Long Unoccupied Poems
Long Unoccupied Poems. Below are the most popular long Unoccupied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unoccupied poems by poem length and keyword.
The last train to my destination
Sparsely crowded, seats unoccupied here and there
Its weariness is palpable, even the lights are blinking
A group of commuters remain huddled together
After the day’s hard work they prefer nodding upon each others’ shoulder
The train runs sleepily, now and again lights from outside
Flash upon the saint-like faces of the people inside
The train gradually slows down, presently it’s a stop
The platform receives some home bound bodies, someone
Jumps into the compartment carrying a group of young girls
They are perhaps returning from their school fest
They have revelled much, played and sang and danced
So rightfully they are tired, momentary rings on their mobiles
Are responded to, and then silence again
One of them suddenly opens up her eyes
The obscene nudge in her breast can not be mistaken
Can she protest? Would she…
Her meek eyes show helplessness
The lustful hand strikes again… she sobs…
All of a sudden a slap on the face of the rascal
Reverberates through the compartment, a woman in tattered clothes
Raises her finger to him, she’s one of them who go to the town
To earn their daily bread
Next halt, the girls get down
The blinking back light of the train disappears, leaving a trail of dust
Belle and her Birthday
Pleasant night slided, new morning fresh
Woke up with smile, this birthday lass!
First wish expected from hubby beside
He was still sleeping n' her wait prolonged....
At breakfast he spoke about his ...
business ventures, global market trends..
new mall in town n' yoga for health...
No sign of wishing his beloved
and her wait prolonged....
At office she was greeted with flowers n' cards
wishes from all poured yet vacant her heart
That one wish most expected still kept this place
unoccupied and her wait prolonged.....
Day went like another routine ,spray of dull display
as her mood was going off as she still thought...
Atleast one call or one message..but nothing came
leaving no signs of good hope anymore..
Packed off from office,reached she her home
rang the door-bell and her hubby opened
Saying nothing he went inside ...
Dark was the room as she entered,
muttering annoyance, she groped for the light switches...
Once lights were on she saw a heavenly decor !
Family and friends wished her in chorus!
Shining lights, red roses,creamy cake and candles..
He slowly with smile took her in his arms...
planted a kiss saying happy birthday my love!
Expressions of surprise, joy and rejoicement
on her face painted a golden glow...
Oh ..What a lovely birthday she thought!
Thank you sweetheart ...you made my day she whispered
still unwilling to get down from his secure arms!
Love dripped like nectar in this sweet surprise
Yet another embellishment this surprise to cherish together...
In their life's golden diary that hold leaves of love forever
Sprinkle sparkles of trust, friendship and respect for each other
WRITTEN ON: 24th August 2015
Sixteen years old and in a world of her own
Confined to life lived in a wheelchair
Ever since birth, doctors don’t know what went wrong
But, it was like no one was at home in there
One summer vacation with the other kids in tow
The family visited a Kentucky horse stable
They left her alone in a sunny grass meadow
While off riding with the children who were able
While sitting alone in a catatonic state
Staring out somewhere in space
A gelding that was grazing, Mr. Truly Amazing
Came up and licked her on the face
The family returned to a shocking surprise
Seeing the wheelchair left unoccupied
They looked all around, then couldn’t believe their eyes
When they saw her standing with a horse by her side
She was petting his nose, feeding him an apple
And seemed to be whispering something
They were frozen in their tracks not believing the fact
That their Jenny was no longer a nothing
The mother walked up, in a delicate manner
Not wanting to interrupt this miracle’s course
When Jenny turned to her and in a shallow voice
Whispered, “Look, Mommy, I have a horse”
Enter apartment, ready to paint
Open the door and empty it ain't
Apartment not empty or unoccupied
Furniture everywhere someone has lied
Previous day, nineteen ninety five
Parked rented truck ready to drive
One single woman packing in haste
Filled to the top no room to waste
Unable to paint let one week pass
Return to the job no sign of the lass
Full of furniture time has stood still
Come back next week right now just chill
This is week two job is in doubt
Landlord orders furniture out
Donates items to new family in wait
Family from Haiti in need of the freight
Now it's all empty jobs good to go
Where is the lass no one does know
Prepare for the plaster and ready to paint
Soft knock on a door interruption was faint
Open the door elder man does request
All of the furniture now he is stressed
Landlord explains this tenant has fled
Weeks have passed no word was said
Father of daughter explains in strife
Daughter no longer has taken her life
Behind was left a husband, two sons
Heavy the burden weight in the tons
While loading the van can anyone know?
That she was thinking which way to go
Confusing the conflict inside her mind
All of them mingled and intertwined
Continue to paint apartment fourteen
Woman who left this worldly scene
Pondering heavy could words have been said
If they were? would be here instead?
Who's to know the outcome for sure
Only one fact she could not endure
Thoughts of her family are on my mind
Find the time show goodwill be kind
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
The sacred, silent space unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
We centre our whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud of angels cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
The altar’s stripped, the rituals are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
A virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and silent dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
No one is an island, John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still ,small voice no longer can be heard.
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Wor
Oh, Poverty,
You merciless ruler of billions,
Your empire of want, across the globe
You have stretched
As
In your unpitying passage,
No village
No town
No city
No nation
No continent is left
Unoccupied
By
Your ruthless forces:
Of suffering
Of Misery
Of agony
Of despair, and
Of calamitous death.
-
The innumerable subjects of yours
Subjugated are
By
The powerful heartless few
Who
Their ruthless decrees:
Of cruelty
Of indifference
Of inconsideration, and
Of shameful exploitation have been
For centuries, unmercifully applying,
Grinding your subjects in
Their shameful mills of fathomless greed,
Always,
Taking for themselves the lions share, first,
And then for more are they asking,
While
The deprived multitude of starving
Women, men, and children
On empty stomachs, they march
The
Horrid enemy of starvation to face
On
Famine’s unforgiving front of their demise,
Wishing thus
To die in the battle of survival with dignity,
Than
In agony to live another day
Without hope that their dream of satiety
Will ever come alive!
Oh, poverty,
Don’t ask me how did I come
Your grimy nature so well to know
But
If ever I were asked,
Here is my reply:
" I know you, oh poverty so well,
for
since my birth, a loyal subject of yours I have been
and still a loyal subject of yours
I remain to this day!"
© Demetrios Trifiatis
25 May 2021
Its always gonna try you hard,
and make you break,
it will always make you show face and terrorize in pink lace...
Because I see movement of the waste-
its choreography decorates cake,
lets the whole place be a plate-
lets the rafters wave in place...
Because costly stages just might break,
and rotting basements just might take...
So slither away
and eat a homeless mans birthday,
in one try-
or one way.
Seizing the opportunity to come through to me,
just like a well seasoned spring,
coming and hugging,
like weed in the rain,
on a terrace-
unoccupied by the pain,
or people who bring the insane.
Not to sound wealthy but I'd go there again,
show my teeth breathing smoke and the thing,
being meaner than the bear losing her cubs to recycling.
POVERTY
Poverty,
Merciless ruler of billions,
Your empire of Want, across the globe
You have stretched
As
In your merciless passage,
No village
No town
No city
No nation
No continent is left unoccupied
By
Your ruthless forces:
Of suffering
Of Misery
Of agony
Of despair, and
Of death.
The innumerable subjects of yours
Subjugated are
By
The powerful heartless few
Who
Their ruthless decree:
Of cruelty
Of indifference
Of inconsideration, and of
Shameful exploitation has been for centuries,
Unmercifully applying,
Grinding your subjects in
Their heinous mills of fathomless greed,
Always, taking for themselves the lion's share, first,
And then for more are asking,
While
The deprived multitude of starving men
Women and children,
On empty stomachs, they march
The horrid enemy of starvation to face
On
Famine’s unforgiving front of death,
Wishing thus
To die in the battle of survival with dignity,
Than
In agony to live another day without hope,
That their dream of satiety will ever come alive!
Oh, poverty,
Don’t ask me how I came to know you,
To know so well your grimy nature,
But
If I were ever asked, here is my reply:
"I know you, oh poverty, so well, for
since my birth, a loyal subject of yours I have been, and
still, a loyal subject of yours, I REMAIN TO THIS DAY!"
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 February 2013
A strange thing happens as I age,
Which cannot be controlled.
I tend to focus, everywhere,
On people who are old.
Today, a doctor’s waiting room,
A check-up for my eyes,
Was filled with those so elderly,
From seats they couldn’t rise.
As names were called, they shuffled out,
(Our wait time very wrong!)
But watching them, I wondered,
Is this group where I belong?
To get there, on the bus I sat
As people moved inside,
With canes and walkers, hoping
For a seat unoccupied.
And on TV, up on the stage,
On Oscar night, I saw
The older actors missing
All their sparkle, once a draw.
When I was young, I rarely noticed
Seniors within range,
Yet now, reluctantly, I see
My view’s begun to change.
Evict me from this grimy house
My son asked me what self-loathing is
His home still occupied with laughter
I was taken aback by his cleanliness
I told him it gathers like dust over time
Sweep my house free of grime
Adults self-loathe their homes best
I bade him to keep his house clean
I spoke from my home in unrest
With words from a dirty hypocrite
How do I dust things so unworthy?
Aged I covet this grimy restlessness
Ushering demons to trash this nest
Self-loathing is self-destructive
It starts with a back door ajar
It ends with a house in flames
Invite you through the front door
Into these charred walls of hate?
You turn back time full of soil
You give me rest in my lazy-boy
For a lifetime I’ll make amends
Comforting fractured self-loathings
Till there is nothing left to break
Someday I won’t bang these walls
I’ll wait for you on my uncomfy couch
Hoping my son’s house stays clean
Hoping my elbow grease makes neat
When the master returns to mine
Will this residence be unoccupied?
Will it be swept clean and put in order?
Will I have a response to self-loathing?
Then I’ll be led out hand in hand
After remodeling this divided space
No longer foolish to tear a home down