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Long Poems
Long poem by Gregory R Barden | Details

Adieu - Part 1

Do you remember?
We lay in the moonlight, exhausted and content,
Moments from perfection, skin glistening with moisture,
Salty and sweet from love - love so amazing
That it stunned us every time ...
Always better than before, and always perfect.
Even from the very first, always different and new,
Yet always the same - perfect and lost and ONE.
Feeling so entwined that we forgot
Where you ended and I began.
So incredibly mingled and joined and blended

And mixed and combined, that for an incredible moment,
A moment that always seemed to stretch to infinitude,
For that eternal moment we were no longer "we" ...
Our spirits were so completely interlaced,
That we almost felt ... alone. Lonely. As us.
But then always, somehow, enough of the world
Would slow down and let our breath
And minds catch up to our souls,
And we knew it was that amazing "we"
That had brought us here a thousand times before,
Focused to a point of energy so perfect

And loving and all-encompassing -
A kinetic rush that felt like being caught in
The thunderous curl of an ocean wave,
A wave that crashed us to shore and slowly
Rolled us over and over in the fading wash,
That ever more gently pulled us back
From the shore of ecstasy and joy,
With it's energy flowing out to the calm,
And the gentle swells reminding us
That "we" were you and I once more,
Wasted and wet and wonderfully blissful.

Do you remember? Do you?
That sexy song from Quincy's Jook Joint
Played on endless repeat, so perfectly matching 
The mood and the moonlight and the glow
Of your perfect, porcelain skin.
That amazing soft blue, moonlit skin
That I could not keep from touching,
Brushing the tips of my fingers so gently
That you almost didn't know they were there ...
So softly that they were like a dance of the breeze,
And the energy between the tips of my fingers

And the electric surface of your skin,
Would give you little shivers of pleasure.
Those spots that only I knew, but knew so well ...
The soft indent behind your knee,
The palm of your hand, the underside
Of your gently outstretched arm,
The small of your back where the dimples are,
The space from inside your ankle to your arch,
(Oh, how I delighted in your feet,
Those adorable little feet),

The delicate slope at the nape of your neck,
Those amazing lines on your lower-to-mid torso,
That drew routes from your sides to your sublime,
The gentle, curved pocket
Inside your upper thigh, and the luscious,
Creamy places they all led to.
Just the tips of my fingers like warm rain,
And your skin reacting like the drops splattering -
Little quivers of dermal arousal
That would make your breath catch in your throat,

Then release in a sigh that slayed me,
Sword-through-heart, and quietly sent me
Out of my conscious mind, urging me to repeat
The exploration of your skin, and seek out
Those silky, sultry spots once more,
But this time with the warm brush of my mouth.
Ubiquitous and thorough, everywhere ...
Slowly, softly, with the tip of my tongue
To sweeten the journey, but hungrily, too,
Like my lips had never tasted sugar,

Yet now they knew honey, nectarous and syrupy-sweet.
I'd alter between that tender touch of electricity,
(Like your skin was truly a porcelain shell,
So thin that the slightest pressure
Might crumble it's surface),
And the gentle but keen press
Of unsated hunger, adoring every inch - 
Tasting the salty sweet of you.
Like butterflies alight, your shudders
Would quicken, and your sighs would increase

In their intensity, my mind and body losing their grip
On the discipline that I employed to tease you
The way you desired ... with my hands, touch,
Mouth, breath, tongue, kiss.
Then the quest to lose ourselves
In each other would start all over again, and again,
It would be pure, and again, it would take us
To "that place", the place of endless time
And bliss and passion, swimming up each other
Like rivers, and washing back to the sea of reality.

Do you remember? Tell me you do ...
It was one of those perfect moments,
And you lay in the moonlight, looking at me
Like I was everything ... like your hunger
And longings and dreams and joy and contentment
And triumphs and pleasures and hopes
Were all complete, fulfilled, sated ... by ME.
Like I was the ONE, the only ..
Like I was the rest of your life,

And your eternity to come.
The tiny spot of moonlight glinting in your eye,
Focused on me, searching my form
And back to lock eyes ... and that smile ...
Oh, that little smile that told me everything
I ever needed to know,
That was more moonlight and starlight
And sunshine, than the heavenly objects themselves ...
That smile that wrapped my heart in it's iron grasp

The very first time I saw you,
And still has not left me to this day.
Though it's visage has been gone from me
For years, I still feel it's warmth on my skin,
I still shine it into my dark soul
When it seems the black there will never be gone.
Just the MEMORY of that smile saves my
Worthless soul from the nightmares that
Losing you has wrought the ebb of my dreams.

Do you remember? I know you do ...
You were lying there, adoring ME, (wow),
As I was adoring you,
And we both smiled at each other,
That knowing smile that proved we had just
Visited again that place so many never will,
And were now basking in the serenity
That only such a night, and such an experience,
And such music, and such love,
Could create for two people.
And as I smiled with immense joy ...

