Long Overlooked Poems
Long Overlooked Poems. Below are the most popular long Overlooked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overlooked poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes, we go through life filled
with treasures, unseen and hidden.
It was a gift from a friend,
kindly taken from her yard.
They graced the front of her
home, covering it like a blanket.
Now, though not as bountiful as hers,
our ladies in pink greet everyone with smiles.
We have since lost touch with our friend and
do not remember the name of the flower. One
day, another friend was over and noticed a 'white cross'
inside the blossoms of the beautiful pink flowers. It amazes me that,
being the observer that I am, the 'white crosses' were so stately positioned
inside the beautiful pink blossoms, and I never saw them. How could I have
overlooked such awesomeness? Perhaps I was so contented and preoccupied with the beauty of pink that I never imagined a flower had more hidden and stunning treasures. Someday, I shall learn of their name, but until then, I shall call them our 'White Cross Flowers'.
053121PS
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.
...Janelle Hayes was president in those days,
second woman to lead the fifty states,
a career-driven woman, quite well read,
she listened to Chris, all the words he said.
It seemed so insane, the things he did speak,
but Janelle was smart, and realized quickly
that what this kid knew could not be a joke,
if there was no change, there would be no hope.
But if you know the future then you can act,
Janelle could set things on another track,
she knew of the lab, and what was coming,
but sadly we had overlooked something.
You see, Janelle Hayes was just forty-six,
and deep-down regretted not having kids,
as she talked with Chris, who was so alone,
feelings started growing, like none she’d known.
The maternal instinct, so long suppressed,
led her to adopt the time-displaced Chris,
the public knew nothing of what was to come,
just though their leader had got a new son.
It was quite a story, played on the news,
no favorability points did she loose,
and to her credit, she did love the boy,
amidst politics he was her great joy.
But as I said Janelle Hayes was quite smart,
now her mind was pitted against her heart,
she knew the dark future, but knew that Chris
without that future would not now exist.
Which meant if she worked to make a change
the future she’d build would not be the same,
which meant that her son would never appear,
the one she loved most would no longer be there.
I wish I could say she made the right choice,
but if she had I could not give this voice,
the love for her son proved greater in time,
Janelle chose him over all of mankind.
The plague ran it’s course, it all happened again,
the same endless death of men and women,
new memories of this time-loop arose
in all of our minds, it was quite a blow.
We have enough fuel for just one more trip,
and I’ll say that I volunteered for it;
yes, it will kill me, but I do not care,
we know where the lab is, I’m going there.
Some say it may mean war, China had nukes,
there’s a risk to that, it’s a real truth,
but doing nothing just leads to our end,
love undermined us, now there’s just violence…
If today you didn't receive a rose and your heart sighs in silence,
don't let that make you believe you're less than a dream of a flower.
Not because you've been forgotten by the world, but because you are more than a petal.
Roses are beautiful, yes, but they wither under the weight of passing time,
they do not endure like your soul, steadfast in the light of eternity,
a beauty that shines even when overlooked by passing glances.
Flowers wait for eyes to discover their ephemeral splendor, but you?
You shine like the sun embracing the quiet of dawn with gentle rays,
like stars illuminating the night sky with glimmers of eternity.
You bring warmth to frozen days and kindness when the world forgets to offer it,
so no, you didn't receive a flower, because you are more than a rose.
You are more than a moment lost in time, more than the ephemeral.
I know it hurts, feeling that something is missing from the canvas of your unwritten story,
wanting to be special in the eyes of the world, and it's natural to feel this longing,
to wish to be seen, for that is part of the human mirage.
But amid the shadows of sadness, remember—
you are more than a fleeting dream, you are a reality that will not fade.
And if you want a flower, here—this one is for you,
a reminder that you are loved, special, and so you will remain through time.
I always told you “I love you”;
Even our hearts knew
But you rejected and sealed it with glue.
Whenever I called from the hub,
Your phone you set “Do Not Disturb”
Yet I overlooked that snob.
When you needed money,
You’d call me “Sweet Honey”
After receiving, you’d stop being bonnie.
I bought you a flower on Valentine’s day
You told me you’d accept it in May
“Someone else has given me,” you’d say.
So you boomed and zoomed about with him
He at last messed up your gorgeous trim
And then you thought of my lovely dream:
I don’t love you anymore, woman!
Go find another man
I already have my marriage to plan.
