Long On the side Poems
Long On the side Poems. Below are the most popular long On the side by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On the side poems by poem length and keyword.
Mind, spirit and soul
Truth be told, I gave you my all
Friends didn't have to know about us
This was for my heart and yours to know.
I loved.
Took my heart on a journey
With a car that had its tank empty
But I knew that we'll get to the garage surely
But I didn't know that's where we were going.
It seemed as though you have better plans
So I put mine on the side and listened to your will and cans
That had no maybes so I was willing to ride this baby... Though it was empty.
Love is blind and maybe stupid
No,Love is not blind and I am not blind I just find reality too victimising so I
hide my small heart behind the saying "Love is blind"
As for it being stupid? NO! But just maybe our relationship was stupid.
So I walked away
Till a flood of tears caught up with me on my way
And I started floating back to you
Till I realised you caused the floods then went back to sunnydays.
I can't swim so I'll sit here until I'm covered with mud
Perhaps I walked away too far
When I turned, the journey back to you was too long
Perhaps, I gave up on you too fast that when I turned our car needed much
more than gas
But maybe the journey had to end eventually...
But wait you have my property
So we must end this properly
So I'll swim to where you are
My heart; that is all I want.
Getting constipated by anger
Over-controlled by feelings
Swimming in your tears
Added salt to my fears!
I found you exactly where I left you
I apologised for my mistakes long enough for you to finish fixing the breaks
The car was crumbling like dry cooked cakes
You told me that you found a she to help you cause I really caused you pain
You told me "I should stop talking to you, it'll ease the pain"
I went crazy thinking; "Are you insane? Do you know how bad it was,
swimming through that salty lane?"
You carried on saying "I'm feeling much better..."
Heartbeat got slow
I started thinking "Oh no! Yolanda you a monster for causing the guy so much
pain!
Yolanda you are stupid for risking so much for no gain!
But no way! I got pride so I won't let you see my pain
So instead I said "Oh...wow...okay...cool"
Hearing my heart beat slow
And a rock of sadness on my throat
I said "I will help you get better"
I'm starting my own flood and I hope it takes you away
Don't swim back to me.
The young boy was pale,
He walked slowly in the alley
No. 41.His skeleton hand hold a rusted tin can.
He was in business,for him it was.
On his innocent face,
In a modern world,who really forgotten
Kids like him was also human too.His eyes
Pasted on a piece of bread on the dirty pavement.
On his side was tall buildings,on the other was a busy EDSA.
A dove whose feather blacken by the third world metropolis,
Peeped down from the lamp post,
Measuring the distance of the bread on the ground
Look at the child,inclining its head side ward,
Then,their eyes meet,resting on each other stare
Like eternity,
And it flew toward the blinding sun.
The boy saw a man approached,
Polished shoes landed on his lunch
The gold Rolex,tailored clothes,big ring,
A heavy necklace hung loosely on beefy neck.
Surprised on a sudden hand that raised on his way,
"Move out!" bellowed angrily,then scurried quickly on a green traffic
light. "Fool..."the boy sighed.
Business is business,he thought,as he reached out the crushed bread
Uttered a little prayer,ate it religiously with tears on his eyes.
Every bite he remembered his little brother he left this morning
on their cartoon box house
At Smokey Mountain outside Manila,its smoke ascend forever
Till the end of time,because of the corrupt lordship in kings palace
His little brother burned at stake alive waiting for his pancit.
His father was an inmate at Bilibid prison selda katorse (14)
His mother was a girl in the street.
Then an old woman came out at the Binondo Church.
Walked briskly as the wind swept the dusk on summer days.
Stopped,a discolored dirt hand spread for an alms.
Irritated,she rummaged her purse,and gently place the one peso
on the boys hand,made sure to slow her movement,maybe the rest
Were looking at her, she raised her brow and smile
"Of course.", she said sweetly
Father hope will see this act she thought that
Might mention her name in homily,Mrs. Cerbo was kind to the poor.
He spit the coin and swipe it on his dirty torn shirt
And say..."God Blessed Maddame."
Then he ran at the little Sari-sari store
Brought a piece of bread,break it into halves
He hid his share on his pocket
Then tossed the half on the side walk
When the boy had gone, blue wing landed
Ate with pride and thinking, "stupid boy..stupid boy..".
