Long August 6 Poems
Long August 6 Poems. Below are the most popular long August 6 by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long August 6 poems by poem length and keyword.
If Only Love
If only love were in our hearts!
And each person was indeed our sister or brother.
Not judged by how little or much they
have, that would be a calming salve.
If only love were in our hearts,
We would realize finally and for once,
That truly we are not colors of crayons
In a cardboard box.
But, by a Creator,of all shades made.
Like flowers near a spring, in a sunny glade.
If only love were in our hearts!
Gratefulness and sharing would rule each and every life.
Not destruction of any living sister or brother.
For we only get to be alive once, there is no other.
If only love were in our hearts!
We'd think about thee, not always me.
We wouldn't be in a such hurry to be number one.
What have we accomplished after all our coveted
trophies are won?
If only love were in our hearts!
As poets with compassion, we would comment far more.
Not read and run,praising only just winners,
And by-passing far humbler ones as weak poem quillers.
Ah...if only love were in our hearts!
August 6, 2020
9am PST
Summer breeze whispers God’s great love
Along His fatherly, kind stare
Assuring mighty mercy’s care
Reaching, drawing nigh from above!
Refrain:
Summer breeze whispers God’s blessings*
Blowing warmth of His compassion
Pouring grand supplies’ provision
Melting heart’s coldness-oppressings!
Summer breeze whispers God’s presence
Caressing with gracious guidance
For faith-fueled wise performance
Midst cheerful day’s iridescence!
Summer breeze whispers God’s sweet peace
Brushing away sorrow’s turmoil
Quieting hurting qualms that spoil
Vanquishing soul’s grumblings to cease!
Refrain:
Summer breeze whispers God’s blessings
Blowing warmth of His compassion
Pouring grand supplies’ provision
Melting heart’s coldness-oppressings!
*Deuteronomy 28:2 And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God.
August 6, 2018
4th, Summer Breeze Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton; judged on 8/12/2018.
Charcoal clouds melt in the scorched ashen sky,
summer drizzle descends floating on air waves.
The seeping spectrum of the setting sun
sparkles on the slanting splash of the rain drops,
drenching my singed auburn meadow.
From the moistened crack of the dry soil
sprouts a sapling after waiting a long while,
spreads a few tender emerald leaves,
cradling a cute bud glistened by the touch of rain,
pink petals are unfurled draped in twilight tinge.
The leaning leaves dance with the rain drops,
in the sunset glint the pearls glow on flower.
In my rain-soaked shimmering pasture I see
in the patina of rose the sheen of your smile,
radiant with the reflection of rainbow hues.
August 6, 2021
Contest : Imagism
Sponsor : Emile Pinet
Midst happenings’ adventures
Beyond happiness-overtures
My soul, wrapped with joyousness*
Exalts God’s redemption’s preciousness.
Against sin-guilt tortures
Surpassing sorrow’s despair gestures
My spirit, gripped by Christ’s forgiveness
Worships Him with grateful blissfulness.
Toward refreshing green pastures
Guarded from unbelief junctures
My faith, resting in the Lord’s trustworthiness
Increases to minister through His graciousness.
*Psalm 43:4 Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy: yea, upon the harp will I praise thee, O God my God.
August 6, 2019
Hiroshima – seventy six years since August 6th, 1945
Once again, I take momentary pause
to contemplate horrific event
regarding unleashing atomic warfare
activating nuclear brinkmanship,
hence time to trot out a poem
written initially some years ago
courtesy yours truly.
Robert Oppenheimer manned
"The Manhattan Project",
a top secret World War II mission
which constituted "Little Boy" codename
for a uranium gun-type
atomic bomb dropped at 0815
exploding 580 metres above civilians
with 15 kiloton blast yield
reduced 400 year old city to dust
Colonel Paul Tibbets,
the pilot/ bombardier
of the Enola Gay,
(the Boeing B-29 Superfortress
unleashing nuclear warfare
seventy six years ago today)
gives cause for this baby boomer to revisit
mentally, the annihilation,
extermination, incineration
the first of two storied Japanese enclaves
realizes how trifling my current bout
with mania paranoia, pneumonia
(from northern exposure)
contrasted with sinister
thermonuclear reaction
malevolent evil tower ushering
thermonuclear age epitomizing
coup de nada so graceful
means maximum military mutilation
though unwell, this inflammation poised
to be cured unlike subsequent generations of victims
who survived atrocious, egregious, hellacious,
judicious slaughter can only poorly be described
by this mortal with curable bacterial/viral infection
aghast at such wanton killing, more-so
via weapons of mass destruction
more devastatingly grisly
than those "experimental" bombs
loosed upon the innocent population,
whereby 75,000 people killed or fatally injured
with 65% of casualties nine years of age and younger
whence offspring of survivors
evincing excess genetic anomalies
with fiery windy surface (think towering infernos)
temperatures topping 4,000°C
upon terrain hallowed by ghastly
horrible deathly dominance
amidst shadow of sinister mushroom cloud
wickedly, ominously, and eerily looming.
