Long Long time Poems
Long Long time Poems. Below are the most popular long Long time by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Long time poems by poem length and keyword.
i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
from below
in the muck
reeds
grow tall
there are no lips that will draw music
from these clarinet dwellers
i stand under the brightly lit dusk
nearly motionless
the moon above is glued in place nailed in to its spot
holding on to a piece of the bedtime sky
the little dipper reminds me of a rocking chair
my favourite star shines just a little dimmer
time passes
does so
uninvited
its metronome beat replaces the soundscape
of an otherwise musically crowded air
a hand descends from above
cuts the trapped moon down to a sliver
leaving the twilight mostly blind
i'm getting old
still even my worn out senses
are aware
of the days
aware
of that single golden eye
of its rise
its set
its endless loop
quiet is my flow of sand
stressed beyond reason
my lungs want to burst
my brain explode
my emotions are stretched passed their limit
my chest fills
my chest empties
the choice was
has always been mine
i have not lived the life i was gifted
i'm frozen
i'm hot
like a statue baking in the unforgiving rays of Sol
wide awake in the after dark
with all the usual players
the wolf with his cool stance
dressed in a zoot suit
snapping his beatnik fingers
wooing the maiden night
the lynx with a fluid stride plays
the ground like bongo drums
negotiates the air like brushes on snares
a choir of flyers lend their songs
there is a chasm of nurtured colours
engulfing me in its rich deep tones
having stood here longer then i know
i inhale my time in tiny puffs
i am void of the sanity i once possessed
i happily dismissed that blurry concept a long time ago
it is you know an overrated attribute
time moves with a second hand like a plane propeller
i live every moment as fully as my strength allows
all the living at the river and its surrounding land
add their breath to the natural air of the eventide
i breathe in the chill of the nightfall air
and i
i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
September 28 2015
armand
The crescent moon overlooks
The pink taffy sky as it melds
With the grey mist that rises
From the creeks and gently rolling hills
I read a long time ago
To avoid criticism one should
Say nothing, do nothing, be nothing
But even in doing that one gets criticised
Many politicians say a lot
Buttering everyones' toast
But when it comes down
To doing anything worthwhile
They are like a phantom, ghost, or apparition
That disappears at first light or close observation
They have to hide in shadows
So that their half-truths, lies, straddling of the fence is not found out
So how can we learn from this
What can we do with our lives
What can we be, say, write
If we say, be, write then can we
Follow through with action
Moon is getting fainter just a bare
Silver almost hair
Against the very gray-blue sky that mixed
With the mist of the earth two have combined
Seemingly forming one body
Duty has called me from the carefree moments
That exist out on the porch as the roosters begin
Their crowing, the crickets have quietened,
And the birds have begun their morning chirping
And life calls me away to do the responsibilities of day
My heart was broken ever since long ago,
Meeting you is what set me free from my ego.
My heart was aching ever since then,
But when we met was one of the best days there's ever been.
My heart was as always longing and hurting,
But meeting you brought me so much healing.
My heart was always searching for its significant other,
So meeting you made me see you are my truest lover.
My heart was so empty for such a long time,
But how we met made me feel so new, full, and prime.
My heart used to always hurt so much,
But leaving you did more to me and such.
My heart has found the truest of love,
For we shared that bench marking sent from above.
Our hearts shall never again be apart,
For his arrival healed my heart.
The little girl stood outside the candy store
Pressing her nose against the window
Her lips wet
Trying hard to swallow
What the sight of those candies
Produced in abundance in her mouth...
The liquid anticipation of taste
It had been a long time
Since a candy
Had slowly dissolved
On her playful tongue
Oh, the bliss
Yet she knew….
She could not have one
She looked longing at one particular kind
Her friend had given her just a lick of
Oh…it was so divine
She wanted one…all to herself
Not to share with anyone
To savor…..alone
To savor…long
Tasting every single flavor
That would burst on her tongue
How she wanted it
To fill her mouth with sticky sweetness
To help her forget
The bitterness of her days and nights
A little tear trickled down her cheek
Slowly she pulled herself away
And trudged on past the candy store
Perhaps, she was just not meant
To have certain treats
She smiled through her tears
As she kicked a stone aside
Now that she had seen it
At least she could dream
Of floating away
On sugary cotton candy clouds
Of wispy pink
Savoring in her mouth
the glorious sweetness
Of her forbidden treat
Eileen Manassian Ghali
There she was, a youthful beauty,
scantily dressed for show,
drawing much attention,
for reasons she would know.
I acknowledge her politely
as we pass by in the aisle,
I nod my head in recognition
followed by a smile.
I know that she does see me
close proximity as we pass,
she shoots a glance, seems thru me,
as if I'm made of glass.
My younger days, a long time past
of that, I sure do know,
back in the day I would engage
starting with hello.
Realistically, with present sight
where age becomes the barrier,
we'll pass each other, only,
as ships do in the night.
I met him a long, long time ago,
denim clad and dusty leather boots
sitting astride a motorcycle
He took off his helmet; I stumbled
only to stop dead on my hazed tracks
and crashed in his ocean sapphire eyes.
Scattered bouquets flowers wallpaper,
soft silky satin and remnant dreams.
