Long Birthdate Poems
Long Birthdate Poems. Below are the most popular long Birthdate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Birthdate poems by poem length and keyword.
Lonely
The palm trees sway
As gentle wind goes by
On the French Riviera’s coast
While on the beach the lapping waves unfurl.
The rising moon is in no haste
To light her tearful face;
She waits in vain
Lonely.
----------------------------------------------------
Path Number 9 ~ Birthdate 16th February
Contest: "Tell Me Your Number"
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placing: 6th
I cannot forget Trayvon Martin - slain teen
no matter manifold more young people
unthinkingly killed, who spirits aspire
to ascend higher than a steeple.
revisited and slightly revised today
March 14th, 2021.
One deliberate shameful death,
whose demise linkedin
violent cessation of breath
thank heavy gun wielding hand
innocuous thug disguised
as armed neighborhood watch
firearm brandished
as weapon of choice.
Once again rifling thru outdated drafts,
I unwittingly repost grievous bulletin
that made headlines nine plus years ago,
an innocent lad received fatal shot
into said unarmed teenager's chest
according to testimony
courtesy Doctor Vincent Di Maio.
Memory of aforementioned crime
relegated to dustbin of criminal minds
whereby dime a dozen killings
(nowadays barely register shock)
countless young persons
genetically bequeathed with
healthy dose of melanin
gunned down during their prime.
George Zimmerman (then age 28)
ought to be pitched into the
alligator and crocodile infested Everglade
for his senseless killing (outright murder)
of Trayvon Martin slammed
as involved some illicit wick kid trade
(a slender African American
more precisely youth flush with color
only 17 years young -
(birthdate - February 5th, 1995
death date - February 26th, 2012),
whose martyrdom grows
as days/weeks fade
an exemplary gregarious helpmate
swimming against the tide
to make the grade
now slain while just a youth -
the unfounded killing
by a neighborhood watch volunteer,
who felt afraid
that this dark skinned young man
appeared suspicious pulled the trigger
with comeuppance to be paid
though -- no retribution can restore
lifeless body, still
agitated waters nor offer shade
from the justifiable media frenzy
sparked from Geraldo Rivera made
even with unanimous
approval of guillotine blade
for violence cannot only rejuvenate
a promising future
evinced by Trayvon Martin
reincarnated into tree or leaf blade
but only serves to beget subsequent
violence now unto his grave
said teenager laid!
From one heart to another, Uncle Carl you will truly be missed ... And
May God continue to bless you from beyond the heavens. I love you ... And
Auntie Connie, thank you for blessing me with the idea of this poem. Which is
called...
--- MY LAST AND FINAL RUN---
Written By: Tiffany Saxon
As I look into the mirror, I smile while adjusting my crown.
(sigh)
God, you have truly blessed me in this life, and I want to thank you,
and while I wait on my train to come pick me up. I want to acknowledge
that there's not too many people who were born on a birthdate and
leave on the date in which they were born into. You blessed me to see
my family and friends at my 50th Anniversary. While leaving an ever-
lasting impression of many who followed your words through me ...
Can you see the timeline of happiness, marital bliss, love, ups and
downs, and lastly, your blessing of strength through the eye of your
promise, love, and craftiness.
And
to my Queen (Debra) and family (Carl, Craig, and Carla)
Thank you for making this life worth living. We stood from the
beginning to the end. However, this is just the beginning...
Because
As long as you have hearts, that's where i'll keep beating.
When the sun is bright ...
That's where our love will continue to shine.
And lastly,
I'm with you for all the seasons because we weathered all
of the storms day-in and night.
All Aboard!!! Well, that's my call (smile)...
My work is never done ... Until we meet again,
This is "MY LAST AND FINAL RUN".
The End!
