Long Retrieved Poems
Long Retrieved Poems. Below are the most popular long Retrieved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retrieved poems by poem length and keyword.
writing is daydreaming on paper or sometimes straight into a computer.
notes crossed out, smacked around, slashed, re-visited, starred, circled,
checked, underlined, slashed out again, retrieved.
after print has happened, it all begins anew. I count the syllables,
make six hundred tally marks on the page, slash out, cross out, circle,
write OKAY in big letters, draw arrows, put Xs, start rearranging.
Using 1, 2, 3, and A, B,C, as I valiantly try to figure out where
the next line is going, or whether to even keep it.
I sit down to figure it out, and decide it will be easier to begin
again, rather than edit what has already been typed. So I begin again,
slashing, dashing, drawing, starring, circling, smacking, cracking,
discarding, resurrecting.
the life of this writer.
There was a time with raging blaze
when suspension lost track
in bad faith and delusion
and bridges burnt ahead
Cold it was despite my soul engulfed in fire
which left its raging spirits
in restless stagnant apathy
called Self and void oblivion
Smoulder and ember blocked the way
forward and lava froze over
a hell bent on endless dead ends
from fake comfort and corrupt deceit
An angel dressed in blue cotton picked up trapped remains
Little did I known of red Princess lace and her thoughtful mind
Not that violet lips would blow upon me kisses and embrace
That walking dead on ashes could invigorate our tender path
Then came a time when shadows realigned
quivers trembled in heated passion
abeyance lit a joyful path of no return
abandonment became abundance
Left behind remained false horizons and ruins
a fading chill forsook frozen memories
retrieved our long forgotten souls
and shone a torch of loving peace
With nothing left to leave behind but dissembled disillusion
Skin touched upon moist fragrant skin and journeys merged
Seduced reclusion into sizzling fingertips searching the source
Blissfully naked we vowed to only burn bridges which we crossed
There are some great people
Who treat you as their own pupil
Until you confront a trouble
some great persons are there
All the euphoric events they share
After fathoming your agony, don't they dare care
There are some great minds
To hear your happy verses they incline
And when you lament, they abruptly decline
By embracing you, they make you ween they are gem
And desperately shove off, when you need them
Not even the almighty can predict their traits
But the time could rip up the masks tight
And when you perceive them and try to dodge
Ungrateful person you are, they accord a badge
When time unveils these personalities
Be thankful that it also retrieved your ability
Having discerning true faces of those great peep
Be thankful that you are able to know them deep
"I carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart)I am never without it"
Quote _ by E.E. Cummings
in my thoughts today
mister of montgomery-
a pure-bred collie
with our three young kids
he seemed like a fourth with fur-
just one of the gang
he played beside them
retrieved twigs and rubber balls-
wrestled on the lawn
at each school day's end
on time, top of the driveway-
met them at the bus
he protected us;
strangers beware, yet always-
our gentle giant
one sad day he laid
outside the back shed, lifeless-
our hearts were broken
at this favored place
where he loved to rest, we shared-
forever goodbyes
September 2, 2022
Contest: Writing Challenge: In My Heart- S Forms - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Lost To Heaven - Mister Dog
Dear mrs. Hollywood
This will be my only letter
I hope it's understood
Once done you'll know me better
It seems, my lack of self esteem
Helped mold your false impression
This quite possibly may sting
But consider it a blessing
I pampered your pride
Added stuffing to your rear
But the truth is, I lied
It's time to make that clear
You weren't the image of perfection
I let you believe to be
Never the reflection
I wanted looking back at me
Now that your turned around
I'm letting this burden fly
If you hear a praising sound
You'll be sure it isn't I
Tales of the glory, of being you
Began to burn my ears
I'm smarter than you think and I accrue
Things I've heard over the years
A mom with a business centered mind
You measure achievement by wealth
That poor little girl, always left behind
Alone on her grand carousel
You're starved for power, parched for fame
And you finally got a taste
Several people have learned your name
As you win your invisible race
I give you credit for climbing so high
The clouds now cover your feet
You reach your hand to my surprise
But it was your ego that needed to eat
You quickly retrieved your limb
Retracting it from my reach
Lucky for me, I know how to swim
And was never much of a leech
So this is how I'll say farewell
Nothing more, required
You chose the time to bail
My loyalty has expired
Years ago I did so choose, to go on a Caribbean clipper ship cruise,
and, in addition to several other islands,
anchored off Nevis, northwest of Saint Kitts,
where, in the late 1780's, Nelson had lived,
and still bears traces of his presence today,
in various parts, pieces and bits.
