Long Original Poems
Long Original Poems. Below are the most popular long Original by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Original poems by poem length and keyword.
Original
Oh
little
Buttercup
glistening in
the cool morning sun.
So delicate and small,
how soft and fragile you are.
Tenderly pushing through the soil,
so eagerly you greet the new spring
breaking free from your wintery prison.
Your brilliant yellow cheeks always smiling.
Dancing among the dry fallen leaves,
peeking thru the fading shadows,
your flamboyant show belies
your quiet, cool nature.
Oft feeling tread on,
you firm your will
sometimes life
seems so...
hard.
07/26/15
Revised
Oh
little
Buttercup
glistening in
the cool morning sun.
So delicate and small,
how soft and fragile you are.
Tenderly pushing through the soil,
so eagerly you greet the new spring,
breaking free from your wintery prison.
Your brilliant yellow cheeks always smiling.
Dancing among the dry fallen leaves,
peeking thru the fading shadows,
your flamboyant show belies
your quiet, cool nature.
Too soon your beauty
will fade into
tenderness,
and once
more
your
leaves will
curl, and sleep
will come within
troubled dreams, as your
leaves unfold, your petals
will drop while the changed seasons
take their toll, often you feel tread
upon and you firm your will, sometimes,
life seems cold and bleak and so very... hard.
09/26/16
Buddhists don’t talk of original sin
The way Christians do,
But they both talk about the same thing;
That in the beginning there was light
And the Word, and the missing of the mark.
For Buddhists this “sin” is basic ignorance,
The ignoring of who and what we are.
For Buddhists experience is divided
Into two basic categories;
Enlightened, or Nirvana, and
Deluded, or Samsara.
Nirvana is peace.
Samsara is suffering.
The experience of each are thus polar opposites,
But the simple original sin,
The fundamental deviance,
Is that Samsara arose from the desire
To improve Nirvana, our original nature.
So Samsara is Nirvana plus desire,
The desire to personalize it,
Put our mark of identity on what was
Already always perfect.
To extend the cross cultural metaphor
You could say we wanted to give it
The mark of the beast.
And that’s how we lost the light.
(8/16/26)
(“The Heart of It #2”, 2007, original oil)
When A Light Is Extinguished
(for Charlie)
Today a great light was extinguished
A great soul lost to his family, his friends
His nation, and humanity as a whole.
Shades of MLK Jr.’s assassination,
A shadow of hate swallowing up the light,
Spread out across the nation
Like the Sun eclipsed at noon.
In the dark we cry
Hearts broken open
By the senseless taking of a life brighter than most,
Reminding us what kindness and brightness
And generosity of spirit is truly like,
Bright and true
And in its essence deathless eternal.
Rest in peace young man,
Go in peace great soul.
(9/10/25)
I was brought up quite religiously; we were taught heaven was up in the sky,
when we died, if we were good down here, there was a place for us on high.
A place where miracles happen every day in this paradise floating above
where we walk with angels among the softness of the clouds, enveloped by love.
When I grew up and began to think for myself, to question and to clarify
I kept returning to this concept of Heaven and couldn’t help but wonder why...
Why wait for Heaven to experience miracles when so many miracles can be found
happening before our eyes…right here…on the ground.
Every day is filled with miracles…miracles large and small….
So many miracles abound we can’t possibly count them all.
From the highest mountains…to the deepest valleys…from the tiniest shrubs to the tallest trees…from the the kaleidoscope of colors in the sky…to the breath of an invisible breeze.
From the birth of a baby whale at sea…to the birds that populate the sky…
From the gentleness of the elephant to the metamorphosis of a butterfly…
From the tides in the largest ocean…to the tiniest babbling brook
miracles are all around us…all we have to do…is look
I've been blessed to be at the birth of my children and grandchildren and don’t think it’s preposterous to say…in the maternity ward of a hospital you walk among angels every day.
