Long Sensitive Poems
Long Sensitive Poems. Below are the most popular long Sensitive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sensitive poems by poem length and keyword.
He was eager to have friends.
He was glad to see us.
He was ready to show off his bunk-beds.
He was 4.
He was arrogant.
He was not afraid to tell the teacher
He was going to marry me "someday".
He was 6.
He was there, but I ignored him,
Angry from age 5. I was not going
to marry anybody except my daddy.
He was trying; He was 8.
I stuck out my tongue, mean.
He was intense.
He was sincere.
He was genuine.
He was 10.
He was learning.
He was developing.
He was interested.
He was 12.
He was understanding.
He was kind.
He was sensitive.
He was 15.
He was easy.
He was sweet.
He was open.
He was 17.
He was intense.
He was sincere.
He was himself.
He was 20.
He was kind.
He was considerate.
He was ready to become a Daddy, at 21.
And he was quickly snapped up by me, a Mommy at 20.
That was in 1971, and we are still together.
With 3 children, two sons-in-law, and 10 grandchildren.
Don't discount your childhood friends, women. Pay attention!
You do not want to lose the best possible "he" you've ever known.
Laughter and care spreads within the person, hiding their feelings on the inside with humor and ignorance within them, being unable to express their feelings without a support of another
They can fall in love over and over but their heart is too sensitive and strong inside to express their love for another, over and over again, the cycle of hurt can never end for them but rather tears
Tears as beautiful as ran fall within them, wondering when they'll fall in love with someone and cherish them the same way others cherish their laughter and the attention he gives
Most people struggle to help them, but they just struggle more and more to the point they can snap at the ones he spreads the laughter to, causing despair and tears to them
Their only freedom is their imagination rather than the laughter others assume they cheer themselves with but nobody will save them from the harsh reality due to their creativity and imagination keeping them safe in a bubble
So when the webbed-tide snares the lunars nether recesses in its glow casting shadows that arise among the craggs wedged beside some cliffs of common confirmed debris of the unnamed fallen heaps of mucked mired forgottned decay of worthless grime not meriting the struggles of a just reclaim promptly caused to fester including the residue of the reprehensibles whose lacking morals that from some particular decedent, intrusive spirit of Ne'ermere that steer souls to the steppes of the moors, where thou commands those hounds that wish to sever your sensitive skins and drain your spirit waters down that moat where your convictions will spark a lifetime of despair, honors the ambling of the blood moon of its wayward course of trailed afflictions that you wished and begged for death's swift visit for the determined inklings inscribed on petals of the columbine and their guarded secrets, steeped in the devil's brew of stirred concoctions meant for the hags of Ne'ermere and the warlocks of destruction and mayhem who pounces playfully on their prey of the misguided who are filled with disillusioned words that are as hollow as you, e'er stretching the imaginative liquified existence exposing a mirage of iniquities galvanizing its hold of treasured happenstance of certainties lost, fulfills a page of the intrepid who is but a shimmer presenting hope a hand of salvation gathered up in a smotherance and they'll all flicker away, anointing souls spared the vacuum of insignificance for doomsday is here bridging the channeled souls in their mortal state of decay of their tenous grasp of withered mass of fiberous veins where remnants of vigourous life succumbs to their true demise of the incredibly hideous and the indescribable now in the passage way between dying and death of their heinous acts of torturous screams bellowing throughout the chamberous pits of the unwanted dead where the lame, mute, and deaf search the living dead for their body parts, of severed limbs, eyes that hang out of the eyesockets, the unjointed tendons that flay about ever so freely, stenched air that festers while not only choking of whatever remians, seemingly an act of deceny, bestowing on the residue of assemblage from the former occupant, might be afforded an instantaneous journey into the sunrise of the...everlacking.
2019 September 18
WARNING: Saguaro
I wandered e'er so stiffly, speaking to loneliness,
Got dead to desire at the start, deaf to silence,
This remained an arduous journey of despair,
Beneath a broad unforgiving expensive sky,
Destitute, I went hither, on equal ground,
Dreamt damp beds per sensitive trudge,
Last marrow withered essence within,
Cracked, my breath spit out sounds,
Standing, midst heaven and earth,
Nature projects, outline a mirage,
It grew to each wavering vapor,
Beautiful flower be it so trivial,
Blinded via the desert heat,
I know it to be, delighted,
I rush in haste to hug it,
And last of my depth,
In its touch of me,
I didst bleed out,
Penitent pose,
As life flees,
Gist of me,
Knelt I,
Dies.
