Long Too little Poems
Long Too little Poems. Below are the most popular long Too little by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Too little poems by poem length and keyword.
We have mentally drained our emotions into the world around us
Causing our own commotions then get mad with what surrounds us.
We lack to feel for those that we see have less.
We slack and oppose for what we think is best.
We tend to take from a pot that is not rightfully ours.
We tread lightly with the truth, but listen to lies for hours.
We get bombarded with the ways of the world, yet we aren’t teaching boys how to treat girls.
We are leading the youth to the worst of ways; we take no responsibility for the paths we’ve paved.
We raise hell when our child is wrong, as we defend them.
We teach them that laws are in place, but there are ways to bend them.
We want our voices to be heard, but what we say is empty.
We are portraying a message that is disturbed--
we are killing ourselves, to put it simply.
We have too little knowledge and exceeding pride.
We feel so comfortable on this roller coaster ride.
We watch the turmoil that is of this world, constantly run its loop.
We don’t take enough time for ourselves to just sit--
and regroup.
We have troubles and pains and we are losing our loved ones.
We don’t see what we can gain if we would just become one.
We have fought off those that have offended us, but we haven’t confronted the evil thoughts that run deep within us.
We have come to some reality that we are just humans.
We don’t see the totality of what all the ‘just’ is ruining.
We cannot become one when we are constantly separating ourselves.
We cannot become whole when we ignore our inner self.
We keep following the trends of things that hold no value.
We sleep cowardly to no end and buy all the dreams that they are selling.
We don’t look in the mirror to see who we really are.
We look at some reflection as if we are too far--
to reach, to teach, to redirect or speak.
We have lost sight of what it is to love.
We don’t feel the connection, so it’s easier to run.
We get off-track; thinking we don’t need anyone.
We have blocked out what it is to have compassion, we take routes for our own personal satisfaction.
We keep thinking this way, we will never be united, but together we will fall.
We just need to become one and together we could have it all.
The ways of the world, seem so wicked
Overbearing thoughts--
self-inflicted.
2/1/2016
Character.
That's where the biggest measurements,
truest tests of worth
should lie.
And yet, 'tis not so.
Sometimes, mostly, I believe
that it's indeed enough.
That being a good man
is enough to keep me afloat.
Sometimes, rarely, . . .
I don't.
How many good men die?
How many great people, nice guys,
saintly women, shining paragons of humanity -
are shunned?
People don't always look at you
with virtue in mind,
don't gaze through honor's eyes;
too often they look through you, into you,
to what you can do for them.
Too often they choose,
not to see the real source of light in front of them,
but instead just the glow of fool's gold;
warping your worth to mean usefulness
instead of selflessness,
utility instead of altruism.
Or they misread you entirely;
focusing solely on your looks,
or your wealth, or your mannerisms,
your attitudes;
one is chosen, only one is seen -
the one made to blemish and demean.
Very few gaze on the whole picture,
take in the whole work;
these are those you treasure.
The ones, also, of value,
the ones who are what they claim
and claim little more than living
in a respectable way.
But still, in this life,
character matters oft too little;
gathers all but nothing corporeal.
In the end, one must make a choice;
tangible wealth, or wealth of pride?
What matters to one more -
the character of the substance,
or the substance of the character?
I strive to continue
to believe that great people are there;
that who you are
makes a damn bit of difference.
But throughout that strife,
ever am I haunted, shadowed,
by one ceaseless question.
How many good men die?
That's it. That's what I want to know.
That's what follows and taunts me.
How many of them fall, without ever knowing
just what they've meant to those they've helped -
those they've served, protected, assisted, befriended?
Whether it was a much-needed pat on the back,
picking up a dropped cane, searching for something lost;
or something bigger -
a life given, an oath fulfilled,
a love or a friendship began and striven for -
how many never believe they've made a difference, however slight,
never realize what they truly were?
How many good men die,
having once or more asked a question of their own -
am I a good man,
was I a good man-
without their answer?
