Long Roles Poems
Long Roles Poems. Below are the most popular long Roles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roles poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m tired of trying to tame her
Of needing to blame her
Of trying to keep her colors
Locked within the lines
The sad confines
Of this life
She is there
Always pushing my limits
She’s there
The real woman that I am
The real me
Wild and free
Untamed
Uncontained
Unafraid
Wanting to BE…
To tempt and tease
To possess and please
A beauty flaunter
A good girl taunter
She’s there
She has the walk
She has the talk
She has the eyes to beguile
She has that wicked smile
And yet I keep her locked away
I keep her every need at bay
She’s in disguise
From prying eyes
Dormant, she lies
She cries
Misjudged and misunderstood
Ashamed of sensual womanhood
Veiled in culture's restrictive norms
She abides in her roles, the forms
Hidden away
Made to play
The domestic game
Tame
Tame
Ashamed
Of the fires within
Made to believe… it’s a S I N
To give in and to taste
T’would be unchaste…unchaste
And so passion consumes
And the whole world assumes
She’s docile and demure
But this I know for sure
She lies in wait
To satiate
Her desire
With wanton fire
She waits…
And so she lives a secret life
Her mind in turmoil and in strife
And I, and I???
I cry
I cry
Her every fantasy…deny
And I comply
To every single man made rule
And force her to be some silly fool
And I lie
I try
To forget
I’m made to fly
I wear the smile
But it’s not worthwhile
My mind unstable
For I’m not able
To set her free
To be
To be
Oh, can’t you see?
The hidden woman
Is me
Is ME!!!!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Form:
Born to be a woman apart,
the daughter of an Amazon Paradise Island Queen
they called her the warrior princess Diana
a baby formed from clay for the childless Queen
and given magical powers and super strength
or so the legend says . . .
Diana is treated like an outsider and outcast
but for the human world she becomes the super heroine
known as Wonder Woman
far from her Amazon Island of women only
the Gods of Olympus are always playing dark games
like the prodigal sun Apollo seeking
Zeus's throne in a vengeful battle
any other evil, and nasty things
and humans are caught in the line of fire
Wonder Woman must help so she leaves the Amazon
and while helping she discovers a secret
the truth of her origin . . .
not made of clay but the biological
daughter of Zeus and the Amazon Queen
of course the story changes
over the years about her beginnings
but her code is to help any in need always
using her super human powers and magical gifts
like her Lasso of Truth, a tiara projectile
she wears a pair of indestructible bracelets
and many more gifts on her array of enemies in battle
she has super force, strength and power
but also compassion and seeks peace
DC comics decided to make her beautiful . . .
so she takes on many roles in "mans" world
from nurse, to curator of a museum
and many, many more, blending in
so the stories say . . .
___________________
September 10, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/Wonder Woman Super Heroine
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1486-471-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Superhero or Supervillain
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 09/21/2022
Fifth Place
True generosity isn’t measured by what we give with ease,
but by what we sacrifice in silence, unseen,
when the help we offer strips something from us.
It’s easy to be generous when nothing is lost—
almost comfortable.
But reaching out when everything is trembling,
that’s when the heart speaks, not the mind.
Being there without calculation,
acting without hesitation because we love,
because we know pain,
because someone’s absence would hurt more than the effort itself.
I gave everything.
Without counting.
Without expecting anything back.
Now, I’m alone.
And those I carried let me fall—
even my own children erased me.
Maybe they’ll remember,
one day.
But I no longer wait.
Too often, those we support
forget we were bleeding too.
They weren’t there when it was their turn,
Being kind becomes a risk.
Giving too much leaves you exposed.
And in a world where ingratitude thrives,
love becomes a weakness to be exploited.
I regret nothing,
but I see it now:
some take
and never look back.
Maybe this time is sick.
Maybe roles are blurred.
But me—
I keep loving,
even the absent ones.
They took me for granted,
as if my kindness were an endless debt,
a faucet they turned on without a glance at the clock,
without remembering they ever drank.
I realized too late
that some only stayed while the dark scared them,
and once they were warm,
they left without a thank you.
But I haven’t changed.
I am who I am—
not a bank,
not a shelter for the passing,
but a human being
who believed that giving
was self-evident.
Today, I expect nothing.
No gesture, no hand.
