Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Long Seasons Poems | Long Seasons Poetry

Long Seasons Poems. Below are the most popular long Seasons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seasons poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Suzette Richards | Details |

SUMMER, WINTER SOLSTICE - 2010

It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.

screeching seagulls dive at sushi scraps on a plate - the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier). I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
moths dart between moon flowers - lunar eclipse
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time. The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat shut out the bitter world - a heart pounds
**************************************************************** *The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia. "bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers... "flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku. Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia


Long poem by Broken Wings | Details |

La Collection

~^~ Dawn Walking in the dawn, in the forest loud with sound; Hear the birds sing in the trees! Listen to the wind, see the stream flowing free; Touch a leaf so green, dew wet! Do you hear it now, the sound of nature, the song; A song so sweet, magical Choka x3 Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Leaves Colourful leaves in piles, luminous colours for miles and miles. Burgundy, orange hovering, the trees slowly relinquishing, surrendering. A cool breeze makes them dance, some quiet and calm, some leap and prance. The Autumn sky so changing, clouds moving, billowing, shifting, expanding. And in one blustering wind, piles empty where once colourful leaves had been. Sun touches the leaves of a tree, Like a stained glass window scene, to see. Rhyme Written October 15, 2008 ~~ gliding deep clear sparkling snow diamond like snowflakes falling horse swiftly gliding Haiku Written October 28, 2008 ~~ my little garden plant unfurl your leaf send your root deep deep deep tis spring tis spring now Haiku Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Cluttered Dresser Ornate mirror Butterfly hair clip Deep purple antique necklace Doll, of my childhood Pearls, old and yellowed with time Pink glass vase with wilted roses Family pictures Mom's favourite earrings Hairbrush Scented candle, burning List Written November 5, 2008 ~~ On Bent Knees Prayer books waiting at the door, polished pews and stone cold floors. Specks of dust glitter in the light, half forgotten dreams still burn bright. Stained glass windows cast a glow, on bent knees this day my prayers flow. Couplet Written February 2, 2009 ~~ The Book Exploring the city on a rainy afternoon, I happened upon, Ye Olde Book Store; Opening the door, chimes sang out, The store dusty, small and amazing. To the ceiling books and rows of books, The shop keeper, an elderly man, nods; I walk quietly, I feel that I am in church, Alone, I am in this place of books. So many to touch, but one beckons me, Taking it in my hands, I brush off the dust; Opening the book, it seems to me so interesting, I purchase it of course for a small price. Finding a café close by, I settle in to read, The words on the cover seem to be engraved; A collection of poetry by the great poets of all time, Page after page, tattered, yellowed with age. Verse Written April 23, 2009 ~~ The Wind Standing on a sea cliff with salt on my lips, Holding out my hands to the heavens above; Moving past me, a roaring wind, blows my raven hair, Breathing in the sweetness, it whispers my name, Tangled with the crashing waves, the birds soaring, the clouds rolling. Verse Written March 13, 2009 ~~ O, The Glistening Tears You come in the light of day, Through the ornate cemetery gates you come; Down the lonely long road, Past the headstones, row on row on row. O, the glistening tears. With a broken weeping heat, You come, for us your family buried here; What a cruel destiny and cruel fate, Such love that even death cannot destroy. O, the glistening tears. And when the seasons change, And fall winds blow over us resting here; And when winter frost is in the air, And we lay beneath the pure white snow, O, the glistening tears. And when spring comes and flowers grow, You come in the light of day, you come, you come; For us your family buried here, Souls connected by bonds that even death cannot end. Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~~ The Memory Of You Mom, today I saw a girl with her Mom They were so happy laughing and talking Together, mother and daughter, friends I wondered if the girl realized My heart was filled with envy and pain I have so many things to tell you Happy things, sad things, just things Things only a mother would understand Tears came to my eyes as I watched God must have needed a special angel To separate the puzzle that was you and me The pieces that fit so well together Mom, our love is an endless river It will go on and on and on and never end God took you from me, it was your destiny I know nothing could keep you here Our parting words, I love you so much Your answer and I love you my daughter God took you in the dawn but he left me a gift A precious gift, the memory of you Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~^~


Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

Crackled

_ _ _ _While walking one day in crisp autumn air, 
On the edge of the sidewalk,  I saw it so clearly_ _ _ _

                                                  a worn leather wallet....
                                              (at least, I had thought it)
                            But with C L O S E R   inspection, it took no detection, 
                        .....to see my mistake, in a quick double take  
                                                                       

It was a lone, shabby leaf,............ which I gladly retrieved
It made my heart grieve................to know that time turns the leaves
verdant green, into brown.............which we can't turn around....

