Long Passport Poems
Long Passport Poems. Below are the most popular long Passport by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Passport poems by poem length and keyword.
The world does not look now
like a place that I once belonged to.
Opening an atlas
the maps looks like nowhere I have ever been.
I pass through different windows now,
white rabbits lead the way.
Being older than I once was,
almost inevitably places have changed,
yet where I was born
looks like an alien city to me,
it seems like
a tourist destination for indigenous exiles.
The world was much larger when I was a traveler.
Chunks of the planet were only known
to explorers and scientists.
People were dangerous yet much kinder.
Now here in a corner of no-place-much
blancmange faces float in and out
speaking a language that means less to me
the more I hear it.
We once carried books around,
we loaded cars and pushbikes with travel books
and the poetry of adventurers.
We were old enough to be dreamers.
Of course the young were always dumb,
and the smarter they got the dumber they got.
Forgive me, the old have always talked like this,
our handbrakes are looser,
thoughts slip backwards downhill.
Yet we must speak occasionally
about the blancmange and the puerile,
the cheapening of what was once hard won.
I know I abide somewhere among this new world.
Brave or timid I abide half-hidden.
The land I inhabit now
has given me a passport, and I have an address.
I recognize once who I was and where
I lost maps I had once crossed.
Maybe I am too young at the moment
to forget or see where I should be.
Always look on the sunny side
The sunny side of life
It's where you'll forever find me
Life's just one big slice
A slice of joy and happiness
Waiting for you to call
Doesn't even require a passport
It's there to welcome all
A thousand times more enjoyable
Than stumbling round in a funk
Your step will have a much livelier gait
You'll smile a whole big bunch
All are capable, my very good friends
Matter of mind over matter
If you think positive and grin each day
Happy genes will get much fatter
Now it's very well known knowledge
Happy genes can go a long way
To extending your days here on earth
It'll be a much happier stay!
No more creativity deemed on
the exercise of rotten faculty
Nor burning intelligence’s
penalty
Nor repression sold as
suppression
Nor dissemination of distortion
I shall be content at dawn
To take my leave
Subjugation’s tyranny’s ambition
It’s combat?
Humanity’s mission
Submission’s antithesis is
faction
Behold as protest is deemed
agitation
As justice refuses man’s
gratitude
Take my head be-header
For this truth you shall never
erase
For I am decapitated but not
capitulated
Speak not of blood ties when
you only bleed lies
Repression is a passport to
humanity’s extinction
I’m neither angel nor devil
Nor saintly nor evil
I am human
Striving for what’s right
Enemies call me cold
I belong in no shelf
I put no labels to myself
Save to say love is my way
When walls brought stuffy
indoctrination
And repression funded mental
assassination
Humanity created a blowing
wind
I climb beyond the human
heights
When I'm telling the truth
Explosive in the extreme
I’m called subversive
When i’m only creative
They call me kinky
When i’m only inky
I raise an objection
And get a rejection
When the best brains become
exterminated
And purity poison to
contaminate
For if the worst doesn’t come
to the best the sun shall
rise in the west..
In the hallowed halls of college,
Where dreams bloomed like wildflowers,
I walked with a pencil in my pocket,
And a book cradled close to my heart.
My friends, oh dear companions,
We laughed under ancient oaks,
Shared secrets in dimly lit libraries,
And danced through midnight exams.
The pencil whispered courage,
Its graphite etching hope on paper,
While the book held worlds within—
A passport to realms beyond reality.
We scribbled notes in margins,
Doodled love stories and equations,
And when life felt too heavy,
We leaned on each other's metaphors.
But as the seasons spun their yarn,
And we crossed the threshold to university,
Some friends faded like ink on old pages,
Their chapters end abruptly.
They chose different paths,
Grew distant, their laughter echoing.
In distant corridors of memory,
Like faded bookmarks left behind.
Yet my faithful pencil remained,
Its lead unyielding, marking time,
And the book—oh, that cherished tome—
Still whispered tales of resilience.
For in solitude, I found solace,
The pencil sketching new beginnings,
The book unraveling narratives,
As I wove my own story, ink by ink.
So here's to the pencil and the book,
My steadfast companions through it all,
Their silent presence a reminder:
True friends need no spoken words.
And though others may change their ways,
I'll forever treasure these faithful allies,
For they've etched their lines upon my soul,
A timeless ode to friendship's enduring grace.
I thought that I knew everything
Had learned all there was to learn
I thought I had a world of knowledge
Then I turned into a man of twenty-one
I thought I had reached a ripe old age
And was thankful that I was still alive
I thought that my best years were in my past
Then I turned into a man of thirty-five
I thought finally I had reached my prime
There was nothing left for me to do
I thought all objectives had been met
Then I turned into a man of fifty-two
I thought there was nothing left to give
Nothing new left to explore
I thought my passport could be put away
Then I turned into a man of seventy-four
Now I realize there’s much more to learn
Much more living I can achieve
I know there are accomplishments still to come
As I turn into a boy of ninety-three
If my house was on fire
I would grab some attire
To go outside in the nude
Would be considered rude!
