Long Sheets Poems
Long Sheets Poems. Below are the most popular long Sheets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sheets poems by poem length and keyword.
A Fond Farewell to the Soup
You've all been "Souper".
As I set down at the keyboard
My eyes are filled with tears
For I’ll be saying “ Good-bye”
To folks I’ve “known” for years.
I recently self-published my 4th book
Silly rhymes now fill some 400 pages.
Printed up “officially” in the hope
They’ll last down through the ages. :o)
No one will buy many, if past is judge
But that wasn’t the original point.
If all else fails and they fall apart
I can use the pages to wrap a “joint”. :o)
My 12 yr. elder-life phase of rhyming
Has “respectfully” come to an end.
This last rhyme will finish it out
I’ll now send it to you, my friend.
I joined your group some years ago
But oft felt out of place, not good enough.
When you’re doing something just for fun
Not feeling “up to it” gets kind of rough.
Someone once said: “I’m not so sure
I’d want to be a part of any group
That would accept me into membership.
In desperation, to that level I stoop. :o)
But I’ve written many sheets since then
Least twice felt a need to be preserved
A piece that went together so nicely
I’ve felt “keeping” is what it deserved.
But I’ve gotten off my track again
To say: Adieu to this fine troop.
It’s grown to be for me a family
This wonderful “poets” group.
Thanks a lot for the many times
You’ve read my silly stuff
Shared many supportive comments
Not always, just thoughtless fluff.
I know I’ll miss you but see no need
To be a part, for I can still read.
The wonderful gifts each often shares
On this huge internet poetry feed.
So in the weeks and months ahead
I’ll be back. You won’t know I’ve read
But know I’m enjoying each one
Just don’t let it go to your head.
Respectfully entered by oldbuck
I sit alone
head in my hands
red welts growing on my back.
I don't move to cool
boiling water.
The words on repeat:
I deserve the pain
I sit at the kitchen table
family surrounds me.
My eyes unfocused
staring at a still spot.
No one's noticed.
Noticed the crescent dents and clenched fists
blood beginning to drip.
The words on repeat:
I am not worthy of love.
12 am hits the clock.
Eyes not drowsy
sleep miles from me
my mind on action.
The words on repeat:
I am a bad person.
Music blasted in my ears
as loud as it can go.
Attempts to silence my unwanted thoughts.
The words on repeat:
I don't belong anywhere.
Empty phone.
No one checks on me.
I need help
but there is not a care.
The words on repeat:
I am unloveable.
Knees to chest.
Tracing scars
scattered on my body like unwanted stars.
So many.
Too many.
Picked scabs, intentional cuts, surgery.
The words on repeat:
I am not worth fighting for.
Tears falling down my face
collecting on my sleeves.
The words on repeat:
Don't let them see you cry.
Words typed and deleted
phrases repeated.
"I miss you."
"Please come back."
The words on repeat:
I am weak and clingy.
"I love you"
"I will always love you"
The words on repeat:
I love too hard.
"Are you okay?"
"Can I help?"
"What's wrong?"
The words on repeat:
I care way too much.
My ceiling hearing the stories
no one cares to listen to.
My fan masking the sound
as tears hit the sheets.
The words on repeat:
I am worthless.
I am never enough.
I am ugly.
I am annoying.
I am all of the above.
Failing to see beyond
all these words on the page.
No one caring to show
No one caring to prove
That I might be more
than the words left on repeat.
Unjust narrow taste you brought me ardent in the ice that burns the fire,
On fierce threshold of smooth panic vellum written on turbid clear waters,
Of light because what color hurts I wonder my dear bad powder,
Of snow you trash of kind between us two swarm of united lonelinesses.
Behold stain my immaculate nausea eternally bloomed in putrefaction,
When you count girl's shoulders dry drought of living water that revives the dead,
Beautiful girl asleep uncovered in sheets of cold flames,
Forested in sighs of another me who is you without being anyone.
Awakened by a dirty racket in a pail shouting silence,
Like a chip of star from my life yours among springs of hurting,
So courageous in deeds dangerous for sick health,
Life beyond death the memories the gazes that blind illuminating the depth.
Good crazy friends and you only you multiplied in your absence,
Approximately the thirteenth wonder of the moon that doesn't exist in the calendar,
I search for you losing you I find you forgetting you in the broken mirror of heaven,
You are my snow powder that ignites me in eternal and ephemeral freeze.
Vellum of dark light you write unhappened stories on my skin,
Smooth panic like a sleeping storm in the eye of our tender cyclone,
The color that hurts I wonder is the black white of sinful innocence,
Trash of kind king's price in the sacred filth of our dirty love.
Drought of living water you drown my thirst with desert of burnt waves,
Forested in your sighs I lose myself on the path without straying toward you,
Chip of star fallen upward toward the heavenly abyss of bare earth,
The thirteenth uncounted wonder you are my true impossible.
My dreams may bother you.
My hopes and visions too.
But in kind words I'll always write,
despite the critics brew....
Friendship is free.
Never, given in hostility.
But in a troubled mind I see, images...
of you. In your skin you brood.
Seething hate and bitterness as
a fools duel.
Words inconsiderate are easy.
Infectious to the point of queezy,
Simplicity's worst shoe.
Not a phrase of kind sentiment,
compassion was replaced with food.
It outgrew you.
As all things do,
when abused in such a way.
A heart replaced
with a bitter.sweet.tart today.
