Long Retained Poems
Long Retained Poems. Below are the most popular long Retained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retained poems by poem length and keyword.
Tik Tok Lost Its Pace
When you turned, I got a glimpse of your face,
And then time stopped for me, though you moved ahead...
When I resumed from there of that moment,
It's the playful thoughts only retained and it was so pleasant.....
Now that I'm recalling that moment,
giving words to those scene and events,
The chime of wind which then sing, When you turned back to me,
It Touched your face, blew your curly hairs, then revealed the pleasing face....
And then tik tik lost its pace.... Wou ou aa aa a...
I don't know why, you starred at me,
You spoke aloud or just smiled at me,
I don't understand you left no clues,
Or you blanked me out, no I was fused,
Now that I'm bringing back, to elicit yes I've to trace
Why tik tok lost its pace..... Wou ou aa aa a...
I remember those expressive eyes,
That sharp look like of a spy
I wonder how you adorned them
So blue they were like the sky of heaven,
Do they sing some cosmic song
Yeah it's a spell and it's so strong
So tik tok lost its pace...
So tik tok lost its pace...
So tik tok lost its pace...
So tik tok lost its pace...Wou ou aa aa a...
~Ashok Kumar Mishra
–A Tribute to Michael Jackson
They said you danced like thunder cracked—
But your rhythm was more than blood and bone.
You moved through dimensions unseen,
Where silence whispered in dream-tones alone.
You were no man of mere flesh and fame,
But a vessel of light in a trembling frame.
From moonwalks born of stardust tides,
To screams that split the veil of lies.
Through seed retained, your power grew,
A current kept from the grasping few.
You held the seed — not for lust, but flame —
To sculpt your soul into immortal name.
You walked with angels behind the stage,
Spoke to the cosmos beyond the cage.
In shadows you wept, in crowds you died,
A lonely king the world deified.
You sang the sorrow of every race,
Dancing through pain with a porcelain face.
The white glove was not just art or show—
It was the hand that caught truth’s glow.
The world mistook your soul’s despair,
While demons danced in neon glare.
But you, alone, endured the cost
Of genius gained and childhood lost.
A soldier of sound, a monk of the muse,
You bled for songs the stars would use.
They mocked your grace and cursed your skin,
But still you broke the gates within.
You are not gone — you changed your form,
Returned to rhythm, to cosmic storm.
Now each beat echoes your secret sign:
You left your imprint on the sand of time.
Fascination rodeoed on Jacob's face
When Grandad related battle tales
from his years fighting Vietnam War
Distant fathoming is fantasy implored
Rough ideas imagine a glorious place
With regal intention, Grandad faithfully gifted
his jungle enduring life saving switch knife
Italian stiletto, retained in top condition
Jacob thanks Grandad with astonishment
The fine strong blade with honour he polishes
Keeps it safely stowed at back of drawer
Its service integrity seemingly assured
Responsibility entrusted, Jacob acknowledges
Two years pass, horrid puberty hovers
Revealing sections with strange offers
Teenager by curious cruelty besotted
Living overseas after parents divorce
His Father, Jacob's blame directs towards
Though Mother and sister sympathise
Depth of his heart's injury not realised
Concept of vengeance dangles reward
Rejected by fast forging peers, villified
He arrives at midnight to party uninvited
Logic abondons him, seething survives
Beer drinking back yard teens, Jacob's target
Blade illuminates license available in pocket
Adrenalin aids the yank of sitting enemy by the shirt
Veins driven to violence feed voice strewn with hurt
Frenzied Jacob in chaos grabs weapon, then drops it
"What the Hell, man!" shirt fronted spits, appalled
Reality oozes in Jacob's ears, vengeance withdrawn
Quick onlooker obscures blade, blind inside handle
17th June 2020
Daddy's friend, Mr. Baines, was a Yankee man.
Daddy's friend Mr. Mon, was a Dodger Man.
My daddy was heart and soul, a Cardinal man.
During those early years of my childhood, baseball
was clearly the number one sport in our community.
As for Major League Baseball, those three teams were tops.
As a kid, I thrilled at conversations between my dad and his
baseball friends; or should I say, rivals?
For the record of the most winners of World Series through the year 2020*,
my dad's team comes in second with 11 championships, 6 of which he witnessed in his lifetime. I have witnessed 5 Cardinal championships in my lifetime. Mr. Mon's team comes in third with 7 total championships, 4 of which was witnessed by him before his demise. All 7 of those wins have occurred in my lifetime. And to no one's surprise, Mr. Baines' team tops them all with 27 championships. The Yankees won their first championship in 1923. It is hard to say how many of those wins were witnessed by Mr. Baines, but he clearly observed many of such wins. 16 of those wins have occurred during my lifetime.