As I smiled with love and fullness ...
As I smiled with complete contentment ...
As I smiled at my soul mate ...
Tears began to stream down my face ...
And a certainty I had never before known in my life,
Struck me with the weight
Of it's horrid truth - reached deep into my being,
Warm from love, and ripped my heart into shreds.
I know not where it came from or why,
But it was the deepest truth I had ever
Experienced, and it was too much for me to bear.


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details

BIO T J GREN part 04 03 Loving her was another

July 1975, Mount Druitt, Sydney, Australia

Everything in my life seemed to be in place now and going beautifully. The most important part which had been missing in my life, love, had now been fulfilled. It seemed incredible that only three weeks had passed since I had met Johanna. Those three weeks had been the most wonderful time of my life. And what was even better, was that even more wonderful togetherness was still to come. I was feeling excit-ed and ecstatic. We were still in the beginning stages of our relationship and I could hardly wait how our love would grow into a deeper, more meaningful and intimate togetherness. 

But after three weeks of dating Johanna something seemed to go wrong at a time when she had just moved into her own rental apartment in Burwood. I always took her home after folk dancing practice on Wednesdays, but this time she said that she didn’t need a lift. I was surprised and even more so I was disappointed. After we finished practice there was a white Holden station wagon with black curtains covering the side windows waiting for her. She got in the car and the car took off. I did not see who was driving it.

It was a clear message, but I didn’t realize it fully until the next day. I felt uneasy throughout the night, and the same uneasiness continued and increased during the day at work. At lunchtime I left the build-ing site at Parramatta and drove to Burwood to see Johanna to confront her as to what was going on and why I felt so ill at ease. I went to the door of Johanna’s apartment and knocked on the door but there was no reply. I knew that Johanna didn’t have a job, so I thought she must just be out somewhere. I thought I would wait around near Burwood and come back to try again in a little while. I went to a café for a drink. It was my lunchtime but I didn’t order anything to eat as the uneasy feeling I had was get-ting worse and took away my appetite. After a while I wondered back to Johanna’s apartment building outside of which I parked my car again. That’s when I saw the white Holden station wagon with the black curtains covering the side windows. Now I got really worried. I went up to Johanna’s apartment and knocked on the door. Again there was no reply, but I thought I heard a noise from inside indicating that she was there. I kept on knocking and finally Johanna came to open the door. She was wearing a robe although it was already past midday.

I told Johanna the reason I had come to see her. That I was feeling uneasy about her leaving like that the previous evening and that I needed to understand what was going on. Johanna said that I came at a bad time. At the same time I heard a sound of movement in the bedroom and it all became clear to me. I had caught Johanna at a bad time because she was having sex with another guy. I was devastated. She ex-plained that the previous night had been a direct message from her to indicate what was happening. We didn’t continue the discussion any further and she said it would be best for me to leave. I was happy to do so. I had to get out of there. I had made a fool of myself. I felt so stupid. I was being courteous with her not making sexual advances. Now I realized how stupid I was. That’s what she had wanted and ex-pected.

Many different feelings were going through my head as I got back to work. I was disappointed. I felt stupid. I felt betrayed. I felt anger. I felt anger towards Johanna for doing this to me, for not saying what she wanted from me. I felt anger at myself for being so stupid, naïve and inexperienced. I felt dis-traught for losing the feeling of love which I had for so long sought. I felt pain for having my dreams shattered.

Back at the building site I was stripping the formwork from a meter high concrete wall. The vertical tim-ber supports were slightly longer than a meter and went over the formwork plywood. Instead of using the crowbar as it was supposed to be used, I used it like a baseball bat with all my force to bang the sup-port timbers with the end of the crowbar to send them flying. I was angry. I was in pain. Letting out steam physically gave only slight relief. I felt the pain of love: I was burnt and hurt. I had started to learn about love from Johanna but being the fool I was, I was expecting happiness ever after between us: blissfulness and togetherness. But it was all a lie. My heart was not strong enough to take a lot of pain and thus it was left wounded and scarred. Fittingly, in 1975 the Nazareth hit “Love hurts” was released and played on the radio expressing the emotions I felt on this July day.

"love hurts, love scars, 
love wounds, and mars,
any heart, not tough,
or strong, enough
to take a lot of pain,
take a lot of pain
love is like a cloud
Holds a lot of rain
love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts

I'm young, I know,
but even so
I know a thing, or two
I learned, from you
I really learned a lot,
really learned a lot
love is like a flame
it burns you when it's hot
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts

some fools think of happiness
blissfulness, togetherness
some fools fool themselves I guess
they're not foolin' me

I know it isn't true, 
I know it isn't true
love is just a lie, 
made to make you blue
love hurts, ooh,ooh love hurts
ooh,ooh love hurts

I know it isn't true, 
I know it isn't true
love is just a lie, 
made to make you blue
love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts
ooh ooh love hurts
ooh ooh..."

