Long Balconies Poems
Long Balconies Poems. Below are the most popular long Balconies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balconies poems by poem length and keyword.
Entering the fields of my childhood around two,
overjoyed by the vibrant flowers that gently lulled
and dispersed their gentle aroma into the noon;
I passed under the old balconies with flower-pots painted
in russet as the leaves of late and quite Autumn,
which elated me with their sweet-smelling scent ,
to please my nostrils everywhere I went...
body and spirit in full harmony, never being alone!
Hummingbirds fluttering from tree to tree,
to announce their departure by the dawn's blaze,
still warbling and making me immensely glad;
I hummed that song to ease their misery,
they flew around and landed on my shoulders
to start the making of a lively symphony:
and with no instruments and vocals,
we created a musical masterpiece worthy of praise!
Entering the fields of my childhood,
leaping like frogs chased by cruel rascals,
my escape to freedom from noisy streets and voices
of mothers calling out to their mischievous children,
to hurry home before their dad imposed discipline;
jolly and care-free I explored that unknown world...
solitude was the source of joy for a prodigious child,
no genius ever became great without the urge of the wild!
Pondering over my advancing age, and recalling that child run
towards the lilies' fields made golden by the scorching sun,
I wish to become little and start running again,
until I run out of breath and take a brief rest; and should the storm
pelt on the rose-bushes, and their buds fell off,
I would pick them all with the swiftest care and hold them
in my wet palms, and ever preserve them in this memory...
to enter the fields of my childhood and vanish into their immensity!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Facing your reality can be your greatest fear
difficult decisions as to where you go from here
and it can take the balls of God to follow what is clear
you don’t want to go backdown slopes and disappear
You can take the easy option not meet your desires
but you should follow your heart seeing what transpires
as you’ve already lost it all and faced all of the trials
you’ve nothing left to lose so what’s the point of the denial
That fear of what’s ahead is not ahead but in your head
In one hundred years from now we will all be dead
that fear is there to conquer or you’ll live with the regrets
of being someone long ago who everyone forgets
Being stung by the limelight may have changed your perspective
It only knocked you backwards you’re not naturally selected
So don’t be stunned just do what’s right get your thoughts collected
Who cares about opinions when nobody’s perfected
You know you more than they do
and you care for you the most
you know just what you can do
dare yourself when all oppose
I could have done so much more
if I knew what I was fighting for
with this second chance I’m sure
I’ll give what I didn’t give before
Those who look from balconies
have also reached their boundaries
I’ll change what Is surrounding me
Up off the ground undoubtedly
It’s all about the balls of God
slightly bigger than Uranus
Give it all that you have got
you might be rich and famous!
And if not you had a go....
We want to heal-
scab stealers wont allows us too
sneaking up on us-
giving us new busy work
side trackers –
killing us
the only hope we had left
invested in our progeny.
progenitors
Our children become our ancestors
Arrested -
Denied freedom.
assaulted,
Degrading us our offspring.
They make examples out of noble men.
Leaders not knowing what day will
be their personal doomsday while
They recite a healing prayer on balconies
Thinking “is this my end”.
"As they risk healing folks in large crowds with
un-trusted friends watching their backs
Let me get these words in As
We begin to heal from
the power of love.
These "scab thieves’ who snatch
scabs off the old wounds.
Create and open new wounds,
As they dare us to heal.
We fall to the ground.
as the targets keep
Dropping they
Kill the mighty to
Control the weak.
We are angry -No time to heal -
Angry People
Bopping ignorant
Pop ups- Bobble heads, popping up
like bobble heads at a carnival.
We needed the big black men-
who soon after that
Perplexed us
Who were they that stood
on Hunter street?
In front of Paschal Brothers
Over near "Don Clendenin’s"
surrendering
Waving White hankies
at tricks and enemies
We are bleeding now...
The scab makers are winning
where and from wince –
Do they come from?
or go to?
Wall Street or colleges-
White collar preppies-
promoting separate causes.
We still chant
Free Mandela
“we loved him too
They all were gone
to the grave or to prison.
Many wounds open
blood everywhere.
Perplexed.
Things fall apart again in...2013
2013 is here.
We are still with open wounds
Remember now wonder
can we heal if they?
keep re-opening our wounds.
My tolerance is no more for
nincompoops and
Poot—butts, chastising
Empresses and Kings.
Knowing nothing....
While pulling off scabs
Who am I, if I lose focus?
There will be no us-
So, I relent,
Leaving them where
they are - or at least
where I found them!
I really feel that until I die
I have a connection to someone’s
future I have wounds to heal.
I must remember-
“I cannot get angry for you”,
Lest I get stuck fighting your battle.
“I will get angry with you”
I will fight aside of you.
My life was a river, and I was a willow twig,
Bobbing on a creek toward the sea.
