Long Bern Poems
Long Bern Poems. Below are the most popular long Bern by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bern poems by poem length and keyword.
A true story, based on family oral tradition
from the oldest part of the city of Bern,
capitol of Switzerland, where my mother was
born and raised, in the Nydegghoff)
He lighted the candle with a quivering hand,
his overcoat seeming to weigh down the old man.
He paused in the aisle to genuflect,
and wondered if God knew his heart was a wreck.
He found a pew and got to his knees,
hands clasped together, he sent out his pleas.
He is old and he's tired, now he's alone,
his wife died last Spring, now his house wasn't home.
They'd been blessed with one son, he'd died in the war,
and now there was nothing for him to live for.
He prayed until his knee pain was great,
then sat back in the pew and tried not to shake.
The cathedral was beautiful; he loved the stained glass,
but, oh, they brought memories of Sundays past.
How could he make it through Christmas alone
in a house that was empty, no longer a home?
The kitchen was silent and cold as a tomb,
but her scent lingered on in their modest bedroom.
He said one last prayer, then rose to his feet,
genuflecting again, he went out on the street.
He walked home near blindly, not even aware
of the snow that was landing on his shoulders and hair.
He was cold inside, his heart like a stone,
and he felt completely and utterly alone.
He turned down his street, saw his porch light's glow,
and only then realized it had started to snow.
He opened his gate, thought of making some soup,
but froze in his tracks at the sight on the stoop.
On his porch sat a basket, the old wicker kind,
he thought for a moment, he was losing his mind.
Inside the basket that sat on his mat,
were three tiny kittens and one momma cat.
What a pitiful sight, so cold and so thin,
he scooped up the basket and hurried them in.
He found some canned tuna and warmed up some milk,
gently petting the babies, whose fur was like silk.
He never discovered who left those cats there,
but, as his love grew, he no longer cared.
His wife had loved cats and this comforted him,
as they slept on his head, or tucked under his chin.
The kittens grew quickly, as they're wont to do,
amused by their antics, his love grew and grew.
There was laughter and joy 'til the end of his days,
for God works, as you know, in mysterious ways.
In Chicago, Mayor RICHARD J ruled the roost DALEY for 21 years,
Til he breathed his last, giving way to the 'next sir:'
A pol named MICHAEL, who was dull and B'LAND-ICk!
When a snowstorm paved the way for a female successor.
'Hurricane JANE'S' reign BYRNEd hot and cold alternatively,
Til along came a black-vs.-white race that EPTON made BERN (I)Even hotter;
In neighborhoods from Sauganash to Lawndale to Beverly,
HAROLD's whiteWASHING of his opposiT'ON caused the Machine to totter.
But then he died, and neithORR DAVID nor another pol SAW YER discomfort
At EU(r) Mayor GENE's toppling of storied Chicago traditions,
Til came the inevitable, a RICHAR(d) DALEY, JUNIOR landslide election:
Which 22 years later left the "City that Works' in near-bankrupt condition..
..Setting the stage foR RAHM, E-MAN-U'EL love to hate,
The man whom some call "Tiny Dancer."
Who's next after him it's a bit early to tell,
But I say it's PAUL VALLAS, unless he gets cancer.
Chicago's Mayors:
1955-1976 - Richard J. Daley
1976-1979 - Michael Bilandic
1979-1983 - Jane Byre
1983-1987 - Harold Washington**
1987 (8 days) - David Orr (Interim Mayor)
1987-1989 - Eugene Sawyer
1989-2011 - Richard M. Daley, Junior
2011-Now - Rahm Emmanuel
2019 - ? - Paul Vallas ?
**Harold Washington defeated Republican mayoral candidate, Bernie Epton, in a bitterly contested, divisive campaign, one which focused largely on race. Epton's campaign slogan, for example, was: "Vote for Bernie, before it's too late." The racism was pretty blatant.
YOU ARE IN A CAR WITH CHARCOAL BLAZING IN THE BOOT....DID IT EXPLODE :)
Bernie Kinnear was a blacksmith who needed charcoal
so they brought some by car to the smithy...trouble was it came to life and set fire to
the boot of the car
Bernie Kinnear
Dirranbandi Blacksmith 1900 +
Mark said it was smoking and Harold laughed with glee (Harold was a bit slow)
Bernies charcoal was a blazing so much smoke you couldn't see
Bernie Kinnear wanted charcoal for his forge at the smithy shop
So he burnt a tree and waited for the fire and smoke to stop
Harolds flivver it was loaded Harold drove and Bernie talked
Poor Mark was worried, he'd really wished he'd walked
The spare tyre was a blazing and the paint was burning too
So they baled out at Bernie's from this fire ball ooh..
