Best Livelong Poems
I’ll go a ridin’ no more through blue stem or chaparral,
Just lead my horse to pastures of green.
I’ll watch those rose ruby suns ease on past the ol’ corral—
Think back on the things I’ve done and seen.
Oh, you can’t go on a ridin’ for all your livelong days—
You’ve got to know when to settle down.
You’ll gently pet your ol’ horse as you put her out to graze
And soon life won’t seem so bad in town.
But when blue bonnets and the high plains send their callin’ card,
Your restless feet start to feel that itch.
Then it don’t matter if you’re stove-up or your butt is lard—
That feelin’ calls to the poor and rich.
Just once more I’ll go a ridin’ in the sorrel and sage—
Testin’ my ol’ horse for all it’s worth.
And I know that time cannot stop me, even at my age,
From ridin’ free of the reins of earth.
It was a happy town
People liked each other
Whenever someone they did greet
They'd call out, "Hey there, Brother!"
The Mayor he did work for free
His job's worth he couldn't measure
He wouldn't hear of a salary
To take away all his pleasure
The children laughed and sang and played
Happy-as-could-be the livelong day
Old folks too had a smile on their face
Mighty pleased with how they'd run their race
Poems like this often end up sad
Not this one! Now aren't you glad!
Going through its ambiance, (on) with open thoughts,
Past scenes so serene, and picturesque (in situ passed).
A house, its windows just ajar to the tactile winsome breeze
That taste of zest & adventure infused; with distilled memory’s,
And (sensed) delights unmet “as yet”.the wend of life so rich,
surrounds my mind & senses like the abundant shining light.
That upon the varied tableaux glow, before falls the lilac scented night.
Through all the turvy ways, and livelong day,
I’ll count the picket fences, as I travel or Stop to gaze.
I look out onto the pastureland that runs between the towns,
Observing rolling verdant turf, and cattle with thoughtful frowns.
The Holstein herds and Jersey cows, with Friesians ’mooing low’,
Character houses stand on hillocks; a horse & buggy moving slow.
There are tended lawns with a velvet like pile,
that have entered my awareness, these pleasant miles,
And on the horizon moving; (waits) that shimmering rippling run.
Of a blue & ribboning shoreline where pleasure necessitates fun.
There wind can like a lion roar, or call like turtle doves
With New Jersey soul superimposing the whole in the USA that I love!...
©Joe Maverick 1-6-2011Copyright)
Put away childish things
yet keep the childlike wonder.
Though dreams be rent asunder
our wishes still have wings.
Put away childish speech
but not the constant queries
that question rooted theories
which reason cannot reach.
Put away childish ken,
though artless ways of seeing
in any age of being
will find a poet’s pen.
Put away childish thought
yet not imagination
which sparks our inspiration
beyond what we are taught.
Put away childish things
but follow deepest desires.
Those secret innermost fires
burn brighter as hope sings.
Put away childish whim
yet not delight in playing,
then when the world’s dismaying,
our days won’t seem so grim.
Put away childish fears.
Nonetheless, through thick and thin
hang on to the child within,
the laughter and the tears,
all the livelong years…
Put away childish things.
While our dusty death is nigh,
the utter self shall not die,
and karmic kismet clings.
Put away childish things,
though then in mirror darkly
we face our image starkly,
plus suffer destined slings.
Put away childish pain
yet not sensations tender
for sunset’s golden splendor
or soothing thrum of rain,
therein the simple joys remain…
Nor questing spirit ever lose,
while on the pathway that we choose,
neither from love refrain
which makes a heaven of earth’s domain.
Still, throughout, with faith unshaken,
seek enlightenment to waken,
thus the bliss supreme to gain,
plus not to live and die in vain…
Put away childish things
but hold to yearning youthful
to grasp the learning truthful
which timeless wisdom brings.
Put away childish things,
and embrace the peerless state
of illumined grace innate
wherefrom great fortune springs!
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The following well-known quotation provided the initial literary inspiration for the poem…
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, darkly, but then face to face.”
