Long Sometimes Poems
Long Sometimes Poems. Below are the most popular long Sometimes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sometimes poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm not a man's man, man
I'm just what's left in the garbage can
Mixed in with all the rubbish
of some yuppie's leftover dinner
And oh boy he's quite the sinner
With that Donald Trump smile
Don't mind me, I just wannna relax awhile
And read yesterday's coffee splotched news
To see who will be igniting the fuse
Of tomorrow's worthless wars
I'm not a man's man, man
I'm a teardrop or two away from drowning
Got this nice little brown bag in my hands
A curse from Satan if there ever was one
But I'm chasin' the bottom of the bottle
Hoping that maybe the last drop will bring the fun
That the rest of the drops failed to deliver
And if I could get a tiny sliver
Of that silver platter of the 1%
I reckon I'd be more than a garbage can man, man
But I'm no man's man, man
I'm just a hot summer's day that stuck around way too long
It's just it's too awkward to say I don't belong
So people just pass me by with a half-smile
It's like I'm wearing yesterday's fabulous style
No longer hip and with all the cool kid trends
But all the cool kid trends end
And they end up in the garbage can
With me, the garbage can man, man
But yesterday's old news is my brand new treasure
And, sure, I'm no man's man, man
I'm just the used up remains of a worthwhile life
And I dove into the depths of the bottle one too many times
And I swear sometimes I feel like it's 1958
With all these smoke clouds blossomin' overhead
And if I could just find the strength to climb out of the trash can
Maybe I wouldn't be such a smelly garbage can man, man
But my days of climbin' are already over the hill
And pretty soon I'll be a snapshot in time, a long dead still
From a movie nobody gave a damn about
Not every step is an adventure, sometimes you crawl and drag yourself through the forest like a wounded wolf,
With a heart shattered by choices and the silent pain of starless nights,
Not every word you speak is graceful and wise, sometimes you surprise yourself
How thoughtless and harsh you can sound, like an echo of the shadows in your depths.
Not every act of generosity is done from the kindness of your heart,
Sometimes you find yourself killing love, just to survive through the night,
A dark and cold night, where only shadows dance on unfamiliar walls,
And you, alone, the wounded wolf, fight for a shred of light, for a lost dream.
Not every thought is kind and peaceful, sometimes your thoughts are heartless narratives,
Nightmares that seem the only possible alternative, in this world of silences and shadows,
Where hopes break like waves against rocks, where desires are lost in the abyss,
And you, lost in your own soul, search for a way, a path towards light.
And yet, in this journey of silence and pain, there is a melancholic beauty,
A poetry hidden in every step, in every word, in every thought,
Like leaves falling in autumn, in a dance of gold and rust,
Like a wounded wolf howling at the moon, seeking solace in its pale and shining light.
Not every day is an adventure, but in every day there is a story,
A story of struggle, of survival, of hope and longing,
And you, wandering soul, will find your way, will find the light,
In this world of silences and shadows, you will dance again, like a wolf under the full moon.
I read the poem-a-day poem today
And I really liked the words, and how I had to think about them.
But then I listened to the recording of the poem by the actual poet,
and by the end of the first stanza
I no longer liked it
I turned it off.
The poet’s voice sounded robotic, and fast, and uninterested.
I have heard this before, in other poets.
I should learn.
Never listen to poets’ recordings of their own poems.
Unless it is Naomi Shihab Nye,
Or unless it is Trapper Markelz,
or unless it is me.
My favorite thing is reading
My own poetry
In my voice
Aloud
Oh, how I love what a voice can do to a word.
I like playing with the length of words.
Playing with inflections.
I love using the spoken word – as a means of art – .
When I have a student who loves poetry as much as I do
I have a sort of secret fondness for the student –
And if the student proves to be able to maintain their interest in poetry over
Say - three or four months (or even years)
And they don’t back down from it
The student becomes part of my
heart beat
Sometimes I feel my heart beating after I read a poem
Or while I am writing one.
This is happening to me now.
Line of inquiry:
What is that awareness by which each body-mind feels alive and becomes aware?
Eyesight is an invaluable gift enjoyed by all
But with external eyes, everything, we can’t see
We need the eye of the eye to perceive things right
A beacon to guide our vessel through the turbulent sea
Blessed are we who have eyes to see and senses to feel.
When external sight dims and blurs in veils of mist,
Something that resides within our outer frame
Makes us feel alive, a beacon shining bright.
When our inner eye stays closed or is dim with cataract,
Unclouded sight is that which we often miss
Knowledge when aligned to wisdom lends us sight
And roots the spirit in abiding peace and bliss
Wisdom lends us prudence in the use of words
It prefers the hush where truth can breathe
Sometimes speech is like thunder alarming to ears
While silence remains like dagger inside the sheath
Joy or sorrow, heeding no consent, arrives unbidden,
Yet within us remains a guarded spiritual realm
That teaches us to respond with reason rather than reflex
And see things in clearer light without reactions, extreme.