Time lost in a flash...................is it too much to ask, that the seasons slow down,
or the reasons are sound?              
                                                                                                                  
There was amber beneath............................... this worn crackling leaf
with some gold clinging too, ............................as if giving us clues
that our fleeting days dwindle,..........................like the flame of a candle
                                                    @
                                            g @
                                         n      @
                                       i    @
                                    s
                                  i     @@        
I saw smoke, nearby, r     
from leaves left for burning,.. and no one was stirring, which seems quite surprising
                                                         @
             o     u                             @@                                        *   *     
This    m          n d  left to smolder,      on a day growing colder* *

In the palm of my hand, it    f" l "u "t" t" e "r "e" d   to please me,
                             then it   s" h" u "t" t"e" r "e "d  in breezes, with tangible FEAR!

Above in the trees, birds were singing in chorus...
While the branches were swinging.....in sync with the verses

         "Blossom to blossom.. Green leaves are sprouting",
         "Leaves turn to rust....Then to ash in one flash"    
         "Ashes to ashes...'Till dust turns to dust"...     
      .  .  .
My poor fragile keepsake, "q"u"a"k"e"d"  in the wake of s-h-a-t-t-e-r-i-n-g sadness :)

      
f 
  a
    l
         l
           i
          n
           g
 
          into a million 
    
                         p    i     e          
                                 c             
                                        e    
                                            s   
                                               and  t-h-r-o-u-g-h  my fingers,

                                                                                        into      
                                                                                                e 
                                                                                                t               
                                                                                                e
                                                                                                r
                                                                                                n
                                                                                                i
                                                                                                t
                                                                                                y

                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
__________________________________


Long poem by Patrick Wells | Details |

For

Nigga my fade be the meanest this nigga been hot since a foetus                                                  I’m leaving a distance between us, free us from hash tags and demons                                           we live by snapbacks and beaters                                                                                                                                        free us from hash tags and demons  
For all my sisters who experienced Heartbreak, pain, that sent them to psychiatrists and Jesus, that sent them to psychiatrists and Jesus                                                                                                                           
For my homosexual Brothers and sisters who seek God in dark corners cause they were told there was no place for them in the kingdom of heaven you were told there was no place for you in the kingdom  of heaven                                                                                                             
For, those who live on misery and miracles brothers and sisters for the Christian the Buddhist, the Muslim the spiritual.                                                                                                                                                                             For, the Kaifer, the Koon the Consequence, the Aborigine, the Albino, the Abstract
These are the Words that are yours                                                                                                                                 I said these are the words that are yours                                                                         
For all the people that smile deep down in the frown of poverty and spit sovereignty at statistics in the form of choice and in the form of voice                                                                                          I am yours
For the babies in Syria that what their childhood and their mama’s back For all those people trapped In Nairobi In Westgate 
For we no longer racially profile, For even White Women Can be terrorists 
For all the women whose confidence lies in ***** and scrotum had their Self Esteems Drowned In semen , I promise Its swam its way out into the world again and its looking for                                                                          you it’s looking For you                                                                                                   
For you, all the brown in autumn all the wit in rain, all the wag in swag all the mystery in brail all the pages on papers and the damage prevails, 
For, the Hooker,the Hawker, the Whore 
For, the Nurse
For, the Song 
For, the child