1 Corinthians 13 ~ The New King James Version (NKJV) translation of the Bible
Further inspiration derived from the teachings and writings of Nichiren Daishonin, as well as Martin Bradley’s interpretative writings about them…
Lake Eliza
Out by poor old Lake Elisa lived a moody ancient miser.
Who bemoaned his fate throughout the livelong day.
lived further west than Isa out where the heat and flies are.
So he plotted as he moaned "I'll find a way?".
Oh this fellow loved a lady one Cherolyn O'Grady,
so besotted while he sauntered from insanity to mad.
For it seems she was his sister Joe O'Grady never kissed her,
She'd run off to Coolgardie selling favours to the sad.
Oh it seems his mind could wander,
through the desert just out yonder.
It got sunstruck when his hat it blew away.
In his youth there'd been a Rhonda.
Who'd enticed him made him fonder.
But the tribe had gone on walkabout the next day .
Though really none the wiser, he set out from the Isa,
Went to Brisbane met a shiela sweet and gay.
It was down in the Valley, she had whiskers this O'Malley,
blue round the jowls, Joe loved her anyway.
She took him home to her place into the bedroom they raced,
Joe's mouth it opened slackjawed in suprise .
For it seems she wasn't dinkum through the haze of grog he's drinking.
Saw parts of her to trade for many lies.
This city woman strange wanted money had no change,
Took his fifty as she pushed him out the door .
Hooked like a dog to mange, could a wedding he arrange?
But she dumped him anyhow cos Joe was poor.
So back to Lake Elisa went this sodden whinging miser.
Drowning sorrows O.P. rum, drinking bottles by the score,
Just a little sad but wiser, now he'd never leave Elisa. So he drank himself to death
there by her shore...by Don Johnson
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there's a pair of us---don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
...Emily Dickinson
So let them ban us
toss us up
like wind bitten leaves
on autumn's best dressed day
and throw us amongst others
grounded, muddied, unnamed.
Ashamed? Not I!
The frog has his fill
of maggots, grown
squirming by his side
while maidens pucker
winter-like kisses
upon unspoken lips
in hopes to earn his name.
Society's shame!
Peter Popper's Poem-Popper
played and popped out poems
all the livelong day
But one not-so-pleasant day
Peter Popper's Poem-Popper
stopped producing poetry
What did Peter Popper plan to do
He took his broken Poem-Popper
to the Broken Poem-Popper Fixer-Upper Man
where the principal poem-popper fixer upper
applied a dandy poem-popper fixer upper patch
'Goody, goody,gumdrops!' cheered Peter and his friends
but their cheers were premature
the Fixder-Upper didn't work
Instead of 'pop-pop-pop,' it went 'ping-a-ling'
So back went Poor Peter Popper
to that Fixer-Upper Man
And he demanded Poetry this time!
The owner gladly mixed in silly-putty
But all the poems came out nutty
Peter-Popper told the owner 'Put in Pets!'
Every kind of pet that you can get
So he did ~ but Pete's not holding his breath...
Police told him 'bout a compound word
~ Owner called it 'Popper-Death'
We Must Remember
We may want to go-rest in yon'hills.
SLEEP IN NEARBY COOL SHADE.
For life lost its greatest thrills
AND OUR CARDS ARE ALL PLAYED!
Yet our family loves us dearly still
PRAYS FOR US EACH LIVELONG DAY.
Begs us away from those hills
IN DEEP HOPE THAT WE BUT STAY!
Please, tarry thee with us longer
ENJOY FAMILY AND DEAREST FRIENDS.
Such blessings make us stronger
TRUE LOVE IN ETERNITY NEVER ENDS!
Enjoy newly flowered meadows in Spring
seek out true love- learn to sing!
