Long Preceded Poems
Long Preceded Poems. Below are the most popular long Preceded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Preceded poems by poem length and keyword.
Anxiety about what I might think preceded me
As I sat on the stool in the middle of my living room
Ready to think about who knows what,
I relaxed for a moment and then closed my eyes.
Gratitude and peacefulness were my first feelings.
I smiled inside thinking about how literal Ingrid had taken me.
He remembered that I intended to write at 3:00 a.m.
As the clock ticked, Ingrid kept time for me…
Fear crossed my mind next, afraid of my own thoughts,
What they might be. Nightmares. Horrors.
Repressed experiences dreaded.
But thankfully, the ringing in my head saved me.
At least for that moment…
A few things slipped in. The Jeffery McDonald murders
That took place when I was stationed at Ft. Bragg, N.C.
The horror had anguished me on an off over the years.
Then, I heard the crickets again. Thankfully.
Next, a hit and run accident that was reported in the news years ago
Flashed through my mind…anxiety from Army days.
It had happened on a road we sometimes traveled.
Fear, reality check, and cricket sounds followed.
Yes, it is that cricket sound that I enjoy so much.
It took me to the natural world in all its beauty.
Little seeds germinating in my sunroom...
Crickets outside making their noise; I smiled again.
And the crickets in my head chirped.
I was thinking that this isn’t so bad after all.
I have learned to find happiness inside myself
Then, Ingrid said, “Time’s up.”
I felt relieved.
© March 1, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
My DARE: Dane, you picked Dare* I dare you to sit in the middle of your living room...
(on a chair if you have toooo!) Close your eyes, and feel for 5 minutes... (you will need a
stop watch that alert you when the 5 minutes are up. During them 5 minutes, you have
to feel everything, allow your strong emotions to feel. Even if you have little one's are
running or your cat is purring at your feet. Don't allow it to bother you. You have to
concentrate and find that one spot in the back of your mind. The part that digs real
deep into every feeling we forget is there. After the 5 minutes are up... Sit in the spot
where you write, and write for 10 minutes, Write about every thought that passed
through your mind in a poetic way, sad~happy~ mad, crazy.. and so on... Take us deep
into your mind... Thank you..pd
Confession…I wrote more than 10 minutes…time slipped up on me.
True Christmas Miracle True Story Full version written by Wendy Horder. 2020
Huddled in muddy trenches, the soldiers heard an eerie sound.
Troops were English, French & Belgians, and as they looked around,
The sound was coming from the German enemy lines just 50 yards away.
It was singing, and the German soldiers were approaching on that day.
It was the twenty fourth of December nineteen fourteen.
Between France and Belgium, The Western Front, was the scene.
As Germans left their trenches a cry of “Merry Christmas” could be heard.
Our solders could only watch without saying, even one word.
The German solders looked so jovial, it didn’t seem to be a trick,
Our soldiers hesitated, slowly coming out, their actions were not quick.
Soon they were striding up to the oncoming soldiers, accepting their invite.
The beautiful singing drew them in, even though they feared it wasn’t right.
There was laughing and joking, and they all exchanged gifts sent from home.
Seemed all men were the same, didn’t matter from where they roam.
They smoked and showed each other photos of their children & wives.
For a short time, they were comrades not one bit afraid for their lives.
As night fell, drowned in soft moonlight, German carols filled the air.
For the first time since the war began, each soldier felt comfort there.
Laughter resounded, and the allies began O Come All Ye Faithful, in tune.
Germans sang the same Hymn, in Latin Adeste Fideles, under the moon.
I wonder if it crossed their minds “Just what are we fighting for?”
How extraordinary, enemies singing together a carol in the middle of a war.
By morning gifts of cake, smokes and clothes were exchanged by each side.
Men chatting as a magician and a juggler were enjoyed, with eyes open wide.
A barber in civilian life, gave haircuts. Soldiers had notes they addressed,
Hoping to be taken to their loved ones in France and England in the west.
