Long Replaying Poems
Long Replaying Poems. Below are the most popular long Replaying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Replaying poems by poem length and keyword.
THE PIPER He came from nowhere piping. We danced and danced in his trail. Our eyes popped out as elation swayed us. Suddenly, His pipe creaked and cracked. All feet hung as
sky dimmed her lights...
Silhouettes of Gun -shooting Devils everywhere..
Plodding hands of death lurking in the dark, lurking in the open... like hawk, Hawking chicken... Human heads fallen off as of woodcutters in frenzy.
cutting down trees.
Cry, my beloved Country!, Nigeria! how fast you fade, fading into oblivion, like a soviet. Oh Soviet! I bemoan you; once a cathedral's bell, you chimmed for all nations, now a shadow lying beneath history.
And the Piper! Now a prisoner for his people because he said no to a carnibal system, because he said no to a divide and rule system...
Your music is forever replaying to our hearts.
By Akudolu Ignatius
We lie in the dark,
my back to his chest, clinging to one of his arms.
This moment is beautiful, tender, and I cherish it.
The silence is broken and his voice rumbles in my ear.
"Tell me about your past, my dear."
My life flashes past my eyes, quick as lightning.
Panic sets in, I gulp, sweat, attempt to avoid.
He sees through it all and persists.
Tears threaten to overwhelm me,
as internally I burn this moment into my mind, heart, and soul.
I silently tell him, my love, goodbye.
"My young life has been hard, painful, overwhelming.
I've been shot, nearly stabbed, nearly choked to death on the railroad tracks.
I've screamed for help so many times by choking on pills, sitting on train tracks, slicing my wrists.
Abused by a brother, abandoned by a father, neglected by a mother.
Kicked out, homeless, stealing candy from a gas station."
His arms tighten the more I speak, and I regret telling him anything at all.
But he has asked and I cannot deny him.
The words begin to flow like a car crash that I am powerless to stop.
"The abuse seemed kind when it happened, from lovers of my past.
Though each had specific rules, that I discovered fast.
I could not touch one unless upon seduction.
I could not trust her, for her death was near upon my fingers.
I loved one; they preferred to see me suffer, for I wished to make them happy."
I can feel the anger radiate from his body,
coiled tight, wanting a target.
I know it's fueled by a sadness, I cannot feel.
And yet I continued.
"I've suffered from nightmares for years, waking to tears or screaming.
I am easy to fright, even when unwarranted.
The PTSD causes me to flinch or jump at near every sound.
PTSD, insomnia, depression,
I've fallen down flights of stairs,
taken care of everyone else and have neglected myself."
I stare into the darkness as the words finally stop,
everything that ever happened replaying through my mind again,
from a new perspective.
Still I cannot feel the true tragedy of it.
I realize I have recited these things, in a monotone voice.
Devoid of the pain I must have felt.
But I am the rock, the caretaker, the forgiver.
He is silent with me, his arms an iron cage,
and I cannot breathe.
I do not mind.
He inhales deeply, his voice nearly inaudible he simply speaks.
"I will always be here for you."
And my heart finally breaks.
A dreaming man in the state of REM
sees the dream as a reality
rivers of thoughts like sparkling gems
reveling in his new found sanity.
hours ago, a dozen empty bottles
deafening music and cheesy sizzles
gagging from second hand smoke
rhetorical nagging, senseless jokes
laser lights blinding, dancing to tune
a guy signing, sounding like a croak
who was better off in the heat of the dunes
Staggering dizzily up steep stairs
without acrobatic skills of balance and grace
like in a masquerade with ladies all fair
behind his mask, the unseen face
drooling and smelling of alcohol
like in a trance at this dream ball
as dim lights lead to his abode
soft music playing in shuffle mode
eager for that soft fluffy pillow
to unburden all of the days load
into this dreamy soft silo
Rumbling snores fill the bunk
like thunder after the blinding bolt
deep into the sea of linen he is sunk
impervious even from a jarring jolt
closed eyes start to move and spin
like in a search that is to begin
falling , falling into deeper slumber
into a world far, far beyond yonder
played out by his own memories
a scene of a goose and a gander
replaying happy childhood stories
Splattering water drops in constant dripping
from a leaky rusty faucet
old china strewn in the sink, smelling
like a stale stiff baguette
while a cockroach enjoys the rich dinner
laid out in a gold rimmed platter
unmindful of the thundering snores
that sends minute tremors down the floor
munching, licking, chewing, gnawing…
eating his fill till he can eat no more
while others continue their wild feasting
As light beams transform dark to day
cutting through mists, reflecting in dew
heralded by songs of love birds at play
as the sweet smell of neighbors hot brew
sings along from a whistling pot
a morning harmony he never forgot
as he struggles up from bed
ringing in his ears, knocking in his head
dizzily dragging himself to the mirror
staring at eyes of blood shot red
as he strains to reach his trusted razor.
