Long Open letter Poems
Long Open letter Poems. Below are the most popular long Open letter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Open letter poems by poem length and keyword.
Open Letter to you,
MY LOVELY HATE SPEECH
I hate my speech today, yesterday and the day dust rises.
I was there opening my eyes carelessly, smiling like an idiot
I was gazing shamelessly, walking like an idler without course
Little did I notice my vehicle lose direction; little did I notice my head bleeding
I was just there; the settled dust rising, tables turning, grenades and bullets are now apples
Little did I know the power in my lovely hate speech.
What pride did we get after slaughtering fellow Kenyans like goats,
What are the stuttering rifles rattling about, are humans turning game,
What are the grenades doing in civilian pockets, are they keys
Why are the churches burning, you cannot tell me tis the holy ghost fire,
What has that neighbour done, why is that policeman lying there,
Why is no body answering me, am I alone, or are you wondering too
Should I assess the power in my lovely hate speech, am concerned.
My love speech I hate you, my hate speech I love you
Both speeches are one, are the same, of same taste, I hate my passion for you
I love my fellow politician, i love his dirge during my friend’s burial
You bleeding mammoth my friend, I like your corrupt tummy
You scavenger of your own carcass, I like your greed for power
You megalomaniac virus of a beloved country, we love you, let us be
Little do we know death will let you release us, How uncertain are we of you.
My eyes are full of your ocean, the palace you exhume immorality
My ears are preoccupied with your desert, the desert devoid of trust, and the just
My nostrils have your pungent infamy, your callous greed, your everything
My mind can’t decipher the thought of your sanity, your policies and you
You make me lose taste, you make me look like you, you make me you
I am youthful to the economy, i am youthful to the wise, am not youthful to your “youth”
Little do i know death will let you release me, How uncertain am i of you.
Am talking about you, what have i said about me? What?
I hope I know the promise in my Kenyan Anthem
I hope I have a plan of getting rid of the chaff, the you
I hope am not you, i hope you don’t like seeing me wise
I hope your son is listening, the son that wants my very own daughter
I hope am the government, the government of me, for me and by me
I hope i know peace, the peace am preaching, the peace you hate. I hope.
Yours Kenyan,
Mzee Emmanuel Mwau.
Dear trafficker,I am on the run
With face emitting fear
Worn in clothe surged into rag
By the scissors of rape
linen scars
With the screech from angry nails;
narrow escape.
Do not ask why I run
Like a prey dodging the hunters’ gun
from thick darkness I run, in search of sun
I am but a derelict
Worn in tattered smock
As the whirlwind stirs frustration
and my hopes remain forlorn
I would relish the scary street
Here is better than your hell
No more shall your contractor waylay my ardent strife
Fruitless life
Sweat in shambles
Still I boast of no life
I wouldn’t come,
Without the credence from your tongue
You said the pastures are green
and life is but a melodious song
Meanwhile you had it planned all along
To make laborers from our clan
The poorer we are, the richer you become
I am only sixteen,
Devoured by manly mantle
For sordid pleasures
My pride will they rumple
and vowed that I shan’t see the morrow’s dawn
If I dare relinquish the place of a pawn
As heeds the rivers’ wave and tide, the coxswain
So do I heed commands that deepens my pain
I am stocked
Can’t move forward, nor to the back return
I am disheartened
With no hope of a glorious turn
In the street corners I shall lay
Where wanton mosquitoes fly
I lay in the spring of tears
Till heaven hears my cry
Trafficker as I lay with earthly stings
I know you are somewhere
Feeding on chicken wings
I run for a place to lay my head
If it means to bunk on grass in exchange for bed
I would anything, than stay in my mistress’ den
Where I am a meal to many men
Daemon! You orchestrated my fall
You took my harvest and careless if I perish
You said papa will be fine when I work
This is all for papa and you know
Why then is my story so
Tell the kids in Togo's loitering street
and all the troubled ones in Africa
When a man like this beacons
Please resist his soothing tongue
For he is darkness in array of light
As he would cajole, to cast on you a lasting plight
He is a coward,
whose fortune depends on our sweat
and in greed, would he have some souls to-let
Trafficker, don’t from your evil schemes relent
Till justice come, and then you’ll have no chance to repent.
