final resting point in the hands of the wind.
another life carried away on a worker bee,
busy stealing nectar from a succulent bud.
a stowaway hangs on for dear life to the flyers leg.
gets off at the next flower.
meets up with a companion to create a new life.

genius?,
everything changed when I met you.
was the sun rising or the mountain sinking.
was that an orange globe against a blue sky
or a lit round hole in a sad wisp of air.

i'll play a keyless piano if you'll paint me a horizon I can reach.
i'll sing you a ballad with a single note...

i walked into my life without consideration.
maybe crawled.
all the same...
when do I get a choice.
when will they stop holding death over my head.

if i could direct a few more plays with you as my guide...
my art, my life! genius i long for your influence...
even one last time to see your face, 
unite and give you one last kiss...goodnight.




April 1 2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Linda
Contest Name:A Million Dollar Poem






Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Anthony Amero | Details

Being American

I live in America, as in the United States of America, and that used to mean something. At least to me it did. And it’s not so much in how I was raised but in how I was couched by my country. While I was never one to really fall into the “mom, apple pie, hot dog and baseball” America ideal, I did believe in the land of the free and the home of the brave, where all men are equal and rights for all men. And I still do believe that ideal. Yet this country of mine keeps despairing me as I continually see a degradation of those ideals over the last fifty years. And I have this following theory.


We are a melting pot of all societies and prided ourselves on accepting everyone. But take a look at that for a minute. Look at Europe and Africa and their history for a minute, I did. Throughout recorded history Europe and Africa kept all religious and racial differences segregated in their different countries, or areas, and fought each other over ideological differences and over the generations a deep-seated, in-bred hatred developed for each other developed. Wars were begun for the simple act of mingling with other races or religions. This is fact, look it up. Now flash-forward to the new country, America, with its open borders accepting the oppressed, where all flocked to start a new life. Now you’ve got a huge influx of natural enemies flooding a nation and now they are supposed to just drop their in-bred prejudices? Play nice after centuries of discord? But for the Civil War, I’m surprised we haven’t erupted into total anarchy. But the whole point of this is that these people want to come here and keep their culture, their identity. I see no fault in that and don’t blame them, but that brings me right back to my original question, where, or more fundamentally, what, is it to be American?

I believe the original creators of the Declaration of Independence were visionaries. It bothers me at times to see various Facebook posts and other mentions of such things saying they were racist, or this, or that. I do believe there was a lot of that in many of the implementers of the document, but not really in the actual architects. Why do I believe that? Mostly for this statement: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”. And the 11th Article of the Bill of Rights confirms the Declaration thusly: “The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people”. Yet in this country, just like in the mother countries of Europe and Africa, we suffered from racism and bigotry.  I believe this goes back to my theory of the melting pot of people who came to America. They couldn’t overcome their bigotry or racism or hatred just because they came over here, although some really tried. Yet I believe the architects of the Declaration were far-sighted enough to not try to create some sort of Utopia either, but rather a working, self-sustaining country that was governed by the people, for the people. The biggest problem as I see it was that it got too big … that’s not totally true. The biggest problem as I see it is politics and the “American Way”.


When is the last time you heard a politician run a campaign and only talked of the issues that concerned the people? I only see and hear them talk of negative things of their opponents. Why would I vote for anyone who tries to smear their opponent? How is that helping me or my neighbor? How is that serving the public good? How is that engendering trust? It’s not, in my opinion. And the “American Way”? Americans are far too smug, too fat and happy. There’s very little strife so we take way too many things for granted. Don’t believe me? This may seems simplistic and a little childish, but take your household chores for example. We live in a country where you can wash your dishes in hot water, can even use an automatic dishwasher, can even wash your clothes in an automatic washing machine and electric dryer. We have so many modern, electronic conveniences that it’s actually making us dumber. Don’t believe me? How many of you have lamented the young cashier at the convenience store who cannot make change unless the cash register tells them how much to give back? Basic skills are being eroded because of the useless conveniences we keep making in the never ending quest to make our American lives easier. It’s disheartening, really. Maybe it’s just me and progress really isn’t that bad, but I see proof everyday of the dumbing of America, and if you’re of a certain age I believe you see it, too.


