Long Afterwards Poems
Long Afterwards Poems. Below are the most popular long Afterwards by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Afterwards poems by poem length and keyword.
Stef, born in New Zealand’s fine country,
Moved to Canada aged 4 with her parents,
Where she had a boating accident aged 9,
Which amputated her right foot for her life.
She’s married to fellow Paralympian fast,
Canadian wheelchair racer Brent Lakatos,
And they both train at Loughborough Uni,
Where there’s a plethora of sports facilities.
Stef graduated from good Queens University,
In Biochemistry with honours and at times,
Is a professional speaker, a fashion model,
And lay preacher of the gospel and the way.
Before the accident Stephanie played rugby,
But afterwards she could not do this because,
Her prosthetic was at risk of detaching itself,
Mid-game and injuring near placed players.
So she went into track and field athletics,
Practised until she became sick and tired,
Which saw her make the 2008 Paralympics,
In Beijing when she won gold for the sprint.
She graced the podium often at small meets,
In Manchester and in London. Christchurch
Saw her flourish when she won two bronzes:
One for the long jump and one for the 200m.
In Swansea at the European games in 2014,
Stef took home for the T44 long jump a gold,
And in the London Paras which introduced,
So many to disability sport, she won a silver.
In Rio she won another silver, on the mark
For TeamGB. She hasn’t always represented,
Britain because when she was much younger,
She competed for Canada’s rocky territory.
There I was in a terrified state
my first day at High School
how would I cope, stammer and all
as kids can be really cruel
The headmaster had quite a reputation
6 feet 4, former boxer with wide shoulder
so first period of afternoon I got a call
to the headmaster's office feeling lot older!
But to my wonderful surprise, he's so nice
don't worry said he you're in no trouble
have you had speech therapy he asked?
I had at 7 years old but no use at any price
Well things have improved he said
I'll arrange transport to take you there
can your parents collect you afterwards?
sure can says I, hey this guy does care
Well the therapy didn't improve me
but it showed me the reality of my speech
now many years later still stammering
but believing my goal will still reach
( I've written this of my memory of my first day at high school those many years ago, quite funny looking back and am still following my goal!)
The reason I loved to write is that there were no rules. I was able to write whatever I wanted because it was just for my own enjoyment. But as I grew up, my love for writing slowly faded.
Maybe it's because I’m not as creative as I was in elementary school, or that all the rules of grammar are ruining it for me. All I know is that it’s not something that makes me happy anymore. When I write, I make it sound like someone is going to grade it afterwards, or that I am going to end up publishing it. All the grammar corrections and yellow underlines that fill my paper, telling me this is wrong, or that this must be changed.
The reason why I hated math is that it was only rules. There were right and wrong answers. Every single detail matters when solving a problem. In English, I can talk about an idea that some people might disagree with in my essay and still get an A. There are never any right or wrong opinions, unless it is actually wrong.
Writing can only express things so much; there are many things in life that you can’t describe in words, like feelings, for example. I’m only sixteen, yet I feel like I’ve been living for much longer.
I’m not claiming that I am as wise as a 70-year-old, or as lost as someone in their 20s, but I’d say I’ve seen things that make me understand life a little more.
I don't talk much, so I think all the time. People’s thoughts are what they can’t say out loud.
I know this because I do it every day. For all the times I wanted to say something, but couldn’t.
When my mom asks me why I am lying on the living room floor, all I wanted was for her to ask me if I was okay. When my dad raises his voice at my mom, I want to tell him that whenever he yells, I become the 6 year old that sat at the top of the staircase, waiting for my mom to come up and tell me everything was okay.
As each day goes by, I say less and less. It has become too tiring to even say words out of my mouth. I agree with everything, so I don't have to argue, so that I don’t have to explain anything.
I feel like I’m always hinting that I’m not okay, but no one notices, or at least they don't want to notice. I get upset at others for not understanding how I feel when I don’t ever open up to people. I feel selfish for wanting someone to care for me with everything going on in their own lives.
This all started when I lost my desire to write.
