Long Pour Poems
Long Pour Poems. Below are the most popular long Pour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pour poems by poem length and keyword.
We Are The Ghost Dance Poets
by David Lee Herring (The Powwow Poet)
We come together from near and far
Like wise men following the star
from the sweet Grass Hills, We come to be filled
with the Spirit from on high
Holy Great Spirit in the Sky
Calls us to come together now
He’s our grandfather, he’ll teach us how
Peace and Love will prevail
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
We paddle down the Zuni River
As through rusty red silt she slivers
On this quest to quench the thirst of our souls
we surrender all control
to the guidance of Great Spirit
We answer his Call as we hear it
With the rattle of the Gourd and the beat of the drum
We all come together as one
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
Some begin their journey at Bear Butte
Others start their passage at Pahuk
All from different nations and tribes
For We are Great Spirit's Scribes
His poems pour forth from our tongues
We sing songs like our Fathers have sung
Prophetic rhymes of warning to mankind
earth is your mother, respect and love her
We all sprang up from her soil
Now we must all join in and toil
Gather and labor together to save her
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
See, Wounded Knee could not stop the poets
Over a hundred years ago and We still hear it
The sound of the drum calling us to come
and all join together in the circle
And once again there'll be miracles
Bringing healing to our bodies and souls
As from all tribes together we dance
For Dance is a form of romance
It's Intimacy with the Holy One
As all of his daughters and sons
Worship the Father together as one
For that is how true healing comes
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
I lay in my bed.
Thoughts come in waves.
When will it end?
The Dragon slain.
No amount of time.
No person, no thing.
Can change the fate,
That the needle brings.
Sights of Orange,
Delight my eyes.
I pick up a crystal,
And to no surprise.
I crush it down.
In that damn orange cup.
I’m so overwhelmed.
The sinking feeling abrupt.
I carefully decide,
The amount to pour.
Then mix it with water.
And dissolve once more.
I take off the cap,
To reveal the shine.
Of that needle so enticing.
That it blows my mind.
I feel so small.
As I stare at that point.
My body quivers.
I can’t disappoint.
Thoughts of guilt.
Invade my brain.
But my body keeps saying,
This will soon end the pain.
So I draw the solution,
Into the stem.
Then flick it twice.
Let the bubbles settle in.
I slowly push the air out.
That’s collected on top.
And wonder to myself,
If I will ever stop.
But I shrug it away.
And again think of pain.
Then tie on my tourniquet.
And say “ it” again.
The veins start to pop.
And spread on my skin.
They bulge and prod,
And trickle within.
Sometimes this takes hours.
Sometimes days of my life.
I get so frustrated.
But search on with strife.
I stab myself over and over again.
Until the blood flows red into my syringe.
Seeing the blood,
Makes my whole body weak.
But I surrender with ease.
No more words can I speak.
I push the plunger forward,
Till she entires my veins.
Down to the last drop.
Empty and insane.
I wait just a second.
Pull the needle out.
My body turns to fire.
This is what it’s all about.
From my toes to my head,
Her venom spreads.
Ecstasy at last.
No more feelings of dread.
Then the fire fades,
Just as quickly as it came.
And then there’s just calm.
A final break from the shame.
I’ve given my life to this process,
So many times.
The bigger the shot.
The bigger the crimes.
When I’m in this state,
The dragon has one.
My mind and my heart,
Become unspun.
I do terrible things,
To all of my friends.
My family, my children.
But she always wins.
I always think I can only do one.
But that’s never the case.
The cycles just begun.
“The devils tool” I’ve heard it said.
Takes every ounce of life.
And leaves you for dead.
But you rise up and start
The process once more.
A zombie. Tortured chaos.
I don’t know anymore.
I came home one evening after a hard day at work,
To find a surprise waiting for me.
I ran to the table, my heart filled of glee.
I imagined him sneaking in with a sexy little smirk.
It was a wooden box, beside it a mask of snowy white
I opened it up and found a note.
Written on it was a cute quote:
“We will dance until the clock strikes midnight”
I followed the rose pedals sprinkled on the floor,
They led me to my bedroom.
My heart went boom, boom, boom,
As I opened the door.
