Long Private Poems
Long Private Poems. Below are the most popular long Private by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Private poems by poem length and keyword.
Days, weeks, years, many hours included
Minutes we spent above, now saddened, deluded
Moments shared, in private, continual we
Deceived be, looking past I see
From the day we first met
Attraction, absorbed through music shared
Revealing the hurts of our past
Captured, our hearts now care
Days, weeks, in trance
The unbalance our lives created
Minutes we spent above
Meeting in Glasgow our lives related
To the Island you had to go back
This reality you always said
You knew you were going back home
Knowing our reality was dead
Weeks and months passed by
Always knowing I was by your side
Monetary problems caused a rift
I helped in my wanting stride
Then came the day
The day I travelled to you
You asked so many times
This feeling of feeling true
At Arricife we met
Having told me your with someone else
For the weeks, months, years that passed by
I was discarded, left on a shelf
But on that Thursday, in the apartment we
We released what had happened before
Tears, cuddles
That had captured the Glasgow, thee
Then that call on the Friday morning
Because of the history between
You were barred from interacting
This two who loved so keen
Sound asleep early Monday morning
3.15am, when it again began
Upset, wanting to see me
Desiring two, to become lovingly one
Moments once again were shared
In depth, and loving sighs
Making love for hours and hours
Amidst our saddened cries
We awoke later that day
An agenda of life your to meet
Now cancelled,
Kissing, cuddling, you desire we greet
We spent this Monday in bed
Talking, kissing, about many things
Wishing that we were to be
And what our future would bring
But you had already chosen
On the week that I was due out to fly
For these days, weeks, months I've wasted on you
For your tomorrows, you'll internally cry
Goodbye.
Quote By Joe Shirk : Truth of things eternal that are part of the Divine
are held in sacred places that can never be defined
every selfless act of Love, creates the Divine
Inside a cup of devotion lays a rose of great valor
there are many rooms
inside this Sacred place we call our home.
What can never be defined is the essence of what is,
even touch cannot explain, the emotion of feeling.
A selfless act of love can start the wheels in motion
it can open doors to private closed chambers
better than any skeletal key on earth.
Truth of things eternal that are part of the Divine,
are also part of us, in all sincerity we do belong.
Like a molded piece of clay we fit
inside the other like earth, air, fire and water.
Inside the womb of our Sacred Hearts,
lays a rose so fresh that even the rain chooses to fall
afresh, at the touch of brevity, Abba's transient Divinity
arises in all of us.
Words by: Mystic Rose
Finally leaving the stage after
Twenty seven encore calls
A huge sense of elation as
The last curtain finally falls.
There’s all the media interviews
That she has yet to face
Then perhaps she can retreat
For a while to her private space.
Treated like minor Royalty
When she visited her mum
Back home in Barnsley after
She’d danced the Sugar Plum
Meets with the Toreador
To world wide praise and acclaim
Boosting the popularity of Ballet
To make her a well known name.
They called if Ballet meets Martial Arts
In its brand new and radical form
With just a little adjustment period as it
Settles down beside the accepted norm.
She’s toured the cultural centres
Of the whole of the civilised West
Where her radical performances
Have Easily passed the quality test.
She’s contemplating retirement
Doesn’t want to tour anymore
Would really like to settle down
With her beloved Toreador.
The Arts world is in turmoil
As it enters the current century.
It’s as though it’s been released from
A hidebound cultural penitentiary.
They’ve all had to put away
Their rose tinted glasses
As this new art form is welcomed
By the uncultured masses.
To be fair they are trying
To do their very best.
Grand Opera meets Wrestling
Is soon to be put to the test.
All my dreams of you are sweet
With no one else do you compete
You stand alone I here declare
With no one else do you compare
We'll write our songs both night and day
With no one else I'd rather play
I want to visit Lake Annecy
With no one else, just you and me
A rustic cabin in the woods
With no one else, you pick the books
A private beachfront getaway
With no one else, let's leave today
A flute of frosty Veuve Clicquot
With no one else but you, you know?
