Long Righted Poems
Long Righted Poems. Below are the most popular long Righted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Righted poems by poem length and keyword.
Though I'll remember nature's wonders,
sunsets and the breath of spring,
feel the wind blow through my hair
and know the thrill of sunrise cresting.
We see the universe as dancing,
two such different creatures trancing,
we two will never understand
the private notions of the other,
even if we take each other's hand.
Coming close to your destruction
you will see the other side,
who says who has satisfied
requirements for a better life?
Friendship, if we could but find it,
yields the seeds of greater profit,
greater than the seeds of strife.
I now remain just as I ever was.
I shall take my morning walk,
communing with the birds and talking
to myself while reading Kafka,
glancing at the latest headlines.
Dear Stravinsky's 'Rite' is slighted,
(he'll return when ears are righted.)
When I smell a rose I'm prompted
to recall a certain lady, gifted with
a new perception, I must sadly
take exception, for the moment anyway.
The chill of morning, people yawning,
I am tired, the blush of dawning has me
feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags,
I barely reach the second floor.
'When will you return? Is Paris so much more
than you have here?' is my unanswered question.
I drag my heels to breakfast,
listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast,
my countenance as pallid as a ghost.
A letter would be welcomed.
I shall miss you; there, I've said it.
I am your friend, are you not mine?
Tenuous and strained, two casual
acquaintances who share so little time,
we brush elbows, like strangers passing
on a platform, sharing sidelong glances,
afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.
Others swore we would be close,
peas in a pod, familiar.
Instead there is no warmth, not yet.
Were you to try we might combine
and nibble toast together, and take
a walk, your hand in mine, and
stammer conversation 'til we knew
there was no reason e'er to rue.
I shall sit with pleasant thoughts of you.
Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention,
pen in hand and no one to subscribe.
I'll scarce recall the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you were to die I'd never know your truth,
and I should lose the vigour of my youth.
When do mistakes happen?
What makes a miracle real?
Who decides what value is worth? who thought of us? who painted the canvass of hills that decorate the evening sky the very same horizon that gives the sun reason to climb?
Who blew bubbles in the sea and set the ocean free?
Who told the first story, sang the first song, colored the sunset, righted the first wrong?
Who opened your eyes?
Who made the rainbow and the slide, invented the moments that contribute to pride.
Who gave joy to the first boy or uplifted the spirit of the first girl?
Who played with honor or shouted with glee, ran the first mile or climbed the biggest tree?
Who heard the first silence, before regret took it’s form?
Who was there to lay in the first pair of arms?
My first are not your first but they are important you see, if only to the person and I, you were there with me.
Who saw my eyes open first and spoke words to me?
Told me I could when I refused to believe?
Who heard my laughter and heard a melody?
Who seen past what the human eye can see?
Who combined thoughts and brought vision in time and made dancing a luxury, and caused the great divide?
Who gave destiny her map to this place and purposed Devine to intervene in her sweet little way? who selected the colors and was so precise in the stroke?
The stroke of the brush when they painted your life, gave you the courage to embrace hope?
Who fostered your imagination or added fuel to your fire, sent you into the world more than inspired?
Who crafted your will, carved your desire?
Who pushed you up and gave you energy as you tired?
Where was the first kiss you recall received? when did you learn to fall to your knees? who said the word that made you change your mind, had you asking these questions, made you challenge time?
Who named you with a purpose in mind?
Who caused your fame?
Who taught you to be kind?
Who hugged you, pulled you in close, made you matter even when you lost hope?
All of these moments, but a thread of time, knit perfectly together create a unique blanket that when displayed in its glory is the first of its kind.
Not one second more important than the rest.
All brought into one perfect mesh.
Tangles and knots but a novelty bring this beauty sailing past the illusion to birth you, this reality>
A miracle
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
We see the universe as dancing,
two such different creatures trancing,
we two will never understand
the private notions of the other,
even if we take each other's hand.
