Long Kind of Poems
Long Kind of Poems. Below are the most popular long Kind of by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kind of poems by poem length and keyword.
"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it(anywhere i go you go . . . "
ee Cummings
Years gone by
refuse to count
seems like yesterday
trying not to stop and think
yet I’ve never forgotten
how at your smile I’d melt
and wither at your gaze
how I treasured
every stolen moment
and time stood still
in your arms
somehow I go on
never wanting to forget
never loved anyone
like I loved you
under all the layers
despite the many years
the flame still burns
I still love to carry
your heart within me
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on November 9, 2019 for contest CHALLENGE, NOVEMBER – SOME KIND OF LOVE sponsored by DEAR HEART – WIISHKOBI ODE - RANKED 1ST
Chanda was in McDonalds, with single mother friends
The radio came on, said now welfare ends.
The ladies panicked, poured onto the street
How could they support kids, and make ends meet?
The Mercedes on the road crashed into the side
The driver had heard the radio, then began to cry.
She ran a fake day care, she sold food stamp cards
Now without income, life would get hard.
Shmuley was reading the Talmud in his house.
Then came in his overwrought spouse.
She said the welfare office had a sign on the door:
The new ruler of America had decreed, no handouts, no more.
No bailouts for bankers, forget farmers aid
Corporations got to make it with no subsidies paid
Pro-bono lawyers couldn't use lawfare the time:
No dubious causes on the taxpayer dime.
Then rioters came out, looking for stuff to burn
They'd never made an honest living, now they'd have to earn
And everyone else, hooked on some kind of handout,
Marched on Washington, to throw the President out.
The President appeared on TV, and appealed for calm
He said he had to do it; our currency was a time bomb.
The debt had reached three times G.N.P.
A worthless dollar in store, and poverty.
“Our debt has grown beyond what dollars can bear,
There's a limit to what the billionaires share.
The printing press runs, but the backstop grows thin:
If we don't stop spending, the dollar caves in.”
But the President was hanged, and a new one elected
Everyone could breathe easy now, welfare was protected.
Back to Talmud, back to McDonalds, back to the slums
But disaster just delayed, and the grim reaper comes.
The grim reaper comes....
I had not realized how suave and smooth you are
Or how handsome you can be to others
Until I happened upon your social media page
Not the one with me and the kids
The other one where your name is Rob.
I had not realized until that second that I was dead.
When I saw widower next to your photo, I was stunned.
The story of my death told delicately and delightfully
Seemed to stir up empathy in women from every direction.
I wonder if you took off your ring when you met them?
I had not realized that those weekends where you had to work
Were spent doing the kind of work you liked to do the best.
No wonder you were no longer excited about plowing at home.
You were too tired, I am sure.
I wonder if you showed them a photo of your dead wife.
I had not realized that my parents were right
When they said they would never trust you,
That “something was off, that you were over secretive.
I sold your treasured new Lamborghini today.
The one you refused to put a car seat into.
I left your half on the counter.
It came to $1.75 cents.
This is good bye.
This is an okay kind of day.
I try not to notice much,
and the ‘much’ pretty much ignores me.
There’s a flashy bookstore.
Bookstores don’t sell my kind of books anymore.
My favorite books are never interactive,
or linked to a crappy website.
The best authors are not - on-line celebrities.
I can’t read Tolkien anymore,
those ‘Ring’ movies stuck a sword
through the heart of my imagination;
now I only fantasize about sex.
I’m having a bad day now.
The street is full of cell-phone zombies;
the blind digitally humping the blind.
I’m an endangered sub-species – I’m old.
Back sometime in 1949,
I was also a street poem of sorts,
a dark secluded corner of a street.
I was a travelling squiggle of sperm. That was a fun time,
the whoosh of the whoosh was even better.
I’m grateful that my parents didn’t murder me,
thus, allowing me to write free verse street poetry,
or do I mean blank verse?
What the hell is poetry anyway (rhetorical pause),
probably not this.
This street is full of much more stuff than I care to mention.
However, there’s a liquor store.
Liquor store servers
always make a point of saying ‘have a nice day’,
you know they don’t mean it. They are professionals,
they know you are not buying all that booze
for a backyard party with your many friends.
The street ends about here,
it meanders off into the city
like a clean poem looking for a dirty ending.
I think the day is just okay again.
Closing our eyes is easy…it’s probably the most excellent way
to think, to hope, to dream…to make a wish…to kiss…to pray.
In the quiet darkness behind our eyes is where people start
to heed the teachings of their soul and listen to their heart.
When we close our eyes this Juneteenth
let’s listen as our heart tells us something we’ve known all along…
that any kind of slavery…always was…always is…and always will be…wrong.
When we close our eyes this Juneteenth…
we know, in our hearts, human rights should never have to be won…
they should be universal and apply to everyone.
When we close our eyes this Juneteenth
We know everyone should receive the same education
no matter who or when or where.