I’m sitting at my desk typing on my computer.
My head is a satellite broadcasting a disrupted signal.
I can’t get a clear picture of what I want to write.
The channel keeps changing as I switch between memories and then it happens.
A message alerting me that I am now off-line and the “system is reconnecting.” It’s something to be said about how being unplugged charges you up. I soon began to pick up on a signal as clear as the sound of the bell when school is dismissed. The freedom to express myself is like a jolt of energy.
I was shocked.
I realized in my disconnected epiphany that containing written poetry, with procedural processes for seeking approval, and being paid a cash payment for placement, down to one page is preposterous.
All the glory of poetry and its ability to take life’s pie and divide it into figurative slices is so fulfilling, and to think, I’m usually greedy, however, I’m willing to share my last slice of pain topped with passion and joy but it seems that you’re on some type of “character diet.”
I guess the paper weight was too heavy.
I guess my head was in the clouds.
I guess it was just pie in the sky.
Approximately 250 words can fill a typed page double-spaced.
100 words of love, 100 words of rage carefully placed.
50 shades of feelings reverberating self-induced healing, metaphor after metaphor leaving a reader reeling, the way words and their syllables intercourse with double meanings creating couplets on paper kneeling as if they were proposing to your intellect.
With these words, I thee wed. I promise to be faithful and true, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, till death do us part, so help me, poetry...
I am sitting at my desk typing.
My mind is a sweet tooth that’s tasted a slice of heavenly pie.
Unfortunately, you have to watch what you read and count characters,
and I am done sharing.
(Part 5 of 5)
And no more your kids will get a chance above mine
Because at my work I’ve never even met the bosses
You see we were able to hold our own before
And keep the wolves from the door
I could even see a future....for us all
But this we are now struggling to do since your
Husband and his friends have shut the door
This is not just yours and their country you know
Your playground, your way, you always first
The protection of power, privilege and money
Which you think you can have until the end of your days
No way
Why are your children worth more opportunities than mine?
Just because your husband happens to be called something like ‘Kensington-Smythe’
And why are they encouraged to get used to this from an early age?
What happened to every child born the same?
So what can I ask you wife to wife?
To help us all provide for our families a decent life?
No more fiddling, expenses, and for everyone to pay their fair share
You or yours want a duck house, pet food or **** (I don’t judge you) - just pay for it yourselves
No letting the rich off towing the line
Make them behave with the values I try to instil in mine
All we need is democracy back
Although there’s no denying that it will probably get your husband the sack
Because if they let us have democracy – one person one vote
No lobbing, ‘donations’ or spin doctors - what a joke
Just a ballot box and a voter
With a pen in hand
Making a fair decision as to what they think is best for this land
Without being pulled this way and that by promises that will never be
Supported by marketing, trickery and celebrity
But I don’t think this will be so
Because if they every gave us that
This would be when changes would start to happen
And I know that now YOU would be in fear
Because if we got democracy back in 2015
You wouldn’t be living like this time next year
Anna Archichek
Open Letter to Thomas Jefferson
You sir, destination unknown, I dare
To address. A son of worthy causes
For land vast in majesty and vast as
Vast can be in matters of liberty;
With ideals so prim and suffused with
Philosophical forethought derived from
Your bumper harvest of keen knowledge from
Poetry to paleontology;
You the offspring of music and science,
Master of the whims of public forum,
Framer of destiny of the nation,
Bearer of the conscience of masses and
Winning hurdler of political kinks.
Now, the moldering public discourse is
Unbearable. One can no more cover
One’s nose. Nowhere is a silent shelter
From megaphone of ubiquitous din.
Where is a refuge? Simply, know not I.
I beseech you, sir, for learned counsel.
As thundering wildebeest migration
Clouds the slopes of national horizon:
Tulip of your acclaimed Law of Nature
Lies in the path of a roaring rampage.
I beg to ask, why uncanny tactile
Projections of your mind failed to measure
And forecast proneness to such afflictions.
Sir, you did not proscribe such maladies,
Or provide cautionary bells, at least.
Where have all the magistrates gone, I ask?
