Long Normal Poems
Long Normal Poems. Below are the most popular long Normal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Normal poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
And this picture on the wall of my heart told a story of men giving birth among themselves in the north promiscuously...
Sipping memories from the lungs of the girl child.
They were not ashamed of the little ones watching their nakedness which howled at them mannerlessly.
We bathed the oceans again and again,
We made the sand shone like the moon,
We washed the sky daily to see clearly of what the earth has in stock for us.
We painted the earth and added more colours to the chirping rainbow.
Life became wet in our palms because we saw images and figurines of women whose shinning womb were made abnormal by men of yesterday.
And mother told of an innocent girl that killed her father, mother and brothers,
She was patted by the king for doing so,
As she told this ear breaking tale,
we saw the rain emerged from the ground instead of the lonely idle cloud that watched us through different mirrors.
They said we'll live forever on paradise,
They said there is heaven and hell,
They said evil people will be punished on the last day,
They said we will burn for thousand years,
But how could a father punish his children with fire and brimstone?
How could spirit burn in a fire?
How could we tell lie to ourselves and expect the sun not against us?
We have seen cock making love to a duck and, dog to a cat, and grandma told us it was normal.
And Father told of the miseries of the black spirit in our village streams,
How pouring of libation on the family shrine brings good wife and good harvest,
how rubbing oil and wearing palmfrond on your lips wad away demons.
he said there is a third heaven above us,
He told us why the He goat smells,
He said white ghosts do fly day time; he has seen the flashes of one of them at Benin.
After Christopher, I creed,
After Achebe I loved again
After Seghor
After Wole and Niyi' folklores,
After Habila Helon,
After Chimamanda's truths,
We'll retrace this fables with a knitted thought towards strings of our voices.
How does the patient dog eat the fattest bone now?
Does the silent cock still live for a lifetime?
Mother lied to us
Father lied to us
Grandma lied to us
Grandpa lied also
A mirage formed
Teachers lied to us
An illusion created
We are not who we are through those illusion told to us through their lips.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Alas, you may have noticed if
you’ve looked around the world these days,
you don’t see werewolves or zombies,
no vampires or mummies at play.
The whole world seems to have lost that
thade of mystery we once knew,
The creatures that stalked us of old
have become remarkably few.
There’s still a few out there, I know,
good old Dogman up in Michigan,
but for many of these creatures
their wild days have come to an end.
Now what’s the reason for this loss?
What has brought about this strange thing?
That’s easy enough to explain,
we humans are great at killing!
Yes, just as with normal animals,
we kill off what might be a threat,
something threaten might endanger out lives
is something that we can’t abet.
So just like predators and small pox
we saw the job was done,
heck, we published how to kill them
in all of our horror fiction!
Stakes, silver, garlic, and headshots,
we let all the world know how to win,
to the point out nights have become safe,
free of all the creatures of sin.
But if you still want to see them
then I have some good news for you,
you can see them all down at the
Endangerer Horror Species Zoo!
Now we got ghouls, goblins, wendigos,
your Demons, your banshees, and sprites,
we got all of the B-team monsters,
but most folks come for the big five.
I guess we should start with the werewolf,
each must roam in his own separate pen,
their spacious and lined in silver leaf,
we don’t want them getting out again.
The only ones left are the old ones,
so old they no longer transform,
they just stay werewolves all the time,
apparently this is the norm.
whatever the case, it’s good for us,
people can see them fur and all,
through a foot-thick one way mirror
that forms the enclosure front wall.
These eight foot beasts eat messily,
yet people gather when they feed,
yhey act appalled by the whole thing,
Yet they consistently watch the scene.
And when those lycans howl loud
it pieces right down to the soul,
ten times the fear of a normal wolf,
the spine tingles, and blood runs cold.
But people like feeling afraid
so long as they know they are safe,
sometimes we’ll drop a rabbit in there
so folks can watch the beast give chase.
Why do so few of these beast remain?
think silver bullets plus machine gun,
most of them now are heads on a wall,
we’re luck to have more than one...
