Long When Poems
Long When Poems. Below are the most popular long When by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long When poems by poem length and keyword.
All of my children did come home
One at a time, almost like a metronome.
It made me happy, as I felt needed
Yet, when they wanted advice it was never heeded.
I love them all with my entire being,
Yet, not long it felt like they were fleeing.
They are now adults with lives of their own
However, for their past, some refused to let me atone.
My youngest one always acted entitled,
Then when he started working he made me feel vital.
Then one by one, as their lives moved on, it seemed they forgot about me.
Only on holidays or my birthdays did they act around me with glee.
Once festivities were at an end they found a reason to flee
They always seemed to prove my fear that they were there out of duty.
Then my youngest started calling me every day to say I love you
I started thinking I was forgiven for all he had gone through.
I was soon to learn how wrong I was
As he started rumors, making a buzz.
And soon most believed these rumors so heinous
He was showing everyone he was a Janus.
Somehow the others believed him
It left me feeling my future with my kids was grim.
Then one son came to me to talk about my actions
Talking to me and making it look like we were doing transactions.
Yet, he was telling me the things my youngest had said
Then he gave me an ultimatum that led me to feel as if my heart had bled.
The very next day, I woke up to a message from my other mother
Another lie told by my youngest made me feel like he wanted to separate me from his brother.
Now that son and daughter will not returns text or a call
Making me think they believe the lies one and all.
All because I was tired of my youngest using me
Threatening me that in my life he no longer would be.
All because I told him until he could talk to the respect I deserve
Somehow my telling him this must have struck a nerve.
Now he is trying to turn all his siblings against me
Using lies and my fears in order for me to beg and plea.
There are two he cannot turn
Oh, how it must make him burn.
He is not being an adult, but a deceitful child.
I am praying my other two can help me get reconciled
To the two who believed their younger brother
And have them understand what is going on with their mother.
Until that time comes, I sit here and wait
I have to leave this all to God and to fate.
© Kristy De La Keur Scoville
Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
We always eulogize a child on his birth
We also eulogize a person on his death
On both occasions he is unable to appreciate the praise
At birth he is unable to understand the words
At death his ears are unresponsive to the sound
Why do we always say good things on these occasions?
Must we confine our eulogy only to these occasions?
A child doesn’t understand our words at the time of his birth
So it doesn’t matter whatever our words may sound
The logic isn’t the same for a person on his death
We have an innate fear that his spirit is hearing our words
We wish to impress the spirit by using words of praise
Why should we impress the spirit with words of praise?
There is a belief that the spirit will leave after such occasions
Some believe that the spirits are not influenced by words
Our fate after death depends on all our deeds after birth
All good deeds will be rewarded by the Creator after death
Fate is not decided on words irrespective of how it may sound
It is impossible to infer true feelings from how the words sound
We often pretend to please others by telling words of praise
These pretensions are useless when hearing ability ceases on death
But may be fruitful when spoken to others on different occasions
It is ineffective when the sense of hearing is undeveloped at birth
The generation of feelings depends upon how we express the words
Human relations depend on how we express our feelings in words.
Expressions, conveying different feelings, are said in a varying sound
The effectiveness is lost when conveyed to a child at birth
Damaged human relations can be repaired through words of praise
The appropriate expressions must be chosen to suit the occasion
Feelings and expressions must amalgamate in the occasion of death
One of the most solemn occasions in life is that of death
While expressing feelings we carefully select the words
The choice of words matches the vibes of the occasions
The speeches are characterized by a particular sound
On such occasions we forget our true feelings and praise
Ebullient feelings are aroused on the occasion of birth
The strength of a relationship is expressed by the identity of the sound
The effectiveness of the expressions rest on the choice of words
Alas! The only expressions a child has are cries at birth
I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can’t breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don’t moan in ecstasy and I don’t close my eyes in pleasure. I don’t take it for granted and I don’t have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.
Humdumpty was an analyst, a Cambridge Ph.D.,
A noted bio-atomist, whatever that might be.
Indeed, from earliest childhood it was his single aim
To analyze no matter what might enter his domain.
He analyzed his father's watch and next the neighbour's cat.
Ah! Little more was seen or heard of Felix after that.
Astounding learned pedagogues, hard pressed to keep his pace,
Humdumpty grew up daily--in knowledge if not grace.
And then at university his intellectual power
Decimated Einstein and the works of Schopenhauer.
With ease that was amazing he romped a Double First,
And yet, for all his learning, nought quenched his burning thirst.
Despite the storm, and tumult that marked his inner life,
Humdumpty found the leisure to woo--and win--a wife.
He loved her--Oh! so dearly, his idol and his joy!
Alack! How oft our dearest 'tis we ourselves destroy.
One day in stormy weather he raised his eyes above,
And posed himself the riddle: "What constitutes her love?"
One night--to angels' weeping--the dark thought seized his mind:
"By scalpel and analysis the answer I shall find."
Full soon she took a sleeping draught, and when the time was due,
He set about his gruesome task, inspired by love so true.