I could not believe what I found,
For it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
An elegant white with a beads of green.
On my bed was a gorgeous gown.
There was another letter,
This one written out in pedals all across the bed.
The message read:
“There is a hole in my heart, and seeing you tonight will make it all better”
I put on the dress and looked in the mirror.
And I found another remark.
“Get all dressed up and come to the old park,
Our moment together draws nearer and nearer.”
I rushed down the stairs,
Grabbed the mask on the way out.
Ran down the street, my mind clear of all doubt,
For this man was the answer to my prayers.
I got to the park and saw him waiting,
And I discovered I was not the only one to wear a mask.
He told me that I had one more task.
He said “Close your eyes and think back to when we started dating”
Obeying him, I closed my eyes,
And without me knowing, he got down on one knee.
Everything fell silent, then I heard “Desiree will you marry me?”
That’s when my heart burst into a million fireflies.
I opened my eyes, stuck in a trance
As I was not expecting this thrill.
I flung my arms around him and replied “Oh Stephen of course I will!”
Just then he grabbed me and we began to dance.
Just like his note said,
We danced until the clock struck midnight,
Holding me close with all his might,
Right on his shoulder is where I placed my head.
The rain began to pour,
So we ran hand in hand.
He said “This is not how I planned”
Then we reached my door.
We entered my house,
Where it was all cozy and dry.
Once again my heart began to fly,
As I stared into the eyes of my soon to be spouse.
All he said was “I Love You”
That was all I wanted to hear,
For me to wipe away all fear.
Knowing he loved me, I replied “I Love You Too”
*Not a true story, just a sort of fanatasy I suppose*
- continued from Part 2
I Am Making More Profits
Than An Open Window Can Scope!
But More Importantly
Than Any Viable Earnings Can Invoke …
Lovely … I Am Sending Valuable-Love
… Inside This Envelope
(Isa. 54: 11, 12)
Yes, Lovely … You Are My Amethysts & Rubies
and Sapphires and Silver and Gold
and I Am The Richest Person Alive!
… If The Truth Be Told …
I Want You Ecstatically Happy
Now Surely, You Must Know
I Just Want To See Your Own
Luminous, Starry Eyes Aglow
… and Pour Drops of Soothing Oil
and Lavish-Anoint You – Head To Toe
and Smell Your Sweet, Pure Perfume
Wafting Like Incense To My Nose …
And Hold You In My Arms
and Never Let You Go
My Lovely One, I’ll Be With You Soon
Because I Love You So …
My Lovely One, You Know Me
To Be A Lover of Honor, Most Honest
The Length Between Us Is Loyal
and Getting Closer By The Moments
And You Have Your One-True-Lover’s
Word of Oath – On This (like Sacred-Sonnets)
And I Will Come For You, My Lovely One
… I Promise …
But The War Rages On
and Will Wage Worse Before Its Gone
But These Things I Have Told You
So You Have Always Known …
About Harsh Ways of The World
So Go Past Them, You Must Stay Strong
and True To Me ‘Til I Come
and Make Us A Brand New Home
(For To Me, Again – You’ll Belong
… Before Ere’ Too Long …
(Rev. 21: 3, 4)
But I Must Finish My Duty
and Complete My Timeline-Task
The Importance and Responsibility
For This Job Is Very Vast!
It’s For Our Future & To Make Sure
That We Will Always Last
and That No One Else Dare Repeat
Poisoned Mistakes From Prideful-Pasts
And After This … We’ll Never Again
Ungroup or Unclasp!
But Your Understanding & Agreement
Is Needed Now … That’s What I Ask …
Oh, Let My Words Kindle
Your Starry Eyes Like Flames!
Let The Fire of My Ardor
& Pure Force, Course Thru Your Veins!