Given as a gift from Germany to Kabul zoo in Afghanistan
No fields to run in - just a miserable enclosed barren land
You were blessed with a beautiful lioness partner, Chucha
She must have made you feel no less than a majestic Shah
You survived against all the invasions, and the bloody wars
Behind those dark miserably cramped closed barring doors
You were a survivor, that against all the cruelly made odds
Was even threaten to be killed, by the unholy Taliban sods
But your loyal keeper fought for your life, using the Quran
With the prophet Muhammad to aid you to all understand
That an animal is to be respected, he also had his own pets
To kill Marjan, would in the end, will leave you with regrets
But you were brought down by an egotistical Mujahedeen
Who you killed for mauling your Chucha for fun it seemed
In turn the killed brother gave you three grenades as a gift
The damage it caused you was more than deserved - swift
You lost your sight in one eye and near all of it in the other
Because of a under deserving revenge of a grieved brother
You lost all of your teeth, with the blast all of your hearing
Yet you survived, to Afghans, you became more endearing
That they took it upon themselves to then kill this very man
For the ignorance of the situation as he did not understand
You had thought this man was a threat to your lioness pride
As it was in the end his own fault he was attacked then died
As the wars in Afghanistan raged so did the famine drought
When it came to food for you there was too little of it about
But the Afghan people gathered in force to see you were fed
No one wanted the Shah Marjan from hunger be found dead
You came through all of this, skin sagging on a frame so lean
But for it all, never did once made you ferocious or be mean
Your beloved keeper walked with you within your enclosure
Despite your injuries you always maintained your composure
Your name travelled the world, and they wished you the best
But after a quarter of a century you then laid yourself to rest
This tribute is to you mera jaan Marjan – the pearl of Afghanistan
May you always with Chucha, fly free, high above this desert land
Higher and higher with the longed for eternal peace may you soar
As the winds carry along with it your once mighty and proudly roar
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.
The Lobsterman
She sits alone, hands gripping her coffee cup
Staring out the window at the mist that shrouds the village,
Watching lazy rivulets of moisture meander down the glass
Where is he she wonders, her imagination fearing the worst
She brightens at the crunching sound of footsteps
Approaching up the cottage walk
The door opens, he's home, filling the room with his presence
He removes his slicks as the oceans scent permeates the kitchen
"You're late, I kept your supper on the burner, sit down and I'll get you a plate"
He drops into a chair, acknowledging her offer with a smile
"The traps were light today" he says, "my catch didn't cover the fuel"
He starts to eat the meal she placed before him, his thoughts lost within himself
"Tommy came home from school today, excited about a field trip" she says,"asked if he
could go"
"Its gonna cost $20. I told him I'd talk to you about it"
He looks at her and she can see the pain in his eyes, the stress lines on his face
His eyes red rimmed from too little sleep and too much worry
"I've got to pay my stern-men come Friday, and a payment on the boat is coming due
Might have to let one go til things get better, but a lot less traps I'll be able to pull
Can't make no promises about the field trip, but I'll see what I can do"
He pushes back from the table, says "I'm gonna go take a shower now"
She waits til he comes back to the kitchen and they sit and talk quietly together
Abruptly he says "I'm thinking I may have to sell the boat and take a job in town"
She is startled by his statement, shocked he would consider such a thing
All he knows is lobstering and the sea runs in his veins. Her heart aches for him
"Why don't you sleep on it" she says. "You're exhausted, You need to rest"
Together they retreat to their bedroom, but sleep eludes them both
She lies there thinking how much she loves him, how hard he works to earn their
keep
He lies there thinking of tomorrow, wondering how much longer he can survive
She wakes before the dawn, the bed already empty,
He has departed for the harbor in the dimness of the morn
She knows the sea will always be his mistress, her siren song seducing him each day
She feels the helplessness and fear surround her, and she prays for a better catch
today
VILLANELLES IV
She Always Grew Roses
by Michael R. Burch
a belated eulogy for my grandmother, Lillian Lee
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she always grew roses.”
What the heart would embrace, the ego opposes,
fritters away, and sometimes bulldozes.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she loved nonetheless, as her legacy discloses—
she always grew roses.”
How does one repent when regret discomposes?
When the shadow of guilt, at last, interposes?
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she continued to love, as her handiwork shows us,
and she always grew roses.”
Too little, too late, the grieved heart imposes
its too-patient will as the opened book recloses.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“She always grew roses.”
The opened-then-closed book is a picture album. The season is late fall because it was in my autumn years that I realized I had written poems for everyone in my family except Grandma Lee. Hopefully it is never too late to repent and correct an old wrong.