If my house was on fire
One thing I would require
Would be my mobile phone
I’d call my hubby and moan
If my house was on fire
The item I’d most desire
Would be my laptop
Else my writing would stop
If my house was on fire
Yellow flames going higher
I’d grab my wedding ring
All my jewelry and bling
If my house was ablaze
I’d search through the haze
To grab my passport
Useful for the airport
If my house was full of smoke
It would not be a joke
I’d grab my new purse
No cash or keys would be a curse
If my house was burning
I would be quite discerning
I’d take a box of hair dye
Stray gray hairs I must deny!
Seven things you would save contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
2/5/19
MILL WHEEL
The mill wheel wouldn’t turn till the Spring
‘CLOSED’ notice hanging at closed door on a string.
Snowfall on pavement, snowfall on road turning hard ice.
Customers remembered miller as he was friendly and nice.
Winter was frosty with chilled windy breeze.
Off and on snow drizzling, sometimes to cease.
Sudden disappearance of the miller made all stunned.
Neither any information received, nor the miller returned.
Whisper ran through the town from door to door,
as police came on inquiry: How to ignore?
They came on verification of passport renewal.
Splendid surprise awaiting on miller’s arrival.
Miller is going abroad on honeymoon trip with new bride.
Passport-issue is solved, and everybody gets relieved.
Season changes to Spring naturally, no freaks.
Ice melts, revealing secrets, wheel creaks.
07/19/18
' One, nine, sixteen v3.0' Contest by Viv Wigley
(inspired by "Gifts of the Most High" by G Alan Johnson.)
The crows know me, and I, in their untamed glares,
and wild, accepting, onyx eyes find a solace.
No need for ID, for they’ve been watching me,
my face, yet unetched by time and life's own artistry,
is a passport for their uncivilized and predatory attention.
The corvid and I are kindred in many ways.
We've all scavenged for fortune's scraps,
shared the sting of bitter winter snaps,
and feasted on the meager leavings of the day.
In this dark pact, of watcher and watched,
a silent truth is proclaimed, that all that’s done
beneath the sun, is seen by dark, intuitive,
discerning, if not caring or humanly wise eyes.
The carrion crows know me,
and those feathered sentinels of air, mark
my coming with raucous, heralding cries.
They gather, black against the sun-kissed sky,
in councils held upon the wind's swift motions,
like children, they argue - observing still - as they play.
They causa no fear, but someday I’ll disappear,
unraveled, bit by bit, not by malice from on high,
but by beaks and claws, to caws they mantric-like cry.
Perhaps death really does have an ebonite beauty
and, like angels, his servants have wings, and pick us apart
when our time is through - and those sharp bills come due.
A present for your mum and dad
was one they never had
the money that was in a bag
that you thought you would have
How much did you take
that found upon their bed
did you feel like you were great
what went through your head?
The bag containing money
contained my passport too
we never found the money
but my passport we did do
The money had been spent
all of it removed
but the passport never went
turned up in your room
Stolen by your hands
from the house in which you grew
all simply by chance
when it was found by you
Stealing from your family
the gift given by mine
no sense of morality
taking what you find
And if you steal from them
what they have in their home
then you will steal again
from anyone you’ve known
The gift that showed humanity
working truly at its best
was ruined by your savagery
you made the best depressed
I know you can’t be trusted
you’re a very selfish guy
even when you’re busted
you stick to your lie
Always blaming others
thrown under the bus
your sisters and brothers
everyone you crush
You never keep your word
it is always about you
yet feel that you deserve
to be celebrated too
My friend not worth knowing
doesn’t tell the truth
the lies just keep on flowing
my friend you have no use
And everyone believes them
thinking they are true
and as I’m never speaking
all they hear is you
Now within their judgement
I’m seen as what I’m not
it’s too late to prevent
opinions they’ve now got
So people think I’m weird
are never asking me
Know not how I appeared
or who I truly be
And you appear a saint
they’re in for a surprise
one I could prevent
I’d rather they realise
~Passport To Europe~
(Taxidevo Agape)
Travel thru Europe
Can be really nice
Germany's ancient
Beautiful country
With breathtaking views
Everywhere you go you'll enjoy enchanting sights
Traveling thru small towns with so much history
Most locals are nice and polite willing to help
You'll get to see many castles still standing 'round
Tall and proud filled of much beauty and history
In Paris take walk
Spain is full of charm
Riding the train thru
Europe is much fun
Travel will bring joy.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2012
May.18.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The "Taxidevo Agape" is a poetry form or style created by Joseph Spence Sr.