Long Stays Poems
Long Stays Poems. Below are the most popular long Stays by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stays poems by poem length and keyword.
Lately everything seems to be surrounded in darkness
Either I am way too close or too far away
When I stand close I perfectly see the flickering light ahead
How close it is but when I reach it.. it just disappears
I can't seem to grasp anything that's around me anymore
When I touch it, it just turns to ash...
Seems I have lost the will to do much anything
Sometimes I find myself starring at white walls..
I forgot to think.. maybe I will forget to breath too
The image of the world in my head.. is so different from what I see... with my eyes
Is reality an allusion or is the world in my head..
Darkness surrounding everyone I stand close to
You see them fade in and out like a hologram
When you reach out to touch them.. they are not real
Sometimes they just.. disappear
Then I find myself searching for what I used to know
Seems the world in my head.. is not so bright and colorful anymore
Either everyone is stuck in the past with me.. or they are moving forward..
I am watching them pass me by as I stay within the realm I am used to knowing
No matter how many times I change my appearance..
Everything stays the same... and I realize..
All the people I know..
In the end. .. nothing really matters...
Everything you knew..
Everything you have touched..
Everyone you have loved
Everyone you once cared for
All the lessons you learned...
what are they for?...
Is it better to be... alone..
Where there is no pain in a relationship with another..
I can no longer get close to anyone..
I find myself.. stepping further and further back
Yet I cannot stop myself... there is no rope to grab..
Which world would I rather live in.. the one i see with my eyes.. or the one in my head...
They both have become.. one of the same... covered and smeared in blood..
Darkness...
I have no reflection in the mirror.. and I can feel my soul slipping from within me
All I see.. is cracks.. where my soul is leaking its way out..
Yet no band-aid or super glue.. could help cover it
Hallow...
Nothing can save you now.. because you realize... the truth..
Once your world is coming to an end.. it wont matter..
You will not remember.. you wont be able to feel..
Somehow, even with this darkness and being surrounded by darkness
Having the feeling of comfort and a blind happiness
Everything is perfectly where it belongs...
She was something soft on the eyes something to mend his broken heart
tarring down everything she had built , was that his plan from the start.
guns were pointed and bullets were shot
he than soon realized that everything she had offered can not be bought
She picked up the broken pieces and thought to try again
thinking maybe he will love me if I tried to be a better friend.
He figured out she wouldn't give up and would continue to try
that she dropped everything in her life and he was the only thing in her eyes
miserable nights turned into unproductive days
she continued on with this cycle not questioning how she stays
Her expressions became empty and her friends started to worry
always the same answer with a smile as her eyes would get blurry
The bruises left on her heart became to show on her skin
stopped going out in public as much and people would ask where she's been
the truth couldn't come out so her lips formed more lies
how could she explain that this is all caused by just one guy..
He would tell her he loved her and that she was the one
that when things would get better it would go back to being fun
months went by and her stomach started to grow as the weeks went
by and more and more bruises continued to show.
She sat him down one night and stared into his eyes
She said " once this baby is born I will say my goodbyes"
He laughed in her face knowing she would never leave
that even if she did she would come back from the grief.
The bigger she got the more they would fight
now her soul seemed broken and her light not so bright
The due date came and she gave birth to their son
made secret plans to pack their bags and just run
the words he spit got worse and the punches got harder
She tried to keep in line just the way he had taught her
The love she once had turned into a large amount of hate
endless nights of worry wondering if this is her fate
she refused for her son to witness this any longer
that she would gain the strength for both of them and be stronger
another night but this time he came back to no one around
couldn't smell anything and didn't hear a single sound
She never looked back and slowly started to learn how to smile
her son needed her and he's needed her for a while.
She had taught herself a valuable lesson that sometimes its worse to stay
because living each day in misery just isn't the way.
6.
Arlaghs, once more ready to advance,
this could be their final chance,
to turn, for them, the battle fought,
to destroy the mortal, they had sought.
yet now, know this would not be.
mortals would this day be free,
from the darkness across the plain,
blood was shed away, by tears of pain.
