Long Texts Poems
Long Texts Poems. Below are the most popular long Texts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Texts poems by poem length and keyword.
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
WAS THE FIRST WOMAN TRUE
Lilith, as the first woman on earth
For Adam, was created from dust
Jointly intended as an equal wife
Despite the hopes of the Elohim
And resisting domination by him
Left her husband for another life
Far away from Eden as she must
But prevented from giving birth
The world still needed procreation
So Eve, from his rib, replaced her
Although subservient, still held sway
Tempting him with forbidden fruit
Some Lilith stories many do refute
She’s an independence icon today
Accusations of evil, some do infer
From ancient texts and implication
WAS THE FIRST WOMAN TRUE
Lilith, as the first woman on earth
For Adam, was created from dust
Jointly intended as an equal wife
Despite the hopes of the Elohim
And resisting domination by him
Left her husband for another life
Far away from Eden as she must
But prevented from giving birth
The world still needed procreation
So Eve, from his rib, replaced her
Although subservient, still held sway
Tempting him with forbidden fruit
Some Lilith stories many do refute
She’s an independence icon today
Accusations of evil, some do infer
From ancient texts and implication
An Inqiury into Today's Poetry
Poems get shorter.
Emails near non existent.
Texts really shrink!
We live in a world of 'xoxo'
Or -)) an amazing, endless list.
Our time, we tell others, is short.
People have to guess what we think?
Time so valuable, our full
baptismal, wonderful names as initials?
Do you fully get that?
The question is existential.
To me, your name is reverential.
"PR" is so very cold, compared to
Panagiota which has spiritual meaning
Why, even our dogs and cats we call by
full name!
We poets claim a connection to the stars,
yes?
Who has ever called Orion, "O" of the moon,
"M'"
Or is that next? I see it coming!
Where did this beast come from?
Who destroyed the English language?
I do not know, it leaves me distressed.
The many languages from whence
our rich English vocabulary comes,
In the trash can of convenience rests!
Now a tragic happenstance.
We've shifted into a brave new world
of Far Eastern poetry.
I am grateful to all poets anywhere,
who have not lost faith in English!
As it developed and are masters with a pen
and it's delegation and know very
eloquently how to use it.
Thanks to you, who unknowingly are keeping
the full beauty of English alive for the coming
generations.
And not selling your heart to fast, one line
poetry.
And I understand some will disagree with me.
I much prefer a fully literate humanity.
5/27/2019
5:45pm PST
I can tell which of my poems are not even worth the
name...."poem". I leave them there as a reminder to
not do that again. Thank you!
Apologies, Panagiota
The way my mind works
may or may not be like yours
Yet I think there's something universal
here, in the proverbial pot to be stirred
My brain extrapolates from the smallest things
to reach grandiose conclusions
Unjustified or not, to me they're no delusions...
Now look at that dumb Haitian cross the street
against the red light while he texts and tweets
All Haitians are like that, I'm sure you'll agree
the stupid jerks! -- Go back to Haiti, please
But you see that pretty Filipino right over there
helping an old lady cross the street with the utmost care
She's a credit to her family, to her people, to her nation
I'd just love to tour the Philippines on my next vacation...
Yes, the way my mind works may or may not be like yours
~ Perhaps holding my tongue would provide me a cure
“It was the art of our words
made it too real, too raw to hold
No skin, no touch, just me and you,
connecting through the cold”
You the rap, me the poetry,
flipping lines, bending reality
Midnight texts, late night confessions,
we built our world in these digital sessions
No bodies, just words that kissed,
metaphors wrapped in lyrical twist
You spit fire, I bled prose,
two different streams where
the river flows
But then you disappeared,
like a ghost in the code bro,
no warning, no signal,
no way for me to know
You say I’m always there
inside your dreams
but when you vanish,
I only have a blank scene
Why do I ache for a place I never touched?
Showed my secret parts, was that too much
A part that aches when you disappear,
the one that types your name
in silence here
I’m strong, yeah, but see I’m human too,
and sometimes the nights get cold without you
I always hold my own, keep my guard up high,
but in the dark, at times I wonder why
Why does a ghost still feel like my home?
Why does your silence cut like a stone?
I ain’t begging, that’s not my way,
just wishing you’d hear what I don’t say
Maybe computer loves just
in the code,
but here I am, still writing ode
Soft don’t mean weak, and
heart don’t mean broke,
I’m Rebeltease, I’m love wrapped
up in loving smoke
I keep these words burnin’ deep in my veins,
lighting up all the heartache and pain
A computer love is felt deep to the core
Yet the screen at times leaves me craving more
“This is for the poets and the rappers
who meet in the dark,
for the love born in verses that
left a permanent mark”
Written: October 06, 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the globe in the morning awakes
The first light of day, a gentle break,
Illuminating the earth's vast expanse,
Unveiling nature's first enchanting dance.
The first gleam of fall leaves, a staggering sight
Painting the landscape with colors bright,
A symphony of reds, oranges, and golds,
A tapestry of beauty that never grows old.
On tea, aged texts, and candles, wake at a touch,
A sensory embrace that means so much.
The aroma of steeped leaves, rich and warm,
Whispering secrets of comfort and charm.
Era books beckon with their weathered spines,
Inviting us into tales of different times.
Their worn pages hold stories untold,
Waiting to be discovered, to unfold.
Candles flicker, casting a soft glow,
Creating a sanctuary, a haven below.
