Long Written Poems
Long Written Poems. Below are the most popular long Written by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Written poems by poem length and keyword.
I was standing alone
Just above to the side of the grave where she lay
Thinking thought so no mercy abundance
Children we raised
It was a glimmer of hope
That all our memories that I have of you of her would not fade
Away
Oh how I miss
Miss I the statue of her height
Ooh, oh I miss I the look in her eyes
Oh how I miss I her plump lips
Miss I all that I miss
I so miss her conscience
Oh how I miss I this circumference of her chest
Oh how I miss I the beauty of her bliss
Oh how I miss I the texture of her touch
Oh I miss I the beauty of her heart
Oh I miss I to touch of her skin
Oh I miss I the first time we began
Oh I miss I to stare they those brown eyes glance
Miss I of the first meeting by chance
Awe and wonders I the 35 years of knowing,
of acquaintance of courtship of marriage this I do miss
Missing I these those subtle disagreements
To array the slimmer of fights verbal disagreements
To later reconciliating in the spooning cuddling
In the nights miss that I missing I the spoken word
Shutter I miss the aromatic smell of your heart surge
O how I miss I that the way you write you're cursing writing text
Beyond this and that I miss the sound of your voice
as I stand here alive above the grave site
Down below the grasses the dirt the turf 6 ft away below
In a casket it's just your remains but alas it's not true
Inside this coffin not you you're not here/there
Forever darling you're beautiful soul is in heaven, forevermore away
O' and yes got took His daughter back home, won't lie still it hurts, you see I am a man who TRULY LOVED BEING GODLY MARRIED...
DEDICATED TO MY WIFE CARMEN LEE BROWN LEE
SUNRISE1954---SUNSET 2018
WRITTEN BY JAMES EDWARD LEE SR © 2021
3/27/21
This haven is where possibilities
And wonder perfectly blend.
Oh, the tranquility!
A most beautiful escape; don't wake me.
On bed of roses, I sleep;
A delightful repose
So tantalizingly close to heaven;
Let me sleep forevermore,
Please, do not wake me now.
There is no key to unlock this kingdom
The door is always open
To those who dare to dream!
Date written: 06/07/2018
There are countless reasons to end a war…before that war’s begun…
If you’ll permit me this moment…I’d like to add another one:
Everyone has a story we add a page to every day…
Some of the chapters in my dad’s story were too difficult for him to talk about
so he filed them all away.
Chapters, I imagine, so painful his heart must have decreed
the words written on their pages were for only him to read.
He never spoke of his time in war…he was a soldier in World War II.
He never spoke of the Holocaust…or growing up a Jew.
Dad talked freely about other pages in his story…
but these chapters he kept us from.
Vital chapter in understanding the man he would become.
Mom said Dad didn’t like to talk about those horrible terrible years…
What it was like to kill an person (the enemy) he didn’t know…
how he lost the hearing in one ear.
I don’t think Dad ever realized the price we all would pay…
How much his missing chapters would cost….
How, when he closed certain chapters of his life…other chapters were lost.
When we asked Mom why Dad was always silent, grumpy
and why he wasn’t very much fun…
Mom would nod her head, sigh then tell us how war changes everyone.
She’d say, “I wish you would have known your dad before the war and killing came…
because,” she said, “ever since the war…he’s never been the same.”
And herein lies that other reason I wish wars would stop forevermore:
All the children who never had the chance to know who their parents were
before the war.
My life is weather-stained with years,
my world a garden ravaged . . .
Since a child I have been collecting scars,
s c a r s that will never heal;
and storms shake the ocean of my sleep,
the waves of time keep rolling over me endlessly.
Oh, scars are the p a t h to the soul,
and my S O U L is a labyrinth;
of jagged, sharp pieces,
and my d r e a m s are flowers that have died.
My scars a long chain of heavy lead,
Yet, I drink from the deep blue sky each day;
but the rare herb, happiness, hides away from me,
my heart a window open but a door firmly closed.
Oh, will L O V E come to me unbidden?
Will a lover fight for me?
I dwell amid the dregs of past sorrows,
that hang from d r i p p i n g branches in the grey;
woods of my mind. . .
Will he follow the road where scars are the path to the soul?
Will he battle the demons in my S O U L ?
Yes, my life is weather-stained with years,
and my world a garden ravaged;
yet, my h e a r t is open wide . . .
_______________________________
September 7, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Scars Are The Path To The Soul
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1058-874-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest - Verses of Metaphors
Sponsor, Laura Loo (Theme chosen - #5 Scars are the path to the soul)
First Place
As dusk gives way, a great delight
The forest comes alive
At first, it's slow
Now off they go
They flourish, nay, they thrive!
