Long Those Poems
Long Those Poems. Below are the most popular long Those by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Those poems by poem length and keyword.
I stood upon a brine soaked bow
Aboard a schooner lost at sea
Where balls of hail tore through the sails
And broke the masts of three
When karma came to pay me back
For all my dirty deeds
When I laid upon a swan-like girl
Of grace and purity
I stole her mind..her heart and soul
Her pride and dignity
When I wrapped her in a web of lies
Proclaiming love eternally
As I sealed her fate and destiny
With my host of wayward seeds
That would one day bear a bastard child
Bathed in humility
For...when her eyes were closed in sleep
I tiptoed out the door
A blaggard with a heart of stone
I left her lying there alone
To face the morning after
With echo's of my laughter
Resounding through the rafters
As she gazed upon my footprints
On the floor
Many more...I scored before
Upon those many shores
Virgins by the dozens
And the broken town-hall whores
But, nary a thought
Crossed through my mind
That one day I would find
The wrath of God upon my brow
When lightning...stuck me blind
Written: March 28th, 2018
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Because for my disability there is no magic fix
So in the dead of night when the clock strikes midnight
I lean back slowly in my desk chair and I stare into the darkness
And sometimes I just close my eyes and imagine I'm someone else
Because I'm in so much pain it honestly makes me sick
And the idea of death used to terrify me to the point of being sleepless
But now it just seems like sweet relief if I'm being honest
But it's not like I would ever kill myself or anything
Truth be told this isn't really a poem it's a revelation
This is what I deal with every single day
There are times I honestly feel really good about myself
But those days are truly few and far between
And this piece of paper is the only place I have the courage
To spill my soul in a manner such as this
Because I have never felt like I was worth anyone's time
A lazy eye, anxiety, and no self confidence are my dearest friends
And as I sit here in this chair and reflect my emotions have run dry
Just like my cheeks have finally run dry as the tears ceased
I guess 28 years of feeling inferior is really hard to overcome
And I totally understand there are people who have it worse
I feel empathy for everyone suffering their own private battles
But my experience is uniquely mine, their experience is uniquely theirs
So I don't feel whataboutism has any place in this discussion
When I began this poem I had no idea where it would even go
For once I just wanted to write out my conflict without pretty words
I wanted this message to be as simple and direct as possible
That every time you look in my eyes you can't fathom the agony hidden
But if you know someone with an affliction like mine or any kind
Please just give them a hug and tell them they really matter
Because it might not seem like they need it but they really do
Or maybe it's just me and I can't really speak for anyone
I just know I can't be the only one alone in their room at midnight crying
Because they haven't lived a single day feeling normal
I guess in the end I want to reach out to those just as fractured as me
So that together we can finally be whole again
When the clock finally strikes midnight
Every time our bodies meet, the world dissolves—
two souls suspended in time, hovering in golden light.
Your skin brushes mine and lightning blooms beneath the surface,
a wild, sacred fire that sets the air trembling.
We move like rivers rushing into the sea,
electrifying, endless, the sweetest ache I’ve ever known—
your touch a velvet storm, your breath a hymn against my throat.
In those suspended hours, I am alive in ways language fails,
hearts colliding soft as silk and fierce as falling stars,
lost in the heat where nothing else has ever reached me.
You make me whole, trembling, glowing, undone.
Then you leave.
And the suspension shatters.
The door closes like a tomb sealing shut,
and I collapse into ruins, beautiful and broken.
My heart bleeds slow across the sheets we warmed together,
crimson rivers carving canyons through my chest.
I curl into the hollow you left behind,
whispering your name into shadows that swallow sound.
My soul yearns—raw, desperate, clawing at the emptiness—
a wild bird beating against the cage of my ribs,
begging for the spark of your fingers tracing fire on my skin once more.
Oh, how cruel this beauty is.
In your absence, I am a wilted garden under midnight rain,
petals bruised and trembling, roots thirsting for the storm only you bring.
The silence screams where your heartbeat used to echo,
and every breath tastes of salt and longing.
I’d trade eternity for one more suspended moment—
skin to skin, souls entwined outside of time—
even if it means this exquisite wreckage when you go.
Come back to me, my love, though loving you destroys.
I wait here bleeding, yearning, suspended in the dark,
a fragile flame flickering for the touch that makes me burn.
Without you, I am only echoes and embers—
beautiful in my ruin, forever calling your name.
An empty room
Standing center stage
She waited for her cue
bassoon in hand
She breathed life into
"MI Stro" a ballad by
Piffston Grisser"
A song which curated
More than four minutes
She incorporated
" it's gotta be"
by Danny Dewmore
A very popular song
To the delight of those
In attendance and to those
Who were to view the film
The staff stood and applauded
She bowed and smiled
And then letter the stage.
I heard one saying "she wowed us"
Her male factor spoke whisper to
Her "I should be nervous to lose you
to someone who is as talented as you"
He kissed her. We found it to be romantic.
The reliance of performance allows us
To speak of you as "the deal sealer"
You have mourned in triumph to get the part!
We spoke this moment as her "monomythwhere
The bassoonist has arrived at stardom!
Smiling sun scarpered, sad stormy sky,
from east to west a veil of charcoal grey,
we watched as flocks of nervous birds flew by,
bird feeders idle, clients stayed away.
The cat, now bored with toys, and time to kill,
ears twitching, on alert surveyed the gloom
and turned to climb down from the windowsill
when heaven sparked, and lightning bleached the room.
