Long Unbent Poems
Long Unbent Poems. Below are the most popular long Unbent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unbent poems by poem length and keyword.
Within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright
shadows twist obsidian trees torment,
the cypress writhe in blood moon’s bright delight.
The hunter hides his nascent lust for might
and so the doe flees by man’s bow unbent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight,
bedevil not the finer soul, repent,
the destined deed, must feed, man’s plight.
With deadly skill, fletched shaft sheers frosty night.
The horned hart does fall in wonderment,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
And torment flows in drops of crimson sight,
distorting right and light with man’s intent.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight
Into the holy water blood rings light
for life is all and death is but dissent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright,
the cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight.
Decay gnaws at a country church.
It's homeless; it's lost its congregation.
Molting stones crumble, eroding away.
Mice nibble at the altar.
Winds twine through cracks.
Rain and dew drip through.
Roof slates slip down.
Each year it's more decrepit.
As nature slowly moves in.
Edges made to endure,
fracture, collapsing into rubble.
Plinths and buttresses
forsake their faith.
Agnostic shadows creep in.
As nature resumes,
its inscrutable ways.
Bells corrode into silence.
Tongues stilled in the throat of dome.
Hymns survive only as echoes in
whistling drafts through splintered rafters.
The pews sag like tired suspenders,
long unbent in prayer.
Rain scrawls psalms on walls,
scripted in mildew and moss.
Stained glass panels drop down
into the rubbish and weeds.
Crossbeams become bird-nest perches,
for swallows and doves, now the choir.
This homeless house of God laments
in the nettles, thorns and briers.
Seeking nature’s absolution
for its forsaken ruin.
A scar upon the land.
A desolate homeless being.
A blot on the earth.
(Part 2 of Hiding in the shadows of why)
Stepping into the Light
I used to carry this name like a heavy, rusted iron key,
A jagged collection of letters that never belonged to me.
Schnadelbach—a word attached to me to make me feel small,
A weight I drug down every church and courtroom hall.
I thought if I buried the consonants, I’d bury the shame,
That I could rewrite my spirit by shedding the name.
But the dust on the pavement has a way of settling down,
And light doesn’t ask permission from the rules in this town.
I looked at the letters again, not through their harsh eyes,
But through the truth of the grit it took to survive.
This name isn’t the hands that tried to hold me in place;
It’s the forge and the fire, the truth and the grace.
I accepted the weight, and found it turned into wings.
You can’t break a spirit when you learn why it sings.
The lesson was simple, though hard-fought and deep:
No man holds the ledger of the soul that I keep.
The scar isn’t ugly—it’s where the light enters in,
The place where the story of freedom begins.
So I’ll sign every line with the full, unbent sound,
No longer hiding, no longer bound.
Schnadelbach isn’t a shadow or a seal on a cage;
It’s just the raw power of turning the page.
Today was a good day
Today he walked on legs unbent
And erect spine of a man intent
On stilling the cacaphony of monotony
And smoothing the callouses of convalescence
For today, we both forgot
The wasting rate this cancer's wrought
Today, he teased and squeezed and poked
Fun at his trademark old school jokes
Laughter's remembered warmth evoked
Today he drove his rattling truck
His feet sure on the pedal's pump
And carried boxes of tradebooks and tools
With hands that know weighted control
Today, without a splint or cane
He tamed steps of receding pain
Today, through a briefly calm sea
He is the man he used to be
So today, I can foresee
The luxury
When days like these
Are ordinary.
1/23/21
POTD 23rd Nov 2023
THE WISH
As the softer rose shades of twilight fades
With a heartfelt gravity, darkness descends
Oblivious to the North winds stinging bite
‘Neath this star-speckled sky, his devotion extends
to that quintessential ‘Component of Time’ that stills
surrendering to the moment, most mortals miss
In this mystical flash of sweet dispose
His ardent wish for her ~ An ‘Immortal Rose’
His Mother ~ so graciously accepting her thorns
Qualms have not stolen her persona, its joy
Unbent by toil, a conqueror of storms
A courageous heroine in the eyes of her boy
Why can’t love embodied in rose petals last?
In solemn simplicity, a child’s query gets passed
Swathe in crystalline warmth from a galaxy far
Gifted Immortality is borne ~ on wings of a star
Love is not a bargain with destiny.
It breathes in silence,
in the quiet faith of a pure heart.
A person who walks with truth
does not lose, even when deceived.
The world may turn its face away,
but the sky keeps watching.
Sometimes love doesn’t return
from the same eyes it left for—
yet it comes back,
through a stranger’s kindness,
a friend’s voice on a lonely night,
a child’s smile that feels familiar.
