Long Speaking Poems
Long Speaking Poems. Below are the most popular long Speaking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Speaking poems by poem length and keyword.
Ukraine was a beautiful place, I was told.The rolling fields of green, the flat
squares of wheat.Small farms clustered along dirt roads where children played.Now filled with the lingering stench of death.The farms once overflowing with hard work and laughter now sit silent.
I'm speaking to myself so my thoughts might be heard by someone.I'm alone and dying of starvation.Yesterday I turned nine years old, there was no
celebration.Tomorrow when the glorious sun slowly rises and floods the empty
fields with light, I'll be dead.The cold hearted Russian soldiers came with anger and frustration and took everything.My village, once a moving breathing community has been slowly starved to death, without remorse.
This night seems colder than most, my mind keeps floating in and out of purpose.All have died and I'm the last of my village.
Yesterday when the sun was setting I heard scratches and whispers at the front door,asking for food, I had none.Within hours the sound stopped as they died laying upon the cold wooden planks of night.
No one is coming and the pain has stopped.I'm tired and going to quietly drift into a deep sleep, forever. They say I am a pretty girl, but I'll never know
Tomorrow the Russians will sweep through and burn our village.No one will ever know we were ever here.They'll be an emptiness where there was life.
Death is welcomed.These rolling fields will be filled now with the ghosts of
innocence searching for a place lost in the emptiness of time.
8/27/14
You are the ocean
And I, a mere soul standing upon the cliffs
Thirsting for the thrills of your waves
Yet, hesitant to jump in
As the scars painted upon my heart
Throb still!
You are the depths of the dark night
And I, mere soul standing at my window
Keep breathing in and out,
Hungry to discover what lies out ahead
In your darkness, as the silence keeps
Speaking to me,
Pulling me in its invisible web,
Wanting me to shed off
The unnecessary merely to embrace it!
Your are the music that puts me in a trance
And I, mere soul standing among the crowds
In the concert of your talent
Can only let myself drown in the ecstasy
Feeling like an addict having had a shot;
Elevated to the extent of smiling
At the knives being thrown at me!
You are the power behind the mysticism of the world
And I, mere soul, drunk in the words of the holy books
Can only try to satisfy my curiosity
Through seeking more and more
Of the magic that you hold,
Whilst obsessing over wanting to meet with you
Someday as my sun shall set!
You are love and I, your lover
You are love and I, your stalker
You are love, and I, your desire
You are love and you pull me
Closer and closer to you
Even if I chose to keep standing upon
The cliffs of your ocean!
you make me crazy.
you make me look at my phone 18 times in 5 minutes to see if you responded to my 263 tiktoks I sent
Those same videos convey a secret message
One that I pray that you can not decipher
you make me crazy in the sense that you make me throw my phone when you take 10 minutes to respond to my flirtation attempt.
Flirting isn’t really something I do but you make me want to give it a shot
How is it you that made me someone that I can't even recognize
Not even a year ago, I was saying “once a cheater, always a cheater”
Now I am calling you misunderstood.
Why did I think that I would be different?
different than all of those much prettier girls,
Girls who always know what to say
Why did I think that you would like me
When you wouldn’t make it official.
you say you don't like labels, and then you call me yours.
You make me crazy.
My head isn’t even speaking in logic anymore
He is just a guy!
Why do I let him make me cry?
You just won’t put your money where your mouth is
Who am I?
When people ask me, I respond with the name my mother gave me with a smile on my face.
But is that the right answer to the question?
My name is my identity, but do I identify with my name?
Angel
If I was asked to picture this, a bright image of a white woman with wings is immediately summoned into my mind
With wings stretching far past her arms
Beautiful blonde hair, big-hearted blue eyes, tender tan skin wearing a long and flowing white dress.
This woman floating in the sky
Has the clear blue sky behind her and the bright sun shimmering and glistening on her skin.
When thinking about it as an adjective, words like
Celestial.
Heavenly.
Divine.
Ethereal.
Virtuous.
Glorious.
Beautiful.