That wonderful feeling of falling in love had now been shattered and turned into shear misery. Same as two years ago when Kimberley had rejected with her lovely letter, I did not want my mother, or anyone else for that matter, to see the pain was I was feeling. I kept the pain within me and I didn’t want any-one to know: I did not cry. But deep within me I was screaming from pain. My heart was crying: it was crying profusely. For three weeks I had been happy. Now all I had left was the heartache and pain.

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gregory R Barden | Details

Last Rose for a Rebel - Part 1

SHE was my wife, once ...

Long ago, so very long ago ...
We met on the showboat, up-river,
Almost fifty years back now ...
I was a young officer for the Confederacy,
Working for the Yanks after The Turn,

Supplying and distributing petrol
To the businesses on the river.
I had never seen such a smile ...
As it happens it was MY smile that spun her as well ...
She said it was like the sun on the "Old Man Miss",

Sparkling at midday on the churn of the boat wheel.
There was magic, you see ...
Not just in her smile,
But in her scent ... and touch ... and eyes!
When she touched me the first time

It was as though I had been born again ...
Feelings and passions I'd have never thought
I was even capable of ...
But even before that,
On the upper deck as she had walked by ...

A fragrance so sweet and seductive ...
I was compelled to follow her the rest of the day.
Oh, she knew I was watching,
And she would smile every so often,
Look right AT me and smile, reeling me in ...

I loved it ... I was hers forever from the first!
And now she was here again ...
To say goodbye ... I, old and failing and in such pain,
And she had not aged a moment ...
Not a single moment!

The magic all returned the moment she came in,
My putrid hospital room ...
The smell of death mixed with chemicals,
Meant to cover the rot,
But to me it made it all worse,

And I longed for death now.
Oh, I wasn't bitter - I'd lived a full life - I was just READY.
But seeing her here, beside my bed ...
Feeling the touch of her powder-soft skin,
As porcelain and wan as China tea cups,

The scent of aromatic passion, pure,
And when she brushed the hair from my brow,
The pain left me ...
Oh, not completely, but enough to allow a smile,
And enough to feel what she had always gifted me ...

The joy of just BEING ... with her.
I never told her, you see ...
Never told her that I knew.
All the many nights she had left our bed to feed.
At first her touch cast a spell,

And I would sleep the night through ...
But I slowly grew accustomed to her wiles,
And when she'd stroke my forehead as usual,
I would close my eyes, and pretend to sleep.
I had my suspicions for a long time,

And the first time I followed her
It was not a surprise when she found
A lonely man on an alley off Bourbon Street ...
It was still a shock for me to watch her feed, at first,
(Though I knew inside it was coming),

But she never harmed a soul ...
She cast her spell and they slept while she drank,
Then she'd pass her fingers over the bites in their neck,
And they would close without a mark ...
Five minutes later she was gone,

And they would awaken ...
A bit drowsy at first, and confused,
But fine in body and spirit,
And even a bit chipper, to be truthful.
It was the residue of that charm, you see ...

They felt it, too, and it lasted for hours after she'd leave you,
And was stronger each time you saw her.
Every time I'd think how silly it was that I could feel MORE,
And yet every time I DID!
I was never jealous ...

Oh, she used her intense sexuality to seduce,
But she never did more than feed,
And she never desired anyone but me, I could tell, not in that way.
It wasn't her choice, you know ...
She did what she had to to survive, like ANY of us,

So the shock didn't last long,
And I didn't follow her much after the first few nights.
Oh, I would every-so-often, when I had sleepless nights,
But it really wasn't unusual or novel for very long,
Just a part of our daily, (and nightly), lives.

It wasn't long before I actually felt sorry for her -
Having to live that way, I mean,
And following her made me feel like a spy ...
I didn't like that at all, and wouldn't have wanted it myself.
So many times I started to tell her,

Especially when friends would notice our age difference more-and-more,
That SHE was still so young looking, while I was ageing naturally.
Ultimately that's why she had to leave, (and I knew it was coming).
It was the reason that I almost told her - the fear of her going,
But in the end I realized she'd probably hate me ...

For keeping it to myself for so long, that is,
Or she'd resent me for not having trusted her,
Or perhaps even be ashamed,
And though that may seem silly, it's the one thing I couldn't stand the thought of -
She was always so proud of her ability to adapt and fit in - be NORMAL folk ...

I could tell that just from watching her with our friends,
And I couldn't take the chance of hurting her that way,
So I never spoke of the truth ...
She finally left, as I knew, (and dreaded), she would ...

