Long Accustomed Poems
Long Accustomed Poems. Below are the most popular long Accustomed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accustomed poems by poem length and keyword.
Her mother was the sole breadwinner, stood tall as a feminine symbol, laboring
to lift her family out of poverty, pay-check by pay-check. When she was a tiny girl, her mother pampered her in her carriage. Many years since and she's never forgotten how to emulate her mom's work ethic, and self-sacrifice, hoping to see her girls in marriage, just like her, without her bad luck of a lousy husband, who never paid child support. All hopeful souls among us leap straight to misfortune. I take no pleasure in informing you that she found herself coughing one day, and then the chill and the temperature and, before you know it, she was rushed to hospital, worried to death about her kids left with a neighbor. But tragedy struck before midnight only hours after she pleaded with the doctors, I am better need to go home and my children. She had forgotten to add that her home was served a notice to vacate by the landlord and for now her car had to do as the new apartment. For the thousands entrenched in suffering, most would shed tears but the affluent would not blink the lids. Her death reminded us class inequality we 're accustomed to is rape of humanity. Do not argue with the rich unless you want to steal their money, her mother had once told her.
The Sounds of Summer
I was trying to hear the sounds of Summer,
Which often comes with heat and dust like a hammer,
Suddenly I saw, lots of clouds hanging in the air,
They were covering the Sun, as if some mystery was there.
How amazing and mysterious are the summer clouds,
How beautifully the Sun is trying to peep out,
How lovely is the breeze, blowing all around me,
Intoxicating my mind, with its ravishing beauty.
How beautifully the birds are singing and chattering,
While flying in the air with their soul mates, touching the clouds,
How enchanting is the fragrance coming out from summer breeze,
How lovely is the bunch of yellow flowers, calling me there,
While hanging on the tree of Amaltash,* and embracing it completely,
Oh yellow Amaltash,
Why you bloom, so enchantingly in summer only.
How gently the Sunbeams have touched their smiling faces,
How softly the lotus is opening its petals,
And the Roses are spreading it charms in the air,
Should I remain here or should I go there?
After those alluring summer charms, which call me from here to there,
Or should I stand still to understand and to determine,
What is the mystery of life? Which fascinates me every where,
How really blessed is human life to enjoy such blessings,
Which we often miss in our life by just overlooking,
Since we are accustomed to hear, the usual sound of heat & dust only.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 14th May 2010
Written for Laura Mckenzie’s Sound of Summer Contest
* Amaltash. Common Name Amaltas
Scientific Name Cassia fistula (linn). In summer it has more
yellow flowers, every where on the tree and hardly any leaves.
For someone, quite naive, from a far-off village,
My first trip in Sep.1988 to the United States
Was the most memorable journey I ever undertook~
An experience etched deep on memory slates!
My life was simple, waking up to the call of roosters
Going to teach in a nearby college through a dusty road,
And coming back home to resume duty as a housewife.
Through accustomed grooves only, I always trod.
With apprehension and excitement, in equal measure,
We got ready for our first overseas trip.
Crossing oceans we have seen only on world maps,
Our flight to New York finally touched down a vast airstrip.
The first glimpse of America was an experience
Too exciting and memorable for my village eyes.
Neat roads stretched endless, skyscrapers rose high
Conversing with clouds and touching the skies.
New York stood in ritzy splendour and hoary grandeur,
A gargantuan pile of steel and granite.
It stayed an enigma on the banks of Hudson,
Lulling the waves to sleep in the evening garish light.
I watched the cities through the eyes of someone
Encountering an amazing world for the first time
During our stay, we visited many iconic landmarks
Like Disney World and the Statue of Liberty, scenes sublime.
Walking down the streets of Fifth Avenue,
Eerie sights scurried past- Male and female-
Of all climes and continents, all ethnic denominations,
All shapes, sizes and colours, in hurried steps sail
The sight of doors opening by themselves,
In shops and even in houses was a real wonder.
For the first time, I watched machines talk and robots walk.
On escalators, stepped on so careful, not to commit any blunder.
We made a trip to the famous Niagara Falls as well
From which mist rose like incense- What a wonder!
As the falls cascaded down in violent fury, singing and dancing,
We stood speechless before that endless roar of thunder.
We stayed through the month of October
And we watched leaves turning yellow and crimson
What medley of colours, we could see everywhere
Such ravishing scenes, our hearts did imprison.
Before the onset of winter, we returned.
Though visited my brother in US twice later,
The wonder of the first journey still remains green
In the quiet chambers of my memory, ever after.
We're held by the reins of politics,
The lies, the truths and the deception,
The misguided pathways and the hell ways,
The unknown and the hidden facts.
Is there someone else behind the mask?
Or there're too much complexities woven in the tasks?
The society is overburdened,
The people are dispirited.
Trust yourself first and expect the unexpected
should be the watchword,
Then mayhem will not be a readily drawn sword,
Then we’ll find a road to cross.
There’s confusion at the centre,
The books don’t seem to proffer solutions,
The people seem to be accustomed to their hard ways,
Redemption is miles away.
November 1, 2023.