Just a bit of peace,
and the dignity of never betraying who I am.
Poverty didn’t steal my soul,
ingratitude didn’t strip me of my values.
I’m still standing,
not with arrogant pride,
not under any flag,
but with that strange strength
of those who fall
and keep loving.
Because you don’t change your essence,
even when the world tramples it.
Because love isn’t begged for—
it’s given.
And when there’s no one left to receive it,
you keep it
so you don’t lose yourself.
I feel like my brain is always plotting in secret
As though I don't know
Like, it has a whiteboard up somewhere
in a vortex like corner, where it knows I can't go. Scheduling meetings without sending me an invitation to respond yes or no
They take place when my brain thinks I'm not paying attention, but I know.
It's planning my demise, solo. It's been doing so, For quite a bit of time.
I recognize this,
as I map out the blueprints it has created with my mind
It's diabolical the lengths in which I am willing to go
to help myself find
more reasons to put myself down
Time after time
To reassure my mind that
I'm going to fail because I do all the time
At least to me in my mind
It's crazy
How this brain sometimes does not feel like mine
I try and control it
But it goes into auto pilot and
I am no longer the pilot flying,
80-90% of the time
we are falling
Don't worry, I'm always fine
Catch myself playing a role
That was designed by me but isn't mine
It's a past character I have no use for
It was useful during a certain time
But these positions my brain continues to assign are no longer roles that suit me in this state of mind
These brains we have
Are weapons
forged over time
We were not born defenseless
We have been scheming and plotting since we left the womb and assumed life outside
Our brains have the power to override information that has no space in this current time
But we have to be aware in the moment it is happening in that very time.
How the heck can I catch my brain slip
When I am constantly 5 steps behind
You can't, and that's what I learned
You literally have to drop in on meetings and share new words
Stop raising your hand,
it's time to take your damn turn
Send a memo out to the crew
We have
Extended the renovation time
An internal renovation,
For you.
Silent tears filled her broken heart
Her emotions and feelings were torn apart
She could have become more
Yet society and its notions forbid her from making the move.
She could have done better,
But gender roles set her limits, impenetrable boundaries.
She could have said something,
Yet her voice was just like a squeal of a mouse,
Meaningless! Others called it noise.
That fear of judgment, that fear of shame
Bred a silence that was hard to reclaim.
The unspoken words of the woman became a burden
A weight she carried every day, day and night
A smile leading her every footstep,
That same smile masking her wounds,
And scars harboring her bleeding wounds.
Where speaking up was an option,
She instead swallowed her pain
Like pushing a baby in the realm of war.
Women must endure it all, they are mothers
She held on a little longer awaiting salvation
Until she could see the sun no more.
Even at her lifelessness,
She was belittled as weak and impatient
She betrayed the hopes of her loved ones
The same loved ones she died trying to please.
We may sing and prosper as the human race
Yet the tears of the oppressed, the depressed and broken haunt us still;
It is a sign of the end of this regime,
Where, women are bound to silent pain.
Let us, then, break this silence and save the living
Let us speak the truth that matters
And support women’s mental health and well-being, in all we do.
Yours is written by love only a Mom can reveal
Thanks for engraving such in my heart
Always reminding me of your awesome presence…
Oh, I dearly miss you.
With gratitude, I wear your handwriting
Ceaselessly showing your trademark of care
Keeping me mindful now of my motherly roles…
Oh, I long for your counsel.
Nostalgic, never can I resist the bursting scenes
of your teaching pursuit-tenacity as you made me write the ABC
midst the gripping tenderness of your directive hand...
Oh, I can't forget your unique way of editing my essays...
Mother, thanks for letting me wear your handwriting
manifesting your elegant cursive style
while I carry on the legacy of your compassionate* expression
devoid of artificial intelligence-stain along authentic impartation of lovingkindness.
*Isaiah 49:15 Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I (God) not forget thee.
April 25, 2026
Honorable Mention, "Romanticize the Pulse" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Ink Empress; judged on 5/5/2026
There was a calm before the storm
A dark depth of tranquility
Feasting on forward contemplation
Fulfilling roles of an earthly kingdom
Then the alarm of advancing troops
With an avowed intent,
Exterminate.
Rise, Rise, on the move
We are in trouble, Bail out!
Then a thud, a roar, and a tremor.