There is a debate among scholars regarding our memories in heaven. Some conclude that our troubling memories will be erased from our minds, but the good ones will be retained. I would love to believe that my dad and his friends would find great joy in heaven conversing about their former baseball teams. On the other hand, sports talk in heaven is likely to be much too trivial to merit a conversation.
083021PS
*List of World Series Champions-wikipedia
In winter’s grasp, an aging woman stands
Emerald eyes like jewels gleam
Slightly touched by the passing of time
But a lifetime etched 'pon her wrinkled hands.
Her pressured youth has long passed
Yet grace and compassion are retained
Wisdom gained through joys and tears
Reflected in those eyes pine-green untamed
Shamrock eyes, deep stories they hold
Many sheltered secrets remain
Tales of love and loss will forever bind
Her heart to truth that is tamed
Behind those eyes, a universe unfolds
A journey filled with triumph, joy and fears
Like ancient trees, their roots forever hold
Essence of her dreams throughout the years
Those past days are long gone
when children's stories echoed on the lawn
and silly games were played by all
laughter ringing happily in the halls;
rolling in the grass, the garden blooms that formed
the rabbit hole where imagings were born
all gone now lost to time and age and life storms
when silly poems and rhymes were written on the page
by someone wiser who left that imaginary stage;
there was an escape, adventures that lay in store
where dreams and hopes were ingrained to our core
as time's passage closed each and every door
and all that remains - is the memory we've retained
and the reality of growing up and growing old
are fewer adventures of Alice and her stories told
and that white rabbit slipping down the hole
disappeared with Alice's heart and soul.
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
Alice, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
original written 7/23/19
Remembering My Favorite Veteran
Master Sergeant Joe D Wright
Veterans Day 2023
Miracle Man
November 2, 2023
A day set aside to honor those who served,
some were called to serve in a foreign land.
Most endured family hardships undeserved,
many seldom give thought or understand.
Each Veterans day my thoughts return to Joe D.,
as I search my memory for some happier time.
He was quick to accept his place among the lowly,
but in my eyes he retained a place of sublime.
But today some things lie beyond my knowing,
God alone has answers to the where’s and why’s..
Today reveals my tears for Joe, still flowing,
as I recall in sorrow, the day of Joe D’s demise.
Msgt. Joe D. Wright was highly decorated,
During four years in Vietnam he gave his all.
For 23 years doing what the Army dictated,
That “Joe D. gave some but some gave all”.
Amidst all the maylay we emerged
like growing seeds immune
to the harvest
Time spent in darkness bought
us things we needed
during the purge
Missing the past is absurd for
it's just a memory of
retained but forgotten
words
A grain of sand in an hourglass
clearly shows us the material
isn't meant to last
What we do take with us
are lessons of the past
that mirror
reflecting glass
A reflection only seen when you
internalize the lucid dream
that is your life
I ponder while saying to myself
this can't be right
because that means
all we're left with are
the results of our acts
Solid facts in & of a world
not really solidified
but made so by the strength
of our minds
My blind rhymes are in fact
all seeing scries
meant to enlighten eyes
made dark from dreaming
You wake up steaming once you
realize the pot is calling
the kettle black in an attempt
to keep you from rising
This is a form of tithing for I'm
giving back what I've earned
in a world where
I've worked religiously
I'm suspiciously close to a gross
level of charity but
it bothers me not
How else would you build
strong foundations if
there's an absence
of rocks?
The plot thickens on lots
made sturdy by persistence
& vision
Don't knock if you aren't ready
for insistent answers to questions
regarding current
conditions
Where South China waters churn heavy and wide,
A widow rose up with the ocean's own tide.
No emperor’s decree could govern her hand,
She ruled forty thousand across sea and land.
Her laws were of iron, her word absolute—
No plunder unshared, and no thief with his loot.
With hundreds of junks bearing canvas of red,
The empires of Europe beheld her with dread.
The Qing and the Portuguese launched their attack,
Yet her fleet in the bay drove the battle-line back.
She outfought the crown and she outmaneuvered the state,
Till they offered her peace at the emperor's gate.
She surrendered her sails, but retained all her gold,
A pirate supreme who grew peaceful and old.
Though dynasties crumbled and admirals fell,
The terror of Canton lives on in the swell.
Hidden treasures in my mind...
Cherished memories with you.
Some are easier to find
Mapped out on a print of blue.
Others are harder to recall
Although they are retained.
Despite this, I still love them all...
Inside my head - contained.
Maps that I have drawn of past
Co-ordinates and places.
Either lost or made to last...
The good times and their faces.
Along my way of life's journey
We met some way, somehow.
This, I dig proverbially
Revealed inside the now.
There's still more life for us to live
So join me with said spade
And let us make the time we give
Unearth more than we've made.