The motivating force, the drive
Behind the wondrous glow
To find a mate
A longing sate
But little do they know
She, flightless, hungry, blinks below
Does not have long to wait
Her throbbing light
His lucky night
His first and final date
Not all seems right, but it's too late
A blinding flash; she bites
He won't survive
That's number five
The hunt is good tonight
----------
For the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Written on 10/1/22
the Roundabout: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/new-poetic-form-the-roundabout
Carnivorous females of the genus Photuris are known to entomologists as “femmes fatales.” These fireflies mimic the flashes of females of other firefly genera; the unsuspecting courting male flies in (expecting romance) and is promptly eaten.
My birthday is on February 1,
and have searched for celebs with that birth date.
but I did not find anyone inspiring.
There were people like Harry Styles, Brandon Lee,
and Lisa Marie Presley;
and a list of names and pics unfamiliar!
I know nothing about these so called celebs,
nor, do I want to !
So, all that is left is to speak of me;
I was born in snow.
In a Winter storm that is,
came into the world crying and never stopped.
Mom said I was dramatic- an old soul,
Grandma said write it, so I did and I do;
have known too much death, sometimes
I need to go inner to find me !
____________________________
September 7, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/February 1
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1179-114-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Sung to the melody of when I’m 64 by The Beatles
Gotta keep working an extra few years
(Not like years ago)
Governments are screwing us for every dime
I can’t afford a bottle of wine
Hip's been replaced
Yes I’m getting old
I’m too old to twerk
But I’m so needy
and my pension won’t feed me
But I’m ninety four!
Written after being inspired by ‘Stupid People’ poem by SillyBilly theKidster
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/stupid_people_900910
05~16~17
Now That I'm 64 by SillyBilly the Kidster
I gotta keep working an extra few years,
not like years before.
Government is screwing me for every dime,
I can’t afford a bottle of wine.
Hip's been replaced,
yes I’m getting old.
I Can't Work Any More,
but I'm still needy,
social security won't feed me,
now that I'm 64.
05~17~17
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA---USA
Happy birthday America
You're 242 years old today
Are you ever again gonna acknowledge prayer
And is God still watching you
It's your right to choose??
happy birthday America
It's your CHOICE to live or die
And maybe next year when your
Two-hundred and three...
Your choice will be to unconditionally worship and acknowledge me
Happy birthday America
Now this candle on the cake, is this atomic bomb in the silos on our land
Children let's blow it out nuclear wars not in my plan??
Or is it I cleansed the lands by waters and floods
Now the new and last ends shall be with blood and fire
Look to the skies, look to the skies
He's risen, He's coming, He's here .>whose here<
And maybe next year when your two-hundred and three...
Happy Birthday USA
Shall we all take a moment and PRAY
God Bless America
Blessings, Peace, and Love you're ALL BEEN FORGIVEN Love from Your Father
GOD
7/4/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
[Note: this poem was written in memory of a specific mass killing at a church, but there has been since then so much evil done at churches, temples, and mosques--all houses of God...as are all schools where children go to learn. ]
When he came to the church,
a disciple of the Opposition,
did he plan to take his time?
Did he relish watching those
good people around the table
as they shared their struggles,
with others, themselves, God?
Did he play in his forsaken mind
(so bereft of love or even a
tinge of compassion) just whose
life he would take first, and who
would die last? What a sense of
power a gun gives to a coward,
playing god in God's own house.
Joyful he must have felt
as he took their lives but
freed their souls-nine souls
he could not see yet they
saw him, standing exultant
over their now unneeded
bodies, his hate satiated.
But they would not hate him,
for God's children love,
and love now filled their souls,
as it filled their lives when
they walked on the earth. So
they would pray together
one last time in the church
they loved, praying for the
damned soul of the sad man
until the angels came to carry
them off to God's open arms.
Limericks written for St. Patrick's Day
Celebrate the Irish in ev'ry way
It's said in tales of old
Leprechauns buried gold
At the rainbow's end it was meant to stay
It's a day for dancing and wearin' green
Shamrocks in the hair of each colleen
To Erin Go Bragh, a toast
A holiday loved by most
But kissin' the Blarney Stone's not my scene
The Emerald Isle's heathered hills are lush
where on a Bonnie lass you'll have a crush
Walking on Dublin's shore
Or on the grassy moor
You can steal a wee kiss to make her blush
The seventeenth of March will soon be here
St. Patrick's Day arrives every year
Jameson~ take a swig
Then dance an Irish jig
Or imbibe Guiness with lots of good cheer
The time will come when this holiday ends
And I'll wish my days here I could extend
Irish blood flows in my veins
Here, part of my heart remains
I'll just sing Molly Malone and pretend.