Long poem by
George Zamalea | Details |
As I drove through the heavy snow of Manquiville,
Deep in silence back to Grandfather's house, all frightened faces
Full of solemnly dreams, I remember the smell of the sea.
The unseen Grandpa's hands, pulling and pulling
The full net of fishes.
I remember my Grandpa at this moment haltered
His muscles so tight that I was able to see the thin
Veins become heavier, healthier, richer,
While his sternly eyes ahead like two brighter poisonous souls,
Waiting and waiting and waiting, whatever the reason
He had in mind.
I remember just to follow him where the wide sea even powerful
As he was growing now calmed through the tide waves falling
Behind his horizon. I love see him like this,
Where the dreadly underworld as unique as mercy
Could not control him.
I'm driving slowly now, and I can see the road,
The sea behind, the trees old and shadowless,
The town of Manquiville quieted, deathless, soundless,
All gone and dumb, behind the weaken sun.
I remember I looked down satisfied in the way it is going,
Who guarded the visitor’s hope, who greeted
The intruder who more than 25 years was gone!
What a delightful remembrance to see the dangerous
Floor through my mind beginning to murmur thousand
Of happy slaves soon or later be caught!
How close we are listening by the jealous Visitor,
Always in circle, still far away from the smell
Of the fisherman!
But there was no one. All empty and in white,
Cobwebs everywhere, the insects had come and gone,
Birds' nests are there, a snake emerged and hissing away,
All seem that they don't care who I am and why
I came back. It has been so long since the Fisherman is dead!
I remember the sea...that day, I think,
Oh, how wonderful is the sea lyre that you are dreaming
To hold underneath the stormy afternoon.
I remember the sea...the sea! Seeing the sky-blue crown
Give to my Grandpa and Me, almost tremble, the unknown pray
Of God, which carrying golden fishes, your treasure wall,
Deep, enormous, cold and deathly, we are still afraid of you!
I stop my fancy car, all around is the designed
Of muddy roses, birds and horses, wild squirrels,
Like a feast of yellow swamp, and I stand there,
Dressed by tie and fancy suit, a lawyer,
A sucked soul, coming to see his Grandfather deepened
In the muddy ground, filled with nasty fishes.
I remember so suddenly, the nets of that day
Became tensed, like our hearts and our eyes,
Which it was unable to handle by myself.
There! There! I cried all along inside the small boat
And here and there is when my Old Man becomes only one
Where body, soul, mind, wisdom, and energy --
Become one forcer to kill
And as he was pulling and pulling. His old arms,
Still strong like two brawny-whited iron pistons,
Pulling and pulling, and the fishes as ghastly eye,
Jumping and jumping, coolly frightened, exposing themselves Completely under the half-light of the moonlight!
Now I cannot move. Why I am here? Why did I come?
With love, with pain, with doubt,
All I cannot say, behind the muse I have,
How I can explain myself the beauties of my Grandpa?
But I remember that day. Oh, what a shining light!
I was there, with the oak wood, deathless,
Like tiny hands, but the spirit of some old Song,
Helping my Grandpa.
I remember I was wondering if those fishes have any souls.
To live, listening the other side of my head,
Where my Grandpa told you're not born being a Fisherman
But as a blending poet as myself.
I remember I caught his mouth full of smile, with a promise
To die anywhere except here in the sea.
I bend my knees, with his nostrils stealing
Of his arms, pulling and pulling like a long sound
Of violin which I never knew why he had told that.
And I remember, you could not play with the sea
Or the hungry fishes, now handsome and wilder,
To survive like me, to become a stranger
In the middle of the sea.
Now here, I am growing smaller
My smile fading, no reason to be here, who before the infant
Archer who crying freedom, ready to a man,
I bring shame to the place of Fisherman;
I smiled sadly, looked ahead, with wishes to kiss
The Old Man's face drawing by the ocean air
And let that old hands of fisherman carried my hair
To my blending soul,
And tell him I made a city boy under the sunlight,
But never as a dream piercing through the dimly sea.
