Long Mixed Poems
Long Mixed Poems. Below are the most popular long Mixed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mixed poems by poem length and keyword.
I often think about tomorrow-
another day of life to borrow;
to live it at my best
and hope that I may rest,
as each is stored in yesterday.
Made up of joy, along with sorrow,
inside my book of life, they lay.
A special gift is my tomorrow,
that lays the page for new today.
I often think about tomorrow-
how many more will come to follow.
My years in spring held more-
an open, endless shore.
What was not done, I tucked away,
to work again- not left to fallow,
for waiting was another day.
A special gift is my tomorrow-
that lays the page for new today.
I often think about tomorrow-
of what the future ones foreshadow.
My winter years hold less;
each one I live, caress-
express my thanks in every way,
and hope my end-of-line last 'morrow
births everlasting life, I pray-
For on that day, no more tomorrow-
at peace with God, my soul will stay.
Maybe it the Night
the way the moonlight
shines in your eye's
your hair your smile.....
i HAVE NEVER BEEN IN LOVE LIKE
i'M IN LOVE WITH YOU
IF IT SOUNDS CRAZY
THEN i'M CRAZY IN LOVE
WITH YOU
THE FATE OF OUR DATES
AND FROM ANY TYPE OF MENTIONS
IT'S YOUR DESCION
i'LL PUT IT ALL ON YOU
I'm in love
so in love
what their for me to do
I'm in love with you
it aint that easy to say
cause you could be in a rejective
stage
full of frustration and deranged
but i can't deny the truth
A wanting and longing feeling
comprimes and dealing
what ah man to do
Darling I'm in love with you
it aint so frustrintal
sorta sentimental
whats a man to do
see I'm in love with you
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My Number Won Woman
from the forthcoming Album
Frustration by
Sum-Won-you-Love
orcastrated by Lovers
you want perfection
you need direction
love unites us
love keeps us
in love we...we.. we ooh!
Exotic Shorthair and Birman
performed on hydrogen freeze
and Kiss Slur
Beachy Phat bottom guitar solo
and strang arrangemnts
and orcstra leader
"Groovin Yeah"
used with permission by
Bach Sho Meanie and the Lovelights
"groovin Yeah" and No Mo' grooves"
mixed by Say-so and the Struting Gypsies
of Big stone music
a McM Music Company
Beef tougne and Taco's
I walk briskly on the pathway of truth
Searching desperately for my youth
I want to know how I got here
For some people act as if they don’t care
The light from the sun burns deeply in the
Ground and the distance truth that I see
is wrapped up in an age old mystery.
Something peculiar happened in the town
more than three decade before I came around
honey was sold into paradise and cornmeal
and flour were mixed up with rice
bulla cake was sold for a dime and a
family of five could survive off a pound of rice
the kitchen table was large and a family of three
could live abroad and survive off ten dollars a week.
But now the color of the sky is changing
the youths are aging and destiny is lingering
behind the door and the truth is not yet told
what happen to the little girl that was left behind
I want to know if she is still alive, is she in Canada
Or they bury her in the woods, and what have they
Done with the old woman and the old man? Have they
Gone off to Calvary or have they migrated into history, and who are these people around me are they my real family? From whence did they come? They look quite strange and out of place but I hope that when the truth is reveled my spirit will find some relief
I am traveling on the road of truth and I am getting
Ready to reclaim my youth, it was taken away from me to soon
And I find myself wandering around looking for that one evidence that will unravel the truth of what took place
At that vulnerable moment of my youth and the people
that knew me then will tell the tales of what transpired when
the old man booked his ticket to heaven and what became of the
dream that made history.
The story of my youth is the living truth
and the passage of time will lay the foundation
that is mine and the pain that we feel will be
no more when the truth is revealed; my youth
is traveling with me; it’s a part of history.
1. If you could look into your future and choose one day to see what would happen, what day would that be and why...
~~~
When death calls my name, as I walk my last mile,
Will the stars shine like they did the night afore?
Twinkling in still skies, glittering to beguile.
When the end comes will I know what to adore?
Will the tears fall or will I fear death’s dark call?
Will the stars shine like they did the night afore?
When time has passed, will the end come at nightfall?
Or will I learn death may bring joy to my soul?
Will the tears fall or will I fear death’s dark call?
When I pass, will God send down hope to console?
Will I remember the good, forget the bad?
Or will I learn death may bring joy to my soul?
When hearts remember my light, will they be glad?
Did I leave this world better than it once was?
Will I remember the good, forget the bad?
I hope I gave someone a reason to pause.
When death calls my name, as I walk my last mile,
Did I leave this world better than it once was?
Twinkling in still skies, glittering to beguile.
I like the heroic America of World War II;...
The America champion of good technology...
The America that freed us from the damned little mustache...
The America of Hollywood, of cinema,
Of black soul music, of Doo Wop,
Soft rock of Credence Clearwater Simon, Bob Dylan
Folklore... Woodie Guthrie, Peter Seeger,
Peter, Paul, Mary, mixed with country and blues,
Poets like Walt Withman, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost. BEAT POETS...
