Long Signed Poems
Long Signed Poems. Below are the most popular long Signed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Signed poems by poem length and keyword.
Why can’t my mirror understand
Just what I really need
I look and look and hope and hope
No matter how I plead
I still am seeing what I am
Not what I want to see
When hair was of a chestnut brown
The way it used to be
When skin aroused a velvet touch
And not a map of crepe
With eyelids smiling, opened wide
Without adhesive tape
This mirror cost me quite a bit
That magic shop downtown
Had promised gaze of pure delight
Not this depressing frown
I feel so swindled, yes I do
And here’s what else I think
That just in case, I signed that check
With disappearing ink
On the 21st of December,
you came into the world.
And fate
grew heavier.
Today we bow our heads.
Not only in joy,
but in quiet sorrow.
Happy Birthday, Thandi.
The mountains do not dance loudly.
They ache.
Because beauty
always carries a cost.
The rivers sing softly,
as if afraid
to disturb time.
The trees remember you
with trembling leaves.
I may forget the day.
Forgive me.
The mind is weak.
But the soul remembers
with pain.
With longing.
On this day,
I signed an unseen contract.
Written in silence.
Sealed with fear.
And hope.
Love is not light.
It is deep water.
It is knowing
everything can be lost.
May this birthday
carry you gently forward.
Through joy.
Through wounds.
May the wind whisper your name
with tears in its voice:
Thandi.
Happy Birthday.
May God grant you years.
And may love
be strong enough
to survive them.
You say you're not afraid
Of Were-wolves and the like
Or those blood-sucking Vamps
That fly around at night
No creature from the crypt
Could make you run and hide
And no pack of dead dog zombies
Could make you stay inside
Monsters sure know better
To stay out of your way
And if they don't, they know
That they will have to pay
You say you are the reason
That ghosts are pale and white
And ghouls and goblins only dare
To come out late at night
Now, I've known you just a few years
And I'll confess it's true
I've never met a person
More scarier than you
I remember the very day
I was most, feared, for my life
When I signed those legal papers
That made you my X-wife
JTCurtis Oct 2014
THE LIPS
Oh! what a world of sin I created?
Looking around humanities, I saw the beautiful lust in their heart towards me.
All big teeth, considered me important.
I cover the teeth nomatter how big it may be or the decay particles that hangs on;
Women painted me to lure men into destruction and say good bye to their senses.
With me in colours, men lose their heart for women;
Yes, once contacted me; contract is signed, feelings rains.
Without me, men will not have women's heart or look at their ugly but charmingly faces.
I make faces more beautiful;mostly when in colours. No face can shine without me.
Iam the spice of beauty; catch a glimspse of me, emotion, pleasure, feelings will smile back at you.
Iam the bridge of love, you can't destroy or ignore me; and still climb into full atmosphere of lust and deceptive.
The women knows my important in schooling men around;
plug-in into each other; is likes poles, my attraction is confusion.
Throw a finger across me, disagreement will be silent; and contract will be signed.
In my world of deceptive, decent life is a mirage.
I can make good, I can kill. rushing your mouth into me; risk of deceptive, pains and weeping is high.
Iam the sepulchre of souls, no matter how you painted me with colours,
I change not but many souls lust after my colours.
I appeared good to sinful eyes that would't let me be, wisdom of knowing my nature is total abstain from using me to kiss.
what do we kiss with or eat with?
Nomatter how worse is your nature, Lips, stay on my face.
and make my monring and bed time like rose -garden where faces forget their identity in God.
Until you stop painting me to achieve your evil desires, I will remain only tools of confusion in this world.
I will allow humanities to use me to break each other's heart.
Pastor Emmanuel .A.Brown
Last Will and Testament
I think ?, I have known all along
that one day, you would be gone,
as the days – for me – where few,
not much left – for me – from you.
Everything I have said - you have read.
there is not a word - you have not heard,
and so my dear, what is there left for me to say
to squelch the fear, in some compassionate way ?
Brighten up – for you and me – this sad, sad day.
The days we have known, now come to an end.
count upon you ?, will not know, can not call friend.
As you depart, step from my Probe, silver gray,
on your way into the light of a brand new day.
