Long Pretending Poems
Long Pretending Poems. Below are the most popular long Pretending by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pretending poems by poem length and keyword.
Sheer Phawn was not like other jungle creatures. She did not blend into the landscape.
She was not fearful of the unseen dangers, or the dark shadows, or the lack of sun.
The secretive cloak of the jungle and the diabolicalness of its floor did not alarm her.
There was no hiding for her, no secrecy. No reverence at all for her mysterious surroundings.
The plane had crashed two days ago, and Sheer Phawn was existing on adrenaline and anger.
She was furious; at the pilot, the crew, and all of the passengers which had died, and left here.
She was tromping through these unknown grasses, in a furious way, glad that she had an axe.
It was one of the few things she decided to grab as she left the plane. There were only two survivors.
Jim something was the other one.
She was mad enough to stomp and tromp, but these vine-encrusted tree trunks and grasses
Slowed her progress, increasing her furiousness to almost a frenzy point. Was no one looking for them?
She cut a little niche out of some grasses with the tiny axe, and screamed a war cry as a snake slithered
Under the spongy jungle floor at her feet. She did not see his head, but if she had, she would have
No doubt cut it off, she was so mad.
This jungle from hell which had been so foreboding and intimidating two days ago was irritating now.
“AH! LEE-OH! YAH! HEY!” she screamed, pretending she was tough, while she was really just sad.
There was no echo, as there never is in the jungle. Jim, the only other survivor of the crash, suggested she sit.
Sheer Phawn laughed, maybe a bit too loudly, and she caught herself.
Jim had been looking a bit suspicious of her lately, she did not want to give him fodder, so she sat.
She did not want to give her plan away, but she was never letting her axe out of her sight.
She kind of thought of Jim as a possible future lunch, and it was not good to let this out.
Cannibalism is a lot more difficult if you make lunch into a friend, right?
She sat down while boring Jim told her things she did not want to hear. He droned on.
She pretended to listen, too angry to hear the words. Neither heard the tigers until it was too late.
We come together as a family; my friends and me.
Each bringing what we said we would.
Two or three bringing extra things that are duplicates.
Six people, and we have three pumpkin pies.
Hilarious! We laugh about it.
Everyone talks at once, telling the same stories.
We pause at the same times, ask the same questions.
Laugh with appreciation, pretending we have never heard them.
We are friends, who have formed a family.
For our families are young, doing young people things.
We are older, and have more in common because of it.
We talk about the original Saturday Night Live shows.
We start 1950 commercials and finish them for each other.
“Plop plop fizz fizz……………………………….oh what a relief it is!”
“See the USA in a ……………………………………Chevrolet!”
We have made Thanksgiving into a family event.
Our family, the family of friends.
Many years ago, they stole my voice
Silencing with threats of death
Authentic life was put on hold
Fake smiles, humor, pretending to survive
Only words written carried me, for who I was
Or playing ‘runaway’ on my bike to the brook
Nature became my safe haven
A creation always waiting for me
When I was older and took my voice back,
The backlash was searing
It was even more difficult to stand my ground
As scapegoating and losses, lashed at me
For speaking truth
But, I would never trade the choice I made
The choice to be who I am, to be free
- No longer captured by them -
Heidi Sands
5/13/18
I hate my pictures.....i hate my reflections.... l hate the man I've become....i just hope and pray .....im not sorry when its all said and done..
The days and nights are starting to blend....when all I really need is some time to mend.....instead of always pretending...that I'm alright with the things I do....or how I always go back to you.....
I hate my pictures....i hate my reflection.....i hate the man I've become.....i really need to get back to where I come from ..i just hope and pray I'm not the sorry one when its all said and done....Sitting..... watching....... waiting on the next thing
When will I ever start to see what you do to me
Losing touch with what's important ....when all I need is something .....something to believe
I hate my pictures.....i hate my reflection....i hate the man I've become.....i really need to get back to where I come from....i hope and pray I'm not the sorry one when its all said and done
Form:
She came to me
at five
at war inside
between Plan A
RightEgo Dominant
against Plan B
LeftEcoPolitical Wrong.
I came to her
to ask outside
for LeftYang NatureRights,
cooperatively supported,
ignoring RightYin SpiritWrongs
you see
(and hear and smell)
as NegativEnergy.
Our therapy
with GoldenRules
our Left Secular Identity
and Right sacredality,
sacred Princess secularity.
With outdoor solidarity voices
I learned to hear
then see
then sing
her view of tough
WinLose epic choices.
We ask her to let go
of all she hopes to NubianPrincess be
and all we offer in exchange
is how to lose less
Ugly StepSister Sorority
waiting for further
aging mediocrity
through growing domesticity
by matriarchal Yin repression,
RightBrain sacred oppression.
Now she dances
while we together sing,
calling back to birds
and squirrels
and bees
and crickets
in trees
gardening and pretending to Princess fly
and grace-filled walk
showing sharing esteemed chances
for WinWin princess prances
yet to be
with
or without
me.
She still prefers WinWin
Left deep learning
with sacred Right feeling
as do we all,
as do we all
invited to Prince Charming's ball.
I came to her
at war inside
between Left fading dominance
and Right feeling prominence
longing for resilient
belonging outdoor resonance.
I let lust lead.
So when I speak on this,
I’m not guessing.
I’m not judging.
I know what it does.
It rips your heart.
Messes up your mind.
Twists how you see people
how you see yourself.
It cages you.
Makes you smile in public
but cry in secret.