Soccer broke out. The game went hours, that history making Christmas day.
Soldiers on both sides spent time burying their comrades, to their dismay.
Soldiers who had been killed in fighting that preceded that wonderful truce.
A truce that should be an example of what we humans can willingly produce.
A true show, that men aren’t killing machines, everyone, a husband or a son.
A true Christmas Miracle from the bloody chapters of World War One.
KITH
I have told you who l am numerous times. But you just took me for a regular creature, all of you have failed the test of recognition; I am not all human, yet it is just the human side of me catching up to my lost soul;
My Spirit has preceded me in space, time and perception.
My daughter left me because she was my Mother:
My Kith no longer recognizes me because my
thought patterns were antagonized by the misplacement of its pattern.
My Original Kith has fallen into the depths of the human experience.
This time I came to sort out those things that held us back -
Those things that prevented you from knowing me.
I am not yet with the universal creator; Nor am I yet with total God mind -
I am only privileged to be as an interpreter of what I've experienced.
Those foul and unclean thoughts and deeds that kept me defiled will serve to enlighten so that you do not have to experience them, I have been made pure and wise, now able to rise.
I have been exalted to the Mother-Dome.
I come seeking those who want to know my reason for being, to let them experience life through my eyes.
Realization of my extraordinary existence came during a bout with celibacy when a zephyr came through my window and seductively filled me with awesome bliss.
It was then I understood the magnitude of my sex appeal that somehow,
I had always rejected.
Wanted only to be loved for merely being born.
People trying to get inside of me or as close as they could get infringingly,
they wanted to be a power over me or sup from my body or somehow.
Impregnate me with their own will.
Though as an Eagle, or a Sphinx, Oft' times I must cluck,
for they certainly do not understand my language -
"I am not just by happenstance" –
"I have happened to you" !.
I ‘vied lived to pay my debt to you. Yet, if you do not make it … in this sphere
I will call to you, and you will arise from the cinders in stages.
All who experience me as their "Mother" will hear my call - And while the earth burns and the Water dwindles; As the oxygen becomes toxic; I cannot develop gills again …
Yet, instill, I’m here for you, and all who follow my mind leaps shall come with me to new heights, and a new beginning… I cannot keep clucking around on the ground, it’s time for conscious spirits to rise and soar while speaking the language of our kith.
Suddenly everybody was awaken by the strong tremors
of the early April's earthquake...walls falling all around them,
dust suffocating them as they ran out to the debris-covered streets;
with no slippers and shoes on their cold feet;
people of all ages with their robes and pajamas on...screaming,
running scared with horror-stricken faces, not wanting
to be buried alive and actually die in the rubble!
L'aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust,
and by the dauntless spirit of its people, it must be rebuilt:
as it arose from destruction and returned to dazzle;
the earthquakes that preceded were unpredictable,
but this one was announced by a concerned scientist,
who warned of the disaster, but authorities ridiculed him and didn't heed
the warning, but rather called him an imbecile!
O L'aquila, unless your bells hadn't rung, not everyone could have been told!
This medieval town of L'Aquila was besieged by armies,
but they never conquered it and its invincibility angered its enemies;
now, it is crumbling, shaken by the fury of the inclement Nature;
devastation is seen everywhere: churches with a toppled bell tower
or cupola...castles and historic buildings heavily damaged;
corpses strewn along the dusty streets...people searching for survivors:
digging with their bare hands to save lives, and some are found alive!
O L'Aquila, highest eagle on this devastated hill, see all the tears shed!
A dog, limping and bleeding, seems lost among dusty stones and faces not so recognizable,
is he looking for his owner; and over two-hundred fifty bodies not yet excavated...
how can he find him? By Heaven's mercy, someone lead him to the piles of rubble,
to let him sniff in the spot where he is buried...hoping he'll be alive, not dead!