As I flip pages of your Summary View:
Prefaced by a motto of Cicero:
“It is the indispensable duty
Of supreme magistrate to consider
Himself as acting for community,
And obliged to support its dignity,
And assign to the people, with justice,
Their various rights, as he would remain
Faithful to the great trust reposed on him.”
Your pristine flora of the applied skills
In statesmanship and proper decorum
Is being supplanted by scurrilous
Scions of egocentric rhetoric.
Pails of justice are perceived as empty
By the parched sectors of land of plenty–
Await quenching rain of tenderness, but
Clouds of compassion remain unseeded.
Please forgive the outburst of my verses.
To rein my pen is to muzzle my soul.
Open Letter: To Those Who Feel Invisible part 1
By Jason "Yngvi" Wall
The Quiet Struggle
Some of us are just trying to get through the day. We don’t want to be a burden, or cause problems. We’d rather be invisible—unnoticed, tucked away in our own corner. We don’t want questions, and we certainly don’t want pity.
But at the same time, we ache to be seen. We want someone to notice us, to ask if we’re okay. We’ll probably still say “I’m fine” or “Everything’s good” even while we’re screaming inside for someone to hug us, to tell us we matter, to remind us we’re not in the way.
This contradiction is the battle: craving invisibility, while secretly begging to be seen.
Carrying the Weight
We apologize instead of standing up for ourselves. We say “I’m sorry” because we’ve already been made to feel like the problem. We’d rather take the blame than risk someone walking away. It’s easier to feel worthless than to lose someone we love.
We give away pieces of ourselves—our time, our energy, our care—as bandages for other people’s wounds. And then we’re left broken, tired, hollow, trying to smile through the pain.
We are masters at hiding our suffering. Not for us, but for everyone around us.
The Noise Inside
There are nights when the only peace comes at 3 or 4 a.m., when the world is finally quiet. We stay awake, not because we want to, but because it’s the only time we can breathe without pretending. Those hours are where we wrestle with the noise in our heads—noise that never really stops.
We deal with voices telling us we’re worthless, even as another voice whispers that leaving early would be selfish. We feel everything too deeply. Caring becomes a curse, because it hurts so much.
We want to matter. We want to say “no” without guilt, to stop pleasing everyone else just to avoid pain. We want to feel safe again.
It’s funny there are things we should say to our dad but never do,
It may be really awkward to say something like, “Hey dad, I love you.
So I’m writing this, belated open letter to clear the slate.
To say some things to my dad, albeit a bit late.
Dad, do you remember chasing the Hewitt boy right around the block?
He did something to one of your boys and you had justice all over your clock.
I don’t remember the outcome, but the fact you stood up for us.
Says volumes about you and your protective nature rates a big plus.
I’m thinking about how hard you worked and all that you went without.
To provide for a family you loved, of that there is absolutely no doubt.
I know, Dad, you did it tough and I can’t say how grateful I am.
And I hope you are proud of me now I have grown into a man.
I wish you could be here now to see the legacy that you have left.
All the awesome grandchildren and great grandchildren, makes me feel so bereft.
Lauren, your granddaughter still has the wooden trike that you made.
She’ll pass it onto her children and build on the foundation you laid.
Dad, the other day I went to the cemetery where you are buried in the ground.
It seems silly to do that because I know you are heaven bound.
Whilst thinking about life, I feel so privileged to be a part of you.
And getting older I realise your DNA is in me through and through.
Dad, as the youngest child I’d like to think I was your prize,
But I know that’s not true, you loved us all likewise.
I pray your legacy will carry through each and every child
And that the temper you had, would get more and more mild.
Dad, the other day my kids asked what I want for fathers day,
And just like you, I don’t care for temporal things by the way.
Just a hug and a cuddle and hear, “Dad, I love you”
Is worth more than the world and I can say that is true.
AN OPEN LETTER TO A GROWING GIRL
You’re growing up and a woman you’ll be,
Before you know it some changes you’ll see.
Your body’s pretty, but it’s going to get
So many new changes it will be prettier yet.
And suddenly someone will look at you, and
You’ll be quite attractive to some fine young man.
