Long Quality Poems
Long Quality Poems. Below are the most popular long Quality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quality poems by poem length and keyword.
No one understands you, not even you yourself.
Trapped in a cage that only you can see
The combination lock rusted shut since
You gambled away the secret numbers for some fairy dust . . . and a handful of beans.
I can't hate you for it, it is your cancer
You didn't ask for it, never wanted it, but it's yours, and so it is mine.
You can't escape those invisible bars and I can't avoid them!
I bump into them at every turn, until I am exhausted, bruised and defeated.
Sometimes you tell me that you are getting better.
You know this because you have more room to move within the boundaries of your cage.
At those times I am sad, because you cannot see the truth.
You have more room because you are shrinking -- the cage is as confiningly sturdy as ever.
You are sick, but we all suffer the consequences of your disease.
None of us can live until you choose to show your cage to those who can help.
You claim you hate your disease and its shackles,
But we are in the straight jackets wishing for release -- even death.
I love you. I hate your disease.
I love seeing the real you, but that is fading away.
I long for you to have a quality life, one without that cursed cage of fear
But until you open the door, neither of us will be free.
Written 2/24/2016
Edited for contest 11/28/2018
Fathoms below
Diving slow
Buried treasure to see
Searching for me
Captain Bluebeard had treasure on the ship
A mighty storm caused the ship to dip
Suddenly the ship went down
It was nowhere to be found
Total capsize
Sank to the bottom
Throughout the ocean, there are sharks and all kinds of fish
On my mind was the treasure find being my wish
Through Davey’s Locker
The flashlight being our marker
Ocean floor
Explore
Gold and Silver
Determined in maneuver
Becoming rich
Value and Quality
It’s all about Quantity
Mystery being reality
Ocean deep
Yea ship mates
Fortune to keep
Ever so deep
Our youngest grandchild turns 16 today…I know you must be shook…
the fact that she’s 16 years old…means I‘m much older than I look!
Her birthday elicited in me a memory…older minds do this…as a rule…
It was back when she fractured her arm one day in elementary school.
Attached to this memory is another memory of when I was young…it was a day in early spring…when I found on the ground before me…a baby bird…with a broken wing.
I looked around but saw no nest...and with no time to wonder why
I picked her up, took her home then nursed her till she could fly.
There seems to be an innate quality in most of us...the impulse to be humane
by providing assistance to the weak...as we try to relieve their pain.
But this is not uniquely human...in the animal kingdom it is a running theme.
proving our world, when we stop to look, is not as ruthless as it seems.
It’s amazing where survival of the fittest is the rallying cry we sing
there are still some creatures who take the time to help those with broken wings.
Perhaps it’s one way to show the rest of us (I don’t think this too bizarre)
that all life in this world is precious no matter who or what you are.
That we must remember through the grace of God we are naturally selected
that no matter how you choose to slice it...we are, somehow, all connected.
That we should be treating every living thing with dignity and grace
That for every broken wing we fix...we make the world a better place.
So on your 16th birthday, Ava…
as once again we sing Happy Birthday
and many congratulations to you are spoken…
just a reminder we will be here if you need us…
any time your wing is broken.
I'm up , I am awake
The night owl per se
Love thee - love thee not , that I ought to be
Up at night with the radio, tuned to 3:00 AM
Laugh a bit at that on the country station , if it should it be
It's 3:00 AM I'm really sorry, same ole song and dance
My friend, to appreciate the humor of the truth
Loving crochet, ready with the camera , I flash
Snapping that sunrise if it a beauty, each day
Look at the stars - the moon - predict the weather in a trance
Oh how I love my time and the muses to the music they dance
Treasured quality time - me - an insomniac
Who endeavored - that - loving to paint with hues
I capture the picture in my brain
I can choose my own hours - loving the graveyard shift
Working for myself writing , taking care of business
Even writing a song or book with music a spiritual lift
The list goes on , best hours of productivity
Love thee - love thee not! It's 3:00 AM ! Really
Where I ought to be? up in the wee hours of the night
And pondering this, pondering that
Singing a tune! Day by day , I'd rather be doing it my way
Yes I'm up - I'm awake at dawn
beauteous it then be the born new day
As they say " Now I lay me down to sleep"
Each eye as I achieve my REM
I dream each night of solitude
And " I wish I may, I wish I might"
Wishing upon my stars at night
I wake each eve loving the wee hours of the twilight
With the crescent moon I boast
At 3:00 AM I love the most
The music to my ears -and with my sight
Then with my senses - I see the light
I ponder, My spirits still lift
A night owl! It's a personal gift.
