Long Long drawn out Poems
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Death of a Dream
by Amy Swanson
Time
existence
goes by
*long drawn out sigh*
gray transforming
overbearing
the happy
once joyful
exuberant bright cheerful eclectic
becoming shadows
misty vapor
rising to the sky
fleeting...
gone.
Days gone by
weeks
and
months
and
years
motions of life
crowd out
emotions of life
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Spark of light
soft golden
struggles against
darkened mire
hope's ashes
faith's grief
love's despondence
Marigold hue
charred
sphere of night envelopes
Streaks and smudges
of pride
vanity
selfishness
cruelty
deface life's canvas
once glowing brilliant
-- now torn and tainted.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Silence...
utter chaos...
sheer madness
consuming life -
they don't know.
They don't care.
They go about
*busily*
trading dreams
spiritual riches
for material fantasies
built with air.
Colorless
consumes the bright
one small spark
daring dream
chasing burgeoning shadows
until exhausted
extinguished...
no more.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
somewhere along the way
s/he lost track of themselves---
perhaps it was because they had been
hurt before & swore to never go into
anything full swing again,
or perhaps it was out of a genuine
dislike of themselves---
either way, the passion was there in the
beginning
(as it always is),
and with it came the words---
words that seem to come naturally
even though they are said by the same people
to different people
a thousand times before our death
words that fill the air with new life & energy
when they first appear again
words that coax us with comfort like the
inevitable calm before the coming storm &
finally those same words that cut like razorblades
& streak down the blackboard simultaneously
with horror movie violins creaking & clanging
in the furthest regions of our heads
when everything falls apart.
there was a promise promulgated in that sea
of first flowering words
a promise that no matter how much it is exemplified on
television or in films for its dramatic purpose,
always seems to con someone under its wing---
this promise that one of the passionate two
would eventually leave their spouse for the other
this promise that the affection that at present was being
hidden behind closed doors
would someday be able to flourish amongst the public world
with all of the boisterous spontaneity of a real health
relationship,
free of any guilt that the two might be feeling
while they worked their magic behind the back(s)
of those that they already had made promises to.
and yet as the early bliss of love turns into the
neurological disease of which it can seem to fester as
all the other moments of life with a person who no longer
interests the other party,
like rotting milk
it’s stink fills the room &
inevitably the apology begins---
long & drawn out with too many words that are all saying the
same thing---
it is over.
one of the promisers didn’t pass the litmus test &
so the less guilty goes back to their spouse
honoring that ridiculous charade that is known as
marriage &
the guilty party
now dumped by the person that they were having an affair with
walks back out into the world
with a feeling that they were not even good enough
for someone who is already married.
while s/he was playing the game
following the rules
doing what her/he was told &
living the life of a
good citizen,
s/he was walking evidence of
a system which had worked,
grinding its gears to churn out the
proper amount of
submission,
allegiance &
fear,
which kept her/in check &
the people running things
satisfied,
for what they wanted was being done &
so the story went until
one day, the clock stopped ticking
the way that it had been &
the routine nature of
master & slave
was derailed---
said good citizen found a light
shed on a part of their existence
which had been kept from them prior,
in fact it’s fair to say
they stumbled upon it,
as even those who have perfected
the art of keeping things from the many
still make mistakes, as humans do &
when the mistake was found,
that fatal hole in the curtain allowed
her/him to see right through.
s/he could have kept it to her/himself &
had s/he done so,
then life would stay comfortable,
life would stay the same & the routine
would not be tampered with,
but the conscience eats at one who
holds within them a greater notion of
what justice is & what it means to
seek a better life for all of us while we
are together on this planet---
it will not let one rest,
once the knowledge is uncovered &
implanted in the mind of someone
who discerns its value to be of
great importance to the world---
so the once “innocent” individual
becomes “guilty.”
overnight, the process can take place,
once the curtain has been pulled away &
the powers that be
who don’t like what they see,
will find a way to
make an example
out of this person who
had been haunted by truth &
who felt that if they hadn’t revealed it to
the world, then
they would go mad from keeping it
inside.
locked away in a cell,
kept from the light,
kept from their friends & family,
kept from all the freedoms they once had,
meant to rot to death
withstanding periods of torture &
long drawn out periods of
boredom & fear,
until the heart stops beating---
just as it was meant to be.
April 26, 2018 Thursday 9:10 am A COMING APART OR A COMING TOGETHER
WHEN WILL I HAVE YOU?
I ask
oh, anything to get you to focus on us
Think about
Talk about us
but, the bait isn’t taken
You must forget how much this love seeks
to validate
to commeserate
to be
When will you be all mine? I whimpered, I wondered, I asked, I begged
Oh Love you stupid creature of myth
Why did you come to my doorstep in such a hideous way?