Pure.
Holy
Righteous.
Worthy.
Float around in my mind.
What is the purpose of a name?
Some say it’s a window to who a person truly is.
Maybe it’s a brief overview of what to expect from someone.
It could be contradictory like a joke parents wanted to play on everyone that knows their child.
Or it could just be a way to address someone while speaking to or about them.
I like to think I identify with my name. But who truly is the judge of that?
Everyone might have a drastically different idea of who I am.
Some people might describe me as
Celestial.
Heavenly.
Divine.
Ethereal.
Virtuous.
Glorious.
Others may not.
I am not even sure I would identify myself as those things.
I certainly would not identify myself as that white woman in the sky.
So who am I then?
Do my intentions behind my actions matter less than the perceptions of those around me?
I still don’t know the answer, but if it were up to me, I would hope I represent the name my mother gave me well.
The Emerald City
Tales of long ago, many a tall story told
When the people spoke so vibrantly bold
Whispers of treasures of emeralds and gold
Hidden away, lost, a kings ransom to behold
Far away, somewhere lost in a dense jungle land
Guarded by a lost, ghostly, savage warrior band
Prepared for a millennium to defend, fight and stand
Silent swift death comes from ancient weapons in hand
Pathway to riches, a treacherous one
For all the emeralds and gold to be won
Will be the spoils to some fortune son
Perhaps a kings ransom, share for none
Countless perils awaits for any bold, foolhardy man
Many fallen lost souls of some obscure absent clan
In all the fickle lost schemes of many a forfeited plan
For there will never be a road to riches for any man
Long ago, daring tales of a lost Emerald City, so I’m told
Speaking of the riches to this very day, treasures so bold
To the gullible, still being sold by the alluring lies of lost gold
Somewhere lost forevermore, in the desires for all to behold
She thought it a very strange sensation
Watching the man on platform 5
Then she pushed him in front of the 1505 express
That pretty blond girl with the selfie stick
The one that every guy desires, yeah, that one
She stabbed her seven times
It felt so real, her head was buzzing
Her nagging neighbour
She could see herself choking the life out of her
God, what a high
The ex-boyfriend who called her the bi*ch from hell
The garden fork entered his neck
Take those words back, she screamed
She realised the fork in his neck was stopping him from speaking
She pulled it out, he seemed like he was sorry alright
What euphoria, it was like her subconscious was in total overdrive
She watched as ten police cars screamed to a halt outside her building
Jesus, what crazy bastard are they after this time
She couldn’t wait to see who it was
The excitement was overwhelming….
I know you see me from up there,
from halfway up the steep and twisting lane.
In early half-light as you take your walk
I no doubt seem to loom as you descend,
appear to grow, to rise from earth,
my boxlike rectilinearity,
severe and unadorned geometry,
a silhouette against the solitary sodium source.
I once hosted fiery-throated hymns
from dedicated souls in Sunday best:
“Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus”,
“O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” –
voices rich and raised and resonant,
so filled with faith, so gorged with God.
My pitch-pine pews were polished
by coat and skirt and trouser twill.
Abandoned now, unloved, slab-still,
void and stark and desolate,
with quarry-tiled floor that would resound
with joy were anyone to walk upon it,
I present gaping emptiness, a thing felt,
a cave whose darkness, palpable,
is peopled by retreating echoes of my past,
like timorous ghosts far too afraid to speak.
But there is One I must not name –
though He might be known by
the four letters of the tetragrammaton –
who lodges in my roomy quarters,
cowers within my tight square corners,
seeking shadows when the sun stares in.
I hear Him breathing as
He sweats in His remorse, a thing smelt.
He hides from the accusing eyes of every nation,
the eyes that witness daily His forlorn creation.
(The chapel speaking here is in a small place in West Wales, UK)
(Translations: “Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus” = "Ride on Jesu, all victorious"; “O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” = "O Jesu, let Thy spirit bless")
Psychologically speaking, women are snakes and men are mice,
In the ancient theater of the world, where masks fall and rise in dance,
She, the slithery queen of untold stories, an endless paradox,
With a glance that untethers ships from their moors, in a sea without driftwood, without sails.