A fluffy quilt, soft satin sheets
With no one else, just us beneath
My favorite comfy, cozy chair
With no one else, just us in there
These and more with only you
With no one else I'd want to do
The lucky ship
I sat on the terrace at the enchanting hour when the sun has gone westward
but it is not dark yet and saw a long sleek cargo ship in the bay.
A well-kept ship manned by professional seafarers who have s contract
and get to go home on vacation every three months.
The cook is often referred to as a catering officer, sits in his spacious cabin
reading a book by Hemingway.
He stops reading and rest the open book on page 48 and think of all those
who have never read the great writer and are only interested in his private life?
It is a pity he would be remembered for the wrong reasons.
The cook gets up takes a shower, since he has been up by six o´clock there
is no time to shower.
In the morning he has to set the dough to bake bread and there is breakfast
to be seen to, and the preparation for dinner at twelve.
It is dark now, the ship is well lit she looks like a princess of the sea,
but the crew have no fear she will bring them safely home.
Winds of change
are fanning the flames
are fanned by the deranged.
The flames of misdirection,
the winds giving chase
(orchestrated by instruments to enrage.
Horned cheering section.)
Drones of the BlackRock, riders in holdings
park their game pieces in place,
holding and withholding payment Ace.
Get out of jail free blowhards,
influencerned by the currency,
jeering and cheering till blue in the face,
screaming Climate
Emergent Divergent Hunger Games Emergency.
Media trumpet producing endearings,
(lipstick on a Pig) for their Rat King,
(as on a White Horse)
as we grow too Sheepish to speak out, too pale
and timid to spell out their obvious course,
to vomit our rejection as diseased
as we are enslaved
under cells and convections and
tales intertwined, sanctioned throughout,
Stormgate's, leak, its Codex toothed, overreaching security breach.
Never again will we be as we were,
neVer to take flight,
or steer our own course again in our own
atmosphere.
The Mandate is clear, the Score
is reported by message board monitors
of the process, onboard,
onboarding for the Beast System processors,
riding People, herding, coral carolling
to Lucifer, sacrificial Sheeple in a transitional
Rat Race, vermen looking through peepholes.
The Piper's progress is polaroided in twain,
kodachrome rolls back the esteem, smiles of the insane, back of the head, peace sign.
Shut wide eyes rolling white for dead retina scan mouth foamed enrapture
Signature erasure brain panned for fools gold,
sold out, captured souls,(devout).
Recorders in tow, changing how the wikiwind blows,
how counts voted by Moderator,
gestapo teams, Bon Appetit, Virtual Travel, Vogue, Akinator, Mad Magazine.
(Needle in the Aperture bobbin tattoo
BuckarooBonzai glass saddles and shoes.)
Laser id suture chip sewn in diodes
of TripleBeam Barley, Wheat, Triplesec, meat...
Meta threads to breadcrumb gumshoe private dick heads, treads of
sleuth your every thought and intent, move.
Passenger monitoring, the acceptable temperature, moderate beautiful soup lukewarm chum
to taste an ode to the pasts vernacular
naked lunch humble pie shoots
in the face gruel,
heckler
of riding the storm out without Jesus, fools-Spectacular.
I am standing in the middle of the road, deciding which way to go, the traffic on my left is speeding down the street and the traffic on my right is disrupting my heartbeat.
I am standing in the middle of the street, waiting for the story to complete but you keep adding chapters upon chapter and the story expands covering the entire land. If you walk in the middle of the road, you will get hit by traffic coming from both sides. So, upon wisdom you must abide.
What started off as a private story with one person and the family has touched the entire universe and invokes a traditional curse.
Everyone starts walking up and down the street in the heat, repeating words and verse and meddling in the stranger’s purse. The lion is stuck in the den and the people are waiting for manner to fall from heaven. It has not eaten for several days, and you must be careful how you approach it or it will drag you down in the dirt and rip out your throat.