Twenty years to the day after we met ...
No goodbye, no hint of it coming,
Just the imprint of her lipstick on a card and the words, "Forever Only, My Johnny Reb",
As she had done on every card and note she had ever given me.
I wasn't angry, but I was profoundly sad, for months.

She really had no choice, you see, for staying any longer
Would have posed questions, from me AND others, too difficult to answer.
She had survived this way for what I assumed was centuries,
And I truly loved her, and wanted her safe and alive above all else.
About three months later the divorce papers came, and I signed them.


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

The Ambiguous Apprentice

When does ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically political verse?

I was emphatically reading pieces
ambiguously written 
about my sons,
to my oldest son's girlfriend.

The longer I read
the more she cried.

Now it had been my hope
and passion
to become the next Kurt Vonnegut
of PolyCulturing Healthy Outcome Design,
or at least John Irving
at his all ecopolitical lives matter, and not, satirical best,
and so I finally had to ask,
Are these tears of sadness?

Yes and no.
Sometimes, says she,
mostly happy that someone else
sees him as I do
when I am at my best,
but sadness too
that we live in your world
of our own re-creation
about what you write
is too often left unsaid
or even thought about.

I thought this might be a compliment
and so I read bravely on
through her quiet tears
of sad happiness
until she asked me to stop.

Could you teach me to write
like you?

I doubt I could even help you write
like you.
are you having trouble writing by and of yourself?

I worry I have nothing to say,
no place to safely yet nakedly live.

About half the poets
and novelists
believe that is a prerequisite
to great literature
and becoming an authentically mature artiste.

Having nothing to say.

Yes. But saying whatever very well.
And the other half,
what they mainly have to say
is to have something to say
which you would be wiser through hearing
yourself say
what you just said.
And if they believed
as does the opposing mindless half
then they would not embarrass themselves
by writing any no thing at all.

Well, which is right,
do you think?

More to your point,
which is right
about your writing?
If you can trust each empty page
longs to fill with your good humor
and best wisdom,
then you might begin
by having nothing on your Left languaged mind
except some brief turn of lyrical phrase
or return of some event
devoid of context
which musefully incarnates as content
as your pen rolls along each shaping word
and returning phrase
and four dimensional as seasonal
reasonal harmonic lines
and sentences for joyful life,
not just lonely sad death.

Next thing you know
sad dying cooperatively together
restores joyful life justice
where lived sad loves evilly alone
and you are editing in search of paragraphs
to create sufficient spaces
between maturing lines of thought
you heard as one compare/contrast before
you've always said
and hoped someday to read,
then editing through pages of ego/eco-logical content
We're not sure
until we're done.

She was crying again.
So I found an old barely used notebook
and a fresh pen,
a nearly full box of gaily pure white tissue
and handed them to her,
Suggesting she might write about tears
of sad yet lovely joy.

Where might I best begin,
she wisely asks.

At the top,
either left or right
depending on which hemisphere you most speak,
I not so wisely answer.
And, the first principle of multicultural story telling
is to be sure your reader
continues to understand and appreciate
and feel gratitude for
your protagonist
inevitably our favorite underdog,
because life's a joyful sad bitch
but what are we going to gratefully do
with her, 
or it, 
and them?
The pen and notebook?
In your left and right hands?

So, I just start at the top
and re-imagine us
whether protagonist-in with antagonist-out,
or potential future solution
within a vexing co-present problem,
ways we choose to fold and unfold
sad space
as also joyful time of opportunity?

Spoken as a true tragic-comedy loving physicist
pretending to become a metaphysical teller of history,
your story,
written as we speak together
in domesticating yet still wild imaginations,
political thought experiments,
prose as also poetry.

Precisely as I see our sadly joyful situation too.
All we have are protagonist underdogs
and antagonist overlords,
and each lies both sadly and joyously
across each bicameral heart and mind
When I fall in nondual co-arising love,
we will be forever,
Reading stories of favorite sons
to tearful joys of future daughters 
for revolutionary story telling,
more cooperative
than my damnably antagonistic
overlording sons!

When did ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically democratic reverse?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Noel McLeod | Details