Beneath the suave murmur of her hypnotic violin, almost inaudible amongst the buzz of the scene,
Masterfully crafted undulations, through a curtain of deep, unfathomable mysteries,
Alluring in her eternal enticement, with whispers spreading divine inner deceptions,
Threaded along the fine string of the night, playing on the sensitive chord of a forever starving heart.
He, prey to an instinct too often defeated by endless scrutiny,
The mouse, a twitching silhouette amongst shadows, a knight of frailty,
Carving a path through crevices of reality, in search of his shooting star of cheese,
Towards which he sails, enchanted by the siren's song, on an ocean of uncertainties.
They are the timekeepers of our destinies, ticking away in contradictory symphonies,
Each with their solitude, each with their threads of fate and dreaming,
Setting the trap and becoming our own prey, in a game of divinity,
From ages to ages, one lending the other venom and antidote in the same cup.
Until the stars shall wipe away from the sky, and the Moon shall mute with fear,
The duel continues, between the secret magic and the unexpected murmur,
She, breathing her spells of love into night garments sewn with silver,
He, finding his way through the crevices of the day, with hopes like a spider's thread clinging.
And yet, is not love the greatest enigma in this strange tableau?
The woman-snake and the man-mouse, opposites and yet complements,
Catching in-flight the reversal of roles, where the snake is the one who forgives and the mouse protects,
In the jungle of emotion, where instinct becomes the guide and the fearful conquer, merely with the power of the heart to love.
Hebrews 13:15 – By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name.
He is the wisdom that gives me the chance
To learn and grow and become who I am
The child that leans on Him through it all
Praising Him for the blessings He imparts
He is the strength that helps me when I’m weak
Renews my broken spirit and fulfills my dreams
Enlightens me with words of true encouragement
And grace that reminds me to always be kind
He is the compassion that surrounds my soul
When I feel so alone, without even one friend
There is comfort in His presence that soothes me
And reminds me that all pleasure is found in Him
He is the joy of the Lord that strengthens me
Whenever I am down, gladness that I know Him
Surrounds me with a deep and cherished pearl,
The whisper of His still, small voice speaking to me
He is the warmth of home’s comforting hearth
Surrounding me with a sense of truth and hope
Inspiring in me the opportunity to spread my wings
Free to sing to Him of all the mysteries that I foresee
He is the truth when I seek for answers to my worries
There to bring to me the guidance toward a purpose
Of giving back at every opportunity to be generous
With a spirit of love and sincerity that knows His benefits
He is the hand that holds me up when I would fall down
Grasping me within His palm to keep me from pain
Knowing me better than I even know myself at heart
Revealing to me that I have all I need with Him at my side
He is the answer to every question, every prayer I pray
With Him, I have every need met, everything is okay
With Him, there are no doubts, anxieties or worries
He makes sure that I am fulfilled with His tender promises
I’m so thankful for this God who I praise with every thought
Without Him, I wouldn’t know what to make of this life
We met in school and our friendship grew to love forever,
one day, his dark fathomless brooding eyes met mine;
and I, was part Ojibwe and he, First Nation Cree, but whatever,
our two spirits connected and soon our souls did entwine.
We became good friends and in time passionate lovers,
talking in odds and ends and of life's twisting bends;
we spoke in tones of our journey and guide that hovers.
about deep unknowns and of truth, love and life ends.
A friendship, a love so deep- with him I wanted to be,
speaking of our cultures and bravery on the summer grass;
about humility and faith under a weeping willow tree,
two spirits that will always be beautiful as stained-glass.
I do not know why I did not marry my friend and my love,
but he will ever hold a very special place in my heart;
I go to his cold engraved tomb with roses white as a dove,
asking God, why did this precious friend and love have to depart.
___________________________
January 11, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/A friendship, a love so deep-
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1103-993-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, My Friend, My Love
sponsor, Julia Leigh Rodeheaver
Second Place