Long Bequests Poems
Long Bequests Poems. Below are the most popular long Bequests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bequests poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time, in a land of make-believe,
there lived a magical calendar if you choose to believe.
It hung on the wall, sparkling with a golden hue,
with the power to predict what the future can’t undo.
But this calendar had a rather mischievous knack,
to bring humor and laughter on its mighty track.
Its predictions were grand, yet often absurd,
and death was its favorite topic, oh how it stirred.
With a nod from Fate, the calendar came alive,
its ink swirling and dancing, ready to revive.
The spirits of those seeking answers divine,
as they awaited their fate with a curious mind.
"Come forth!" it exclaimed with a slight wicked grin,
"I see in your future a wild goose chase to begin.
Death shall claim your loved one, but fear not my friend,
for beyond this life lies pure joy without end."
The puzzled seekers pondered as they scratched their heads,
could death truly lead to divinity instead?
With trepidation and amusement interlaced,
they embarked on a journey to embrace what death placed.
Through realms unknown and fantastical lands they soar,
happiness bloomed where death stood at its core.
In afterlife's mirth, they found such jubilee,
their loved ones content in eternity's decree.
Oh, the magic calendar reveled in its jests,
as mortals unlocked secrets within its bequests.
For death was not an ending but a doorway anew,
to a world where imagination danced and grew.
Heed the fortune and wisdom of this enchanting tale,
and welcome the laughter that life's mysteries unveil.
For in the face of death, let amusement guide your way,
and let fantasy reign supreme with each passing day.
*I wrote this poem on January 18, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 18 and the prompt was: Write a poem about a magical calendar that predicts the future. I actually wrote two of them similar in style and message. The other one is posted under “The Magical Calendar.”
Seven was my number,
When you first gave me that gift,
The tunnel you forever fixed in my heart,
I can make you remember,
At home from Jean’s where I’d gone to mother play,
You thoroughly dribbled a hot stick on my entire,
A warning for me and my friends never to jumble,
It was the first day my mind tried a prison getaway,
Like you read my mind,
And discovered my intended road,
You welcomed me to a dinged home,
A hell a little girl had to face,
Daddy the respected name I called you,
And pleaded every moment to pass through,
You understood well what I wanted,
But you only jazzed plastics flames to my hands,
Like a refugee I sneaked my eyes as they played,
My chemicals dancing in pain whenever I moved,
The soar laughter my mouth wheezed,
With the aggregating pain whenever you mined deeper in my land,
They were never an outcast as you made me see,
Truth is they were the best bequests one could ever have,
The fine memories you prevented me from creating,
A slanted life is what you certified me to living,
You polluted my entire life,
From the day mum went to live in the skies,
That day I became an urchin even with you by my planes,
Even though am twenty now I still curse the heavens,
The sky that took away my life; bequeathed it to the monster,
My father a swine who instilled pain to always remember,
The punches he muted my cries with are cropped memories,
Too large to fit to the folder of my recollections,
The fair judgment belong to deity but this is my case,
The girl who swam in torture in many years without justice,
Am not ashamed to drive my own flesh to many years in jail,
Why should I free the man who censored my breath in his cell?
You tilted my world turning my head to a toddling object,
My soul bleeds from the stabs enterprised by your conducts,
My heart asthmatically dancing to rhythms of its sad songs,
Perhaps someday I will find my shadow; and forgive you; maybe then I shall decant this fuming pain,
Expectantly and nervously
I sought an empty chair.
Cousins I hadn’t seen for years
Were already gathered there.
We had come to hear the reading
Of Great Aunt Katie’s final will.
She had been left a wealthy widow
By my mama’s Uncle Bill.
We’d heard throughout the long years
That our Uncle Bill was loaded.
He was growing richer every day
Until his heart exploded.
Aunt Katie retreated from us
After Uncle Bill had died.
We heard that she was sorrowing
And every day she cried.
The lawyer cleared his husky throat
Before he began the reading.
He spoke to a captive audience,
Which every word was heeding.
I heard my name and was surprised
At the very princely sum
I would receive conditionally….
The conditions yet to come.
When the lawyer finished reading
All the bequests to the heirs,
He told them the conditions
Before inheritance was theirs.
Each would be given money
To be used for one in need.
We’d have to wait for our bequests
Until we’d finished our good deed.
It was not to go to a charity
Or individual that we’d known.
The money must go to someone
Who was struggling on his own.
As the daughter of two teachers,
I thought it might be fine
To seek out a worthy student
To fulfill this task of mine.
The school principal was happy
To tell me of a worthy lad
Who was struggling in his schooling
Without help from Mom and Dad.
He’d won a scholarship for high grades
But it wouldn’t be enough
To pay all of his expenses.
And it would be mighty tough
To keep up with his studies
In between his work and sleep.
I awarded twenty-five thousand,
Bargain with Aunt Kate to keep.
The young man is now the owner
Of an enviable degree,
And a job in his profession
With a future that’s debt free.
He says he’ll pay it forward
And I hope he surely will
In gratitude to our Aunt Katie
And her husband, Uncle Bill.
For contest
Help the Needy contest Won 2nd place
Avoiding Pain? Suicide Might Help!
I don’t like to get hurt, grok this path that most walk,
so write poems for strangers (I never will meet,
verse few friends do abide short of formal requests)
that reveal mind in verse (where hearts bathe in the light
of exposure on page). Am I loading a gun
life might point at my head? Will my readers see threats
to their lives in a verse filled with blanks that roam free
or find fault I’ve ascribed trumps the guilt I’ve explored?