Full of lack
Full of insinuation
Full of stark days full of unrequited everything
The touch of you, the long drawn out harm derived
if it isn’t going to last
like forever promised
Full of holes is this love
nasty implications
this whores nest
a flipped over contamination of heart
two that want but won’t be
won’t be what’s wanted
you sit in holy non matrimonious bliss
as I wait in sanctimonious kiss
what kind of love is this
this blessed event soured in tentured history
you and your best flaunted
by me in daily horror
while I guess
is it fool or not
to keep you
when you show up
even daily is the promise
and you do
still I suffer the wages
paid to keep us apart
it wasn’t my idea
to have it like this
i put up with it
because like I said before
love is stupid
shot full of holes
blinding
binding
habitual
pissy
I’d like a hiatus
from this
though I’d miss
the interaction
in my mind
an intelligence dwells
the heart doesn’t partake though
it too, idiots up
at this rate
even if it comes
I may not take it
May forget the whole escapade
go my own way
without
without hoping it will turn out
I may let doubt override
I loved being a whole, one together
With you, I’m neither
barely a quarter, if that
so how come we’re still haggling over the details
why still together
got me
that’s all I know
is you still do
have me
When will I have you?
This (Numerical) Life
I am a number. I know this because you spend all evening asking me my age, as it is my birthday and we dine in lavish style. My name is forgotten; the eccentricities of my character fade, the memories of long conversations disappear, I am reduced to a question: “How old are you”.
And when I do not answer then the guessing games begin, with shrewd examination of my wrinkles and thinning grey hair, and cautious estimates so as not to offend. But still I resist, and your desperation grows, the number taking on significance beyond its simple fact.
I am a number, or you would have it so; to be referred to thus “You are old, Father Clapham”.
But I am me, that sometimes disinhibited gentle man, who talks with you and not at you, who can sometimes cut elegant flourishes in the air with words, and who makes no demands, but relishes your company and sometimes moments of surprise….
And if I were to tell my age, what then? Would you categorise me, change your “maybes” to “shoulds”, whether they could apply to me or not. Will possibilities, however improbable, transform to impossibilities when I become a number?
Will you say “…but at your age” and consign me to a scrapheap?
Do you seek to know how long we might have together, before I can be cast aside as worthless, toothless, sexless? And may I then know how long you have?
Is it the brief months before the inherited disorder strikes you down? Or the long drawn out death from cancer, but well before your allotted span?
I am not a number: I am me, this gentle man who thinks not of the passage of time, nor dwells in history, but is mindful of the present and eager to explore the future. And you, how old are you? Not in birthdays, but in the stale pathways of your thoughts, that show that some can be a long time dead when they’re living.
~Black Friday~
With the turkey out of the way
It's time to do some shop and save
Black Friday...here we go again
I am up at three o'clock
So I'll be at the door on the dot
Shopping like a mad whirlwind
Pulling up to Walmart
Grab myself a fresh shopping cart
For when the doors open up at five
Like a horse out of the gate
Your own fault for being in my way
Just count your blessings that youre still alive
Beat the crowds straight to the back
For a little snatch and grab
Gotta have the newest wide screen T.V.
Blue hair had my T.V. in her cart
Took her out with a karate chop
Sorry granny it's either you or me
Next set my sights on this kid
With no clue of what he did
Or how he ended splayed out on the floor
In the remote car shopping isle
And it may take that kid awhile
To remember who, what, when, or what for
I next wildly veer off to the right
For that set of Ginsu knives
That I use to hold back the forming crowd
With it being the only set left
I Samurai it over my head
Which quickly clears out the entire Ginsu isle
With my shopping about done
I sweep shelves into my cart on the run
Figure I can sort it all out later
At times it's hard to pick and choose
With the attitude of I hate to lose
Anyways I figure they owe me for all my labor
When I get to the front of the store
There's bookoo bunches of crowds galore
I've never seen such a long drawn out line
So I clear the path in front of me
Taking people off at the knees
They'll surely think twice the next time
Before getting in my way
And my day of shop and save
Already planning for next year my friend
Satisfied I head for the door
But I tell you not before
I turn and say Happy Holidays and Good Will Towards Men!
Cause that's just the way I am...
With the turkey out of the way
It's time to do some shop and save
Black Friday...here we go again
I am up at three o'clock
So I'll be at the door on the dot
Shopping like a mad whirlwind
Pulling up to Walmart
Grab myself a fresh shopping cart
For when the doors open up at five
Like a horse out of the gate
Your own fault for being in my way
Just count your blessings that you're still alive
Beat the crowds straight to the back
For a little snatch and grab
Gotta have the newest wide screen T.V.
Blue hair had my T.V. in her cart
Took her out with a karate chop
Sorry granny it's either you or me
Next set my sights on this kid
With no clue of what he did
Or how he ended splayed out on the floor
In the remote car shopping isle
And it may take that kid awhile
To remember who, what, when, or what for
I next wildly veer off to the right
For that set of Ginsu knives
That I use to hold back the forming crowd
With it being the only set left
I Samurai it over my head
Which quickly clears out the entire Ginsu isle
With my shopping about done
I sweep shelves into my cart on the run
Figure I can sort it all out later
At times it's hard to pick and choose
With the attitude of I hate to lose
Anyways I figure they owe me for all my labor
When I get to the front of the store
There's bookoo bunches of crowds galore
I've never seen such a long drawn out line
So I clear the path in front of me
Taking people off at the knees
They'll surely think twice the next time
Before getting in my way
And my day of shop and save
Already planning for next year my friend
Satisfied I head for the door
But I tell you not before
I turn and say Happy Holidays and Good Will Towards Men!