And why should everyone despair?...Isn't life worthier than those lost art treasures?
L'Aquila, the mighty, has crumbled into the dust and light is erased from the taciturn sky;
I weep like others, and my lamentation echoes in the doomed valley when peace was audible!
O L'aquila, more glory awaits you: arise from the ruins and your greatness won't fade away!
This poem is dedicated to the unfortunate people of L'aquila and those of the surrounding
villages that were devastated by the earthquake of early April.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Random chain of events
preceded occurrence re:
guarding existence of me
interminable fits and starts
concerning self destruction
inherent within one measly
self important species.
Yours truly synonymous
with any chance reader
(of course inclusive those
untold past multitudes,
who trod upon this oblate
spheroid preceding one
anonymous groveling,
middling sniveling modest
*****sapien) pursuant
upon unknown destination
giving contemplative,
introspective, speculative...
pause every now and again,
asper bajillion prior
bipedal hominids, whose
individual deliberate or
random natural biological
impulses wrought sons
and/or daughters, whose
subsequent call, sans their
wild procreative proclivities
unwittingly begat the
unique chromosomal
combinations inscribed genes
imbuing each of us with
transient occupancy to revel,
relish, reckon very finite
number of orbitz around
nearest star, how longevity
(till mortality – leisurely
and/or vocationally)
expended, yet anatomically,
biochemically, physiologically...
linkedin with avast
gamut incorporating
unknowable determinants sole
fully cobbling wide, whirled
webbing, (albeit skein
microscopic) comprising
resultant Deoxyribonucleic
amalgamations, combinations,
emulations...throughout
untold generations eventually
giving (swell pregnant)
rise to healthy progeny
predicated on an uneventful
tragic mishap in utero
preceding parturition, which
miraculous seminal fertilization
regarding series of
fortunate events delineating
quintessentially strapping
robust tot destined (years later)
to continue human
species, thus I ponder
tremendous steep odds (analogous
to drawing winning lottery
ticket), when reproductive
processes diploid propagating
one after another ongoing
generation, yet in retrospect
every cellular T-Mobile
chance coupling attendant on
haphazard spontaneous
buzzfeeding circumstances
promulgating prolific primal
precedents begetting each
individual necessitating tenuous
fluke (worm hungers) engaging,
engendering, engineering...
(similar to science experiment)
endowing penultimate on the fly
fusion between two haploid cells
impossible to explain convincingly,
(asper in my mind) the notion
predestination intervenes
likened to invisible hand.
If it's meant to be, then it will be
All I know is that I'm done killing myself over a fantasy
The way last year's nightmare,
Can becomes today's reality,
In the blink of an eye,
All under the same sky;
Thinking about it makes me wish to be high,
To forget my feelings and the sorrow they cause me,
Letting them momentarily fade away and die
Thinking about how this is what it has come to,
Brings forth from me a melancholic sigh
I should try showing my feelings the door,
Out of my heart, so that it isn't shattered further,
From a thousand pieces into a million pieces patterning the floor
From this insane rollercoaster of love,
My heart and mind are already sore,
Being optimistic these days,
Feels like a strenuous chore
I just want to feel as light as a feather
Hopelessly waiting for things to get better
Impatiently waiting for the storm to clear away,
Knowing it will leave my heart impervious as clay
There's nothing more left to do or say,
Other than remember how our end was imminent, clear as day
It isn't a crime to flirt,
But the reaction it will bring will only remind me,
That my feelings are worth nothing more than dirt
That doing so is a pointless effort,
Whose result will only get me hurt
Who would've thought I'd be resaving her contact name?
Who would've thought she'd be doing the same?
Who would've thought my love for her would become a beast I had to tame?