~My Liquid Mind~
Like a forceful stream from a
magnificent mountain, does
my opalescent mind slide.
Commanding of any crevice or
rock in its path,to gracefully,
move aside.
It dances in flowers, grass, trees,
and never once looks back.
It laughs joyfully, as a child on
a warm summer beach at play.
Rushing and splashing with a
bubbling freedom,with gusto on
clear display.
Meteorically with a curiosity , it
hunts down boulder-strewn foes.
And yet,it's quality is grateful humility.
Plus, a loving heart,all of its own.
Be careful as my liquid mind, when
it's very star-lit still one summery night..
May just decide to visit you!
Seeping, surreptitiously and....very
lovingly,seep right through your window sill.
August 16, 2019
Panagiota Romios
9:30am PST
What of pride and presentation
When time is short in duration?
An octagon out of a square...
Proverbial scissors used there.
It is what it is - this, I hear
Constantly in and out each ear.
A triangle meets hexagon
In repetition, on and on.
Input dried of saturation...
Effort tried, no compensation.
Ongoing instances of these
Bring situations to their knees.
When unavailability
Of resources persists to be,
Circumstances are made humble...
Everything begins to crumble.
One example - making a cake.
Unsuccessful within its bake
When ingredients are lacking...
Outcome evident of slacking.
If its method is not followed
Proper, it is harder swallowed.
When void of cooking essential,
Cake does not reach its potential.
Take another scenario...
The teamwork of employment so.
When two workers turn into one,
Managed quality is undone.
In regards to minor detail,
Its freshness gradually turns stale...
Pending failure when correction
Is established of inspection.
Conclusions do not come with ease...
What once was, no longer a breeze.
Corner cutting in all respect
Leads to certain snowball effect.
Such distressing leads to stressing...
This, is it worth second guessing?
Band-aids sometimes necessary,
But should just be temporary.
Apparel in my closet adorns my modesty midst self-multiplicity
Blending along blouses that bear dignity
Confidently exuding elegant beauty…
Dresses distinctly define my femininity
Exposing woman-roles and their variety
Floral skirts mark motherhood’s blooming serenity…
Green and golden blazers gripped my mentorship tenacity
Hoisted by scarfs and shawls of freedom certainty
In persevering to reach-out, creating impact in the community…
Jogging attire shows my health and wellness versatility
Keeping household chores midst working shirts for flexibility
Living in thanksgiving* to God with robe of gratitude’s purity...
Mysterious self of mine shows my faith's certainty
Never hidden by numerous t-shirts of Bible verses so pretty
Open to miracles in every opportunity.
Poised for my faculty membership is my uniforms' integrity
Quiet against qualms, I have my handkerchief of colorful quality
Rightfully highlighting how self handles pressures' severity...
Sweetly soothing special child along caring sincerity
Tidy pajamas aid me in tucking him midst his hyperactivity
Understanding his idiosyncrasy while being aware of mine with humility.
July 8, 2024
edited on July 25, 2025 for Alice Reynolds' Contest, "Multiplicity of the Self"
*Philippians 4:6 - "Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God."
Since a little girl, I have been sensitive. Hiding behind mother was my place to be.
Mother used to say that I was born different. My eyes were pools of sadness, dark
brown and full of sorrow. As I grew words said effected me deeply. I did not brush
them off, that was not me. The words were like scars on my soul, they dwell there.