CONTINUES IN PART II.
there's a whole lot of shaking going on and you're all shook up
but that is how life is when you drink from God's cup
life can take unexpected turns and have you all spun around
just remember who's in control and has the power to settle life down
now Paul and Silas were in prison for simply preaching the gospel
but after praying to God He then did the impossible
when life has you all shook up you need to stand back and sit still
don't be negative, have a little talk with God and then wait on His will
continue to do what is required of you and trust in God to show you a plan
for God can open new doors in a way you might not even understand
but that's okay as the word of God says to lean not towards your own understanding
but to wait for the will of God to intercede and to do what the Spirit is demanding
if you have a relationship with God He might shake up your normal routine
to take you out of your comfort zone and into a place you've never seen
it might not make much sense to you and you might even disagree
but God knows what is best when it comes to your destiny
accepted beliefs, traditional concepts and that's how it's always been done
but a whole lot of shaking will be going on and your faith may be under the gun
sop forget those accepted beliefs and let God guide you along
allow Him to shake things up and put you where He knows you belong
as no weapon formed against you will prosper nor come to fruition
allow the will of God to shake things up and put you in a better position
now the adversary also has the power to shake things up in your life
just recognize the enemy for what he is and then call on the power of Christ
a young girl who was demon possessed had caused a riot to manifest
with lies told against Paul and Silas they found themselves under arrest
but Paul and Silas did not possess the spirit of fear
for they knew that the Lord God would always be there
so at the midnight hour when all hell tends to break out
that's when to the Lord our God Paul and Silas did pray and shout
and lo and behold God answered their call
an earthquake occured and shook the prison walls
then all the cell doors flew open
and all the shackles were then broken
for when the praises to God go up the blessings of the Lord come down
and there will be a whole lot of shaking going on
but that's okay you're on sacred ground
...His starting point, after much hustling,
was a diner at the edge of the town,
the man who had once built massive bridges
now spent his days at work frying hash browns.
Working for a pittance, day after day,
the only place that would dare give him pay.
About three months into doing such work,
just after the breakfast rush was complete,
he saw a woman enter the diner,
with two young boys, she looked about forty.
Time had done little to Alan’s ex-wife,
Whitney was a queen, hallowed in his sight.
He tried to hide, but Whitney caught a glimpse,
a flabbergasted look clear on her face,
but he made no move to go talk with her,
and she had two kids, could not leave her place.
His heart pounded until Whitney had left,
seeing her moved over felt much worse than death.
She had proclaimed that she would stand with him
when the accusations first had been made,
but the media had taken its toll,
he had watched her resolve drain, day by day,
until the day that the verdict had come,
when he’d been locked up, then it had been done.
She’d started divorce, he didn’t contest,
it was something he could not do to her,
she’d wanted children, normal existence,
all the things that a good woman deserved.
With him in prison, that would be denied,
so he’d signed the papers, and said goodbye.
It had been simple, before he’d been freed,
when he had not had a reason to hope,
now, seeing her, with some other man’s kids,
seemed beyond his ability to cope,
a wound that wouldn’t heal, slowly bleeding,
making him question the point of being.
But the next day, when his shift was over,
and he was walking slowly for the bus,
he saw a G-wagon, and his Whitney,
and his heart started racing then because
there were no kids there, no shield she could use,
confronting this was what he could not do.
But she came forwards, her face fresh with tears,
struggling hard to keep herself composed,
until she broke down, and embraced Alan,
saying, “I’m sorry…how-how could I know?
I’m not sure how to deal with this because
I don’t know why she would do this to us!
“Now I’m left looking at a man I love,
that I abandoned, I’m ashamed it’s true…
We were so happy, but now all I see
is all the things that I’ve taken from you.
The life you deserved, that I thought we’d build,
her lies and my weakness…it’s all been killed.”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
I have a disability I’ve had my whole life long.
My memory disappears whenever things go wrong,
My first memory was wondering where and who on earth was I.
And who were all the people that I did espy,
When we moved to our first house, it struck me yet again.
Thank goodness my brother came along on his bike just then.
My mother came outside, and looked familiar so I followed her within.
I actually thought that I was normal, when I was very small.
They took my hand when I went out, so it mattered not at all.
Ingrained habits kept me in the yard, with my friends, and at their knee.
I was such a quiet thoughtful child, they were happy to let me be.
Who am I and where am I, became my quiet refrain.
But I didn’t worry because they always there to call my name.
My parents never caught on, no not once, never at all…
I actually acted like everyone else when I was very small.
I looked normal to others so alone I had to carry on.
Then I went to ballet class, I studied so very hard… for oh so long.
The day of the recital I lost it all in front all where I wanted to belong.
My mother thought it stage fright, and finally took me from the throng.
What good was it doing, she thought, if I did not want to learn the dance?
And then I realized to live my life I’d have to work hard for every chance.
And if I had an argument with a friend, it was over oh so fast.
For the stress made me forget and my life became recast.
