Long Permission Poems
Long Permission Poems. Below are the most popular long Permission by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Permission poems by poem length and keyword.
I return to the page when silence grows loud,
When thoughts pile like clouds in a restless sky.
Images rise without permission,
Rivers, stars, footsteps — old friends that wait.
Each word I choose carries a weight,
A heartbeat, a tremor, a fragment of me.
Sometimes I write in bursts,
Sometimes in whispers that stretch for hours.
The themes return, over and over:
Light and shadow, absence and presence,
Voices hidden, voices forgotten,
Things I cannot speak except in verse.
Writing is how I see myself,
How I hold the world without breaking it,
How I turn small moments into something lasting,
How I tell stories I cannot yet say aloud.
She danced through the house smiling and singing.
We had to sit and be entertained. Her happiness
came at her current Lovers expense: as who she
always wanted became available through a break-up.
She dismissed him without any regards to his feelings
or concern. I have been his Secret lover ,his pen-pal,
on his waiting list and now I am his. Might the moon
spotlight my performance, that a world
of people who wish us together might gather as friends
and family united in the spirt of our belonging.
Then to be only, his only might a world of people who
understand love unite us. That he has swayed me into
interest, his two year eldership might gain him favor
that I may speak his wisdom from the position as husband.
Divisi Ossia, Legato Pesante, Presto piu Mosso,
Forte Del Segno, Metis Kanata: might mornings sing the
praises of love. To be patient and find false promises, works
in the making to satisfy my trust in him. Might all the
intentions of our togetherness be in the interest of our trust,
our needs, our wants and our reward, in that laborious convey
that cements our love.
Sheer Attractiveness ( Appears courtesy of:Lust of the Flesh Music Company). A need for love Music Production Company and Duct- Tour Projection Inc.
"Tighten Your Towel Diggy Like Looking" used with permission from "Kant Get My Man Jealous" Music Literarium Maestro Conducts Reek- Cords..... And Jivestone Ringshine Woman with Platinum Intentions Music Suites Inc.
Internal Duct
Capped
Snare Brush
Whisk Broom
Frottoir
Xylophone
Carillonneurs
All Appear Of Beg Me Bytch Music And Contractual Services.
Contracts and Contacts that'll blow your mind.
Call Dheezey at $44-555-0009 ext 069 ask For Big Thang or Meatus!
Ask him do they use hempoil in perfume?
You don't have to rewrite the story of your life, you are not a broken glass,
waiting to be glued back together, but just a being in search of a corner of the world,
where you can sit without being strong, like a flower letting the rain embrace it,
without the fear of wilting under the weight of time and expectations.
You just need a small chapter where you can breathe without fixing everything,
where your heart can rest, like a tired bird finding peace in its nest,
without apologizing for being tired, without asking permission to be.
Sometimes, you don't need answers, you are the ocean, vast and deep,
you can be calm without knowing why the tides are high or low,
you just need someone to say "you're okay" and truly mean it,
like the sun whispering, "Rest now, I'll return tomorrow."
You want to remember how to laugh without guilt, to cry without shame,
to feel like you belong somewhere even when you're lost, like the moon
wandering in the dark sky without needing to explain its glow.
You don't ask for eternity, you don't ask for much, just a pause between noises,
to feel human again, like the wind stopping to let the earth breathe,
a moment of silence in which to find your essence, to feel that you exist,
like a star that shines just because it remembers how to glow.
It ceases to be
at least in it's present form
than she spoke me as hers
in the relevance of love
might we stand together
in the unity of being
as lovers
committed
devote
as friends
together as one
a tribute to
Love
in all it's understanding
Love as it is defined
with every opportunity
to be together
and belong to one another
amorevole
Love in every shade
From "Mention Me"
by A.Gar Boots
aka Dolce Araia
rewritten with permission
by: Calm Vallies of
Tree Moulds and Vapor Productions
a Oasis Music Co.
kindness and tenderness
harmonious
harmonious
the transquilty of
Love
we as Lovers
con tenerezza
I wish I had written the poem
That everyone else has been trying to write.
I wish I had written the masterpiece poem
I know is in me, but is not coming forward
To help me out.
My name is not important.
My rank is non-existent.
But my writing, yes, my writing precedes me.
And it shall survive my fleshly death
It shall survive my everything death
It is not that I am stressed, for it is not my way
But I am impatient with the perfect poem I know
Is somewhere inside my dendrite highway
Waiting for permission
But I cannot give that, for after it appears
It will only be downhill, right?
Now I understand why ghosts rise from the past, shimmering shadows and whispers,
For the past never truly dies; it just hides in dark, deep corners,
Until silence can no longer last and echoes begin to sing again,
It’s in the mirror, in the voice that sounds like mine, in that endlessly repeated "I’m fine."
All the things I've left behind have not disappeared but wait silently,
They sit in the back row of every right I try to correct, like old secrets,
They don't ask for permission, just claim their place, leaving their mark on my tired soul,
And the more you ignore it, the more it steals from your inner grace, like a shadow.
Regrets are heavy, and "what if" becomes a chain pulling strongly backward,
The past doesn’t leave; it just pulls you back into its web of memories and unspoken desires,
Now I understand that ghosts don’t haunt; they just gently remind in silence,
And the past will never let you forget what you left behind, like an unfulfilled dream.
In every whisper of the wind and every breath of night, I feel the echoes dancing,
The past is an endless poem singing my story, a memory that never fades,
Like a flame flickering secretly in the depths of my heart, transforming into light,
And I realize that everything that slipped through my fingers still breathes, like a star in the eternal night.