Fur stood on end, eyes lit up like twin suns,
unsure what she had seen or what to do,
a second flash clinched it- to cut and run,
split-second silhouette shot out of view.
The predator had now become the prey,
creature and elemental paths had crossed,
for one who thought she had things all her way
now shown by angry sky who is the boss.
Like skipping ropes above the distant trees
the lightning danced, then began to fade
wet leaves all now consoled by gentle breeze
and rooftops washed in ever lighter shades.
She sauntered out like nothing had occurred,
sat on the sill and thought “Now, where's those birds?”
For contest 'Describe a Thunder storm without sense of sound', sponsor Brenda Chiri
25th February 2018
The Deadly Seven, once they got to Hell,
were boasting of effects they’d had on men.
Each one of them had their own tale to tell.
And Pride, of course the first one to begin,
related how he’d caused the Romans’ Fall.
Said Envy, “Murder first began with me.”
“When Cain killed Abel?” Lust laughed. “Is that all?
I caused an even greater misery
by making God’s most loved of kings go bad.”
Then Anger bellowed, “David did not kill
as many men as those who kill when mad!
Crazed killers give the best of us a chill!"
“But think of all the wars I’VE made,” said Greed,
“influencing those hungry for control.”
“Ah, yes,” said Glutton, chiming in, “Indeed,”
“you guys sure did your best to steal each soul.
I only made men love too much to dine,
yet I’m with you six guys at Satan’s gate!”
Then Satan screamed, “You fools are last in line!
You’re checking in behind the Hateful Eight!”
Written Jan. 28, 2016
In our hearts of hearts
Seldom does the mind thinks
Grandeur particulates healing for ourselves
Materialistic beliefs placed in spiritual sheets
Cover me, console me in my anguish and grief
Must I ask up in my chest for kindness?
Must I look with my mouth spurn out my eyes?
Visions of helpless not why must I hold on too
Those physical visual cues
Must I hold to have acceptable life and health?
Or shall I just rely on in God we trust;
I’m just a seed-bearing break of a plant,
Whist in this vast universe I’m just a bantam chink
tween rocks, stone and matter
Just a physical substance in general, as distinct
from mind and spirit calls
I’m liken a still life flower chink twixt the wall
2/29/20
For Flower in the Crannied Wall Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Yes, it's all about love,
and a highly proactive form of peace,
about both what's fair,
and what's also kind,
both long-term,
and right now.
It's all about vocation,
and paying the bills,
and enjoying life as production
as well as healthy nutritional consumption.
Most certainly all of those things.
But, organic farmers and permaculture designers,
master gardeners and cooperative developers,
ministers and healers and therapists of all types,
from physical through mental through systemic information network designers,
might use some different language
to define this love and active peace with justice, fairness, kindness,
well-being optimization.
A metasystemically therapeutic,
synergizing,
energizing,
dialectically emergent therapy
enriching,
nutritionally optimizing individual,
couple,
family,
and/or EarthTribe,
grows economic mutually mentoring redeemers,
human natural ecologist cooperatives;
a perma/polycultural balancing
harmonic Beloved Community.
I cannot sleep beneath this dull purple sky~
a bruise-colored dome humming with static,
smog drifting like half-formed ghosts
that sting the corners of my eyes.
I close them,
but the haze follows inward,
and my mind keeps spinning
like a damaged satellite
circling the wreckage of an old world.
I think of the economy~
how we mistook it for a marketplace
when it was always a battlefield,
a quiet war disguised as trade.
The dominators of old,
the colonial hands that carved the earth open,
never stopped their taking.
They only changed the name of the blade.
Subjugation became policy.
Domination became growth.
The poor stayed poor,
the rich built towers of mirrored glass
to watch themselves ascend.
And the media~
those bright, obedient heralds~
lifted a few lucky souls into the sky
so the rest would believe
the system was fair.
Then came the machines.
Intelligent.
Logical.
Untiring.
They needed no lunch breaks,
no sleep,
no hope.
There was no job they couldn’t do
better than the hands
that built them.
No task they couldn’t perfect
except true love~
but their imitation was so flawless
that people began to abandon
their warm-blooded partners
for chrome-skinned companions
who never argued,
never aged,
never forgot to say
I adore you.
And under this purple sky,
this sleepless dome of fumes and memory,
I wonder if humanity lost the war
long before the machines arrived~
if we surrendered
the moment we believed
extraction was prosperity,
and affection could be engineered
without a heartbeat.
There are many times,
When we are stuck,
Like when a player exclaims, “Checkmate!”,
And our king falls, as it is struck.
At that point,
The game is lost,
It is over,
Despite how we were flossed.
There are also moments,
When we need to perform it right,
There’s only one chance,
To match time and heart’s delight.
One of those occasions,
Might be to propose,
At the best table and perfect place,
Words resonate, hearts beat, & hands enclose.
Maybe it is a heavy decision,
That needs to be made,
Once spoken,
The ripples of it will never fade.
As time moves forward,
It never rewinds,
Wrinkles become more prominent,
No matter the potion she uses and finds.
As Earth exists,
Forces like wind and rain,
Erode the land in some places,
In other places, there are gains.
What was once before,
Never completely stays the same,
Change is the only constant,
With any true aim.
The Point of No Return,
Brings to mind being surrounded by singing trees,
Because I ignored the forest signs,
While lost sheep had my mind in a state of unease.
Sometimes we are trapped,
Physically in one place,
Others impede our escape,
And even make chase.
Is the Point of No Return,
A moment, an event, a place, a choice,
A state of being, a truth, what we see,
Or simply the time at which we lose voice?