Long This Poems
Long This Poems. Below are the most popular long This by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long This poems by poem length and keyword.
Dreamland
People pass on by my mind’s eye,
And then they are gone forever.
I remember friends and lovers, so high!
They took my wings with every smile.
I never want to leave this land,
So now I exist in the never.
Perfectly imperfect describes me.
Although more accurately would be, incomplete.
Situations arise and I am at one with the sky
And Mother Nature guides my every footstep forward.
I travel blind.
I feel as if life is being lived in reverse.
I have no need for curse words.
There is no need to shout, I can hear.
I can even feel, but I cannot cheer.
Déjà vu times two or three.
It’s all the same to me.
Witches brew, potion of healing,
There is no remedy,
For my broken heart.
Leave me to my dreaming.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Twenty-Twenty
12-28-2019
Miracle man
As I sit contemplating this years ending
I wonder if it quietly fades as a summer sunset,
or gives way, boisterously, to the New Year.
Will Twenty-Twenty bring more of the same
or will we see meaningful change?
The world is embroiled in political unrest,
and political factions snip and bite each other as ravenous wolves.
The media is all to willing to help man write his own obit.
We’re so polarized that we’re destroying ourselves and any other,
who disagrees with with words, drugs, guns.
Attitudes are sour and morals are as putrescent meat.
Will this new year see us vote in more sinful things
under the guise of benefiting our children and schools?
Unless hearts change I fear more of the same, or worse.
Only God knows
Happy New Year
Still solitary and Alone
But glimpsed I
heavan's door
Took me thru Love's fierce triple flame
walked me up the aisle
To white force twin flame fusion
Ascending evermore
Twined in delicious serving union
All of earth enclosed
But this is borrowed only
Not my true flame twin
He is another's fate
So he pushed me thru the 7th gate
Now I lie crumpled on the ground
singed in heart's furnace
I am changed forever
and still Alone.
A crippled, tattered
almost phoenix thing
I limp to take up my saviour
role again
A broken ascended heart
takes pen and ink
To mend and harmonise
the things that do not rise
St Germaine, my friend?
You taught me well
and again I seek
the once and future king
Turn my eyes from heavan's door
this one so close to all
I ever saw.
The Voice
Naming this voice in my head
Causes me to dig deep in a place
Where dreams slowly fade away, and hope has gone unfed
Frequent darkness and loneliness, I’m struggling in this chaotic space
Willfully traveling through this emotional state
I begin to realize, this may be my eternal fate
Allowing past failures control, my mind can’t carry this weight
Feels like I’m slowly falling, holding on by a strand
The mind plays certain tricks, hope you understand
Voice so intrusive, I know firsthand
Mara is your name, the one I’m trying to shed
You’re causing all these setbacks, these thoughts I must replace
With affirmations, my soul can relate
To joy of positivity, this voice now banned
August 7, 2021
Content: Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
It is so… I mean,
How unbearable the rake of longing
while the agony from riding this carriage
stalls to meet the unknown...
a finality abrupt, robbed by the coma
of time when his laughter suddenly breaks:
I offer my tears to a dimming moon
and hum myself to sleep.
Pre-written 3/2/2019
Applicable Not Applicable Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux Re-post 5/17/2019
-----------------
This poem expresses something terribly real
without being mundane. The subtlety of its tone
dramatizes the pain of death, hence, the reader
totally connects with the artist's deep emotions
in a gentle yet aching way.
We reach Jukkasjarvi midday, and I am determined to have Swedish pancakes.
Oh, yes, there is a café, and she is open! They arrive hot with berry compote.
I lick the powdered sugar off the top, and request more.
I am in Sweden after all.
It is a real vacation, right Sarah?
Let’s enjoy ourselves! The shops are fun too.
Snowmobiling? Why not? I never did like to fish. But of course, you cajole me.
So we do both. We stay in the Ice Hotel which is part of an ice village.
There are suites, galleries, and a small church; all made of blocks of ice.
We snuggle down in sleeping bags and watch the beautiful Northern Lights.
Day three we find the Ice Bar, where the drink glasses are made of ice.
What? Wow! I cannot believe this place, and ice sculptures everywhere.
It feels like a magical place, because it is. A guided river rafting trip?
Sarah, you are opening up my horizons way too fast. Yet, I love it!
