Long Bloomer Poems
Long Bloomer Poems. Below are the most popular long Bloomer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bloomer poems by poem length and keyword.
i cry at the thought of heartbreak
i speed in the hopes to create a kaleidoscope alternative
i crash to make the illusion last forever
i die dreaming of you loving me
as i cross over
i become a dark artist painting light images
i look for a penny, but i can't find the fuse box of my sanity
suddenly, it is the third day and i do not remember a thing
it is then that i learn the definition of unconditional love
it is then that i understand the inner making of my broken heart
it is then that a realize that i had no comprehension beyond the satisfaction of my self
it is then that i reality hits me in the head like a hot anvil with cold thorns
it is then that i discover to late.....that it is indeed too late.....
IMPACT
Perhaps the weather is wistful or bonnie bonnie good,
who can say, but i think on the grayest of gray days,
eyes stay closed, sunshine is but a bitter dream,
unless you’re the rare goody-goody Pollyanna-type,
before the huge branch plummeted her to certain sorrow.
A little girl with saintly hair hearkens to a friend’s dare.
Her toes tremble as she feels the safety of a robin’s branch.
Alas, this little one never learned to fly,
but fly she must and hit solid ground.
Why must sorrow’s impact finally save a soul?
Why couldn’t love come much quicker?
Aunt Polly’s neighborhood had already hugged the saintly face
and only they could bring her back to life
for each one held a piece of her.
And Aunt Polly, poor bitter Polly, must be a late bloomer.
But after all, the Good Shepherd does leave the ninety-nine,
to find such a one.
~ ~ ~ What do you think? If a man owns 100 sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the 99 on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep then about the 99 that did not wander off. In the same way your father in heaven is not willing that any of these little one should be lost.
Matthew 18: 12-14 (NIV Bible) ~ ~ ~
3/15/2018
I’m a late bloomer! So this was an early attempt
at writing poetry, long before I took classes.
I had small kids and this is what I wrote about them.
(Untitled)
Road Runner down the street
with lots of en-er-gy
riding on his hot wheels
jumping in the air
climbing like a monkey
today he’s free of care
~
Sailor girl go to sleep
close your little eyes
no more talking now sweetheart
not one light left in the skies
~
Perky Pink likes lots of dresses
along with kisses and caresses
with another girl she likes to play
and always has quite a lot to say
~ Entered into the Juvenilia competition on 4/26/2017 ~
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
I'm your sweet little loving son!
I know I'm not cute like the other kids
But my heart's as big as the sun
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
Could it be something I did?
Why'd you go and sell me to the zoo?
I've tried hard to be a good kid
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
Heard tell of a real nasty rumour
It's because I'm quite a bit different
Ever think I'm just a late bloomer?
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
Maybe one day I'll look like Brad Pitt
When I lose all this excess body hair
Your feelings of pride won't quit
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
Though I look a bit like an orangutan
Please let your son come back home
You'll be proud of your little man
Yo! Momma! Remember me?
I'm your sweet little loving son!
I know I'm not cute like the other kids
But my heart's as big as the sun
© Jack Ellison 2013
So much to wish for and so little time.
I really must get my life back in line.
So much I had hoped for that did no0t come about;
But I can't fix a thing if I sit down and pout.
There's still time to do it, don't sit here and mope.
Just get busy and plan where there's still life there's hope.
The fact that I'm old doesn't mean that I'm dead.
I've still lots of ideas going 'round in my head.
Some people will say that my life is over.
Much past fifty and you;re pushing up clover;
But I'm just getting started, must be a late bloomer,
'Cause I don't feel old and my vision is truer.
I'm wiser, more steady and I know what I want.
In youth you're still searching, you don't know what's what.
To raise up a family I gave up a lot.
I cleaned, cooked and sewed and my dreams I forgot.
The kids were my life and I gave all I had.
I never looked back or felt angry or sad.
Now my babies are grown, they have kids of their own.
Sometimes they will visit or call on the phone.
Now it's my turn and I plan to have fun.
I'll pamper myself, take my place in the sun.
A house in the country away from the city.
I'll garden, raise chickens, I'll be sitting pretty.
I'll breathe the fresh air scented with flowers,
And mark time by the days, not by minutes and hours.