Onwards soldiers, raise your rifles
On the warpath, get in line
No time, no time!
Scurry little soldiers of the maze
Be angry, get mad
Swarm, swoop, devour the prey
And where ever he dies, let him lay.
Now the scurry,now the rush
Panic station, teeth gnash
Pierce the skin, drink the blood
Look to the heavens,
look to the gods
Least we be crushed
Buried in the sand
Be it our destiny, made by design
Or calamitous collusion of an ill fated time
But whatever the story based in a lyrical line.
You have just stumble on
An hornets nest.
Form:
A country in Africa's kaleidoscope of culture,
Unique and blessed, with natural and human riches to nurture.
Roles blur, names defy convention's might,
Husbands are "Baby," sons are "Daddy," in this whimsical sight.
Saturdays are sacred for weddings' joyful sound,
Car keys and iPhones float, pocketless, without a bound.
Relatives rush to bury, but shy from business aid,
A paradox of priorities, in this land of ironic trade.
Egusi soup in ice cream containers, a culinary surprise,
Dogs named "Tiger," barbers' false promises, in compromising guise.
Married men lament cheating girlfriends, a twisted web,
DETERGENT is OMO, noodles are INDOMIE, in this land of branding's ebb.
In this land of contradictions, "yahoo boys" are condemned,
Yet secretly adored, their ill-gotten gains, a guilty pleasure to amend.
"Pen robbers" wear suits, masks of respect,
Called "honourables" by day, their true selves, neglected.
Labourers toil, with sweat and tears, yet no fruits to show,
Branded "lazy youth", their struggles, nobody knows.
Altar robbers are "clergy", "men of God", or "god of men",
A title to conceal, a web of deceit, a game of pretence.
One medicine cures all, a panacea's promise, or so it's claimed,
Alhaji for the rich, Aboki for the poor, a title's weighted game.
Youthful locks turn white, elderly hair turns black,
Africa, a land of wonder, where contradictions create and participate.
A joy giver to the world, Africa's essence shines so bright,
A land of laughter, tears, and beauty, in all its complex light.
I love this country, in all its quirky, lovable, and mystifying charm,
Guess the country that captivates, defies, yet charms.
He was a talented actor who died fifty years ago.
He was British and his name was Roger Delgado.
He starred in eight episodes of Doctor Who as The Master.
He was an evil Time Lord and on one episode, he pretended to be a Pastor.
His life ended fifty years ago today at the age of fifty-five.
His role as The Master ended because he didn't survive.
When he perished, it was something that certainly wasn't foreseen.
He died because the car he was in drove off the road into a ravine.
Delgado was the original actor to portray The Master.
When he starred in Doctor Who, he caused disaster.
When this talented man starred in roles, villains were who he would often portray.
We had to say goodbye to Roger Delgado because he died fifty years ago today.
[Dedicated to Roger Delgado (1918-1973) who died fifty years ago today on June 18, 1973]
*Image of Education by UY.
A Cog in The Machine
Life advances their kind of entrusting stays,
origin of roots possessing foundation,
flung to care sprouts variable promises,
~~executes each seed.
The great void advents the id of emptiness;
launched needs, yet farfetched and demanding the task,
contending the fathom fact of dimensions,
~~inception account.
Countless bearings operate the mechanism,
instants cognitive effortless life makers,
quintessential beats absence into the void,
~~marked units of time.
Simplistic explanative of a machine,
the inner workings of every component,
jointly toiling as a singularity,
~~a fitting duty.
A pristine canvas lengthens on a tripod,
while a sable paintbrush jabs an empty point,
visionist Seurat and Signac rethink art,
~~Pointillist purview.
A concert hall seasons an orchestra pit,
woodwinds, brass, percussion, strings, keyboards, chorale,
symphonic blends as a meek piccolo peal,
~~a highest-pitched tune.
The world is our stage where we fulfill our roles,
all taking part in a scene that is rehearsed,
a constant performance since opening night,
~~functioning beings.
Inconsequential entity's conjuring
queries who's who, what's what drives absoluteness,
amassed strays, exacts focus o'er all, for I ...
~~... am the unique one.
2022 May 17
*1st Place*
Pick-A-Title, Vol 30
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 May 29
*Title #3
HMS; 11,11,11,5 syllables x 32 lines = 8 sapphic stanzas