Long Responded Poems
Long Responded Poems. Below are the most popular long Responded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Responded poems by poem length and keyword.
Some say that life is just around
The corner,
Some say that fun is just around
The corner
But unless you’ve been there yourself
You wouldn’t understand the billboard
Above the corner store.
Although things change, it’ll surprise you
What stays the same.
What ghost appears & possesses you
One second to the next.
Barely visible labels taken down
& replaced,
Old rusted metal.
A small reminder that things can
& will be replaced.
Just through the intersection,
Just around the corner.
Some say that things just aren’t
The way they use to be.
The news broadcasts certain events
That take place under the billboard.
A mans been shot five times &
The police still haven’t responded.
Unless you’re a bear wearing a headdress
Wearing shades, & riding a dull grey bike.
You’ll search for a place to belong too,
Up high above on the billboard,
Above the corner store.
Unless you live on this side of town.
You wouldn’t understand,
Why he peddles the way he does
The younger I was, the quicker and kinder
I responded to love, and believing in sharing,
I spread that kindness to anyone fonder
of my perception that all were deserving.
I gave all and kept nothing to shelter me from fear;
everybody thought I didn't need up-lifting words,
and being left without the courage to ask, I sank deeper
into loneliness being caught up in loveless thoughts.
I yearned for their friendship, but none came...
and by putting on an alluding smile, it didn't help indeed,
because they assumed I wasn't in need;
if only they had known me better, I wouldn't bear this blame!
Even now, being lonely and caught up in loveless thoughts,
desire for happiness doesn't seem stronger than it was!
The time has come to end this life of mine,
The time has come to leave everything unimportant permanently behind.
All of my rescues will be cared for and comfortable, as promised to me,
by a true friend that I trust unquestionably.
The nest is now empty.
There is now only me.
"I can't believe that it's true," I thought in a state of disbelief.
"Have I died? Have I died finally?
Am I Now In Heaven?" I cried joyfully.
I left my apartment on the spot,
I didn't even bother to hang around and collect my deposit.
A friendly stranger approached me and engaged in superficial conversation,
and inevitably came to ask me, "Where are you from?"
"I have been waiting all of my life," I responded, "to say this to someone.
My place of residence is a box office where I receive all of my mail,
but my home is the endless wilderness trail,
awakening each morning to a brand new panoramic view,
observing all forms of foliage, landscapes and wildlife, both familiar and new,
falling asleep every evening under a galaxy of stars,
to the sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs,
and when the trail brings me close to a nearby town,
I might just step off the trail and hang around,
check into a motel, enjoy a restaurant meal,
resupply the next day, and then it's back into the field,
of rock climbs, stream crossings and finally, a decent camp site,
where once again under the stars I'll drift asleep for another night.
As the winter approaches my home in the northern region,
I'll hike my home trail south where the temperature is more comforting.
I am finally home everyone,
and from this day foward every day will be cause for celebration."
He looked at me as if confused,
not knowing how to respond or what to do,
then he looked away smiling,
muttering,
softly saying,
"Good for you."
He didn't understand, few often do,
nor do they understand such a nomadic lifestyle as one anyone would choose.
The only possible explanation,
that I could offer to anybody, is that I have none.
In order for you to understand this life choice of mine completely,
you would quite literally plain and simply have to be me.
"Are you afraid of them?", the reporter asked
It was a blatant question, a bit too crass
One on the bleeding edge of ruthless
Even if it came off seemingly toothless
I contemplated my answer, as one should with the media
And thought of all the past shootings, from my personal Wikipedia
And responded with an allegory, to get the point across
For with the media, the truth is what often gets lost
"I am not afraid of the bullet, as it sits idle
Be it on the ground, chambered as a round, or hanging from a bible.
It is not the gun, nor who pulls the trigger
It is simply the end result of something much bigger
It is used with the intent to resolve a problem
Though the means is crude and is quite confused with how to solve them
So it does so the only way it knows how
By tearing into the problem, and pulling life out
The thing I fear is the path it follows
It chases dreams deferred and leaves heart hollow
It passes through walls with wanton endangerment
and presses into more lives in a lethal entanglement"
The reports were silent, cameras clicking quietly
As I looked at the room, seeing a sample of society
I sighed to myself, quite done with the politics
This parade of charades and the tired bag of tricks
"Lets talk about what really ended this young man's life
Was it the bullet itself, as it caused trauma and strife?
Was it the weapon it was fired from, with a standard flashlight?
Or the officer who fired it, claiming he feared for his life?
Was it the concerned citizen who called it in?
Who gave inaccurate information that started this spin?
Information that clearly displayed the trend
That she hated the color of his skin
I say this without remorse
As a society we are fighting a symptom while ignoring its source
He died because of his color, and his color is not a sin
But what killed him was a hate that never ends
This is not something that can be solved with a bullet
It is a systemic issue, with the lives to prove it
This is an issue bigger than what we agree it to be
It is old as class warfare, as old as slavery
So my answer to your question I must say
I do not fear the bullet, no not today
What I fear is the fact that we don't talk
About the hate we see, and the path we choose to walk
France beat Argentina four to three
In that game Mbappe was the key
Then they defeated Uruguay two goals to nil
As Uruguay's goalie let one spill
In the semis it was Belgium they faced
France headed one in with victory's embrace
They were in the finals, but who would they play
Would England beat Croatia and win the day?
As it turned out, the three lions couldn't roar
They were coming home with no trophy in store
So the final was set, Croatia and France
Two great teams would get their chance
In the finals France took a free kick
But when the Croatian defender did a head flick
The ball ended up in his own goal!
It seemed France would be on a roll
Croatia responded with a brilliant strike
It traveled so fast, it was rocket-like
But France added 3 more to the score
And they lifted the trophy once more!