85
Feedback comes to those who apply and post and expect to receive the same
when you place a silver dollar in your mouth you scratch it with your teeth to see if
it is real a man bites down upon it and then looks and frowns or looks and
smiles upon the quarter he has found not silver or even golden but just metal of
some kind its zinc and copper mixes made in Betty Crocker's Kitchens. She has
a tray of circles all lain out upon her divine divan the tails side up for luck she got
this from the JESUS man who tossed his penny in an arc and tried to hit a mark
a line drawn in the sand and made his feet go march to live a different plan a
lifetime being mended his only love he found she makes the things he feels
inside brand new. She stirs her better batter up with a long and spindly spatula
she marks each coin with edges with the cheese garter greater. She takes the
grater to the table and turns each coin by hand she makes four of them for every
dollar in this land. They asked her who is on the image of the coin she laughed
and dimpled smiling she said it must be Dollar Bill. The George Washington
Dollar is the image used for the quarter he gets to be on two. When yew become
the President Of America you can be their two. She stamps the quartered dollars
on the side that just says heads with the handy dandy stamper set she got from
her Uncle Jed for Christmas Past. She turns the coins at last and makes the tails
with her old eagle eye she uses her new leather set to scritch and scratch the
bird the lines formed from habit of making millions in a set in just one day she
filled the Island of Manhattan with 24 additional sets they said they needed them
to buy Manhattan again the previous treaty had run out from the statue of
limitations set back in Washington against the law must be obeyed by every
man. When eye am making a bus ride and eye find a lot of pennies eye ignore
them when eye find a quarter eye do a little more than dance in place eye jig eye
jog eye trip on every log in my haste to find three more it costs one dollar just to
Board the Tran. Betty declined to speak just to the press for she is very shy she
said she knoes now who the image is on the flip side of her coin and eye did not
keep a dry eye when she smiled at me and said without a tremor or a miss it is
Washington, D. C.
I struggle to recall at a ragged bus stop
Writing memories down on a brown paper bag.
The discarded pen I picked off of the weed grass serves
As a key to my past, the paper bag the door.
My memories gush from the back of my mind,
Long lost in the torrents of tears
And the literal shattering of my heart
Between my breasts.
This was not planned,
This living on my own means,
Struggling to make ends begin.
I’ll worry about them meeting
When the time comes.
The memories I loot
From the locked treasure chest
At the bottom of the barren sea
Of my mind
Seem irregular and appear to belong
Elsewhere, to someone of fiction.
Emerging from somewhere,
I sense a longing.
For what, I wouldn’t say.
Saying what I could say would slow me down.
I’ve struggled to progress past the memories
And until now, the longing has been stifled.
But my memories have broken
Through the dam I built
And they charge like an army of Trojans,
Fighting to the surface of my mind.
It appears I’ll have to drown them...
Again.
It is said that after the first time of anything
That thing discussed becomes easier to do
Without fail.
Well, it’s not.
I examine the brown paper bag and the words
Scribbled on it, much like the rants of rudimentary children.
I take the pen and wind my hair around it,
Pinning it on top of my head, since all my hair bands
Were left behind, like my memories, my spirit,
My smile.
It’ll have to do for now.
I see two yellow eyes in the distance,
Eyes from another world,
That glow with radioactive promise;
It’s one of those grand busses of leisure
Where anyone could have a seizure
in peace,
Coming to me, to take me away.
"Come to me, metal extraterrestrial,
Take me to your leader.
Whisk me off to your world,
To your life, your memories.
Everything is better than this."
It slows to a stop in front of me,
And opens wide, it’s abnormal vertical teeth
Directly in front of me.
A familiar sound emotes from within:
“You coming or not?”
The brown paper bag slips from my hand
And falls to the dying grass.
It stays to pass with the grass,
Or to be found by the Nameless
Of my past.
I once carried my life in my arms,
But I’ve abandoned it
On the side of the black tar road.
“Well?”
It’s that sound again.
Well, here’s to my future.
Take me away, Mr. Alien;
New troubles await.
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
We lived about a hundred miles Northwest of Chicago It was the winter of '73, and snow was covering the roads
In the land of cheese and phesants, the air was crisp and cold Surely, I must have been bored; or more likely, I was a lunatic
I should have relaxed on that quiet day with my lovely and wise wife who pleaded with me not to drive on such icy roadways.
I was convinced that duty demanded I balance the books. I deemed myself important and vital for the success of our
drug prevention program. Yes, I was obsessed with my work and blind to any and everything else that tried to change me.
