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abortion absence
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adventure africa
age allah
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angst animal
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brother bullying
business butterfly
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celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
christmas cinco de mayo
cinderella city
class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
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cousin cowboy
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culture cute love
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death death of a friend
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giving god
golf good friday
good morning good night
goodbye gospel
gothic graduate
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granddaughter grandfather
grandmother grandparents
grandson grave
green grief
growing up growth
guitar hair
halloween happiness
happy happy birthday
hate health
heart heartbreak
heartbroken heaven
hello hero
high school hilarious
hindi hip hop
history hockey
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home homework
hope horror
horse house
how i feel howl
humanity humor
humorous hurt
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i am i love you
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imagination immigration
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mental illness mentor
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miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
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muse music
my child my children
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nature new year
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nice niece
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proposal psychological
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red relationship
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remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
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sad sad love
satire scary
school science
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seasons self
senses sensual
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sick silence
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simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
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solitude sometimes
son song
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storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
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surreal sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
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teen teenage
thank you thanks
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tiger time
today together
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tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
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visionary vogon
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Long Poetess Poems

Long Poetess Poems. Below are the most popular long Poetess by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poetess poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details

From Darkness To Stardom

Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.

She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied

Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably, 
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by

One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew

Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…

-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by ashley rainwater | Details

we all have our hurricanes who is there at the end of the day

Rose from the dead , recarninated into what god had planned, i feel like im the walking dead. always cold bury be back in my sand.stresssed out, i wanna break out , lord plese grab my hand please take me on your walk fill my heart with your prayers also your strenght of knowlege to get me through these loud painful crys of a invisible person turned bck to stone , noone would rember me beacuse no one took time in life, or had there path full of hard times they all judge why wuld i even want to sit dwn and talk especially to these f*ck*d up creautures here on earth , getting everything handed to them in life, i didnt judge it gues you would know what im talking about if u had to work your whole life just to fiqure out who you are still dont know , i had that held in myhopeful heart for so long , even after i gave birth to a baby with ceveral palsy , messed up how no one ever caled , till this day its the same messed up way knowing what i know i will never let my child go through the burdens you ugly creatures still try to pin me up to fall, im glad god is seeing it all. he is showing yall how life can be . laugh at me , today i finally held my head up high i no longer thrive for love from selfidsh ignorant people. go through the bad just to getto the good , i belive with everything in side of me god is going to grant me with that golden spoon , i know who i am a careing devotional person with her own thought coming soon befroe i shall go i want my name to be rember for something someone had felt good listening to my words of some pain held indide i had to write to let people finally know how life really is its a sad place dude.trust noone i learned from someone good , god brought that in my life to show me courage i though i could never have . 

have that love that once was there deep in my heart i decided to erase that pain away so i can move on alone with my mind of good thoughts , without yall ever was related to me i brainwashed myself to be free! people sill judeing me envy me once more i relly dont care you just hurt my feelins i always though you as in my family actually careveryday taking care of 2 people in pain im the one who has to stay strong , sometime i wished life would throw me a stone , a free day of just time to myself to realy jus hang around and sing , then read my bible work before my hour is up. . 

this place isnt for me as i can see , i wanna be with you so i know i am guided in your ways of doing things in life actually right . 

i feel like a bearden , on everyone i have no noone that will actually take theere time to sit down to understand. my anger gets me i hve no one to help me please take me away from this stressful nonsence place . ohh just wait on that though god, this letter is better if it got erased im glad someone create dthe paper n letters to i can express my crazy ways i know and see my life is freakin more than ok ! human minds you see how it thinks ? ugh im glad i dont listen to anything really in this world , i stay in my own little world beacuse its real i dont belive in half the things this world has to say my opionion and rights, of expressing somekind of part inside my heart, freedom right? not these days anymore wished i was back in th 70;s were life was actually happy when u go back and watch, man, how this world is fadeing apart!!no one can be there self anymore with out havng to be scared of some1 hurting them in a way so evil , only the devil sits back n laughs , why will people go so faf ro care what anyone thinks anymore, history goes on always will live n learn i guess , my mind dosnt care for that kind of pity . it dosnt stay stored . so speak up in life as i learned , dnt pity, or judge anyone until you see yourself how you think you can hamdle that mission in life.( im guided by the light ) i know i love god he speaks through my heart to say to myself as i read this poem of letter outload to myself. .