2020 February 26
*3rd Place*
Warning
~~Richard Lamoureux
Her poems are not of many flamboyant words
Echoing the earnest urge “I just need to be heard”
Instinctively conveying “ I have so much to say”
Desiring to go “to places I feel free,” “I make my way”
In inspiring words the simplicity of her poems displays.
Sensing “so much time spent just surviving to live”
Amazingly “still trying to find so much to give”
Not afraid of “all the fierce storms to battle” and to thrive
Dares to “hold on to dreams” in these trying times
Sensitive poetess she becomes with her rippling rhymes.
(The quotes are from the following poems of Heidi Sands :
Let me speak, Places I feel free, Life spent all alone, Hold on to dreams)
February 2, 2021
Contest : Capture The Essence
Sponsor : Margarita Lillico
Life brings so many different sounds
such variety in all we can hear
two ears we have been given
so we hear all from far and near
Some animals have real sensitive hearing
once had a black Labrador just like that
she could hear car coming a mile away
there at the window it always sat
It's always sad that for some folk
hearing is a major problem just like me
having two hearing aids for my help
got them on national health absolutely free
Love listening to the birds chirping away
such melody they bring to your day
they bring sounds that fill the air
sending messages to take away the grey
So be thankful for these sounds
to hear such sweetness in the air
grasp the moment hold your breath
this is special listening so rare
I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.
A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.
And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.
Now, be still George, I heard your whisper . . .
____________________________
May 17, 2020
Originally posted April 28, 2016
Poetry/Verse/'Whispering Old Cemetery'
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1252-780-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Allow the energy to move.
Don’t think about where it’s going.
Trust that it will come at the right time,
in the right way.
Be sensitive.
The most progress in your life will happen
once you start to let go.
The more you do that,
the more you’ll enjoy the process
of yourself becoming an awakened being.
The letting go will never end—
especially when you begin
to understand your self-worth.
The being is always progressing,
and the process is forever changing.
You don’t have to know when—
you just need to acknowledge
that it’s happening.
I guess all you can do
is constantly be in motion.
Bernice Zoleka Mannie
LYAIOZ MANNIE
Freckles fall from Tatters downtrodden countenance.
They fell like snow onto his chest below. Only one
landed on his nose, Rudolph-proud. He shared
Bozo’s hair - orange and red - a frenetic flair. Face
is narrow, pale - with blue eyes - used to be
pie in the sky blueberry…now Tatters is just blue.
Lips, thin and pink; eyebrows like charcoal crows.
Tatters donned his clown suit when he was twenty-one,
after he downed his first whiskey at the circus. A drunken
clown - is there any other - aren’t they funnier? Audience
applauds when he attempts a unicycle and when he rides
pink elephants. Now twenty-five he longs to shed
his jaundice billow of ruffles chained about his neck.
He will! He did! But alas it is too late. He’s not nearly
as funny…his elephant’s gray, but…
he still falls off his seat -
the crowd applauds at his insane antics
when he tumbles from the unicycle.
Only the redhead teen, with freckles,
sees a tattered-tear splashdown in the big tent.
Her sensitive hands will speak
as she depicts his suffering in indelible ink.
The clown gains serious applause - after all
his life’s framed in the teen’s blueberry eyes.
1/5/2023
“If we sit down and gently gaze at a butterfly
With a tranquil mind and calm spirit free from stress
Like happiness, it may come and rest on our palm
Heedless for a while, and then part away like the breeze.” -By author
**************************************************************
The Butterfly
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings, she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Behold her now sitting softly, silently on the palm of my hand
As she ignites in me gleams of happiness like a delicate friend
Once I try to grasp her by her wings, off she flies in the warm thin air
And I am left dead speechless, standing soundlessly just at her to stare
Like butterfly, happiness is sensitive, subtle and elusive
It caresses the cheeks and soon flits away like the sweet summer breeze
The seat of real happiness lies not outside, but rests within us,
Pursuing it at the door of wealth or fame would simply be a fuss.