Little Sparrow
by Michael R. Burch
for my petite grandmother, Christine Ena Hurt, who couldn’t carry a note, but sang her heart out with great joy, accompanied, I have no doubt, by angels
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
What did she have? Hardly a thing.
A roof, plain food, and a tiny gold ring.
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
“Hosanna!” angel choirs ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
Whence comes this praise, as angels sing
to her tuneless voice? What of Death’s sting?
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Let others have their stoles and bling.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering
as the harps of beaming angels ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!”
Keywords/Tags: villanelle, villanelles, refrain, roses, angel, angels, sparrow, sacrament, sacramental, family, grandmother, heart, ego, season, seasons, legacy, elegy, eulogy, remember, remembrance
(Translated from Akhtar Sheerani)
Your little messenger who used to convey your messages
Was then unaware of what you used to write on those pages
He could not understand the secrets that that letters hid
What exciting styles of love in those simple looking words hid!
He just did not know what was hid in those blue envelopes
What a young girl meant by sending them to a boy? Her hopes?
But, I usually used to ponder on, in those times
That why his childhood thought on this love story's climax climbs?
Though he was too little, would not he think about it in heart
What his sister might have written in her letter with that art?
And why she writes letters to the same boy repeatedly?
It's okay if she writes sometimes, but why repeatedly?
Why now does she love her brother more than ever before?
She hands over envelope and promises to love more!
Why his sister is so benevolent to that stranger?
And if she's, why she hides from every family member?
His distrust is also supported by this evidence
Why "No one should know about this letter," was her advice?
He might think in his little mind, from where comes this young stranger?
The same as his sister sends, he also brings a letter
Why he cannot come to their home like other relatives?
When he asks about him, no satisfying answer he gives
Brings beautiful toys for him, gives and smiles; usually
With kindness, on his back he gently slaps; usually
These thoughts of your messenger used to titilate my heart
And with their childish innocence, made smile my feelings smart
Remembrance was not limited to only you those days
Imaginations also remember him, I amaze!
But today, I saw the beautiful symbol in that way
That I bowed my head to prostrate on astonishment's clay!
I met your little messenger as a young boy once again
Changes occurring around me in the world left me half-slain
The zeal of your love sleeping in my heart, woke once again
This Laila returned to her litter breaking moments' chain
I felt blushed on looking in the eyes of your messenger
But, a naughty light of past sparkled in his eyes' scavenger
This sparkle was a cause of astonishment, recalling past tale
That the secret of your first love could be seen in this veil!
March 14, 2022
The Reason
~~~~~~~~~~
The reason for these tears and heartache
For this pain that you feel is not yours alone
A love that's no more was of beauty and truth
Do you remember when you cast it away?
I always kept you close to my heart
Letting you wander freely in my soul
Even now as you suffer I bleed
When you came to me it was love at first sight
Taking the place of the void that lie in my heart
Holding you close to my chest as a precious heirloom
I never expected for you and I to part
So beautiful, fragile, wonderful and shy
All the things that I loved so much about you
You knew at once you had caught my eye
Watching your soul mending, seeing you grow
Was my purpose being fulfilled
Sharing my thoughts, exploring your dreams
Giving you encouragement saving all your tears
Then you simply went away, you were gone
I saw no reason or rhyme, I simply accepted
And suffered silently alone as I've always done
I learned patience, I bided my time
Taking the best of my soul with you
My heart was crippled again by you just turning away
I was deemed unworthy of your love
A mortal wound was delivered to us that day
Yet return you did and now I know
It was far too little and way too late
For only another could claim my lost trust
And fill the void in my heart
What was cast away in passion and lust
Would never again be whole in this life
All the sweet dreams were gone
To a million pieces shattered
I would have no daughter, no wife
Denial and illusion had always been safe for me
So I return to my corner alone and suffering
Yet in my heart I am numb, there is no pain
A universal constant that's so real
Each action has an equal yet opposite reaction
Loss will always equal gain
Once you leave that special place you can never return
Reality is a very harsh mistress
We all know this is a true yet painful fact
I do however know this, you will again find love
In my soul I know that the choice was never truly mine
And as you learned I may someday do the same
The one for whom you traded me was never for you
Still we cannot undo what is already done
If you ever truly knew me you would realize
It was never really about her at all
And as the creator is my witness my soul remains clean
What you see as betrayal, was your own.