Necessitated by her leaving, as suddenly as she came
Before she did though, I knew I was playing a loosing game
Damn, this life is crazy
One minute, there's nothing but bliss and magic
Dwelling in mutual feelings discovered to be platonic,
The next, these feelings are one sided,
At that point, to the owner, they become toxic
I want to say 'there's no such thing as magic'
Preceded by 'If I'm being realistic,'
But; there is, I experienced it firsthand,
And it would be an understatement to simply say it had me ecstatic
It just happened to end, in a way I'd consider tragic
I remember when it did;
In the flow of my thoughts, there was great traffic,
Millions of thoughts honking at each other,
Crashing either into each other,
Or obstacles of confusion and pain
I remember how it felt as though I was going insane
Most of my days after that hardly saw the sun,
Just storms of thunder and rain
I went to visit her on the morning of Tuesday, March 14, 2017. Her name was still assigned to her room; so I went inside. There were bags on her bed, but no sign of my friend Beth. I questioned a nurse that was attending another patient, and she directed me to the front desk to make further inquiry. It was at that point I was informed that Beth had passed on.
Beth had departed for heaven, and I was four days late. About three years prior, after being informed by her niece of her whereabouts, I began visiting her. She was 95 when she passed away at the nursing home, having been in very poor health. She had deep longings for heaven.
There were many visits, and I was able to dialogue, sing, or read scripture with her. Although we had met some 30 years prior, she never really knew who I was when I came to visit. Her memory was gradually fading. However, when I came to visit, she always had a great smile, as if to say, "I don't really know him, but I'm loving these visits".
There were memorable visits with her, but none expressed her longings greater than her statement about a twin sister who preceded her in death. I observed a picture on the wall of Beth and her identical twin sister. I told Beth that I could distinguish her from her sister, and did so successfully. She then said in a very strong and serious tone that she was upset with her sister for going to heaven and leaving her here.
A memory barrier existed; the aging process and her health issues were breaking her body down; but I felt that the bond of friendship needed to be honored.
Within moments of being informed of Beth's passing, I was reminded of her comment about her sister and the 'longing' that I knew was so deep inside of her. As I turned and walked away, I quietly whispered, "She got her wish". 03232017cj PS
True Christmas Miracle
Huddled in muddy trenches, the soldiers heard an eerie sound.
Troops were English, French & Belgians, and as they looked around,
The sound was coming from the German enemy lines just 50 yards away.
It was singing, and the German soldiers were approaching on that day.
It was the twenty fourth of December nineteen fourteen.
Between France and Belgium, The Western Front, was the scene.
As Germans left their trenches a cry of “Merry Christmas” could be heard.
Our solders could only watch without saying, even one word.
The German solders looked so jovial, it didn’t seem to be a trick,
Our soldiers hesitated, slowly coming out, their actions were not quick.
Soon they were striding up to the oncoming soldiers, accepting their invite.
The beautiful singing drew them in, even though they feared it wasn’t right.
There was laughing and joking, and they all exchanged gifts sent from home.
Seemed all men were the same, didn’t matter from where they roam.
They smoked and showed each other photos of their children & wives.
For a short time, they were comrades not one bit afraid for their lives.
As night fell, drowned in soft moonlight, German carols filled the air.
For the first time since the war began, each soldier felt comfort there.
Laughter resounded, and the allies began O Come All Ye Faithful, in tune.
Germans sang the same Hymn, in Latin Adeste Fideles, under the moon.
I wonder if it crossed their minds “Just what are we fighting for?”
How extraordinary, enemies singing together a carol in the middle of a war.
By morning gifts of cake, smokes and clothes were exchanged by each side.
Men chatting as a magician and a juggler were enjoyed, with eyes open wide.
A barber in civilian life, gave haircuts. Soldiers had notes they addressed,
Hoping to be taken to their loved ones in France and England in the west.
Soccer broke out. The game went hours, that history making Christmas day.
Soldiers on both sides spent time burying their comrades, to their dismay.
Soldiers who had been killed in fighting that preceded that wonderful truce.
A truce that should be an example of what we humans can willingly produce.