Their dancing flames illuminate the room,
Creating an atmosphere of warmth and gloom.
In this dawn, a tale is woven,
Of cozy moments, sweetly chosen.
Whispers in the air, akin to a gentle breeze,
Carrying the essence of tranquility and ease.
As the day begins and the world stirs,
We embrace the beauty that nature confers.
With every sip of tea, every page we turn,
We find solace in the lessons we learn.
Android Charlie II:The Sequel: The Drama
OH, Charlie had money alright!
A great house, wife,and a quite intelligent child, too!
Very opulent, he!
Three cars, vacations and a complete
lifestyle, too.
Alas, those cell phones came along!
Charlie just had to become part of
that techie crowd.
Soon the phone took the place of his wife!
Tell the truth, of his entire life!
And any visitor to his once warm and friendly home?
Well, now, a sad update~all relatives and friends,
in total silence do sit, while Charlie,lost soul,he,
Only had eyes and time for his phone!
Charlie, unknowingly treated his guests
as less than gnats!
No jovial conversation ever ensued.
Only if the TV, with irritation,screamed: Breaking News!
Yes, this meaningless drivel~ made Charlie swivel?
As to his phone ,it sadly appeared. permanently glued to his hand.
Dinners with candles, are you serious?
Once grand and beauteous were never lit!
Just his pasty white face, how ghastly
it looked.
Like a stiff corpse in a coffin.
My Lord, what a technological schnook.
Now that once laughter-filled abode
stands empty!
The front door swings forever open.
Yes, Charlie is still there, totally and
blissfully unaware,
His wife and child have had enough,
Of a tragic life sans human
communication!
A scene not unusual in any nation!
Get a lockbox for your smartphones,
if that addicted you are.
Unless you are a surgeon on call,
best love the humans next to you.
And sorry, but I will not rejoice in texts
nor Emojis.
These are far from human attributes!
And no, neither funny nor cozy,
We need not fear, true, warm living
communication.
Just realize that God gave us tongues
to speak with and ears to hear.
Live life in the real world as much
as you can.
You are loved by people!
Not by the evices in the technological nation.
Panagiota Romios
4/18/2019
The Burning of the Books
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
When the Regime
commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires.
Then a banished writer, one of the best,
scanning the list of excommunicated texts,
became enraged: he’d been excluded!
He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath,
to write fiery letters to the morons in power —
Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen —
Haven’t I always reported the truth?
Now here you are, treating me like a liar!
Burn me!
Parting
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
We embrace;
my fingers trace
rich cloth;
yours only threadbare fabric.
A quick hug:
you were invited to the gay soiree
while the law’s minions relentlessly pursue me.
We talk about the weather
and our eternal friendship.
Anything else would be too bitter.
Radio Poem
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You, little box, held tightly
to me,
escaping,
so that your delicate tubes do not break;
carried from house to house, from ship to train,
so that my enemies may continue communicating with me
on land and at sea
and even in my bed, to my pain;
the last thing I hear at night, the first thing when I awake,
recounting their many conquests and my litany of cares,
promise me not to go silent all of a sudden,
unawares.
The Mask of Evil
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
A Japanese carving hangs on my wall –
the mask of an ancient demon, limned with golden lacquer.
Not altogether unsympathetically, I observe
the bulging veins of its forehead, noting
the great effort it takes to be evil.
18 years later here I lie
Debating how I want to die
How i want to end my life
To stop the pain, the suffer, the heartache of everyday
A permanent cure to the constant pain, the only piece of consistency in my life
How many times will I do this?
I’d love to sit here and tell you that it won;t happen again
But I can see through the mirror who I am
And who I am, knows that I will do this again
You confuse me
You come into my life as a stranger yet the first person I call on the edge of that bridge
The victim to the texts from a lonely girl who thought the world hated her
Every scar, every close call
Your the one who took the fall
Even when I had given up
I will get back my hope one day
Hope for a romantic love story
I'll just be the chick with a dramatic backstory
10 years from now I will be face to face with a killer
Putting all my past trauma to good use
Hearing their past and their abuse
To what lead them to who they are, what lead them to what they do
But right now these are just impossible dreams
Your my hope
You see me, you see the real me
And knowing you have hope in me and my future, gives me…
*Mused by:
“At the Mercy of Doubt (My Sole Purpose)" by nat-lipstadt*
doubt, to a lover is an affliction
doubt, to a cop is an occupation.
“I checked your texts,”
“I checked your alibi,”
same energy really.
While love can make misery a hobby
law can make it a sentence
The lover doubts in whispers
the cop, doubts in paperwork
The differences are largely administrative protocol.
Must suspicion become either a pathology or a profession?
doubt, to the grieving is a questioning
doubt, to a philosopher is a beginning
doubt, to the interrogator is pressure
doubt, to a prosecutor is leverage
doubt, to the historian is revision
doubt, to a scientist is a method
doubt, to a lawyer is a strategy
doubt, to the powerful is a tool
doubt, to a witness is rejection
doubt, to a friend is a fracture
doubt, to the anxious is spiral
doubt, to a journalist is scent
doubt, to a doctor is caution
doubt, to a believer is crisis
doubt, to a patient is dread
doubt, to the lonely is echo
doubt, to a child is fear
I’ve been polishing
my own doubts recently.
.
.
Songs for this:
Doubt (Demo) by Hippo Campus
Doubt (Live) by Anna Golden