Long Shared Poems
Long Shared Poems. Below are the most popular long Shared by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shared poems by poem length and keyword.
...He walked up and kissed her head so softly,
then said, “Good news, I’m off for the next few weeks.”
She said, “Mmm…and I’m betting that you’re are
thinking of all that you will do to me.”
He smirked, and said,”Well it has crossed my mind.”
She said, “I must work, but we will make the time…”
And they did enjoy that time together,
they went to dinner, took walks, and made love,
Cormack so enjoyed these little reprieves
from his chosen life, so brutal and rough.
Some days he thought it very hard to beat
lazing on the couch and rubbing her feet.
But good times are good because they can’t last,
eventually a new call did come in,
he told Christie he had to go away
for a sales trip, he shared no details grim.
She said, “It’s fine, I must travel as well,
to visit my brother, who’s going through hell.”
They said their goodbyes, Cormack went to work,
the patriarch’s gave him a new target,
a serial killer near Topeka,
“We’re not sure, but we think he’s a good bet.”
They told him as they slipped him a file,
he frowned, thinking this might take a while.
The drive took two days, but Cormack got there,
in a rented house he set up his gear,
see Nephilim left some strange energy
at any location where they appeared.
An electric charge from their angel kin,
unique to their kind, so Cormack did begin.
This was the boring part of the hunting,
walking the streets with a heavy backpack,
inside a device reading the energy,
hoping to pick up residual tracks.
He started near the sites of the fell crimes,
traces of a Nephilim he soon did find.
For days he looked for patterns in the readings,
using the data to triangulate,
narrowed it down to a three block circle,
armed himself and went to investigate.
The device went wild as he drew near,
he wondered if two Nephilim were here.
He heard a commotion from a warehouse,
not uncommon in a bad part of town,
he heard an angel voice and painful moan,
and knew something awful was going down.
He slipped inside and heard a voice proclaim,
“When the hunter shows up, you’ll get the blame!”
Cormack stepped out and lifted his pistol,
he said, “Or I’ll just kill you both here and now.”
The bigger man jolted as he appeared,
then his eyes glowed, and he bellowed out loud.
He then then himself into a mad charge,
but Cormack’s gun spoke before he got far...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
1
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing thee, thyself in turn.
Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke –
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.
I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore –
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
2
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.
Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.
I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more –
remembering thy portrait in my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
. 3
Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions, mind alert, thy hungering to learn.
Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.
I watch thee grow, and will, forever more –
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.
‘Tis all I have.
4
Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee.
Break loose those prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain –
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft –
all a capella – pure and long.
Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.
Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.
[Finis]
You were the reason I could live through the strife,
You kept it from feeling like a stab with a knife.
Affection’s what I needed to make it through,
The kind of true love that I shared only with you.
That’s how I felt until one day,
You decided its better to throw it away.
The four months with you went by so fast,
Now I dread how long each day will last.
We would joke about me being locked in a tower,
Yet that’s how I feel without your power.
In a poem you wrote you said I am caffeine,
Now I know how you felt, I know what you mean.
As I was to you, you were also to me,
It just took losing you for me to see.
Having no you is like having no air,
You felt the same now it seems you don’t care.
A while ago you said you’ve fallen for me hard,
Now I sit here on the ground, I fell but I got scarred.
Before that night I thought we’d endure,
This was a fact, I was totally sure.
Then it came with your words that you unfold,
That you don’t want to see what our future will hold.
I promised to care for you through the thick and thin,
But now you've made that chance to be slim.
When was the last you listened to our song,
The way I find us now tells me it has been too long.
Remembering the times you’d say “I love you”,
Now I look back to find none of it’s true.
No one could love you as much as I,
I’ll keep our moments until I die.
I clearly remember those times we had,
Now they fade with you, I feel nothing but sad.
But what kills me the most was the look in your face,
What I had to look at when all this took place.
No frown, no sniffs, not a tear in your eye,
Even though it felt like I was ‘bout to die.
I had to stay strong and hold back all my tears,
All in the meanwhile being told my worst fears.
You said you would always love me so,
Though now I feel your love ceases to grow.
I sit here holding what’s left of my heart,
It slips through my fingers as it falls apart.
Now I look back at what seems a mistake,
But you’re the mistake I was glad to make,
The kind of mistake I would always make,
Even though it ends in my heartache.