Coming close to your destruction
you will see the other side,
who says who has satisfied
requirements for a better life?
Friendship, if we could but find it,
yields the seeds of greater profit,
greater than the seeds of strife.
I now remain just as I ever was.
I shall take my morning walk,
communing with the birds and talking
to myself while reading Kafka,
glancing at the latest headlines.
Dear Stravinsky's 'Rite' is slighted,
(he'll return when ears are righted.)
When I smell a rose I'm prompted
to recall a certain lady, gifted with
a new perception, I must sadly
take exception, for the moment anyway.
The chill of morning, people yawning,
I am tired, the blush of dawning has me
feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags,
I barely reach the second floor.
'When will you return? Is Paris so much more
than you have here?' is my unanswered question.
I drag my heels to breakfast,
listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast,
my countenance as pallid as a ghost.
A letter would be welcomed.
I shall miss you; there, I've said it.
I am your friend, are you not mine?
Tenuous and strained, two casual
acquaintances who share so little time,
we brush elbows, like strangers passing
on a platform, sharing sidelong glances,
afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.
Others swore we would be close,
peas in a pod, familiar.
Instead there is no warmth, not yet.
Were you to try we might combine
and nibble toast together, and take
a walk, your hand in mine, and
stammer conversation 'til we knew
there was no reason e'er to rue.
I shall sit with pleasant thoughts of you.
Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention,
pen in hand and no one to subscribe.
I'll scarce recall the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you were to die I'd never know your truth,
and I should lose the vigor of my youth.
Love Was Sent, Treasure That Healed Two Crushed Hearts,
A Collaboration with Susan Ashley
Life shattered, soul crushed, another one has perished
once gone from this world was all she ever cherished
No amazing and joyful tales to tell the kids
just naked silence, from raging of black rapids
From heavens above, truest of gifts handed down
romance sent, from He that wears faith's eternal crown.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Love, its Lights flamed, happiness needs no explaining
summer warmth came from darkness rapidly waning
O' what glory, shall your heart forever hold mine
our sweet blessing, came from angelic hands divine
Within nights, kisses that sated our hot desires
came oaths of eternal love that never expires.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Our soaring passions’ pure as nightingale’s song
enrapturing seduction righted what was wrong
upon our heartstrings’ twilight music we did fly
as supernova lusts did unfurl ‘cross the sky -
scintillating stardust showered us with magic
our souls’ kissed in sparkling bliss since events tragic.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Dreamy nectar - ripened wine, whetted revival
as I sipped upon your essence for survival
rousing the wild-honey luscious look in your eyes
behind ambrosial mist passionate beauty lies
on thirsty tongues of fire we burned ‘till morning’s light
melting past the pain in moonflower swirls of night
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration), April 24, 2019
Poet’s note: My dear friend, it always a great honor for me to be able to collaborate with you and truly enjoy your inspirational verses! Such a blessing is to me a very precious gift you give me and my appreciation is sincere and honest in this my admiration for both your great friendship and your magnificent poetry talents!
"As a child I maintained a stoic attitude.
I exhibited patience, restraint, resignation, forbearance, and lack of complaint.
The ideal child you might say. As I grew, I realized the error of my ways."
¬The Poet¬
Dreaming improbable dreams.
Reality betwixt the unsealing
Softly fluttering butterfly wings
Apricot anacondas wreathing
Bleating lambs catapult seaward
Over volcanoes about to erupt
Prismed glass rainbows sliding
Monuments souring unhindered.
No longer enslaved slaves
Thinking the unthinkable
To be what I truly feel
Tears that can’t be cried
Walnut shells dismembered,
For pathways to the unknown
Physically powerful reasons.