Remember Me
You looked at me like I was something to be folded, made smaller, pressed into the corners where my voice couldn't reach.
You counted every mistake like they were proof, stacked them high enough to build a prison and called it love, called it discipline, called it "for your own good."
I called it surviving.
Remember me.
Remember the child who measured footsteps before entering a room, who learned that silence could be safer than speaking, who carried the weight of someone else's storms on shoulders that were still growing.
Remember me.
You said I was too much. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too weak. Too broken. Too impossible to love.
So I became an expert at disappearing, at apologising for taking up space, at shrinking until I almost believed I was as small as you needed me to be.
Remember me.
Remember the nights I stitched myself together with borrowed hope, the mornings I smiled with a heart full of cracks, the days I walked into the world pretending bruises don't always live on skin.
Remember me.
Because here's the part you never saw.
Every word you threw became another stone, and I built something with them.
A spine.
Every door you slammed taught me how to open my own.
Every time you tried to convince me I was worthless,
I found another reason to keep breathing.
Remember me.
Not as the frightened shadow standing in your doorway.
Not as the quiet voice waiting for permission.
Remember me as the wildfire you mistook for ash.
Remember me when I laugh too loudly to hear your echo.
Remember me when I stand tall enough to cast my own shadow.
Remember me when kindness lives where fear once slept.
Remember me because I remembered myself.
And that, more than anything, is the ending you never thought I'd write.
So if my name ever crosses your mind, don't remember the child you thought you could break.
Remember the person who survived you, grew anyway, and learned that being small was never who I was.
Remember me.
Remember me.
Remember me.
His girlfriend he wanted to see
To travel he came by Jet Ski
The moron, the fool
Broke our Covid rule
Our Deemster was far from happy!
His Christmas will be spent in jail
Found guilty, he’s no chance of bail
This romeo roofer
He sure is a goofer
No wonder his face turned so pale
*This morning around eight o’clock
He’s transported to Douglas dock
Where he was sent packing
(A jet ski he’s lacking)
No longer such a proud peacock!
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9082103/Jetski-Romeo-FREED-time-Christmas-Boyfriend-crossed-Irish-Sea-released.html
This idiot had never ridden a jet ski but decided to contravene our very strict covid regulations and come over to the Island from Scotland to see his girlfriend who he had only met in September – he had twice been denied permission to travel.
He thought it would take about 40 minutes to travel but it took him over 4 hours as the sea was rough and then he (allegedly) walked 15 miles to her home, Meanwhile the coastguards in Scotland were worried about him but managed to contact him via mobile phone but he never disclosed he was on our island. He and his girlfriend went out to 2 nightclubs and when questioned by authorities he said he lived with her and gave her address… but he got caught out, court and put in prison for 4 weeks. However, today (23rd December) he was released and deported back to Scotland which I guess is good news for the 2 children he has with his ex partner. Only time will tell if he is allowed back on the Island but because of the situation in the UK with the new variant of Covid we are currently under very strict lockdown since midnight yesterday and only residents and essential key workers are allowed to come to the island…. Another poem is in the pipeline a parody of a John Denver song called I’m leaving on a Jet- Ski… watch this space!
12/23/20
I feel it, a soul-crushing weight, a sour, spreading melancholy. What is this? Is this me? I no longer recognize the shape of my own love. Everyone I held, everyone I named... dissolved. Quietly. Like they were never whole. I stand in a crowded room and the noise is simply silence in a distinct yet eerily familiar form.
I see it clearly now. Their smiles, rehearsed. Their love, transactional, a lease signed on my usefulness, not my soul. This knowing did not arrive all at once. The universe is too cruel for mercy like that, it came in doses, measured, deliberate, until one day the doses became the ground I stood on.
And now I am buried in what I finally understand.
Shall I resign? Should I end it all? Do you hear me, cold and indifferent universe? You hollow animal, you unrelenting, desolate thing... I am empty. I am of no use to you now.
You've drained what was once an oasis: rich with dream, with desire, with the burgeoning persistence of love. What remains is cracked earth. What remains is an empty oasis. I grow weary of an existence excavated without my permission.
Give me rest. Not an ending, just silence. Just one moment where existence does not demand so much of a person who has nothing left to give.
Smiling recollections,
summer evening reflections, now
almost gone for new generations
while my venues of childhood musings
and adolescent anticipations
...near extinction.
I must concede my willingness to share
what they will never recall
- the exhilaration
when Dad would pronounce,
"We're going to the drive-in tonight".
A creature double feature,
"The Blob" and "I Was a Teenage Werewolf",
both Feep worthy presentations,
fantasmically speaking.
The impatience for dusk was matched
with the rush of a 10 minute intermission
and, while spotlights played on the
darkened screen, cardboard pizza,
Buttercup popcorn, hockey puck hamburgers,
soggy steamed dogs, and french fries,
were greedily consumed for more
than the price of admission.
Hood ice cream cups with flat wood spoons
for dessert, then back with only
one minute 'til SHOWTIME to the
mosquito safe car where "Pic" coils
repelled the infestation while smoldering
on the glove box door - mesothelioma be damned!
Then, if we didn't escape with an
early exit dash, were caught
in the dust and chaos of the only
late night traffic jam in town.
And...years later, those teenage
trysts, without permission - I'll never tell
what movie?
But, always remember "Gourmet Confessions"!