Long Part Poems
Long Part Poems. Below are the most popular long Part by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Part poems by poem length and keyword.
There they rested on rusting rails so regal yet so stark.
An old steam engine and its caboose now sit silent in the park.
Since I was on a casual stroll and had some time to squander,
I sat upon a beckoning bench, its yesteryears to ponder.
In my mind's eye I saw this Goliath racing down the rails,
Spewing billowing smoke and hearing its melancholy wails.
The engineer consulted his watch, anxious to meet his goals.
With elbows and cinders flying, the fireman stoked the coals!
I reckoned it towed freight cars as part of its ponderous load,
And of course free-spirited hoboes, those vagabonds of the road.
I'm sure its odyssey crossed desert sands and verdant prairies,
And coursed thro' mountain cols as high as eagles' aeries.
I envisioned sleek Pullman cars it pulled with happy folk aboard,
Enjoying the grandeur of this nation as down the track it roared!
Did it witness sad goodbyes as it carried soldiers off to strife?
Alas, did it carry a hero's coffin who had sacrificed his life?
What a thrill watching a steam engine thundering down the line.
I'll return again to reminisce before this venerable shrine.
Startled by a diesel train and its raucous klaxon across the way,
I wakened from my reverie and slowly walked away.
I used to think that love is meant to be like a fairy tale.
In a way, I think it still is.
Just maybe without a glass slipper, and the guy is not a prince.
I also used to think that it’s supposed to be all-consuming and obsessive.
In a way, maybe it is.
Just maybe in a healthy way and not a manic way.
Another thing I used to think was that love would be easy.
In a way, I think it is
You just have to find the right person.
Finding the right person is probably the hard part.
I used to think that I would know when it was right and perfect.
Maybe it is, and I just haven’t found it yet.
I don’t know exactly what love is meant to be or how you know it’s right or wrong.
How do you know?
One day, I hope I’ll know.
I hope it’ll be exactly what I thought when I was young.
I hope it sounds like that song.
I’d give up forever to touch you
I hope someone will feel like that about me one day.
Love carries on the life that we
possess.
We know this because hate and evil's
hunger is to oppress.
Yet we take love for granted and say
it's insignificant.
All the while, love comes steadfast
and diligent.
That being in disregard, it's easier
to be a part of the world's evilness,
And to succumb to its own feebleness.
We are a "right now", instant
generation.
We no longer have patience in everyday
situations.
We're in a hurry to go nowhere and
people are fighting to get there
first.
And getting there isn't worth all the
pain that is being dispersed.
We only get worse as each day goes by.
And no one takes the time out to find
out why.
We no longer carry the discipline that
was passed on throughout the years.
As well as lessons spoke of and passed
down to listening ears.
If we just take the time out to take a
look around.
We may be able to see what was lost
and where things are found.
Warriors Never Sleep
by Odin Roark
How subtle his pen
Barely moving from
Left to right
Opinion to fact
What if to perhaps
Words these were
How relaxed my hypnotic state
Fingers inner-laced atop my irregular breathing state
Sounds emitting from reluctant lips
Fearful to ride the expunged air
To reach his ears
Might they be heard as betrayal?
Jesus how I’d learned the Id’s instinctual power
The super-ego’s warrior-quest of protection
And the Ego
That mediating *******’s reality check
Were I but parroting conscious experience
Or was the roll out of sounds
A regurgitation of my subterranean privacy
My lair’s howl
The warrior-protected part of my mind
The only part left
It seemed
At least that was the shrink’s opinion
Oh how he tried
Oh how the pen did perform its dervish moves
It’s tapping cadence
It’s lip massage while waiting
All the while
That look of understanding
I hated that
Father
Grandfather
Mythical sage
All in one
The bastard
But hey
Choices were few
I’d murdered three people
So I’d said
The state wanted to find out
Was it true?
Ask Mr. Id
I’d told them
And asking they were doing
The 10-9-8-7
Finger snap
The endless drill of endless sessions
Eyes open
His pen raised
Clock showing straight up
Session over
For now
Taking the hand of my warrior
He winked
We shuffled out
I have waited for the cars to part like the way Moses did
I am no Moses.
I am just a sloth waiting for a moment to cross the street.
I was the first who stood and waited
On my both sides came two figures who arrived in silence
We were the last ones who stood and waited.
I realized
No one among us can play the part of Moses
We just exchanged glances and could not see each other's irises
As the sandstorm from the morning still obscures Riyadh.
I am going to a temporary home for the night
Where could they reside tonight?
Will little angel's wait on the doorstep to meet and kiss them?
(It's dinner time already, my seat at home is already occupied)
Nobody is waiting for me.
Then the road cleared
And the three of us, souls being friends for just a while
Just moved on.
(We are raindrops falling side by side from the clouds)
Breaking our infinitesimal mass,
as we reach the pavement.