Makes you feel too dirty for grace.
Too broken for mercy.
Too far for forgiveness.
And the worst part?
It makes you think God’s done with you.
And truth is — He should be.
But He’s not.
Because Jesus didn’t die for the cleaned-up version of you
He died for the broken one.
The ashamed one.
The addict.
The liar.
The boy with secrets.
The girl with regrets.
You can’t delete demons with a filter.
You can’t kill sin by willpower.
You can’t win this war by fighting flesh with flesh.
You need the Spirit.
You need God.
I tried everything.
Fasted. Blocked sites. Prayed.
Deleted apps. Made promises.
And still fell.
Until the Holy Spirit whispered:
"You don't get free by pretending you're not bound.
You get free by bringing it to the light."
So I did.
I confessed.
Not to impress.
But to survive.
To finally live.
And you know what?
God didn’t cancel me.
He covered me.
He didn’t shame me.
He saved me.
No lightning.
No thunder.
Just quiet conviction
and loud mercy.
Now, I don’t boast in my strength.
Because it wasn’t me.
It was always God.
Every time I said, “I can’t,”
He whispered, “I can.”
Every time I fell,
His grace picked me up again.
I still fight
but now I fight from victory, not for it.
I’m not perfect
but I’m free.
And I write this for you.
Yes, you.
If you’re stuck in ****,
trapped in shame,
thinking it’s too late
It’s not.
Jesus didn’t just die to save you from hell.
He died to save you from this.
This secret sin.
This silent prison.
This hidden addiction.
So bring it to Him.
Say it out loud.
Let the light in.
Because when you confess,
He doesn’t walk away
He walks in.
He breaks chains.
He still does.
And I am living proof.
So let the world hear this:
My little secret sin is now exposed
not to shame me,
but to free someone else.
Because if He did it for me,
He can do it for you.
Let the world hear.
Let the broken repent.
Let the captives run free.
Let the light shine in the darkest room.
This is not weakness.
This is freedom.
This is Jesus.
And He is still breaking chains.
memories hold sway
unburdened by silent hours
bringing back the day
ghosts with magical powers
lived through images which were ours
penny for your thoughts
as sunlight peaked though shade
we were casting lots
when we should have been afraid
what we had, subject to trade
reaching in the dark
for soft surrounding of you
moment turning stark
so next day, away I flew
love and longing both made true
standing on the beach
looking out to pale blue sky
past waiting world's reach
pretending was final lie
which left me as the bad guy
disturbed man crying
on cold foggy London day
why was I spying
"God Save the Queen" starts to play
not able to look away
ruby sangria
drunk glass after clinking glass
through no culpa mea
thinking through all which had passed
life moved along much too fast
frail phantoms circling
push the past into mind's sight
nothing worsening
ghostly visions our birthright
ghosts soon vanished into night
Moonlight eyes
cold as night
retrieving from love
its light
orbiting around
in cycle
repaying hurts
real or imagined
with lie of pretending
to vanish.
Bitter sweet
debris
storming
clear water of love
with turbulence
midnight darkness
ahead and beyond
only light
limpid in the night
the I Am Star
Sun of midnight flowers
ripening figs out of cycle
God's fruit of love
available
in season and out
crystal clear spring
flowing untapped
quenching thirst
by human love
unquenched
illuming path
with permanent sunshine
for sunflowers hearts
drunken with light
to follow
madness of
never ending
love
First Place Winner-Brian Strand-All Yours 6/4/21
Third Place Winner: Constance La France-"N" Poem Contest-9/21/21
Deep
in the forests
of the Amazon,
I met
the ancient people
of the trees.
The Indigenous souls
of the Earth.
Night fell slowly
beneath the canopy.
Darkness breathed
through the leaves.
And there
before the flames,
the ceremony began.
We moved
around the fire
like forgotten spirits
returning home.
The smoke rose
toward the heavens.
And Ayahuasca
opened its eye.
My name
was carried
into the wilderness.
“Chanda…”
The forest
called me.
The rivers
heard me.
The gods
of the Amazon
welcomed me
into their silence.
Then suddenly,
my eyes opened.
Ayahuasca
was the key.
And I
was the door.
At that moment,
the world changed.
The trees
began to sing.
The leaves
danced slowly
with the wind.
And the sky
whispered
the song of life.
The river
spoke healing.
The Earth
remembered us.
We drank
from the stars
like thirsty souls
searching for eternity.
And there
within the sacred madness,
we realized
we were gods
pretending
to be human.
Through Ayahuasca,
many worlds
stood before us.
Worlds within worlds.
Dreams within dreams.
When the sun rose,
we became magicians.
When the sun fell,
we became healers.
And sorrow
walked beside wisdom.
For knowledge
is beautiful,
but it also wounds
the heart.
On that sacred night,
I drank deeply
from the wine
of my soul.
And now
I understand.
Life
is a school.
And I
am still
the student.
I like your hair-line, the curve of your spine,
you don't know how glad to be out of nine by nine,
so I can breathe, grateful to be able to perceive,
somrone said: 'you'll always be here, never leave.'
I like that guy John Andrew, reincarnated from the book,
he looks different now they say, every time I look,
and bloody Phaedrus, does anyone read his columns?
someone has to clean up the mess, every time he comes.
I like the white light that Gaugin went to seek,
the strength of you when everyone else was weak,
I stand with the guys, we lie to each other,
you wonder how it would be if you were my lover.
I like being here, remembering when I was there,
they'll never know, the easy part is pretending to care.