Long Meet Poems
Long Meet Poems. Below are the most popular long Meet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meet poems by poem length and keyword.
It is there we are without ourselves.
As we find love and wait.
It is there the pain is as we wait the eternity it seems.
It is a never ending search as we wish to complete our souls.
That the love we have is strong.
That there,we forever love.
But to know one is to love one but to be without is to die.
That everyday is pain because our forever is not there.
But somewhere in this world she exist.
As I go on living this lonely life not complete.
I wait for her through my tearful heart.
In hopes that one day we meet.
That if she shall come,she is faithful and true.
That the words I Love You are just merely words because she will know how my heart feels.
Because everyday,my actions will speak louder then them words.
That I wait for the love of my heart. As I dream of that beautiful day.
I wait in hopes of loving her that forever is the pain I feel.
As my emptiness is there until then.
I wait..
What if,
my sister Suzanne had not died on that snowy winter day
it was so pretty with the snow falling down and the icicles on trees
I stood holding my mother's hand waiting for Suzanne
we saw her slip on the ice- we saw the big truck coming
and then mother was screaming and screaming
I will never forget that scream, I still hear it in my dreams
what if Suzanne had not died that day . . .
What if,
my baby boy had lived to see the azure sky and not died
I would have loved him so much and watched him grow up strong
let him make his mistakes but been there to kiss the hurts
watched him grow and become a wonderful young man
but I suppose God had a plan for him and for me
I often go to the place where we buried our little boy
no amount of years can take away the pain . . .
What if,
my husband had not crashed his car into a snowy ravine
he was driving too fast but that was his thing and made me angry
it was a snow storm and again snow was falling so pretty
the road was icy and then he was gone from my life
I dream of him always- his handsome face is smiling at me
we had a love that even death cannot break- it is forever
until we meet again my love . . .
What if,
grandma was not gone, I can still hear her saying- write it
write what's in your heart and thus a poet was born
and father, oh how I miss him- he taught me about life
about protecting nature and the animals within our world
and mother, oh mother, she was my rock and my anchor
the most important person in my life, I could tell her everything
and now I float and drift like a cloud in the sky . . .
What if grandpa was still here
What if . . .
_____________________________
October 11, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/What If
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1070-633-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, New Free Verse
sponsor, Lu Loo
First Place
Did I not,
give you the benefit of the doubt,
when you wept in tears,
seeking for sincerity,
when the world seemed cruelty.
Did I not,
contribute and showered thee with presents,
in all stages of thy maturity,
and wished you for prosperity,
when none showed love.
Did I not,
stand beside you,
laughed and cried with you,
hugged you,
when you needed it the most.
Did I not,
made you feel beautiful,
made you feel smart,
made you feel content and blissful,
when you felt down.
Was it not,
enough to make you see,
enough to make you feel,
enough to make you realize,
the love I hold dearly.
Was it not,
Even by a bit,
enough to make you love me the same,
enough to make you stay,
for I never requested much,
but just for you to give me,
your pain and sorrows,
so I could hear and see you laugh,
For it is more than enough,
to cure my fragile heart.
Thus I hope in the next life,
We'll meet again,
Then maybe I'll be good enough,
To have you for the rest of that eternal life
We are Estranged But—
I hope my image stays in your mind forever
—etched in your memory until your last breath.
Whenever you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—maybe, at least once, you'd reminisce about me.
I feel unsettled, yet sometimes, I wish that when your lips meet hers, a faint echo of my taste still lingers.
It may seem like a curse, but I hope you realize—it's just the lingering echo of my aching heart.
I'm sinking in guilt for daring to wish this,
yet longing still whispers through my restless heart.
Of course, We are Estranged —But I still yearn to linger in your memory eternally.
—Beloved????
—Just A Quiet yearning to linger in a heart that has,
moved on~
In the realm of shadows, a ghost did appear,
With a body of mist, she drew near.
Playing chess alone, I was startled, you see,
But she joined the game, inviting me.
"Why so scared?" she asked, with a sigh,
"People flee when I'm nearby."
"I can go," I offered, trying to be kind,
But she pleaded, "Stay, if you don't mind."
We played on, our fears aside,
In her insecurity, she couldn't hide.
But through our game, a bond we found,
In her vulnerability, beauty profound.
So let's be kind to ghosts we meet,
For beneath their fears, hearts beat.
In their insecure plight, let's lend an ear,
And show them that empathy is near.
As Earth revolves in time and space,
We meet the future face-to-face.
While every soul tries to have their day,
Their nemeses try to block their way.
This causes decades when nothing significant happens,
Followed by months when panic and violence happen.
As society’s benign merry go ‘round spins faster around,
Its political operatives start stepping up and down.
What seeds of rancor did the radicals sow?
What was their purpose? Where does one go?