(The Song of Solomon 8: 6, 7)
And Let This Letter Draw You To Me
With Unbreakable Mettle Chains!
and If You Must Whisper and Weep
Just Softly Echo My Name …
(Remember, You Agreed To Wear My Name)
(Isa. 43: 7, 10, 11 / Acts 11: 26 / Rom. 10: 13)
Let This Letter Be My Lips
Speaking Forth Innocence
Let This Letter Be My Lips
and Each Word A Knowing Kiss
Let This Letter Be My Voice
Telling You How You’re Loved & Missed
For Soon, We Will Be Together
As If In Celestial Bliss
I Send This Letter So It Could
Act As Your Revival
I Sent This Letter So You Could
Know I Am Reliable
(Part 3 of 4)
My life as a Kitten
I perk up an ear as always when I hear the car start
I run and hop as fast as I can, looking like a hare
Not able to contain myself, I rush outside the pet door into the field like a dart
Never forgetting one second, in the beautiful field, to enjoy the fresh air
I run and hop as fast as I can, looking like a hare
But today I stop midway, ‘what is that I spy?’
Never forgetting one second, in the beautiful field, to enjoy the fresh air
Far in the distance I see things fly
But today I stop midway, ‘what is that I spy?’
As I crawl closer I purr and they slowly land on my soft golden fur
Far in the distance I see things fly
I look out into the field and my grayish bluish eyes begin to blur
As I crawl closer I purr and they slowly land on my soft golden fur
I recall the day I opened my eyes for the first time and I swore
I look out into the field and my grayish bluish eyes begin to blur
Mom always thought I was so brave especially being the youngest of the litter
I recall the day I opened my eyes for the first time and I swore
I couldn’t believe all the beauty and fun I have been missing
Mom always thought I was so brave especially being the youngest of the litter
I always find myself reminiscing
I couldn’t believe all the beauty and fun I have been missing
Ever since then my blue butterfly friends and I would be so hardcore
I always find myself reminiscing
Sometimes I even would try to roar
Ever since then my blue butterfly friends and I would be so hardcore
That’s why my adopted family named me Courage
Sometimes I even would try to roar
My blue friends think it so funny since all I can, is meow and continue to encourage
That’s why my adopted family named me Courage
Then it starts raining, I hate getting wet, so my friends guide me back home through the pour
My blue friends think it so funny since all I can, is meow and continue to encourage Before letting them go, playfully with my front paws I try and catch at least four
Then it starts raining, I hate getting wet, so my friends guide me back home through the pour
Not able to contain myself, I rush outside the pet door into the field like a dart
Before letting them go, playfully with my front paws I try and catch at least four
I perk up an ear as always when I hear the car start
sensory grass
tickles your toes
soft pokes
every word is a stroke
of a blade
not a brush
a lawnmower in the distance
breaks the silence
what the hell…
the smell of fresh-cut grass
and the moisture
that lingers on its smell
you know…retains it
(like the soft and cushy handprint that
stays in the grass
in the shady part of that corner in the yard
turns the white shoes green
amongst the hedges and the borders by rocks
by that long-ago planted snowball tree
and all the love you had to give while you planted it
…rubbed the lamb's ear,
said a prayer and wished it the best of luck)
but here, now
take a nap in the sunshine
under a clouded sky peacefully
on a blanket
the winds brushing by
the rays beam through
and warm that blanket
your worn-out blanket
with scents of lingering past summers
of far-off beaches and sunscreen
dusty and musty
yet beloved blanket
(different kinds of loved-upon)
but here, now
the breeze on my toes
and the breeze on the grass
and the breeze on my face and my hair
stealing my woes
keeping me cool
my eyelashes flicker
a lazy dream of greens upon blues
upon dandelion yellows
shining
until you awake
slightly alarmed
to a busy bee
buzzing by
blinded by beauty
my tears trickle down the corners of my eyes
bleed down my cheeks to my lips and taste salty
warm and salty on my tongue
warm from the gold
of that hot-blooded sun
and the sensory experience
grateful to be alive
to soak it all in
through the skin
can you feel it?
it was a lovely dream
the smell of sweet grass
how bits and pieces float on air
tickle the nose
sweet and bitter tasty on the tongue
whisking away depression blight
peace rises
higher and higher
like barometric pressure
elevating mood and lighter weight
reflecting on purpose
reflecting on mood
through transcendence
but here, now
you can just
be
tingling sensations
just
be
feeling overcome with peaceful power
power to
just
lie
still
and enjoy the senses and dreams
that the grass brings forth
you’ll wake up
remember details
and reflect upon paper
close your eyes
and reflect upon paper
an outward pour
can’t you feel it all beaming in the sunlight?
in the mood
in the barometric pressure
in those blades of grass
breathtaking striking
blades of green grass
my god, aren’t we blessed
—American writer
Today’s the day they bury the woman who birthed me.
