Long 61 Poems
Long 61 Poems. Below are the most popular long 61 by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 61 poems by poem length and keyword.
I wrote this about the recent passing of my mother, Annette. She was a rock, kind and
loving, my confidant and best friend - a Godly woman. I miss her already, deeply.
She died on January 24th, 2009 at 10:30 p.m. due to complications of a UTI that went
septic through her system, and a blood clot that formed in her foot. She suffered and
painfully fought for three weeks... she was facing multiple amputations of all her limbs
and multiple organ failure. She was only 61.
My heart was imprinted greatly with her love and I am thankful for her. She made me so
much of who I am today.
Letting Go
by Amy Swanson
Letting go
of things that I
once held dear, believed in
My soul
stripped bare
in agony, for all the world to see
Heart beats
yet
it feels so cold inside
Silence
sits like stone
in my spirit.
Life has led us
on this
journey...
but one lonely road
sought us out with furious speed;
A road that was not wanted or desired.
How can you
be so accepting?
How can you
not be angry, as I am?
How can you
... still believe?
...and how will I
ever again believe...?
I feel as though life took a wrong turn...
or someone didn't write the script correctly...
it wasn't supposed to be this way.
I weep
great sobbing tears
that threaten to rip out my very essence
The pain so sharp
like knives of ice
The judgment harsh
unfair and undeserved
Sternly....
mercilessly...
delivered.
They say that there is peace in death
but there was none
only cruel suffering
that should not have been allowed;
torment inflicted
poor bruised body
until
so still you lay...
life was no more.
I ask, "What meaning can there be?"
I strain to hear the answer
but there is no response...
only unwavering silence.
A part of me will never be the same.
Existence I now view with different eyes.
In an old vineyard
When Jesus was just a lamb
His coat eight years old
Working with the chaste Joseph
His father and guide
As the beloved Mary
Kneeled and prayed to God
In their small and humble home
A visitor came
Golden and shining brightly
Like beams of sunlight
Shooting through the home’s window
Shooting from heaven
Shooting down from the clear heights
Mary beheld him
Thinking he was her young son
Putting off his coat
With gentleness the child said
“Where is dear Jesus
My dear brother and brave twin
I want to meet him”
Mary never responded
In fearful blindness
Thinking he was a phantom
From the lightless depths
Rather than light from the heights
She seized his right arm
And tied his arm to the foot
Of the worn, torn bed
Not wishing to scare her more
He remained at peace
Not saying a single word
During this event
Jesus held an empty branch
Observing the wood
As if it were a mirror
Soon he heard Mary
Jabbering in confusion
With tears raining down
In this dim storm of wailing
Jesus heard the words
Breaking through the whirling clouds
“A phantom has come
Dressed in golden apparel
Dressed in bright lightning
Saying “Where is dear Jesus
My twin and brother
I desire to see him”
Joseph please help me”
Only Jesus saw the light
And heard the thunder
For he had wise eyes to see
And had ears to hear
He proclaimed with holy strength
“Mother, where is he
So that I may see the light
Or should I wait here
Waiting for the bright sunlight
To break through this storm”
Jesus said these words in joy
Joseph was startled
Mary wiped away her tears
They entered the house
And found the spirit at peace
Still bound to the bed
Both the parents looked at him
Then looked at Jesus
And found them to be the same
Mary walked further
And unloosed the child angel
He bowed to Mary
He and Jesus said no words
For they were brothers
They hugged with their gentle arms
Gave a holy kiss
The angel child disappeared
For he and Jesus
Became one white pearl of light
Thus the empty branch
Bloomed with delicious almonds
Bloomed with holy life
Thus this town was sanctified
Crowned with golden, shining grace
Poem based on the account from the ancient apocryphal book The Pistis Sophia, Chapter 61.
Cabbie with A Heart
This latest news about a selfless taxi driver…
The kindness out of his heart is a source for wonder ….
In the daily business of ferrying his charges for a fee…
He works long hours , morning till dusk before going off free ….
As a family man like any other, he provides for his family with his daily takings..…
Time is ever precious, more ferrying means better daily earnings…
Just as any other hard working Malaysian, he always there to give service…
Doing his utmost best each day in providing a transportation service…
For a working man such as he, where time and his service means money…
It surprises to know this taxi driver willingly sacrifices his time and money….
All for an aged yet loving couple, who are yet to be classified as senior citizens..