It teaches us to weather loss without disgust
And relish success without strutting around
Awareness is the light that guides us through the maze
And is born where sight is clear and choice sound.
a world away from where I started
it's not a hallucination or rag tag illusion
I remember the phone ringing and the answer
that never joined us
I'm removed from it
like the classroom when we were young
I tried to jump through the hoops
invisible ones circular and scary
the promises of love and forever
disjointed attempts at realization
everyone who is close is far away
in dreams we attain that freedom
the light was lost
but a sliver of sun remained
through closed eyes I tried to feel
the remnants of a discovery
fueled by fantasy and feedback
the voice that tells you everything is alright
I believe it's god sometimes
letting go of the resistance
it just feels better....
Sometimes you just have to cry;
Allowing those tears to accumulate in your eyes;
Why oh, why
Sometimes your feeling sad;
Emotions have got you bad;
Allowing your blood pressure to rise;
Why oh, why
Don't let those things of this world bring you down;
Don't let your emotions throw you to the ground;
There's something dear;
There's someone here;
Don't worry, calm down;
And just allow God to change your mind and heart;
Calm down He's your reason;
Just believe in, believe in Jesus;
For He will settle your "Y's";
While embracing "U"
Why oh, why
Sometimes your feeling sad;
Emotions have got you bad;
Allowing your blood pressure to rise;
Why oh, why
Don't let those things of this world bring you down;
Don't let your emotions throw you to the ground;
There's something dear;
There's someone here;
Don't worry, calm down;
And just allow God to change your mind and heart;
Calm down He's your reason;
Just believe in, believe in Jesus;
For He will settle your "Y's";
While embracing "U"
Why oh, why
7/23/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
My plan has gone… pear is not a bad shape!
Pear is a charm to in-your-face industrial
Archipearcture – take Anglia Pear! Pearhaps,
With each drip that resides
On a crackled depearction of our pipped-out minds,
Pearter will pearlish a pearlindrical container with a handle & a lip, used for holding
and pouring
Free-flowing substances by allowing the pearstream to flow over the sides of the liquidator into liquidized liquidness.
Solid licks! Your pearsonality is
pearsented through the pear of you
in your pearfect music.
My dream to have a non-existent pearting of mine propearsed to be pearsented will be brought to fruitition when I’ve prepeared the pearfect shaped urn to paint.
Just keep munching on your pear jam toast, I hope they are prepeared to say so I don’t have to unload the dishwasher.
Pearhaps it feels like an even smaller second to them since they were catching up on The ApPEARtice last Friday night. Profound pearssions are pulled without a trigger – schedule prepearations pearhaps only have room for drips to prepear what will be someday peartinent – a pearsonalised tankard full of pearpose. Sometimes it takes extra time ordering to pear a feeling with pumpkin spice. Chai lattes are not so nice.
Ah,
The sugar’s in an urn over Pear!
With all this pearetry,
I’ve urned it!
Hold my hand squeeze it tightly
when it's time and I go let go
don't say good-bye just say
see you around if its not here it will be there
there is no cure for the pain that love leaves behind
no grave no urn can hold captive a soul
memories need self-medication to dull the pain
sometimes I giggle like I'm insane
sometimes I cry and I don't know why
through joy and tears seeing what's not there
but one day the years and tears of self-inflicted guilt
like a light bulb slowly dimming, will grow weary and wear out
and I'll see you around for some tea and peace
Frank (Black) Blacharczyk
I've been thinking 'bout the badlands, and about the girls I left,
Just ponderin' over troubles I ain't made just yet.
Don't seem to be too much happenin' where I once been,
Guess I'll pack up tracks and waltz home again.
Too much juice in the blood makes the head spin,
Just hit the ground stumblin' and play it again.
Can't remember how she laughed when I gave her the ring,
Lord, ain't life sometimes a frightening thing.
Seen a wanderin' man with hammer in his hand,
Said, "Say buddy, looks like you got a plan."
He turns 'round like a shot and grins in my face,
"Buddy, looks to me like you're in the wrong damn place."
On Walker and Dowling, poets beggin' for an ear,
But it's a place of which I try to steer clear.
You'll find romance and wine at the drop of a hat
But when they ask for your soul, you'll wish you sent it back.
Well, I'm tired an' turned out, Soul's longin' for the sky
But all I got is this highway, and I'll drive till I die.
She said, "Meet me in old 'Frisco" but I doubt she'll be there,
But hell, Santa Monica's about as good as it is anywhere.
I hold onto faith, because really, that’s all I’ve got
To survive the turbulent waves and the mighty winds
The surfacing facts that fit into a big puzzle,
A big picture that spans over many years of time
A journey of highs and lows, success and defeat
Faithfully, I can only act from the realm in which I live
Sometimes ideas are seen on the crests of waves
Maybe leading me, to change direction of my ways
I can only speak truth whether it’s heard or not
I can only stabilize my footing on the deck I stand,
That moves through currents, one day at a time
Riding with uncertainty, while reaching for rays of hope
To bring patience through the whirling storm
A storm that turns over new lessons, restores strength
As I am guided, holding on tightly to what I believe
Never wanting to let go of that or I may be lost
I must put aside some questions, while I take in answers
Always keeping my eyes on what I know to be true
The internal knowing, that no-one else can see
Therefore, only I know what will truly set me free
Heidi Sands
11/29/20