When our windjammer Skipper informed us,
'Shopping here's good, snorkeling is bad,'
I avoided the former, sought out the latter,
and, as a matter of fact, a good time was had,
for no sooner had I ducked under,
two feet from the waterline,
in about one foot deep (shallow) water,
tho' visibility was, in inches, no more than nine,
I espied a white clay churchwarden pipe,
which I retrieved, broken, not whole,
with one third of the stem, and most of the tobacco-burned bowl.
1787, Nelson married the widow Fanny Nisbet on Nevis,
and, as the island he was about to depart,
'Desist smoking or else!'
Horatio may have heard her insist or impart,
and that which I found, I've a mind to say,
was his very last pipe, he'd reluctantly tossed overboard,
on that sunny day, when, as Captain of Boreas, he sailed away.
Her story ends in a storage unit;
she wrote it quickly in-between bottles of Liebfraumilch
- her life so far,
an autobiography hard to imagine
could have been told in any other way.
The editing took many toll-taking years
decades that squeezed themselves into her soul
fearful of being overheard.
A tell-tale flotsam of hurried escapes,
the litter of abandoned rented apartments,
dockets of disarray, a tally of wrong choices,
unkept residue locked away for a better day.
Among the put-away, a ‘little brother’ manual typewriter
in a suitcase marked ‘mine,’
one edge crushed by a jumble of household items.
Various chunks of collateral clutter,
now stricken in a clamshell of dinge,
objects acquired when the idea of a ‘household’
had a life raft attached to it.
Perhaps one day she will be in place, perfectly set
and equipped to fit somewhere,
but as yet she finds herself unable to write
about certain uncertain matters.
Could have pawned the typewriter.
Could have found less impoverished lovers.
Could have paid the storage bill
before it was emptied,
Should have retrieved the typewriter,
would have then rewritten her life
from a muddled manuscript of memory
forsaking all other versions.
Time is the master
These are the words that I hear
Time is the master
My mother's words kept ringing in my ear
Patience keep testing my soul
Patience is knocking at the door
Time is the master
Time settle the score and time breaks the door
Time is waiting to reveal the truth
Time knows everything about me and you
Time is the master
I drove down the back side of the park
where it was quiet and had no one within
But as soon as I got there the demons appeared
and the County school bus kept going round
and round the bend with cars following behind them
creating a disturbing nuisance in nature
I crawled in the bushes to block out the distraction
But as soon as I start writing the entire verse disappeared
I did not delete it and I could not retrieved it
I look around to see if anyone was there
but it was just me the trees and the birds
And instantaneously an old Caribbean folk song surface in the air
"Come let us go down Emmanuel road girls and boys
to break rock stone"start shouting in my head
I sang for a while then continued my writing
Time is the master
Trees standing tall in the forest
Trees leaning against each other
bearing one another's weight
waiting patiently for the master
Trees of assorted size, fat , plump, thin and slander
Short trees, tall trees getting ready to roll the dice
Trees standing on stump gutted way down to the bump
Trees that would make good firewood looked at me in silence
Fallen trees lying in the same place for decades
with decaying trunks and worms falling from their face
The birds stand on their wounded shoulders
complaining to one another
Trees that stood the test of time
signaled that nothing can uproot the divine
Trees anchored in the ground for fifty two years
sucking the life out of everyone far and near
spreading and catapulting its branches all over the land
captivating and confusing everyone
They stand still waiting
Waiting for the wind
In which direction will it blow
Only God knows
How do you explain the nature of things
Follow me down Emmanuel road
To break rock stone and we will see how it goes
Time is the master of all things.
I’m reading a book that I’ve read once before,
But it’s not for the reason you’re thinking.
It’s not that I loved it, but rather because
As I’m aging, my memory’s shrinking.
The author is someone whose writing I like,
Yet the title I didn’t recall.
It was published a number of years ago, still
It did not sound familiar at all.
So I brought the book home and I started to read
And I felt something tug at my brain;
For the characters’ problems allowed me to see
I was walking familiar terrain.
From the nooks and the crannies where info is stored,
I retrieved little bits that adhered;
But enough of the story’s retained its suspense,
For the bulk of it has disappeared.
I’ve decided that I will keep reading this book
And in case this may find you perplexed,
Though I’ve read it before – I’m quite sure of it now –
I have no idea what happens next!
Eighteen years of wild youth
and I moved forward in search of life's truths.
Suddenly, I was twenty one
and there was nothing that could not be done;
reality set in round twenty five
and life seemed a struggle just to survive.
Thirty slipped and slid around the corner
my generation thought we were surely goners,
but life moved on quick and fast
and suddenly forty years had passed.
So much yet to come, things to do and places to see
when fifty years were lost upon the breeze
and awakened by the passing joy and tears
I looked back in time, some sixty years.
Retired now, social security retrieved
spent thru seventy, can you believe?
So much to do, the future still waits,
on the edge of tempting fate.
Eighty lies on the horizon
and I find I'm compromising
just a little more time
as life begins to unwind.