Long Played Poems
Long Played Poems. Below are the most popular long Played by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Played poems by poem length and keyword.
The demonstration which the teacher gave was simple
He asked any two of us to sit on a table facing each other
The he put a hanky on my partner’s eyes
Making the other one blind for a while
And he placed seven small mouth cups, on the table here and there
And gave me seven different small pieces of chalks
To place them on the table at different spots
Without my partner seeing the placing of cups & chalks over there
He asked me to give instructions to my partner
To pick the chalk of my choice and color
As per the instructions to be given by me
Without touching the table or any thing lying on it
And to move his hand, as per the inch by inch directions
To be given by me
The first few attempts were erratic and not that easy
Till I placed my entire personality on the chair of my friend
And started giving directions to my partner
As I myself was to lift and move my hand
From picking up the chalk to
Dropping it in the cup from a height of one feet at least
We both began to enjoy that game from that day on wards
By exchanging the positions, to make the blind the other one
And gradually I found what a beautiful game it was
Which can be played between persons of any age difference
It makes both the player to understand life better
Understanding each others weaknesses and strengths together
And keeping a room for your partner views
Is the secret of the Art of Living and Loving since ever.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 5th December 2009
(concluded part 2 of 2)
I set the clock to 1958, and raced to Desilu Studios.
Lucy and Desi both greeted me; I played with Little Ricky.
They took me home with them after the day’s taping.
We sat by the pool and laughed about everything.
They are much more fun in person than on TV.
I asked them a zillion questions, and they answered them all.
I wanted to know about other celebrities, and they gave me tidbits.
They had a swimming suit that fit me, so I went swimming with them.
They were gracious and fed me supper; I loved their food.
Everything was wholesome and wonderful.
Lucy told me that she planned to do back up tapes of her show.
It was Desi’s idea, so they would last longer. I encouraged this.
They asked me about 2020 and I told them about computers.
They were amazed, and could not believe it. So I explained the Internet.
They showed me their Word Book set and asked if it was like that.
It was difficult to explain, for there was no reference point.
There was a rumor that someday the TV shows would be in color.
I told them that this would happen around1964. They thanked me for that.
It was with a heavy heart that I said good bye; I had made three new friends.
It was a wonderful day for sure!
There was a murmur in town, everyone was whispering
Be careful all the ladies ,The trader of love is coming back to our city
He'll knock on every door, but keep the locks on
Once you see him in the eye, inevitable is leaving his sight
The guy:
I AM a magician a magician
most charming of lovers
I take a heart and give one in return
I trade in love
I win the game of hearts by losing my own
Whatever people say about me is fallacious
I don't do seduction neither before taking heart I ask for permission
I am a magicain A magician, I have the magic of love
The girl who fall in love:
My heart was lonely
You played the game of love so beautifully
That I often lie awake all night long
My heart my brain everything is bewilder
Since the moment you have crossed my path
O magician of Love, O magician of love
With your games you have conquered my heart
Now after stealing my peace, my heart and my sleep
Don't go anywhere with all these things
Why you tantalize me by coming in my dreams
Making me plunge in air but reality turning into grief
My heart is yours, so come in these arms
O white women, my lover is different
He's a white man, the best in millions
His hair are as blonde as pieces of gold
His eyes are that of dove, washed by milk and full of love
His lips are like scarlet and lillies, and his cheeks as red as rose
Are you really so beautiful or is it an illusion
O tell me na, you are a magician, a magician
Through the way of my eyes, you enter the path to my heart
Just like the serpent of Eden, you have stucked me in vortex
By showing the desire of love, you have made me a lover
The girls are now curious whether you'll stay or not
I am mad in your love, have mercy on my condition
Show me your magic, O magician O Magician
And the guy replied I am a magician a magician
The most charming amongst lovers
I can eviscerate your heart in seconds
And your senses will be finished,
The only thing you'll do shall be to love me
Don't you dare think me wrong
I have written your name on my heart's wall
Keep your carriage ready, your veil on
Any second I am coming to take you home
Just wait a few days, don't worry about my reputation
I am different now, I am a magicain a magician,
50 lines
For the contest"8 Word Challenge"
Sponsor"John Green"
When business dons the mask of politics,
it ceases to build — it begins to conquer.