The sweat beads sparkle on her fair forehead
She is selling fish in her black sari
A little money for her daily bread
In the black slum she lives in a shanty
While she cleans and slices into pieces
Sweat drops shine like pearls of toil on her cheek
All blinds the windows in joy unleashes
To feel the guitar in its raw music
The knife suddenly grazes her finger
Drops of blood blending with that of fishes
She laughs and sucks the cut skin, we linger
Until her dressing job she finishes
Humming a tune I returned home unclogged
Three red roses in my room get unlocked
August 6, 2017
If the base of the racing mind is unsteady
unanchored in the sliding dunes of the desert
in the corrosive surge of sand storm speedy
toward the sordid end untamed instincts dart.
The unbridled mind runs like a wild horse
breaking the shackles of the brittle sanity
reaches the goal making track by brute force
the basic instincts turn to base and vile entity.
The savage horse you rode to encircle me
threw me helpless in the vortex of squalls
I struggled long in vain to set myself free
became a mute victim of your feral impulse.
In the pace of desert storm you galloped away
breaking my fragile life into a heap of wreck
trying to rise again from the dust of dismay
I see the drifting dreams even while awake.
August 6, 2018
Hospitable church asks for charitable contributions. Helpful children stock empty backpacks to overflowing. Humanitarian convoy of people and food meet needs.
Hungry children's stomachs are filled by a weekend backpack.
peanut butter
crackers
mac and cheese
fruit cocktail
chicken noodle soup
corn, peas, or beans
cereal, oatmeal packets
SpaghettiOs’s
Little Debbie snacks
applesauce
August 6, 2019
contest: The Marmite Poem hosted by Natasha L Scragg
Happy National Friendship Day - August 6th, 2023
The idea of Friendship Day originated
in the United States in 1919,
proposed by Joyce Hall,
the founder of Hallmark cards.
It gained official recognition
when the U.S. Congress
proclaimed the first Sunday
of August as National Friendship Day in 1935.
Unlike this papa akin
to being racked, raided,
and raked with hot coals
during his adolescence devoid of
a social network and academic goals
if possible to magnify
psyche, one would see
mostly a torn (Turin) shred of holes.
Thy youngest (of deux) daughters
afflicted with developmental delay
did not overtly agitate
as much as myself, asper being
emotionally isolated, a miserable fate,
she participated with
supportive services how grate
full (this once psychologically dead papa),
progeny of his did not experience
chronic severe hate
Shana (Punim) blessed by fate
while a Lower Merion
High School student did great
fully experienced positive
munificent interpersonal bounty,
she didst illustrate
with smiles all around her countenance,
which sophomore socialization better late
than never, which friendlessness
(that didst plague this papa),
thee progeny didst obviate
thus, this poem
(to no one in particular),
expresses how I appreciate
the plethora of supportive
services, to ameliorate
bugaboo sans inferiority complex,
(ran rampant within self)
where mine imaginary
pals did commiserate
nevertheless, aye envy thine
woefully begotten Harris heiresses,
whose self esteem positively
of mine bolstered,
when as little girls
their needs and wants gave me purpose
ensure ring a confidential boost,
and now doth demonstrate
how remedial, and extracurricular activities
during and after class respectively,
combatted cognitive delay,
warding off bullies,
who did grate, humiliate
and interrogate, this middle aged
(he's a jolly good) fellow,
Johnny come late
lee to the "NON FAKE"
thrown into game of life
changing strengthened soul asylum
primary, secondary, and tertiary grades
where whipsawed,
pejoratively emasculated, jackknifed,
oppressed, traumatized, and yoked
hoary golem, unstintingly
bruiting, browbeating
and bamboozling gremlins
wrought zealous destruction.
"The wind is the pounding of my heart."
Blowing gently, like a whisper or sigh
silencing my doubts, reminding me why
My dreams fall like starlight, singing
away the sorrow, gentling and bringing
Feelings so alive they brighten the sky
Moving swiftly, rumors of darkness comply
reaching through the gossip to simply deny
My heart assured by the beauty, swinging
Blowing gently.
Gusting blessings, praising our reply
to the One who created the wind, so shy
Psalms soften every harsh thought, flinging
away the fears, the tears, each stinging
Shadow of pain or worry, rustling nearby
Blowing gently.
Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
August 6, 2022