Terrible, awful death shadowed my days and how I handled it was to go deep within.
I dwelled there, happy with imagination. I made up stories and lived them. I would
read books in a secret corner of the attic. I liked to wander the woods near home.
I saw things there that touched me, little baby birds, young squirrels playing, nature
growing all around me. I told my sadness to my kitty, she was a good listener.
in woods wandering
I find my sweet peace and tranquility-
green lush vines creeping
Soon, I was a teenager. I was quiet and alone in my private world. Words lashed at
my soul like whips. Perhaps the words were not even that terrible, I twisted them
that way. I was extremely sensitive and it was a curse. Yet, in the end it turned out
to be my most precious quality, sensitive to all I see and feel in this world has made
me the poet that I am today. I can now write with soul all that I see wrong in the
world with emotion. But part of the little sensitive girl hides inside of me, often she
is hurt by a word said, even if innocently said. It is a curse and a blessing.
the birds are chirping
they are calling me to the green lushness-
words fall from my pen
_______________________________
April 16, 2016
Poetry/Haibun/Sensitive Is My Shame
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 778-484-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
My guild of Golden Year's ..
I'v had the quantity of life and it's quality, now I battle aches and shakes all day.
Hey malady ! Why do you usher affliction..
After many romantic sunset's seen and been on all the jazz of the bob and boogie blues scene ...
Comes a bumpy trauma to a years declining.
You have experienced the layers of betrayal's
And nearly married plenty cinderella's
Drank many beer's and stopped many tears.
Now at the golden years
The body parts are limbo
And not fit as dingo
Once I was a Fred Astaire
Now something wants to do nothing
Keep the whoopee !
And savvy the golden years
Though ..
The arm's void the legs
The cargo is heavy
The toe's they stay close
The heels are a struggling wagon
There is no dash
And the body prefers medicine
The eyes are a tired watchman
Nothing is up and about
Germs and moustache aqaint
Past the prime
But not senile
Life is for the living
Sipping gin and lime
Passing time
And I don't mind
The staying alive
On the couch
In my guild of
Golden years.
Beautiful
……Even then you were beautiful.
I watched you grow
An angel you were,
Love of people and adventure was your fortitude.
A quality many did not possess.
I watched you grow older
Even more pretty you became,
An angel to be reckoned with.
A man by default,in your life appeared.
Something you could never have control over.
I watched you grow older and drained.
Cuts on your hands were noticeable,
Your eyes were a mask of anger and betrayal.
Distant and cold was your sudden field of expertise
Even then, my dear you were beautiful.
I watched you grow older and bitter.
Hate speech was all you mastered.
Your hate for men grew from nowhere,
Hate for your own blood was also imminent.
But my dear, even then you were beautiful.
I watched you grow older and angrier.
No one understood you, you said.
No one would ever understand,you professed.
We tried to ask, we tried to break the ice.
In your state, my dear you were still beautiful.
I watched you grow older and thinner.
Scared you became.
When a caring man came into your life.
Angel, you called him. A knight you adored.
Even then, my sweet you became more beautiful.
I watched you grow wiser and stronger.
A tragedy of a life, you said.
A blessing in disguise, you prayed and cried.
I’m thankful, you always said.
Even then you glowed with beauty my darling.
I watched you grow wiser and wiser
I watched you teach young molested and rape victims.
I once was bitter and angry like you, you said.
I felt betrayed you see, by a man;
Who was safely plucked under my mama’s wings
I watched you sob, I watched you smile.
A man saw the beauty beyond my scars, you continued.
A man loved me beyond my sufferings and wrong doings.
A man saw the hurt, the pain, anger but still knew;
Even when I was at my worst; I was still beautiful.
I watched you become fulfilled.
A wife, a mother, a teacher.
I watched you my child, I did.
And I hope you forgive me,
For I can’t say much more from where I am.
As long as you know my child that you are always beautiful.
© Herzel Poshiwa