Long Unabated Poems
Long Unabated Poems. Below are the most popular long Unabated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unabated poems by poem length and keyword.
THE FREEDOM OF NATURE
Methinks how the west wind
Blows and worries these trees,
Swirly leaves break-dancing in my court yard,
Speaking and humming the wind's tone.
With a beautification plucked from the arms of nature,
All the shades of green, red, orange and brown,
Starved leaves falling off, saturating the environs,
Screeching and sliding upon the sandy floor.
Unabated and unchained by the west wind.
Squirrels invited by the branches,
Butterflies ushered in by the flowers,
And the birds came by for shelter;
Nature is having it's free course.
And it all comes together as a piece of natural artwork.
Copyright ©19th October, 2020.
Written By: VMP and Lit-in-Eng (SSS2) Class RGFS 2020 set.
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There are no angels
that watch me sleep
All alone I am,
with no promises left to keep.
Though days come and come again
I lie awake without my friend.
How could time have passed so easily,
marked by unforgotten memories?
With age and time and lifetimes lost I find
not every day carries joyous rhyme.
The words flow poorly in pause and hesitation
with lack of thought or deep felt inspiration.
Seems nothing left but despair
and once I truly did care.
Now as the years speed quickly by
the day is filled with more tears to cry.
As memory still clings but tries to be faded
in the night of heartache all remains unabated.
There are no angels left
their once observant watch to keep
The loss of love with so many regrets
is the price of life we pay and reap.
The history of Black or African People,
And all of our People should be celebrated
Year-round: every hour, day, week, month, and decade.
The celebration must go on unabated,
All the time. The first couple,
Ever existed, had dark or ebony skin, said
Many credible historians,
Archeologists and great citizens.
The month of February is evidently too short.
Twenty-eight days are not enough,
To commemorate our Brave People, who've fought
And defeated ignorance, bigotry and slavery.
Three hundred and sixty-five days are not enough,
To honor the struggle of the Slaves who were brought
To different parts of the world. A century
Is not enough. Many centuries are not enough.
We need, every day and month of the almanac,
To celebrate, to remember the first Black
Couple, our ebony Ancestors,
Our Black Brothers and Sisters.
Copyright© January 2017 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.
I strengthen the ailing and the weak,
I bring forth a time of refreshing,
I give hope to the barren and bleak,
Invigorating and replenishing.
I aid those who are lost in the night,
I strengthen the ailing and the weak,
An aglow in the radiant light,
There’s a return at its joyful peak.
I open the door not just for a peek,
It’s the unveiling of a colourful room,
I strengthen the ailing and the weak,
An emergence from the gloomy room.
Lost vitality is regained,
Sometimes, I let go of myself for a week,
Unabated, but I’m not any pained,
I strengthen the ailing and the weak.
December 17, 2025.
SNOWMAN’S LAMENT
(Written in reply to Margarita Lilico's poem, "My Icy Friend")
Each winter, lying flat and soft upon the ground,
I waited patiently for you to come around.
And, year after year, you would be there
To recreate me with your usual flair
Layer-by layer, your gentle hands would mould me.
I yearned to feel your loving arms enfold me.
Every year, enthusiasm unabated,
You would make me more sophisticated
A carrot nose, blue button eyes,
And round my neck, one of your father’s ties.
And as you fashioned my every part,
Did you know you had melted my heart?
Then, when winter ended, as all winters do,
Alas, the rest of me melted too.
MY ICY FRIEND
By Margarita Lilico
I always built a snowman - since childhood,
Each time I longed to keep it - as if I could.
Adding snow layers, I felt at the year-end
Warm and affectionate towards my icy friend.
I grew up and modernized my snow design,
My friend got more attractive, but never mine.
Though unrequited my erstwhile winter bond,
I recreate every time despite the cold.
My dear snowman, memento to remember –
The solace of my soul in dark December.
11th April 2023
Find Your PS Muse poetry contest
Sponsor - Margarita Lilico
Bright red clouds in their pastel pastures
Sky so vividly aligned along the shadow blue
Solid ghosts against the heavens
Stretch on the light of morning dawn
Through that which seems like ocean swells
Waves cry but never loudly on the roll
It is too cold for thunder by horizons birth
Called day by any other name predicted
Weather holds but quickly evaporates
The thick division rest on silent stones
On boundaries of Earth and sky less motivated
Sailors look up while buttoned down hatches close
A storm is coming according to their sources
Clouds never lie for long
Never hidden under such conditions
But dance a waltz as rain pours out its soul
Seals their fate unabated
Day breaks that way some times
I divorced the cirrus heat
that once laced the sky with fire,
carrying searing sins of
the scorching sun ~
burning the soft bronze of my melanin;
an unabated rage,
a labyrinth of blooming lilac,
an assortment of angst,
a library of healing lullabies
homed beneath the glass-skin silence
of my quivering chest~
like wind through cathedral clusters,
a poison to my psyche,
too bright for the darkness that dwells.