So if they didn’t come around for a while I didn’t really care.
Because I would soon forget they had ever even been there.
Eventually they would come back and my memory would come back.
Then off we’d go to play again as I studied how to avoid another attack.
When asked what I wanted to play, I’d smile at them you see…
And they’d be happy as I said, “whatever you want is ok with me.”
But do not think to pity me for my stubbornness is truly limitless.
After 12 and ½ years in college… I became for 30 years, a true Chemist.
I raised a son and held my own in a world that couldn’t understand me.
But with all those bouts of confusion the world still became my cup of tea.
Quiet, stubborn, hiding my pain, and with lots of daily notes…
Lots of time spent studying ways around my problems, I would devote…
My family had no pity, just the charge to get out there with mankind.
And here I am successful at 58, now with poetry on my mind.
“Speak from the heart”
What a load of crap
Cut straight to the point
did this all even matter?
From the start, the middle to that bitter-sweet end
A strange affair
A compilation of half-assed dates
Boring moments between two boring individuals
A couple of airheads
A blind trust formed by dimwits
Strangely normal, strangely plain
Formless wandering in a hollow husk
Dead, dirty skin flakes off my shoulders
Brain-dead is labeled across my head in bold
Casually tossing what remains out on the curb
I don’t seem to care
Remaining the same day by day;
“There’s always tomorrow,”
“I can’t reach the phone, try again tomorrow,”
“It will have to wait for tomorrow,”
“Today is not tomorrow.”
Monotony brought flowers to my door
You preached about Today when Tomorrow was yesterday
All those tears won’t get you anywhere
what made you sad, anyways?
Turning away from closed doors and shaken dreams
what were you fighting for, anyways?
There’s someone willing to bid a “Goodbye”
what are you waiting for, anyways?
It’s all so maddening, tumbling, waking, apologizing
Shaking my fists in anger
falling down a steep cliff
rising with the morning sun
crying on my knees
Was I ever prepared for walking this world alone; life is throwing a curveball and I’m no batter
Hunched over the bathroom sink, my eyes see something extraterrestrial
like a bad trip on drugs I can’t seem to break that nasty spell
Viewing life through a fish-eyed lens
the photo prints Hell
Oh, such a horrid sight but I can’t find the will to look away
Find a way to kill me
I can’t stand this any longer
Death is my only resolve
It’s all so maddening, tumbling, waking, apologizing
Shaking my fists in anger
falling down a steep cliff
rising with the morning sun
crying on my knees
Was I ever prepared for walking this world alone; life is throwing a curveball and I’m no batter
Hunched over the bathroom sink, my eyes see something extraterrestrial
like a bad trip on drugs I can’t seem to break that nasty spell
Viewing life through a fish-eyed lens
the photo prints dying
Oh, such a pleasant sight and I can’t find the will to look away
Find a way to kill me
I can’t stand the wait any longer
Death is my only resolve
When the clock strikes twelve
When the night is at its peak
When the dark has spread through the room
Striking down— a bullseye!
‘Ossi’, what Western side likes them to call,
East returning complements with ‘pushy’,
No more stands there the brick-and-mortar wall,
Love’s lost still in old animosity.
The wall o’er a decade and half back fell,
Yet, an iron curtain still them divide,
Minds cannot meet over the wall of pride,
Hurt heart and prejudice can’t that gulf scale.
‘I’d rather a spouse from a foreign shore
‘Bring than one from behind iron curtain,’
Felt one from across the long secured door,
Deep and wide does divide decades of pain.
Here lingers a dislike, there disdain old,
What venom brethren nurse for each other!
An open war has turned into one cold,
Togetherness in search of fair tether!
‘Too hot’ for us these women from the West,
‘Hard to please, pushy, far too material,
‘Everything about them seems commercial,
‘From old world do we come and too modest’.
‘Too darn dense be these people from the East,
‘Lacking any a style whatsoever,
‘Forever on a bargain-hunting heist,
‘Let them savour their old odious flavour’.
Wall was felled to enable two-way flow,
Heads still finds it hard to communicate,
Bridges and trains, mutual dialogue to grow,
Yet, hard it is distanced hearts to placate.
Love and passion when at a premium come
In too short a period of years fifteen,
Old prejudices play a harder drum,
Not easy 'tis long-closed closets to clean.
World has its Kashmir, long-gulfed Koreas too,
And torn-apart people elsewhere a few,
A healer great, mighty teacher is time,
If not today, morrows may sing in rhyme.