Persimmons permeate perfume,
Soft velvet sparks so subtle
Teardrops fall in puddles,
Weary eyes forge forward,
Everlasting daisies wilt
Forlorn ekphratic regrets
Misted windows endorse,
The pain as its vile pungency
Scorns the soul of the angelic
drives goodness to the brink,
mighty swords flow protests
to the unyielding winds of time
To defiantly stand up to demons
for a valid worthwhile cause
as the lyrics of memoirs spill
and gazes turn to wonder,
amid lonely nights of fear
with only love unblemished
if not myself what can I be?
to reach an unreachable star
I surrender to their touch.
Untold ethics to be true.
The sweet rose petals pink
And cumquats bursting
And ever do I regret the sigh,
Of your entwined lullaby
With cold adorning feathers
The sorrowful peacock wails,
An unending finale of song
To ease my savage thoughts
Doing it my way evermore,
And regain courage to protest,
In tangerine oasis in the seas
Instilling birds and bees hum
And bliss of your caressing
On clouds of coral swaying
As lilac shoots skyward
In ever circling cascades
Of merriment galore in store
Where mirth and joy combine
Making sediment pure wine
All logic cast aside in the wash.
The righted wrongs unsaid.
Resting my tired head
Culminating in enough said.
She led him on, through the busy Congo junction
He only knew sound, oh and touch
She only knew sight and touch, and love
Their bones ached I guess, the tatters, the dirt, the old age!
He, he followed faithfully towards a Matatu that refused them
Oh the Makanga, that son of man, god, goddess, whatever!
So I asked God, WHY???
He looked up and stared and I stared back,
My mum taught me; staring is a bad behavior,
I did anyway, proudly!
I saw he was tired, old, sick
Oh my God! He carried a log on his shoulder
Still he walked on, in Kileleshwa
The cars, the houses, the wealth, the poverty bare!
I dared the question, until WHEN Lord???
The vicar this Sunday
Oh yes he will goddem say it
“God knows everything, He says trust me.”
I will retort, I will sneer, I will say it
“To hell with you all and your gods!”
The sheep will throw a WHAT??
God loves everyone the same
Some die of hunger, poor health, injustice!
All the same, God loves
God is all powerful and mighty, He is LORD!
Gadhafi, Hitler, Osama, Moi
They all lived among us
Genocide, terrorism, corruption, America!
They all kiss us “good night”
I beg the question
Is God good all the time;
All the time God is good???
You worry me, with your mouth agape
Save your judgment, I will save my sarcasm
What have I done to help?
What God is doing to help, I ask back
“God does not make what happens”
Save me the sermon,
I know not of Satan, devil, serpent, my foot!
The father rapes, the mother is murdered, the man is righted
The world is happy, crap! The world is sad!
A million sleep in the streets, a bunch in the slumbers
Patience in Jehovah you say???
I rest my case, I case with the owner of me
I case and question my existence
If at all it is any better than any of the rest
That others are used to show me grace and gratefulness
Vicar, are you serious, this sermon, really?
A leg she misses, where is the grace?
The grace in me having one, she doesn’t!!!
Yes I question God, WHY???
Packing up their tools, the two Roman soldiers, righted and dropped the cross into place,
Through a mind-bending blurr of agony, the thief saw another thief to his left,
This man was a rebel, even stealing from his own kind; Bartamaeus watched him curse and rage,
Even in a hazy mist, Bartamaeus realised that his venom was directed at the Man nearer their age!
This quiet Man between them, looked down at the crowd, he spoke, but no cursing passed his lips.
Piously he said, 'Father forgive them for they know Not what they do!' He smiled at the crowd.
As he looked at the Man, Bartamaeus saw every sin and unjust thing that he, the thief had done,
The Man smiled and Bartamaeus was CLEAN; accepted and forgiven by the Savior, God's only Son!
"Stop It!', he yelled. 'Can't you see this Man is innocent! 'He has done nothing evil or wrong!'
The Romans paid no attention, offering mulled and sour wine on a stick to the Man of God,
The Man spoke a second time; Bartamaeus listened hearing'My God, MY GOD, why have You forsaken Me?'
