Long Young Poems
Long Young Poems. Below are the most popular long Young by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Young poems by poem length and keyword.
Long In The Tooth Skeptic,...
Nonetheless Rooted With Gumption
Implicit virtue of humankind
figuratively locked horns with vice,
yet time and again this mortal celibate,
(not by choice) sexagenarian thrice
older father of deux priceless young
women chock full, sans esprit de corps
exude radiant ump pa vital to add spice
to an otherwise humdrum life,
begat by reproductive cells
smaller than a grain of rice,
yet whose exultant bloom, ah price
less bouquet far superior to any
treasure discovered within Nice
joyous reunion (torturing
mine psyche) finally won
after a hiatus, where four
Earth orbitz around sun
when last these myopic eyes
graced with amazing run
day view earlier,
this April 15th, 2019 pun
gent, (cuz visit with Shana Punim) one
thousand four hundred and sixty days,
that seemed more like a hun
dread bajillion quotidian tomorrows,
where continually fading poignant memories
from countless fleeting yesterday's done
got hermetically sealed bun
dolled into an irretrievable past smart
teary eyed floaters restored to this "sir"
after death do me part,
where memorable times at playgrounds
analogous to envisioning glory, heart
ache, cloistered blessedness
synonymous, asper once regal Acropolis,
and/or Parthenon, wherein
antiquity never did depart,
cuz during 21st century smattering,
viz artifacts retained preserved art!
Whispering in the dark,
Your hand around my waist
I hear you say “you love me”
All I hear is the deceit in your breath.
You been creeping, thinking I didn’t know.
Laying here with my eyes wide open.
Pretending to sleep, you don’t even notice.
But how can you when your being is laced with lies.
I feel the young girl's hands on yours.
Her sweet purrs rock your body and transcends into mine.
I am a woman and I know.
It’s dark out, its dark inside,
Will you ever admit your infidelity?
Or will it get worse by morning light.
The girl be calling everyday when you in the shower,
She be texting while you eat my breakfast.
You turn,kiss me goodbye, your smile reminds me of the devil.
As I watch your silhouette dance towards the woman you creep with.
Do you even notice the rage and the thunder?
Or you just cast a blind eye and carry on.
Your band feels heavy on my hand.
It’s a diamond I adored once,
But now all I see is sand, why does it even sparkle.
When the sparkle I had is now an icy stare of hate.
You call during the day, tell me you miss me.
I wonder how you can say that,
Do you even miss me or you just need a beacon.
A woman who will catch you when you fall?
I hear her voice in yours, I hear the echoes that still my soul.
I can’t even blame her, I am not even mad at her.
I can’t help but wonder, if she even knows.
If she does, she is set for a life of mishaps.
No bad deed ever go unpunished.
If she doesn’t, she is set for a life misery.
I can’t even be mad at him.
This emotion that I have has surpassed.
I feel nothing but rage multiplied.
I gave him my all, he gave me His all.
It’s all up in flames, it’s all up in ashes.
You obviously can’t be seeing with your soul.
For your eyes are now a mirror of misconception.
You will not even notice my dry tears,
Or the wave of fire in my bones.
Will it surprise you if you wake up alone one night?
I doubt it would, that’s why my fear has melted.
How can I leave in the midst of a situation?
A situation I can easily fix, maybe you would notice then.
Will I use a piece of steel, to silence you immediately?
For silence is what your love has been for two years.
Or will I just choke you, leave your breathless.
For all those nights you breathed out perfume and lust.
Will I even call it even or will I walk and forget you ever existed.
© Herzel Poshiwa
Aquamarine magic glistens across the lake on a moon song promise,
Mystical entities flitting past whispery diamond mountains, clean yet soft.
Potential supremeness and majesty rising up in supreme delight.
Faeries gliding gently playfully, throughout the warming of the soft young night.
Playfully, yet with fully authorized intentions of goodness and pure love,
Greening up our sweet meadows per the doting Father observing above.
A twig-like snap changes us, and we are comfortably silent and still.
The greening magic halts in honor of the lone doe at the top of the hill.