The Dark Man helped upon his feet,
this battle scene is now complete,
Turvehr, he is now by his side,
now, there is no place to hide,
Dark Man helped on back of friend,
now he'll fight until the end,
Arlagh's see the Dark Man near,
once again, their Dark hearts no fear,
One final push, once more into the fray,
tears are falling, human's calling,
as the fight runs too its end,
at Alahsar, that fateful day.
The Tigress, tears fall from her eyes,
she softly says her last goodbyes,
for she knows, at the end of this day,
the Dark Man shall have passed away.
Every eye shall have a tear,
the Arlagh's shaking now with fear,
"Walk In The Light,"
final cry, the Dark Man's call,
repeated now by one and all.
Forward for the final time,
Blood does flow, life's sweetest wine,
Utamol, now in final storm,
slashing, hacking, stabbing home.
Arlagh, now hanging his head,
His fate is written, on blade so red,
still, creatures of night battle on,
as they hear Death's mighty horn.
Life is gone, within battle's storm,
yet still, the Arlaghs battle on,
it is the only way they know,
death facing the foe, the way they must go.
The Tigress, fighting on with such skill,
her sword is thirsty for the kill,
her dance is the dance of Death,
those facing her, take their last breath.
Anger burns deep in her soul,
destroying the dark, her only goal,
She does all a warrior can,
she stays near to her Dark man.
The mists of time can't take away,
the horror felt upon this day,
at this time there is no glorious sight,
Arlagh's dispatched to their land of night.
battle over now, all mortals cheer,
except for the one crying sorrow's tear,
no more shall they be together,
Dark Man's dead body sits on Turvehr.
Cheers of victory are slowly muted,
agony of the heart, is better suited,
mortals fall upon their knees,
the Joy within their hearts, does freeze.
Many times the saviour of this dreamland,
he has made his final stand,
the tears of all begin to fall,
the Carynx has blown, one last, mighty call.
To Be Continued..........
sensory grass
tickles your toes
soft pokes
every word is a stroke
of a blade
not a brush
a lawnmower in the distance
breaks the silence
what the hell…
the smell of fresh-cut grass
and the moisture
that lingers on its smell
you know…retains it
(like the soft and cushy handprint that
stays in the grass
in the shady part of that corner in the yard
turns the white shoes green
amongst the hedges and the borders by rocks
by that long-ago planted snowball tree
and all the love you had to give while you planted it
…rubbed the lamb's ear,
said a prayer and wished it the best of luck)
but here, now
take a nap in the sunshine
under a clouded sky peacefully
on a blanket
the winds brushing by
the rays beam through
and warm that blanket
your worn-out blanket
with scents of lingering past summers
of far-off beaches and sunscreen
dusty and musty
yet beloved blanket
(different kinds of loved-upon)
but here, now
the breeze on my toes
and the breeze on the grass
and the breeze on my face and my hair
stealing my woes
keeping me cool
my eyelashes flicker
a lazy dream of greens upon blues
upon dandelion yellows
shining
until you awake
slightly alarmed
to a busy bee
buzzing by
blinded by beauty
my tears trickle down the corners of my eyes
bleed down my cheeks to my lips and taste salty
warm and salty on my tongue
warm from the gold
of that hot-blooded sun
and the sensory experience
grateful to be alive
to soak it all in
through the skin
can you feel it?
it was a lovely dream
the smell of sweet grass
how bits and pieces float on air
tickle the nose
sweet and bitter tasty on the tongue
whisking away depression blight
peace rises
higher and higher
like barometric pressure
elevating mood and lighter weight
reflecting on purpose
reflecting on mood
through transcendence
but here, now
you can just
be
tingling sensations
just
be
feeling overcome with peaceful power
power to
just
lie
still
and enjoy the senses and dreams
that the grass brings forth
you’ll wake up
remember details
and reflect upon paper
close your eyes
and reflect upon paper
an outward pour
can’t you feel it all beaming in the sunlight?
in the mood
in the barometric pressure
in those blades of grass
breathtaking striking
blades of green grass
my god, aren’t we blessed
—American writer
I struggle to recall at a ragged bus stop
Writing memories down on a brown paper bag.
The discarded pen I picked off of the weed grass serves
As a key to my past, the paper bag the door.
My memories gush from the back of my mind,
Long lost in the torrents of tears
And the literal shattering of my heart
Between my breasts.
