Long Scroll Poems
Long Scroll Poems. Below are the most popular long Scroll by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scroll poems by poem length and keyword.
when Jove heard of the happens in Ethicia
he summoned Neptune, who bought
Cupid and Bacchus to stand before him
and speak of what they saw in Ethica.
Bacchus wish to speak last due to the
fact that Jove blamed him for most
things that went wrong in Saddlery,
and Bacchus knew that Cudip played
part in the happenings in Ethica.
Cupid told the story of Jinn and Rapa
dancing with Mami Wata, who wore nothing and had plenty wine.
She asked to lay beneath Rapa as she wished Jinn to be atop.
Your wives shall hate me,
and my Husband shall wish to war against you
recalled Cupid of the three laying in the
Garden making love.
Bacchus interrupted and spoke and neither were they drunk or with out influence of Cupid.
Cupid said angrily, then you accuse me, this is neither love or Loved said Cupid.
they grind to create friction,
those that I inspire lay in love and are Lovers.
Bacchus said there influence is neither of love or God
might they wish to satisfy mans need to war?
Jove answered, than they shall stand before me
and speak theses ills of lust.
Cupid summoned Neptune who retrieved Jinn, Rapa, and Mami Wata.
Neptune crossed seven continents looking for these satans.
He found them in Mor- Moral were they
stood in front the mssess in the town of Concern naked and cared not who saw them.
Neptune spoke and said
Jove wishes to see you might you come with me.
Not wanting to make the Most powerful God angry they quickly came.
Jove spoke and asked them why they were doing what they were doing and what they wished to accomplish by doing so.
Jinn told him, a husband shall be angered and two wives shall hate her, are you God that you refuse to understand.
Jove said with me being might you understand that I am, and all that exists is of me.
why than do you make those fear and hate you,
then Jinn spoke and said.
which pleasures are services to God?
Than which services to God are chored.
What we do is to inspire neither service or chore
might it anger those who are our wives and her husband,
might these pestilence of man find it easier to war.
Jove spoke and said, I am Jove
I am that at I am, what is neither is never done,
what is done is never undone,
than man shall laugh at you as I wish them to.
then Jove stood and waved his hand
and all men in every nation laughed at these Satans
never to speak there tale agin.
(A lone voice whispers)
I always used to wonder
Where do Robins go to sleep
Then one dark night
Within a deep all-consuming lucid dream
At approximately one o'clock
A beautiful deity appeared out of the mist
Wearing a blue and white coat
Holding a Lily and a shining lantern
Across its shoulder, a golden trumpet and a branch from Paradise
On its golden belt
Hung a scepter and a silver scroll
As it strolled towards me
Within my illustrious sleeping streams
A strange palace of darkness
Where no birds
Flew or squawked
Its mysterious ever watchful eyes
Held me firmly transfixed
Like an ethereal heavenly hawk
Its bright white orbs
Swallowed me whole
As it whispered words
I'll remember
Until I'm old
Within the light of day,
We appear
Your beloved and even I
To watch over and visit you
To see and follow all that you do
When we, the blessed few
Waiting in the new spectacular bright white lights
In the glorious cathedrals of Atmos, shadowy arches
Cross over
When allowed a brief time
Before we are eventually
Reunited in a new form
To rejoice in hymn
Within your All Highs
Divine Church
Depending upon
The faith of your choice
To visit those we still
Love
To leave a sign or sing
A sonnet
Happily with echoes of our new voice as we too mourn
Then in here
At darkness
In
The Great In-Between
A place you all visit
Whenever you fall asleep
In deep dreams,
We always appear
For real spiritual shapeshifters
Like us
Never really sleep
We just transform into Robins
Through a supernatural technique
For sometimes they are merely vessels
We use
Just one of our everlasting souls keeps
So if you see one
And it sings
Looking straight at you
Remember this
It's just a beloved loved one
Maybe even me
Archangel Gabriel
Channelling
Through
And with that beautiful closing line
It disappeared quietly
Back into the receding winds that whined
Of the Hidden Divine
And when I awoke at eight,
I'm sure it met me
Sat on my old garden's wooden gate
My beautiful friend
Who loves to sit on the washing line
Whispering and singing
Hello
Sending shivers and tingling
Shooting
As I remember that dream
All the way
Up and down
My sinuous
spine
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
I chuckle soft when people fume,
And blame the lot in suits and gloom.
“You see those leaders? All a scam!”
But who’s still selling free yarn?
Was it not your own cousin’s name,
On that campaign with matching frame?
The nurse who sighs, “This ward’s a zoo,”
Still checks her brows in selfie view.
She posts, “On duty, Lord be praised,”
While someone’s gasping, soul half-raised.
Yet when they moan the state’s unwell,
She nods, “It’s true,” then rings the bell.
The lecturer, with paunch and tie,
Reads ancient notes with weary sigh.