Who are only in their late forties and yet the woman has chronic kidney disease…
This stricken woman requires a thrice-a-week treatment at the dialysis center….
The fare is an exorbitant RM30 to pay even if the center is but a short drive away
It is always a trying time to hail for a taxi willing to take them to the center..
For the word is out that they are unable to pay the full fare, even not at all..
One fine day, as they scoured in vain for a taxi to take them to the center..…
Up came Mr Jong, an elderly and sprightly taximan, willing to ferry them over…
The kind hearted soul in him accepts only RM20 for his service, if possible..
He’s such a good man, giving discounted rides and payments in installments..
Taxi driver Jong, 61 years old, thinks he is doing something simple…
Out of the goodness in his heart, he is now on their call three times-a-week…
It matters not, Jong wisely observes, I am Chinese and they are Malays in need…
God willing, I will stay healthy and I trust them to pay me when they able indeed..
So fellow Malaysians, do marvel at this display of humanity on the streets…
There are countless other good deeds being played out that are not called to heed…
But this episode runs contrary to the prejudices and the mistrust on racial lines..
It calls for brotherhood love, as the same colored blood runs common beneath our skins..
http://www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2015/12/16/a-kind-and-caring-taxi-driver-cabbie-drives-couple-to-dialysis-centre-without-expecting-payment/
remember when recent-psycho-in-the
brief-spotlight, Texas Gov. Ricky Perry,
smiled at the camera in the debate o’
repuglicans & couldn’t remember the
3rd branch of government that he told
the nation watching that he would eliminate
once he became president?
remember that this ******* had nothing to
say but “oops,” after admitting to wanting to
get rid of Education & Commerce---because
he couldn’t think of another valuable thing
to get rid of & Ron Paul sarcastically offered
up, “the EPA?”---
this same man also told the nation that he
had no regrets, that he “never struggled to
sleep at night” with the thought that any of the
over 200 more people executed in his
state (than the others in the US)
had been innocent---
after all, he is a proud representative of the
cowboy state that had to be forced by 2,000
federal troops to finally free their slaves in
1865 & one might not be surprised to find
him wearing a “don’t mess with Texas”
belt buckle, when he parts his suit coat.
a few nights ago, another man,
Mr. Marvin Wilson, age 54, whose IQ of
61 (9 points below Texas’ own cut off of 70
which determines one is mentally retarded) did
not even make a bit of difference to Mr. Perry &
the bloodthirsty behind him, was executed
without forensic proof or eyewitness accounts of
the murder of which he was convicted of in
1992---
Marvin was a grown man who sucked his thumb,
bearing many intellectual inabilities, from “telling
the difference between right and left” to “handling
money,”
still, disregarding Atkins v. Virginia (2002),
in which the Supreme Court posited that people
with mental disabilities rendering them incapable of
understanding their own actions, should not be
executed,
TEXAS DID IT ANYWAY.
one wonders if conclusive DNA evidence was
discovered years from now, exonerating him
from the crime of which he was convicted,
beyond the shadow of a doubt,
would Mr. Ricky & all the repugs still sleep
soundly?---
need we even take a vote?
7 are already dead in 2012 Texas, campers:
3 African-American men,
3 Hispanic men &
one white guy…
AND MORE ARE SCHEDULED
FOR THE REMAINING MONTHS OF
2012,
SO GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!!!
COME ON DOWN TO TEXAS,
BRING YER’ WIFE, BRING YER’
RUGRATS & PULL UP THE BACK OF
A TRUCK.
“gawd” bless this “democratic”
&
“civilized”
country of ours.
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
about turnin 60 today around noon
"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday
It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale
The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
is still younger than all those 61—to real old
In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me
So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more
Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall
The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense
And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done
When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song
I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had
Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be
But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind
The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me
And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
cinch his riggin real tight”
Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard
And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
“Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”
For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark
While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my eye,
and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways from g’bye
(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993
WHEN THE WInD BLEW THROUGH THE HOLLOW REEDS
written by: Pannus Sphinx
native to regions of habitual areas the Brya ebenus tree is
best suited for flutes, english flutes one would say
the bassoon is created from this type of tree
planks from the boards of the black maple tree
can also be used with resin to produce
beautiful instruments and marvelous creations
along with the sugar maple these trees are fashioned to
impress sound and longevity were it the best choose
to craft a musician's dream instrument
density and hardness the black locust is a suitable alternative
to the traditional rosewood the has been historical used
to make instrument bows and xylophone bars
Due to the lackof finacail security the 61 members of the group were visiblly sad. They thought they could afford 40 bassoons from there tresuery: but were only actaully able to afford 27 due to the outragous cost of these custom made tresures. They were able to smile when the artisain send bows and xlophones peices free for the amount the Orcastra had purchased. They referred to the instruments as clownish flutes.The deep tones were nearing exotic, giving the directer of the event cause to limit the amount of peoplke able to attend the Board meeting due to cost. Catered the affair over-ran the budgeted allocations from the tresury. This made the couples in the Orchastra smile: but those who wanted to vacate along with there musical mates had to pay the addition cost due to the budgeted restictions. Leaving sound soured by the whole affair.