My soul sits silent – not a word – nothing more to say
for it all was – had been said – about the way
in which you left me, many times before, and that day.
Silence, it appears, is to be my fate,
darkened corridors, nothing you state
to enlighten – closure, none – no clean slate
as you move on, behind you, lock the gate.
I leave to L. B. - silence – I bequeath, to her, freedom.
Freedom from me, my presence, my thoughts, my feelings.
Freedom from my words, my prose and poetry of enlightenment,
enlightenments twisted by the prisons, the prisms of her mind
that have prevented her from enjoying, - with a clear conscious.
This I understand, for I know the life she has chosen in the light of
her nurturing, her nature and how they have come together
to create the heart and soul of this troubled young lady.
I bequeath to Linda, my acceptance, ( disappointing and heartbreaking
as this may be ), and my forgiveness ( for all ) for her termination
( in silent avoidance ) of our ?, friendship.
I leave to L. B. my heartfelt, best wishes for her new freedom ?, to enjoy
the relationship she has been cultivating for some time and for the
adventures that may come her way, as I, in specks, in slivers, in flakes,
flakes of fading light that vanish from sight as the wind changes
and I become not but a distant, fading memory, lost,
behind the steel doors of those dark corridors in her memories hoard .
Signed this 29th day, in the of our lord, 2004
Wm. J. Atfield Jr.
B. J. “A” 2
I have no idea what you just said.
I read it all, then I read what I read;
I played it several times in my head.
I thought I followed, but I lost the thread.
Not always the sharpest tool in the shed,
sometimes I feel like my brain’s a bit dead,
a brain-borne illness that’s starting to spread.
A minute ago… but now there’s no shred.
It seemed like a place to cautiously tread.
Maybe an accident? Seems like you bled?
That person you wrote about: are you still wed?
No, that was a poem written by Fred.
Consuming Soup’s part of my daily bread;
creative juices flow when you are fed,
but after reading, I’m empty instead.
Saying the wrong thing just fills me with dread.
Thoughtful, deep comments might give me street cred,
or some pithy maxim, but wisdom just fled.
See, I ain't got nothing; ignorance pled.
I have no idea what you just said.
Signed, a spondee respondent, “Awesome!” ahead.
In Jan, nineteen thirty-three, there was man called Mick Malloy
At the time he was an alcoholic and a poor homeless boy.
A young Irish fire-fighter out of work
He left his home in Donegal - to find some in New York.
He fell in with five real bad men
Who wanted to cause murder back then.
Poor Mick they had him in their sights
An insurance fraud, they brought to light.
They signed three life policies on Mick
Now they had to kill him quick.
Unlimited credit in a speakeasy, they gave him
To drink himself to death-they went out on a limb.
Although he drank all day long
His life it just seemed to prolong
They switched to antifreeze instead
Expecting Mick to wake up dead.
With turpentine they then did tempt
But no success, so they switched to horse liniment.
Finally a drink of rat poison, they gave the poor lad
But Mick never ever seemed to get bad.
They tried oysters, then methanol.
Bad sardines, poison and carpet tacks
But poor old Mick swallowed the lot,
And still poor Mick kept coming back.
The five would be murderers were baffled
Poor Mick just would not die
The murder trust then knew,
something else they would have to try.
One night poor Mick unconscious, they stripped him and carried him out
In minus fourteen degrees,naked, not wearing a single clout.
Threw five gallons of water on him, to make sure that he would freeze
Poor Mick returned the next without even a cough or sneeze.
Mick returned the next day to order himself a drink
The men were getting desperate they really had to think.
Next they hit him with a taxi and broke lots of poor Mick’s bones
But he had three weeks in hospital, then they sent him home.
The gang had thought that Mick was dead
But when they tried to claim, poor Mick returned once more
And kept on his drinking game.
In desperation in February, in fact on the twenty second
They waited for Mick to collapse, then gassed him in a second
A pipe they pushed into his throat and now poor Mick was gone.
The gang did not win even then, no not a single one.
They squabbled and were caught and to Sing Sing them they did send
Four to be fried on the electric chair what a sizzling end
The fifth was sent to prison, which didn’t seem quite fair.