The other thief spat, 'If you are really the King of the Jews,then climb down from this tree!'
The Man looked at him with great sadness and said, 'Father into Your Hand I commit My Spirit!'
'Master, please Master!, Bartamaeus cried, 'Remember me when You come into Your Holy Kingdom!'
The Man smiled at him and said, 'Verily I say unto you tonight you will be in Paradise with Me!
He lifted Himself and said with great power, 'IT IS FINISHED! He died, setting His Spirit free!
Bartamaeus watched the sky darken and lightning split the ground near the Man and the cross,
He marveled as the captain of the guards, kneeling at the cross, said, 'This truly is God's Son!
He was newborn and he no longer struggled to rise for even that one last gasping breath of air,
For when he awoke, angels were singing, the Man was in Paradise and he, Bartamaeus was THERE!
©Jane Richer
07/04/2012
hypothetically I know the reason you telling me that I'm the reason... the real reason you
telling me that your sick of straight missing me it’s just a season,
Like every time I foul up, make up, and mess up your sad as come be,
Like every time your sad, it always keeps bugging, and eating me,
At what we really mean is it about good days, I thought we were all that should matter, it
seems that after you reach a point of sadness, that only the a ratio of happy to bad is
all that matters,
So bad that I start thinking insecurity,
And insecurity that clogs up like sick lungs like smoking menthol my e.b,
Copy righted poet not on the circuit E… because your name doesn't just start and end with
the double E,
It is just as my fault...oh yeah I keep telling me,
As much as I get drunk and contemplate and try to see...
I miss the preacher mike that hung out and made people try to see, the seeds of greatness
and it just was all true and made them try to be,
The best of themselves and try to shake it, like salt shakers the truth it pour'd and
people made it,
Even when I was partying the people started seeing,
The best of themselves they truly starting being,
But for a season I took’em right off the shelves,
Having fun with their lives they got out their restless selves,
I never ask for a dime back but damn who supplied the magic spells,
“All I expected was some real feelings” from some rookies …I asked my self…
And it was all just a chapter,
I made it out alive, just was with a story and with some laughter…
I'm a stranger that swooped in and even in sin I made you win,
The dude that made you a pawn in a plotted situation, the why you wondering after how I
moved your motivation,
6 people called in, some left our house they pulled back in,
It don’t matter the reason, it was that funny stuff that made it worth the living,
Form:
I lay in your hands
like coins
jiggling before a
fountain toss.
“What is your worth?”
you ask.
Without asking.
You weigh up the risk;
mull me over in your mind.
Extrapolate the terms
for the term of usefulness.
“What is your worth?”
you ask.
Without asking.
Your eyes calculate
the circumference of my waist
the bounce of my breast
the pout of my lip
the thrust of my hip
Calibrate my voice
Weigh up your choice
For there are suitable dimensions –
one must be sure.
“What is your worth?”
I wish you’d asked me
asking also.
I could have reciprocated
this mental melee;
measured your manliness
deconstructed your youness.
I could have righted your formula
for wear and tear –
incorporated Newton’s clause
for relativity of ownership.
“What is your worth?”
you ask,
in breathy whispers.
I can barely make it out
thus I carry on
shrug it off
for you would have asked.
And time moves on
Like a season
Like a snail
Like something slow and natural
And it moves in
and it moves through
and between
the me and you.
And I try to recall
that whisper.
“What is your worth?”
you ask me
so finally.
But I do not grasp
the accumulation of this question
the anguish it’s piled
the anger it’s amassed
I do not see
the mechanics behind the math
or the permanent berth
where it’s docked for years
I do not understand
the infinity of the solution
or the ever-changing variables
which infest your weary mind.
“What is your worth?”
Had you but asked me first
Granted me insult
Homoured me with worthlessness
Given me the freeing power –
of derision under your division
And if asking then
I’d have have answer, once only;
that the question
makes me worth the more.
“What is your worth?”
Beg – ask no more.
Please, ask no more.