So I see this huge country I live in, called America, filled with so many diverse people living in … harmony? I don’t know, I still see racial problems and still can’t figure out why. I have a very simple philosophy on life: while we’re not entitled to material things, every person is entitled life and respect to be who they are, so long as they do not intend to hurt others. And, for the most part, I’m happy enough and I am oh, so grateful that I live here, in America. I can say what I want, I can worship who I want – if I want – and I can aspire to become what I want, if I’m willing to work hard enough. And you can disagree with me, if you want. We have that freedom. Because we are living in America, and we are free. For now.


But I do worry about the future America and what it may devolve into.

Copyright © Anthony Amero | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Russell Banks | Details

The Crow Ghost of Haunting Footsteps

Break my neck; snap it in two, snap it in half
don't give me that incredulous, frightened look as I ask
don't hesitate in front of me, please just do me this favor
so I gain a halo, live forever under my own protective silo
Well do I have your attention now please
this isn't what I came to you for but life is out to smother it seems
Here I stand a man, a boy
though I feel like a toy, pulled two ways by kids with way too much joy causing too much noise
I'm not feeling it today
this hamster wheel we call daily routine
this whole work, sleep, repeat lifestyle we wage
I've had enough of minimum wage; had enough of these days but this is just commonality, a casual notion
while we all casually tell ourselves
"This is only a phase, we'll get through another day"
Here we go, the next sunlight; the sun ever bright
but everything is still the same
It is said the world can't change overnight
at least some say without a fight
though in reality, it doesn't take much
but a mistaken touch, an absent-minded clutch, trying to find a way to stand without a crutch
when all that is wanted is love from a beautiful dove
to look up above and say thank you for it all
not stare at barren hands, wonder is it all lost
I've lost, undeniable; I've lost, undeniably so
so spills the secret from my lips that may cause a rift
but here it sits, swept under the carpet
forgive me if I'm paralyzed by dialect unrecognized
I leave unpunished for a thought my own version of Rea didn't proceed to show me the meaning of bite
I leave unpunished by my own version of a mermaid for speaking how I feel...about her best friend
Don't berate me with misinformed, misinterpreted names of bewilderment and curiosity
All I said was Crush, all I said was intrigue, all I said was the pursuit of who Marceline was behind her own version of a screen
Will I know, on my own terms eventually
but in actuality I wanted to rip that thought out of the burning smoke in my chest
as the guilt, as the words I still haven't and utterly refuse to speak of kept building and building in lungs that aren't big enough until they just tumbled out
so out goes the notion I left unpunished because though downgraded has this conversation fell
I still punish myself or is it my mind that punishes me
I look at the ground while I ride my Mothra, a bike on just two wheels as my shadow thrice passes by me
moving faster than me...no matter how fast I travel
my shadows all move faster than I do
No matter how fast I peddle, no matter how fast Mothra flies
the world is faster than me
To take a page out of the book of Naruto:
no matter how fast I walk, how fast I develop, there is always someone walking in front of me
an obstacle I just keep stumbling over
just like...she always does
a friendly push in the wrong direction
If I may borrow a line from This Wild Life
She's a planet, I'm only a comet
people gravitate to her while others part like grass in wind whenever I draw near
I'm at my worst when I'm with her, I'm at my worst when I think of her
She's everything I had ever wanted
8 years back, she was everything I had ever wanted
but as of now, she doesn't love me I can tell
As far as she's concerned, I'm only a ghost in the night who haunts her footsteps for I wish sometimes maybe subconsciously those footsteps were leading to me
but my gut says hate her, my heart says love her while my mind just sits in its strait jacket laughing away
and I, outside my own mind, ponder the world around me
outside my universe
A husband, soon to be
a boyfriend of 5 years, temporary
walked into his house, his daily routine
thought to be just another day
through the front door
not knowing his wife, soon to be
his girlfriend of 5 years
yelled to the skies for her pain to end
dived off the banister, broke her neck to break her fall
while in present, her boyfriend screamed in expletives or maybe in stunned silence of shocking horror
or maybe he shouted to the sky, "Gosh, darn it all!!!!!"
If you have a heart built of faith and love, lend a prayer or quick word to the blue skies for her to rest peacefully
My only wish is for her to ascend past the clouds, not be boiled by the Earth's molten magma
The husband, soon to be
now a widower can only set flowers by her pictures
has a chance to bounce back from this depressive state, start over with a blank slate
stage dive onto the hands of his family to keep himself afloat
but if I assume to know his emotions, assume to know his mind
He's drowning in ice water, cursing at the sight he saw, cursing at himself for not preventing it
singing Dear Death in pure hatred for them to take him instead and give her back
screaming at the sky "Why HER??!!"
bargaining for the return of the only woman to have his love forever
Don't hold her picture in a locket you fool
or else you'll just see her face swinging from her makeshift noose
I can only hold you for comfort, I don't know what else to do
I'm empty too
I don't persist to know what it feels like to have a loved one's neck break at my very feet
but I know what it feels like to have a promised wife give me love then leave me feeling tremendously weak as life finds a way to tear us apart completely
Scream at me, make it the best I ever heard
don't waste your breath on the wind trying to console you
take it out on me, let it out, just breathe
then cry all you need
says the empty, dreaming, venting, longing, ghost of haunting footsteps of a crow known as me

