Long Reoccur Poems
Long Reoccur Poems. Below are the most popular long Reoccur by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reoccur poems by poem length and keyword.
Once again, heaved back into this perpetual battle,
of safety or risking once more, what matters.
Comprehensions of the topics discussed,
understanding emotions and broken trust.
Inside those moments of intoxicating vivification,
the illusion of impenetrable defenses goes under decimation.
Fear grips the consciousness from the vulnerability.
Certainties elude the futures expectancy.
Time ticks on, relentless and never resting,
patience is cardinal to ascertain the resulting probabilities.
How quickly memories of hopes and wishes can resurface,
Those sweet day dreams filled with harmonious bliss…
Yet, danger is being sounded, constantly and inevitably,
for sooner or later, this bliss is torn from me.
No longer can this agony continue to reoccur,
to let the briny moisture gather and cause my sight to blur.
Forever stained is the cognizance of recollections,
morphed and twisted they are, by negligent attentions,
Harrowing anguish have become second nature,
there fore this imperfect heart I hesitate to wager.
How to implore this inquiry of intentions,
while avoiding the creation of apprehensions.
Full of fear and anxiety, but, a glimmer of hope, one can see!
That hope, that if I fall, you will be able to catch me.
Thoughts are mine that I possess inside,
Thoughts no thief can purloin or borrow.
Thoughts of things that I've had to hide,
Thoughts that reoccur with each tomorrow.
Thoughts that turn to dreams at sunset,
Thoughts of thoughts that I've kept hidden.
Thoughts that bring about cold sweat,
Thoughts that came without being bidden.
Thoughts about the path in life taken,
Thoughts come of those I love each day.
Thoughts of losing them leaves me shaken,
Thoughts come of those who did not stay.
Thoughts that turn my heart toward giving,
Thoughts hydrated by the morning dew.
Thoughts each day that make life worth living,
Thoughts that are always centered on you.
There’s something that I meant to do
And I just plumb forgot.
I wish this were a rarity
But sadly, it is not.
My brain can’t cling to any thought
Unless I stop to write it
And so I jot down notes because
It doesn’t pay to fight it.
But yesterday my memo failed
‘Cause I forgot to read it.
I’d stuck it in my bag despite
The fact that I would need it.
I came across it later on,
Too late for my intention.
It wasn’t that important but
Still worthy of a mention.
For likely, this will reoccur
More often, I would bet
Since getting older means
There’ll be much more I will forget.
A girl around 13, sitting at a kitchen table of the home where she baby sits,
is waiting for the woman of the house to finish getting ready to leave.
She is startled by two brazen hands coming surreptitiously from behind her,
fingers and thumbs beginning to gently squeeze her prepubescent breasts.
Frightened and aghast, the young girl stays transfixed and says nothing.
The man’s wife calls out to her husband, and the fondling abruptly ceases.
The girl knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t want to give up the babysitting.
She enjoys the children and likes earning money on her own.
All she can do is fervently and silently hope the incident will not reoccur
as she continues, on and off, to watch the children of that disgusting man.
The girl’s mind and body mature; by age 17, she is coming into her own.
She has been reading, watching, experiencing, and . . . . learning.
Once again, in those later years, she has the occasion to watch the children
of that man whose invading hands had long ago so repulsed her!
As he drives her home late at night, he reaches out for breasts now much larger.
The girl is waiting for it. Shaking inside, she summons up her small bit of courage.
Pushing his hands away, she calmly but assertively declares:
“Leave me alone. You can never do that to me again.” She now realizes
there are not always others that can help you. No longer a scared little girl,
she's a woman who can take care of herself. I know because that girl was me.
For the TRUE Meaning of Being Adult Poetry Contest of F J Thomas
We were touched by masters passing,
Knowing only beauty that we held,
And in our buoyancy floating
Our instincts then were felled.
We sank so we could raise
The Greater Good;
But what surprises we surmised,
When in the presence of our God we stood.
Your skin is not your skin. It is our own.
The light that breathes from every morning
From your heart is shown.
For we are in your being, having birthed
A love we share
Your eyes are ours to view this world, as we a pair.
We will not say goodbye though you away
For in our life the beating of our heart
Is proof you stay
Each precious day awakens
With a song of light; What music be,
What vision held,
With you not in our sight.
We are everywhere that we can be,
To touch the heart of all you ever were.
Our joy will trace your footsteps
In our memory, you see,
Where God himself will stand aside,
So you may reoccur.
We are stilled, but not at peace,
To scream the scream a thousand heartaches roar,
Restrain our hearts from leaping out our chest,
To beat the last and somehow
Close death’s door.
We bid thee do not enter
To the exit of your life,
Heaven’s tears extinguish
Burning Hell,
Lay waste that evening shade
Ring loud the sound of life’s eternal bell.
Return you to the beauty God has made.
His tree is every tree, His star the galaxy;
And yet, without your presence now,
But half of all we see.
Shooting bottle caps,
ring finger off thumb.
And a little cake -
the two breaks in half,
fixed with melting wax
and lighter.
Light years of 22
in impromptu breakfast party
then the boy is parting
for Tennessee,
to see to making a few bucks.
Toodeloos to Mom, Dad,
Aunts, Uncles, a random cousin
and a visitor. Who
can refuse to fuse together;
never knowing when
this grouping will reoccur?
Always a little drama, a smile,
too many hugs (we huddle).
Call me. I come. Gather
the troops as todays
don’t come around again,
only the memories; and
they fail to capture
the whole snapshot -
bottle caps bouncing
off familial walls.
Dreams, Past Or Future?
Miracle Man
March 10, 2022
On a four inch floppy is life’s read only file,
where past things are recorded hard and fast.
Some things found there grow frowns or smile,
but whatever the remembrance, they’ll forever last.
These events reoccur at random in our dreams,
Occasionally we might recall some childhood fear.
Sometimes pushing the boundary of extremes,
but when most eyes open these dreams disappear.
“We have all got our “good old days”
tucked away inside our hearts,
and we return to them in dreams
like cats to favorite armchairs”
Brian Carter