I was in love with my wife, but I was also having an unhealthy affair. I had heard of extra marital affairs, but no one told this 23 year old about obsessive affairs on the side. How could my premarital counsellor
have overlooked such crucial fine print and denied me of such vital details? Why wasn't I informed that I could be driven by an unseen combustible
engine inside my brain, compelling me to committ forbidden and obsessive actions? How was I to know that I could be so wrapped up by my job?
Not to be denied though, I would soon learned the hard way which is probably
the only way I was going to learn anyway. Less than a mile up the icy road, my vehicle's tire blew; I went into a spin, knocking down a mail box; and the next voice I heard was not an audible one, but my own mind speaking. "You should have listened to your wife!!!". I was all ears and sitting quietly in my 'upside down vehicle'. The only injury was my bruised pride.
That was my first bout with my form of obsessive compulsive behavior which was before the term was even invented.
71917PSContest, Obsessions, Silent One, P2
It's no secret that good leadership is essential in life
For if you're not properly lead you may experience stress and strife
Good leaders are needed to show us how to do things right
Good leaders are prevalent in showing us God's light
A blind man named Bartimaeus was s beggar on the side of the road
He was in a precarious situation if the truth were to be told
He needed a way out of his dereliction
He needed a good leader to give him direction
And yet when I look our political situation these days
I see clowns who want to be leaders and I immediately start to pray
Not many are called, a few are chosen and less have been commissioned
But when a person has the right stuff he will have God's permission
Thank God for those seasons when good leaders manifest
Those who have been called to correct and address
To show us what's right and how to have a good attitude
To challenge us and help us develop the right aptitude
So that we are made ready to face controversy
And are better prepared to face the advesary
Good leaders are called to show us the true posture of God
And how to walk humbly and strive mercifully with love in our hearts
Good leaders are chosen to challenge the status quo
And show us how little we actually know
To remind us not to judge but just accept
For good leaders don't look down nor do they expect
Everyone to be perfect and in the right place
For good leaders are like the roadside church of Jesus offering mercy and grace
Now the roadside church of Jesus does not discriminate
The roadside church of Jesus does not segregate
It calls out to any and all who have a need or desire
As the roadside church of Jesus is godly inspired
There are no rules or regulations that may spiritually impede
The roadside church of Jesus is about serving one's needs
Good leaders are commissioned to help bring about change
Full of the Holy Spirit that has the power to rearrange
Any circumstances and all situations
Any problems and all complications
Good leaders are commissioned to comprehend and understand
What is required to be a godly woman or man
To let us know that a roadside mentality
Will not lead you towards prosperity
Good leaders are called, chosen and commissioned in life
To correct, challenge and change us to be like the roadside church of Christ
she cowers in the corner
when he comes home the
mere clomp of the boots
make their way to the room
wherein she is hiding her
breathing rapidly increasing
her heart thumping louder
than his footsteps growing
closer while she tries to
work out her next move she
is pulled out from under
the bed by her ankles what
happens next you imagine
in your worst terror if you
can picture a glass bottle
being forcefully thrown
point-blank at a plane of
brand-new asphalt smashing
splintering all over the place
cutting slicing hurting
maiming everything in its
path the shards never to be
removed but instead to inflame
infect to etch permanent
physical scars in her skin to
mirror to echo the emotional
the mental scars vibrating
maddening throughout her
body the cycle continues
day after day week after
week year after year the
whole while making any
possible memory of what
he was before it all began
when she swore herself to
him when they smiled
together when the proverbial
demons were nowhere to
be seen yet now they are
all that she sees without a
free moment to breathe
anything but fear sadness
blood still caked on the side
of her cheek she slides
quicker quicker quicker
into the red the darker the
color as the pain explodes
in her brain as each day’s
torment torture brings
what she never thought
possible a new surprise of
momentously malicious
proportions until she breaks
like the glass he broke a
hundred thousand times
she closes her eyes grips
whatever is heavy blunt
sharp killing device with
both hands comes crashing
down hard swift powerful
with every bit of strength
that she has inside her that
she has kept pent up inside
the whole while she has been
beaten beaten beaten for
years now always covering
up her wounds sharing not
a second of her story to
anyone always lying to her
best friends her family now
all ending all wrapping up
the story when his head
smashed like glass spattered
gushing flowing a maroon
pool all over the floor she
drops the instrument of her
freedom from him her freedom
from all the pain she lifts her
head she does not cry a
tear for all her tears have been
cried out she leaves the room
in silence a silence so sweet
it sings a million new melodies
which illustrate the possibility of
a new beginning.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.