Long poem by
Neil Thirstrup | Details |
Allen “Gene” Claibourn
Grandpa showed me the way to
get things done and how to do
them right, he showed me how
to make a knot but i could
never get it quite as tight. He
showed me how to splice a
board to support a shaky beam,
he taught me how to get that
row boat easily upstream. He
showed me how to be polite
and to act with dignity, showed
me that respect and honor go
one and one with common
courtesy. He told me to have
Pride and honor in all the work
I do, do it right the first time
and it will surely repay you.
You have to sacrifice in life to
get the things you want, keep
your wants last put your family
out in front . Always take two
steps back before that one
ahead, don't stress about
material things you can't take
them when your dead. I only
started realizing how right he
was as I grew into a man,our
lives pass by so fast like air
through his homemade blower
fan. I wish I had just one more
week with him or even just one
day, maybe do his metal runs,
junk a car and maybe hear him
say, I had that once "took exlax
"then adjust his hat with his
thumb and index finger, look at
someone smile shake his head
and say "humdinger", maybe
hear him whistle an old tune
that I'd never heard, sit on the
porch in the morning with him
while he mimicked every bird,
go trim some trees, cut some
weeds, maybe dig some more,
the list of things to do never
shortened that's one thing I
know for sure ! He was a family
man who knew what life was all
about, he worked hard so his
family wouldn't have to go
without. He helped and helped
oh yeah and then he helped
some more, never turned his
back, wide open is how he kept
his door. Your hungry then
come eat we have plenty is
what he'd say, then give
someone his money for the bill
they couldn't pay. But most of
all the greatest thing my
grandpa's ever done, was ask
my Grandma Shirley if she
would be the one? I don't know
exactly how they met or where
they went on their first date,
but I know one thing for sure
this was no accident a Love like
this is Fate. I guess I
underestimated the power
LOVE can hold, I witnessed it
recently it was worth more
than any amount of Gold.
Grandpa loved You Grandma he
fought so very hard to stay, he
knew he'd get one more Eskimo
kiss if he could make it just one
more day. I'm telling you first
hand at night he laid there so
very still, but when you walked
into the room magic is all that
u could feel. I know he's up in
heaven driving through a small
ol country town, looking for the
perfect place to settle his family
down, I'm sure it'll be near
some water a quiet place where
the view is really nice, he'll
gather up those with him and
start building the second
Claibourn's Paradise. He'll have
a big jug of water filled with ice
to the brim, smiling and
working with loved ones all
surrounding him. No more pain
no more strain, no more clear
plastic pill dividers, now he's
relaxing working a crossword or
showing people how to make
those paper airplane gliders. He
loved his kids so much
endlessly I'd say, he tried his
best to be there even on the
darkest day. I could go on and
on about my Grandpa there's
so much more to say, these are
only my thoughts imagine the
countless others in this room
today. I Love you Grandpa,
Grandpolio and thank you for
being you, I hope one day I can
be a legend to my family too.
See ya when u get there....
Love ya Grandpa,
Long poem by
Timothy Jacks | Details |
See problems they no worry Timothy
He was raised by his Great Grandmother
One day she taught him
Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly
Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back
Beauty fades it doesn’t last long
Now let me tell you
A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion
Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days
I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me
No hush up! You can have it when I’m finished talking
Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this
It is his Journal and I have never read out of it
She hands it to me
I am struck by it’s cover, it is brown and plain
Yet it spoke to me by it’s elegant style
These words were printed on the cover “Blanco Vendetta”
I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell
The first page I open too it says “My first Mil Besos”
The Temptess that blew my heart away
I turn to page 33
It says “The story of an Apache Warrior”
There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting
He says if you are my enemy I don’t care how but I’m gonna kill you
Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page
Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith
Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken
Strengthened by Love “Amor”
Nourished by the sunshine in her hand
There is healing in its beams
Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful
I’m like Grandpa what did you say wrong
Then these words come to me
Give her your full attention when she speaks to you
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark
It’s the Last page
It says To: “Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army”
I Thank you for the Greatest Gift
For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me
I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground
Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD
Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless
Timothy you see the good in everything
And I know you will understand my words clearly
If a man gives you his word
Promise me not to plan your future on it
And if you give your word my son
Do everything in your Power to fulfill it
AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver
For it is better to put out more than you promised
Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish
I wish I could give you some insight about women
But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can
But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love
Or give your heart to a woman
Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you
Cherish Her give her your full undue attention
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
Love your neighbors as yourself
And do not strive against another man
If he has done nothing wrong to offend you
AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men
And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother
She is a very wise and God-fearing woman
Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son
Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death
Hit harder then you ever have before
But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta
Marry his daughter Maria
The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you
Oh! He will suffer greatly!