Though life’s problem at times, I adore, get adored.
Does fact many bright ships pass at night on time’s sea,
south stars missed in North Hemisphere, call for regrets?
Let me celebrate all that God grants - light from sun,
dreams encountered sleep whispers in sojourns at night,
threads muse follows in wisdom or folly, bequests
laced with sorrow and joy that frame truth bittersweet
I’d fain hang on this wall when I’m talking the talk!
I implore each dear friend to extend grace to pain,
for pain’s truth holds life lessons (that spurned pose grave risk)
Might pain hint you’re remiss in pursuit of some bliss?
Could a toothache suggest sweets close kin to decay?
Does a love that’s forbidden just heighten your burn
and imply you’re afraid of available love?
Is love real that would trick, dare to bribe heart to yield,
would love author a love that denied love a voice?
There’s no touch (one survives) that divorces real gain
though the strength of love’s contact seems long, is too brisk.
Would a lover of pressed flesh sigh, “too hit or miss?”
Pain, I ban for all life, courts a brother’s, “Hurray!”
and a sister in ‘left field’ asks, “When’s it my turn?”
What of pain felt by Noah awaiting God’s dove?
It’s a measure of love, that worst pain gets concealed,
most incredible love known whose pain stays your choice!
Long Tooth
February 19th in 2021
To be immune from aspersions mean and vile
May assuage our hurt feelings for awhile
But to really uphold the Golden Rule
We must also withhold words harsh and cruel—by poet
In an upside-down world
Where self-victimization
is a realization and hatred lingers, it goes nowhere
May not yet get it, and still not self-aware
Now some may think that healing is
Ignoring what is destroying and go on enjoining
others near them to do the same, their end game
Using, medicating with words as ammunition stored on a shelf
Toxicity is there, taken aback, down deep in yourself
Hatred lingers, collecting dust mites
Imploding, suffocating smites and is on reserve
In a mindset where glory they deserve
Personal gut-wrenching bile packaged
Collecting more dust, disgust has an impact
It only makes you a stronger hellcat
One that hasn’t let go of the baggage
Is in an upside-down world of their own
On their own and may think they’re OK
Flies in the ointment, stagnant, a delay, decay
In a world where “making it better” ails, and means
Undoing what has taken lives in time in details
Only bequests, and is deeded
A new form of healing is much needed
Healing is embracing the newest challenges
There are bigger issues, bigger things
Then just you, heed the warnings
It begins within
“Civil war tested the proposition that America is one nation indivisible”—from the book “With Malice Toward None"— Stephen B. Oates
I know you're out there
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
How do SUCH ears not hear?
How can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
Should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'Indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Does Anyone Care" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
I know you're out there
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted
pearlescent beauties, round ...
I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'twixt leaves of crimped reprieves if dispossessed
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts
how do such ears not hear?
how can such breath-embezzling eyes not
capture?!?
should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'Indifference' ...
I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
that you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care??
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 19, 2020
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with processing software at Gala AI )
I know you're out there ...
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step, just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted ...
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
how do SUCH ears not hear?
how can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost ...
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
... not one?
Take it to the Lord
Sad and troubled feelings are upon us in different hues
Deeply disturbed but brave it, showing little or no clues
Bottled inside, turmoil within – the grief only multiplies
The malady when shared with Him, is guaranteed to minimize.
Shed the shyness, the inhibition, the reservation, the ego
Unlock those chains to bring the calm that you forego
Lift the lid of that urn that has long been steaming
Share those locked up feelings with Him who is good at listening.
Friends, family, siblings, peers, neighbors are all too busy
With their load of problems which they also find hard to carry
God who seems so far away in his heavenly abode
Is waiting to extend his comforting hand; to take off your load.
Sincerely seek His protection, His guiding hand never doubt
You need not utter long and complicated prayers aloud
Join your hands in simple conversation and make your requests
Then wait patiently for Him to show how He bequests.
He will give you what you’ve asked for and much much more
You’ll be astounded, ecstatic by His grace and generous measure
After prayers are answered, and you tarry away unburdened
To thank Him and praise His Holy name to others, be certain.
Inspired by my life circumstances.
By Mariette Ross (2017)
As a weary rambler, I'm nearby and resting.
With arousing, he grasps his ecstatic settling.
His withered bones are currently lively.
It's been done multiple times formerly.
Bequests themselves with musings to meditate.
His danger is gone, and his agony is replete.
The burning sun won't be a fount of hotness.
He won't be lashed by calamitous distress.
A corona of splendid cosmic stars hedges me.
With the coziness of the moon mirrored body.
Inevitably my bewitching will be what I imply.
To assist me with the drudgery of the next workday.
My feet cannot scrutinize any fierce pebble.
Neither stump nor crags can induce him to tumble.
He says farewell to all his distress and dread.
It propounds that you may now sleep in embed.
How I crave a sight that all linger fine worldly.
Moreover, follow the flawless angels in the sky.
Slumber of this body will be a peaceful freeman.
I will never shed another tear in my life again.
You can hunt down such endless glees outside.
The ear tuned, as yet the speech snide.
Oh my God, prepare me for what is to come.
As the well runs dry, I truly hope to bore some.
Written: November 24, 2021
''W'' New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France