For, the passionate
For, the passive
For, 1994 
For,Biko
For, Lenin 
For, Marley
For, Socrates
For, Sex
For, Drugs
For, Death
For, Banter
For, Beast 
For, Cross
For, Blood
For, Mary
For, Change 
For, Reasons for Four Seasons
For, Kilo, mili and grand
For living and not 
For, ever
For, time
For, Dust
For, Echoes
For a million timeless thoughts trapped in a timeless capsule
For, the strange fruit Hanging the strange fruit hanging 
For the day that I became a troubled man 
For yeah I like boys dad, I like boys dad 
For, The blood in my uterus 
For, The authority in my voice the authority in my voice, the beauty in my palms 
For the days that I will weep and the days I will not, 
For, Love that hides and taunts for  love that hides and taunts 
Nigga my fade be the meanest this nigga been hot since a foetus                                                  I’m leaving a distance between us, free us from hash tags and demons                                           we live by snapbacks and beaters                                                                                                                                        free us from hash tags and demons  


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Phantoms Women and Love

Phantoms

Phantoms, nightly steeds, flared nostrils all aflame 
with their steely hooves thundering on my brain, as they came, 
these apparitions shrouded in blackness, to carry me off, conscious, 
into the darkness, into the mystery of the subconscious, 
they came to light the fires within, and within my soul, 
to shed light upon the darkness, for me to see, to know 
just how far to go, just how far one can go, 
is what these phantoms, nightly steeds, want to show.

B. J. “A” 2
March 26th 2002

Women and Love

Even when it is lavished upon their fragile, fractured hearts, 
their desperately searching, lost souls, their buried spirits.
Some women - with sex – are reaching out for security, financial gain,
for some, it is playing a game, reaching for the ladder they see,
reaching for material things they can touch, some out of fear,
some for a future that will take them passed their past,
some out of anger for that past, some out of spite,
some for revenge upon the unknown, 
out from the subconscious, some, 
just for the passion. 
Many – I do Believe – by the hands of Mother Nature, 
from the pure essence of purely biological needs.
Many of the reasons for a woman making love, having sex, just ****ing
are buried deep within the psyche, the subconscious, of which, 
most no nothing about and likely never will understand the mystery.
For those who do know ?, understand ?, little or nothing will change !,
as does, with those who live in ignorant, blind, bliss, for the patterns
form a lifetime rut, most remain the same, habit, ritual the game.
And so, for the self-destructive, the destructive nature, they doth permeate  
the heart and soul,  permeating the very essence of every relationship,
regardless of how shallow or deep, how meaningless or meaningful.
And so, are the reasons for woman
( let us not exclude men from the analyses, the meaning, 
the understanding of human nature as stated above )
to be many colours of butterfly wings ?,
shades of gray ?, or be the blackness of the whole ?
That journey, for them, most of us will never know !,
for we, after all, are not but human beings, 
products of our life’s journey, our life’s experiences,
our nature and our nurturing, our life’s march
through history, times past, present and future.
In their passing, in the here and now, in what is to come ?,
some of us have been most privileged to have tasted pieces,
moments of it all, and understood, and in that,
have come to know some of what it is that makes a woman
come and go, as the seasons, seasons with reasons untold.
Sometimes, even if we ( men ) cannot understand, only see
the unreasonableness that fills the air, our eyes, our minds
and our thoughts, we still climb aboard that ride,
that roller coaster turmoil, that is laid before us.
Leaving the mental anguish, the emotional whirlpool behind,
letting the intellectual analysis go, in lieu of the purely physical, 
is where my thoughts now take me, with my experience, my words
that will bring this monolog to a logical conclusion
To have “ tasted the pieces ” !, what a journey !, for one’s mind,
even as one suffered the searing pains of being burned by the
flames of a troubled mind, yet to have tasted, to have felt 
– not in mind but in reality – the “ fire down below”,
what a thing to have experienced, to have come to know,
that electrifying heat from the flames down below,
as they galvanized one’s manhood, and in unison,
in harmony one’s manhood electrifies,
sets aflame the motherhood in her.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 27th 2002


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

MEGAN'S HIT - the Baseball Sonnet

      MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"

I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!

I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!

    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this game.)

I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!

"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!

   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"

The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!

I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!

   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!

The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!

The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"

   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!

The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!

I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
        
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Dashing Blade

In a house high on a hill an old man grows weak, many years have gone, he lays in his old bed,
Back in the day, a dashing young officer with a brilliant red uniform he had many girlfriends,
Flowers scattered across the mead's and meadows the heaths and the glades and over wide glens,
Those days bright and hot, the occasional thunder announces itself in the seasons sultriness,
Today it is summer again trees rich with green leaves now darkened and oaks have little acorns.