Copyright © Russell Banks | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details

Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Tom Quigley | Details

Aspie

1—Milieu

Unique construction of body and mind
My niche in human pack not quickly found 
Raw young heart of a curious design
The empty mirrors for my soul abound

Subjectively a bit odd to myself
A jangled, disconnected kind of sense
You’d really have to feel it for yourself
Bare toes in rougher grass, my side of fence

Surrounded by like minds, we all assume
This world of beings whose outsides look like ours
Belonging, my soul’s dream bound straight for doom
As if I’d flown a rocketship from Mars

I turn my back, but yet still feel their grins
At times it seems a penance for past sins

2—Hairshirt

At times, it seems a penance for past sins
This hairshirt of discomfort I have worn 
Beneath my skin, wool sweater’s itch within
As if my past lives’ sins remain unshorn

My senses prone to overload, expend
Just like my mind, to peace they must return
A t-shirt tag could bother me no end
Yet bloodied elbows would escape concern

Vast sea of neon lights, eyes howling bright
My skull reverberates with common sound
A thousand Vegas strips eclipse my sight
Exquisite dullness, daggers soft abound

Bright deluge, hard sensations’ stormy squall 
At times, my soul would fade into the wall

3—Fledgling 

At times, my soul would fade into the wall
When I could not march to their beating drum
Fictitious rules apparent to them all
Ignored by most, my fate, hated by some

My heart is scalded, social asper-steam
Within me builds a silent asper-scream
The years of clumsy efforts don’t redeem
Relief, a frothing mug of aspercreme

I try to find the beat I cannot plumb
Although my overloaded senses hum
The human presence looms, I seek the numb
A frenzied fumble for my aspergum

The fairy tails I chased once seemed unmatched
To grow up in a dreamy world detached

4—Sinking 

To grow up in a dreamy world detached
Illusions and delusions spread their wings
Again, again, my boyhood dreams were dashed
Stray child in charge of life, no good will bring 

The poisoned rain did fail to bring relief
To run and hide within was my great lie
A deepened torrent, dark implosive grief
All sorrow that’s submerged is magnified

The spirit’s life for which I’d never reached
Until the fateful day, my first real prayer
Strong hallowed reed my drowning arm beseeched
Through desperation’s gift, my soul did dare

From darkness did my vagrant soul break free
Becoming the man I’m supposed to be

5—Integration

Becoming the man I’m supposed to be
A task not as straightforward as it sounds
The years drew mantle of success to me
Yet still my larger clan could not be found

My social self I’d tried to disavow
So often did I wish these needs would die
But luck, this curse my fate would not allow
Through many trials, my error rate so high

Within this maze, the rat had found no cheese
So weary now of feeling out of place
Their foreignness cannot be grasped with ease
Where are my people? I don’t see a trace

In this soul, vital difference would it make
For all the years I’d spent perfecting fake

6—Tribe

For all the years I’d spent perfecting fake
My heart, in large part, cowered underground
To ape the things that never could be mine
To be my own self seemed a risk profound

Occasions bring more friends across the rift
In parts and pieces, forming near a whole
A rare woman who can accept my gifts
Our small tribe hatched with love and kindred soul

At forty, I learned how to read a face
Such basic things with which you’re all endowed 
My common sense uncommon, but my place
Becoming solid in my micro-crowd

Great challenge finding home where my heart sits
To figure out with my unaided wits

7—Of Understanding and Diagnosis

To figure out with my unaided wits
Awareness blossomed when I first did see 
 “Non-neurotypical,” whatever its
true meaning, doubtless it referred to me

Atypical, the wires under my skin
Atypical, my needs for contact too
Atypical, the fires that burn within
Atypical, these seeds my life imbued

Despite the careful wording in their books
The shrinks disparage us, their words betray 
The path I find innate, it just might look
Compared to you, pervasively delayed