Her eyes filled up the way they do when she is predicting madness
We try not to take her words literally, for she is theatrically over-the-top
Armageddon, she told us, the armies are gathering now for end of times
Who to tell first? The father who abandoned her at eight.
She scoffed, thinking how strange it was that she thought of him first.
He was maybe her least favorite person in the world.
She almost picked up the phone to call her mother
When she realized that she would be pooh-poohed and chastised.
Who to tell? She wailed in a lamenting way to her kitchen clock.
The clock was no help, but her journal was.
She wrote a little note “I wailed in a lamenting way”.
She could use that someday.
Her sister would be going to bed about this time; she worked nights.
What about strangers? It would be fun to alert strangers.
She put on her most colorful outfit and left her home.
Running from house to house, she screamed and yelled and shrieked.
“Armageddon is here! Armageddon is here! Save yourselves!”
The neighbors were accustomed to her;
They did not open their doors or look out. They knew who it was.
A few weeks ago, God spoke to me from the mouth of a Chihuahua.
By now, you may be saying, "Houston, we've got a problem".
But hold on. Like me, you might learn something from the
barking of a little dog, and the leaping of a Chihuahua.
The Chihuahua had grown accustomed to seeing me over the
course of a couple of years. She barks occasionally but
settles down when she recognizes me. But a few weeks ago,
I learned something about her behavior. My assistant and I
were up front cleaning a house for a client. When the dog's
master came up from the back rooms, she began barking viciously,
treating us like strangers. I had come to think that she really
cared about me; but that day she broke my Chihuahua loving heart.
I didn't speak Chihuahua, but this time I truly learned the language.
She was barking at me but speaking to her master. She was saying,
"Don't worry about a thing. I'm doing my job. I've got these people,
whoever they are, under my full control. Master, I don't care about
them; I only care about pleasing you and letting you know I'm at your service".
As I lay in bed this morning, God spoke to my spirit and interpreted Chihuahua to me in my English language. I sensed that God was saying
to me that, like the dog seeks only to please her master, even at the
expense of alienating those with whom she is acquainted and familiar;
so must I seek to please only Him, whatever the cost.
Written030708.Posted to PS091422
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
Where are the universal themes,
the parables, the parallels that might
be drawn from humdrum, quotidian
happenstance? We languish in these ruts
we live in and bear our days with resignation
(some with equanimity) -- justifying
our inaction, our failures to break free,
with feeble lame excuses -- never a real cause:
which is, succinctly, our timorous laziness.
A broadening of perspective, a striving toward the epic,
the grandiose -- with, perhaps, the universality of
civilized urbanity, or of rural natural simplicity or even
stark objectivity -- may these be what we need?
Here's the stale conclusion: be daring,
brave enough to become accustomed
to a singular (perhaps lone) existence.
When you must, be fair and listen but,
when you should, be insistently unbending
to the pressures and opinions of your peers.
And use your mind, your unique voice, and
proclaim incessantly your messages,
even to those who turn to you
their stubbornly deaf ears.
WINNING OVER WINTER
The breeze blew your way one chilly Winter day,
And a black dove flew over the mount’ of pain-
I had so much more love to give, so much to say,
And now only memories of heartache remain.
How much more anguish can one heart sustain?
Oh, since the breeze blew you away...
one chilly Winter day.
The cold day I spied you had cancer I cried,
And a dark mist did cover the fount' of tears-
You had so much more life to live, so much to guide,
And now only your thoughts have lasted through the years.
How much more sorrow can dwell in my spheres?
Oh, since the coldest day I spied...
you had cancer I cried.
I never knew trust until my angel blew that gust,
I had been enshrouded in the darkness of coldest grief-
Now I know that your death was a must,
And transforming my distress to peace, I've found new belief.
I'm so thankful to my God who gives true relief!
Oh, I never knew trust...
until my angel blew that gust.
I never knew faith until I saw my angel’s face,
I had been accustomed to a life of woe and dying-
Now I know that your life lives in grace,
And becoming a woman of belief, I’ve been trying.
I’m so grateful on my hope I’ve been relying!
Oh, I never knew faith...
until I saw my angel’s face.
14th July, 2017
Written with my poetry partner, Laura Loo
For James Edward Lee Sr.'s "Do-it(Duets)" contest
It must be 8 years plus now
Without a lover
The touch of another
And I am 44 years of age
Do you think that is strange?
Because I know others do
I know people question
And given the circumstances so would I
What is wrong with him
Is he Arthur or is he Mather
But the simple truth is
I have become so good
At being on my own
My lust has gone
For putting upon
My happiness unto another
If I have made it thus far
And I set the bar above my station
Then what the hell
Is the point of letting go
Of what I am accustomed
What I have learned to miss
Yes I do miss
But I can live with
An empty bed
And the loneliness in my head
And my heart of heart's
That other's seem to can't
I am not blunt or dead inside
And the though of arriving home alone
Sows ever increasing regret
But I still haven't met
The 1 to break the cycle
And I don't think I ever will
And there is no pill
No epiphany
No solution
No resolution
But thankfully
I can rely on the fact
It doesn't consume my time
My shoulders are broad
And I can ill afford
To fall victim of love
Although everyone wants me 2
And so do i
But if it has not happened yet
Then so be it
It's not the end of the world
It is what it is