Not my mother.
There is no sadness in my thoughts.
No tugging at the heart.
The tender bond between a mother and daughter we did not share.
She was merely a woman in the world of billions who chose life over abortion only to give me torment and agony during the life we breathed in air together.
I will not miss her. I will not cry over her. I will not give credit to her.
This woman never loved me. Never consoled me. Never gave me the warm hugs a little girl needs to have. Never kissed my forehead in loving affection. Or told me I was beautiful inside and out.
She never encouraged my dreams, my goals, my aspirations.
She never instilled confidence that every little girl needs to survive in this cruel world.
She never taught me the essentials of being a woman as I emerged into one.
She never said, “I love you” gently into my ears.
She didn’t protect me from the devil, who night after night, raped and tortured me.
I was the enemy. The one who invaded her sacred vow to my father. The other woman I will always be. Not the daughter she was blessed with.
I clawed my way out of the hole she so viciously threw me down in. I let go of the victim and embraced the survivor.
She can never hurt me again. Never pour salt in the wound. Never hurt my daughter as she wounded me.
Somehow I was given the grace to shower my daughter with love and affection. I pour my love all over her. I console her when she is sad. I embrace her with hugs. I kiss her forehead with loving affection. I tell her how brilliant and beautiful she is inside and out.
I encourage her dreams and goals in life and push her towards her aspirations.
I have made sure she has confidence that will get her through challenges in her life.
I have taught her how blessed she is to be the young, emerging woman she is becoming. I have taught her to embrace her body, her mind, her soul.
I tell her every day how much I love and adore her and how much I am blessed she is mine to keep.
I protect her. But also allow her to fall so she can learn to pick herself up.
I let her know she is my everything and my life with her is an adventure.
I am blessed beyond all treasures.
I am nothing like the woman who birthed me. We only share DNA.
I will forever be a motherless daughter. But I will not be a daughterless mother.
Form:
I once saw a man one early misty winter morning. He was crossing at the intersection as I was preparing to make a U turn. Upon seeing him, not in worn out shoes, but completely without any shoes, I felt duty bound; so I gave him the shoes on my feet. This memory came to me as I thought about a song I heard years ago about a Mr. Bojangles who ran a string of bad times and was wearing 'worn out shoes'.
I was deeply moved when I first heard the song nearly 20 years ago, and it has stayed with me since. When I heard it on the radio being performed by Sammie Davis Jr., I fell in love with Mr. Bojangles whose life demonstrated someone down on his luck but still tugging along and doing the best he can with a little confession about 'drinking a bit'. The story also speaks to people with talent and artistic abilities, reminding them that their call, their purpose, their assignment to touch the world, is far bigger than them. Sammie's opening with a whistle was rather soothing.
Whether it's age or addictions, people or circumstances that stepped on one's life to crush them like a roach, we need not stop or give up on ourselves or our gift. If we are blue and sad, Dance! If victimized by manipulation or loss, Dance! If we have come to or toward the end of life and find ourselves feasting on bitter herbs, Dance! We still have a story to tell and one to leave with the coming generation.
The language of life is to love, to laugh, and to Dance, and need never die for any reason. I never learned how to Dance physically, but sometimes when all alone and no one is looking, I Dance. My inner spirit and attitude have learned to Dance. If not as high as Mr. Bojangles, jump as high as you can; can't jump while tapping my heels like Mr. Bojangles, but I can tap the floor.
I suspect that I have Mr. Bojangles to thank and so many others like him who over a span of years have taught me not to cry over spilled milk but to wipe it up and pour another glass. Sammie's closing with a whistle is rather telling and speaks to our approach to life regardless of what it throws at us. Yes, We keep whistling and talking, sharing our lives with whomever will listen, and move on to the next chapter, because it is never over until God says it's over.
071620PSCtest, Same Old Song, Beth Evans. 1P
Bring the Nzu and
Kola nut
Take it to the
stranger among us,
Let him kiss it and
be bless.
Let him rub the Nzu
on his arms then his
fore head.
