Long Takes Poems
Long Takes Poems. Below are the most popular long Takes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Takes poems by poem length and keyword.
There are no words to describe,
the pain you feel inside,
when you are told,
your little sister died.
I got the call while at work,
my sister told me through tears,
her pain coming from a place so guttural,
she screamed it to me "Angie is dead."
Not "Angie has passed away,"
she screamed "Angie is dead!"
there was something in the words,
the delivery seemed shocking.
It also sounded as if it was somehow expected,
but it had become a shocking reality,
that had actually come true,
that Angie was dead!
I left work and hurried home,
On my way I recalled my last call from Angie,
"Vickie this is your sister Angela,
I just want to talk to you," she sounded distressed.
Three days later she was gone,
her autopsy revealed a high incidence of medication,
the results also concluded her autopsy results were undetermined.
Did the coroner hold an inquest?
Angie will never rest,
I've heard from her,
through my dreams.
In heaven she cries,
she didn't want to die,
there are reasons she called me,
and I now know those reasons why.
Her voice was hushed,
she had much to tell,
and the one responsible,
should be worried as hell.
Let's put it this way,
sometimes it takes time,
to be punished,
for a crime.
But someday,
it will all come around,
on God's dime,
the master punisher of evil crimes!
I will see her soon,
hopefully on a sunny day,
she will reach for my hand,
I will follow her, we will sleep beneath a full moon.
I had seen - her calm, cool, composed - like a soft soothing breeze,
Though she could turn tempest or tornado or weakly wheeze;
Like a formless cherub in an endless garden of love,
She covered the earth while racing on cloud-Morgan above…!
Lovely you are! I said to her, Love's living conqueror!
Aren't you, yet, noisy nomad, gypsy, or mere wanderer?
I am vagrant sure, she said, and a tireless traveler,
I have jailed you, yet, in my sachet, like a prisoner…!
It was when I moved much away from the maddening crowd,
And when pondered over her bewildering words aloud;
Enlightenment dawned in me like the wisdom of Buddha,
Many great truths got revealed slowly like Brahma Chakra...!
True as very truth is my brief existence in the breath,
Who on this earth exists, devoid of her, from birth to death?
She murmurs, whispers, commands, demands, like Divine Spirit,
She creates! Destroys! Takes to zeniths! Grants highest merit…!
Soft, serene like nectar secreting in a rose flower,
She sleeps in; grows glows like a flower on a green bower;
Consciously conscious! Unconsciously unconscious! Solace!
Plows through the interiors, like Yacht through water, flawless…!
Shifting my state of mind, working like a leaven within,
Sleep, wake - like my mother - in feasting and fasting she's in;
She is the beginning! End! Center! Whole! Totality!
She is the starting and ends of the whole humanity…!
What an engulfing like a fiery inferno and smoke,
What an empowering and overpowering soul-stroke!
What a change, like unique bloom! Great is the life-giving breath!
What Calm! Peace! Tranquility! Bliss! Awesomely saving meth…!
With her, no stress! No strain! No phobia! No mania!
Her free-blow within free from frightening insomnia;
Abandoned to her eternally evolving Spirit,
Body and soul reach zenith beyond the mundane limit…!
Growing high, I gladly come to the realization,
That I'm part of the classic universal cognition;
Wherein my inner unity freely fondly extends,
And to the external eternal harmony, it tends...!
Knowingly? Unknowingly? Willingly? Unwillingly?
Breath has adopted me - calmly, cutely, and cautiously!
Has made me a flute, lute, melodious rhythmic consort,
I play on! I am played on! Till I reach restful retreat…!!!
16 September 2021
Then and now what did I find, an older body but not an older mind. Learning takes a lot of time, to become a soft and not a loud sounding chime. Ourselves we need to have met, live heavenly and not fret. When we think of then and now, do we ever make a vow. To be and do better, or just write a long letter. Our life must always change, it takes time to rearrange.
Date Written:12/29/2022
Its the morning after the night before
As i leave my new wife, whom i lovingly adore
My orders came through, overseas i head
With my band of brothers, not knowing what's ahead
Married for days, whilst conflict takes him away
Holding sheets where we slept, my memory bouquet
At the bottom of our bed, there lies a virgin white rose
With a note beneath i am in momentary froze
I sit and stare as to what it might say
Knowing this is the day my love flies away
My darling Tinks i leave this white rose for you
Its pristine appearance describes my darling so true
It symbolises you, so innocent so pure
With your love in my heart, i will return i assure
Think of the day, from these distant lands from beyond
For the morning after the night before, we will respond
This virgin white rose, so bridal so pure
You and its safety i will secure, for you to return for our future
The day you come home, it shall lay on our bed
And we will continue our lives, as you have always said
I will go about my tomorrow's, thinking of you every day
And prey that this virgin white rose, never turns deathly grey
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-9.php
Have you ever reached meltdown?
When the world seems to sit on you
Not just with the big things
But all the tiny little thing too.
When everyone takes a piece of you
But never gives one back
They treat you like a jigsaw
And take all the pieces that are flat.
Once they take your frame and strength
It leaves you feeling weak
But they never think of helping
You are there for them to seek.
They want to cry on your shoulder
They want you to wipe away their tears
But sometimes they have taken
Your empathy and passed on to you their fears.
In times like this we need a friend
One that will not let us down
I am happy to say I have found one
He is my king and deserves a crown.
So to all that need a piece of me
Come take it one and all
I have had my strength renewed
Now I know I will not fall
© ~GG~19/12/2012
A Song of Faith and Resolve
Some say yes to Satan to reach their goals,
To sell their priceless soul for fleeting glow.
But I, Christen Kuikoua, declare, "No!"