But perhaps it is in eclipsed spheres
I thrive in comfort~
attain nirvana
through sketched peace lilies
drawn in stillness.
Now I’ve found inner
nectarine ingredients~
a recipe for resilience
to pollinate my passion,
to compose myself,
to uncloud storms
by marrying the
moon in my conscience~
painting citrine and topaz
on the pillows where I weep,
in seclusion and solitude.
Here, stars of solace ~ I do breathe~
a self-consolation that needs
no granular words scratching
the inner walls of the throat chakra.
O beloved, forgive my need
to see through the haze
that has been fogging
the fluorescence of your aurora horizon.
My woe ~ a broken vow,
my ache ~ a bleeding wound,
my grief ~ your scar~
a suffocating scarf,
a burden I relieve you of with severed ties,
letting go amidst the love
that still flutters in Luna sparkles…
You were a hallucinatory
hymn of dawn ~ beautiful, yet bruised,
and I am silver thread
tied to the oblivion of diamond dusk,
basking in the raining remedies,
seeking floriated meadows,
lost in the breeze of
sea-kissed azure~
an awakening: to trade venom for vigor,
like the unfurling of sakura
in the warmth of spring’s splendor,
brushing away crystals
of mulberry-black ice
when cold are the conversations
left unread and dried
between misinterpreted metaphors...
Sometimes, farewells are healing,
moving on ~ a contemplative prayer,
the spiritual pilgrimage
toward embracing clarity and zen.
For there, in the vintage
forest of forsaken violets,
wilted petals are watered
with tears and roseate radiance,
and, in the ruins of
pixelated promises,
we will learn to linger in
the luminous reveries of love ~ evermore...
Awakening Perpetually
by Odin Roark
Awakening perpetually knows well
Perfection’s tuning fork disquietude,
Its awareness that any off-key meandering
Can cloud over a caressing sunshine rising,
Sour a dawning’s gardenia fragrance.
One reaches skyward with morning’s extension,
The opening of shuddered windows,
Inviting breezes to find purpose
Among slumber’s expended air,
The body’s unwearied resilience.
About the room
Timeless ghosts bow heads and implore with stretched arms,
Aroused by their history’s carillon, matins and lauds,
Even as cobblestone passage below traffics today’s gluttonous appetite,
Fulfilling its locust-like consumption,
Unabated by cacophony’s garrulous conceit
Propelling a different consciousness
Self-destructing by tourismic mayhem.
But…
To step forward and lean on man’s balcony of hope,
Is to lift weary eyes above the clutter below
Onto rising light’s warm-colored horizon,
To give one’s tuning fork its earned reward,
The sense of harmony and melody
Being born of another day.
Such is the embrace of dawn’s meaning,
The anticipation of canvas to paint,
Verses to write,
Preludes to compose.
For lest we forget,
Awakening remains perpetual,
Whether for man, creature, seedling or flower.
It asks only to be honored.
You have scorched, scorched all my fields of love
the trees I loved, the lea I cherished,
meadows of flowers, pigeon and dove,
to your insolence, they have perished.
black burnt remains of rose bushes stand,
the willow weeps at its own demise,
my hopes and dreams are now barren sands,
thin smoke in an aroma of lies.
hope still remains, the river flows on,
sky looks down from its eternal blue,
life sketches anew, brings a new dawn,
fresh grass breaking, bring hint of green hue.
in most dismal lost situations,
faith remains a soldier to fight on,
in dark scorched fields of tribulations,
with wave of His hand, love is reborn.
His work is still to be done, much more remains,
oceans of wars amidst islands of reason,
bridges to be built and heavens to regain,
His work goes on, unabated all season.
The History of Black People,
And all of our People should be celebrated
Year-round: every day, week, month, and decade.
The celebration should go on unabated,
All the time. The first couple,
Ever existed, had dark skin, said
Many credible historians,
Archeologists and great citizens.
The month of February is evidently too short.
Twenty-eight days are not enough,
To commemorate our Brave People, who've fought
And defeated ignorance, bigotry and slavery.
Three hundred and sixty-five days are not enough,
To honor the struggle of the Slaves who were brought
To different parts of the world. A century
Is not enough. Many centuries are not enough.
We need, every single day of the almanac,
To celebrate, to remember the first Black
Couple, our Ancestors,
Our Brothers and Sisters.
Copyright© January 2017 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.