Once again, it is He

For so long I have fought my monsters in the war lands. For so long I’ve been by myself in the wake of my chaos. Others tried to stand beside but shortly fell or shortly left. Too weak to hold their own.
When I thought I’d be over come, when the war lands stared to fade in the corners of my eyes, and the visions of only the faces of my monsters started to loam over my body, he came.
He stormed in, with all his glory. His armor was far from perfect, it didn’t shine like the exploding sun, it wasn’t unmarked and perfectly placed. It was rusted and dented, tainted, it bared all his battle wounds and shun as dimly as the moonlight behind stormy clouds.
Finally another warrior, finally someone who can stand next to me.
He empowered me, encouraged me. 
He stood next to me, standing tall and brave. A true warrior, standing in the middle of the battle, swords in each hand ready to take on anything. We stood side by side, backs together taken in each others presence. 
We exchange looks, and in that brief moment; such a hot, fiery passion flew through me. Not only did he captivated me, he took my breath away.  
And then the battle began.
We fought, and fought and fought, for what seemed to be an entirety, but we won.
For once in so long, my winter war of chaos seized and calmed, and spring had bloomed.
Oh the glorious time to live and shine, and oh did he ever. His smile was as bright as the sun itself, and the heat that radiated off him melted my frozen heart. 
But all too soon, the calm ended, and the war began.
The monsters fought back with more force than before, causing a chaotic wind to whip furiously around me; causing me to fight blindly. 
Alone and scared, I tried to fight and lash out. 
My screams swallowed by the whispers and howls of the wind. 
He was still there though. The warmth of his touched lingered in my body, I could still feel him holding my heart, helping it beat. 
He was there, and he was fighting. 
Once again I felt myself be empowered by him. 
Once again I was able to fight, with every little might in me, with everything I had. I gave it my all.
Soon enough, the wind died down to a gentle breath and the dust started to clear. 
As my eyes started to adjust, the dust starts to clear, my wounds trying to close, I saw my opponent. 
I saw him.
In the midst of the chaos, he turned on me. It was he, who was trying desperately to knock me down.
I fall to my knees as a small whimper escaped my lips.
“Why?” is all I can muster.
I can still feel his warmth on my heart, but instead of a supportive hold; it’s turned into a suffocating squeeze.
His eyes, once was a crystal blue and as deep as the ocean, is now crimson red and endless.
His smile, oh his smile, that sent a blast of sunlight through my life, is now sickly and twisted with a darkly glow of hatred.
 I try to stand, though my legs don’t want to support me. I raise my head, though my tears are visibly seen. For even though I feel so weak, even though I want to crumble, I shall never give him that satisfactory. He will never see. 
His smile grew, and he leaped ready for the kill and I was ready too. 
I tried to fight, though I had nothing left in me, and he succeeded by knocking me down. 
He lashed at me, and I could feel my blood and life gush from my wounds. 
I close my eyes as I feel my monsters coming to rip my carcass apart, for my soul had died when he unveiled.
Soon they clear, they retreat into the shadows of where they lye. 
Once again I’m alone, though I can still hear his sinister laugh exploding in the background. 
He and they will come once again.
And once again, I will raise and fight with all my might
Once again I’ll be knocked down and drained from old and new wounds
Once again, it will still be he whom I’ll cry out for and want. He who I will weep for when the loneliness overcomes and suffocates. 
Once again, I shall die a thousand deaths, over and over, in the battle field, just to have a gaze of his presence.
Once again; it is he.

Copyright © Noel McLeod | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Dave Collins | Details

As I watch myself unfold without love

He/I/they/all/we/none knowing sit/sats he/she thoughts he/she witnessed he/she held a behold as to what the hell a corporeal ring of things once unbeknowinest to him/her was about,: thought provoking, yet undeterminate in any reason with confusion and actions to be taken latitude aforementioned. Realm provocative, nature unrevealed, discourses unknown, he/she levitates into a past/present/future/never neural pattern of once both visited/nonvisited rerun renouns. Here? How?Why? When/Where?/There? Somewhere? Duh?WTFDIM??? In past times, I was you/you were me/we were someone else and back again hopelessly compliant in multiple diverse deeds aplenty aprised?  Pissed-offed wet/wild catagories counting the numerous soundsicksocimages that revealed a justintime divine palate of cool round reverberates; then we whistled down a done did musical miracle of musical intude/interludes that carry nary a long winding road to all that matters is love to my/your entrailed sense sensibilities disembowled; to a good note neglienet/never everpresent; earial with a deaf donating dull dance to the all good nestled nill nap noises in that dogmatic/schematic/pragmatic/bombastic revive a vacant vestibule redundant reverence of a oneself/yourself/themseself/no/knowself in gathered gonadal grimaced givenances, hereto presents a solosexual splentitude/quietude/attitude of exstatic nomenclatural compassionates, that ever endure coital/copious coagulating mind/mendful miracle moments mildly monitoring/mentoring mystical memories deep in neural notices that speak to their theoritical thematic throngs tipping tormentally tragic transit times tailored to typical trinsic tactile truamatic tintilating tantilizing tractic trips dildo done in their intrepid individual love licenses pushing plush intensities all/none to be too painful/passionate yeilding a no/nonsense copious clitorial connection of forlorn flesh facets and spiritual spit hopeless unwindings the present a postulate past/present/future/never/love/love unaffair. Where did it go? How does Love die? Disenegrate? Degredate? Postulate?Uncopulate? Insulate? In another world years spent co/everything that matters in life/death/bills/emotions/children and even dependence in an ugly frame of reference; we cursor live unaccompanied by each other in a post anti political/socio/viagara/cialis dual bathtub inconsequential; thank all the concrete idiots who push any/allpharamaco/disasters of semen seguing to a liqid lifetime of sexual sanctioned answers, yet vocally viable and vice visible though weatherworn, release a torrent of illaged multi-wrinkled wasted wonkas on the surface deep of us boomers that make the ultimate sociodomestico difference a generational anti compliant an establishment indifference idiocracy indescent, (My soul remains intact thinking youthful of myself and my sons and the time given to their welfare and the love that shapes my heart whenever I thin k of them.) but old in it's alter/inner/outer significance of the somewhat unreliant, unrealized coutenance of youth vs the powers of then, adults personnified from their generation of war, social impotence and the forgotten wishful wisdoms of ages beyond measure gleam with their intrepid experiences of ageless living. No one asks or are interested in the elements of a putrid existance and yr confession to date neither saves your stripped soul from it's life's ill ignorance; that your alter ego/egos  with their/its incredible heretofores, spout any real man/woman wisdom heralded of any pre/post pro/announced inheritance to climb spiritually to the next human level by and large minus the youth, their waste of thought, time and ill for a rememberance/prevelance of moments gone/yet by, but given to the prowess that future envises, unless u r from our loins to be boomer blessed. Time tells the crapworn tale and makes liars/creeps of us all. We are all the same size lying down ma'am. Take it to court, counselor. Guility/not guility.

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gregory R Barden | Details

Autumn Atonement - Continued

How we loved the same
Foods, had the same dreams,
Wanted the same future, longed for the
Same life together, loved the same movies
And songs and books and colors and clothes
And people. How we knew what the other was thinking
Without a word being spoken, how I no longer worried about
Tomorrows, because I knew there was no day I couldn't get through
Without you in my life. How the most amazing times of the day were waking
And going to sleep, because I knew for sure that you would be beside me. How your
Family felt like mine, and mine felt like yours, and how the happiest times were
When all of our kids were together with us, and we felt like it should
Be that way, and should've always been that way. How we
Hated the same injustices and crimes, and longed
For the same peaceful world, and how the joy
And ease of our invisible connection was
Plainly visible to others, just by the
Matching glint and sparkle in
Our smiles and eyes.

But that sparkle is
Gone, with you. Now my
Eyes just seep with sadness
And emptiness, and that endless flow
Mixes with the warm rain pelting my face, and
Flows to the ground with the rest of the storm's sodden
Emanation. How I wish it would take all that I feel, and all that
I long for, and all that I am, WITH it, where it drips from my clothes
And feet through the spaces in the deck and runs into the soil, and then makes
It's way slowly through the ground into streams and rivers to the ocean, where it becomes
Part of the boundless elements of the Earth and Universe. How I wish I was no
More than that, the elemental stuff that has no form or life or thoughts
Or FEELINGS or ANYthing that has actualization and "Id" and
Emotion. But despite the power of all my resolve and
Wishful concentration, the wind does NOT pick
Me up and carry me off to nothingness,
The storm does NOT break me
Apart with it's strength and
Fierce actualization.

My soul is NOT
Carried away with my
Lachryma to the sea, and the
Aching chasm in my being that YOU
Occupied is as bottomless and black and
Excruciatingly sepulchral as it ever was. It's silent
Screams tear away and decorticate the inside of my being,
And leave my heart bloody, raw and adamantine. The purity of that
Childish wish is not sacred or magical after all, and it seems that my curse
Is my SELF, and the undeniable fact that I am a being incarnate, with far more humanness
And tangibility and manifestation than can ever be shed by emotion or intent alone.
But SOMEthing has changed in me during this little ritual, something has
Been purged with this tropical storm's affect on me ... the warm rain
And wind lashing my sodden frame, arms still outstretched
In mock cruciform, (a selfish irony - my punishment
For having loved you). There's an anger that
Is gone now, there's a angst and
Shame that has been washed
Away and offered up.

Not anger at you or
Us or action or choice or
Desire or devotion or passion or
Hatred or regret or even LOVE, but anger
At ME, for having been such an unmitigated FOOL
Again ... for having put my heart up on the chopping block
And said, all too willingly, "Do your worst with it" ... I even gave
You the axe, keen and precise and warm from the grindstone. I can
No longer hold onto that hatred of myself, and this liturgy has pulled that from
Within, and taken it without ... for that I am thankful. But am I no more foolish for thinking
This rite of anguish would alleviate the sting and torment in my heart? It was foolish
And immature, inane and desperate, and it has been time wasted on
Something and someONE who doesn't give me so much as a
Thought! Never, ever again will I repeat this pointless
Act of disconsolation! I am better than this ...
I am bigger than this ... and I will
NOT be a fool for you any
Longer! I ... am ...
Very ... done!

(Well ... maybe just a while longer).

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Russell Banks | Details

Flying With Wax Wings

Is it time again
Is this another day again
where I sit up once more
waste my fingers to the bone
to describe my grievance with the Sorceress
named Sarah...
No...not this time
Is it time again
is this another day when
I sit up once more
waste my fingers to the bone
rejoicing how much in love I was with Sarah my Sorceress
No...not this time
she's not mine anymore
Was she truly mine to begin with
I don't really know
I don't think I ever really did
but it doesn't matter
cause in defiance to everyone who told me to forget
in defiance to those who told me to grow up and move on
in defiance to myself
I begin my ode to Sarah
Traditional, this is not one
They, the people
they've all heard the tales
my strives to be with you
my lessons to hold you
my ends to forget you
my means to erase, detach you from me
but it's all been an attempted failure
like plankton stealing a krabby patty
like Icarus flying with wax wings
I'm just a failure
a loser
I was crowned so
after a movie date gone awry with you
or do you remember
I can never forget
Where is the sense in all of this
I have no clue
All I know, well I know nothing
I'm miserable without you
I'm a fluctuating time bomb with you
I can't stand you
I love you
I want to push you off a cliff
I want to hold you and never let go
just to remember, just to know
what I felt four years ago was true
what I felt four years ago was real
Sarah, how did us become so wrong
Sarah, will you admit you were stolen from me
Sarah, how can you not remember you were stolen from me
Sarah, believe me...
Sarah, do you even remember me...
I once held you so close to my heart
Sarah, do you even remember me...
No...you've barely spoken my name since I was forced to leave
only to get a rise out of me
leading me on, building me up
sending your knights out to slay the dragon of me
sending your vikings out to slay me
sending your pirates out to burn me to the ground
sending your vultures out to make sure I would be laid deceased
Are you satisfied
I lay deceased
Are you happy
here I am depressed
and yet here I still defend your name
while I curse it just the same
(sigh)  Selena...
I can say it like a man
I can take it like a man
I can stand up and be a man
to fall back down and be a kid again
I loved you
you were everything to me
you were...everything
but everything is now nothing
and that's I guess is me now
I'm sick of everyone telling me
holding on is unhealthy
I'm sick of everyone telling me
to grow up and get over
be a man and move on
when they cannot fathom how much I tried to
move on, ignore, fast forward
but like a scratched up CD
I lagged, I skipped forward and back
trying to keep my head on straight
bent in and out of shape
built a castle and moat in quick sand
everything just to...just to...
just to get away
but I lost all the battles
lost the war
I spent my entire freshman year of high school
just to detach and latch on
to hope
to hope maybe one day I could hold you again
to hope maybe I'll never see you again
So I guess one scenario came true
and I guess another truth is a wish untrue
Sarah...Sarah the Sorceress...Sarah my Sorceress...
I miss you...
I hate you...
I love you...
I get depressed everytime I talk to you
everytime I think you about you
you were my happiness
you were my everything
you were...you were...
I once said forever...
I once promised you my whole life...
but like rusty flowers
my promises have withered and flown away
So do I say goodbye this day
or do I hold onto you tightly
May 22nd,2009...
our first and last kiss
do I hold onto you tightly
in my mind...

Copyright © Russell Banks | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Organic Gratitude

Eastern stars light our responsibility
to ease ridiculously democratic suffering of Other.
Western horizons speak not of suffering
much less death as inevitable failure.

Dark horizons speak of pain,
and how to avoid it through Other as ourselves.

Eastern lights speak through gratitude
while Western dialects flow full ego-powered self-love.
Yet, in either case,
belief in trust meets feeling co-empathic
nutritional flows of patterned rhythm,

Eastern powers endorse political becoming of mindful midway relationships,
where Western gravity pulls toward ponderous efficiency
pounding out our own manifestly autonomous WinLose dual destiny.

We were wrong to aspire toward effectiveness
in absence of maturing mindfulness,
preforming our intent
as discerned through daily practices of consciousness.

An empty economic effectiveness cart
leads our politically suffering horse
without grace.
Empty cart-drawn horses
suboptimized power of potential ecoconscious balance,
bound to backward stumble.

It feels wrong to lose grace of present gratitude
in pursuit of love's insured future effectiveness.
Gratitude attitude,
affective midway gestalt
essential to growing empathic trust capacity for love,
for mutual erotic pleasure
and agapic creativity,
mutual political grace with beauty,
body laughter with creative minds
celebrating health-inspiring life.

We evolve wrong to become so satiated by our effectiveness
we swim in delusion that we will avoid feeling pain
by ignoring universal suffering.

As we grow in capacity to integrate gratitude with suffering re-membered,
we will emerge a species embarrassed to allow delusions of suffering alone.