Copyright © ashley rainwater | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Judy Emery | Details

WASTE

WASTE

To waste something good
is a pointless of the week
where evil takes you down while you sleep,
where wishing wells are always filled,
and words are no longer important
because all you had 
has wasted away in the grave,
because of lack of faith.
Oh, counterfeit prophets 
have no clue of what is true…
You are glue wasting away 
in the darkest of your mind,
Oh, images of hues,
while your being used,
you lay out magnificent lies 
to lead a stray to darken days
Oh, wicked souls your work is cold
But you still try to stand bold,
Your anticipation is on a long road
the route you choose to go
has been wasted long ago…
slow down and look around
all that is following you is the blind
that holds no sight in their eyes,
ridiculous hues are being used,
in a desolated waste,
a disclosed case;
your words have no value 
no significant of use
just wasting away where all your 
hopes and dreams are being decayed in a grave, 
that is where you blind prophets will be,
even in the revisiting darken dreams
I have no use for someone like you,
Oh, come to me of the true Light
that hold everlasting love;
cast away the fear that is forsaken
that keeps the hearts broken,
with the passing of time,
where the pain is always at my door,
like a chore; trying to even out a score,
placing me in a cold darken room
being abused by lies,
that come to me day and night,
lye’s vanity in the sight of he who haunts me,
but I will never give in to the darkness,
I committed myself to be tested,
To find all my own weakness 
To change what I can to do right by true love,
I seem so many evil things in darken dreams
That kept me screaming and crying all the time,
Oh, how I felt I was dying, but so alive
feeling the agony of he who haunts me,
I see the scum all around the cage;
of those who lost their way
while they are wasting away in a dirty cage,
because they presented lies,
holding no true sight for what is right,
they are always muddy
being so fruity 
but they never nudge for true love,
I sit alone in silence in a darken throne.
The crowds of darkness call me their queen 
Of darken dreams;
Oh, how this makes me scream
I slide back my anger, and crush out the lies 
I grab stronger and hold on longer to the visions
That is handed down to me,
Oh, how I see disaster upon the stained sands
Where true love has been misrepresented,
where demons are always with a mouth full of garbage
Playing out a tactful game of traps,
Where maliciousness and violence is always a game
of hate to make the slaves loss their faith,
but the true light is shining bright in the eyes of love
where they established peace even when they are 
out to bleed like the sea on stained sand,
true love is unassociated with darkness,
Oh, your hateful waste you are polluting the cage. 

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017 Time 12:45 PM 017

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Details

LIBERTY OF EXPRESSION is HERE

Why I am here in Poetrysoup?

I like a seed carelessly thrown 
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow 
despite big rough blocks..

words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas

but how can I? 
When will I?
If within
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava  of emotions.

Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:

  wandering, wandering
  'til a shoreline glistens
  in the name of hope

Pressed. Pushed, 
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely  fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.

Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built 
slowly, slowly fell to short.

Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
Not long, 
sleeping poems from my head popped,
they escaped

  teasing and tickling,
  unafraid, I bite every challenge
  swimming, soaking, diving deep.

Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...

   I clamor to learn,
   I clamor to move on,
   I clamor to sing,
   I clamor to run,
   I clamor to fly,
   I clamor to soar

from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love 

   I hide behind the mask of metaphors
   I tease torrid with personification, 
   I sassy seduce using alliteration
   I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
   I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul

Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry  be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate, 
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression, 
this you and I yearn.

Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!

Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.

Finally, my congested suffering heart 
today, beats systematically:

   gratitude, I can only inhale
   smile, I can only show
   prayers, I can only blow...

I know, 
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
   
   Each one is unique
   Each one has a style
________________________________________________________
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015



Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details

POETIZED BABIES

POETIZED BABIES

While beauty sleeps, there are souls upon this earth
that have never known her in her full beauty.
Many seasons have passed and her eyes are still shut.
She is hiding behind pavements of tar and cement.
She is drugged from the smell of burning rubber and plastic scents.
Styrofoam, has compromised her health.
There are souls upon this earth that have never lain eyes upon her.
I am here to testify, to tell all who listens, that I am a poet
I came to make you aware and tell you things that only poets can tell.
There are souls that I ennoble, while looking through my eyes
they can see the deep woods, the flowing fountains,
through my eyes, they can envision that which is no more.
I speak of fragrances that no longer bring
scents of pleasure to depraved nostrils
I paint pictures of a million blossoms bobbing,
bobbing to the cricket's nightly song.
I am the architect rebuilding the walls of time...
Desperately trying am I, to sing my song-
I want my song heard before more mortals die.
There are souls upon this earth. 
Tis, sad but very true;
Human souls, who know nothing of love nor beauty.
We all must live to die, or die without ever living.
We stumble and sometimes fall however we have
that something, that lost souls never seen.
We who know grace, and mercy;
We who know compassion, love and respect.
We who know mountains and valleys.
We knew blue skies without Chem-trails.
We also knew praying mantis,we knew beetles and snails.
We who experienced eating breadfruit; and were aware of;
Why dandelions and mushrooms grew.
We then too know where beauty sleeps;
So, we tell the poets tale.
We speak of days gone by,
and gently arouse our yesterdays as we speak.
I am not an artist of spoken word, neither am I a profit:
I am but a poet shaking beauty gently,
awakening her from a long, long nap....
Remembering when innocents reigned as king.
I do not recite for money, nor do I sing for fame........
I only report what my heart records; and look forward to the spring.
I have danced with the humble, and shared wisdom with noble-queens;
My excitement overflowing brings joy to open ears.
Loves fury has entitled me to shield you from your fears.
Myself, yes me, I whisper softly as not to disturb the uneasy hate.
God, bless you on your journey.
I can no longer run interference,
or save you from your destined fate.
I have given you all you need to carry on, and
I know that you are able.
When love gave birth to poetry ...I delivered "poetry babies”
I have given birth to numerous “Poetry Babies”.
And for them I write this Poem.

“the Allrounqueen”

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Carolyne M. Acen | Details

Sapiosexual

I am sexually attracted to intelligence.

Intimate conversations springing from an

eloquent mind, undressing my conscience

and making love to my thoughts.

Giving me cerebral stimulating orgasms from

live interchange of mind blowing discussions,

direct transmissions tickling my wordsmith

senses in a sensual word play where our

thoughts wrestle with our feelings in an

intellectual parlance.

 
I am sexually attracted to an intelligent man.

Constantly lost in a mind mating game as our

thoughts converge into a cosmic fusion.

Minds stretching like binary stars into a galaxy.

Swimming in an ocean of philosophy and

psychology, a sea of brilliant ideas, and waltzing

in a forest of opportunities in an analytical love

nest oozing theories and bleeding facts.

High on a love that ravishes me with every

word as i am overcome by extensive vocabulary.

Giving eargasms that constrict our ears and make

our minds bind in soul sex.

 

Piqued interest, thoughtfully attuned to a peculiar

woman like me.

Enticing my nerves with explosive conversations.

Taking me on an enthralling thoughtful journey to

expose the wonders of the mind.

Through detours of logic, truth, and sensuality

intertwined in blissful knowledge.

Re-routing the superficial fake sexual game that

men played with me.

 
I am sexually attracted to intelligence.

Of two sapiosexual lovers intoxicated in passion,

building creative juices and releasing intellectual

vibrations, climaxing from mental stimulation.

Caressing my flesh with cognitive poetry from

emotions existent as i turn him up in a deep

Spoken word poetry recital about the world.

Educating him, giving him something to meditate

on.

Intriguing me with his beautiful mind, provoking

my thoughts, arousing neurons as the synapses

of our brains perform intricate dances.

Beats become one resonating cadence.

Fusion of musical instruments as our thoughts

swirl and create a harmonious rhythm in a deep

orgasmic mind dance in a world experiencing

the worst sexual revolution.

 
A world where physical beauty is overrated and

intelligence is underrated.

Enslaved minds hooked to fleeting passion and

the physical facade like the magic herb.

Ignorance that muddles the mind.

 

A world where intelligent women are intimidating

and labeled, “Miss Know it all or Big headed”

A world where intelligent men are intimidating

and labeled, “Mr. Know it all or proud”.

 

In a world where a Sapiosexual woman like me dwells.