Poetry from the heart you showed me to write,
And now it haunts me of that dismal night.
Though I know I’m not perfect and neither are you,
When we were together I felt that not true.
My life had no order but I was gaining control,
But now my heart’s left with a dark gaping hole.
Form:
Please do not define me by the house I’m living in.
You don’t know where I’m going; you don’t know where I’ve been.
Just because my house is not a mansion or chalet,
Doesn’t mean I can’t be just as happy where I stay.
The circumstances of our lives can change from time to time.
It seems to me that this time, a change will soon be mine.
I’m not sure I am ready to face this task again.
I’m longing for the days of youth and happy times back then.
No matter where I hang my hat, my heart is still the same.
Four walls alone won’t make a home when filled with doubt or shame.
A house is made of bricks or wood, but this I must confide…
A house is not a home unless true love resides inside.
A home should be a place that reaches out its arms to you,
Some rocking chairs on your front porch, where you enjoy the view.
As soon as you set foot inside the door you know you’re home,
Where Home Sweet Home is always best, no matter where you roam.
The welcome mat, it does just that…it makes you feel secure.
It doesn’t matter where you’re at, or if you’re rich or poor.
I think a home can know if you are feeling sad or blue,
And in its way, will do its best to take good care of you.
To me, there's nothing sadder than a house no one lives in.
No family to call its own, and empty rooms within.
Its windows are the eyes that blankly stare, as if to say,
“Won’t you come inside and take my loneliness away?”
The houses where I’ve lived before were happy ones, you see.
I loved each one in different ways and I know they loved me.
I left my mark on each of them in one way or another,
Especially the one I shared with Daddy and my Mother.
This home won’t be as nice as some I’ve lived in, in the past.
Financial strain can dwindle down a bank account so fast.
I have to do what’s right for me, and not for any other.
If you don’t like the place I live, I can’t go buy another.
I hope I won’t be judged by where I live, because you see
Your circumstances, too could change; you may live next to me.
Tornado Magnet, Trailer Trash…call me what you will.
The only thing that matters is the sweet relief I’ll feel.
Although it’s sad to leave this home, I never understood,
The heavy burden of my debt would soon be gone for good.
So if you want to tease me now, I’m sure you will agree,
This “almost” Trailer Trash is very soon to be debt-free!
April 6 Wagontire, Oregon
1973
In 1973, I went on a road trip
With my father
We left Berkeley to go to Yakima
Where my father had a summer cabin
He was a college professor
And had July and August off
And we spent the summers
Every summer from 1968 to 1978
Our whole dysfunctional family
Our annual road trip to hell and back
As we did not get along at all
We decided to drive through Eastern Oregon
Just my father and me
Just for the hell of it
The rest of the family was already there
My father and I shared a travel lust
One of the few things we shared
This was one of our best trips
We got along
Which was unusual
Normally our relationship
Was fraught
As we were so different
We left Klamath Falls
A real nothing burg in those days
And headed east along highway 395
As we entered the desert of eastern Oregon
We entered a different world
High mountain dessert
Almost no one on the road
Then we saw the sign
Wagontire Oregon
100 miles ahead
99 miles ahead
98 miles ahead
We counted down the signs
Miles after miles
As we drove into the gathering dusk
We speculated that Wagontire
Must be a giant truck stop
In the middle of no where
We pulled into the town
Nothing there but a gas station
Motel and café
We decided to stop
Last gas for 100 miles
According to the highway signs
In the morning
We chatted with the owner
He was the sheriff, the fire chief
The owner of the motel, gas station
The only business in town
And the only place open
For one hundred miles
I noticed a highway sign outside
Welcome to Wagontire, Oregon
Population 2 ½ humans 10 dogs, 50.000 sheep
I asked the Sherriff
Say who is the ½ human?
My idiot son!
And we left.
200 miles later
We finally left Eastern Oregon
2016
In 2016 my wife and I drove through Eastern Oregon
As part of our epic cross country trip
10,000 miles
31 states in three months
On the way from Medford to Yellowstone
We drove along highway 395
The signs for Wagontire was gone
And we drove through the town
The motel was abandoned
Nothing there at all
And that sign was gone too
I said I suppose the idiot son
Never took over the business
And we speculated about Wagontire
And all other nothing burgs
We drove through that summer
Heart of Trump’s America
True fly over country
Gregory
You made yesterdays news, invoking fears
You were found on the streets
Discarded and left to die alone
Thrown away like a piece of garbage with little thought
An inconvenience, as you struggled for your life
So many questions and no answers….