His hangover lasted for 3 hours to the dot
couldn’t get to work, so sheepishly he just sat
his job hanging from a thin thread
and a nagging that he hears in his head
round and round he swirls the stirrer
of the hot coffee and a piece of bread
he gingerly asked from his good old neighbor.
Awol on the aeorta,
I've built a wall around my heart,
Trying to suppress that which is grieving,
But it's still ripping me apart,
The night falls, elevating whispers,
From the silent gasps and muffled breaths,
Of a young lady in her twenties,
Crying alone and quite depressed, (left in distress)
I recognize her, I recognize this,
A mirrored scene like deja vu,
A woman weaping for a fallen soldier,
Only this time, I am you,
Those last moments start flickering,
Upon the gloomy, dark display,
Of closed lids, soggy eye-lids,
Projecting everything on replay,
My hands grasping the sheets,
My mind on forward and rewind,
As if on cue, I hear you too,
Amongst my stifled cries
My conscience replaying the voice,
Hunting me now is the sound,
Of those uttered words, that still disturb,
You sounding so sure, it's resound
"Call me, I'll be here", I hear you tell me,
Though your presence now lost,
A call too late, maybe on the wrong date
My sanity (it) shall cost,
"Call me, I'll be here", again it echoes.
Best said, forgiveness I now seek
My heart racing, my memory chasing,
Every essence of you makes me weap,
I still remember you crying in Daddy's ears,
Moments before he passed me the phone,
Yet when we spoke you changed your tone,
For me you wanted to be strong,
How alarming it was to hear you cry,
Like a leap year, (it was) a rare occaission
You stood tall and with pride, taking fear for a ride,
Standing at a whopping 5'11,
But it seems one day on Friday the 13th,
While you were stationed on the army base,
A gun was triggered, by the love of your life,
Which continues to baffle me to this day,
It was he, who you cried for when speaking to father,
A lost soldier conquering demons of the mind,
A mental affliction called PTSD
Deteriorated his spirit over time,
He was a soldier in pain, with PTSD,
Even more a father, a spouse, in distraught,
His sweet baby, The heart of his world,
Now the source of his paranoid thought,
Persistent accusations of cheating,
And all the places his mind did go,
The struggle he bore to fight those demons,
Now just part of the media’s show.
I try to find a level of understanding
But this battle I fight on my own,
As guilt consumes me, recurrent thought
Why hadn't I dialed your phone...
In time
entering into the Sea of Words contest by Leighann Anderson 7/3/2011
Remembering...
I was 27 years old, and in my second year of working for my first real "grown
-up"
job. There is something powerful about wearing a pair of pressed matching scrubs, a
name tag addressed by first name only, and a stethoscope around the neck( a lot
heavier than the plastic one I was so accustomed to in my junior doctor kit.) I
thought I had the answer to any medical problem thrown my way...I was wrong.
In between bringing patients to their rooms, the receptionist, who is the spitting
image of Barbie, minus the plastic legs, informed me I had a phone call, and is very
important.
Being my first "personal" call at my job as a registered medical assistant, I
immediately had to remove my "work hat" and don my "me hat", something I tend to
lack some knowledge in.
My head overflowing with a thick fog, I try to navigate everything out before saying
the usual greeting, to no avail.
My sweaty palm takes hold of the receiver and a voice I barely recognize mouths the
appropriate greeting;
This is the phone call that would change my life forever...
I could sense through the black receiver plastered with a large "911" sticker, my
mom has been crying for quite sometime. Her trembling followed the same route I took home from work everyday after I left work and went
home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home
voice cracking the words of an accident.
With the word accident replaying over and over like a 33 vinyl record skipping at the
best part of the song, I hung up the phone.
I began to wipe the stream before it formed a puddle on the dirty blue carpet of the
doctors office.
Coworkers hands patting me on the shoulder, back, hand and arm, I was taking on the role of the patient, with not a clue of what to say or do.
I got in my beat-up white Mazda 210, not sure where the road would lead me. I followed the same route I took home from work everyday and went home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home sweet home, where
everything is so routine. I so longed for that right now. I pulled into the driveway, alone, scared, confused, and filled with the question of why .
I stumble to the front odor. to be continued....