For I have the Lord God Almighty's hold.
It takes hard work and reading of His Word,
It takes a bond with Him to truly see,
How best to praise His name in purity—
The Lord of hosts, by whom all life is stirred.
So I will wait; I trust His perfect time.
My song is mine, and none can sing it true.
Though mocked and scorned, I’ll stand and see it through,
For Christ once asked, “What’s worth your soul's sublime?”
The answer’s clear: there’s nothing—absolutely.
And so, I ready for the day He calls,
When poetry will echo through the halls,
To guide the world to know His love more fully.
Once, I dreamed of music just to succeed,
Yet heard His voice, “Who do you say I am?”
“Christ, Son of God,” I said, with heart aflame,
Who bore my sins and met my deepest need.
I see now: it’s not fame that I pursue,
But worship, born of Spirit and of truth.
To dance like David, free from worldly ruth,
And seek His Word for wisdom ever new.
Why choose the easy road, the devil's snare?
Why long for hell, where tears will never end?
The blind, though sighted, cannot comprehend—
Their ignorance traps them in dark despair.
But I, like David, praise the Lord, my King,
In wealth or want, His glory fills the earth.
Forever holy, He defines my worth,
My God, my song, to whom my spirit clings.
It takes a lot of time to master such skill
There are lot of downtimes but I climb on my hill
There are days that my body is strained and about to give up
But I go back to self- determination and rise up
The passion to play runs in my veins
I will train myself hard though it rains
My discipline is as scorching as sun
But I still make my sport a sort of fun
This game is worthwhile and is something even more
The confidence it gives can make my dreams soar
Every accomplishment that I made, my modesty becomes better
Each time I face defeat, my dedication becomes stronger
Winning and losing are faces of reality
But it changes my entire entity
So I keep myself motivated and listen to my coach
The God Almighty Himself will hand me His torch
There is something more than a gold medal hanging on my neck
It is something that no one can ever wreck
This whole meaningful experience makes me complete
I am very proud that I grow to be an ATHLETE
So many blessings in my life...some come big...and some come small...
A hot mug of coffee, when morning arrives
Our big front porch...to sit and greet the sunrise
Pigeons cooing in the trees, out in the pasture scene
The mountains that surround our valley, beyond this hillside green
A happy hound, with wagging tail, who sits by my side
A friendly neighbor who waves to me, while driving by
My husband wearing an apron, while the bacon sizzles
A kiss on the back of my neck, with a gentle little nuzzle
Morning's newspaper, the comic strip and a crossword puzzle
A hot shower, that warms me from my head to my toes
A closet filled with comfy jeans, and too many clothes
A house that's big enough, even when cleaning it takes all day...
But rooms to spare, that fill up fast, when family comes to play
The music from the radio...(he likes the classics too)
The smell of sawdust, when he's busy making something new
The sound of tires on the gravel drive...when friends have just arrived
Our sons playing their guitars, my daughter's lovely singing, on the patio outside
Our kids, with caring hearts, when Dad or I could use a hand
And children laughing, doors are banging, mischief brewing
The fragrance of their shampooed hair, squeaky clean from the tub
Their sleepy, pink scrubbed cheeks, and pajama clad sweet hugs
An old weathered, leather book, filled with my mother's handwritten words
A tea set that I played with when she held me in her arms
A photo of my father, from a childhood on the farm
Oh the blessings come, some big, some small....so many that I can't name them all....
These are a few I will recall.... forever....
Dad says he loves me,
But it’s all about the money,
Calling my long hair gay and stuff,
Mom I never got to know,
Leaving this world before we talked,
But She probably talked to me,
When I got bullied,
When I felt all alone,
They were nowhere in sight,
Only having my back to the wall,
For god knows how many years long,
Dad only clothed, housed and fed me,
But all he was doing was caring for a puppet,
A doll of nothing but lonely bitter and dark despair,
a hollow shell he didn’t put a soul into,
So when I chose to break free,
When I reached out for a savior,
He scolded and shamed,
But my friends saved me,
They push me forward to more,
The more my dad takes credit for,
Kitsuko Dragonstar,
My poetry,
My novel,
This grand pen name,
He’ll never know,
He’ll never understand,
Let alone know.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
If one will but convey sincerity, the world will frequently rise to their side
And powerful people flock there as well, appealing to presence and pride
Swelling the ranks and the banks and ambitions of any who will row with the crew
Or play with the band on the wagon which plays into their sycophant's view
And if we relate to the weight of this kind of collective bargain
We might rally, sallying forth to the cause, manufacturing sense, and also some rain
Turning sense into cents is a most noble cause, industry, husbandry, work without pause
Marches and rallys support those most diligent, invested in that which has brought them to light
And lighted they'll stay until death do them part, apart from the day which might cause to benight
Canine calamity follows that day just as surely as that day will follow that night
And some, but not all, will follow the path that causes this folly, before it's a cause to take flight
While we revel in clever debate and discourse, and pursue dialectic with purpose and vigor
It's with special purpose that speciousness fills all those who falsely shout "Stand and deliver"
And deliver the speeches which serve to dissemble in due course their own course to serve
It takes special skill to pursue that which isn't really a special display of infectious nerve
The skill that it takes is sincere self-deception, elevated to the point of the state of prominence
Which delivers rapscallions their status, position, all while in pursuit of their own dominance
"The world will little note, nor long remember," sincerer words were never spoken
But history will forever note the humility accompanying the grace
Beside which superficial sincerity is recorded as token
The dustpan of history has not stomach nor space
To accept from the broom these bits of delusional grandeur
Displaying with sincerity the rank similarity 'tween the means of this influence… and the scent of manure