Nothing that is going on makes sense and the organizers have packed the boxes with hidden lies, the men are prowling around in the street looking for an alibi and a short cut to reach the sky; but the clouds keep rolling by
I am standing in the middle of the street and I have an important message for thee, meet me at the corner of the dam and climb on top of the swinging bridge and crawl on your belly and whisper a silent hymn, if the way is clear you must walk slowly to the other side but if human traffic and vehicular traffic are present you must abandon the trip to heaven.
I feel a sense of a sense of longing, and where am at, I just don’t belong and the journey is extremely long; the road in front of me is filled with debris, and the mudslide breaks down in the middle of the road and big trees are rooted from the ground and lying across the road,
water is rising from both sides of the street and the wind is adding pressure to their sins, they abandon their vehicles and climb out of their shoes and stood in the middle of the road reminiscing their soul and so they began a journey in their native country spreading the news about the fox, the wolf and the mule. When the way is clear you must meet me at the corner over there.
i
Gus didn't have the original pointer that came
with the Ouija, so he used an extra Indian feather,
since it came from a real Indian,
it may prove to be advantageous.
Since Indians were the closest to the spirits,
(accept for Joel Osteen,
who is not a snake oil salesman at all).
He looked around the room, feeling the anticipation
as the motley crue held hands, and
looked upon him to guide them.
Gus sensed that they needed this one.
"Do it for Little Orphan Annie", he thought.
Gus put the tip of his middle finger on the feather and chanted, "Hillaryions", "minions of the dark realms,
come in visitation here before us, we give you
entrance of our own free will and rights vested in us
by the U.S. Constitution and Hippa Laws,
go Cowboys he added in private hopes!"
With that, Gus and his little company waited. In only seconds Gus felt an electrical phenomena tug at his middle finger, he felt his hands raise and the opposing fingers descend towards his palm while his
middle finger became erect. Haha, very funny, ghost.
Hey, are you from Uranus, he retaliated,
in sporting kind. The ghost knew he was burned
and thus defeated, so he let Gus's hand drop back
down to the font. His hand began to weave and touch 'of the Indian feather'- to first the n, o ...b, u, t... Y, o,u...a,r,e...f,r,o,m...C,h,u,c,k,s...
After a moment of reflection Gus realized that this
ghost was not so easily defeated.
"One of Osteen's blue ribbon boys 'eh", he challenged, reconciling the arduousness of his adversary, task.
Gus blurted out, Hillary is trying to take over Hell!...
Form:
When I am searching for a healthy leader,
a wise teacher,
a mature mentor,
I look for someone who knows from experience
when a family member dies
a cherished part of her or himself
also is lifetime lost.
I look more for someone
who at least might feel,
even for a short moment,
that s/he would prefer
it had been her or himself.
Why does this matter?
Because without this maturity of extended family identity,
security,
love,
adolescent and even childish issues evoke ego-mania
rather than wiser and slower and steadier eco-passion
with other human natures
as with other EarthTribe cellular health natures.
Cells whose purpose becomes reduced to self-thrival
grow leaders of cancerous pathology.
Cells whose purpose remains to reproduce
their full contribution to organic families,
their extended forests of life,
their ecological eco-root systems,
are those mentors
my healthy wealth most needs
and craves
and would gladly step-aside from my personal agenda
to listen to
and learn
what remains of our synergetic purpose,
regenerative meaning.
I would be more drawn to a parent
who would say
My son broke the law
because I asked him to,
and he trusted me to not ask him to do
or not do
anything that would become a problem for him.
I would steer away from someone
who would say
My son did it on his own qualitative initiative
and never said a word to me about it,
but I respect him anyway.
And,
by the way,
those corporations that fell apart
while I was CEO,
well they did that all on their own
right after I drew my final paycheck
and quarterly return on my short-term investment.
I would not nominate such a person
for public office,
or even any private office,
for s/he does not know the wisdom of a healthy cell,
s/he has not felt the crippling loss of a wise mentor,
and is thereby her/himself exposed to monoculturing cannibalistic tendencies
of self and other exploitation,
eating our young;
not strong CEO maturity
because not a strong mentor of future compassionate CEOs.
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20