He somehow managed to escape, Sing Sings electric chair
Poor Mick Malloy has been long gone, but will not be forgotten
Just remember to watch your friends though; you never know who’s rotten.
"MY ADOPTION"
"1979"
ON THE DAY I WAS ADOPTED, I WAS PLACED UNDER PAM & BOB'S WINGS..
I WAS BORN INTO THEIR HEARTS, IN A VERY SPECIAL WAY..
THEY OFTEN TOLD ME HOW MUCH THEY PRAYED & DREAMED OF TAKING THEIR LITTLE RED HEAD BABY GIRL HOME..
THE DAYS & NIGHTS WERE LONG, AS THEY WAITED
4 THE FINAL SAY THAT I WAS LEGALLY THEIR DAUGHTER.
MY MOM OFTEN WOULD TELL ME THAT MY BRIGHT ORANGE HAIR STOOD OUT WHEN THEY
WOULD VISIT ME..
WHEN THEY FINALLY SIGNED THE LAST PIECE OF PAPER, THEY HAD TEARS OF JOY AS THEY HELD ME IN THEIR ARMS AS THEIR NEW BABY GIRL.
THEY SAID I WAS THEIR PERFECT LIL ANGEL
THEY HAVE ALWAYS WAITED 4..
AND THEY HELD ME TIGHT &
MY NAME CHANGED TO
MELISSA J. DEMONT..
THE PROVIDENCE OF MANKIND
BEYOND THE NIGHTS THE DREAMS
OF PEOPLE WHO SEEK IN ADVENTURE
TO REDEFINE MINING OF ASTEROIDS
THEY SPOKE OF THE ONE:1?2 TON RATIO
WHERE ROCK LADEN WITH MAGNESITE TO
SOAK-UP CARBON MONOXIDE FROM
THE ATMOSHERE
SEQUESTERING STRATEGIES
THEY SOUGHT TO FIND TRUTH IN
POSITIONS WERE TRUTH
WAS FROM DATA THE UNTRUSTED
SCEINCE OF BEING FIRST
FROM SPACE THE ASTRONAUT SPOKE
AND SAID SUCH THEN MIGHT
VIOLATE THE TREATY CAUSING THOSE WHO
SIGNED THE TREATY TO
MAKE IT HARDER FOR US TO DO WHAT WE
NEED TO DO TO HAVETHESE THINGS DONE,
MEASURE PUT FOURTH AGAINST
SOMETHING THAT MIGHT
SAVE ALOT OF PEOPLE AND A WHOLE LOT
OF ANIMALS, EXSPECALLY THE
ONE'S WE EAT, THEY CALLED IT
CHEMICAL CAJOLING, USING MINERALS
TO SOAK-UP AIRBORN GAS
A hundred-ten year old soldier was interred in Arlington Cemetery today.
Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles now sleeps nigh his comrades in sacred clay,
Awaiting that glorious morn when Gabriel's bugle will sound that final call,
To fall in for the last calling of the roll! Corporal Buckles will be standing tall!
"Taps" was played echoing far beyond the hills of Arlington into the misty past,
Reminding all of brave men who were destined to die or were horribly gassed!
Courageous men who willingly placed national destiny above their very own,
To ensure that our precious and hard-won freedoms would ne'er be overthrown!
Only sixteen, he lied about his age trying to join the navy and marines with no luck,
And was told, "Go home before your Mom knows you're gone, you young buck!"
He told a bigger whopper telling the army recruiter he was all of twenty-one!
The sergeant, looking for warm bodies signed him up, thence the deal was done!
He was promoted to corporal and served with distinction as an ambulance driver.
After serving in France, he was honorably discharged, returning a heroic survivor!
As a civilian he was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines but was kept alive,
And was rescued after three years in Los Banos prison camp in nineteen forty-five.
He proudly represented the 'doughboys' of The Great War as last man standing.
So much, so very much to him we owe for his service was most outstanding!
That venerable symbol of America, the majestic Golden Eagle, cried,
On the day that the old veteran, Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles died!
(Corporal Buckles, the last American survivor of World War 1, died 27 February 2011, at the age of 110)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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