Suffering, like gratitude,
could become radically egalitarian,
reflecting no more or less than our separateness;
and it is this egalitarian separateness of ego identities
that entices us toward gratitude for hope
that you will notice and care for me as my extended family,
and I for you and our extending co-empathic trust as family
flying solidarity of suffering remembered
back to twined roots articulating
feeding polypathic ecoconsciousness
of Eastern stars with Western horizons.

Last remnants of a tattering Industry Evolution,
this Last PreMillennial ReGeneration
passes a too toxic baton as gift-gratitude-forward.
Nakedly embarrassed with fumbling ineptitude,
precisely where we had prayed so earnestly for powerful co-redemption.
Yet perhaps we also flirt with delusion that we did not do our best
with allowing our Cooperative PowerHorse to lead
whether our cart was recessively empty of gratitude
or abundantly overloaded with suffering.

But now,
these PostMillennial ReGenerators,
first tier of ReVolution's Golden Age,
will continue to learn ecosystemic health regeneration
through small and great suffering/gratitude transitions.

This is our call to vocation,
to holiness,
to grateful suffering with Earth's recycling passions,
to regenerate Earth's emptying cart of nurturing produce,
to watch and listen,
to sing and march and dance,
to understand and incarnate
how and why and when we are most grateful to Become this Earth,
simulcast anthem echoing through each cell and cellphone,
across every heart and lap and laptop,
every radio and monitor
in every prison,
every asylum,
every shelter,
every school and capital and mind,
every tear in every eye a suffering tear of gratitude
for belonging to each naked Other,
investing in each Other's respect
by caring for ourselves as each Other,
as one EarthTribe.

We can do this;
as we become this wilderness world together
bound by relentlessly effective gratitude.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by JW Earnings | Details

Feels Like Another Sleepless Night

Verse 1:
I should've been careful what I wished for 
I know there's bound to be another open door
Of many opportunities
That could replace my nightmarish memories 
Not everything is black and white, you see?
I wake up with no one by my side...can't you see that I'm not riding the waves of ecstasy?

I was the one that you adore
You were the one that I adore
Feels like my life is wasting away
Feels like another miserable day
Without you 
To carry me through the night
Without you
Giving me the wings of flight 
Oh oh ooh oooooh

I should've be careful what I wished for
What I wished for
My wish was to stay with you for the rest of my life
I ran out of luck and I ran for my life...all my life...
I ran for my precious life...
Away from the insidious strife 
My heart is constantly racing...it keeps on hesitating...
I'm scared to death because you don't love me enough 
My mind's happy state is fading...fading...
I'm not prepared for another day to pretend to act tough 

You walked away and slammed the door
You walked away and said no more...no more...
My heart pounds with pitiful pain and more 
My heart is bleeding out because it's sore...
Ever since you left me in the dust,
I'm the penny that's reduced to rust
You took away sweet sleep from my eyes...
Feels like another sleepless night filled with truths and lies...

Verse 2:
Feeling myself fall apart all because of the heartless things you've said to me 
Feeling myself scorch into flames all because you laughed at me as if I'm the one gone crazy
Am I crazy for being the way I am?
Am I crazy for being a gullible lamb?
I should've be careful what I wished for
What I wished for
My wish was to stay with you for the rest of my life
I ran out of luck and I ran for my life...all my life...
I ran for my precious life...
Away from the insidious strife 
Oh oh ohh ooooh
I'm scared to death
I'm scared out of my wits...I'm out of breath...
I'm not prepared for another day to pretend to act tough
I guess my way of expressing love wasn't enough 
Oh ohh ohh oooooh 


Verse 3:
I was the one that you adore
You were the one that I adore
But that changed in a blank of an eye
All along, I was living a cruel, unforgiving lie

I won't let myself down by letting you win this round...I will keep fighting until I feel like I'm done
I shall not wear a frown; instead, I should smile away the grief
You fled away in deep dismay, knowing you and I won't work out in the long run 
I shall not lose hope right now, for God will give me plenty of relief
Oh so much relief...
Possibly, he can drown away the negativity 
He can feed me desirable positivity instantly 


I'm wide awake and I don't know why...
Dying to understand the reason why
Feels like another sleepless night 
I'm praying for the sake of healing my heartache...
Trying to will the pain away
My life is close at stake
Without anyone to embrace...
Come on, someone hit the brake
I'm breaking into pieces, knowing that I'm left without a trace
I'm left without a trace
Reflect my tiresome, grief-stricken face
Wishing for His grace and love to shower me down just in case

Now, I'm being careful with what I wish for
My last wish is to find that special someone in store
I will never regret, telling You what I wish for
Unfortunately, it feels like another sleepless night
I will probably regret, losing sleep over the one I did adore 
Luckily, my beloved Father will lead me with His vibrant light...now, everything's black and white

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2015

Long Poems