Elon, you were an architect of the invisible —
a builder of empires no eye could fully grasp.
But now, you have entered the Roman forum,
where applause is short-lived,
and daggers are hidden in roses.
You played the game of gods,
but politics is not for Titans —
it is for tricksters, for shadows,
for those who understand
that visibility is the first stage of crucifixion.
What the world sees, it fears.
What it fears, it destroys.
Your umbilical cord is buried in African soil,
yet you build your castles in foreign deserts.
The wealth you command could restore rivers
to parched lands, put books in empty hands,
heal broken nations — but instead,
you joust with egos in the colosseum of fools.
You once praised kings;
now you provoke them.
But do not mistake your followers
for an army —
they are spectators in the theater of downfall.
You will not outplay the House
by flipping its cards.
The House is the game.
Retreat.
Not in cowardice —
but in strategy.
Let the quiet do your work.
History rewards those
who leave whispers in its pages,
not shouts in its squares.
And to the people:
do not crown merchants as prophets.
Do not turn billionaires into messiahs.
Power loves a puppet
but fears the poor who awaken.
Remember:
Invisibility is invincibility.
And what hides
often rules what reigns.
This is a collaboration with Susan Ashley, excerpts taken from her Amberina Ballerina poem. One of the best writes I've ever read, check it out!
Thanks Susan for your awesome work, I loved this and have high hopes for this song!
UNTAMED HEART
My untamed heart,
ruled by unruly wants
Sometimes in tatters,
but flatters and taunts
I played at life...
but life played me harder,
Lived bet to debt...
in life's Russian roulette
Chorus
I'm like a ghost ship,
stranded on breakers
searching for life, without any light
I rummage through...
my Psyches ruins
Dreams duel disasters,
but give up the fight
I place a wager...
speed into danger
My foolish whims,
scatter in mistral winds
Now tossed by waves,
by blind forces of fate
How they orchestrate,
time, distance and place
Bridge
Now all that's left...
lies fallow,
in fields of regret
Hopes of a new day...
are shattered
by a doomed sunset
Chorus
I'm like a ghost ship,
stranded on breakers
searching for life, without any light
I rummage through...
my Psyches ruins
Dreams duel disasters,
but give up the fight
Outro
Dreams duel disasters,
but give up the fight
Dreams duel disasters,
but give up the fight
repeat and fade
Written November 26,2021
(revised Nov29,2021)
John Derek Hamilton, Susan Ashley
"The Gift"
Communication to a friend...
Responding to what you have written, responding to your thoughts. This is a very deep and very sad write and I get it.
I would like to read the story further to see how it unfolds.
One, no matter how F’ing awful the cards drawn in this life, expects to see a “win” at some point, even if it’s a small win. I think this is a metaphor for the treadmill of life and the large amount of driving down roads and passing parcels (messages) to others (you experience also in your job). Life becomes so stilted and routine after a while, like going to sleep and waking up (when you’d rather stay in your dreams, even the nightmares are lacking routine).
I wonder sometimes, when passing the parcel (like that game we played – or some of us played – at children’s parties, when we were very very young, with the expectation of a message of mystery and elation, then the unwrap, to find just another parcel wrapped underneath it all with another message for the next player we passed the parcel to – well, I wonder, what that person hides in their journey, no matter the glossy and cheery exterior they wear in front of us, swinging their gaslight, as some kind of torture, to say, “see I’m doing so much better than you”….when perhaps they aren’t and they are hiding great depths of despair internally, where they fall fathoms daily, not reaching even the bottom but they, in their own way, are trying (boy are they trying), to find the ladder to claw their way back out of the sinkhole (built by themselves, or others), towards the light. Depression loves its camouflage fatigues. Eventually, surely the last parcel reaches the person it is intended for and when the final unwrapping occurs, what’s contained in the Pandora box, may or may not be the diamond we were expecting.
I think you should continue this – it is like the opening chapter to a novel.
Have a lovely, peaceful, safe and joyful Christmas and I think perhaps 2023 might be your Year (for all good things to come your way).
With LOVE,
that is all that matters,
through every waking moment
p.s. I expect to read your next instalment on Christmas Day.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Christmas
I ran by this thing with haste, that malevolent beast as to school I went
Centered In a beautiful field i never played, because we all knew of the shallow graves.