UCAN2 AUCAN2 I AM REMINDED OF THE DEAD MAN IN THE TRUNK OF A BROWN BENZ LEAVING POTOWATOMIE CASINO THIS THREATS COMES DIRECTLY FROM CROOKED COPS JUNK SICK TO FBI INFORMANTS TO REMIND THE FBI INFORMANT IF THEY RAT OUT A CORRUPT OFFICER THEY WILL BE FRAME THE THREAT COMES FROM MY WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH AND SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND ARLINGTON HEIGHTS INVESTIGATION INTO OFFICER WATER BARNETT CONTINUED INTO CITY LIGHTS SPORTS BAR AND GRILL AND BUMPIN AUDIO I REFUSED TO WORK KNOW THE RISK WERE GRAND SINCE SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND EXPOSED HER INFORMANTS TO GANG LEADERS SHE BEGAN WORKING WITH EL J OMAR SHORTLY AFTERWARDS EL J OMAR WAS FOUND DEAD EL J LAST SEEN LEAVING SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND VEHICLE FREQUENT HE PURNELL PLACE THAT HOUSE GANGSTER DISCIPLE YOU SEE SOONER OR LATER THAT FLANIGANS PARKING LOT PAULA SOON EXPOSED ME TO THE QUEEN PIN GANGSTER DISCIPLE AND THE PRISON SYSTEM OF CONVICTED FELONS LOOKING FOR MY BLOOD MY DEATH TO GET EARLY RELEASE I REALIZE THIS WHEN PURNELL WAS KILLED IN THE PARKING LOT OF STRETCH SPORTS BAR LICENSE PLATE AU2 AUDI 2 THE MEXICAN QUEEN PIN SEVERE REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND WAS NOW SLOPPY AND INFORMANTS STARTED DROPPING IN PARKING LOTS SECURITY WENT OUT THE WINDOW I KNEW IT DIDN'T MATTER WHEN SHE HAD ME SIGN INFORMANT PAPERS IN PARKING LOT AT FLANIGANS RATHER THE POINT RESTURANT OF LAKE BLUFF FLANNIGANS THE NORMANDY CITY LIGHTS TO STRETCH LOUNGE TO DENNYS DIDN'T MATTER YOU ARE EXPOSED HAVING MY IDENTITY EXPOSED TO THE MEXICAN QUEEN PIN AFTER STABBING 5 PERSONS AU2 UCAN2 LICENSE PLATES ARE SLAM BY VEHICLES WHEN THE OWNER COMES TO SEE THE COMMOTION THEY ARE KILL IN THAT OARKING LOT UCAN2 IS A DIRECT THREAT FROMBTHE JUNK SICK COPS BITTER WITH ME AFTER ALL THESE YEARS BREAKING IN MY HOME TAMPERING WITH MY HEART MEDICATION CAUSING CHEST PAINS THANK GOD THE FIRST RESPONDERS ARRIVED I WAS NEARLY DEATH LAST MONTH UCAN2 REALLY DECADES HAS PASSED CORRUPT COPS STILL SELLING DRUGS AUCAN2 BE FOUND DEAD IN THE BACK OF A BROWN BENZ IS THIS DUTY-FREE
GOD BLESS AMERICA
20th October 2020
Daily Covid-19 Virus Update
Status - High Alert
Lockdown
Tier 3
Maximum possible restrictions
We've listened and are following
the Science
And here what i hold aloft in my
hand are the most up to date
current statistics numbers and
figures report
And the facts or reason or the basis
we have taken or made our decision
upon
1 in 240 has contacted the virus
Or
239 do not have it whereas 1 does
And afterwards every member of
a live studio when asked responded
wow that's a lot
So 1 by definition or is a means of
defining what a lot is then 1 equates
to a lot
But then i thought to myself if
by way of means i choose a
different context to use or
do the maths without the use
of paranoia or sense of panic
I said if i had $240 and gave
just a one single $1
Which of us would you say had
would be defined or the definition
of a lot
You with your $1
Or
Me with my $239
So if or in what we are lead to
believe is to be taken on face
value that every single life or
death is a hell of a lot
Then this virus has achieved
over a very short period of time
what no one could before this
virus did exist
I am a poet
I sprinkle hearts
With verses, flowers
Rhymes and kisses
In front of this mute
Beauty
Which moves away
And that I ogle
Oh! Woman
Madam
God has opened up the Heaven
To meet and greet us
Two chalices of honey
Are near the oasis
You and I are going for a swim
In the middle of summer
And afterwards, on the beautiful pavement
We will go for a walk
What an evening of beauty
Of love, of peace
Of joy and gaiety
In front of the bay!
Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Je Suis Un Poète
Je suis un poète
J’arrose les cœurs
De vers, de fleurs
De rimes et de baisers
En face de cette beauté
Muette
Qui s’éloigne
Et que je lorgne
Oh ! Femme
Madame
Dieu a ouvert le ciel
Pour nous recevoir
Deux calices de miel
Sont près du réservoir
Toi et moi nous allons baigner
En pleine saison de l’été
Et après, sur le beau pavé
Nous irons nous promener
Quelle soirée de beauté
D’amour, de paix
De joie et de gaîté
En face de la baie !
Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.
Soy Un Poeta
Soy un poeta
Salpico corazones
De versos, de flores
De rimas y de besos
Frente a esta muda
Belleza
Que se aleja
Y que yo miro con los ojos
¡Oh! Mujer
Señora
Dios ha abierto el cielo
Para encontrarnos y saludarnos
Dos cálices de miel
Están cerca del oasis
Tú y yo vamos a nadar
En pleno verano
Y después, sobre la hermosa acera
Daremos un paseo
iQué tarde de belleza
De amor, de paz
De alegría y de júbilo
Frente a la bahía!
Copyright © Octubre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de numerosos poemarios.
We are old MacDonald’s great-grandchildren
who help him in his fields during weekends,
We gather chopped hays and feed his chicken,
then watch him works with his farmers and friends.
We love working in the fields together,
We ride ponies and horses…we’re cowgirls!
We greet his hardworking farmworkers who’re there
while they cut rice straws with their sharp sickles.
Our grandfather owns large hectares of land,
Ranging from the foot of the blue mountain
to the spot where we, three sisters stand;
Tour around freely! Ride in his land train!
Beyond grandpa’s rice fields are big orchards,
And behind are gardens with vegetables
where we’ll immensely enjoy afterwards;
Healthy foods will be on our long tables!
Our grandpa is so happy to have us,
He says, “ With triplets grandkids, life’s so nice!”
So, when we go back to school he gives cash,
buys new dress, pair of boots and hair bowties.
What's happened to modern day families
They once were a tight little group
The kids would visit Granny and Gramps
Someone would bring homemade soup
Folks arrived bearing goodies and sweets
And put all their stuff in the fridge
The kids would play their hide and seek games
While the old folks played Euchre or Bridge
Granny didn't mind that the house was askew
Afterwards we sat down for a chat
It sure looked like a big bomb had gone off
It was weeks before they located the cat
Today they email to say they can't make it
It's their time to scrub out the bath
And Susan broke a finger nail last night
She's sulking but I'm sure it won't last
Maybe in June we will find time to visit
We'll slot you into our journal
Between Tommie's first ever baseball game
And Susan's play, "Love Eternal"
©Jack Ellison 2012
Ice shrouds over the hunched houses
where blood and flesh huddle and wait.
An ice ravaged
face rears up from an invisible earth
its fangs blackened by a tooth-aching light,
more flesh piercing incisors
dagger down from the clamped
and sunken roofs.
What wreckage there is, is buried
hidden from sight, but it is not
a clean landscape. Not a landscape at all
but a telltale footprint,
a restructuring of destruction.
What was once seen as a town
is gone. Not forever (drama makes
actors of us all), but we talk now
in a past tense language of 'back then'
and not of any postcard view of tomorrow -
not yet.
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.