Long Another Poems
Long Another Poems. Below are the most popular long Another by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Another poems by poem length and keyword.
Difference
So many people, so many lives,
Who lives in the north, or south
Others are in the east and west
Many people live in a rich country
Others in poor lands of the Earth
Of course, some are not here nor
there
In every poor country, there is the wealth
in every rich country, there is the destitution
Good existence and poorness – opposites
Social difference, hm, this is a big mistake
Civilization, civilization? Hmm. Is it a reality
Yes, this a true phenomenon, but not the
… civilization
Civilization can not exist without a good heart
No, never. Just look around in the world. See?
Here is a homeless, there are hungry children
So obviously the difference; is infuriating; disgusting
So many people are suffering – there are no bits of help
Help? Just for money, for a lot, this is my experience
Sometimes I am walking on the streets, and just watching
Watching, the shop windows, the restaurants – this is west
West, I came from East Central Europe, which is also rich
People, do not even think about their poor fellows on Earth?
Why? Egoism? Insensitivity? Selfishness?; Is it come from?
From where? There is no answer, but have it, Somewhere
Somewhere else, in the soul. Hmm. Here is the answer; I mean
No composure, fear of loss, money-loving lifestyle; and rivalry
But these are not all. Not. But the rest will be another poem.
It's been a long time since I put how I feel
about you in a poetic aspect, so I'm here to
tell you once more that I love you...hashtag that. We been threw the worst but still we find a way to make it better, but that's what true love is. Anything that's hard to obtain will be worth whatever you endure so maybe that's why threw all the bad we are still together because we love each other more than the thought of separating, patience with one another is something we always need to keep, we share a bond from the looks of it can't be broken tho it might bend, you've seem me go threw and understand changes not many women would have so that right there is evidence we have a deeper connection than best friends. At times where I didn't know where I was going you knew where I been. At times I was having a hard time understanding you we stayed up late arguing trying to get it right, and even tho it was frustrating we were at peace when we went to bed and held each other tight. This is life, someone who believes you're worth enduring the good and the bad with no matter the case, and that woman is you well worth the wait and anticipation...
Even during the least happy times in our lives
It is never so unhappy that we should ever lose hope
Whoever said, “Tomorrow is another day”
Had the secret to a happy life
Another is, “Don't sweat the small stuff”
So simple yet so obvious, it make a whole lot of sense
I don't have any secrets or special potions that I take
But after living for almost 8 decades, there are certain things
That make a whole lot of sense and a lot that don't
It's knowing which is which and choosing
The ones that your inner voice tells you
To follow, it makes a hell of lot of sense!
They say with age comes wisdom which is true to a degree
But at any age, it's your inner voice
That should always help you make the right choices
© Jack Ellison 2015
The first poem I posted on Soup. One of the first 200 poems I deleted. I found a rough copy in an old scribble book.
Hardware Blues.
My dad he went down fighting, to keep his local hardware store
But the big boys took his customers and the bank said “Shut the door”.
He had sales and cut-price specials and bargains galore,
He thought and thought of ways that he could do more.
He opened the store all day and half the night to suffice
But Bunnings told their customers “We will cut his price”
Well its sad to say but working in his store has been no fun for me.
I will be glad to look for work elsewhere and glad to say I’m free.
I am quite convinced that in a hardware store there is no place
For a genteel and rather shy, member of the female race.
Men would come in asking for objects that I found quite obscene,
For example I was asked “Where would a bloke find a ball pein?”
Another walked up to me and gave me quite a shock
As he informed me that he desperately needed a plumber’s cock.
Yet another quite nice gentleman assumed that I knew
On what shelf he would find a tool to drive a screw.
I had to inform one man that he needed a pet shop for his pet
When he told me it was a Rover jumper that he needed to get
A man came in one day who had quite a stammer
I was sure I heard him wrong when he asked for a Bi hex spanner
One man became quite forceful and nearly made me sob
When he insisted that I must know where was a plumb rule and Bob !
Requests for a Tongue and groove, Pump plier, a Mortar pan and a Fitting tool
Put me in a quandary and made me feel quite the fool
Once a lady was in the store. I was pleased until she asked for a toilet brush
I admit that even asking for such a simple item as this had made me blush
A guy that barked out gruffly “Spirit Level !” brought me to my lowest point.
MY spirit was at its lowest ebb and I am glad I no longer work in this joint.
In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple,
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies,
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!
The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year...
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!
God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!
Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!
Sea Lions are funny creatures
I think they are mammals
They have flippers for feet
Not humps like lots of camels
Wouldn't it be funny
A funny sort of weird
If a walrus had a football
And a bunny had a beard
It gets even crazier
The more I start to think
If a monkey smelt like a skunk
And a skunk looked like a skink
The Zebra gave his stripes away
Sold them to a horse
If you looked for that Zebra today
You'd find him racing around a course
I think all the animals
In forests or zoos
Should stay exactly as they are
Not be silly and try to choose
Another animal's personality
Or indeed their looks
It would cause confusion
To authors who write books
Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.
Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining.
Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason.
O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play;
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!
Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool,
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop.
Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I think and write about them often…
but how would I define my family?
Are we a novel that adds a new chapter everyday…
or an endless ever-changing symphony?
As I’ve observed my family for 70 years…
enduring our losses….cherishing our growth…
I imagine the answer to what is my family…
is a little bit of both.
Each day my family pens another page of our story
an adventure, to us, divine…
It might be filled with laughter, tears, joy or sorrow…
as our characters intertwine.
Each day my family adds another sheet of music
some new lyrics or a melody…
that, in spite of our varied notes and styles
creates its own harmony.
Yes, each day I am blessed to be a member of this family
to read another page or listen to our ever-changing melody.
To be part of a family that to this day is magically transcending….
our story…never finished….
our music…never ending.
I am one whom holds no life.
A picture of unending strife.
Take the drink, not the knife.
And think of better things.
They cannot see me in this way.
Cannot know the pain to stay.
All the words I cannot say.
So I will have to change.
I will be another me.
Someone who won’t have to flee.
From a sick reality.
Change and then play out the scene.
She will have a better fate.
Breathe the air, not suffocate.
She’ll sing while I medicate.
And be the better one for them.
So bring her to the silver screen.
Bask her out and in between.
Know her pure and see her clean.
As the truth hides and rots away.
4/24/21
Forgiveness,
like trust
and the salvation of heroes
slowly getting back up,
Forgiveness,
of Other
and others
and self,
Forgiveness,
like trust,
and resurrected freedom,
is not instant,
like a package of oatmeal
or grits,
because growing
and regrowing trust
is a process,
like raising flowers,
blossoming in their
and our own
best time for resilient
appreciation,
regeneration,
restoring beauty
and peace
Forgiveness,
like salvation of bruised souls,
isn't all or nothing,
except in those climatic moments
of anger,
when it is nothing,
and except in those climatic moments
of joy,
when it is all
When we are fully engaged
in trusting this place
investing this time
within win/win EarthTribe
mundane sacramental life
Just right
for getting back up
What's left
for giving Other
yet another chance
to not screw us up.