Parched lilies quivers upon his grave
and falls arched over where it now laves
along with till dirt in the hot sun.
Death doesn't mourn, but devours lovely things
To savor every drop of anguish
and narrate the final threads of life
with a blithe attitude toward death.
5/17/2018
Poetry Contest: Best Free Verse Poem in May 2018'
Sponsored By: Laura Loo
I had not seen my sister in six years.
It was a long time for us; we are identical twins.
And close.
We finally got together with our families
When our children were four, five, three, and two.
They were alarmed because we kept crying.
From laughter
She would say "Remember when Florence Dale..."
And I would laugh so hard, I would practically wet my pants.
When I started crying, she would cry too.
We were wailing with pure happiness, scaring the children.
They kept sitting on our laps, glaring at the other twin.
Thinking someone was "hurting" their mama.
After a while we would just look at each other and laugh
Until we cried. Best day in my life, and probably hers.
It was yesterday, the illustrious Battle of Vertières
Where our Ancestors busted the gates of the cemetery
And the windows of hell to find their freedom
They fought heroically with boldness and pride
The struggle continues, the struggle must continue
Despite the gains, despite the ups and downs, and the dangers
Yesterday, the great and last Battle of Vertières took place
More than two centuries ago in the history of Humanity
Our brave and valiant Ancestors defied the impossible
The racist and criminal colonists, the pirates, the buccaneers
The bandits, the filibusters, and the odious maggots of the Earth
Skin color is the result of zones, regions, and climates
Every Human Being is equal despite the false debates
And the foolish speeches. November 18, 1803, the Battle of Vertières
Is unforgettable. It is rooted in our hearts and in our veins
It is the blood of our Ancestors that lives within certain
People, certain militants, and certain brothers and sisters
This decisive struggle, this last battle of yesteryear, is our joy
Our pride, our glory. It is a fire that will burn brightly for a long time
In our sacred tabernacle. Long live freedom! Long live time!
Live free or die like our Ancestors, our brave Parents of yesterday
Long live the wind that proudly hums the songs of yesterday
The ‘lambis’ and trumpets have not ceased to pierce our eardrums
To strengthen us and to energize the cells of our blood.
P.S. The decisive battle of Vertières took place on November 18, 1803.
This is the translation of ‘Hier, La Bataille De Vertières’ by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © November 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
I hear voices.
That leaves two choices
either I'm hearing what's real
or my brain needs to heal.
I don't hear the voices outside
I don't hear them when I take a ride
I hear them when I try to sleep
as if gremlins behind my wall will creep.
The words are sometimes clear
Most often its just the tone I hear
A tone of gloating, dominance too
They know there's nothing I can do.
A drug floated to my frame from the roof
locked onto receptors, a cascade without proof.
I can't tell the cops, they'd send me to an asylum
The shrinks wouldn't believe, I know, I tried them.
One night, I protested the drugs were not FDA approved
Up above, something creaked, something moved.
A woman's voice said "who cares?"
So unexpected, I was taken unawares.
I've been pumped with drugs a very long time
can't convince the FBI of a new type of crime.
Bad guys can get in your house, then drug you
without outside help, what could anyone do?
I bought a scope, inserted it behind a wall
The space was too dark, saw nothing at all
Couldn't enlarge the hole, due to pipes, wires too
I couldn't pinpoint the source, not enough of a clue.
You might ask, if these drugs seep
how they change your body, so you want to weep
Some amplify your urge to reproduce
Drugs to control and can always tighten the noose.
They can wake you up each time you drift to sleep
So petty, so nasty, a moral dive so steep
They can damage your brain, damage your heart
Nobody comprehends why you're falling apart.
Suppose this is crazy, as the professionals "know."
It raises a specter, a scenario.
What if medical knowledge can be used to hurt, control
While disbelief hampers, makes the police AWOL.
I believe I'm drawing a curtain back
You can look or decide it's a schizophrenia attack.
When my mother took her final breath,
something inside me shattered — but it did not die. For a long time, I believed I had left this world with her, suspended in the moment her heart fell silent. The day her eyes closed, mine opened to a grief so vast it swallowed light whole. I carried her absence like a wound that refused to close, a sorrow echoing through every breath I struggled to take.
But healing is a strange and sacred thing.
It does not erase the breaking; it teaches you how to survive it.
Living without her will never feel the way living once did, because love that deep leaves fingerprints on the soul. I still ache when I remember she is not coming back. I still reach for her in moments where the world feels too heavy to hold alone. But I no longer mistake grief for death. I understand now that losing her did not end me — it transformed me.
Her absence is no longer the only silence I hear.
Beneath it, there is also her laughter living in my memory, her love stitched into my spirit, her lessons moving through my hands, my voice, my becoming. The silence that once screamed now carries something softer: the undeniable proof that I was loved deeply enough to grieve deeply.
Though her body is gone, her existence did not vanish.
She survives in every part of me that chose to keep breathing when I thought I could not. The soul that fissured beside hers slowly learned that broken things are still capable of holding light.
I walk through this life changed, not hollow.
Scarred, but still alive. Haunted at times, yes — but also held. And instead of waiting to follow her into the dark, I carry her forward with me into every dawn I once believed I would never survive.
(May 21st, 2026)