A true show, that men aren’t killing machines, everyone, a husband or a son.
A true Christmas Miracle from the bloody chapters of World War One.
Death Via Boredom: A Dragon's Demise
Stamping forth from his lair,
Preceded by billows of smoke
The great dragon's murderous red-eyed glare
Penetrated the gloom as he wrathfully spoke.
"Who dares disturb my thoughtful repose?"
Thundered the Worm, rocking back on his heels.
"'Tis another fool knight, I suppose,
Come to discover how a broiled lobster feels."
'Twas no powerful knight come to attack,
But a mere magician's apprentice who met his fell gaze.
The boy humbly bowed, the beast was taken aback;
This lad was scarce worthy of setting ablaze.
"Oh Great and Glorious Worm!"
The child addressed him humbly.
"I have traveled to see you through sun, through storm."
The dragon, amazed, regarded him dumbly.
This pilgrim went on: "Your wisdom is spoken of
Through lands far and wide. From you I fain would learn.
For men are foolish, learning's my love,
So to your edification I turn."
The dragon smiled, full of reptilian pride,
Decided to grant the youth's noble whim
Certain his wisdom was known far and wide,
He would teach the fool something, before torching him.
"What shall we discuss?" asked the Worm, settling down.
"Why, things of importance, of course", said the lad.
"Tell me of things that make the wise frown.
With but a pinch of your knowledge I shall go away glad."
"You are, Noble Worm, mighty, learned and old;
Many have perished in your fell breath.
I dread and respect you, not being so bold,
But be warned: we academics may talk one to death."
The beast laughed long at such a preposterous thought,
And engaged his guest in conversation.
The young pup argued well, and soon he was caught,
Entangled in deep meditations.
They spoke about natural sympathies,
Of the merits of wealth and self-isolation.
They pondered metaphysical antipathies;
Fine points of etiquette; philosophy's consolations.
No telling how long the scholarly prattle
Dragged on, 'til sleep stole over a bored beastie's eyes.
His guest then slew him without the trouble of battle
With poison tipped daggers jammed into his soft inner thighs.
Taking leave later, laden with valuable dragon parts,
He was heard to mumble wearily to himself:
"How the proud love to hold forth on others' arts,
Though to stray from the known can be bad for the health."
"Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation For sacrificing her spouse in World War II Annie received little compensation"- Disposable Wisdom by Carolyn Devonshire
I stood aghast as I looked more than ONCE.
The number seemed a very large BUNCH.
Drawn by this poem, I could not REFUSE.
It was unusual to see that many VIEWS,
a number so far ahead of any I had seen.
The number 26131 was the number of views for
the poem, Disposable Wisdom, posted 12 years ago
in 2009. I stood amazed and could not hesitate reading IT.
It was a most telling and sad poem, more than a little BIT.
It was about a widow whose husband was killed in World War TWO.
She reminded me of a man I once knew whose name was Harry. So I believed the story about the widow to be TRUE. It's clear that Lesley was disconnected from the world, but sadly no one seemed to connect with the widow nor CARED for any wisdom she might have SHARED, leaving her alone to grieve.
She ate cat food as she dined with her cat Tibby, who also PRECEDED her in death, vanishing all that was left of a HOME and leaving her even more ALONE. It seemed she was never NEEDED. I was deeply moved by the poem, and after reading it, I understood the #26,131.
I never knew Carolyn Devonshire, but I felt her heartbeat as I read those lines. I understood her, and how myself and all the others were overwhelmed and sadden by this human TRAGEDY, this TRAVESTY of human dignity and kindness toward one whose husband gave the ultimate sacrifice. Moreover, like Carolyn, I understood so much less of why a prosperous and proud nation like my own would allow a soldier's widow to die in POVERTY and all alone.
I'm grateful that Carolyn shared this poem. Carolyn departed from among us a short while ago, but has left us a treasure of beauty and power in her work.
081321PS