Strong, fast, lively children tried to catch me and failed.
The greatest sports hero, I dreamed I'd be.
A boy and a lovely girl held hands and gazed on
A river that once was a brook,
And I wished I'd have the most beautiful girl
Whereupon the bright sun did look.
Floating along, I came upon a charming cottage
With a window-box filled with flowers.
I dreamed I'd have the grandest mansion ever built
With balconies, turrets and towers.
As the water grew wider, and the sea grew nearer,
I saw young willows, healthy, and green.
I wished I would have all of the health and vigor
Of a strapping boy of fifteen.
At last, the grand river emptied into the sea,
Where beachgoers could hear the sound
Of surf. I heard it too, and I was still dreaming,
As a wave crashed and I drowned.
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!
Before the marathon began,
I walked First Avenue,
Aware 100,000 feet
Would soon come pounding through.
The do-not-cross tape waited
And the police were getting set
To control the hordes of cheering fans
Who hadn’t gathered yet.
Since some apartments face the street,
Their balconies supply
A place for friends to stand and shout
As runners hurry by.
From one such place, I saw a sign
To jokingly remind
A guy named Ralph, despite his plans,
He’s lumbering behind.
I wish I could have witnessed Ralph
As, passing, he took note,
Of the presence of his buddies
And the message that they wrote.
(The title is what the sign actually said.)
I've woken up to another morning
and admiring its glory unfolding...
I'm overwhelmed with the eagerness to pray.
I've felt the sun's warmth...
remembering the snug hug
of mom as she got me ready for school.
My clothes are well-folded
on grandpa's maple rocking chair,
and they smell of sunshine.
The pleasant aroma of the coffee
fills every room, the fresh-baked cake tempts...
I grab one slice on the way out.
The narrow street, overlooked
by flowery balconies, sparkles with sunlight
and leads to the clamorous square.
My classmates are impatiently waiting
to start the new school day,
I join them and greet them as always.
Italia we strolled the country side throughout
the villages of Tuscany peeking through stone
ways above garden nooks of Puglia catering to
the soft and sensual galleries of floral canvases
that covered scented walk ways gathering the
divine taste of hidden vines borrowed by rows
and rows of lemon trees pricking my fingers
on olive bushes again while we dazzled the
evening air beneath the moonlight both my aunts
my grandmothers sister managed to travel from
Mason Vicentino just for our annual first date as
they chuckled hardily at your vagabond loafers
mocassini's moccassini's making your cheeks
blush while looking over the balconies peering
down the cobble stones this ritual is always
carried out religiously completely steadfast as
everyone sits patiently awaiting my return my
Nonna swaying to the tarantella as soft chiffon
curtains blew in the breeze this fabric was sent
from France by my grandfather still serving in the
Army my shyness remained intact trying not to fall
over wearing my oldest sisters clogs she insisted that
I promised not to scuff them on this grand evening
finally returning to the calming comforting busom of my
family culture heritage Italia Italia and the purity
of my own chastity covenant why until matrimony
celebration like all the women in the family before me
according to my Nonna we are a of rare Greek Italian
Masons and Muses I suppose while i finally arrived
lovingly embraced by sheer wholesomeness tradition
the surety of home
Tall and narrow,
the houses stand,
wall against wall,
hunched together
on the edge of the
cobbled street,
as if armed against
the unknown.
Tiny balconies
Where laundry
Used hang on railings
To dry, now bursting
With potted plants
Walls bright yellows,
greens and blues,
stucco and stone
mortared together
hundreds of years ago
by stout men in
leather aprons
with the rudest of
implements,
they lean inward
over the street,
which once ran with mud,
the contents of
slop jars, and wash water.
Now teeming with tourists
who hobble on the cobbles,
peering into first floors,
converted into tiny shops
crammed with hats
and shirts and sandals,
soaps and wine and bracelets,
postcards and paintings,
candy and local delicasies.
Oldtown suddenly finds itself
squarely in the middle
off the twenty-first century.
His gift of eloquent banter and jest
got him blessed with a seat wearing a crest
of many colours on his pompous vest,
swelling his breast; our terror of unrest.
He's the rage of everyone's attention
pictorial song and dance admission.
Funny some statements never seem mention
imperfection bringing less attention.
His gift of eloquent banter splitting
the grand stage trying to build a fitting
world of elaborate change unwitting,
out with the old, in with the new knitting.
Storms approaching with rage wanting to wage,
his statement "I will build a greater stage,
nobody builds them better than a mage.
Mark my words, it will or will disengage.
His gift of eloquent banter and love
have fallen out of trust worth thinking of;
country watch intently from up above,
in balconies chances for former Gov.
So, you heard it all before falling in
and out of trust; will he forfeit or win.
1-30-2018
Poetry Contest: Eloquent banter; You tease me so nicely -
Sponsored by: Edward McCall