If you ever decide to come back to Jukkasjarvi, please count me in.
We will bring your mother too. There is room for another sleeping bag
And who would not want to fall asleep to The Northern Lights?
This has been the best vacation ever! Let’s go have some Swedish meatballs.
"dancing with butterflies"
as day breaks with promises
butterflies gracefully shadow me
causing me to be a ballerina
dancing effortlessly by the sea
everlasting is this moment of light
forever engraved with freedom
giving me a breath of oxygen
holding the thought to carry on
I enlist and follow the dream
joining beauty of butterflies
knowing they will show the way
leading to extraordinary senses
making the sun shine and moon glow
never a hesitation or missing beat
only open windows with possibilities
placing my soul alive and free
quietly all butterflies fly away
resting knowing my spirit is whole
sprinkling their grace upon me
taking with them darkness and pain
SkyWatcher
11-01-23
How thrilled was I, the strings in my heart trembled,
when a note floated to me
in the wind, and drenched me with a fragrance
I remembered from many years ago…
many years ago, when a soft soothing melody
along with the aroma of love drowned me
in ecstasy!
This is the note I was waiting for...
from the memories of my past, my tender dreams
which murmured like a river flowing
to meet its end in the ocean.
flowers which bloomed,
but the quivering petals slowly drooped,
never shone in its full splendour!
A Note,
carried by the playful Spring wind…brought me a
message, whispered in my ears ...
Love waits.
October 26, 2022
"A Note In The Wind" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
A new year and an old mirror
Who is this aging face it reflects to me
Surely I have not become old
What curse is time to rob your youth
To drain you of vitality and vigor
Yet leave you with desires
To take away those you love
As little by little they pass away
only to remain in memory and sorrow
Where is my cuteness of youth and juvenility
That happy face that gained a smile with its own
What happen to that full lush head of hair
That dare the world to stare and was teased
by fingers of young lasses running through it
And those bright sunny eyes hidden by thick glasses
And how dare those wrinkles crinkle the smoothness of youth
I think of myself as young but am given senior citizen discounts
without asking. People open doors for me and seem to talk louder.
I hear the snickering of kids mocking me as old.
Mirror what have you done, why take away the joy of a child
The inner spark that keeps you loving, wanting, dreaming
By exposing the old fart before you
Mirror please lie to me, reflect not as I am but as I was
Give me back that handsome face the radiance of fresh life
Let me turn heads and draw stares of admiration again
The world is in love with youth, a pretty face, handsome fellow
the cuteness of a child. Get old get homely
Mirror you are no longer my friend
Your truth is damning
For a moment lie, show me young briefly
Shine that reflection of youth
Allow me to smile at my image again.
You are harsh yet humble, simple but true
You show me as I am and lead me to its acceptance
A vain reflection after all, not so bad looking for an old fellow.
O' it's written in books and songs,
That we've been mistreated and wronged;
Well, over and over . . . .
Buffy St. Marie
As storm clouds rumbled in the sky
and thunder clapped giant hands another child was buried
just another cluster suicide death
she was ten years old . . .
First Nation peoples of Canada live in all parts noted on charts
some in places isolated
where fruit, vegetables and milk is expensive
limited, and of poor quality
housing is inadequate and in need of repair
full of mold, and bug infested where babies die
some have no water or contaminated water
some have no heat or meat
sad when you think Canada was THEIR land
(o' we are restless and discontent, dissatisfied and want better)
but in the early history of this fine country
they where hunted, killed, starved and unwanted
and herded into reservations
into submission, becoming dependent and in time gone their
resplendent culture . . . but still proud and strong
shame on the government of Canada willing to accept refugees
putting them in nice hotel rooms and finding them housing
when we have people living in horrible poverty conditions
shame, shame on you Mr. Prime Minister
in my solitude and musing
I imagine a warrior on a high cliff looking at a vast land
he sits proud under a dark cloud
such is the shame as Canada is a wealthy and healthy
country and the needs of the First Nation go on and on . . .
these are truly invisible people
today the government is working to right the wrongs
some say too little . . .
I can see a canoe's drifting beneath a limitless sparkling blue sky
and fish are jumping and leaping
then, my vision fades into an internal night
and another child is buried because of no hope
the PEOPLE are discontent and restless . . .
__________________
March 30, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/The Invisible People
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1008-937-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.