And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him
And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat
Long poem by
Terry Trainor | Details |
Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.
Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.
People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.
A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.
All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.
Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.
I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.
Long poem by
Jasmine Cruz | Details |
( I MISS YOU GRANDPA )
I sat on your lap
Looked in your eyes
The sense of hurt
Was yet a surprise
You were so happy
I was so young
I didn`t understand
That your life was now done
I sat on your lap
Looked in your eyes
The feeling of strength
Was yet a surprise
You were so weak
Yet so strong
It was hard to believe
That soon you`d be gone
I sat on your lap
Looked in you eyes
The sense of love
Was not a surprise
You are now gone
Yet your still here
You always told me
That you will always be near
I sat by your grave
Looked at the stone
Why you are gone
Is still left unknown
I used to blame god
For taking you from me
I was too young to understand
And to hurt to see
I realize now
That god is not to blame
For taking you away
And causing such pain!
I miss you grandpa
Each and every day
And Ill always love you
More than these words
Could ever say.
Long poem by
Paul Callus | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/santas_special_delivery_a_collab_624913' st_title='Santa's Special Delivery: a collab'>
Brutal was the biting wind,
sweeping brown locks of a tiny urchin
side to side, often hiding her eyes.
Oversized slippers she had donned
were lost in deep snow drifts.
She plodded forth barefoot, risking frostbite.
Little daylight remained to guide her;
a dangerous holiday trek she undertook.
Villagers in passing carriages didn't notice her.
With snow falling fast and accumulations growing deep,
she didn't realize she'd left the main road.
If only she could find her grandfather's cottage!
For Christmas Eve it was,
but in her heart there was no joy.
Her cruel stepmother’s house she left in search of love.
As darkness fell, the biting cold increased.
Her weary legs she dragged; with teary eyes she searched
in vain, for only shadows could she see.
A green-clad elf with lantern lit was homeward bound
deep in the woods, when all at once he spied this forlorn girl,
sprawled on the snow deprived of strength and shivering.
He shone the light on her white face; eyelids moved and flickered.
He read her thoughts and understood; he knew just how to help her.
No time was lost; his crystal flute he blew to call his trusted friends.
An entire family of elves pulled the shivering child,
placing her gently on a sled,
fully decked out in Christmas flare.
The elves had been on their way to Santa;
Yuletide deliveries had to be made,
but the wee girl's plight took priority.
Once she was aboard the sled,
reindeer arrived on cue,
ushering the crew to the North Pole.
The little girl came to quickly,
nestled in Santa's arms.
With pleasure he brought her to her grandfather's cottage.
Grandfather sat alone by his roaring fire
when a knock came to the door.
He went to see who it could be so late into the night.
There on the doorstep his young granddaughter stood with shining eyes,
a dream come true for those who never give up hope.
He picked her up in welcome arms, a warm embrace of love.
The clock struck twelve. They heard the sound of jingling bells
as Santa waved goodbye and off he sped across the sky.
Christmas had arrived, and his first gift had been delivered!
