Long Unheard Poems
Long Unheard Poems. Below are the most popular long Unheard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unheard poems by poem length and keyword.
Sad to say,
it appears some days
the colors fade.
The bold and brave
red, white and blue caves
to lives given over to a multitude of graves.
The allegiance dies
while the inner heart cries
to question what is, what was our prize.
The political arena fails at every turn
while the constitution flames and burns
and Washington never seems to change or learn.
The people were once the voice
smothered by president and senates egotistic choice
as arresting of protester fail to alter the course.
An unsettling time rises once again
of disenchantment and contempt constrained
without resolve, message unheard though clear and plain.
Let the colors be bright and glow
deep blue with fifty white stars in rows
red and white wrapped in the democratic flow.
Once upon then...
We know not when
This weary earth
Felt a strange birth
A certain time
Of stirring chimes
A joy foretold
In message bold
A coming light
That shines so bright
A humble stay
Upon the way
In simple flair
In love affair
A vibrant word
As yet unheard
A Son of Man
To help transcend
A life most brief
To change sad grief
An unknown fest
Of love's prompt quest
To help us see
A sure glory
To yet disrupt
Odd ways corrupt
As humble grace
Set free our race
Now Christmas Day
Casts profound way
Glimpse how hope frees
Each life journey
As love brings bliss
And brand new lease
Thus faith can heal
As love reveals
Glory to God
Our Father Lord
For now and here
A gift of cheer
Thus each ascends
To Heaven's span
Live love's goodwill
As grace moves feel
Leon Enriquez
25 December 2018
Singapore
All eyes off the ball,
myopic windows glint overhead,
blink blindly overseeing, overlooking the
raucous, shifting scene below:
dark thin ice.
Part mysterious, storied ritual and
part naked land grab in full regalia,
mere Bourgeois Military Folly rumbles past,
rattling the rest of the world off its hinges,
cracking foundations.
To the almost deafening sound of a marching band,
spectators exchange furtive, knowing glances
--- words are best left unspoken, are best left unheard
in secret hearts, in due pagan canniness, for now.*
*In memoriam
Jim Morrison 1943 - 1971
RIP
"The goal and its believers is great."
--- from the Treatise on the Resurrection
Tethered to a Moment
A-ha flickers in the momentum of birthing inspiration
New love or grief or tantrums of the soul tether the nascent moment,
Tied onto remembrance in the thrust of a second split,
Swaddled in swooping formal obsidian curves -
Punctuated by specks dotting exhales –
In ebony lines of crushed lamp black –
Define a whisper in contours captured
In structured pools of graphite toner
Bending eloquent articulation into elegance
And blinding revelations secured to real time
By boundaries of quill and ink
Protected from unrestrained madness outside the lines
Teeming to fling the new birthed unexplored essence into crypts
Of unending oblivion where arches restrain full spectrum hues,
Swallowed by the mischief of cyber chasms
Where guilty remnants shove blind mystery into
Unheard screaming abyss',
Preserved,
Sheltered by boundaries inside the interval’s signature
Tethered to a moment
9-2-21
Title Chosen: Tethered to a Moment
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
The broken mind
In the gorge, near the river that died five years ago
ago and is a pale scar running from the inland mountains
and down to the coast,
unheard words of lovers come here to die;
“I love you,”” Come back to me,” “I can’t live
without you.”
Whispers in the breeze for no one’s ears but
The intrepid who comes here to conquer his own fear of love.
It is easy to get lost here; the trees are unfriendly
have thorns and branches snap
When you try to climb to see where you are,
and wild beasts follow, waiting for you to succumb,
fall asleep so they can eat your brain
leave you confused, and rescuers will say:
“Poor man has got Alzheimer's.”
The stillness hears fearful screams, the unheard
Last effort before sinking into silence
“Tubman”
What colours a heart
courage?
What colours a mind
belief?
What colours a soul
unity?
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
We are the Light
We Lead
No colour
No religion
No epic
delusion
Where is the race?
The race to confusion?