We never saw them, no one dared to find them, and no one ever even looked
For the other children that were buried there, trust for a child is given by word of mouth.
The rumors grew, as the tulips did in the field that held That Old Red Barn.
A child’s fancy, the minds plaything sometimes given over to the rule of what it thinks must
be
Because Jennifer said it, it must be so; I don’t dare to find out the actual truth. I’m not that
brave
So I leave it alone, this beautiful thing, because the cover does not always tell the story
within.
If I had given it a second glance and not been so scared that I didn’t notice,
That just beyond the reaches of the trees at its circumference laid a house of golden hue
And in those walls, a grander story than even of that of “That Old Red Barn”
A family of two … now ancient to me spent their time growing corn and raising grain
That would one day come to the table I sat, nourishing me and giving me strength.
Letting me have the energy I need, to quickly run by “That Old Red Barn”
So that I could fly past this place that they built and in their hearts would always treasure
I don’t think that they knew of the fear it instilled all because of one child’s rants
But now that I know and am older now, I look out my front door and see what they mean
This Beautiful Field and “That Old Red Barn” once seemed a curious creature
Full of fear and malevolence, they were too old to invest the time to restore it to splendor
So I purchased from them all this vastness of pleasure, That Beautiful Field, and yes “That
Old Red Barn”
Written By: Ryland Joshua Matthews
Date: 11/13/2010
Time skims on smooth sails,
hold the voyage as lungs draw fresh breath,
Let the kettle whistle on the stove—
Rekindle the fire with renewed fuel.
Age may fade the skin’s soft glow,
And sages are mocked by age’s rage,
When meat turns to bone for toothless mouths,
And joints go hunting for needed relief.
But that can’t halt the dart on life’s track;
Shun not the fun that’s disguised in veils,
Caged by age upon a covered stage—
Be that actor that rewrites the play.
If balloons defy your winds,
Puff your cheeks like air in a sail.
For joy often comes in altered costumes,
So dress to fit its fabric hues.
When songs are played in ruffled rhythms,
Suit your dance and shuffle to new tunes.
Invent the lyric that joy forgot,
And sing the song that fits your feet.
Fill your calendar with dates, not years;
Years recall what time has robbed.
For life can still bloom at twilight—
Forget the dawn that’s long gone.
The Turkey’s Revenge
The lights went out…..slowly
…….at first
then
…….they dropped like flies
…………in a sudden frost.
Immobilized
…..succumbing
……to the inexorable end.
Slowing movements
…..lowered respiration rates
…Soft sighs of satiation
Building….in a muted rumble
….rising to a roaring
…..Snore….
Parades went by
…….games were played
….taunting texts unanswered
Pictures..
……..will be posted
……..of the Turkey’s Revenge
..the bane of Tryptophan’s
Napping victims
………..dreaming
……of uncut pies
…………awaiting their fate.
John G. Lawless
11/28/2015
BEFORE THE TECHNOLOGY TOOK OVER.
How beautiful were those days
When tech had not touched us
To spoil our minds and hearts
When life was simple and plain
And ambitions too were not very rosy.
When poetry music and art
Use to inspire us to touch the sky
On the wings of our imagination
As then our dreams too were simple
And love use to empower our hearts
To swim across any deep ocean
While singing the songs of love.
When television had not snatched
Our leisure hours from everyone of us
And we use to dance and sing
On the call of heart touching tunes.
When mobiles had not spoiled our minds
While snatching from us,
Our peace of mind
When computers were a remote cry
And internet had not ruined the purity of minds.
When as children we use to enjoy the life
While playing the Gend Tadi* (throw balls)
Or even the Gilli Danda*
As they all use to fill us with a serene joy
Which the new technology has snatched
From our kids and younger generations.
How beautiful were those days
When we use to enjoy the company
Of human minds and hearts
Unlike the numerous appliances
Which we keep close to our hearts
instead of love, music and friendship.
The new generation would never know
The beauty of those precious joyous moments
Which used to embrace our hearts
And were the result of love and affection
Which always come from non tech things.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpir India 29th Oct. 2016
Inspired poem from a Photo published by Julia Ward on face book.
* Indian village simple games which are played with the help of a rubber ball and two wooden made Gilli two side conical small rod and Danda ( a little bigger rod).