[Inspired by the first paragraph of The Little Match Girl by H.C. Andersen]
Co-written by: Paul Callus~Carolyn Devonshire~Valentina Stagno-Navarra
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Long poem by
Robert Broadbent | Details |
Six poems about my Grandchildren
Grace; she was my first Grandchild
So sweet and full of charm,
I loved her from the moment
That I held her in my arms
She grew up very quickly
As children always do
And when I say I’m Batman
She says “Granddad that’s not true!”
She is so much smarter now
And she has learned to tease
She makes me play with dollies
For an I love you Granddad squeeze
Christopher is a typical boy
Always finds the noisiest toy
Full of energy full of fun
Give him a ball he’ll run, run, run
Down the slide rolls on the floor
Think he’s tired but he’ll do some more
Very loud and very shrill
Never ever standing still
Super heroes he’s a fan
Turtles and that Spiderman
Not too keen on going to school
But on the tablet Christopher rules
Lucas (Twin) 4
When I’m on computer
He will come and sit with me
He’ll shake his head say Granddad
You are pressing the wrong key
He shows me how to do it
And he’s ever so polite
I think he is a genius
Cos always he is right
Instructions come up on the screen
But still he’s not deterred
Lucas he is only four
But he reads out every word
Ethan (Twin) 4
Ethan is a comic
He is smiling all the time
If there is an audience
He performs a pantomime
He never can sit still for long
He likes to entertain
Twenty seconds later
He has found a different game
When I take him to the shop
He’s running all the way
But he’s never out of breath
He’s far too much to say
Millie is a princess
She does them girly things
She likes those pretty dresses
And when Disney’s on, she sings
She really is a cutie
And she teases me sometimes
She sits upon her Nana’s knee
Saying, “Granddad, Nana’s mine!”
I think she’s lived a life before
Cos even though she’s three
When it comes to teasing
Millie is better than me
Rachel is the youngest
With an independent air
If someone ever leaves the room
Then Rachel’s always there
She’ll say come on now Granddad
And she’ll take me by the hand
She makes me walk along the street
Just to push her little pram
She sometimes gives a cuddle
But it’s quick and don’t last long
It takes her away from playing
And you know that’s always wrong
Granddad (Proud!) 60s
So there you have my grandkids
And I love them everyone
I really enjoy their visits
But I’m shattered when they’re gone
Love you all xxxxxx
Long poem by
ashley ho | Details |
our father, who art in heaven
hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come
a muttering chorus amidst the silence
as a firefly lands on my fingers
sending tribute to either god
or the soul that the unbelieving congregation mourns for
a constant mummer of your name in untouched hearts
a procession of empty prayers for the ashes
scattered in an urn of porcelain encased in
a shroud of guilt and confusion and shock
on this 3rd day of the 4th month
may the world weep for the
man they never knew.
the fireflies are burning in the air (are you there?)
breathing graves three feet under where my feet stand
where his no longer are
and no longer will
but oh— will you please come back?
come, may the light of these fireflies linger upon the
tears that fall from the empty. may
thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
may hopeless hope lift the ungrounded spirits of this
congregation of faithful cynics with steeled hearts and bolted minds.
and in this time and space of desperation—
give us this day our daily bread
it is only in these moments
that the entire world believes just for a moment that maybe
just maybe god will be there
and in that moment— that god must be there
the last slivers of thread as the fingers let go
forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us
but in our hearts a symphony of loathe and
hatred for everyone and everything
where blame is a burning firefly that refuses rest.
the light on my fingers is a faint flicker
lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil
that reigns in our blood but flows into grief
a multitude of concentrated desolation where
the firefly graves are in the hands of our people
for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory
and the stills moving in an endless wave as we walk away
an overwhelming voice of many voices
whispering the lords prayer
as we all did,
as we all one day do
now and forever—
– – –
i watch you fade away into the darkness
shining eyes; lighted fingers
waving goodbye, ill be okay
retreating into the mist of the morning,
leaving me as wordless
as the god i once believed in
– – –
since youve gone away
ive started loving the world so much
all i ever want is to leave it
– – –
and so i whisper my final prayer, oh god–
if youre up there,
Long poem by
James Tate | Details |
The wrinkled gent woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Staring into the
darkness he saw nothing. Gloom and fear ganged up against his mind. Had he
heard something? What was it? Something falling with a bang? What?