March 9, 1950 - March 9, 2024.
smitten with a forsaken long lost love
*** plus years ago,
aye since didst roam'n o'er hill and dale
as one heart broken beau
twas being cow warring utter oxymoron,
whereby thy perfect match I do
frankly admit foolishly out sourcing
of (good NOT FAKE nor bad) grief emo
shun hull distress disgraceful,
which hide de lee recognize coveted prime mate,
(who shared love of playing scrabble,
and born same January 13th birthdate,
yet six orbits thy senior)
mine golden opportunity to lose,
viz ma mish mashed aggravating huff flew
vee yam this then
young asinine buck unwittingly
inflicted long forgot 'til
ear layer t'day thee spouse
showed me an photograph,
when suddenly this lix spittle
curmudgeonly bard
unexpectedly experienced
abysmal love stricken agony
(that despite pro missing to pledge -
while taking a knee -
troth Abby Robin - hoo
became thy lawful legal wife - of Jew
whoosh heritage juiced like me, and knew
instantaneously upon
setting eyes this then boyish lad -
hood bid tootle loo
at bachelorhood, when she eyed thyself
(wedded now deux plucks decades),
though no moo
nee tomb aye name,
thus har courtship rocky, hen new
idea how tubby affectionate,
hence early married life
pitched 'tween Scylla and Charybdis
fondness (albeit ex post facto) hike queue
this poetic beat (fashionably late love note)
ye, whose Capricorn astrological sign
didst bid eternal happiness
now delayed repercussions I rue!
It’s almost Christmas , still I'm quite annoyed
Visions of North Pole, now crumpled and foiled;
While youngsters for deer bells to ring
My palms tuck ears from voices caroling.
Fireplace adorned with trinkets on Yule rug
Awaiting Ole Claus to sneak by... humbug!
Wishes for red bike never came last year
My card he ignored, did it disappear?
Now, I wonder if you really exist...
My eyes teary, as I’m not on the list
Even Mama dances by the flames so proud,
Repeating your name (Vixen’s too), aloud.
“Dear Santa, I doubt the speed of your ride
How can you bring presents in hours, worldwide? "
Till a note falls,“ Child, you have to believe
In the kindness this season can weave.”
Surprised, my bike turns out... my delight,
Faith jingling , “Merry Christmas; good night!”
Laura Loo's Contest:: Any poem written on your birthday II
Written 1/8/2017( my birthdate)
Submitted 7/12.2017
Dear Mrs. Goodwoman,
I am sad to inform you of the passing of your late Uncle Sir Rembrandt Hussleberry. He lived to the ripe age of 92, and it is his wish for you to inherit his entire fortune. Most of it is in a storage unit in southern France. You can claim it by telephoning me at 913-333-1999. Get these things ready for me. Your bank account number,
your mother’s maiden name, your birthdate, and your blood type.
I know this is an odd request, but Sir Rembrandt Hussleberry’s estate is worth 2.5 million dollars, and you are the only heir. To release it, we will need a token check from you of $5750 because that is what he owes in back taxes. It will be needed before we can write you a check for the 2.5 million. We may need additional identifying information. When you telephone us we can let you know how soon you can expect the money.
It has been a pleasure serving Sir Rembrandt Hussleberry, and it is a pleasure serving you, as his only heir, also. If you have any questions please call me at 913-333-1999.
Respectfully,
Dr. L. C. Howell, L.T.D.
Solicitor at Large
1388 Tadberry Road
London, England UK
Dearest Amelie Beth Harris-Mcgeehan
If royalty moost likely
spotlight ye would dodge
nonetheless anointed, deemed, granted...
within humble abode
of your lodge
most righteous, magnanimous, gracious...
among confrère noblesse oblige.
Methinks twas foolhardy of me
when joost a mere young man
(more'n half agoo me lifespan)
ye always acknowledging me birthdate,
(although tomorrow a day early,
and dollar long)
regarding thirteenth of Jan.
Your sisterly affection doth buoy
inside mine heart and soul
first born of three offspring
begat courtesy Boyce
and Harriet Harris handed lead role
par exemplar to officiate (figuratively)
filial obeisance, particularly
when older analogous to foal
abiding maternal horse sense, thus I extol.