Japan's consequences were a little more apparent, and devastating. Japan's once great city of Hiroshima, lay in ruin, a barren wasteland, with its entire population, sixty thousand individuals, perished instantly in one bright and intense flash. The first casualties of nuclear power in the "Atomic Age." Another forty thousand individuals, living further from the blast crater, barely escaping annihiliation; only to suffer an unpredictable, yet inevitable death sentence. Forced to suffer seconds, days, months, even years before the radiation coursing through their bodies killed them as well. Their dying days spent replaying their observation of the events of that day and the image of everyone they ever knew being instantly vaporized into dust.
The victims of America's cruel and vicious attack were not war hardened soldiers, having already accepted the possible fate of fighting a war with a country as brutal as the United States. Sadly, most of the victims were innocent civilians; mothers, fathers, siblings, and children, ranging in age from vibrant newborns to the weakened old. All unaware of their impending doom. No different were these civilians than the American soldiers families enjoying the comfort and safety of their American homes. The only thing these people were guilty of, being born and continuing to live in a nation that opposed the Great American Empire. The guilty parties in this matter, were the American leaders ordering the airstrike and the twelve men who carried it out. Both, displaying a complete disregard for human life, or a shred of decency. The totality of the death, devastation, and destruction, the three D's of a Nuclear attack, was absolutely horrific, sickening even.
With their actions, these men provided the perfect definition for the word, Atrocity. Made even worse by the fact, that two days later, they did it again, this time to the Japanese city of Nagasaki. Answering for the death of 2,403, by killing roughly 250,000 innocent Japanese civilians, is not appropriate retaliation. In truth, it was then, and still is today, the worst example of a nation's atrocity in human existence, absolute evil. How anyone is still proud of being American after the year 1945, defies understanding. The only question remaining, is "How proud are you?"
The stars reached back
Each night
When I prayed that I would wake up and the pain would be over
And that everything everyone had ever said to me
And every name they had ever called me
Was all a bad dream
The worst, shittiest nightmare of a dream
That never ended
No matter how many times I fell asleep
Because sleep was my escape
But escapes don’t last forever
And dreams don’t last forever
But nightmares can last forever
But, no matter what, I can’t help you
You miserable excuse for a friend
You ruined what I was
You hardened the face that once smiled
The face that used to light up a room
Had been hardened to stone by a society
That believed that “gay” was synonymous with “weird”
And that “bully” was synonymous with “joke”
But the fact is you were the joke
The joke that kept replaying in my head
And laughing at me
Even after the jokes had stopped the joke kept going
The joke was me; I was a joke to everyone, even myself
And my dad would joke that I should man up
And my mom would joke that the other kids were insecure
And my brother would joke that he made it through
And everyone else would joke that “boys will be boys”
But I didn't see the joke in any of it
There was no joke in my tears
And there was no joke in the forty pounds I lost when I stopped eating
You just can’t get enough of the pain
But your pain doesn’t have to be my pain
So, so what if boys aren’t supposed to cut themselves?
And so what if boys aren’t supposed to cry?
And so what if boys aren’t supposed to be the ones who become anorexic?
I’m a boy and I did it all
And what can you say about yourself?
You’re a sad excuse for a boy
So put away the guns and fists
And pick up a pen and a paper
And figure yourself out
Before you tear someone else down to their foundation
And let the rain ruin their ability to stand themselves
And I think
That the healing came
When I realized that someday you would be on the bottom
And someone would tear you down
And you would sit there as the rain poured in
And you would drown in your regret
And I would still send out a life jacket for you
Because you ruined the outside smile
But you didn’t ruin the inside faith
And the faith got me through
Because tomorrow is brighter
And the sunshine does come after the rain
If I have to talk about love
I don't think I will be able to
As I don't believe I have fallen in love yet
The powerful, all-devouring and most importantly requited kind
The warm hugs, late-night conversations and the days spent together kind
The kind that I yearn for - I haven't found it yet
But if I have to talk about love
I'll talk about the butterflies I felt in my stomach when he held me for the first time as I stumbled
I'll talk about the electricity coursing through my veins due to the slightest contact our arms made as we brushed past each other
I'll talk about the hours I spent waiting in the crowd for the slightest glimpse of him
I'll talk about the bus rides and our conversations - short-lived but still a reality
I'll talk about the way my heart was beating as I spoke to him for the first time
I'll talk about the ecstasy I felt as he tried to hold my hand
I'll talk about the sleepless nights I spent replaying each and every moment I spent with him in my mind, until he disappeared, and only his memories remained
But if I have to talk about love
I have to also talk about falling out of it
I'll talk about the butterflies I felt in my stomach as he raked his eyes over my body after I wore something he wanted me to - only this time, the butterflies were accompanied by an incomprehensible anxiety
I'll talk about the times I sat, listening to his advice knowing damn well that everything he said was an attempt at moulding me into the kind of girl he liked
I'll talk about the moment he refused to speak to me, for reasons beyond my knowledge or understanding, reasons that will forever evade me
I'll talk about the way I cut my eyes away after seeing him, even though I spent an hour in his wait
I'll talk about the triumph I felt when I gathered the courage to delete his leftover traces from my life - and it felt like an achievement
I'll talk about the moment the realisation dawned on me that I was never loved, just used and manipulated - and the shame I felt after
I'll talk about the day my heart let go of him and I finally became free from the love I felt for him
I'll talk and talk and talk
And in the end, I will make myself believe that it was never love in the first place; just lust.