This was not planned,
This living on my own means,
Struggling to make ends begin.
I’ll worry about them meeting
When the time comes.
The memories I loot
From the locked treasure chest
At the bottom of the barren sea
Of my mind
Seem irregular and appear to belong
Elsewhere, to someone of fiction.
Emerging from somewhere,
I sense a longing.
For what, I wouldn’t say.
Saying what I could say would slow me down.
I’ve struggled to progress past the memories
And until now, the longing has been stifled.
But my memories have broken
Through the dam I built
And they charge like an army of Trojans,
Fighting to the surface of my mind.
It appears I’ll have to drown them...
Again.
It is said that after the first time of anything
That thing discussed becomes easier to do
Without fail.
Well, it’s not.
I examine the brown paper bag and the words
Scribbled on it, much like the rants of rudimentary children.
I take the pen and wind my hair around it,
Pinning it on top of my head, since all my hair bands
Were left behind, like my memories, my spirit,
My smile.
It’ll have to do for now.
I see two yellow eyes in the distance,
Eyes from another world,
That glow with radioactive promise;
It’s one of those grand busses of leisure
Where anyone could have a seizure
in peace,
Coming to me, to take me away.
"Come to me, metal extraterrestrial,
Take me to your leader.
Whisk me off to your world,
To your life, your memories.
Everything is better than this."
It slows to a stop in front of me,
And opens wide, it’s abnormal vertical teeth
Directly in front of me.
A familiar sound emotes from within:
“You coming or not?”
The brown paper bag slips from my hand
And falls to the dying grass.
It stays to pass with the grass,
Or to be found by the Nameless
Of my past.
I once carried my life in my arms,
But I’ve abandoned it
On the side of the black tar road.
“Well?”
It’s that sound again.
Well, here’s to my future.
Take me away, Mr. Alien;
New troubles await.
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
" Ship of Doom "
Ship of doom so sailed to sea ~
Dark her course... 'twas meant to be ~
Into seas this great ship sped ~
Her past... her history... of naught but dread ~
O'er those waves her bows did'st cleave ~
Her memories... but silken webs to weave ~
Thunder on her decks was heard ~
Yet sailors aboard spake no word ~
For ship such as she was doomed thus so~
Gone north into winds then fierce a'blow ~
Down her bows crept steadily then ~
None to know which verse thus then ~
For rime was abound on her decks those days ~
Yet aloft was fire seen from her stays ~
Off afar from crow's nest was hailed ~
As below in her belly that crew did bail ~
For her planks ridden with dark worm & rot ~
Such ship did'st sail from whence known not ~
Far corner o'globe she ran from ever ~
Home her port seen oft yet never ~
Equator her line of happenchance ~
Capricorn her thought yet not her stance ~
Now she sails a spars a'glisten ~
A'deck her men all a'listen ~
Now speaks thus such sorrowful ship ~
With voice akin to crackin' o'whip ~
Hail! Ye Lads.... heartily all ~
Sail we've had & such so a'ball ~
Now deep down Davy Jones' way ~
I'm thus bound this cold north day ~
My sprit I drive now into next wave ~
Darkness & silence I do now crave ~
Gone from me now pleazure o'sound aloft ~
For me hull is naught but now gone soft ~
I'll seek that bottom at sea's very depths ~
Were there I'll find my wager thus kept ~
With devil I’ve played throughout these years ~
Now I’ll so lay to rest all such fears ~
Sail with me now lads & lasses bold all ~
Into realms which di'dst us then enthrall ~
Gone only now our fine spark & fire ~
Quenched so by life's sodden quagmire ~
Off now go we & heads look a'forard ~
To see what 'twas behind & now not toward ~
Rocks... reefs... depth’s sandy shoals ~
These so now our woe begotten goals ~
So to break up these planks hath caused me to live ~
For as ship o'the main I was once known to give ~
Now all such gone with wild sea's winds ~
As now my time... mirrors death's sins ~
Down down down do I speed ~
In need o'sleep... dark do I need ~
Run now quickly from my decks so I say ~
Or with me in devil's depths ye shall play ~
Bouzouki in hand I now last am at rest ~
For with song always I have been best ~
Tsifteteli my dance so join me now so ~
For life is naught that which e'er we'll know ~
SeaWolf
©
FOCUS ON OUR FAMILIES
The devil is quite busy in most families today,
Though most of us don’t realize the roles that he will play.