The America of Frank Lloyd W. Edison, OTHERS...
Not an America with dyed hair and greed
madness for money and power...men colored
in yellow who only think of domination,
and submission of others, without thinking of brotherhood among peoples...
MAGA Make America Gentle Again
Shovels Scraping
Standing quiet so as not,
to cause a riot.
Boots are heavy full of grit.
Hair is matted and full of sweat.
Muscles ache,
with move they make
Blister blood,
mixed with mud to forms a horrid crud.
When I signed I must have been blind.
No amount of money could,
make this job funny.
Then a shout from the gaffer,
come on you slackers.
I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping.
With a glance I smoke my tab.
I‘ m sure its not me that’s been had.
Working hard I am done,
a breather has to come.
But it wont be long before,
ill sing my song.
A jug of beer will be in hand,
that I will stand,
with money in my hand.
As for my toils ill get my spoils,
spend it with my friends.
Then a shout from the gaffer,
come on you lazy slackers.
I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping.
Oh,
inside of
me dwells a
voice I call Muse.
Mostly just whispers
but, he never ever leaves me
I have a great affection for Muse
and my feelings are mixed up with his.
Sometimes, Muse I wish for total solitude
could you lower your piercing, demands please.
In the loudest roar, Muse insists that I listen
he does not care if I am sleeping in bed
or I am going for a sweet nature walk
that voice is thunderous and loud.
Stop dearest and write a poem
for this is so important
your pen must drip
we have words to
share in ink
now.
______________________________
January 3, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Muse Insists
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1100-727-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the Standard contest, My Loudest Feelings
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, Judge 01/2019
First Place
Submitted into the contest, POEM ON POETRY MUSE
sponsor, Beata Agustin
It was the night of our Independence
When the clock struck twelve
Flowers bloomed in every nook
Every corner looked unreal
Tiny butterflies flew about
In hope of joining the fete
The men and women of all ages
Stepped out in garments galore
When the world slept peacefully
We entered a new era
The beggars stood in heavenly lights
From crackers bursting forth
Birds changed their sad songs
Singing of new and enchanting lands
No idea of the future
No clear path seen ahead
But men and beast rejoiced
The gaining of freedom
As the Earth opened its vast arms
To let entrapped soul fly
It was a vision of a miracle
On that fifteenth night of August
When the world slept peacefully
Category- Surreal, when the fact of the Independence of India is mixed with the
imaginations of the poet.
For context, I'm almost 22.
I got sick at 18.
It's not like cancer or M.S., I'm not going to die.
But there's no explanation for the reason why I got sick.
Nobody knows, not me, not my doctor, not the specialists.
Mum thinks it's because I left home too young.
Dad thinks I have too much anxiety and I'm sick because of it.
My fianceé thinks maybe I'm reacting to my birth control or to natural hormones.
I think I woke up one day and I was sick.
It went just like that. Waking up one day with my stomach turning inside out.
Shoulders heaving for hours every morning,
Curled up on the floor of the bathroom, protesting the muscle convulsions.
I woke up this way every morning for over a year and no specialist could tell me why.
All I know is I'm sick.
My fianceé didn't sign up to be a caregiver,
Yet somehow he's thrown into the part.
Today, if I travel, I wake up sick. If I stay at a friend's house, I wake up sick. Often, when everything is normal, I still get sick.
I wake up at either midnight, 02:00am, or 05:00am and there is no hope of sleep until at least noon.
There is overwhelming nausea, dizziness, muscles contracting violently and burning.
There are my teeth which seem to be wearing away from my stomach acid.
There is the feeling that if this has to be my life now, i don't want to live it.
It's been 3 years since I had a single day without pain.
I pop ribs out of place as I vomit, so even after the nausea subsides I'm left sore and often bedridden.
My fianceé tries to ask how he can help,
And I'm sent into an emotional spiral.
"You can't help. I can't help me, my doctors can't - i don't want to do this tomorrow morning. I don't wanna wake up tomorrow if it'll be another day of this. I wanna give up."
Today, I want to give up. I want the burning muscles to stop. I want to be able to eat something other than applesauce mixed with water and not throw it up.
This doesn't feel like a life anymore.
I just wanna get better already.
I pray to whatever God listens that I get better.
I cannot do this forever.
I walked over the autumn’s leaves
and borrowed a fruit
from a bony tree’s branch.
I rested under a shadow –
where no shadow I could see -
and opened a book to read with serenity.
I will borrow from the rose
the color for me to dress
when I met night’s eyes gazing me afar.
Leaves and pages are mixed,
The path I came vanishes in the night,
and the road ahead ends with the next step.
If I had no cause to move
I would have to invent some,
be God, be fame, be hunger or thirsty.
Yet, here I am walking by the grass,
hearing the owl whispering in the dark
names I better never forget.
I may have left the windows and doors open.
If the wind brings rain and thunder
I will not return to my old house again.
A slope invites me to slide on the lawn,
fast and also careless,
down by the hillside…
And now?
I hold the book in one hand
and the hat with the another.
Jump on the meadow content,
hoping bellow there is a road
to follow after eve’s greeting.