I’ve experienced love…I’ve watched my family grow and blossom and thrive…
I have witnessed the beauty of sunrises and sunsets…all while I’m still alive.
Which makes me question if my original concept of Heaven was wrong…
if my religious teaching was remiss
as I look around at the miracles in my life…I wonder…can it get any better than this?
There might be a Heaven high up in the clouds…
a place where, once we die, we experience a rebirth
In the meantime
I’m happy with my little slice of Heaven
right here…
right now…
on Earth.
Eradicated, exquisite, hypocritical, and divine
Given your own heart --- but not given your own mind
Slaving through this lifetime to just rush to the next
Disqualified, degraded, and generation-hexed
Unintelligent, psycho, and deranged
When you open your eyes --- your life has already changed
The flashes of your past speed by under the midnight sky
Stagnant, secluded, and your life on a constant "standby"
Running from the thoughts that erupt out of your brain
Until before you know it, you're dead and your body lies crumbled in vain
The life you were meant to lead has definitely gotten away from you
Rushing through your life --- set off without a clue
Shocked and sinister your body's in pieces
Your spirit dwindles off --- and your life simply ceases
Born with a name, a face, and a voice
Just someone else's solution --- isn't another's method of choice
Always fighting, always frontin', always running from your life
Tearing and shredding through your DNA --- life's composite knife
We all just co-exist under the heightens of this moon
Raging and bubbling and on the verge of starting a monsoon
The emotions you display, will manifest itself as a storm
After the destruction of the storms --- your life it's about to transform
Gathering a team --- preparing for the worse
Losing everything together --- nobody gets to reimburse
Learning the stuff in school, they want your kids to learn
To silence and quiet all of the bottled-up unconcern
The greed of the people of this country within
Forcing you to remember and relive the first, original sin
I'll tell you what I want, if you tell me what you need
For the negativity inside your veins has done nothing to you but mislead
The mission you surround yourself --- the "so-called" box from within
Like everything from the beginning was fake possessions --- fake heart & fake skin
You're a barbie in a world, transformed by boxes of rocks
Millions of stopped galaxies --- millions of broken clocks
(“Still Life”, 2021, original encaustic)
Alternate Lives
Time appears to go in a line
From then to now
And some times it does
But at a certain point the stream
Becomes a river
Which then spreads into a delta.
I’ve always found the metaphors
Of literal geography to be the best,
And in this life can see the threads
Of alternate lives play out
All the what ifs
We’ll never really know.
What if my first wife and I had children
Instead of abortions?
I’m sure we would have stayed together,
And my daughter by the next wife would not be,
At least not who she is to me now.
And what of my life with wife number three?
Certainly that would not be.
And in the alternate beings and not beings
I would not have done all the things
I have done to make me me
And the same for everyone else touched
And moved and divided by the flow of time.
A flow that sometimes seems insignificant
Until it clearly isn’t
And the parting is complete,
Until it isn’t, and some kind of unity,
A whole greater than the parts
Is realized again.
(3/26/25)
It’s really confusing,
is the world going mad or what!
Men yearn for nature because she holds everything in her bosom
and that’s why men gloss themselves with the word love: men say they love every life nested and dwelling in it,
yet, their overly selfish desire destroys nature
to take away other lives habitats without guilt feeling.
Not for only other kinds of lives, men hate each other,
they are busy developing more powerful weapons for
mass-destruction while insisting upon love and forbearance
in the name of humanity, asserting that most precious is human life.
The flag they hold up in the name of peace is soaked in blood
the ruins they are marching through is filled with decaying corps
the air they are inhaling is hatred and exhaling is insolence;
men encroach upon weaker neighbors
they violate women and kill the young
drive old and sick into the flaming inferno,
then, brag about how and how many lives
they destroyed in the battlefield, toasting
with blood filled glasses in their hands.
“Why not stop talking rubbish!” The devil is laughing at you
the wicked ones say “no need to mention original sin, men are
already bad enough to commit all the kinds of sins that you can name.”