Some time later...
Bernie went to meet a client at the café Pippos...(local Greek cafe)
Bern tapped him on the shoulder and said Ill see you out side boss
Nervous habit of Bernie's was a rolling up his sleeves
Stevens thought a fight was on, Bernie buckled at the knees
When the fight was over Bernie said to Stevens gees!
Here's the part I made you and only ten quid if you please.....(quid Aussie pound )
Mark Johnson at about 17 worked with these 2 characters
In Dirranbandi bridge building.
People who went outside to fight rolled their sleeves up and tapped you on the shoulder
first .fisticuffs imminent ....back in the 50s
These old Blacksmiths kept things going and were good value in the bush country towns
Don Johnson
Hurricane Florence
By Franklin Price
9/16/2018
She came across the ocean
With a terrible intent
Slammed the coast in Carolina
She so slowly came and went
At one time while still traveling
A category four
With the winds above one forty
Waves fifty feet and more
As outer bands came over land
Dropped to an upper one
Still one hundred miles per hour
Her clouds covering the sun
Storm surge pushed the rivers back
New Bern was hit the worst
Roads and houses flooded
Looked as if a dam had burst.
Forward movement very slow
Miles per hour less than ten
Kept pounding on the same place
With rain and flood and wind
Soon thousands had no power
Trees were blowing to the ground
For the non-evacuated
Death and injury were found
With the wind and rain still raging
First responders made their way
To rescue those in danger
From their homes along the way
Heroes risked their life and limb
For ones who did not heed the call
It's a shame that some were gone
Responders could not save them all
Several days have passed us by
Since Florence came to land
Now a tropical disturbance
Her dangers not so grand
She still presents some danger
As she heads for Tennessee
Rain from her is coming down
In the mountains close to me
Rains that fall upon the mountains
Flow to rivers outward bound
Which overflow their upper banks
Causing flash floods all around
Florence almost gone now
What she's leaving in her wake
Will not be gone for many months
Will not be a piece of cake
Wish to wake up surrounded by the snow-capped Alps
Sipping tea in the quiet, quaint villages of Switzerland
Watching the glittering ripples of sapphire blue lakes
Staying in picturesque lakeside hamlets
Overlooking emerald valleys and majestic mountain peaks
Wish to climb the summit of the Matterhorn
To ride in horse-drawn carriages in the village of Zermatt
Journeying through train to Jungfraujoch
Riding cable cars and gondolas over the Lauterbrunnen Valley
Visiting flourishing flower gardens in Interlaken
Enjoying the Swiss Transport Museum in Lucerne
Wish to write about the beauty of Lake Geneva
From within the halls of the famed Chateau de Chillon
Skiing and snowboarding in St. Moritz’s Cresta Run
Stopping by in the Rose Garden and Bear Park
In the stunning Swiss capital of Bern
Wish to go to the Zurich Zoo with my family
Walk the cobbled streets of the Old Town
Strolling toward the Swiss National Museum
Call on the tennis great Roger Federer in his Wollerau home
Watch him practise his game and spend time with his family
Wish to enjoy some Cheese fondue and Älplermagronen
With Rosti and Zürcher Geschnetzelte, a veal dish
It would be wonderful to eat Engadiner Torte
Taste some Huppen wafer biscuits
And some sweet Swiss chocolate
If I were to go on a vacation,
I would choose Switzerland
without a second thought
Dreamy and inviting
That’s the place I wish to see.
28th March 2022
For L Milton Hankins' "My Dream Vacation" contest
I stood in awe as she alighted like a bird upon some branch,
Belisha beacon to the abyss bound clochard.
Bonfire for uncanny scion adrift,
ignited by her
incandescent eyes.
Chanteuse of Arcadia on song and sound.
Halo at the crossroads, spreading out her wings to scupper animus
and bile.
Mystic lodger earthen yet ethereal,
hoisting every limb aloft from Bern to Betelgeuse.
Limelight vernal
queen blessed by open columns, healer on the arc where tangents dwell.
Silver tiptop finger nails a castanet with magic samba grooves.
In ritual or routine this lifeline Flora,
bright zoetic statue,
magnetising symbol for the bod without a bean.
Silken hands that rock the infant cradle,
quelling fractious babies, saboteurs of sandman’s mythic dust.
Moonlight moths that
flit across the glossy pages sculpted in her cheeks.