Laying in his bed the French doors wide open, summer greets him warmly for just one more time,
White haired and thin his skin yellow and his eyes sunk into wasted sockets his lips quiver,
He remembers the woods well, sitting by a sheltered warm bank, new greenery bursting through,
He tries hard to sit up and to see his long ago self in the beautiful green ripening gardens,
Sweet flowers know him well, respectfully they nod to an old friend who is going on a journey.

As a man who liked to be outdoors he walked and tended these landscapes even as a young blade,
He casts way back to his youthful days when he would walk in the sun a sweet girl at his side,
Running up a woodland bank, his hands on hips, he would wander miles enjoying wonderful views,
His heart raced with joy as the carpets of the forest grew around tall trees along the floor,
Now the songs of the birds grow faint the nightingale is hushed and the cuckoo bows his head.

A nurse tiptoes in she quietly shuts the doors, he whispers, she cannot hear him but she looks,
It is so faint she goes to his bed bends down to listen her ear to his lips they barely move,
He says don't shut the doors the beauty makes me feel safe my old friends are out there waiting,
She lifts him higher, puffs his pillows adds another blanket she smiles, 'you are a lovely man',
The blackbird and the thrush perch near the French doors and sing a musical goodbye very softly.

He can now see the Coltsfoot and cardamine in the fallows with green moss in the moist meadows,
And the star of Bethlehem gleaming from the copse the woods, a special beauty from shady places.
The celandine and kingcup glow in golden lustre he watches them his eyes rheumy and tears fall,
Daisies scattered across lawns like patterns in a carpet of lime green, smelling of spearmint,
The elder flower, corn poppy and the viper's bugloss with a rich azure smile from his garden.

He begins to smile shakily at the crocuses spreading a purple flood over the greenest meadows,
It's a sight you have to see, to take it in, color returns to his cheeks on his ashen old face,
Above all the favorites of the field is a violet, many times he picked one for his lady friends,
White, purple diffuse sweetness under hedges, a landscape painted in mind, those were good days,
Young girls would walk arm in arm across the glades to listen to his wondrous battle stories.

These pictures of beauty he has known since his early childhood days, his memory so very clear,
Whispering do you scent the hay, do you hear the scythes ringing, do you hear sweet laughter,
The joys of running across green fields like young breeze and smelling sweet newly cut grass,
Scented breezes fill his room, his eyes close, happy to return to his precious long gone days,
And with his last breath he walks arm in arm with a beautiful young girl in sweet old meadows.


Long poem by pat roswell | Details |

Hope dangles on a string

just below a marvelous landmark of a metropolis that see's no end to its expansion, lies a stretch of land. curved by many years of our moons control over what covers more then 50% of what anyone could inherit in this world. lies a log. only a few could tell how many years this artifact has gotten to observate. not that it could form opinions and idea's or have the slightest emotion but its there. the smell of sea salt. the ever swallowing winds and waves that swallow this small penninsula, through out the many days the light and darkness have taken there turns, to the forever clock work of the change in seasons. this log, this stump, has sat here. If you believe in destiny, you may come to believe this log serves a purpose for any who find themselves venturing to this corner of the world. love has started here. happiness has found a landmark to add to a foundation to the souls that let it take over them. memorys from a father to a son, to a daughter to a loved one have been forever forged here. no matter how much of are climate changes and reshapes this land all these memorys will stay embedded. unknown to the common folk who stumble upon this stretch of beauty. it will always be there. One cold day. a philosopher, a poet, a man in search of answers that roam uncontrollably through out his body decides to ponder in this place as he seeks an inner answer for his search for peace, harmony and happiness that has been in a bit of a recess for what feels like an eternity for him, hide and seek let your childish memorys take you away as you remember what defines the meaning of hide and seek. this poet feels nothing more then sinking in the ocean like the flat long rock he threw to skip. counting the times its bounces back after hitting its surface. this imagery slowly creeps its way into visualization that it almost resembles himself. beauty in 5 seconds that most in this beautiful world probably have never considered, never captured. he stands up, takes his steps forward. the paralyzing feeling slowly diminishing. each link in the chain that has kept him bound slowly disappears. He begins to wish he had on sandals instead he imagines the feeling of the small pockets of sand away from the rocks creep warm heat into the spaces in between his toes even though its a cold summer set day. he makes another step. his thoughts tend to take him over and do circles each step he takes, each breath he takes. before the poet realizes where he stands he feels the water rush up his legs. as he opens his eyes wondering why he had them closed. he reaches into his pocket to throw another rock he has been holding onto long before stumbling into this beautiful abyss that captures moments unknown to all the unknown souls who have wondered here. he kisses the rock, looks to the distance and tosses it.
before the last skip even came the poet had turned around. he knows from this moment on nothing will be the same again but not in a dark gloomy unpredictable way. more in a way that is so new. another adventure, another moment soon to come like the many before who forever embedded there memory's here. a new start. not one wished upon but one that found its way to him, who is watching over the poet making sure there is ground every step he takes? the answer lies in himself. just like it does for you.