A time now past that can't realize,
a fairy tale life bets better then lye,
in the pie.
Oh, but you would keep and
cherish those friends?
I'm sure one day
they'll know your amends...
When they're not listening.
Turn the story and twist your fate.
Knead a loving friendship into hate.
It suits you. But for the skin you're in
there's nothing I can do.
A great old bear once came around,
and said you echoed with bitter sounds.
"A walking lie is all he is."
I wonder if he knows just what you said?
About that 'friendship' too.
Yet another one of your brews.
Yes, there's a blame on two.
And yes, it's a shame on you.
Your faces show,
Many More Then Two.
============================
So here's my simple expression....
Take the sheets off the mirror
and see your reflection.
=============================
Reflections of a very hostile person I once called friend.
And how it affected me too.
No one here...and it's long past. so amen! to that. ;)
~Tough love given, from a Poet's brew.
~We keep such things now, to Write the past.
Form:
"Upon my lap it's safe garden pleasance,
deep in its soul a rumbling purr."
Quote by poet
Dulcet golden summer light lay upon
her long feline fur of chocolate mousse.
She sensual moves soundlessly through loose
half written poetry sheets, then she's gone.
Warmth of deep and passionate emotion,
on her paws nears, with grace hugs with her tail,
as she sits submissively. With big pale
green eyes, purrs, and stares up with devotion.
Soothed by her radiant gentle presence
and dawning affection, looking cozy,
but in Pandora's box being nosey.
Do not rein her private garden pleasance.
This is life after death, after life
Death during life
Losing time, wasting time, spending time
Time after time
So Cyndi Lauper says
I was in Kindergarten on the school bus staring out the window the first time that song played in my head
This was the birth of my introspection
I wanted someone to find me
I had looked around all the corners
I didn't know who I was missing
But I wanted it to be someone who could save me
My little legs danced up the steps to the State Hospital
To see my mother clothed in white
In the building were white walls, white floors, white sheets
Silent Screams of those who were lost and confused
Trapped in a world they didn't fit in
This scene a puzzle piece in my destruction
a fear that didn't reach its destination on time
The nightmares that I fought
Sometimes genetic terrors skip one generation
This pain that plagues me
The poisoned fruit hanging on my family tree
DAISY STAINS
Poor Daniel, so nice
Even when he was young
He made his bed
On telephone directories.
At the foot of his bed
Hanging from the ceiling
A Serrano ham
That cured at the end of winter.
His mattress looked like a hammock
From so much masturbation
That his mother thought it was
Because he brought to his bed
His best friend's daughter
Whose name is Grindelia Pulchella.
When his mother asked him
What those yellow stains were
That covered the sheets
He answered
That they were from the daisies
That he and his friend's daughter
Happily plucked the petals from
In a game of "he loves me, he loves me not"
Laughing out loud.
One day, when a glow
His mother saw leaving her room
She entered and saw her son
Putting his own cock
Into the throat of his arsehole
She was amazed
For she thought it measured
A yard and a half
Worthy of enjoying eternal glory.
She, compassionate, said to him:
-Son, I don't know why
Many more maidens don't come to you.
Cheerfully, Daniel answered her:
-Mother, yes they do.
Look how two spheres of asses
Like tailless birds
Who are both called Daisies
Split like watermelons at a glance
Escape through the window.
-Now, son, stay
With the four angels
Who guard your bed
And take care not to hit them
With your cock in the face.
Slipping away,
then hands tuck you back into the room,
arrange your sheets in the dark
while you float
connected to dank viaducts
that drain your body
only to feed it back to you.
It is almost beautiful
this slipping away
and returning.
As salvage you are part
of a humming communion,
momentarily you belong
with those others
who have risen upright.
The reappearance of yourself
brings with it a vision,
an unknown hand
holding yours.
And though you cannot now
place her,
it is almost beautiful how
she knit you together
from a few threads of your life.
Stayed with you
amid the
coming and goings
of your life.
"Volume"
Up
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Stay" /Bowie
https://youtu.be/eGuu7NiALvo
Volume
noun,
a book forming part of a work or series;
a single book or a bound collection of printed sheets;
a scroll of parchment or papyrus containing written matter;
the amount of space that a substance or object occupies, or that is enclosed within a container;
quantity or power of sound; degree of loudness.
Up
https://www.google.com/search?q=up+define&rlz=1C1SQJL_enAU857AU857&oq=up+define&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l7.1594j0j15&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
take your pick. :) x
Station/Stations
https://www.lexico.com/definition/station
- specific.
From the midday sky of smoldering fire
blazing splinters of sun shower as ember
on the barren sea of sand desiccated.
The last drops of brine-charged water
disappear behind the drape of arid air
shimmering on the furtive face of moving mirage
chased by the lone wanderer’s thirst unquenched.
It fades behind the burnt shadow of crescent dunes,
their fragile crests hit by the stream of hissing wind,
sheets of quartz slide on the ripples of flowing sand
as the desert storm blows from the blurred horizon
with fragmented amber beams of the setting sun,
paving pathway of hope to the cool cuddle of oasis
for the stranded dune rider to blindly follow
for he lost the track in skyburst sand blizzard.
Forlorn Bedouin journey ends in calm cradle of oasis
defined by the pristine paradigm of earthly paradise,
sparkling with dulcet stardust silver shine
in the desolate heart of still Saharan night.
September 29, 2018
Contest : I wander the desert alone
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh