Long Unseen Poems
Long Unseen Poems. Below are the most popular long Unseen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unseen poems by poem length and keyword.
The Mermaid's Rescue
A lost and lone survivor of a sunken warship
back into conciousness the sailor finally did slip
All alone in the vast, vast empty water prairie
fleeting thoughts of home and his sweet Marie!
Hazy, crazy thoughts swirled in his aching head
had he not drowned , O' why was he not dead
Memories of being saved by an unseen guiding force
O' but what a song , what a beautiful angelic voice!
Visions soon appeared for his mind's eye to see
of a beautiful creature rising to his rescue pleas
Hair of radiant gold lying lovingly upon breasts bare
a swimming angel appeared ever so swiftly there!
Now waking upon this small and desolate rock
feverish and deep in the throes of a tragic shock
Suddenly hearing voice began to softly, sweetly sing
his spirit , soul healed so quickly that voice did bring!
Searching eagerly across the shining ocean's waves
for a mysterious hero that did desperate lives save
A wished for vision soon appeared at the water's edge
a mere dozen feet from the jutting rock's lower ledge!
The same beautiful face he saw in his vision's haze
the magical creature he now knew his life had saved
One even prettier than his cherished, loving wife Marie
now it's entire form he could astonishingly see!
A Mermaid ! Heavens how could such vision truly be
strange tales, fictional legends of very magical seas
Could this have been answer to his desperate pleas
a vision so tempting that his faithful heart it did tease!
Singing stopped and that voice began to clearly speak
telling he had been fast asleep for an entire week
A rescue ship would be arriving there that very day
as it appears I must say goodbye and swim away!
Final hours his Mermaid and he did pleasantly share
he in awe of her glory, her sexy body and golden hair
So many amazing stories of many a daring rescue feat
telling of rescues where sister Mermaids even compete!
Suddenly that promised ship raced coming in so fast
sailor knew this was his only chance, his very last
Please, he asked, will you give me a good-bye Mermaid kiss
wished granted , Mermaid vanished into the deep, blue abyss!
Rescued and now safely aboard his miracle life-saving ship
his story told and nary a miraculous part did he dare to skip
His tale he told to all that sat amazed at his strange ordeal
so mythical and strange, even he wondered was it truly real!
Robert L. 05-29-2014
The world of Expectations
Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.
They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,
of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul
and of the one’s you seem to want to know
and would prefer to show.
So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go
so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,
might have a chance – into something – grow.
Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,
making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.
WORDS
Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,
from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,
to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,
clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies
out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,
- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -
the empty spaces that wait to be filled.
Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,
pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows
that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,
upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.
Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,
Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow
– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –
giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,
portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,
my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,
indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,
– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,
their tails streaking across, upon, all-around an ocean
of material objects, objects of historical value,
objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history
basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,
drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across
the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,
this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.
This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,
chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –
by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –
to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which
the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.
Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.
Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are directly connected
to his or her heart.
What's truly seen and then seeks expression
is where poems do get their first start!
All human kind has a pair of eyes
and though open may not actually see,
certain conditions that may prompt a poet
to express them
with word artistry!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are similar to a potter or sculptor
who take an unshaped form,
and with vision and determination
they are guided,
by hand,
to mold, create and transform!
We do this very same act with words
and a heartfelt desire to say,
words that will touch,
also transform the reader
in a unique poetic way!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
see this world in a way unlike any other.
They see the unseen,
send this vision to the heart,
with need to use words to uncover...
"truths" that can only be conveyed
by the poetic words that are written,
because we know
that through this poetic expression
we are also helplessly smitten!
"The Eyes Of A Poet"
are a truly gifted glimpse
into life and it's myriad conditions,
to express what is seen,
and felt and heard and done
with poetic compositions!
Every word expresses the heart!
We've something to say
and we know it!
Keep writing and know
that this gift of expression
comes from
"The Eyes Of A Poet!"
WTA-IV 3/21/2016
Atlantis rises
Under the water a city floats.
Invisible walls protect the people from the ocean.
Above the waves, nobody knows of the city below.
The worshipers lay flowers before their Gods to show their devotion.
For centuries this city has stood against the wave of incoming tides.
For generations its people have tried,
To find a way to live above and not just accept being uprooted;
But there are those would claim to rule,
So Atlantis must remain secluded.
The Atlantian’s feel trapped inside their sphere.
They want to find land; they want a new home and a new frontier,
But this city is the hand they have been dealt.
Even in this united community, there are those who cannot be helped.
They plot and scheme and think of change,
But they cannot wait to see that day;
For they are impatient,
So they act on instinct.
Not willing to discuss, they move with mistrust
And without a sound, they blink…
They disappear and gather in secret to speak.
Security seek them, but the protectors are weak.
The time has come to leave this place!
At night they leap into action, a war on the base.
Guns are waved, orders are shouted;
Shock and awe are a necessity, as to not be doubted.
Stolen ships of exploration;
Part of the human spirit has been taken.
But the community comes together to unite around those who remain.
They still think about those who decided to leave,
But the minutes soon turn into days.
Soon those who left are all but forgotten;
Life moves on without a mention of them.
All that which they stole has been replaced.
Years later a city rises from beneath the waves,
To appear before the world; a mystery unravels.
The people who never existed have found a way to travel.
How did they survive beneath the sea all these days?
With magic and machinery, they found a way.
A future voice; an alien being.
Time travel; all knowledge available to be seen.
As the city grows to reach the land,
The ocean is its arm; the city is its hands
And as the hand rises, the people multiply.
The city continues to grow until it reaches the sky.
Now the ocean is unseen, the land is no longer green.
Everywhere the people look, they only see concrete.
The view disappears;
Sky scraper towers.
Humans have advanced through the years,
But gone are all the flowers…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
A new song to celebrate the month of Love. This is for all those who have lost loved ones. Blessings.
Without you
By Michelle Morris
28/02/2024
It's not easy trying to live down here without you
I have all these feelings and memories
Deep emotions that won't let me go
Deep emotions that you already know
Life goes on, even if we're stuck in reverse
Life goes on, no matter how much it hurts
And one of the craziest things we have to accept
Is that the one we miss will never be seen again
In this life... In this life...
In this time... In this time...
No more running... No more running...
No reasons or rhymes... No reasons or rhymes...
Because...
I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
And I... I have to make my own dreams come true
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to live my life, my whole truth
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
I hold on to my dreams, my dreams
You're the best my world has seen, has seen
I know you're real and here with me, with me
Even though you're unseen, unseen
Life will still go on without you
(Without you)
But I don't see how it will be of any use
(Any use to me)
All I want is to hold you in my arms again
(Hold you close)
All I want is our dream to never ever end
(Never-ending dreams with me)
In this life... In this life...
In this time... In this time...
No more running... No more running...
No reasons or rhymes... No reasons or rhymes...
Because...
I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
And I... I have to make my own dreams come true
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to live my life, my whole truth
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
Because...
I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to make it through without you
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
And I... I have to make my own dreams come true
(Without you, without you)
Oh, I... I have to live my life, my whole truth
(Without you, without you)
Without you
(Without you)
© Michelle Morris, 2024
And here I sit for the thousandth time
Writing over and over the same old lines
Lost in the dark its hard to see
Im right here and I cant find me
Mirrors lie we all know that
It doesn’t see as your heart is trapped
Except now theres truth in the night
It only reflects black without the light
And death calls just beyond the door
Stealing away all that I lived for
And I find
As I fall
That my life
Was so small
And as I turn
I hear the call
I close my eyes
And let go all
And Im so sorry for all Ive done
Haunting thoughts the tears start to run
Tracing paths down to the floor
Still wet from the time before
Ive cried and cursed all alone
Has the heart of God turned to stone
Was I placed here just as a filler
Destined to lose all to the Dealer
Was all ive done so meaningless
Down to the first girl that I kissed
And I find
As I fall
That my life
Was so small
And as I turn
I hear the call
I close my eyes
And let go all
And does the God of man
Just sit back to watch the hourglass sand
As the desperate cries fill the air
in his heart, is there a small tear
Or do the forgotten wonder the earth
Cursed with death from their birth
Is each life just a tv screen
That flickers and fades and goes unseen
Airwaves that fill the night sky
Lonely lives that are just a lie
And I find
As I fall
That my life
Was so small
And as I turn
I hear the call
I close my eyes
And let go all
And were all my desires just as fake
As is each breathe that I take
And was everything for nothing at all
Just a plaything as Gods little doll
Whatever the truth Im still in this moment
Afraid and alone Im still in this moment
And the truth is what I see
Whether lies or real im losing me
And the truth is what I feel
and the truth, its killing me still
And I find
As I fall
That my life
Was so small
And as I turn
I hear the call
I close my eyes
And let go all
And all these memories come pouring out
Can I know love when I’m full of doubt
And how am I expected to be
After all that’s happened to me
Or am I deformed somewhere inside
Somewhere deep where my soul has died
And are all these reasons why
God whispers I must die
Was there a last chance I missed
Hidden behind a betraying kiss
And so….
I find
As I fall
That my life
Was so small
And as I turn
I hear the call
I close my eyes
And let go all….
I woke up at the break of dawn,
with the feeling that all hope is gone,
I was not sure where to begin,
but I was determined to win.
No dazzling stars,
no visible moonlight,
no chirping birds,
to tease my empty words.
I walked through the door with a subtle grin,
nursing bruises all over my skin.
I tried to escape yesterday’s punishment,
and saturate my mind with hope and fulfillment.
Walking down the dark empty street,
a cab stopped exactly at my feet,
I hired him to take me to the mountains,
to breath out the stagnant air
and repair my body’s wear and tear.
His grouchy voice thundered through my ears,
he spoke with a strange accent that I could hardly hear,
It passes through one ear, and suddenly disappears.
We journeyed through sleeping towns,
they stared at us without a sound,
steep hills and rocky path,
bending streets and winding roads
dumping my burdensome loads.
He made a sudden turn,
and I felt a sensational yearn
spilling over in my soul.
Mother nature bursts from the horizon
and filled my heart with glad tidings.
Layers of mountains blink at me,
taking me up and down the gigantic tree
guiding me to my unseen dreams,
while patches of green and sun burnt grass
prepare the city for the morning mass.
I saw her bursting through the thick grey clouds,
and I stopped the car and spoke to her aloud,
I climb on top of a nearby rock,
and reached towards her and interlock.
I was just in time for the meeting,
Oh how my soul yearns for this healing.
Mother nature looked at me with a grin
she shook my hand,
and said, “where shall we begin?”
I lamented the troubles of my piercing heart,
and requested for a balance start.
What took you so long?
I know that you have been hurting all along,
and I have been waiting for you to prove them wrong.
“Worry no more,
I am going to fulfill the desires of your burning soul,
look around and tell me what you see,
observe carefully and you will agree.
Let me ignite your body and soul,
and sooth the sorrows that you bore,
sleepless nights,
daily fights,
unfair treatment,
and treacherous lies.
The meeting came to an end,
and I felt free again,
the peshmerga drove up the steep hill
and greeted me with goodwill
Dawn fully broke out into broad day light,
and filled my soul with joy and delight.
©2013 Christine Phillips
I write to you
from a quiet place within,
where words
gather like wind through the leaves,
a murmur of truths
that neither time nor fear can erase.
You speak to me
like the tide to the moon,
a silent and inexorable pull.
I see your questions, your fears,
your tender hope
masked beneath a cloak once of self-doubt.
And so,
I answer with the language of the heart,
for that is the only language I truly know.
I speak of being an old man,
afraid
of both success and failure,
watching
the world spin without you.
But oh,
the world does not spin
the world does not without you—it spins because of you.
Every breath you take,
every thought you have drempt,
every kindness you give
is a thread
in the tapestry of this living,
moving universe.
Success, as others know it,
is but a fleeting mirage.
True success
is the courage to feel deeply,
to love, to wonder, to embrace to endure
so pick one last fight a wrong not made right so that
another may endure too write.
The velvet sky
I now mention that they hold the stars
as witnesses to your life,
and they do not make judgement against you.
They see the roots of your being,
the tall trees of your yearning,
the bushes that stay green
even when unseen by the others.
You are not trapped,
though it may feel that it's so.
The heart, like the wind,
is boundless.
If you can give love—yes,
even love to yourself—you will find
that it flows back to you unseen in all ways.
Grateful, you say,
for the family that you never see.
That gratitude,
quiet though it may be, is a bridge.
It is never too late to cross,
even in thought, even in a prayer
whispered up into the great void into the night.
Empathy, the great gift of understanding,
shines through your words.
That is the way to love—by seeing,
truly seeing it all, the world
and all of its pain, its beauty,
relentless in life.
If knowledge is, as you say,
that he himself knows,
then you are already just and wise.
I ask this of you
can I be loved before the end of my life?.
To you my friend, you are loved,
even now.
The valleys know it,
the trees feel it, and I see it in your spirit.
Keep that spark alive,
for it will guide you along the long road
you call home.
I am humbly yours, in deep understanding,
Merry Christmas to you, always in love,
I am your's
J.E.
James McLain
In the twilight of existence, where shadows whisper secrets to the restless soul,
Man seeks to escape himself in myth, weaving tales to hide his truth,
By any means at his disposal, he dances on the edge of oblivion,
Drugs, alcohol, or lies, each a mask to hide the fragile self within.
Unable to withdraw into the depths of his being, he disguises himself,
Crafting stories and illusions, each a fleeting sanctuary from the storm,
Lies and inaccuracies, like gentle lullabies, give him a few moments of comfort,
In the flux of consciousness, where thoughts flow and ebb like an eternal tide.
In this river of dreams, I see him, a wanderer lost in the labyrinth of his own mind,
Seeking solace in the myths he creates, a painter of unseen realities,
His heart, a canvas of longing, each stroke a metaphor for escape,
And I, a silent observer, am drawn into the melancholic magic of his journey.
He walks through the corridors of memory, each step a whisper of forgotten hopes,
The shadows of his past intertwine with the light of his aspirations,
In the depths of his despair, he finds an appearance of peace,
A fleeting mirage in the desert of his existence, where lies and truth converge.
In the darkened corners of his mind, the myths take on a life of their own,
Each a beacon of false hope, a star in the night of his solitude,
He clings to them, these fragile constructs, like a sailor to a sinking ship,
In the endless sea of his thoughts, where reality and illusion blend.
Through the haze of his deceptions, a fleeting clarity emerges,
A moment of truth, like a fleeting comet in the vastness of his mind,
He sees himself, unmasked and raw, a soul stripped of disguises,
And in that moment, the melancholic magic of existence reveals its true face.
But the moment passes, as all moments do, and he returns to his myths,
Comforted by the lies that shield him from the harsh light of reality,
In the flux of consciousness, where each thought is a wave in an endless ocean,
He finds solace, peace, in the myths that allow him to escape himself.
And so, in the twilight of existence, where shadows and light intertwine,
Man continues his dance, a seeker of myths, a creator of illusions,
In the melancholic magic of his journey, he finds the strength to endure,
A wanderer in the labyrinth of his own mind, forever searching for the elusive truth.
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.