The performance was expected to be ledgendary to the benifet of the audeince. Velvety smooth and soothing. Purple and creamed colors were the chose of colors for the event. Catered by a world famous chef. the audeince only knew the the results of practice: but back stage professionals shined doing what they did best!
The shelac still smelled fuming the backstage area.
This is a continuation of an explanation I started at the end of The Liars Club post. So, to wrap this up I guess. The two complaints against the lawyer and the psychiatrist were promptly dismissed. BUT, the complaint against the therapist with the board of social workers in Minnesota is still pending. :/ Yeah, I know. Long time with no conclusion. I have pretty much given up on that. But they still send me a notice from time to time telling me that my case is still to be considered and that these things take time. Yeah? Whateva. :) So, I hope you can see the reality of all of this because it is my reputation on the line. I'm going to ask you. Have none of you ever had this kind of hurtful thought enter your mind in passing? If you say you haven't, then I truly have to wonder if you're being honest with yourself. Yes, that's an awful thought. But, that's the point people. It was just a thought. I hope you can see me in the light in which I tried to convey this episode in my life. I had to go in front of a board of directors at one of the temporary hospitals they put me in after the 2 month stay at the mental health unit. And tell my story about the intention vs just a thought before they would let me go. And that is why they let me go and they also wrote a memo in my file that they concurred with me about the situation. Whew! I hope if you've read this you can see a bit of my side. I'm sure there will be some who just don't give much credence to my side and will defend her reasoning for doing what she did. But she did more damage than she did good. Except for the fact that she probably saved my life. But then she screwed it up pretty good too. I can only imagine all the people my old girl friend has told about this. As she is quite social, and as you know, people love a good piece of gossip. Thanks for reading if you still are. This was actually pretty cathartic for me. Love Leslie.
Note: Dear reader, I wrote the Chrysalis to announce that I am 61 yr's old and I am transitioning Male to Female. Does this matter in this past occurrence. Only in so much as I was presenting and was known as Robert then, not Leslie. I'm still in need of changing my name legally. <3
Prophets are the messengers of Allah who came from time to time to guide mankind to the way of Allah, the path of righteousness. Amongst the many who came as guides and warners to the people, Prophet Noah (Alaihisalam) [1] was one of them. He lived long before the time of our Holy Prophet Muhammad (Salallahu alaihi wasalam), the last of the prophets. [2]
God appointed Noah as the prophet for his people, so as to guide them to the right path and turn them away from their evil ways. The Holy Qur’an tells us the story of Prophet Noah and his people in a number of suras [3], namely sura 57 (Nuh), sura 11 (Hud), and sura 23 (al-Mu’minun), and many ayats [4] therein. It tells us of the strong faith which the Prophet had in Almighty God and about the final destruction of those who ignored the Divine Message.
Commanding Prophet Noah to warn his people, God said:
“Warn your people before there comes upon them a grievous penalty.” – Holy Qur’an, 57:61
Obeying the command of God, Prophet Noah went to his people and said:
“I have come to you with a clear warning that you worship none but God. Verily I fear for you the penalty of a grievous day.” — Holy Qur’an, 11:25-26
The chiefs fearing they would lose their power and authority over the people they ruled, did not approve of what Prophet Noah was preaching and sought to detract the people from the True Path. They argued with the Prophet saying:
“We see nothing special in you except as a man like ourselves. Nor do we see any who have followed you but those who are the meanest amongst us and immature in judgment. Nor do we see in you any excellence over us; in fact we think you are a liar.” — Holy Qur’an, 11:27
Prophet Noah was not perturbed by their derogatory remarks and continued his divine mission purposefully. He called upon his people in a very polite and loving manner to mend their ways. He also warned them of the grievous consequences which would follow if they continued to worship the false gods and lead an immoral life. Assuring them that he was not seeking any wealth or power or favours from them, he said:
“And O my people! I ask you for no wealth in return: my reward is from none but God.” — Holy Qur’an, 11:29
Form:
Some numbers tumble down the hallowed halls of baseball’s past -
a sport of numbers after all, these memories hold fast.