The universe keeps its promises
to those who love beyond themselves.
Nothing selfless ever fades,
it only changes its direction.
And in that invisible circle of return,
the soul of Shivangi glows—
unbroken, unbent, still believing.
A sturdy heart by sorrow unbent
And a staunch will by solitude not weathered,
That rose from failure to failure without relent
To sit upon the pedestal of the world unfettered;
I salute your indomitable soul;
A total mystery on the whole.
From a prairie lawyer shunned by luck
To the highest office on earth,
And still your face a little melancholy;
Eerily pensive, and devoid of mirth.
Lie ye in peace most honest Abe ,
Let no man thy dust disturb
Or they reap a mortal curse,
For against his rest being averse
One who loved both foe and friend,
And knew neither how to feign nor pretend.
This heart,
This physical, spiritual domain beating us alive
relentless like bees to their prized hive,
our honey of life,
our taste of a free mind on solid ground.
Freedom has opened up with honesty from inside,
out into the light of our expanded love.
a rare thing love is...reflecting its own truth,
rejecting old patterns of disillusioned games,
the same confusion that cripples our souls' flames.
And now I find it has blown wide open,
unable to hide,
freeing the magic,
intertwined...
exposing the feminine and masculine aligned.
Love is only accepting of what we find.
behind these closed curtains we reside in fear,
afraid to catch the shear waves of tide...
the flow of existence in engaging the now.
We face the self through the sublime eyes of others,
uncovering a healing miracle of a kind,
selfless acts...
sincere reflection...
an art designed to open our true heart.
Unbent intent,
heart expression holding nothing back.
For that which we fear is only that which we lack...
love is certainly enough as it is.
Men cannot be trusted
emotionless and hardened,
They tend to be aggressive
Then thoughtlessly are pardoned.
Promiscuously driven
With ego swelling large,
They're loud, endowed and over proud
And in your life they'll barge!
They see vastly different
They see a girl- a prize,
Their honesty is always great
Until they just tell lies.
They'll blame you for everything
They'll treat you as a game,
They're really not so interesting
Predictable and lame.
Hence before you run away
To whatever you have lusted,
Take heed of what I say...
For men should not be trusted.
Now, I could back this poem up
With proof of evidence,
As damages that most men do
Is astronomically immense.
Though I’m sure when they do read this
They’ll hate and much resent
The honesty and forthrightness
From a poetess unbent.
Yes we need to put them in their place
Before problems rise again
Wars and violence amongst our silence
All due to stupid men.
Though I wonder Joe and all that know
Andy and Big Randy
So I’ll admit just a bit
Men can be soooo handy !
And I’m fortunate to know
Good mans’ integrity
The ones who care a very rare
And voice this literally.
Though I’ve generalised and chastised
The ones not up to speed
I’ll be fair and I’ll share
Men…I know we need.
They’re great when they are good
Respectable and kind
They can be the bestest friends
And ease our worried mind.
Baby boys so wonderful
And innocence impart
Uplifting me, will always be
Forever in my heart.
The he whose not corrupted
It’s him I do commend
And loyal I will always be
To a good true friend.
How brothers I have missed you
Through the push and shove
And I am grateful never hateful
For platonic love…
Here here I’m not so sexist
Indifferent, a goner,
As I think of he who strengthens me
'tis he, I love and honour.
I will not bow, nor bend, nor break,
For I have fire no storm can take.
My voice, though quiet, will rise and roar,
A wave that crashes on every shore.
No chains of silence will hold me still,
For I am forged by iron will.
The world may press, but I stand tall,
Unafraid to speak, to risk it all.
In every shadow, I find my light,
I stand my ground, I own my fight.
For I am more than what they see,
A soul that’s fierce, forever free.
The Strength of She Who Leads
She walks where others fear to tread,
With battles fought inside her head.
Not every crown is made of gold—
Some are silent, fierce, and bold.
She leads not just with words, but fire,
With vision sharp and soul inspired.
When storms arise and voices shake,
She stands unbent—she does not break.
Her power isn’t loud or grand,
It’s steady grace, a guiding hand.
She’s fallen, yes—but rose again,
Each scar a medal earned from pain.
She does not wait for paths to clear,
She carves the way and conquers fear.
Her tears have watered fields of growth,
She’s made of iron and of oath.
To lead is not to seek applause,
But rise each time for higher cause.
Through doubt, through fire, through darkest night—
She shines, a beacon forged in light.
So if you seek the soul who wins—
Look not at ease, but where it begins.
In every heart that dares, believes—
There lives the strength of one who leads.