Backstreet lantern white knight,
echo in a mirror of chatoyant eyes.
Cast iron shadow coat tail,
destiny’s de lux edition bound but never gagged.
Damsel on assignment,
ever present vigil, soothing troubled psyches as they wallow in the waters of Lethe.
Nightingale who weaves an ample flourish,
band aid profile minder of a
cobblestone waif,
otherworldly migrant,
window on polluted quarters
harbouring those abject fallen figures,
bane of ghostly ushers when they prowl.
Heroine’s ascension ,
angel flying over heaven’s ladder,
waiting for that moment when her heart has found a home.
Hillary and Donald
By Franklin Price
7/29/2016
Hillary and Donald
The Clinton and the Trump
Run to save the country
Or send it further in the dump
Only the two of them are left
To run for president
We no longer feel the Bern
And sixteen have come and went
Clinton is establishment
Politics has been her thing
If she wins will be the first female
To wear the presidential ring
Brings years of participating
With the Washington elite
Where graft is most predominate
Among most everyone you meet
Trump is from the outside
Wants to change the status quo
Will make this country great again
Just how he'll do it we don't know
Being tired of Washington elite
Donald said the things we thought
He also was self funding
A billionaire who was not bought
Neither one is popular
Told so by the polls and news
Neither one is good for us
They're not the ones that we would choose
Who do you think it was that chose them?
Was not some little elves
It was voting by the people
Yes, we did this to ourselves
So now will come November
And on the day the polls will close
One will be chosen by the voters
What will happen no one knows
Four Billion years or thereabouts
Earth has orbited its appointed place
Slowly and surely developing into
A safe and hospitable living space
What a strange year this has been
Year Two Thousand and Twenty Two
You seem to have bern so long passing
And I’m so glad to see the back of you.
A year of invasion and Warfare
Of bullies flexing their might
Seeming secure in their belief
That might alone is right.
A year of political spectres
Of crooks, spivs and ghouls
Carelessly showing to the world we
Are lead by blatant self seeking fools.
The greedy and avaricious seem
To want, and take, more and more
Leaving even less for the peasants
To fight and grub for off the floor.
The rich man in his castle still,
Security light and guard at his gate,
More and more decrying the excesses
Of the battered remnant Welfare State.
So goodbye twenty twenty two
Heaven only knows what we’ll see,
More of the same and worse I think, when
They usher in year Twenty Twenty Three.
Four thousand years give a century or two
That’s just about as long as it’s taken
For man to abuse Earth’s delicate balance
And leave it stunned and badly shaken
I’m …
(thus told)
oft’ purveyor of a pen
drowning in the anguish of the heart …
bulletin:
love - not always love
love - always pain
always -
all ways …
wherever, whatever, WHOever the
soul divides for,
consumed, one day …
lost to time’s bitter casualty -
forever’s coda,
postscript of existentialist id …
not an iota
escapes the darkest of fates
ALL is impermanent
and sorrow, the outcome …
in contention, then -
pray, how moans the sea
if not broken on a reef?
how chants a catbird
if not mourning for its mate?
how drinks the earth
without heaven’s weep?
and how bright a sun, if not immersed in
the bitter, unforgiving black of space?
please fear not, that ache -
those throes of casualty are but
the ripples of passing on love’s expanse -
those prayerful pangs,
the precious payment for
life’s dearest …
so, if that blessed abyss be
the stead of my demise,
embrace it, I shall …
and if those briny beads of the
eye are the only coursing for my ink,
so be it …
there are far more poisonous
potions to waste words …
upon.
~ for Bern Fraley ~
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 17, 2022
Well, it’s that commercial day the community celebration of Mother’s Day
But for me, the thoughts of the presents and all the trappings of show,
it does nothing
My preference is to thought
Mum, I remember you as a young looking chic and cool
no lines of age, no glasses with which to read
You teaching me as a child,
even pushing me on a swing
The country walks,
me looking at this and that even the ants and bees.
You taking time to explain,
even when I was playing games with the cuts and scrapes of childhood games
You would pick me up the smell of your perfume,
the whispered words to comfort,
the hug of pure love
Your laughter when you looked at Dad,
and without him you so sad
And as the years pass,
you no longer by my side
To reassure and say I am loved
without our cards and presents and fan fare
Wish you were here
so we could hear your laughter and voice of the cool advice
As once more
we would hold you so dear and live with the smell of your perfume
Mum, you and dad made my life so grand
and today, me feeling so alone
And this is all one can say..
Miss you, mum
Think of you every day
Bern