______________________________________________________
The Berlin Wall came down some 15 years back on 9th November1989. But the iron curtain continues to divide the two people that history separated. Only two per cent of marriages every year are between the East and the West Berliners, which under normal conditions should have brought together one-third to half of the couples in a city its size. Yet, they are 12 times more likely to marry foreigners. After the wall fell, there came the euphoria only to die soon. A lingering dislike persists between the two sides. Yet, in all fairness 15 years is too short a period to mitigate the wounds inflicted by 60 years of separation. Time, let us hope, will prove a great healer that it is.
______________________________________________________
Happenings | 01.11.04 |
Morning has broken as it has done for many years
Day to day we continue without the fear of fears
Then out of the blue their comes thoughts from long ago
Prophecies of a past, that could halt us humans flow
Tablets scribed in gold, have been uncovered in Peru
For in them they tell of the future, surrounding me and you
We await with fervour in the media, the radio and the t.v.
As I try to get my head around it, and what it means to me
The day that they speak of, it's a little over a year
Do we just laugh if off, or do the sensible in us fear
As I drive through my city, towards this impending day
The street corners start to fill, does panic have it's say
Speakers start to recite, of this doom that welcomes we
I see suicides in escalation, jumpers in front off me
Families leave their homes, for they no not where to go
Panic buying surrounds me, anarchy appears to flow
We now reach December 2012, as we gain on the scribed day
Can it be all that was written, have the ancient had their say
My eyes catch the clock, midnight is awaiting it's strike
It'll be the twenty first of December, are the Mayan scribes right
The minutes pass the hour, everything appears to be normal
Maybe the writes are fables, to them simply formal
To pacify myself, will it be the radio or the t.v.
Sometimes one has to ask oneself, to simply look and see
Visions on the screen appear, many screens my eyes do view
Reports from many countries are brought to me and you
They show events of nature, more fierce than naturally so
Rainfall in arid areas, deserts in metres off snow
The Polar ice caps start cracking, exploding ice in crying break
Mudslides now carry cities, everything caught in their wake
Bangladesh now no longer exists, the Maldives have disappeared
The Mariana Trench now starts to rise, her ridges in rampant rear
A bulletin catches my ears, Yellowstone has started to erupt
Is this what the scribes have warned of, our planet being so abrupt
A rumbling I start to feel, where I stand I feel I move
I'm in tumble across my floor, in fear of their impending prove
My apartment on the only hill, allows through my window to view
A giant fissure slices through my city, for into it, buildings spew
The free ways now broken and torn, many cars in tumbledown
From here I hear the screaming voices, I'm deafened by their drown
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-20.php
The teachers and staff at the special school, Graysmill,
Did what they could to give the severes a life afterwards,
And they presumed I would be accepted to work,
At the CALL Centre of Edinburgh University, for a long time to lurk.
It’s now CALL Scotland, and researches special tech,
Develops assistive software, devices, and communication aids;
It digitalise written exams energetically and with voice,
For disabled kids who need to have their own writing choice.
But I went to Daniel Stewarts nursery, was well accepted, superior,
As I came top of the class for both words and numbers,
And as it is a top private school near Edinburgh’s city centre,
I found the sympathy hard at Graysmill ‘cos I was not inferior.
In the 70s and 80s they thought the special pupils couldn’t interact,
In mainstream schools where the able-bodied were understood;
Most of my friends had a dislike of normal, ordinary kids,
And didn’t understand my perceptions of relationality and brotherhood.
So as it was sometimes an effort for me to be part of the school,
And I just wanted to walk away from all things disabled or impaired,
The moment I started university where opportunity beckoned,
Where my intentions and abilities could be so aired.
I wanted to maybe be a software engineer for organisations,
But knew I couldn’t type all day every day with my foot,
So after uni got a part-time job at the CALL Centre, but felt self-defeated,
‘Cos I'd had blows with my parents about my own mechanism of input.
I did home computing growing up using my hands on the keyboard,
But did my school and homework with my foot, not good,
And since they wanted me to go to university, no big deal,
They forced me to keep using the faster mechanism, the switch for my foot.
So I resented the CALL Centre right throughout my young years,
For not believing or ingratiating me when I told them of my hand dexterity,
And as a graduate able to deliberate upon my case of disrespect,
I can say that my parents should have certainly been certified for neglect.
I did not renew my contract with the Call, was only for four months,
As I didn’t want to put myself through that close contact and innocence assumption,
But think that they do an note-worthy job for severely disabled kids,
And that my case was an exception to their loving, kind gumption.