Copyright © Carolyne M. Acen | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Details

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY Smiles were stolen from me long time ago Days gone gray as storms rush to play: my... They drain. Fervently, I called to the Heavens but it seems no one there. No one there! I lullaby with the whine of gushing winds, hoping they are kind enough to blow my notes. Notes carrying cries when am still a child as 'til this day, I yearn for father's love... I face every facets of life in color white, some brushed my lips with grins and laughter, some stitched the screams of November yet passed they left footprints to remember. There in the azure ambiance, love's dare~ I bit the chance but sadly I fell distant, my sweet red heart weep from bitter thrusts. Easing emptiness within, I refuse to be a victim. I prayed, pleading always for a Saviour kiss just maybe through it, I might die in peace. (Is death the better surrendering deliverance? Or just an acrid escape for suicidal goodbyes?) I chose God for I prefer to love and live into poetry I began rhyming a letting go the quill of a poetess, I bravely try: verses and lyrics my healing balm... Tossed flowers from the changing seasons and so the smells of pancakes and cafe flirt slatternly to my imagination bursting from me a ballad or a sonnet. But oh! Poetic finesse is a gold in a mine hence, I dig, dive to curves and loops presenting always my jolly descent views... Others said images I present confuse, they don't know, they are the nightmares creeping, shaking my lethargic muse. Written free, I asked you to read carefully~ I send messages of love, beauty and maladies... My pen scribbles mom ore unchained melodies for my heart slowly erects from slumber. It somersaults upon the breaking swell of sunrise in this tediously solitary realm of the world. The horrible webs of yesterday's frustrations I untangled from life's hullabaloos... Shattered dreams into my ink, I shall reform unencompassable inspirations, I want to rouse. Grace from God refilled, it empowered my life surging heartbeats pushed me to clamor for change. I stand to blossom amidst imprisoning trials yet never forgetting my humble ground. Coupled with the will to survive all strifes let my living be mirrored to pages and when breath of life is cut from me let my pen be raindrops of immortality. ____________________________________________________________ Sponsor Name: Silent One Contest Name: Your final poem ~~3rd Place~~ ++ POEM of the DAY ~ August 30, 2015 ++ © Olive Eloisa Guillermo 10:57 pm. August 28, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Dave Collins | Details

Inquisition poetry 101


I stopped to stool siphon sip on a cool blue 
circumstance in the means between the in 
times loath listening to complacent
poetic prostitutional practice of stir my friends 
ego echoes doing the same f. u. c. k. e. d.
favor dance for me whenever my I/ego envy enter 
exists your contra content littered with
manic moronic mentaloronic maladies
of entrance entrocities. Lining words
pentamhextamater, of rich rhyme, cleaveage crotch
clearance, colic c.u.n.t. coffure
frantic fascist frames, abounding with 
wok out at me sillo sounds
composite of cruel crisp compound
cumulo capsules of I, me, mine
mousy miniscules in dreamy drop
lovelorn lostlusts learned
limitations lauded longevity in living
linguistic liquidlovelorn light
leaking lanterns, which bequeath spewing 
in bitch broth biscuted breveties catching 
lucid laminated word wornwastes 
catagorical crass. Leave wail/wall 
wallet inadequacies enough alone any analog yet tackless 
trash white talent to ergo the less a nominal negress and opt for a 
sporadic spittle spindle of annotated attack seeing a new personal
your poor prowess less than dodah duh, Po a tree? Nimnul junk gite.
So, my wordful children of BS, when writing yr so called pitypoetry,
devoid of dream dance diminutives coinciding correctly with wrenching wraps
of prostitutional ponder relentelessingly revealing a rapture 
of vast vile emoelements of comprosotory 
composites of fecalfroughtfrightfolly of fantasies in 
poet emeritus of urineyourns  a 3 way stretch non nobel poetlorietsupreme
goodfistingluckwiththatcrap;therefore u either play the game or 
risk reside in the zombie aperature camera obsecura word death orbit; therefore 

Assimilitate before u ass umulate, 
Build before u bridge buldge
Concentrate before u cumulo capsulate
Decide before u dildo dick tate
Engulf before u evo enevelop
Fragment before u fracture fantasize
Grasp before u geno germinate
Hallucinate before u hasty hippocrate
Initialize before u initiate
Jackulate before u Jillulasm
Literate before u laud luminate
Mentor before u mirror menstruate
Nurtuate before u neuro negate
Obliviate before u oogle obligate
Postulate before u priest present
Question before u quotionent quest
Recreate before u radical resonnate
Saturate before u semen sacrlidge
Tintalate before u trick translate
Utilize before u usurp ugly 
Victory before u vile vanquish
Want before u willful waste
X-turn right @ W follow the X signs
Yuletides before u yell yeildtides
Zeusotide before u zonk zerozilchotones. 
 
 

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Carolyne M. Acen | Details

Loving a Poetess

Fall in love with a poet at your own risk.

She’ll woo your mind with serenading

notes and undress your defenses

behind metaphors and rhymes.

