Long Literature Poems
Long Literature Poems. Below are the most popular long Literature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Literature poems by poem length and keyword.
My father is not the biological father of my siblings
So I am the bridge, I am the link in the family
I, alone, carry his blood, so it is
all the more poignant, and painful that
I am the daughter who disappoints
I am the daughter who didn't join the Navy
who didn't graduate from college
who didn't marry a military man
who didn't give him a grandson
I am the literature-loving daughter of the man
who can not abide books, the man
with no patience for poetry or art or music (excepting Johnny Cash)
I am the (usually) alcohol-abstaining daughter of the man
who can not seem to show affection without the buzz of beer in him
I live in the land of rain
He has retired to sunnier plains
Still we share the same face
And, for thirty four years, the same last name
I see in me his stubborness
the same silent avoidance of problems and pain
the same wanderlust
the same silly habit of leaving keys in the door
Of hating to wait in airport lounges, in doctor's offices
the same scribbly handwriting
the same distaste for celery and peppers
For better or worse
I am not me
Without him.
7/15/18
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: wherever you see a (B) inserted in the
narrative, just do a proper breathing of in and out, pause and then
read the next part .
RELAX YOUR FACE CLOSE YOUR EYES AND OPEN YOUR MEMORY.
REMEMBER THE PLACES YOU'VE BEEN AND HOW YOUR SPIRIT KNEW THAT THIS WAS THE LIFE THAT WAS MEANT FOR YOU. WHEN AS A CHILD YOU CLIMBED TREES, SWAM IN THE WARM LAKE, AND PLAYED BENEATH A NEWBORN SUN UNTIL TIME CALLED YOU HOME. WHEN AS A TEEN YOU FELT THE RUSH OF A FIRST KISS AND THE LOVING BUDS OF JOY. (B)
THE AWKWARD SILENT MOMENTS OF FIRST DATES AND LEARNING CURVES. WHEN AS A GROWN UP BEING ,YOU LEARNED TO BE JUST AS YOU ARE. YOU REALIZED THAT LIFE WAS GOOD WHEN YOU GAVE THANKS FOR ALL YOU KNEW. RELAX YOUR FACE CLOSE YOUR EYES AND OPEN YOUR HEART TO THE MESSAGE OF HOPE THAT YOUR HEART WANTS TO IMPART. HOPE IN A FUTURE FULL OF HEALTH, LOVE AND HAPPINESS. HOPE IN A PLANET THAT WANTS TO CONNECT WITH YOU THROUGH OTHER BEINGS (B)
LET YOUR FREE WILL LEAD YOU TO A PLACE WHERE WORRIES ARE ABASED . REST YOUR WEARY SHOULDERS ON THE BOULDERS OF TOMORROW'S FAITH. PLANT A MUSTARD SEED IN YOUR BACK YARD AND WATCH IT GROW. WHEN AS AN OLD AND GRAY PERSON YOU
HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SAY, YOU SIT IN YOUR ROCKING CHAIR AND WAIT FOR THE MOON TO SMILE AT YOU. IT IS HER WAY OF
SAYING TO YOU, "THANKYOU FOR NOTICING ME. YOU REALLY MADE
MY DAY." RELAX YOUR FACE CLOSE YOUR EYES AND BREATHE.....(B)
Love of Literature
Upon the nightstand rests my favorite book,
I beckon her to bed to have a look.
Anxious anticipation flutters in my chest,
As the day's worries and woes, are laid to rest.
Tenderly, I take her in my hands,
Caressing her cover, she knows my plans.
Lightly yielding as we take our place,
Willing and submissive, with gentle grace.
She's a beauty, in her soft subtle veil,
Gently, my fingers trace her textures, an ardent braille.
I know her body—every peak, every valley, a touch sublime,
Tracing her contours, along the edge, then down her spine.
Pulse quickening, eager mind,
Awaiting the adventure that lies inside.
With delicate fingers, I find my bookmark,
With heightened anticipation,
I spread her pages apart.
An intoxicating aroma fills the night air,
A sweet, savory bouquet, found in classic books so rare.
From the outer page, my finger glides,
All the way across, till I'm just inside.
With a soft, tender touch, I navigate the crease,
Gently pushing outward, tensions released.
With attentive focus, all the way down to the end,
Traversing to the other side, to start again.
Her soft, thin pages, a silky, delicate skin,
A gripping story, further drawing me in.
With the flick of my tongue, I wet my fingertip,
And turn the page with a single finger flip.
Chapter 3, it's just her and me.
Enchanted by her sultry love story,
Hopelessly entangled in her romantic glory.
Page after page, we're intimately engaged,
With kinks and cramps, our positions changed.
Playful paragraphs in passionate positions—
Quite the literary expedition.
Steamy, sensual sentences scintillate the senses,
Trembled? Or trembling? Lost all track of tenses.
Her sensual story, passionate and deep,
Inviting me in further, tonight we do not sleep.
Captivated by every line, savoring every word, I take my time.
Two souls entwined, one rhythm and one rhyme.
Dawn's rays through the window gently creep,
With a sigh, I slowly close the book, softly she weeps.
"Rest assured, my darling, you'll be alright,
For I'll see you again, another rendezvous tonight."
Of all my cherished tomes, she'll always be first,
My love of literature, an unquenchable thirst.