He shares some grades with knowing nod,
Then says, “This country’s truly flawed.”
He blames the youth for lack of grit—
While half his class just pays to sit.
The copper parked on potholed street,
Asks, “Where’s your licence? Papers neat?”
He grins, “Let’s talk,” with greasy grin,
While tucking morning bribes within.
By noon he’s shouting on the news—
“Society’s gone down the loos!”
We roast the system every day,
With memes and gifs in strong array.
Yet scroll past queues to dodge the vote,
Then mourn when goats are running boats.
We ask for change, yet shift no ground—
Just echo tweets that spin around.
The tailor swears, “Your cloth’s near done,”
But dances at his niece’s fun.
The mechanic says your car’s in queue,
But joyrides round like Fast & Few.
Then tells his mates, “This land’s a mess!”
While wearing shoes you just redressed.
The market lady shifts her scale,
And bags your rice with hidden shale.
The youth who screams, “We must rebel!”
Still ghosts his friend to chase one belle.
We all want justice, loud and bold—
But sow deceit like coins of old.
The pastor thunders, “Give and live!”
Then buys a Benz you helped to give.
He claims the Lord approves his flight,
While dodging tax in holy light.
He’s not alone—we’re in this stew,
From deacon’s pew to bus queue too.
So when next time you curse “the throne,”
Recall—it doesn’t stand alone.
That golden seat’s not self-assigned,
It’s built from all we’ve undermined.
To mend the roof, don’t shout and frown—
Pick up a spade, rebuild your town.
You want clear roads? Then drive with sense.
You want fair rules? Then stop the fence.
It’s not by screaming, “God will run it!”
While jumping queues with cheek and sonnet.
The mirror’s clear, it doesn’t bluff—
We are the system. That’s enough.
I am swimming in a sea,
Of depression,
Hurting because of my heart’s repression,
Your feeling suppression,
Now I gotta learn this life’s lesson,
When you fall in love,
Make sure her feelings not a guessing.
My heart should have no reason to hurt,
Started out with a little flirt,
Now grown to full blown love,
Feelings of cloud nines high above,
The earth, feeling my soul’s rebirth.
Wanting to kiss your lips,
Wanting you to heal the rips,
The tears, in my heart,
Us never to part.
Where do I start.
Do I say that I am sad,
Could I have it this bad,
That missing you puts a hole in my soul,
Like the joy is out of my world,
I want to curl, up in a ball,
Not to keep warm,
But to weather the storm,
To keep out despair,
I got no where, to go,
No one to talk to,
To tell what I am going through.
I want to pour out my soul,
I do it with only one goal,
In mind, to free her heart,
Encased in ice,
Tell me I will pay the price,
To have your love,
To be called your dove
Tell me I can have you,
Tell me that I am not doomed,
To die like an already withered rose,
In bloom,
Tell me I have not made a mistake,
Tell me my heart won’t break,
I don’t want it to be broken,
Say it with words already spoken,
I want to scream out that I love you,
To hold you and take your mind,
Soul, heart and body to,
Places they have never been,
Make them see happiness never to be seen,
With anybody but me,
How do I make you feel,
The love that I know is inside.
Can I open my arms wide,
Can I welcome you in,
To say no is a sin.
Come take my hand,
Follow my plan,
Close your eyes.
Listen to my words,
Feel them inside your soul,
Put your hand to my chest,
Feel my heart beating,
Listen to what it says.
Understand what this means,
Right now my heart is bursting at its seams,
With, wait,
Won’t say it again,
Scroll up and you will know what should be said,
I know this may seem weird,
Yes we agreed to just stay friends.
But I want to change how that story would end,
With all the time we came to spend,
When you said we wouldn’t,
And we still got a chance to speak,
And your voice made my knees so weak.
And I got captured in your smile,
Knowing all the while,
That maybe I shouldn’t,
But I still did them,
All the poems, the songs, the letters,
Trying to show you that I am better,
Form:
...It was just after such a cry
that she turned her sad face to him,
said,”It’s not written that you’d come…
What power lets you come within?”
Enktantas just advanced slowly,
a battered sword high on his belt,
“A voice told me to come find you,
where it came from, I cannot tell.
“I don’t even know why I come here,
no silence could I ever find,
I hoped if I could track you down
the madness would drain from my mind.
“But tell me, goddess, why you cry?
Why would a goddess feel so sad?
I thought tears were for us mortals,
whatever could make you feel bad?”
The goddess blinked away her tears,
and looked down on the mortal man,
said, “I have cried since I was made,
I'm Destiny, and by it damned.
“You mortals were blessed with some choice,
if just the illusion of it,
but I am bound by this great scroll,
and my feelings can’t defeat this.
“What I read here is what must be,
I say names and men go to death,
even if I feel it is wrong
the words still leap out with each breath.