The Others you don’t get are not Unclean
Some scientists draw parallels between

8—Neanderthal Dream

Some scientists draw parallels between
Neanderthals and Asperger’s today
How ancient cavemen’s lives just might have been
The features, mind and body, seem to say:

Creative loners who seek their own place
Extinct, though hiding somewhere in our genes
An ancient mind lurks just behind my face
It seems we’re born to live in worlds between

Neanderthal projected forward, I’m
A lone wolf among pack dogs, number prime 
In step and tune to my unique heart’s rhyme
A living museum piece who’s lost in time

This unexpected journey helped me find
Unique construction of body and mind

8/6/16
© Thomas W. Quigley

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Dustin Legan | Details

Motivational Truthfulness

Spark to light the fire. It’s my life mission to gain the knowledge of what makes people laugh and intrigued by my experiences in my never ending and changing life. I want people to know that they do not have to give up on themselves no matter the hardship and trouble that is put in their path! KEEP IT MOVING!

I’ve been the Host of radio shows TV Shows MTV specials but in the end I and EVERYONE deserves to be happy. SORRY I DIDN’T FOLLOW YOUR GIVEN EXAMPLES BUT I BELIEVE THIS IS MORE TOUCHING AND PROFOUND! So come say hi I’m willing and able to tackle the Best and the worst that life puts in front of me!

DUSTIN R LEGAN

Activities and Societies: Promotion of self, DJ SERVICE, Clothing Line (KEEP IT DIRTY) The Society of CHEROKEE NATION

What you see written above I wrote long time ago. I barely remember even writing it and the worst part about of it all. I don’t even practice it. I did at one point and for some reason I decided because of in a relationship and failure in a job because of certain things that I have done or had done, made me lose that state of mind or as I would say let’s keep it dirty and keep it moving keep it dirty was a passion for me along with entertainment along with a statement a way of life and because of my shortcomings with addiction not taking responsibility and basically giving in to depression and fear I just fell down we all get in a bad way and I was in a bad way and let’s be honest or let’s keep it real let’s keep it movin let’s keep it 100 lets keep it dirty! things don’t change overnight and I tried. I thought of everything I could do to get back on my feet… I gave it to God tried to put it in his hands and i still do! Ill always remember this, everybody that I talk to, God included said it doesn’t happen on your time it happens on God’s time, with that being said I was and am still in the process of making a better me. I just wanted to do it faster quicker you know instant gratification now!now!now! Like a little spoiled brat that is how I acted and that doesn’t get you anywhere. I’m leaning on God for real this time or the universe or whatever you believe in. whatever is your church whether it be nature, music, climbing mountains, beautiful landscapes, art whatever makes you feel closest to God for yourself or your inner self believe whatever you want to, we are all here on this earth to do something which is called be happy. I believe all of us want to find our purpose and in the process it’s not easy but you have to find out what you believe in, what your passion is and even that is a process. Start thinking about what makes you happy because that’s what I’m doing right now! There’s millions of things in the world that you’re never going to understand so let it go. I’ve come to a conclusion that the more you fight it the more confusing it gets and the more frustrated you become and that frustration turns into fear and doubt of yourself because as soon as you start to doubt who you are that’s when you get lost…. things go dark….. stagnant……. but if you ever had a passion, if you ever had a hobby that you loved or if you ever discovered something you can’t let go, I believe if you go back in your mind to your childhood and see through your child like eyes like you are there, it will come to you! you may have to go back to your old neighborhood your old houses or Apartments that make you feel because that’s when the fire starts! It may start small but then it grows and gets louder and louder. I still struggling but I know one thing… I want this world to be a better place or what I do or what I say or what I have to offer , laughter or an idea to make a movement or start something that will benefit our world, something that will change and awaken the sleepwalkers the people that are just going about their day to day life not knowing or forgetting or just not wanting to wake up.  I know you want to do it your just scared. Dig deep and go in your heart because that’s where you need to go to reactivate your drive, your passion!!! Get angry get excited and get ready. I read something the other day about a mind shift and as soon as you make a shift to succeed in your passion or follow your dreams no matter what happened in the past whether it be relationships drugs alcohol violence jail death in the family or friends. Depression, post traumatic stress disorder none of these things will be able to stop you. I have a dream and I want to see it through but in order to do that I need to inspire or motivate other people like you so keep it real with yourself and remember who you were, because you are still here. If you have the same aspirations these same kinds of thoughts and you have a dream, you have got to find a way to make that dream happen. I’m starting with you!