Stan Musial wore #6, Lou Gehrig, #4;
the “luckiest man in all the earth”, great player AND much more.
McCovey, Reggie – 44, Hank Aaron wore it too.
Remember those World Series gems? Koufax wore 32.
My favorite: “Say Hey” Willie Mays wore #24;
he’s famous for “The Catch” and yes, that childlike smile he wore.
Ted Williams: .406 - .394 for Tony Gwynn,
if ’94 had known no strike, who knows what might have been?
5,714 K’s Ryan amassed,
plus Nolan’s 7 no-hitters: neither will be surpassed.
“Records are made to be broken”, but THIS one never shall:
2,632 consecutive games for Cal.
1947 – Jackie Robinson’s big year,
He broke the color barrier and had a great career.
Roger Maris – 61* in ’61, but wait…
it seems some other cheaters passed him up in ’98.
I don’t consider some worthy to mention by their name –
Their steroids sadly stained the reputation of the game.
Some other numbers come to mind: Babe Ruth’s 714
Hack Wilson’s RBI’s – 191, obscene!
There’s Rickey Henderson’s 130 steals, divine!
Dimaggio’s streak of 56; Hershiser’s 59.
But if a sacred record falls, we oughtn’t be perplexed,
The game’s baton is passed – one generation to the next.
Now Aaron Judge wears 99 – I think he wears it well,
Bryce Harper’s #3 will shine, as far as I can tell.
Young Bellinger wears 35, Mike Trout sports 27,
And Albert Pujols, #5 – their swings, pure baseball heaven.
Today is baseball’s Opening Day, a LONG-awaited season.
What new numbers might come in play - aligning rhyme with reason?
The stands will all be empty though, as COVID keeps us home –
The closest I could come to being there is write this poem.
These numbers represent some well-loved gamers known for winning;
Even the Good Book recognizes them: “In the Big Inning”!
* - Maris passed Babe Ruth’s record of 60 HRs in a season, but it was a longer season, so the commissioner issued an edict that an asterisk be placed in the record books to annotate a ‘tainted’ new record. Billy Crystal made a brilliant movie about that, calling it 61*
"conjoined with the whole
we play our life role
exuding a scent
granting love consent"
We burble and bubble likes ripples in a swift current.
It's our role in life, but not everything can we control.
We scowl and frown, howl and drown in sorrow
like wolves baying on full moon nights.
When fright fills us, lips quiver, praying to the life giver
for one more year, one more month, another day.
Our world darkens to gray as we try to get away
from the enemy ~ fear ~ from which we beg deliverance.
Another moment of breathing, of loving is what we desire,
but to a leaf, it's the length of its entire existence.
As a bud, a sprig of green, each one begins to grow.
Does it know how little time it has before its demise?
Is there the slightest significance given
to hands of a clock when a leaf is oblivious to time.
Spring is the birthing season and like us in youth,
young at heart, but quickly its skin ages
supple becomes wrinkled, opaque fades to translucent.
The way of the leaf as autumn encroaches
is to change color, day by day as Fall approaches.
From green to crimson, russet and gold
while in grief, its story is being told.
Our dark tresses lighten to gray, but
peace can be found in the way of the leaf
across a sea of color, on the ground they've fallen...
tumbling from dawn to dusk in autumnal winds.
Nature gives its consent for leaves to fall
as hearts give us the direction to find love we seek.
Life can have the sweet scent of a flower,
but how long will it last for the rose or for us?
There's nothing more the leaves or we can do
but prepare to be whisked away, withered
from the limb of its tree or for us from those we love.
Our roots are shallow, but to the ground returned.
Mortality feeds on grief.
It is the way of the leaf ~ their belief is that life must end.
There's nothing that will amend life's predacious call,
but if we could we'd uncork a Dom Perignon '61.
What will be in my heart when it beats for the last time?
Who will be in my thoughts when I take my last breath?
I'll not end this line with the rhyming word... not even in a whisper.