It is our tradition
here not to neglect
A humble stranger in
our land.
We kiss suffering on
the lips, it harm us
not.
We measure our joy
with dance and
laughter.
pour the oil in the
calabash
Roast the yam and
break the kolanut,
Let the youngest
among us break and
share it.
Pour the dry gin on
the ground and bless
the gods
Our forefathers must
drink before we
taste ours
Angry will they be
if they taste not
the gin.
It is our tradition
here in Nkporoland.
The maiden must not
touch the raging
masquerade
Keep them afar off
from the here, let
them smell not of
it.
All the young men
must be present at
the Iza Afa festival
and then the young
women must not be
excluded from the
Igboto Nma festival
in the village
square.
When is the
initiation into the
masks spirit taken
place?
Warn all the young
men to partake, it
is our tradition
Never allow the she
goat deliver in
pain,
Go call the elders
to look after its
delivering.
The snake must never
be in group like the
beads
It is an abomination
not among the
tradition.
Gather the cowries
and the white chalk
and assemble the
youth in the shrine
Lets pour the goat
blood for the
sacrifices
The gos will hear us
this time after
We went astray from
it in foolishness.
Call on the widow
among us, i heard
there was one.
Her hair must be
Barbe thoroughly
She must bath and
drink the water used
on
Her deceased husband
bath.
The Umu Ada must be
there
It is the tradition
here.
Let the Umu Ada
check the maidens
Of their virginity
before they dance
Let them deep their
hands into the hole
One after the other
to check the fruits.
It is part of the
traditions.
The king must not
set his eyes on a
rotten
Shining meals which
are set for the
vultures.
Let not a child
whistles in the day
Let not a girl child
come out to the
Agbala naked
Under the initiation
in festival of
virginity.
We all must set the
tradition going
It is our right and
liberty to excel.
Neglect not the
wisdom of the elders
In his wisdom exist
pure and holy.
Our fore fathers
must be happy and
free
when we all observe
the traditions
Of Nkporoland in its
pure heart.
As mortal veils dissolved, our bodies merged in the ossuary's somber symphonies, two mistress awakened by the velvet-wrapped cadavers, our disinvested hands tracing syllabic patterns across the olive verdure of our skin, as maelstroms of lipstick tormented our intimate geometry. Kissing amidst ribcages and scavenged lullabies, our filial ***** tingled with an unresolved finitude, lost choruses awaking from armature wounds as compatibilities laid bare.
The azure gemstones of our sweat-drenched pores harmonized with the relics scattered about us, a Kolossus of Korova consumed by the clingy threads of our detachment. Quivering heartbeats elevated the ambiance, suspending the predisposition of neglect, while scratches on the cryptic monument inscribed our entwined destiny. I sulfured lips, poised at the sorceress-close mic.
A snarl-like grin spread like a firebrand, smoldering with provocative ferocity as I ravished the venue with tongue-flicked promises, conjuring the haunted echoes of our ecstatic love. Ghosts of our abandoning, whispers of our surrendered reveries, and shadowy allusions to lost frenzies began to undulate, like an eerie tide, through every crevice and cavity of the place, leaving only the acrid tang of our desire and the spectral whisper of "evermore".
Laughter and teardrops entwined like conspirators, as our kidnapped captives, vacant-eyed and warily bound, cringed within their gilded cages, their suffocated pleas dissolving into silken suppliance, amidst this twilight tableaux pyxis o madness, we beheld each other, our psuches conflated in a whirlwind of circumstance and whimsy, our gazes piercing the veil of regalities, and our breasts, beating in tandem, like a tempo of tender complicity.
Fore in that golden instant, innocence and abomination, zero and infinity, coalesced, and we knew, without equivocation, that ours was an amour born of estrangement, grotesquery, and co-creativity. In the subterranean realm of our laughter, a spangled whirlpool stirred, drawing all else, including reason, into its poisoned vortex, as we whispered, like doomed refugees, into the bitter wind, "pour l'amour de tous les diables".
Fervently the serrated teeth on the saw rang the death knell, twisting countenance rictus, then close casket, we heard wedding bells, as we crafted a hellhole requiem of faceless visages.
Boom.