He had heard things fall in the night such as glass picture frames—old strings giving
way. The picture would crash to the floor, shattering the glass. He would recognize
this. But he did not hear shattering glass.
Was it a thief in the night? He lay listening, not daring to move. The night was dark,
cloudy, gloomy—and scary! Desperately replaying the sound, he heard a bong in his
A bong! That would have come from the old grandfather’s clock. Yes, it had to be his
grandfather’s clock. He knew it. His stomach released its tension.
His eyes popped open again. How could it be the clock? The clock stopped running
when his grandfather died – forty years ago, this very night!
Suddenly the clock started striking. Twelve strokes at midnight. With bolt-upright
attention, he sat in self-detention, and pondered.
His grandfather was a strong man who lived to be ninety years old. Then the clock
stopped to run no more. One of his kin wrote a song about it, and it was sung for
“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf, so it stood ninety
years on the floor. It was taller by half than the old man himself, though it weighed
not a penny weight more . . .”
He would find out why the clock was striking. Slipped quietly to the room near the
clock’s encasement, he saw the clock standing with its door open.
His eyes adjusted a little, and there in the floor he saw a dark object. What was it?
He had left nothing there on which to stumble in the night. You learn a few things,
he thought, in a long life like his. And you keep things picked up so you won’t fall
Moving with stealth, he saw something hunched and furry, standing vigil with eyes
reflecting light. His cat! Apparently, the cat had chased a mouse up the clock
seeking safety. Its weight tripped the spring wound tightly, causing it to strike.
In his delusion the old gentleman grabbed his shotgun from the mantle. With the
menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger. Now the old grandfather’s
clock is no more. And the cat and mouse are a taxidermy chore.
Written for John Heck's "Choose your forte!" contest
Long poem by
GIRISHA SUNEJA | Details |
We've known each other for a while now
I think its fair to say
I haven't met anyone like you
not ever, not to this day
when our eyes really first met
something inside me began to stir
I was unsure what to make of it
so I shrugged it off without a care
weeks have passed by, our conversations keep flowing
like raindrops from above, the topics have no warning.
The more that we explore, the greater my yearn
to travel the footprints of thought
that leave tracks across your mind.
time flies fast, its almost a blur
we've know each other over a year now
and you have become a mama.
I've never seen you so happy
a miracle from above, I am sure..
I love how your eyes are smiling
This is a picture I adore.
it was at this point, when I looked into your eyes
that what bothered me before came back to life
the stirring within came out of the blue
it was then I realised it was fuelled by you.
still unsure what it was within
I just looked up and gave you a grin
Its 2 in the morning, I should be asleep
each time I close my eyes, its you I see.
For a second there is blackness, and everything is sound
then from nowhere, your face is found
My arms reach out, to hold you tight
to hold you close throughout the night
but like before, you were not there
so this again, I'm hugging air!
Finally, my brain gives up and sleeps
but still you find me in my dreams
but in my dreams your there with me
so this is now the place to be.
its time to wake up, I feel exhausted
my brain feels fried, there was no off switch.
All throughout the night, you and I danced away
under the moonlight, with the stars on display
upon cloud tops, high in the sky
where angels sit to watch you and I
Sorrow was what it took, for me to realise
what love was, and how it thrives
where it starts, how it feels
how it hurts, but how it thrills..
I feel like I could fly, this stuff is better than Red Bull
I've never been so high, the feeling is astronomical
and to think the reason why, I feel so invincible
Is because I looked into your eyes
and was touched by your soul..
I leave it to fate, to decide what will be,
to see if theres a future for you and me.
You are one of a kind, you are my friend.
I've never met anyone like you..
I dont think I will again!