Your thoughts were dark and twisted and not appropriate
You did not fit the mould
Opportunities wasted as you oared against the current
The river washed you out and you choked to breathe
Your thoughts were numbed by substances
Chemicals that took away your sanity
Robbed you of your family and your home
Left your mother with a broken heart and tortured soul, struggling with forgiveness
Your father fought his own demons just long enough to remember your life
And then fall back into the abyss and darkness and forgottenness
Your friends cried as they thought of you.
Their scarred faces and souls with their big crosses around their necks
Their tattooed and tattered young zombie bodies
With their vacant eyes that bore too much pain to contain
Thin and remorseful souls
with the tears that fell down their cheeks like rain
They loved you, you were a good friend!
It was said you would give the shirt off your back for a friend
Your first love wondered how she could have helped?
Your grandfather has lived too long to see this day
One more funeral in his 88 years
A reminder of his son of 17 that was also discarded.
Your brother tried to honour and play his guitar that you gave him
Tears were shed
Beautiful memories shared and kind words spoken
A life too young
Fell beneath the caverns of a broken world
Aunts write poetry to make sense of it all, desperately writing to keep your memory alive
Unspoken grief all around with nowhere to go
One more forgotten victim of an epidemic
Bi-polar they said
Addicted they said
As they sat in their offices high above the streets away from it all
Making policies to keep you safe.
Safe injection sights to shoot poison to your veins
And kitchens with large pots of soup to sustain you until your imminent death
The great unravelling of a generation
You were loved by many
You were a beautiful soul, a good friend, son, brother, cousin
A beautiful child with big brown eyes and so much promise
Gregory always remembered
Rest peacefully sweet soul…
Grace Daub August 25, 2021 written after my nephew’s untimely death- homeless and on the streets
The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky
The sun that is out of reach of a hand
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope
One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March
has left behind
Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone
The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore,
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind
The friends, not many in number shared his happiness
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though
plain and simple, abundance in God;
at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle
For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences
As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him,
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind
Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone,
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him
A difference between compassion and sympathy,
between co-empathic passion
and unilateral YangPatriarchal-empathic,
ego-empowering intent,
Compassion matures passion FOR
into shared passion WITH.
This same emergent fluidity
cannot be said of sympathy
for suffering of Other,
who remains another dissociated Other
Exempted from democratic inclusion
in further considerations
of constitutionally appropriate applications
of Golden Rules
to those who remain
in darker xenophobic shadows
more appropriate for retributive reaction
than restoration to peaceful justice response.
This same contrast and compare
may also apply to political empowerment
and more of the same
competitive economic investment,
to global enlightenment
and more localized, and often nationalized, pockets
of self-enrichment,
to recreative cooperative love
and to recreational competitive lust
Now that some of us
revolutionaries and evangelists
of the ecological 1960s
have been given this great green gift
of old age wisdom,
what on Earth
shall we choose to do with
such awesomely sacred/secular
private/public sectoral
nonpartisan WisdomCircle responsibility?
Settle for fading sympathy,
gradual depressive loss of sensory health awareness,
of physical consciousness?
Or, Reconsider ways to optimize active compassion,
compassionately lively communication,
fragrantTrue and savoredBeauty,
bicamerally touched
and binomially felt Pos/Neg/InBetween
1/0 double-binary positive polyvagal neurological
systemic health structure
[Wow! That was a lot to dispassionately ask. Sorry.]
non-violently heard
and green revolutionary 20/20 revisioned,
Co-passionate DNA/RNA EarthTribes
currently in living residential relationships
growing hotly combative climates
of anthro-privileged salvific empathy,
Seeking more cool green Wisdom Circles
of democratic sacred energy discernment
within and among consensual multicultures
of ecosystemic health-sensory consciousness.
How is universal EarthWealth
compassion
different
yet often felt the same
as unilateral LeftBrain EitherEgo/OrEcoSystemic Health and Safety
RightBrain Truth and Beauty
in sacredly holonic
CoPassion
with great transition gratitude
for this Old WisdomCircle
healthy democratic gift
of revolutionary evangelicals
in cooperative multiculturing redevelopment.
