Long Listens Poems
Long Listens Poems. Below are the most popular long Listens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Listens poems by poem length and keyword.
Picture this: you make a call
To straighten out a bill.
Of course, what you expect’s a battle
Being fought uphill.
Instead, you get dear Caroline
Who listens and who hears,
Which you have not experienced
In many, many years.
She takes your information down
And keeps you on the line.
You aren’t put on hold
Or disconnected by design.
She does a little research
‘Cause she really wants to solve
What the problem is, no matter who
Or what it does involve.
She tracks down radiology
And gets them on the phone –
(A 3-way call!) explaining
In a calm and measured tone.
I’m blown away to learn that such
A person still exists.
For those of you whose skepticism
Naturally persists…
I understand your reasons
For the playing field is bleak
But with luck you may find Caroline,
An agent quite unique!
Bobby comes home from work to screaming kids and a nagging wife;
Feeling as if he hasn’t had a moment of peace in his entire life.
Jackson comes home from work to a dark and empty house;
Longing to fill the void of it all with offspring and a spouse.
Betty changes a dirty diaper and wipes a running nose;
The last time she pampered herself, only heaven knows.
Janet fixes another meal made especially just for one;
Wondering if her eligible days have all come and gone.
Each of them looks deep inside not liking what they see;
Convinced that everyone else in the world has a better reality.
Bobby watches his kids score a goal and his wife fixes him supper;
The pride he feels and love he shares works like a natural upper.
Jackson relaxes with a good book and listens to his favorite musician;
Comfortable with the freedom to do what he wants without any imposition.
Betty gets a big hug and a kiss from kids who say they love her;
The times she feels happiest is when she is helping out another.
Janet shares time with wonderful friends without any sexual tension;
And feels sorry for those unhappily married whose choices they often question.
Each of them looks deep inside and are happy with their destination;
Some days are good and some days are bad no matter our life situation.
I blow kisses to my Father as I arise and see the sun
I blow kisses to my Father before my day has even begun
I blow kisses to my Father as I look up to the sky
I blow kisses to my Father there are many reasons why
I blow kisses to my Father for He listens and He blesses
I blow kisses to my Father He forgives me for my messes
As I walk, as I run, I blow kisses just for fun
As I fly from place to place, I thank God for traveling grace
He never leaves, nor neglects, I never fear for He protects
When I cook, when I clean, I blow kisses in between
When I stop at the red light, when I see the stars at night
I blow kisses to my Father just because the breeze is blowing
I blow kisses to my Father that is just my way of showing
I am grateful and I'm thankful cause He truly loves me so
I blow kisses to my Father and I want the world to know
To my Heavenly Father
My heart weakened by its innumerable years
continues to flutter its plangent beats. An
ancient maple tree, its leafless naked branches calls
for me to rest beside its protective scaly bosom,
for it sees a messenger perched upon my shoulder.
I feel its pulsing inner core gently whispering of things forgotten. My tortured troubled intellect fails to comprehend the language of its quintessence.
My shriveled breast listens and its fundamental
makeup comprehends its declaim.
The benevolent and hospitable giant with invisible
web feet bids me to become part of its composition.
My inner self understands its venerable message for
it whimpers like a malnourished neglected infant
waiting impatiently to suckle its mother.
Oh! If only I could creep into its nucleus and curl up
in a fetal position to expiate my sins while transmuting
my nonspiritual body into it’s vibrant sap and feed its
vascular cambium system so that my essence can once again Return to its natural state.
Some people say that they will not believe unless they see God’s face.
Some people say that if God is real, he’s not involved in this human race.
Some people say that if God exists, why does he allow destruction and waste?
Some day I will see God’s face, but for now in this finite shell, I rather not.
Some remain unconvinced, but without God, we would have perished by now.
Some maintain a lack of faith; I maintain that God’s love for them is no less.
Though I have not seen God, yet in another way, I did see him up close, just the other day.
There is a Christian lady whose home I was in, and I noticed certain things she had on display.
First, I must add that her house is well organized, well kept, and so filled with peace, I must say.
There were beautiful and meaningful pictures on her wall.
There were three of them staring at me as I walked along the hall.
Their message to me was clear, and if one listens, it’ll speak to all.
I saw a picture of water and hills and clouds, so much a part of God’s creation.
There was a picture in golden tones with the words, “ The Light Of The World”. And I saw a picture of creation, The Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo.
No, I did not see God face to face; and what I saw on the wall will always leave a trace, because in the heart of that Christian lady, I saw God’s grace.
022108 cj PS
I want a lived-in face—
a body that curves and stretches,
each line a crease carved by laughter,
grief, survival.
I love life etched into skin.
We are the narrators of our days,
our bodies the pages,
our faces the margins,
annotated by time.
We are art—
life’s sculptures—
one arm or two,
too thin, too wide.
What old lies we’ve swallowed
about beauty’s mould.
Perfection?
That polished cage—
stitched with labels.
I wore the names—
Chanel, Louis Vuitton—
as if they could spell beauty
on a tag around my wrist.
I spent myself chasing flawless,
burning joy like cash,
saving nothing for self-love.
I was lost chasing the dream—
of thigh gaps sold as grace,
quiet hunger wrapped in silk,
airbrushed lies reflected back
in mirror-glass approval.