We are One
You and me
We are One
We all bleed
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
Poets grieving
Vigilantes seething
Electric conductors
of Love
punching tickets
elevate the fire
Light rises
out of the numb
sacrifice the smallest
midst mountains of Moriah
signals waking
signals waving
Freedom
Glowing
Colours are All
Colours
Ultraviolet
magnetic to spectrum
silent tapping, unheard
sometimes seen
no snake doctor lectern
truth burns
souls bound to each other
all grieving
in one way or another
we all learn
Hearts beating
Lungs breathing
signals waking
signals waving
platforms all crowing,
now eyes open
listening,
debating
all signals waking
new story weaving
Souls searching
Souls kneeding
Light now is calling
Light now is leading
Tubman is not
dreaming
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
“Any cause needs speakers and organizers.
Any mass movement requires
women and men of great ideas.”
Tubman, Harriet.
Harriet Tubman is sometimes referred to as the Moses of her people because of the way she led them out of slavery. The Underground Railroad operated at night. Slaves were moved from "station" to "station" by abolitionists.
It appears as a distant memory, my childhood,
so much have I forgotten,
and woe be that I grew up so fast
and while the trees will still be there when I go,
how I wish I could admire them more.
Of childhood, few remember much,
there isn't a thing so sublime and wonderful
and yet so easily left behind as childhood
and looking out the misty glass, in all solitude I ask
what was my childhood?
Was it a distant dream of endless wonder
at the small intricacies of the delightful world?
Or a myriad of colors, a kaleidoscope
with but 2 small eyes to capture?
Was it an alternate world, a blessed realm
of ceaseless curiosity and boundless imagination
contained in a small child's mind?
A world when time stopped, and we shrunk
to the dimensions of the lifeless toys we so happily breathed life into,
a world when we knew not what balances or cheques meant,
and deadlines and schedules unheard of.
Yes, that was my childhood,
and woe be that I cannot live it again.
Contest: A Contest on Aging
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Dated: 13 June 2019
You would have loved the song
the easy flow and rhythm of the melody
soft music that rose to ride on the breeze
as the snow fell soft then quick to the ground.
It was a nature concerto
an instrumental fusion of words waiting to be released
angelic voices humming gentle and sweet
then speaking from the heart to the soul.
It was a secret undersong cantata in solo unison
with the viola and violin playing on the old victrola,
the setup symphony unheard
by only me in the hallowed corridors.
The echoing in a chapel of kept dreams
where you and I prayed and pledged our love
for the heavens alone to hear and bless
in a poetic score of life's lullaby and time's rhapsody.
Andrea & Matteo Bocelli sing Fall on Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChcR2gKt5WM
To the ancient Norse he was Kraken
With a mean inclination,
And the Greeks called him Gorgon
With the same reputation.
But as monster of myths
He's been wrongly miscast,
So I'm here to shed new light
On this poor creature, at last.
An exemplary example
Of his cephalopod race,
With a blob of a body,
The merest trace of a face.
He has eight arms, or legs,
But no fingers or toes,
No waistline or shoulders,
No eyebrows or nose.
He can fly through the water
With the greatest of ease,
And accomplishes it sans
Catapult or trapeze.
When danger confronts him,
He's off in a blink,
And disappears in a cloud
Of stinky black ink.
Octobabies leave home
When the mother gives birth
To be part of the food chain,
Which is no cause for mirth.
Octodads show affection
With indifferent tugs,
But at mealtime they can be
Overly generous with hugs.
The octopus likes his comfort
And prefers to make his home
In more exotically aquatic locales.
It's not unheard of for some,
Who want to see more of the world,
To drift away from their natural venue,
Only sadly to get caught in a fisherman's net
And end up on a sushi bar menu.
At Christmas he's resigned
To passing out gifts,
Though as helper elf his head's too big
To put a hat upon.
And like the squid and the manta,
He can never play Santa
'cause he has no lap
To be sat upon.
I been waiting for this moment forever or so it seems that way, these hollow dreams of you and me drifted away and made me think this would never become a reality, but I realized it wasn't about the women in my past not appreciating who I was but you were the only one who seen the infinite value in me. The dreams are hallow but the picture is perfect, everything you despise in your past, forget about it no worries here close the curtains, I wouldn't call this true love but the right kinda love between you & I that's emerging so submerge those who didn't see your worth, let them drown in their own sorrows because what we have in the present is the reason why we always were optimistic about a tomorrow with each other, friends to lovers is so cliche but in the real world so unheard of, the roles are reversing and sure enough the present you are my present and I'm happy to be your Christmas gift your....present