Robert J. Lindley, 12-29-2016
Sonnet
Note. Edited poem, one I wrote decades ago but revised today.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE
If you pull a long face
Just because you had a bad day
That’s alright you won’t lose face
Everyone’s beset some hapless day
If you pull a long face
Day by day come what may
Better know it’s really out-of-place
To pull a long face in every way
Yet if you pull a long face
All your livelong dark day
You had better make an about-face
Or you’d end up in a fray
If you pull a long face
‘Cause none with you will play
Then you have lost your birth-place
You’ll not save face even if you pray
So if you pull a long face
No matter what or who comes your way
Give a damn who looks you in the face
Then you’re made of sterner stuff, not clay
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
*
Month of spring,where nature laugh,a new life bloom from the dovecote
AT beneath of fountain,where brook sing with every youthful note
Helpless,naked,piping loud ,the baby flap it wings so care free
Merry were they,sharing the song from each branches of tree
They cherish him warm and vow to bewith throughout livelong days
Then male took its flight on distance,seeking food on its ways
Evil eyes turn to it,a twing of bolt hits it head
Weigh his light wings on air,their his life slowly fade
Nothing remain ,in misty veil the bright cloud sailed away
With trembling limbs before rising sun,its death what he paid
That dewy morning,when meadows laugh with lively green cair
In silence closed his eyes full tears,mourning cries filled the air
Wind, take my soul away,
Up high into the sky,
Let me soar through clouds of dreams,
On golden wings I fly.
I'm carried by an eagle,
I float atop a hawk,
I swerve and dive the livelong day
Together with my flock.
And then I part into a tree
Above the highest peak,
I listen close for songs of spring
For it's a mate I seek.
I heard a slight, soft, "twitter-tweet"
When through the woods I flew.
I wished upon a shooting star,
Which led me straight to you.
...a sonnet for R.S. Thomas
A shaft of straw lodged loosely 'twixt his teeth,
a shifty glance from here to everywhere,
he toils the livelong day 'tween farm and heath,
a sullen youth with wild and shaggy hair.
The elements have pulverized his face,
a body lean and hungry from the plow,
in silence, with a slow and steady pace,
he struggles hard with sweat upon his brow.
Untutored still, yet he can read the sky,
the circle of a buzzard high and free,
more welcome to his sharp and seasoned eye
than any book or harsh calligraphy.
Today I had him pause to shake my hand,
a gesture he and I both understand.
New stars are born from those that die
as pearly revenants on high
to occupy the vaulted sky
stelliferous to earthly eye.
When Sun shall lose its healing glow
that shines upon our world below
as star which turns a further page
and passes sunny sequence stage
to nebula emission be
enriching the galactic sea,
will novel star a system make
where other beings can awake?
Stelliferous to earthly eye,
to occupy the vaulted sky
new stars are born from those that die
as pearly revenants on high.
Could birth and death keep rhythmic pace
while stars arise in cosmic space
embroidered into stellar lace
as state of grace moves place to place
for planets plenteously rife
to foster some domestic life
amidst the e’er mercurial
dynamic forms figurial?
To occupy the vaulted sky
stelliferous to earthly eye,
new stars are born from those that die
as pearly revenants on high.
Might we somehow dimensions share
with any sentient sorts out there
in sensibility and sense
within the myriad immense
whose evolution far outran
that of the species known as Man
for peaceful coexistent ways
throughout their livelong nights and days?
As pearly revenants on high
to occupy the vaulted sky
stelliferous to earthly eye,
new stars are born from those that die.
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
Elements of a pantoum are interspersed throughout the poem.
The tale of Sad Sack Sammy,
So the story goes.
A walking, talking, whiner,
Suffering his woes.
He never ever smiled,
Had nothing good to say.
He whimpered like a sissy,
All the livelong day.
His mood would always swing,
At home or when at school.
Sometimes melancholy,
Then complaining like a fool.
A lousy, luckless, loner,
Grew up without a friend.
No one could stand his presence,
'Cause he ranted till the end.
His fate would change at Fifty,
This local resident.
He chose a different path,
And ran for President.
Now everyone that knew him,
Was caught up on the blind side.
When all the votes were counted,
He won it by a landslide.
"How long is now?" - you
asked and I was aware that
there is no after
after this we have
already reached the end; the
end of our very
beginning. So, it
is on us now whether to
dare to step one step
further into the
livelong midst ere we happen
to lose the track of our time.