Like magic, we all begin again, slowly, methodically, in pure harmony.
Greening up the meadow with our spiritual love and hopeful moon driven dreams,
Meticulously, careful not to smear the glistening colors, so as to be
All in synch with the glorious nature of Mother Earth God.
Don't ride that wave afraid of the coming crash...
In those moments when you're on that crest....
suspended between heaven and earth...
when the is wind in your hair.....
and the thundering foam of ecstasy is pushing you up...
higher and higher....
Ride the wave....
young and free...
In mad rush of glee...
it's your destiny.....
It's meant to be...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This moment of exhilaration...
in sheer abandonment of all thought...
NOW....
ride the wave~~~~~
ride the wave~~~~
ride the wave~~~~~
~*~~~~**~~**~~~*~*~*Be FREE*~~~**~***~**~****
Eileen Manassian
Long ago a young boy headed down the trail;
bound for the creek with his pole in hand
on that warm June day; he hoped not to fail
to bring home the catch or at least a tale
to tell his friends – the best friends in the land.
Even at that age the solitude he enjoyed;
the stillness of nature and its beauty abound.
Being ever so careful to preserve, and employed
good judgement so God’s gift would not be destroyed,
and he left nature in its place just as he found.
Sixty years later the young boy has matured.
Deadlines and commitments have taken their toll,
but his love of nature has always endured,
and his desire for solitude will never be cured
and he searches for answers deep in his soul.
He thinks of that day sixty years ago
sitting by the creek, on a rock in the sun
and friends who have gone and new ones to know
and ponders life’s meaning and how we grow
and will his conscience be clear when time is done.
September 21, 2017
Detritus
Sitting there, honey,
Cleansed and bathed,
Scented with lilac and rose,
Glistening at your dressing table, and
Eyeing yourself in the chrome mirror;
I, as your guest, sit by and watch,
Astonished at your well-intentioned revealings,
Seeing your young beauty at morning tide,
As hands and fingers apply the detritus,
To nineteen year-old eyes, awash in teen wisdom.
I sense there is something you want to say,
As you lean toward your reflection there,
Smearing scarlet on wet open lips,
Your unbuttoned camisole dangling loosely,
Upon your shimmering backside,
But finding a foothold upon your upturned breast.
And here I sit, astonished again,
At the perennial return of one endless ritual
After another.
Zounds!
Do you realize I cannot resist you?
Yet it makes me wonder,
If you want me to make love to you.
Yes, I wonder.
Well, shall we just dispense
With this slow dance in the darkness?
Look at me!
Zounds!
I will make you dance!
My brain has been polluted from the influence of the outside. Thoughts are mixed, like emotions—Diluted over time.
In a land far-far away, yet a time not so distant, I remember when I had my own beliefs; driven from conviction.
As the clock kept moving forward my mind began to wander. The blueprint of my life resembles that of new construction—Constantly changing to suit the task at hand.
As people came and went, I absorbed their toxins while testing many waters which caused my pupils to dilate towards the direction of my peers—Leaving me wide eyed and all alone yet stuck in a crowd—Where I once reveled in the attention and left an impressionable mark, feeling as if I was an inseparable part. I polluted many. I was an in-the-moment infectious type. A disease of happy good ole me, being me without giving it a thought; this was youth. Free in my own skin not questioning the vibe. Just becoming. Simply following course and expanding it with a huge grin from cheek to cheek.
A rhythmic drum beat constantly kept me on this path. A quest, a journey; for happiness. A time in my life that I wished to last forever. At one point came to an inevitable end.
Although that has demised due to the destruction of my past. It remains in my veins. There's no doubt it will last and hasn't officially left or even passed. However, I can guarantee it passed onto another young lover with sparkles in his eyes. If only I knew him, would he say thanks or hi? Did I pollute him or did he pollute me—From the influence of the outside?
- 3/01/14
Edited -5/01/17
This poem is about music festivals. And to reference a few locations and venues I have experienced. I will recognize Harmony Park in Albert Lea Minnesota, Wakarusa in Lawrence Kansas and Bonaroo in Tennessee...To all these amazing adventures I gratefully encountered, I will not ever be able to duplicate the exact same events as the settings and lineups are forever changing as new replaces old and change happens. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.