Cause that's just the way I am...
With the turkey out of the way
It's time to do some shop and save
Black Friday...here we go again
I am up at three o'clock
So I'll be at the door on the dot
Shopping like a mad whirlwind
Pulling up to Walmart
Grab myself a fresh shopping cart
For when the doors open up at five
Like a horse out of the gate
Your own fault for being in my way
Just count your blessings that your still alive
Beat the crowds straight to the back
For a little snatch and grab
Gotta have the newest wide screen T.V.
Blue hair had my T.V. in her cart
Took her out with a karate chop
Sorry granny it's either you or me
Next set my sights on this kid
With no clue of what he did
Or how he ended splayed out on the floor
In the remote car shopping isle
And it may take that kid awhile
To remember who, what, when, or what for
I next wildly veer off to the right
For that set of Ginsu knives
That I use to hold back the forming crowd
With it being the only set left
I Samurai it over my head
Which quickly clears out the entire Ginsu isle
With my shopping about done
I sweep shelves into my cart on the run
Figure I can sort it all out later
At times it's hard to pick and choose
With the attitude of I hate to lose
Anyways I figure they owe me for all my labor
When I get to the front of the store
There's bookoo bunches of crowds galore
I've never seen such a long drawn out line
So I clear the path in front of me
Taking people off at the knees
They'll surely think twice the next time
Before getting in my way
And my day of shop and save
Already planning for next year my friend
Satisfied I head for the door
But I tell you not before
I turn and say Happy Holidays and Good Will Towards Men!
Cause that's just the way I am...
In the Dark I stand motionless
Staring across the moonlit landscape
We are together but I am alone
My thoughts consume me
The silence and isolation comforts me
My heart quickens as the music starts
A solitary howl piercing the night air
A crisp baritone shattering the stillness
Then silence and again the night possesses me
My ears strain against the quiet
Anticipating another chord
Suddenly the symphony begins
Ecstasy fills my body as the music reaches me
Echoing from far across the countryside
At first the arrangement is slow and melancholy
Soon the tempo increases
Their opus lifts me up and
I soar over dew covered fields
Through tree tops that sway in the breeze
My imagination joins them in their chase
The harmony of their voices fills my mind
Then I am shocked back to reality
With the sound of my father’s battle cry
“Whoop…Hunt ‘em up boys.”
His companions reply in a union of voices
My blood flushes my face
Long drawn out howls begin to crescendo
Again my father assails the night
With a shout to his comrades
“Whoop…Tree ‘em boys.”
Willed by my father’s voice the hounds respond
A chorus of choppy barks pierces the blackness
My heart quickens its beat
My pace increases
Anticipation takes control of my steps
Guided by the sound of the dogs
Holding their pray at bay
We slip through dense underbrush
Over tree covered hills
We cross frozen streams
Through meadows of frosted brown
Our search lights penetrate the fog
Hidden in the shadow of a tree branch
Eyes twinkle like stars in the sky
A single shot rings out...
A thud…
Snarls…
Rustling leaves and breaking twigs...
The final gasps for life.
It is done
We lead the dogs away
My heart pounding in my chest
On many long, drawn out nights, his routine was to
shuffle aimlessly along dimly lit city streets.
Much of the time, his only companion was a
concealed remnant of cheap bottled wine. He
scavenged for food and money. He would walk
enveloped in deep, weighty shadows and
halo laden street lights. Solitary. Lonely.
Emptiness that few people feel or know.
The raw hollow of an alcoholics tightly
drawn stomach. A gnawing pain that craves
food but will only be quelled when he gets
enough cash for another pint of cheap wine or gin.
Where to spend the night? Maybe with
some of them under the 10th st. bridge.
They may have some money there, or a
blanket to share. Might rummage garbage
containers at the restaurants on the way.
Could walk the parking lot at the grocery store.
There's always change lying on the asphalt.
Could act like he passed out on a city
bench. The police take you to the Detox
Center then. He hated that. Have to stay
72 hours. Guts ache, skin crawls. They
feed you well, but there is always
that craving.
Just keep walking. Frail, vaguely awaren
of hissurroundings as he treks in shadow
andsepia. On 10th, the street lights are so
damned bright they hurt his eyes.
What's that at the bus stop bench
in a brown paper sack?
Two loaves of bread, two wrappers of
bologna, and a luxurious bottle of Gallo
wine tucked in the sack. My God.
Providence at a city bus stop.
Someone boarded the bus and left
their supper. Probably headed for the
homeless shelter overnight.
White bread and meat for one hunger.
Cheap wine for the other.
There might even be some food to share.
Miracle on 10th St.