“So many babies innocent,
beloved folks who deserved more,
even fellow gods fated to die,
while sparing those rightly deplored.
“For all of time I’ve done this task,
so have my daughters by my side,”
she said,”But you were not written…
it is you who must make me die!”
Enktantas jolted in real shock,
and stumbled about for his words,
“I-I do not mean to hurt you,
To kill a goddess? That’s just absurd!”
But Ananke just shook her head,
said,”I don’t think that is the case.
To be here without it being told…
To be excused by the strands of fate?
“This has never happened before,
maybe this is the first real choice,
sent by a power beyond fate…
I think that’s the goal of this ‘voice.’
“And even if it’s something else,
at this point I no longer care,
deaths of millions are on my soul,
I’m in pain from that much despair.
“So take that sword stained red with blood,
and please strike me square on my breast,
if I am wrong nothing changes,
if right then I’ll finally have death.”
Enktantas frowned and bit his lip,
the mere thought to him seemed insane,
But a goddess had commanded him,
and so evident was her pain...
He pulled the sword out from his belt,
put the tip right over her heart,
“Forgive me,”he said in advanced,
then plunged forward with the sword, hard...
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
Wake.
Commute.
Work.
Repeat.
They call this living?
I call it the hamster wheel—
spinning faster each year
while the cage only shrinks.
Three jobs to afford one roof.
Two hours of daylight between shifts.
One life slipping through fingers
calloused from climbing ladders
that only lead to more ladders.
We've normalized exhaustion,
wear our burnout like medals of honor.
"Busy" is our battle cry.
Our worth measured in productivity units,
our time sold at wholesale prices.
We scroll through highlight reels
of lives we're too tired to pursue,
while notifications remind us
there's always more to want,
always more to owe.
They say "Rise and grind"
But never ask
what's being ground down.
It's us.
Our dreams. Our wonder.
Our capacity to stare at stars
without calculating their worth.
When did we accept that breathing
was enough to call it living?
When did we decide that survival
was something we should be grateful for?
I want more than to exist in the margins
of my own life—
stealing moments between obligations,
budgeting minutes like loose change.
Living is not this endless math
of hours versus dollars.
Living is not this constant fear
that one misstep, one illness,
one market crash
could erase everything.
To merely survive
is to be haunted by the ghost
of the life you might have lived
if you weren't always running out of time,
running out of energy,
running out of hope.
We were meant for more than this—
More than automated responses.
More than weekend recoveries.
More than counting down days
until we're free, at last,
too old to use that freedom.
So tell me,
when do we stop surviving
and start living?
When do we reclaim our heartbeats
from the timeclocks?
When do we refuse to measure our worth
by our economic output?
Because I am not a machine
designed for consumption and production.
I am flesh and blood and wonder.
And I want my life back.
I want all of our lives back.
This existence of barely making it—
it's not life.
It's a sentence.
And I'm demanding a pardon.
Right now.
Today.
Before the next alarm.
Before the next bill.
Before the next "I'll live later."
Because later keeps getting later,
until later becomes never.
And I refuse to call my one wild existence
a mere survival story.
Moods rising and setting like the sun In waking moments of the artful soul Admiring the white so colorful yet none Forming as one love a heartfelt scroll Dipping pen into the bowl of inspiration Stirring thoughts from a spiritual well The crumpled sorrows of miscreation Laughing jealously from a wastebasket hell Their mocking hatred shall not quell desire To bring color to life from a sheet of white Only righting the art that is already locked there As joyful hope rises from dark ashes of night Waiting until glorious colors fly freely in the air Note- doctrine of the affections
The future won’t arrive with trumpets—
no brass echo to herald salvation,
no golden scroll unrolled beneath a bleeding sun.
It will leak,
like soft radiation through the seams of our sleep,
like forgotten news,
scrolling endlessly
on a screen no one is watching.
It begins now—
in the blinkless eye of the surveillance bee,
the hum of servers beneath a monastery,
the last human artisan
training a machine to imitate his flaw.
You’ll know it not by shock,
but by substitution.
Paper becomes pulse.
Pulse becomes code.
Code becomes command.
And command becomes silence.
Children will be born
with their names chosen by polling algorithms,
their dreams shaped by trending searches,
their lullabies curated
by nostalgia engines
that remember the smell of a mother's milk
better than she does.
We will speak less.
Words will decay into tags,
syllables shaved thin for speed.
Poets will be relics—
their verses fed to machines
to train a better algorithm for heartbreak.
And God—
He will still exist,
but buried beneath
a stack of Terms and Conditions.
You may click “I agree”
to access divine grace.
Heaven will have a two-step verification.
There will be beauty still—
but filtered,
monetized,
optimized for engagement.
A sunset will mean nothing
unless enough strangers
press the heart.
We will not wage wars with weapons,
but with bandwidth.