If culture binds our carousel’s spokes together,
Then how to these spokes is society tethered?
After our rogue merry go ‘round grinds to a halt,
People will point their fingers and not accept fault.
And then during months of calamitous chaos,
Thousands will ‘be disappeared’, die, or become lost.
Such Maoist days and Bolshevik nights,
Often lead to unmitigated chaos and fright.
Who amongst us will be cursed or blessed
Once this carousel of chaos comes to rest?
Apperceiving such anarchy makes us ponder,
How we’ll keep afloat once society founders.
Who will heal our emotional loss?
And will they do it at great personal cost?
(Dedication: For my son Michael Zachary
On your study tour Down Under.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here by the gate,
Fate is not late;
Study tour calls
In brisk footfalls.
Here as we sip,
Espresso trip;
With kin and friends,
Fond touch attends.
Your night time flight
In the clear light;
Faces share smiles,
Warm feelings style.
There’s much to cheer,
Just being here;
Bon voyage then,
Boarding pass tends.
A photo treat,
Visuals now greet;
For old time’s sake,
Cheers that we make.
Have a good trip,
Study tour grips;
Work smart fond feel,
Chalk up goodwill.
Blessings to each,
Seize ample reach;
Glimpse happy lot,
Dwell with fine thoughts.
January mood
With quest made good;
A dream to meet,
Mellow feels sweet.
So, here’s to you
Where fate funds cue;
Moments now cast
Wonder at last!
May all things good
Caress fond moods;
May success thrill
Wise, affluent feel.
Listen dear heart
As hard work arts;
Be in-sync whole,
Body-mind-soul.
Yet, fun attends
Your action plans;
Let heart and mind
Greet rainbow finds.
Leon Enriquez
20 January 2018
Singapore
Thanks to all who have visited and been willing to read this series. I appreciate the comments received.
#7 Motivational Series
Reflections
The covered bridge at the brook was a safe place to hide
Water flowed peacefully, when there was no-where to confide
Sometimes, I brought my old pink radio along with me
Just seeking a place to belong in nature where I could see
I still have these places now, to take a simple retreat
Let Mother Nature’s arms hold me, where comfort and I meet
I know with every tomorrow, there is a place to be
That helps me stand my ground, when the past shakes me
I will stand in the shaking and I will see the water shine
Beautiful reflections in all the places that are mine
Heidi Sands
1/8/19
I am Prometheus on the rock.
Your eyes are constant as the moon,
Winter streets I never wandered,
Pristine lakes when swans have flown.
Your eyes are constant as the moon,
The swans have nested at your eyes,
Frozen lakes where amulets like lilies float,
Black and bottomless in onyx guise.
Winter streets I never wandered,
Azure lanes conveying swans into the night,
Frozen moon shine for me the rock, my heart,
Your eyes are constant in my sight.
Pristine lakes when swans have flown,
Placid down of winter streets
When moons like lilies black in onyx guise,
Implore as amulets when glances meet.
I am Prometheus on the rock.
Your eyes are constant as the moon,
Winter streets I never wandered,
Pristine lakes when swans have flown.
7th Place
Best Romantic Write May-July 2017
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Posted 5/1/17
Today's date: 7/25/17
As I walked down Mulberry Street, my pack and the shoes on my feet.
I see a nickel, penny a dime an empty bottle of wine.
Fletcher the old drunk, smelling a bit of a skunk still I smile and wave.
Punks have placed Graffiti on a wall, claiming ownership of this urban sprawl.
I stop for a bit and have a quaint sit on the remnants of a flower box.
I light my last smoke, watch some odd folk, they walk to the beat of their drum.
Exhaling the sweet mist of nicotine addiction, happy this is my only vice.
A dandelion grows through a crack screaming for me to take poetic note.
A Mercedes parked in front of the attorneys office, ill gotten gains.
Trash blown into the inner recess of the arched doorway in which I sit.
A drug store receipt a note perhaps a declaration of love or don't forget the milk.
The cast iron manhole cover states proudly, Made in Chicago.
Ahead lies the Mulberry Street Mission a line already forms.
Where dinner and biblical mumbo jumbo are being served.
The old woman greets everyone with a smile and tells them Jesus loves you.
I'll wait until she goes inside I don't want to argue.
The wind blows and sunshine falls on my face.
I notice out of the corner of my eye a normal folk (Non-Homeless).
Taking their own cigarette break enjoying the same sweet addiction as myself.
Our eyes meet in acknowledgement of we are the same, for the moment.
The Mulberry Street bus rambles by spewing noxious fumes.
The city's wind artwork slowly turns hoping someone will take notice.
My last long draw on my cigarette, I grab my pack and pull myself up.
then One foot Two foot I resume my journey to the Mulberry Street Mission.
(In Memory of Fletcher Campbell 1940-2015)