Abhorrent those phizog few,
At times they flood his mind.
He did not even know why them his mind drew,
He has got to get down, reasons to find.
His mindly nib, she oozes memories,
Of old and new… far but few,but many ,that he knows not.
On papyrus his mind scribbles and carries,
And then drains encapsulated emotions that afore are now brought.
His heart bleeds of porous feelings,
Bleached and dried by furious despotism.
Of people he knew real close in life’s dealings,
Of the ones he had no knowledge of their absolutism.
Blood flows from his weary eyes,
Tears flow from his broken heart.
But he has not yet learnt life’s game of dice.
All he has borne is the fury of the tyranny’s dart.
My thoughts like his lie chained ,
My mindly nib brings afore,
Glued stuck and stained.
Memories of the past eon all sore.
Get up my Goa…..
Can one dare to hope…
Instead of all in this darkness grope
All he can hear is Empty voices….. cold… dark and sterile,
Shapless dreams , but sought in the midst of peril
Black mirrored roads and murky simmering waters,
Is no place for perfect reflections, but for our dream slaughters
Leaving behind a land adorned by hungry eyes…
Its beauty diminishing like wisps of smoke amidst populous cries……
Get up stand up….
ElseWe will run blinded in the dark,
And meet the hard embrace
Of whispered truth and scolding truth without a scenario of a worser case
You are watched and inspected,
Governed , directed , censored and corrected.
You are told what to do,
You are told how far to go.
Where is that haloed glow?
No more a part of your grand show,
Have they driven your thoughts to a tangent,
Oh then even your smile could shortly become pungent.
Your sanity unseen
Your senses now dumb that were earlier keen.
I still cannot reconcile as to why?
Why why and why?
You still walk in sheathed in tatters of pride….
Lips closed but open eyed…..
How long……..
Do we have to be forlorn
How long……..
Do we have to be forlorn
CELLULAR INTEGRATION--(Integration is a part of cell signaling)--It is the Process that Allows Cells to communicate with each other. It is a fundamental process, and the first step of the many, that give RISE to Life. Thanx Google for definition..
A communication,
You don't take for Granted,
A tightly woven strand,
Your able to command.
And demand information,
To improve on its vibration.
To learn of past relations .
Breaking the chains,
Changing the Station.
Rising to Every occasion,
With faith and trust,
I do what i must.
Find the Stillness,
Become the witness.
Feeling each body part,
As we Embark into the Heart.
Feel it Open for You,
Skipping a beat,
Sending it through.
Straight to the helm,
The head starts to hum.
A chariot of fire,
Within this Energy Empire,
Stimulation of the Engine,
Signals its activation,
The sensation,
Rushing down your Spine.
Love Tingling down,
Tracing every Line.
Our Gift from The Divine,
Sending signals to every cell,
Making sure they're doing well.
They Can tell, of the sick ones,
And what needs to be done.
Feel The Healing That has Begun.
Have fun with your Machine,
Keep it balanced and Clean.
Don't be Mean.
It Knows everything,
Will do anything you ask,
Informing what it needs for the task.
Bask in the fact,
Cellular Integration,
Is a form of Communication,
We all can play a part in.
. The
devil Satan
a dark evil spirit
of death and destruction
who wages war against God
the almighty creator of the universe
a brilliant clear light of white purity
whom our spirit is part of
and separate from
having free
will
~~~
This Diamante can also be read from bottom to top
Author: Elaine George, of Canada
Sing sad songs to a wanderlust child born
stagnant love the heart of a mother's scorn,
raised by elders, unfamiliar parents
to the loneliest heart, lost and errant
struggling in hope to find the better way
amidst the misconceptions of each day;
play a melody, rhythmic, soft and sweet
where a discarded child's heart-achingly beats
part of dream and hope forever longing
integral to family belonging
find the lessons learned are hard and true
no more could a solitary child do
return love honest, unconditional
to mother's heart touched love transitional.
2/7/19 Movie Magic Contest
Gregory R. Barden sponsor
Now, Voyager Bette Davis as Charlotte Vale
ll Corinthians 5:
21. For He hath made Him to be sin for us, Who knew no sin; that we might be
made the righteousness of God in Him.
1 John 1: 8 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not
in us. 9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and
to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
I let a thought enter my mind today
It was not a nice one, I must say
I took a gem clip and a pen
Why didn't I leave them in.
I put a bag of potatoes on the bottom
Part of the grocery cart
Honestly, I forgot, brain didn't start
Or was it that or deep in my heart?
Little things pile up high
We forget to ask forgiveness
I must say
All those things build a dam
Keeping us and our Savior apart
Forgive me Father for what I've done
Let this day be for me a new life under the sun
A poem may be coming or not. finis'
I have not necessarily done all these things, but then again, I may have done at least one or some of them or maybe over my whole life all of them. Prayer in the right frame of mind will put us in a right relationship again. SK