Compared with us, the kids today
Too little play and too much weigh.
Alone indoors they snack and sit
And buttons hit, while we stayed fit.
We'd quickly chores and homework do,
Then dash through doors to fun pursue,
To basketballs and arrows shoot,
To jump with ropes, and footballs boot.
We'd earthworms dig for fishing bait,
On scooters glide, and roller skate.
We'd hopscotch, seesaw, chase. and swing
And boomerangs and frisbees fling.
We'd tackle, dribble, leap, and throw.
We'd tunnel through and shovel snow.
In haystacks dive and wagons ride,
On ice and into bases slide.
We'd whittle wood and baskets weave
And pennies pitch and horseshoes heave.
We'd yank the strings so tops would spin,
When wrestling, try to shoulders pin.
We'd kindling fetch and firewood chop,
Inflate balloons to later pop,
Sink numbered balls in billiard halls,
And topple pins with bowling balls.
We'd weekly swim at downtown Y,
Our kites and model airplanes fly,
We'd darts and putts and marbles aim,
With lens or flint set twigs aflame.
We'd sneak beneath the sideshow tents,
Climb ropes and poles and chain link fence.
We'd hike and camp with scouting troops,
Rotate our hips in hula hoops.
We garden weeded, hosed, and tilled,
We'd soap box car and treehouse build,
At picnics joined the tug-of-war,
And barefoot romp when rain would pour.
We raced on stilts and pogo sticks,
Made pies of mud, our pets taught tricks,
Were paper, pin, and altar boys,
Ignored complaints of too much noise.
For caddie tips, we'd golf bags lug;
To jukebox records, jitterbug.
We'd carpets beat, played kick-the-can,
Collected rocks, and errands ran.
To school and back on foot we tread,
Down steepest hills and alleys sled,
Played pitch-and-catch in yard with Dad,
Pushed mower that no motor had.
We'd rake the leaves and chestnuts crack
And toddlers carry piggyback.
With feather pillows fight in bed,
Our cap guns fire, and fall down dead.
We'd wildly flail at punching bag
And batted balls and passes snag.
We'd zig and zag, avoiding tag,
Till tuckered out, we'd homeward drag.
No trophies or applause we'd get.
Our play was real, not internet.
To kids today, I this advise:
Get off your butts and exercise!
i dont know what im scared of
im scared to fall in love with you
scared that i may mess it up
i dont know this game
I've had zero practice and im not intimate at all
in fact i cringe at stuff like that
and to think i MUST do it to prove my love
my affection?
well excuse my ignorance, for i did not know
im scared that i'll do too much, or too little
i wont be able to handle you when you cry
i wont be able to be with you every time life pokes you in the eye
i'll blame myself for the smallest arguments
and i struggle to apologize, not that im incapable
but i really like proving my point
my point of all this being: i dont trust myself.
it sounds cheesy but its not you, its me
truly, i am the problem
i have too many problems and im trying to solve them
and i know you'll get tired of it, i wont blame you
and when you do leave, i'll feel even worse than i did when i was with you
i'll have to avoid you, walk past you in the halls in complete silence, icing your presence
i'll have to listen when our friends talk about you while my heart aches in silence.
i'll have to stumble upon old pictures and text messages that'll set me back on my progress
i'll have to listen to sad, heartbreaking music and binge netflix movies, eat ice cream straight out of the tub
i'll have to become less productive as im still hurting
while i believe you've moved on and hurts me further
you could feel like you wasted months of your life with me, because you did
you could feel like you accomplished less and sacrificed more because of me
you could feel like you did everything while i did nothing
you could feel like you were dumb for believing i was THE ONE, and you weren't dumb
i just couldn't live out the expectations, i knew i couldn't and i still led you astray
i know all of this will happen if we do get together
we have the best chemistry, we can talk for hours and hours, we know a lot about each other and are comfortable with each other
as friends
once we cross the barrier, i dont know
i feel like something clicks and i become less
thats when the issues start
so baby im sorry, its really not you, its me
i dont expect you to understand
see, i did it again
im scared to love you
im scared to fall in love
and im fine with it.