6/8/16
Not everything you'll get
Back on my bull
I ain't the one to fold quick
Had days of nothing but ice cold grits
Regardless just trying to live life to the fullest
No time to spend at any pulpit
And I will never stick to the same old script
Listen
Don't get it twisted
I'm not a buddhist, muslim or a christian
I believe in wisdom
And facts not fiction
Now what is the meaning in all these hieroglyphics
I'm interested in the specifics
But nothing religious
Near the Atlantic, Arctic, Indian, and Pacific
From the start to finish
With my vision
Many things were overlooked and hidden
Even when I stuck to the mission
Underneath skies that were blue, grey and crimson
The sediment falls and settles
Above and below flower petals
And buildings made of metals
On similar and different levels
Give or take
I think we could relate
I make mistakes
By: Dalton Ogletree
AM STILL IN LOVE WITH YOU
It wasn’t easy to fall in love with you,
though your looks were always new.
You won my heart with time
but oh! then I had no money, no dine.
with nothing to offer you but my heart and soul,
you decided to go away in search for gold
leaving me in melancholy and jeopardy.
I cried for my loss; I mourned for my tragedy.
you overlooked my errors when I had affluence
but now you underlook me in every sense
you yearned for my love before
now you snoop me unlike before,
you disgraced me amidst my friends
and you broke our engagement, caring less;
You called me “sweetheart” before
while now you call me merely “Michael”
everything you do to make me hate you
doesn’t hurt me and I curse myself for it because
am still in love with you.
My father disowned me because of your sake
and I nearly drowned in a lake
you showed no care when i broke a leg
and you left me while sick in bed
you called my mum a whore
and in my absence you stole from my meagrer store
I can’t put your deeds in words for it is long;
for after all that you did to me
am really confused and i curse myself for it
for…for… for.. am still in love with you
Overlooked-by Dominique Smith
Can you cry the ocean so those in need can come over with a boat? No but I ca- Can you fix a window with the scraps of band-aid? No, But I ca- Can you burn like the paddles who can bring life back to the barren waste land?! No but I ca- Do you know the future is going to be bright because the sun will be blocking the fear of those with their eyes closed!? No but I ca- I have had enough!
Who are you? Why cant you speak!? Can take the acid and razors to the back door so only the weak will prevail!? Can you take the smoke from a factory pull it into the lungs of the ratchet!? Can you put the bullet from a misfire to the right target? Left hand up right leg to the dirt. Have the tragedy of the unknown really come forth to tell us the last site of humanity? Can you bring the head of the insightful to tears with nothing more mere gesture of your eye? Well, no but I ca- Im not done! Can you regrow the heart lost to those who have fought? They have fought for those spitting in their homes that will never get the dired poison out of the carpet of rage?
Well? Speak! Speak! Where .... where are you? A note found on the drift of the air " I cant fight, I can't cure, I cant bring life into the dead condition of those have been washed with acid, I cant pray or study enough to bring the blood to the living in the beds of the damned. I can however love, listen, encourage, remind those who are lost that life isnt a trial for people who are
Can we manage to feel concern and compassion for those we meet on any given day?
Those who are trying to manifest life's punches, the forgotten lambs who have wondered astray.
Some people practice wearing a brave face while on the inside they are falling apart.
Can we show concern for what happens to them?
Can we offer them a piece of our hearts?
Jesus dealt with the diseased and destitue, the ones society was afraid to touch,
the overlooked, the outcasts and the ones who needed his kindness so much.
We can attempt to make a difference if it's our lord we are hoping to please.
We can search out the lonely and hurting. We can do it for the least of these.
When Evie wrote her first cook book
Her neighbour, Val, oh how she shook
What she found on page nine
Was HER steak in red wine
She declared sneaky Evie a crook
It caused such abominable troubles
Especially when Val’s cousin, Bubbles
Found HER trout recipe
On page seventy three
Evie's reputation is in rubbles
For Evie her goose is now cooked
‘Fowl’ actions can’t be overlooked
Recipes not by her
Sure has caused quite a stir
Her deception it now has been booked
Thanks to Lin Lane for her comment on the poem which inspired the final stanza ... and before anyone asks ... I DID ask permission to use her thoughts lol!
Inspired after reading an article on recipes being plagiarised
https://www.eater.com/2015/3/19/8259393/recipe-plagiarism-in-the-food-world-is-still-rampant
04/02/20