Start
Enclosed in a glass casket
Cuddled in a flower-decked basket
She lay serene as ever
No sign of her past fervor
Resting in her last abode
Before the journey by road
To her final burial site
For performing the last rite
Dignitaries came to pay their last respect
Placed a wreath, sad and circumspect
Consoled the members who were dear
To reduce their sorrow and repress a tear
She ruled the state for over a decade
Hailed as the Iron lady, never swayed
Adored by the masses, especially poor
She was the mother to all and a doer
Millions of mourners thronged the street
Wishing she was alive for them to meet
Sea of humanity surged in a melancholy state
Thumping their chests and lamenting their fate
Alas! She can’t hear their mourning cries
It’s a feeling no one can ever reprise
Slowly the coffin was lowered into the grave
The sea responded with a mighty wave.
UNSUPPORTED CODE
Son asked the father, where have you left my mother?
I couldn't see her face as she was undercover.
Why you haven't allowed me to see her even,
The Father showed the sky and said, your mother is in heaven.
In the dark night, father was weeping silently,
Son came out of the room to search mother blindly.
Mother, come back,I will not ask anything from you in future,
No one responded to his innocent call near or further.
Son searched the sky trying to find the mother there,
Father didn't not know how to console his son here.
Both were in tears to have lost the person so dear,
The Night remains silent ,both eyes full of tears.
Discolored ,broken sea-shells
scattered through an unprestine sand,
while those sea-gulls feast on wiggling fish;
remainants of what once was
life tossed ashore:
where the observant
wasn't clement
as if they serve no purpose...
Polluted beach, where folks bake
confidently in the sizzling heat,
not far from discarded and
stenching beer bottles;
it is the perfect oasis
of a compulsive drunken
who drank excessively
regardless of a ban!
Is he that beach bum who sleeps and eats
in a tent made of different materials like silk?
I gaze around this untidy place,
and to the right a gorgeous town
awakens to sound,stretching out to the busy bay
guarded by a white-wash light-house
as that police helicopter thrusts itself
through a nebulous athmosphere,
hiding from its limited sight
the blinding solar light...
Yesterday, the gray-winged swans
bathed in soft-rolling waves;
they jolted when they heard
the children's screams
while the splashing,salt water
got in their excited pupils:
it certainly was
an unexpected surprise...
I imagined to be the boldest captain
when this harbor brought in ships
for a long stay,giving sailors
a chance to roam in town
to find romance:
until their stamina wore off,
forgetting about the guilt
or the vows they solemnly took...
I greeted the park ranger
with a cordial good-morning,
he responded with warmth;
he carried his wide,green hat
in his right swinging hand
and gladly smiled while sweat
ran down his shiny,shaved head!
He continued his long walk by scanning
with his vigilant eyes: everything
from bridges to shore...
Polluted beach,where I couldn't
lie down and idle away
my worry-free afternoon;
it's so strange to see weeds grow on it,
and people still spread their long towels
like they had run out of places to tan!
I'll find another beach
cleaner than the one I've seen,
without the annoying bugs
that make me itch...
Sad news about Winged Warrior
I just received word from the family of John Torchia, better known as Winged Warrior here on the soup, has passed away at the age of 61. He was fighting cancer and no one knew about it except for his family, and me. My last communication with John was about two months ago, he wanted to work on a Christian song together but he wasn't feeling well. He wanted me to let everyone on Poetry Soup know that he apologizes for not posting recently and not commenting as he normally does. I know he was beloved here for his deeply spiritual poetry, and his remarkable vocabulary, he truly loved writing and we all no doubt will miss him very much. I suspected something was wrong lately as he never responded to my phone messages or emails, it is with a heavy heart that I bear this sad news. RIP my friend....
John Derek Hamilton
11/ 9/2020
We big, tough, well-thinking male bearberries blew and we snarled and we spouted and we blew.
But those danged dandelions obstinately kept their tops on, no matter how much we did fuss.
Come on fellas, I said to my fellow bearberries. Here is just what we’ll do…
“I’m not taking them!” I screamed at B.B.2, our leader, a passive little cuss.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
I am so sorry Tiger Lilies, he told them. It’s just us bear berries today. He shot an apologetic look to T.L. 1 and T.L. 402.
I am sick and tired of my whole life being video- recorded by those selfie-taking nut-buckets, I told him, indignant, and with an angry face.
They will clean your house, wash your floors, pay your bills, wax your car, and do your laundry, said B.B. 2.
I don’t care if my house implodes on its dirtiness, I retorted. Just keep them in their place.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
Tiger Lily 58 sneaked back into the Bearberry Lodge, where Tiger Lilies are never supposed to be.
We did not see her at first as she used her invisibility tablet to reach us; I felt her heat on the back of my neck, before I saw her.
She began to give me a really nice, warm, massage and sweet backrub which was the best I had had times three.
Wow! What is that? I asked myself, as I began getting tingly and happy all over, and down under.
I guess I was talking about these wonderful tiger lilies, our allies.
My dad had told me a long time ago that the best pairings in the meadow was always a BB and a T.L.
Who are you? I whispered to Tiger Q. Lily 58. I am your soul mate, she responded, can you please meet me at 2?
Where? I wondered, and she immediately conveyed that she would be at northern rise of Bunny P. Hill.
I will be there with my matching rings, I told her. Are you ready? Yes, she agreed. No one else will do.
I am now hitched to a wonderful tiger lily, and all my mean thoughts
toward T.L.'s seem pretty damned silly.
(And I don’t care whether or not the dandelions ever lose their
tops. They are of no use to me now.)
Dated: May 12,2018