What happened?
I bolt awake, the heat of the fire
Still burning in my brain.
Oh, it was just a dream.
Or was it? I look at my skin,
Realize it’s black and bloody all at once
Cracked, peeling.
I sniff,
The whisper of smoke still in my nose,
My hair.
A tear rolls down my pitted cheek
As I remember, like I always do,
After I wake up.
Reliving that night.
The last thing I remember,
I was
Home, entwined in your arms
(your fingers were entwined, too, in the hair I’m stroking now).
The heat between our bodies
So strong, that I pushed you away;
I regret it now.
(I just wanted a little space.)
Because the heat then became suffocating, consuming,
As you rolled over and said
this wasn’t the same anymore.
I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, I was sweating,
100 degrees and climbing,
as you got up and packed your things
then left the room.
The slam of the front door
Was the catalyst.
My heart was the match,
And I the fuel....
I exploded from the inside out-
The flame ripped me open,
My skin started to blacken and smoulder.
Stop drop and roll?
They never taught us what to do
In a human inferno.
In desperation, I laid there on the bed
You and I shared
My tears nothing
but puffs of smoke
as they fell uselessly upon my skin.
The tears I’m crying now
In the hospital bed
Remembering
Are no more productive...
But my dear friend sitting next to me
Who pulled me out of the flames
Is there to dry them
And to console me
Telling me I still look beautiful
the wounds will heal
And that you aren’t worth them anyway.
I now know what I have to do
once I can leave this place.
Months later,
My burns have closed, now only scars remain.
I walk up the street to the house you and I once shared,
Now only a pile of rubble.
Picking my way through the charred remains of our bedroom,
A curtain scrap there, a chunk of headboard there,
A stray blackened sock,
I stop, and kneel down in the ashes.
I begin to sift through the ashes, the memories, with my finger,
Both erasing the past,
And bringing it to life all at once,
Until I have found it.
A blade of grass.
One.
Standing tall, strong,
And unapologetically green.
In the middle of the ashes,
With the ruins of our life together all around me,
I delicately clean the area around the blade of grass
with my finger, and
I smile.
Favorite Carolyn Devonshire Poem
History Rising from the Sea
Treasure from the sea
Golden doubloon
Sixteenth century artifact
By ancestors hewn
Earth's history lays buried
Beneath five oceans
As undersea tremors
Create violent commotions
Freeing from Spanish galleons
Precious metals, gemstones,
To greet early beachcombers
History on loan
Memories of bygone ages
Scattered on the sand
Finally kissed by sun again
While in a searcher's hand
I pursue this morning trek
With Atlantis on my mind
Seeking proof at last
In treasures I might find
When ancient civilations
Seem to disappear
Comb the beach, you might find
The evidence is here
For from a phoenix rising
New finds appear each day
And I'll not stop searching
Till doubts I can allay
Caroline and I shared of love of water - she the ocean and I lakes and Puget Sound. Her poems flow like tides - effortlessly - with bits of wisdom scattered like treasures of seashells or driftwood found on the beach. This poem speaks of our mutual love of beachcombing for treasures and the pondering of history brought to mind by life's flotsam.
The poem below represents my tribute to Carolyn.
Girl on a Dolphin
Stargazing ocean pixie
Rides the playful weathered waves
To surf the ocean tides
With laughing dolphins
Leaps to catch Delphinus
Starfarer in a star bound chrysalis
To ride this five star celestial constellation
On heaven sent lapis astral waters
Wearing moonstones like Apollo’s poetry
Where starry Aquila flies to Lyra’s music.
Salt spattered waves only gaze
At a girl – eternal sea sprite –
That sits atop a stellar dolphin
And feels the shell torn loss
Of feet that danced through tidal pools,
Delight and awe surging through her signature,
As time bound day searches midnight legends
To align in twinkling sidereal day –
A quest for remnant memories in verses
Of a star born spirit – girl riding on a dolphin.
For Carolyn
8-19-21
Contest: Celebrating Carolyn's Poetry – Not a Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
The constellation Delphinus is made up of five stars and can be seen between the constellations of Aquila, the Eagle, and Lyra, the Lyre. It is named for two Greek legends based on dolphins one of which tells of Apollo setting a dolphin in the sky in gratitude for saving the Greek poet Arion. Apollo is the god of music and poetry.