After I write something,
to the best of my ability,
not ever putting my name
on a work I am not proud
of – yet, I pause to say,
Thank you...pleased to have
been blessed with a tiny role
in the production. Come
now! You don't actually think
that you stand apart, alone,
unguarded, unprotected,
entirely self-driven and
self-directed? Not a star
could keep its place in the
sky without the support of
its surrounding dark. What
light we have, what light
we show, is a soulful theme
burning in the heart of its
Universe. Miraculous Passion
is where we all began – the
spark of even our dimmest
perspectives.
I Am Here With You
It’s okay
I am here with you
The clock ticks again
The earth spins as before
Your eyes are still green
And your lips are still pursed
Why do you cry?
Is it because you’re sad?
Life is good and fast
Time pulls you along
Hold on
It’s okay
I am here with you
Gentle beings walk alone
They feel the empty embraces
They know the sad endings
They foretold it all in a dream
Why do you cry?
Is it because the sky weeps too?
Is it because you are alone?
Come and sit next to me
Put your head on my shoulder
Let it rest there forever
The earth spins as before
Our moon glistens again
Your eyes are still green
And your lips are still pursed
It’s okay
I am here with you
This letter arrived this morning..
"Dear Sir, it is with great honour to inform you
That with the perspicuity of realistic narrative art
And the diversity and universality of myth
Your work illuminates the human condition in the world of today
You have therefore been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature
Cheers, you're the man."
What audacity
To disturb this idiosyncratic taste bubble
This stun and cut bluestocking
My 35 second play
My mango tango d drops
My surgical quality
I ain't getting on a horizontal float wheel
Stockholm can screw themselves
When reprobate blackguards are inferring
I'll stay here
If there's a need for shooting to start
I'll start shooting
Fun bags and polluted cities
Round off my morning, honey
Time for a tea
Medieval queens used to drink pints
I'll 'ave two for breakfast
I am not for sale Stockholm
Captain Hook went to Eton
I've got my bachelors
Leave this knack mental giant alone by-blows
Off-chances, no horizons
without perspectives, what would be
of us all ...!?
Without roads,
without a path, what would be of the feet !?
What would become of the wings
without space and dreams ...
Heaven would be,
without stars
and angels ...
What would become of the sea,
no water,
without fish ...
What would become of the forest,
without trees,
no bugs ...
What would be from the air,
without birds,
Without Men...
what would be of love,
without lovers ...
What would become of death,
without mortals ...
What would become of life,
without those who live ...
What would become of humanity
Without Men...
It would be for men.
without father... ?
I met an old man in Atlantic City, in a library by the shore
Through the glass, the ocean shimmered, he couldn't ask for more
He said he'd been retired since his wife had passed away
His kids scattered across the land, it was hard to fill the day
He spoke about Dobbs Ferry library, there sunset paints the sky
From balconies he watches as the Hudson drifts on by
Outside the Hudson Highlands library, a castle on the height
Inside, portraits, paneled wood, and windows with golden light.
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
He explores the future and the past, the stories don't grow old
But me, I watch the TV sitcoms, letting time unfold
He liked the New Haven library, where the homeless sometimes sleep
The librarian wakes them gently, though it makes her heart weep
He's been to New York's grand palace, with lions at the gate
In Greenburgh a local sang Western songs, folks danced, it was great
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
Echoes of a world gone by, and peace to ease his mind
Myself, I watch old action movies, but suspense won't take a hold
Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I feel cold.
[Bridge]
The Detroit Public Library gave him a pleasant surprise
The city has seen better days, but that place deserves a prize
Built with Vermont marble, Italian trim, a building meant to last
In front a River of Knowledge Mosaic that connects us with the past
I felt a bit of sorrow, his hobby made me fret
I said, "In Atlantic City, there's excitement you can get"
"Come with me," I told him, "There's a place that we can go"
He smiled and said, "No thank you, son, I'd rather take it slow"
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
While I sit and watch the reruns, letting time pass by
He finds the temples of the past, a learning kind of high.
He said "I'll stay in these cathedrals of what we used to be
To each his own, before birds flown, on priorities we disagree"
He turned back to his book again, beneath the painted dome
And in that silent moment, I knew he'd found a home.
stops&steps
of the mind
fold back
upon itself
extraneous
yet within
reverberations
transcend language
into
apparent contradictory
perspectives
otherness
a narrative
of a process
which
anchors meaning
moving
back&forth
we each
must find our way
as bafflement
becomes understanding
then venture
a leap
in times of tension
something
is there
a way to godliness
as we
face to face
come
to Thee
memories
in a sense
of imagery
from
a floating vision
in a search
for meaning
of the fallen
state
a stasis
from salvation
found
measuring meaning
identifying
consequences
breathless
to discuss
&
explain
where selfless
love reigns
affirmed
in a communal walk
Should I write of grand romance,
of star-crossed lovers tell?
I've not known enough of that
to really do it well.
Should I write of torrid sex,
hot and steamy affairs?
I'm old enough now to see
that there's no meaning there.
Should I write heroic tales
full of daring and lore?
But what tale could I tell you
that you've not heard before?
Should I write of politics,
get mad and take side?
But most people won't listen
if you're not of their tribe.
Should I paint a word-picture,
delightful imagery?
There's thousands of small poems
on sunset, dawn, and trees.
Should I write a Limerick,
give you the best one yet?
But who could do better than
that man from Nantucket?
...hmm...or....
Should I write of chicken wings?
A bar food mighty fine,
all those great dipping sauces,
but not too hot with mine...
Too much heat buries the flavor.