I.
Maureen looked down at her swollen belly
as her husband drove to the hospital,
she couldn’t believe the day had arrived,
but soon she would know childbirth in full,
and their life would be anything but dull.
She and Mark would have a child of their love,
they just had to get through some hours rough.
She was scared, there was no doubt about that,
but she was strangely very happy too,
okay, maybe that wasn’t all that strange,
but it was novel to her point of view,
everything they were facing was so new.
They pulled up and parked, then walked slowly in,
ready for this adventure to begin.
Things all started off easily enough,
Maureen was quite early in her labor,
she signed in and filled out all of the forms,
was given a room and ever a neighbor,
thought she had a bad opinion of her.
She was a tough figure, covered all in ink,
swore like a sailor, liked to shout, not think.
Maureen frowned at this, tried to shut it out,
tried to focus in on what was coming,
began replaying the Lamaze classes,
heard the advice her birth-coach was sharing,
it helped to slow her heart’s rapid beating.
An hour in the junkie screamed out loud,
“Get your ass in here! This s--t’s coming now!”
Maureen cringed at the woman’s angry tone,
but such thoughts son vanished quickly away
when the woman screamed like she had been stabbed,
the kid was coming, no more would he wait,
the doctors rushed in as he cried, had his say.
Maureen’s eyes widened as she realized
she’d heard the first screams of that child’s life.
They moved the woman out of there quickly,
and Maureen felt a chill run down her spine,
something about all she’d heard just felt wrong,
she couldn’t say what, it just felt malign,
and thoughts of this lingered long on her mind.
She tried to refocus on her coming lot,
then she felt a sharp pain...in the wrong spot.
She yelped out loud and Mark jump to his feet,
then ran out to find a doctor or nurse,
several rushed in, one cried,”She’s bleeding!
Get her to surgery, before it gets worse!”
Maureen just helplessly cried out,”It hurts!”
She passed out in pain while pushed down the hall,
a small mercy that she was out for it all…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
You know, some days I will be sitting in class,
And wonder who will call on me next?
Kind of feels like this snake slithering up my back,
Relentlessly savoring the sweat dripping down my spine.
Kind of feels like I am at the beach,
Everything is going well and I’m finally happy.
Then suddenly a ship comes through,
And this wave of fear comes over me.
You know, I wish I could sit here and say
It was only fear…
But my parents taught me not to lie,
So let me give you the raw truth.
Anxiety is worrying about things that happened,
Way in the past.
Anxiety is laying on your bed all day,
Terrified to even move because you may mess up.
Anxiety is constant movement of my body,
Just to balance out the screaming inside my mind.
Anxiety is crying alone in the dark,
For fear of telling anyone of our problems.
Anxiety is not being able to breath while sitting in class,
Because my mind is running so fast my lungs cannot catch up.
The only way to attempt a stress relief
Is to shift in my chair, back and forth, back and forth.
Anxiety isn’t just stress,
It is constantly replaying episodes over, over, and over,
Until you are so mentally exhausted that sleep
Is your only escape.
Of course sleep doesn’t come very fast,
For the dark allows for more time to think.
And when you think you often assume the worst
Of an event that hasn’t even happened.
Anxiety is pretending everything is perfect,
While on the inside your stomach feels like you should be in a horror movie.
For letting someone know only causes more anxiety,
Because I become worried that you may leave me...
You know, the great thing about anxiety
Is that we are never alone.
Anxiety ranks as one of the most
Common disorders.
Anxiety is a monster that feeds on weakness,
The only way to beat it is to be strong.
But how can I be strong when so many people
Seem to be judging every single move I make?
That may sound irrational,
But to me I am remembering how
I messed up during a class discussion
And how many unhappy faces are present.
I feel so much guilt and shame,
I never want to leave the peace of my room.
Such quiet peace,
Such, quiet, quiet, peace.