Long poem by Carlos DeBattista | Details |

In the Forest, A Tree


To a perfectly perfect stranger
met on a time on the river bank
I asked a simple question,
“How should I live my life 
and live life to the full?”
He smiled at me, His eyes dark, wise and weary,
hair of a time weathered gray,
his life charted across his face.
In a voice coarse as the shifting sands, He said
Let your heart be as the wondering wind,
that passing over lands and seas,
mountains and deserts,
takes unto itself the flavor of each and all
yet never surrendering itself to any, 
never staying to dwell in any part 
but rather giving freely of itself to all in equal measure.
Bearing with it seeds, to bloom,
taking with it a taste of all that it might touch.
Giving of itself freely but
taking only that which is freely given.
Laughing, sighing, roaring and singing,
growing and changing yet at heart always the same.
At heart, be as the wind, He said.

Let your soul be as the deepening seas,
vast, unfathomable, its’ darkest depths unreachable.
A place of mystery and wonder, terror, despair,
yet golden and glittering when touched by the sun,
with silver fire burning, when touched by the moon.
At times at peace, at times full of tumult,
your cradle, temple, your grave.
To every shore reaching, that which is of itself, 
being everywhere, and all the rivers and streams of the world
shall, in time lose themselves in it, and become of it,
and it shall grow, and broaden and deepen, 
its temperament governed by the wind,
but always it shall mirror the unchangingskies.
In spirit, be as the seas, He said.







Let your mind be as the open skies,
that know no bounds, that ascend ever upwards,
that dwell on all that is, for all that is,
is but a part of them or hangs within them.
For having no beginning and no ending, and
knowing no definite boundaries,
they can lay claim to all, and they sustain all
or are themselves sustained by all.
The stars, the moon, the sun, 
sky and more sky,
and the more that is revealed of it,
The less of it is known and seen, 
and the grander the scheme of things.
For it is not only that which is known that must sustain you,
but rather that which is yet to be discovered
In mind be as the skies, He said.

But in body, be as the earth
that holds a something of all that is and was, within it’s bosom.
And of all that shall become, it is only too eager to learn.
Be as the earth that in humility suffers all to thread
upon her breast and is ever smiling at the skies,
enduring the whims of the wind,
the wrath of the seas, the ever changing mood
of fickle seasons, ever changing, ever passing.
Humblest and lowliest yet mightiest.
Holding together the fabric of all that we are
or might ever possibly become; a home, a sanctuary.
The holiest of temples, the lowliest of dens.
Mirroring us, sustaining us in all our guises.
In body be as the earth, He said.

Then go, seek out a pool of clear waters,
Deep and clear, dark and still.
Therein shall you see the truth and learn,
For then shall you stand as an oak tree in a forest,
tall, proud and mighty! Magnificent
Your head held high, to the skies reaching.
Your arms stretched wide into the winds, far spanning.
By rivers swift sustained, tumbling and rolling, 
Chasing the unending seas,
Yet always, firmly rooted
In Earth
 
Carlos DeBattista

30/08/01 


Long poem by Ndaba Sibanda | Details |

Pledge of love and loyalty

This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.

For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.

I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.

I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.

This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.

I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing

 

to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever

I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.

For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown

I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…


Long Poems