Although aging may not be a present thing to experience
it is a great blessing. No matter how hard he tries to understand
old age, the youth will never be able to conceive the meaning of aging,
nor can taste the fruits of real human pathos that come only with age.
Listen, therefore, to this old buffoon, you the loafers who filled
this square; hear, therefore, what this shabby old man says,
you the vigorous young people who want to go a step ahead
the currents of time, rejecting traditions and resisting all orders.
If this old one’s appearance offends you, though I was wishing
to age myself in the way that is tolerable to others’ eyes,
please accept my apology.
If my conduct and behavior displeases you,
why not suffer with me for a moment
because I and myself cry over my own clumsy body
and limbs that won’t move as I wish any more.
If my voice is harsh and unpleasant,
why not let it be deaf to your ears
because all I wanted was to
clear my phlegm obstructed throat
and sing my favorite song that I sung once proudly.
If my laughter echoes hollowly in air,
why not laugh with me, because if not laughing,
this old one lives in tears for the rest of his remaining life,
because if they take laughter away from me, though it may sound hollow and self-contemptuous, only tears would fill my broken heart.
LOVE IN POST WORLD WAR 11
3rd and final episode of trilogy
My Grandfather was incredibly anglicised
Studied in London and qualified as an optician
My mother learnt English at school,
She was my Grandfather’s jewel!
He arranged a huge party for the British boys
That brought them freedom from evil convoys
Liberation, was followed almost immediately,
By a civil war, totally savage,
Which besides causing destruction
Brought a great deal of
Human death and anguish.
They killed many, my grandmother shopping
One day at the grocers watched something horrific,
A pregnant woman bayoneted, my gran fainted.
She was asked to be a witness for the
Families were well acquainted!
The day of the party arrived,
And my mom, already a beautiful girl, preened all day,
She hoped the young chap would come, she was a ray
Of sunshine, flitting to and fro seeing to her guests,
Weaving in and out of dancing couples, when she felt a tap
On her shoulder and there he was ,her handsome soldier,
Asking her for a dance,
They fell in love at a single glance.
The courtship lasted 18 months, my grandfather ecstatic
Of her choice – they got married in Greece
The country in peace, and the lovers at peace.
They traveled to Cyprus, England, Rhodesia, Zambia
And finally, South Africa.
Somewhere along the line I was born,
You see, I still have you all guessing my age,
That part of my diary has lost its page!
Would like us to buy a self- drive camper
So we can eternally roam,
It will be our second home,
Travelling is in my blood, blame
My parents, the army,
To which this I acclaim!
When I was quite young
No older than ten or eleven
There was a movie that played
Across the miles to reach me
Seated, cross-legged, in my parent’s
Single wide trailer, where there
Was hope for second chances
That harbored renewed inspiration
The movie I remember so well
That haunted me for years back then
Was “Roots”, a tale that was true
And filled my young heart with proof
That my race wasn’t always the one
To be proud of or come away from
Feeling sure of and building on the
Compassion that fell with their teardrops
After watching the week-long movie
I went to school and stood in the lunch
Line with my dear friend and confidant
Delores, who happened to also be black
I ask her quietly if she’d seen “Roots”
It was at that moment that I felt the first
Difference between our hearts and souls
She looked at me doubtfully and turned
Her eyes moved away toward the crowded
Cafeteria and she sighed without looking
At me, picked up her plate and left me
Uncertain and hesitant, without her
Friendship to console or comfort me
This time, I’d gone too far, I realized
By mentioning the truth that I didn’t
Know life had been so hard back then
For the people who were her ancestors
And those who knew her plight as a
Black girl who was growing up in small
Town America, with friends like me
Who only wanted to protect her and
Show her that I loved her enough to
Make sure that “Roots” would never
Become a sequel in these present moments!
For all the “Delores’” in this world
Roots moved me to a deeper love
For those who have known the struggle
Of grasping for freedom from hatred