Schooled in hard knock sufferance... -
soulful scribe matt er fact - seeks solemn sanctuary
Despite always pledging
allegiance to the flag
academic performance traced, narrated,
graphed... unfavorable zigzag
vertical lined spikes across
x-axis and y-axis displayed
dramatically sharper increased crag
when promoted one grade to the next
how comprehension did lag
attributed to allocating, dag
gone nabbit budgeting, crafting... productive
time usage, plus an affirmative nod,
whereby yours truly did lallygag
evincing object lesson procrastination
study habits shucked off cuz mum did nag
obfuscation regarding illegible note taking
I moost definitely haint gonna brag.
Deplorable curriculum vitae
not hearty and hale
equals pathetic academic performance
now displeases me,
yours truly did wanna fail
no matter parents told me, I got smarts
severe psychological dissonance
affected this male
in retrospect,... a tell tale
sign everyday existence
arduous, horrendous, perilous...
lifelong struggle analogous to quail
caught between cross hairs
tis pointless foregone opportunities... assail
self pointless, hence no surprise
metaphor locked within jail.
Report cards highlighted
plethora weaknesses bred
teachers exhausted markers
especially black red
spent small fortune replacing
regarding this jughead,
who practically proved deficiencies
prevailed within his head
arising and undoubtedly stead
dully contributing living
antisocially he approximated
being gratefully dead.
Search for acceptance during harrow
wing during formative years absolute zero
earning michelin equivalent laughing stock,
where mummified pharaoh
each arose out sarcophagus (cue Thriller -
Michael Jackson), a hero
cash equalling cow Jackson 5 era
before disgraced pedofile,
now keeps company with Nero
roman around within underworld
plus disembodied spirit Clarence Darrow,
who scopes, karaokes,
moonwalks... with monkeys.
Sundry dead souls heave pens, gogol,
and trumpet like Donald duck,
their afterlife I envy mingling sui generis
versus yours truly down on his luck
dismal flying colors
analogous to mire and muck
no man iz an island, yours truly isthmus
squeezing thru narrow passing lane,
this bummer doth aimlessly truck
this late bloomer summoning forth
long suppressed pluck.
The Month of November Glum
Late Autumn bloomers, mums galore,
Crowd the mantel with Fall décor,
Filling one’s heart with warmth and timbre,
In the glum month of November.
I watched her pick them one by one,
To place in a vase of chrysanthemums,
Of beguiling colours and scent,
Tempting romantic engagement.
My eyes stretch the fabric of time,
Embedding this vision of mine,
My love’s rapport with chrysanthemums,
In the month of November glum.
***
Note:
The month of November’s birth flower is the lovely Autumn bloomer, chrysanthemum, aka mum. Chrysanthemums display the many colours of Fall. They represent friendship, honesty, and happiness, and symbolize joy and beauty.
Skinny in youth thick in later days
Champion for truth despite delays
As a late bloomer in thought process
Born to a baby boomer and so blessed
Believed in God but didn’t get much church
Felt so odd how the church clicks work
Rather open to explore other fuchsia faiths
Went to the mosque just couldn’t be great
And with Buddhism she felt all a glow
But she still identified as a Christian so
Perhaps it’s true train up a child
But her training was unique and mild
For she recalled Bootsy’s Rubber Band
And Stevie Nicks, Stevie Wonder on hand
Music was the church in her life
She was a cool nerd never a wife
A poet who sucked at math in her head
But like a mom stretched a penny till it’s dead
Had many jobs, but a mom and proud to be
Not afraid of death for it is purple peace
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
November 9 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on John 13-15
Key Verse – John 13:13 Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR LEADING US
SINCE HE IS OUR MASTER AND LORD
Praise be to God for leading us since
He is our Master and Lord; indeed our:
Life-Builder
Love-Bestower
Lesson-Bloomer
Learning-Beautifier
Lifter, bracing us up by the Bible
John 14:6 Praise be to the Lord for
He is the way toward:
Salvation-certainty by His grace
Success so clearly grand and good
Service through His calling that is great
Satisfaction with His compassionate generosity
Scriptural spirituality along His sovereign guidance
John 15:1 Praise be to the Saviour
for being the true vine:
Redeeming us for our regeneration
Restoring us being His ransomed
Re-creating us toward renewal
Reviving us by His rejoicing
Replenishing us in His rest. Amen!
November 9, 2024