She’ll merge emotions with home-made

verses in a nectarous word play, opening

the mansion of your heart.

 

She’ll take you skinny dipping in alliterations

and mind blowing synonyms.

Merge your dreams with hers in a river of

vivid prismic dreams where fantasies come

alive.

She’ll defile your mind, intrigue you with

stimulating conversations and arouse

your inferno like the arms of a piano.

 

Fall in love with a poet and she’ll make an

honest man out of you in a heart marriage.

Your souls will exchange vows creating an

abyss of commitment.

You’ll be a perfect match like treble and bass

or baked brie and chardonnay.

You’ll connect like Siamese twins, finishing

each other’s sentences, hearts beating

to a synchronized tune.

 

Make Love to a poet without holding back.

She'll caress you in a realm of unexplored sexuality

as your bodies glide rhythmically- exploring

unseen boundaries.

 

Like a masterpiece, she’ll paint beautiful

images of you on canvas and engrave

every piece of you on her skin.

Like a music composer, she’ll dedicate every

love ballad to you. 
 

Like a chef, you’ll be more than comfort food

for the soul.

She’ll serve you a café du lait of emotions on

a food for thought plate.

 

As a poet, you’ll inspire all of her love poetry

because you’re her definition of love.

She’ll  compose the best lyrics in honor of you

and write you Odes, and sonnets in

celebration of the love that you both share.

She’ll entice and invite you with a private

poetry session.

You’ll be her life poem.

 

Love a Poet with caution and tread carefully

while you circle your intentions around her

heart.

Don’t act in haste with her feelings and

emotions or break her heart because she’ll

give you an archive of memories.

You’ll be an old mix tape that people don’t

listen to anymore.

Your love will turn into a rotting case of

society and your voice will resonate with

the sound of gushing birds.

 

She’ll bleed and pour her soul on canvas

with an elegy.

She’ll immortalize you and create an

anthology.

You’ll become the story of her life.

A bestseller passed out to every young woman.

Your name will be echoed at poetry slams.

You’ll be the Spoken word artist’s lesson

at one mic shows.

Copyright © Carolyne M. Acen | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Agatha Jetaime | Details

Radju by Vera Polozkova translation

As soon as I landed, Radju, I concluded that these people live like Gods –
Fairy tale like empty airports, queer roads and on them driving cars handsome studs.

One-piece glass in windows and Dutch ware toilets in a moderate home,
People living here are as happy, I said, as few in our world’s dome.

Their green parks here, Radju, are so vast,
And their houses, Radju, are solid-cast
But not a soul when sun rises sings
A mantra, kirtan or prayer in spring.

It seems they’re not lazy or idle, life in honey,
Radju, but they don’t make anything except for money.

Nothing except for money as if they eat it or it yields –
Only money stacks are advertised on advertisement shields.

Imagine, Radju, no dirt, no slums, but if there’s a long highway to exile
Then all along the road there would be shields with money and even raw meat piled.

Nothing except for money, Radju, as if they can wear it –
They hire people to raise their children. Just imagine it!

Nothing except for money, Radju, if they see a beggar or a cripple
They look as if the poor is not worthy of a man’s name and my back dimpled!

Nothing except for money, but not so that they can buy their wives
Expensive jewelry or embroidered sari – beautiful life.

Instead they put money in a bank and set example for neighbors,
Wear only grey and wife is to wear grey and only labor, labor.

Their women are well-groomed, among old there are no wobbly or lame, hmm
But none of their men sing for them
Nor do they play tablas for them.

Their kids don’t die of poor quality water, infection in rain season, black dust
But I never saw them showing God their gratitude, their admiration and trust!

Their elderly live all alone, when their souls leave body – well,
Often there’s no soul around wanting to say final farewell.

The funniest thing, Radju – they pity you and me, how’s that?
That we can hardly make ends meet to buy our dear children bread.

That we have never been to theater and sleep on mats in dirt –
Those who wish their loved ones death over the phone – they value concerts!

I lived five days among them, ran away on the sixth day in deception –
I bewared that I would finally and irreversibly lose perception.

My Sangita raised her hands up to the skies, Radju mate,
As soon as she saw me, she brought me hot roti and daal plate.

What happened to you, she said, you look scarier than any of Rakshasa, even paler than
A European, I even burst into tears, Radju, that I underwent such horror. Now – zen.

Copyright © Agatha Jetaime | Year Posted 2015

Long Poems