As your brother, rhetorical question I ask
how often did thee deserve to bask
within metaphorical sunshine to exceed
regarding care and concern emotional task
tenderly "mothering" kith and kin,
ye divinely didst shew,
especially yours truly
now he dost rue
he rarely did communicate -
hermetically within his
hermetically sealed queue
detached, isolated, outsourced,
I may as well lived in Peru
(think Machu Picchu)
courtesy schizoid personality disorder
leavened, prepared, and sprinkled with
obsessive compulsiveness
for good measure ooh
and aah barely registered
consciousness, and knew
not what blessedness constituted hew
as tremendous precious jewel few
chore birthdays promise with clear clue
how ye go above and beyond
call of sisterly duty aware remaining life
(mine) would be far inadequate to accrue
equitable devotional, emotional,
and financial recompense.
Hence feeble attempt
to distill some essence
with words that appear
incomprehensible and dense,
cuz writing more comfortable
verses talking, which
often jabbering (more like a wookie)
(think fictional hirsute humanoids
in Star Wars universe)
often makes no cents.
Tempus fugit fleets at light speed
quasi immortality conferred as generations rebreed
all the while unwittingly transmitting indeed
idiosyncrasies, mutations, quarks... such as greed
myopia, selfishness... at death sorrow doth bleed.
Battered tattered
Worn and torn
Her joys and fears
Pain and tears
Throughout the years
Across the sands you helped her carry
Over water you helped her ferry
All her worry all her care
All her "stuff" you helped her bear
For every moment
Big or small
Every hurdle
Short or tall
For all of everything
You were there
Bedtime battles
Late night prattles
Her hopes and wishes
Daydreams while washing dishes
Or you two lakeside catching fishes
Regrets and woes
While painting polish upon her toes
Or sick in bed with a runny nose
Each and every single day
Inseparable,you two would play
Your friendship stood the test of time
When she looked at you her face would shine
With wonder pride and a love so fierce
That I knew one day her heart you'd pierce
The day she lost you I still remember
The skies were gray
A gloomy day
In not just yet or quite November
She came to me her face a mess of tears and dirt and snot
And cried "I left him by the swings I thought!"
"I meant to grab him but I forgot!"
With guilt and shame and grief my poor baby's face was wrought
As I hurried towards the swingset my hand my daughter caught
And wiping away tears with the backside of her hand
She said bravely "It's ok Mama, I think I understand."
"When I went back I knew I wouldn't find him but I looked anyway."
"He wasn't there but that's okay cuz today must be the day.
I think he's gone home with another child who needs something to hold at night and in the daytime play."
But every year on the birthdate his T.Y tag had shown
We celebrate in his honor with Brownies A'La Mode!
Birthdate? My family tells me
it was 1900 or so.
I don’t remember being born;
I know when I started to grow.
My first real friend was named Reggie
We first met when I was just six.
It was Christmas Eve, we read from
the Bible and we played music.
I had put on a lot of weight
by the time the war rolled around
World War I that is. Without me
that war wouldn’t have got off the ground.
I won’t brag, cause I’m handicapped.
I’m wired only for sound, not sight.
You’d call me visually impaired
And you know, you’re exactly right.
In my golden years, my pursuits
brought a world of music to you.
I made live drama popular,
did a fair share of preaching too.
Always tried to keep a handle
on current events and the news.
My biggest changes over the years
have been size and battery use.
February 22, 2020
Brian Strand: Strand SELECT Y
On 24 December 1906, the first radio broadcast for entertainment and music was transmitted from Brant Rock, Massachusetts to the general public.
The minute I saw her I knew she was an artist
Her hair screamed CREATIVITY! It was fabulous.
Oranges and purples, beads interwoven, a hodge podge.
Messy some might say, I did not see that.
I saw an artist; and I knew we would be friends.
I am the school counselor. This is my first day here.
This girl was brought to me before ten, my first guest.
We hit it off like artists do – fast, furiously, and ferociously.
Everything we could have in common we have in common.
She has my husband’s birthdate – October 22nd.
Libras and Geminis get along better than most signs.
I took this as a sign; it was a terrific day.
Thanks to artist finding artist.