IT WAS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 LIVING IN FORT MYERS FLORIDA MY POEM WAS AWARDED PRESTIGIOUS EDITORS CHOICE AWARD BECAUSE IT DISPLAYS A UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE AND ORIGINAL CREATIVITY WHATS AMAZING IS THIS WAS 3 MONTHS AFTER MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY THIS POEM CONTINUED TO RECIEVE THIS AWARD AFTER RELOCATING NORTH DUE TO FOUR HURRICANES CHARLIE LISA GENE HUGO I CONTINUE WRITING OF COURSE AS PUBLISH TODAY OFFERED TO PAY ME TO PUBLISH MY ANTHOLOGY THIS POEM THE WRATH CONTINUED TO CAPTURE READERS ALSO IN 2006 IT'S TRULY AMAZING FIGHT FLIGHT MODE FIGHTING FOR MY BRAIN AND JUST LIKE HARRIET TUBMAN CONTINUED TO LEAD INJURED ILL PERSONS OUT OF SLAVERY I THINK OF VIRGINIA WOLFE WRITING DURING HER NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS BOUTS OF DEPRESSION THE BEAUTIFUL MINDS OF MYSTERY DURING SEVERE ILLNESS WE I WAS IN MY COMA I COULD OOEN MY EYES BUT POEMS CAME ACROSS MY MIND ONCE I AWAKENED I WAS ABLE TO PUT PEN TO PAGE DESCRIBING WHAT OCCURED WHILE I WAS FAST ASLEEP UNRESPONSIVE GOD BLESS NASA RADIOLOGY IN NAPLES FLORIDA AND GOD BLESS THE POET THAT LIVES AND CONTINUES TO WRITE AMONG US
THE WRATH WAS WRITTEN BY
YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 2003 I RECIEVED
AWARDS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 RIGHT
BEFORE CHRISTMAS DOWN THE STREET
FROM THOMAS EDISON HOME WHERE
ROCKEFELLER FORD AND EDISON STATUE
SITS FORT MYERS FLORIDA
The names for Thor and Epithets most odd;
Birth Thor Odinson also known as Þórr;
The original name for the god, of Thunor of the thunder god,
Donar, a name for Thor, Thunar, Asa-Thor;
Æsir-Thor his position within Æsir, one of the two major groups of Norse gods;
Hlórriði and or Hlóriði "the loud rider" connection to thunder sounds loud;
Sounds of a chariot ride in heavens rumbles;
Þun(a)raz, meaning "thunder", with his association with thunder;
Pórr, Thunor, Donar, and Thunar,
all stemming from the Þun(a)raz, meaning "Thunder",
Hhich mean "Æsir-Thor" and "the loud rider";
Odin, who be Thor Father;
Thor most powerful, revered god;
In Norse mythology, His name evokes rains,
fearsome storms, the flash of lightningThorcalled,
a fearless protector of gods and men;
Thor was also a dedicated protector of humanity,
fighting enemies who threatened the order of the worlds;
Notable human aliases Donald Blake, Jake Olson
Alas He is aGod of Thunder
though yet presently he’s mere mortal Thor just-
…a man with a hammer Sigurd Jarlson
8/30/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
It's just a small crack
much like the one in the Old Liberty Bell
but here it is again growing,
in the torch of Lady Liberty's hand;
like any crack first made
it tends to grow and stretch
repaired yet recurring thru time
still inching larger and looming
over the freedom of mankind;
if you're not careful,
if you fail to tend its needs
forget or deny its original purpose
the freedoms, justice, and liberties,
those allegiances in which you once believed
will become crazing that erodes a little more
of unrepairable fissures that grow
fractures, breaking points that rupture and explode
as the cleft and breach of a democracy implodes;
until the world, you well knew is unfamiliar and lost
to a common-sense America no longer knows.