How tenderly, how lovingly, he cut into her heart.
With what profound emotion he set his spouse apart.
To isolate that molecule in which all love resides
He scrutinized each corpuscle, and did much else besides.
All data was computerized, and ere a while had passed,
A reasonable hypothesis was imminent at last.
How tantalizing is the truth, how far--and yet, how near!
'Twas in the corner of his eye--and then would disappear.
It dawned at last upon him, his efforts would prove vain,
Unless he somehow managed to join her up again.
Of every art that served this end he tried the whole range through.
He first tried biophysics--and his last resort was glue.
Alas, alas, Humdumpty! There is a fateful law:
Some things men set asunder no mortal can restore.
They did not need a hangman or Madame Guillotine.
Before another week had passed, he died of bitter spleen.
Now some say he's in Heaven, and others, he's in Hell.
I'm not a theologian, it's difficult to tell.
For sure, he cut his dear wife up, and who would call that right?
But was it not his quest for truth that brought about his plight?
Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
********************
The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!
The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago.
The mica was
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death.
Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines.
The local children like to scare
themselves with the
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave
and pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."
In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods.
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end.
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.
On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers,
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger
across your face and neck.
Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville
holler offers more
than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
young lovers
brave or you
may be the next victim of the piney woods!
Thank you so much for your honesty friend. I paused and took some time with your
statements to me to ponder on it. Yes I have these problems that are always rising up
within me from time to time. The truth is I believe that I need all the help that I can
get. Because my soul is tortured as well by them. I'm glad you were patient enough to read
anyway. Takes a lot of strength and courage to be as honest as you have been, I appreciate
it. It reminded me, that relying on myself alone, and remaining alone with these things
makes it all the more harder for me to remain honest with myself. As you have so plainly
been with me so again I thank you. I just get so afraid sometimes to be this way. But I
feel that honestly it is a true strength that you have. You I feel are truly blessed.
Gifted with this boldness of heart. You carry it well. I feel it is the most precious and
there is no truer strength lying within you. If I were you, well I would feel blessed and
encouraged by it truly... . As for what was stated in the writing it was for me a simple
message.
Though I can tell you myself it made my belly uncomfortable too. When I heard... saw it
for myself for the first time. Made me cry... . Because I truly don't want myself to feel
it anymore than is necessary, being reminded today what it truly means to be like this. As
I considered and still keep trying to grow to know through it how I have in turn been
brought to yield it myself every time I saw for myself my own hate. You know it makes me
more and even more afraid. Because I've been like this in one form or the other my whole
life. I probably always will be without some help, I figure that when I heard this message
first, it rose within me in this greater form. I didn't like it either at all. Made me run
to something more though and today I am feeling a little, sometimes quite better the more
I am moved away from it. Because I also found that for myself, I wanted more than just
this hate and living alone with it. And through hearing the truth of it, I knew that I
alone could not stop it from rising up from within me... .
Because I don't truly enjoy feeling sick to my tummy like this. It has been for me this
way for a long time and I am finding that it can in its reality surely kill me, because
for myself I let it consume me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnKoAEs65Pg
I set out to write a verse
A verse of prayer and praise
Words to worship the One
Who created me and gave to me
A sense of hope, purpose, faith
Love that lingers in my soul
Capturing the essence of joy
I set out to write my thoughts
Pertaining to my Lord
The One who caused me to love
With all my heart and soul
Without conditions, limits or terms
With everything that He gave
Appreciation, kindness and grace
I set out to give back to Him
A bit of the love He’d given me
The compassion and gentleness, the charity
That came alive with a prayer for His
Love to open up my heart
And light the spark that was hope
Abiding there within my soul
I set out to bring worship to Him
Who had brought affection to my spirit
Singing to me of dreams everlasting
On visions that whisper through my heart
Forcing me to listen to the brilliant thoughts
Discovered in the miracle of His gifts
The treasure of joy found within - through Him
I set out to live my life for Him
Despite many mistakes, sins that left me sorry
I gave my best, leaving all the rest
To bring to Him my greatest attempts to give
With a heart that appreciates His gift
Of salvation, deliverance, escape from anguish
That comes to those who do not believe
I set out to listen to the whisper
Of His still, small voice – His direction
His correction, affection and the connection
That caused me to believe in His wisdom and strength
The blessing of love so alive it could dance
Through the soul on a breath from His lips
Breathing out love so sweet it leaves pure peace
I set out to give someone a chance to see
The hope, faith and love that live inside of me
Because I took the hand of the One who died for me
And listened to the voice of my Father God
Who told me to live as if I had His heart
And could love better than I could every imagine
With a love that’s been lit by a fire of compassion
I set out to give someone joy and hope
But soon discovered that He had given me the gift
Through the wisdom that lives within
When He answers a prayer I’ve prayed
For words to give back to someone a part of me
The piece of my heart that knows
He is there, alive and wise, controlling it all
I set out to give and found… His love within my soul
Love that is my eternal goal