He will go crazy as he looks you o’er;
If you’re not careful, he’ll want to see more.
You must dress modest, and sit modestly, too,
Not giving him too much to look at and view.
Man is excited by all that he sees;
He is aroused by what’s above your knees.
And if you’re flaunting, he soon will grow weak,
And words of wooing he to you will speak.
He’ll say your body’s the prettiest he’s seen;
He’ll want to touch you, but you must stay clean!
You must not fall for the lie that if love
Is what you have for him, then that you would prove.
Don’t be alone where you cannot control
The natural urges God puts in your soul.
You are a flower, not ready just yet
For him to spoil you with hands that would pet.
You are an angel, pure virgin so bright
Reserved for a husband on your wedding night.
If now you yield to temptation and sin,
Never again will you feel right and clean.
Don’t compromise with those who would say
Sex with protection is surely OK.
God has a purpose for your young life
To be a special, virtuous wife.
A man will respect you, if he is a man,
If you forbid him that curious hand.
And he will love you, for now he knows
He has a woman whom he’s glad he chose,
For he can trust her to faithful stay
To that one man whom she marries some day.
And if he’s the one God’s saving for you,
You will be thankful that you waited, too!
You both will be happy for years to come
That you then waited for just the right one,
And when you found them, you saved them until
That union called marriage in God’s perfect will.
My children
how the world changes
and all that we once dreamed of
becomes a conciliatory compromise
I and you
in time we find
to walk amongst their ruins
in sad memories of those things to which
we were inspired
I had hoped for better
for myself
and grander opportunities for you
in loving you
that wish
now turns its tether
and ask me “ what was it you didn’t do ”
did I not struggle to lay claim
and in aspiration seek another world
The world changes, yet it changes not
and such slow deliverance relinquishes naught
but reveals a lifetime of puppetry
so I close my eyes
and live only for today
seek another way, my children
find that on which you can grasp
divest of all illusion
and shrug off the burdens of a readily-boxed life
For I feel in the bones of my soul
the storm approaching
amidst the tumult and the couldn’t care
the gatherings of dissension
smolders upon the air
and mayhap drag us all willing or unwilling
to some other unknown conclusion
be prepared my children
for life will not abide
where life can no longer function
Build all in love
seek out your sisters and brotherhood
wear some united banner
and proclaim such willful endeavors
to be your own
lend a hand to the dreaming’s of someone
of someone you have never known
for we cannot stave off this inhumanity
lest in heart to heart
we stand in unity
and face the hurricane to come
How the world changes
and in divisive block
would fetter our generations to a noose
and should you be called to arms
still stand firm
and never raise your hands in hate
never bow or scrape
and cling to your soul
for in your love and in your freedom
lays the worlds redemption
A storm is coming my children
it smolders upon the imprisoned air
and life will not abide
where life can no longer function
they're never gonna miss you til you're gone
but your song will carry on
through the tunnel of despair
i will rise as Terance Bron
delt the hand that i was plaid
and i stayed different in my ways
although i never got to say
thanks for granting what i want
i don't wanna leave escaping from the prison that i make
i'll do the time for any crime of life my mind made me create
i fell hard i'll admit and i can't say that i can leave
until im standing like a soldier trade the gun for olive leaves
branch away from the negative so long as you see me
as a destructive force of good who'll make you better than i'll leave
i wanna say a proper speech and then i'll practice what i preach
and exorcise the demons in my closet steady taunting me
i don't wanna go away and see my face upon the news
because i knew i couldn't take it and i had nothing to lose
or i'm in a territory saying words that i would use
and lose my life because i'm different talking to a walking fuse
i don't wanna be that person thats completely out of range
i love you so and i am not prepared to handle all the change
i don't wanna be the person that will always let you down
though my words were always sharp i swore i'll always be around
i dont want for her to win and see me leave while looking down
when she has everything i wanted just because she let me go
i just don't wanna leave in ways that i don't even know
if i don't pull out all the weeds in time i'm never gonna grow
but i look at all the seeds
i've affected all my life
all the friends and enemies
all the pain and all the strife
i don't wanna clean the slate
put some more upon my plate
so i have to leave a final gift to you
with love,
Horton the Great