He keeps the parents busy with jobs and on the run,
He keeps the children active with all sorts of worldly fun.
He keeps the bankbook busy with things to buy or bills,
He keeps the schedule full of so many worldly thrills.
The social life he offers with the parties or the drinks
Appeals to many people; it’s so much fun, they think.
He keeps the spirit busy with no time for the Lord,
The more that he stays active, the more is his reward.
He fills us with excuses, which we often think are good
Why we can’t be committed and serve God as we should.
He builds in us a spirit that’s critical to be,
And so we look at others and our own faults we don’t see.
He keeps our lives so active with all his sights and sounds
So that when God might need us, we just can’t be around.
He tries his best to keep us so centered on our self
That far too many hours our Bible’s on the shelf.
He lets us spend our money on things we think we need--
A tithe? We can’t afford it! An offering? No, indeed!
And he’s redefined the marriage in many different ways,
It’s now for “live together” and even for the gays.
The parents and the children just don’t communicate,
Instead it is the TV, the CD, or the tape.
And then there are computers or Nintendo games to play,
Or magazines or books to read to fill the time today.
The young folks are rebellious, defying Godly laws,
But don’t you dare to spank them, regardless of the cause!
Keep God out of the schools, the church separate from state,
And don’t speak out on morals which someone violates.
We could go on much longer with all the devil’s schemes,
And as the days keep going, there are new ones, so it seems.
The vision of the family is so obscured and blurred
That we need it corrected through the message from God’s word.
So let’s focus on our families and how to make them strong,
To reinforce commitments, to overcome our wrongs.
For God first made the family, and He has a perfect plan,
So let’s listen to the messages that come now through His man.
They come straight from the Bible, God’s word, tested and true,
Let’s let them clear our vision, and our families renew!
Written for “Focus On Your Family Month,” Heritage Baptist Church, January, 2000.
Because the mind still stays
The memory of the holocaust,
And the face reflects the twinge that still lurks
In the hollow of our frail hearts;
My mournful pen shall bleed
In a forever flow of pensive mood.
We are survivors
Who suffered the flame of covid.
We are survivors
Who sampled the taste of death.
We who saw the gate of hell and live
To tell the tale that hell is cosy,
Compared to the wicked world;
We are now casualties of war.
Hell is a cooling place
The earth is not.
And no one devil inhabits a calming hell.
They all abide with us here in the flaming hell;
For the earth is hell,
The hell is earth.
The earth is hell where the devil-incarnates dwell.
The hell is place where the hostile hunger
Shoots fiery darts at poor souls.
The covid slaughtered its thousand,
We heard it.
Hunger slaughtered its ten thousands,
We saw it.
The devil is innocent,
Man is not.
Many visited the heaven but never return;
It is safe to die.
Many visited the street but never return;
They were shot in the head.
But thousands remained indoor,
There they welcomed their death and followed him.
The death loved them more than their rich neighbours.
Tell me, why my sorrowing pen won’t bleed
When death is kind and man is cruel?
Tell me, why my sorrowing pen won’t bleed,
When the devils hoarded palliatives;
And poor souls suffer?
Those invented pandemic did no harm;
Those feign pandemic to peculate did.
Those declared lockdown meant well;
To feed man with the wind,
And slaughter souls in hunger.
Lekki toll-gate episode is enough
To succor our grieving souls.
Now to those buried their dead
In the heart of their memories
For the lack of further space in the burial sites;
In the sundry lands and climes
Where pandemic havocked like hell;
To you whose mirth has been ceased
By the cacophony of the holocaust;
To you whose land the inferno lingers still;
May you be brave to fight to victory.
May new dawn cure your night of mourning.
May you forget the season of cold;
By the warmful rays of sunshine.
May your heart be filled
With overwhelming songs of joy.
For until this war is over;
And the mind lets go
Of the memory of the holocaust,
And the face reflects the ebullient heart of the optimist;
My mournful pen shall continue to bleed,
In a forever flow of pensive mood.