And in all that gloss,
I missed the glow
of my own skin,
weathered, soft,
and holy in its truth.
They told me I was richest when untouched,
when time hadn’t left its mark—
but youth is cheap.
Real beauty accrues.
Each scar, each stretch,
a kind of interest paid in grace.
I long for truth.
Gray hair, wrinkled hands,
a tooth gone missing like a childhood friend.
My curves have curves,
but my heart is open,
always has been.
My mouth will sing
even if a note is off.
Even if pieces are missing—
it matters not.
Confidence? Still a struggle.
But intelligence…
oh, that disarms me every time.
A woman or man who can think—
who listens with their eyes,
and speaks with care—
now that’s divine.
Beauty or the beast—
it matters not at all.
Each one a masterpiece,
every rise and fall.
Merry Elves, exhausted delivering gifts,
decided to accomplish pretty swift
get their toughest job done..
for cute children to have fun,
with incredible toys, hard to resist.
Damian and Ashwin's, Elves opened door,
the boys had been diligent doing chores,
total silence, they’re in bed...
children and pets - "great" Elves said..
"What's shining bright and tempting on the floor!"
"Ha! An open brand new Pokémon game,
why don't we have some good fun - none will blame",
they all left in a rush when...
mommy summoned the children,
lucky day for Elves, perfect time they came!
Elves were super excited, thrilled to play,
when children were fast asleep, they sure may,
Santa would not know a bit,
what they are up to...a kit,
best chance for them to enjoy right away!
Damian's Fish gazed at them from the bowl,
a Guppy who listens to Rock n' Roll,
Elves didn't mind the swimming fish,
Finally met secret wish...
"who cares a fish..no other watching soul!"
November 24, 2022
For "Children's Limerick" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
syllables (10-10-7-7-10) in every stanza checked by HMS.com
rhymes checked by Rhymezone.com
SECOND PLACE
When a man loves a woman..
He listens to how she’s feeling more than what she’s saying,
He will put her needs and desires before his own,
He will let her into his heart, and work to get into hers,
He will reinforce her as a woman, build her up, and encourage her to take risks,
She will know he always has her best interests in mind,
She will be confident in her endeavors knowing she’s supported and loved,
Her beauty and desire will never be a question, in her own mind,
Because her beauty and desire will always be mentioned and nurtured,
She will know the relationship is worth more that the conflict,
She will know she’s cherished, because she feels cherished in the comfort of his arms,
He will make her a priority in life,
He will be inclusive and inviting
She will be able to trust him with her most intimate thoughts,
And know it will never be used against her,
She will feel free to express herself and be vulnerable with him
He will kiss her with all the passion of the first time,
He will do all this and more,
Even when the color has faded from their very first photograph,
He will do this and more because he loves his woman.
"Serpentine"
Give a woman enough rope
and She’ll show you
what hanging’s worth
the life coiled around
a body of work
could be misconstrued
serpentine
She draws from the rock
like it's Her cornerstone
creation
sexuality
fertility
the life force
of our
ever spinning planet
serpentine
like it’s Her cornerstone
the conscience, conscious
In The Dreaming
It speaks
Its tongues
She listens
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Serpentine.
"I am not even dust. I am a dream..."
(Jorge Luis Borges)
Sit in a crowded room with walls
and still feel invisible.
I finally understand
it was never the room
that made me invisible.
The air is heavy,
voices blur into noise,
like I’m drowning
in a tide that isn’t mine.
I try to speak,
but no one listens.
I wait for someone
to notice I’m here
but no one ever does.
The walls don’t talk
yet somehow they know
every thought I’ve never said,
every place I didn’t go.
They’re all smiling, laughing.
I put on my mask.
The mask fits too well
smooth, unbroken, convincing, believable.
No one sees it slip.
No one sees what’s hidden beneath.
I’ve worn it so long
I forget what’s under it,
which face is mine
and which belongs to someone else.
The mask fits so well,
I forget the weight of my own skin.
I practice expressions in mirrors no one sees.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse,
and all I see is a stranger
staring back at me.
I laugh when I’m meant to,
I smile on cue
but it feels like I’m watching
someone else live my life.
And when the room goes quiet,
I’m still unseen.
When I leave, nothing changes
like I was never there at all.
Just a voice
that never made it out
of that room.
Maybe it was never the room.
Maybe it was me
dissolving into echoes no one hears.
Maybe I’ve been invisible so long
I’ve forgotten how to be seen.
I leave the crowded room,
the echoes of laughter taunting me
like they touched my skin.
The walls close quietly,
but their weight walks with me.
Footsteps tap on the pavement,
but they aren’t mine.
I move,
but I’m still a shadow
cast between the places I should belong.
The night sky folds around me,
quiet enough to hear my own voice,
soft, small,
and still unnoticed.
Streetlights flicker overhead.
I pass houses with open doors
I’m only halfway home
to a place
that doesn’t know me,
and maybe never will.
The door clicks shut behind me.
I walk through the empty house;
silence follows me,
carrying the voice that never made it out.
I thought it would be different,
but nothing changes.
I’m still me.
Still me.
The person who has to wear a mask
everywhere I go.
I remove the mask in my mind,
searching for comfort.
But beneath the face
is still a stranger,
and no one will ever know