Let’s keep it real! I don’t have a job but I have a passion to make an impact on this world and the next generation. Music by Flawless Chris Lynwood please add him on your Facebook

Copyright © Dustin Legan | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Ivor Davies | Details

Legacy of Penang

Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I ever had.
A holiday of every dream
that one lifetime could hold
so listen while this wondrous time 
to you I now unfold:

In bygone years to travel far
was not a normal thing,
to travel some six thousand miles
by plane was amazing!
Propellers aided by a jet,
a very modern way,
aboard a British Eagle plane
my life would change that day.

A little island in the sun
where British troops were based
on active service out Far East
where they would get a taste
of jungle warfare while they helped
to form a brand new state
by helping stop objections from 
a few this change did hate.

But as a teenage boy, you see,
the politics of war
were not as noticeable to me
as other things I saw.
I felt the beauty of this land
with folk of every kind
for at this time in England
few ‘cultures’ could be found. 

For back at home in Blighty
a youngster such as me
had to know his place in life
and couldn’t roam quite free,
but out here in the tropics
no prejudice I found
of the nature that had kept me thus
by England’s limits bound.

Now out here in Malaysia,
on this island of Penang,
I found a place where deep inside
stirred memories that sang
of a time in my existence
that I’d never felt before
born of ancient inner knowledge
that my soul was screaming for.

To continue with my story
of the time I was a lad,
when in a British Barracks
with a soldier for a dad
I had given up my schooling
for adventure in the world
and like a butterfly emerging
my wings were now unfurled.

On this truly wondrous island
Minden Barracks was my home
with excitement and adventure
wherever I could roam.
I immersed in all the wisdom
of simplicity I met
and learned that what you give to life,
returns in what you get.
 
For the Chinese and the Indians,
Malays and some ex-pats
had found ways to live together
though all wore different hats,
in perfect symbiosis
where all fulfilled their roles
and by leaning on each other
could emancipate their goals.

Now even at this early age,
I was not too dim to see
that the rich were getting richer
and the poor were never free,
but something buried deep inside
these people of Penang
bore a certain understanding
of the common song they sang.

Now I grew up very quickly
as my friends all went to war,
young soldiers who were now my age
what were they fighting for.
Atrocities befell them 
as they fought Malaysia’s side
against those from Indonesia
who would not join this ride.

Skirmishes abundant
though Penang was hardly hit,
it was only very seldom
that we faced a scary bit.
When Minden B’ was threatened
all the locals stayed inside
just in case the British soldiers
started shooting the wrong side!
 
But throughout this ‘confrontation’
my job became pure joy,
for the Army’s recreation 
then became my brand new toy.
On the island’s sandy beaches
you would find me day by day
driving speed boats for the soldiers
when they found the time to play.

In Penang, their favourite island,
 the troops would take their leave
and have fun while water skiing
as they took a short reprieve
from the nature of their duties
that had brought them to this land
and for just a fleeting moment
could enjoy the sea and sand.

For three years whilst Water Skiing
I enjoyed this paradise
but the days I was not working
were all equally as nice
for at home in Minden Barracks
was a special swimming pool
where friends would meet
and wash their souls
with conversation’s tool.

This really was the centre
of our commune in this land,
the meeting place for sharing
where all friends would understand.
Soldier’s wives, their men at war,
and others gathered round,
if any place is hallowed
then this pool is sacred ground.
 
But Georgetown and its traders
was the place I loved to be
where the colour, noise and culture
always let my soul soar free.
Where the many, many trishaws
and the bikes and traffic mix,
with the hawkers, shops and markets
this is where I got my fix!

Four good years I lived my life
in this very special place,
absorbing understanding
at a multicultural pace.
I’d been born into a country
that the world thought was mature,
but maturity is lost of mind
when progress is the lure.

Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I’d ever had.
Back in 1966 I went back home again
and the schooling that I’d given up
had not been lost in vain,
for I’d learnt the real meaning
of my Life in this short stay,
a meaning full of everything
I carry till this day.

So now I’m in My sixties,
not the sixties of my past
and the thing I’ve found along the way
is most things never last.
But learn from where you travel,
let morals be your guide
for none can steal the things you hold
and carry deep inside.

Ivor G Davies

Copyright © Ivor Davies | Year Posted 2015

Long Poems