We know that no one should go hungry and everyone needs care.
But…when we close our eyes this Juneteenth
There are some people whose minds have become twisted.
Who would like us, when it comes to slavery, to act as if it never existed.
So….when we close our eyes this Juneteenth
let us remember all those who needlessly and savagely
at the hands of prejudice have died…and cried.
Let us not allow today’s twisted minds to erase our history…
Let us not allow them to break our spirit or crush our pride.
When we close our eyes this Juneteenth
Let us not close our eyes to what our hearts know to be true…
Which means when we open our eyes this Juneteenth…
we know exactly what we need to do.
She called for me. I saw her standing by the window, transfixed by something outside. I stood at the door and could faintly hear a melodious tune. She beckoned me to come closer, and I marvelled at what she had seen. There were three colourful singing birds at the window, unruffled by our presence.
“They woke me up this morning,” she said.
“Wow,” I exclaimed.
There was a brief moment of silence between us. “It’s a sign,” she said, turning to look at me.
“What kind of sign?” I asked.
“It’s a sign that a soul is crossing to the beyond. A beloved one is easing into the night,” she explained.
Her words didn’t sink in deeply at the time.
As the morning light streamed through the window, the birds flew away. We were bereaved three days later when Nana eased into the beyond.
I wish I could be
Be the friend you need
Be able to fill your empty
Your broken
Your missing bits
The bits of you that have been left behind
Those bits you grasp for
Grasping at air
Grasping for what little I have to share
Leaving me grasping for my own breath
I cannot breathe for you
Oh how I want to
I desperately need to
Instead I feel indescribable suffocation
Wishing I was strong enough
Yet my wishing is not nearly enough
Perhaps if enough time passes
I will regain my strength
Do you feel it?
Do you know?
Do you understand my silence?
Do you interpret it as listening?
Listen carefully
Listen for the sound of my breathing
Listen until you hear
My grasping
My own missing
My little gaping bits of empty
Empty that can't be filled
Won't be filled
Oh how I wish it could be filled
Filled to overflowing
Perhaps then I could be enough
More than enough
A cup running over kind of enough
So I will keep trying
Trying my best
to breathe us in
By helping
And holding on
To you!
For maybe
Yes maybe
Somehow
Possibly
Hopefully
We might be
More than strong enough
Together!
After reading Laura Breidenthal's "Is anyone out there"
I was inspired to write this piece.
His meds kept Andrew sane
He lived with us, no one to blame
But one day he refused his pills
I knew what that meant, a battle of wills.
In a few days voices told Andrew to leave.
He vanished, left a note I didn’t believe.
I tracked his SIM card to Idaho.
I had lots on my plate but I had to go.
At Boise airport, I rented a car.
From there I let instinct be my guiding star
I thought Andrew would go where wild horses run
So I drove northward to find my son.
The scenery had its beauty, the mountains were high
The snow on their peaks merged with clouds in the sky
In the Challis grassland, antelope roam
But my son wasn't meant for a cowboy poem.
I drove since midnight, no sleep to be had
My thoughts were racing about Andrew gone mad.
Then the sun rose over a ridge, a golden crest
The kind of view you only get in the American West.
I found nine horses grazing and a wraith was there
I recognized him by his red burning hair
He said “zombie pills are a high price to be sane
But I will relent, I will spare you more pain.”
I said "Your meds are the best that science can do
Let's drive home together, our relations renew
It's quite a backdrop you found; I like the aura
of the sunrise cresting the top of Mount Borah."
He took half a pill, we drove the Lost River east
After a while his false voices ceased.
Many years have passed since that madness attack
But stressed in my office, I often flash back
The image remains, stamped in my mind
Caught among the wild horses, a son to find,
I read my Wall Street Journal, and the thought haunts me
So many people are their worst enemy.
I saved him, but who will save me?
~This and That~
(Decastich)
Life is short and the length of our life is not of our control.
In our lifetime we often run and then we may fall.
Some blame this and that, and make all kind of excuses,
As we all turn the tables and sing sometimes the blues.
These are some of the things that some of us do and choose.
When we hear a sad report or some bad news,
Let's remove from our minds what we can not use,
And treat with care/appreciate what we don't want to lose,
Because great things in life you wish only to produce,
And the length and quality of life we shouldn't never misuse.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
January,06,2015
Simon Hardy.
Simon Hardy.
Resilience is his hidden name...
STRENGTH in his softness,
Never misses a chance to speak a kind word,
Even though he is most often in terrible pain.
He has found a kind of fairness in his serenity.
Most of us never get there --
We just can't get our heads to believe,
That there is no injustice in the Universe...
But our hearts know, it's true!
But Simon Hardy has 'found the zone', even though
His parents lost ALL their family in the Holocaust.
He has honored me by showing me the picture of all of them,
Before they were taken, every one.
And he always has time for ME.
Amazing, isn't it?
And he looks like Santa Claus!
That's Simon Hardy.