A nation may fall
because someone whispered
the wrong idea
into the wrong server at 3 a.m.
But listen:
there will also be
moments.
Resistances
that do not make headlines.
A blind man learning Braille
from a hologram of his late wife.
A child growing tomatoes
on Martian dust,
singing to them
because no one told her not to.
There will be
a final poet.
He may live in a cave,
or on the edge of a server farm,
tapping rhythms into stone
or quantum keys,
writing in languages
long abandoned by commerce.
And when the last god blinks
from the neural sky—
when the last AI falls silent,
having failed to understand
why a tear fell
during a kiss—
he will remain.
In his blood:
syntax.
In his breath:
rebellion.
In his silence:
a future worth dreaming.
Because the future has no eyelids—
but we do.
And in the darkness between blinks,
the soul still speaks,
quiet,
glorious,
human.
Mosquito Bat
Peering closely, I sought to quickly skim through the online latest news …
True to form, I am a stickler for keeping up with the latest happening news…
Given this internet age and its borderless media reach, there’s always something…
So much to read, so much to keep up to date, just so one’ll be a better man for reading…
Then it happened, even as I was about to scroll the displayed page with the mouse button..
There came a familiar high pitched whine, softly at first but intensifying as its source approaches…
Christ! A blasted mosquito, high tailing in my direction, to my right pinky ear, to be precise…
I froze all motion, rolled and strained my eyeball to squint out of the corner of my right eye…
I saw, at the periphery of my field of vision, the fast approaching obnoxious blood sucker…
Silvery wings furiously beating as it made a bee line to my ear, a beacon for a typical bloody dinner…
Cautiously yet sparing no delay, I reached out for my trusty rechargeable electric mosquito bat…
The offending insect was just about to land, circling in ever tightening circles as I grasped my bat…
Bat upraised in hand, I did a quick head swivel , the dastardly insect was now plain in my sight …
Ah ha, now you are my victim, you stupid little insect! I gloated inwardly as I eyeballed the insect..
Dinner lost, the sudden shift in air movement must have warned this bloodthirsty sucker…
There was a quick change in its flight pattern, it tried to fly out of my vision, tried to flee from danger …
Here, eat this, you bloody miserable ungodly insect! Unhurriedly, almost leisurely, I waved my bat…
Right across the flying path of the fleeing little insect, there was no escape for such was its fate…
A sharp crackle and a quick spark of light, the poor mosquito was no more, no longer in sight…
A plume of whitish smoke, an acrid smell of burnt organic material, yup it was no more alright…
Mentally, I blew across the end of my smoking gun barrel like any swashbuckling vigilante..
Gee, what a lethal combination, me and this rechargeable electric mosquito bat each day…
Got to get a spare, just in case, like my daddy used to say, get ready for a rainy day…
An electric mosquito bat, dear readers, it is a must- have gadget to get, to keep up to date........
My heart, feeling like a heavy lump weighing all over all me,
Closed itself in a chest full of demoniac seeds
Hoping, that by doing so, it would bring itself to destruction,
Yes, it would rot and decay
To such an extent that it would forget about the pain,
The hurt, the feeling of having been taken for granted
The shock of having been taken for an emotionless doll
Meant to be used and abused
Meant to kept there, on a decorative shelf
Having as duty, the sole responsibility of keeping silent
And allowing life to act as it deems it right, upon me!
"I am leaving," I whispered with a teary breath
On a piece of scroll meant for the lover to read
After he would wake!
I knew, I would miss his comfort, his steady breath,
His stability, his rule over me, his imposed limits,
All which allowed me to thrive,
As long as I remained blind
To the fact that I was not enough for him!
Then, placing my hand over the Fate screen,
Blinking dangerously to how souls
Were being armed with sins,
I just let myself be propelled into a world
Where living is trapped by the laws of actions and reactions!
Yes, a world seeming to be both heaven and hell
Depending upon its location
Depending upon its whims
Pray, if nature chose not to destroy
Why, it's humans themselves who resorted to do so!
At least, here, I knew, I would suffer
Yes, here, I would be so taken up by woes
That I would forget about that which I left up there
There, a place whose name I have even forgotten!
But what I expected not was to meet with supernatural phenomenon
What I expected not was to experience celestial love
What I expected not was to meet love, here, toiling,
Like me, in human form
Trying to adjust to life's tempo
Trying to secure his uncertain future
Trying to find me, to save me,
And our love!
Pray,
If love erred
And now wants to be forgiven
Why, does it not become my aim
Does it not become my loyalty
To appease it and to love it back?
Somehow, this world shall fade into nothingness
What shall matter is the fact that we shall succeed in getting back there
There, a place whose name I have now forgotten
To help bring Earth back to life again
As it had been our home, for a while!
For Contest Fantasy
Sponsored by Deborah Guenther Beachboard
Written on 25th March 2018