Long Bradford Poems
Long Bradford Poems. Below are the most popular long Bradford by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bradford poems by poem length and keyword.
Passersby stared at me and complimented mom
for her gorgeous child
who smiled very tenderly,
and being moved by how
I sang my nursery rhyme,
they applauded saying, " Oh, it's so pretty! "
A few days ago, being bored I searched
for a rare coin collection sold
to me by the Bradford exchange,
but surprisingly I found a forgotten picture between
the pages of a book written by James McQueen,
and in that picture there was me at a tender age.
The more I looked at it, the more that shy and fair child resembled me,
and being amazed by my discovery,
I started living the thrill of childhood days:
remembering spring afternoons and how wonderful innocence was!
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Deb Wilson's contest, " Maybe I'm Amazed! "
2/ 19/2013
Night is coming
Even though it already looks and feels of night
It isn't here yet
Gray veil covers the sky
Rain plays its sad tune
But pink flowers contrast green on Japanese Magnolia
Night is coming
Color blind person would not be able to see
The green leaves that are in contrast to the pink
Nor could they see the contrast between the white and green on the Bradford Pear
Night is coming
Rain increases it rhythm, the grayness in the forest deepens
A heaviness weighs upon my body making it uncomfortable to breath
The rain washes the pollen away for right now
Night is coming
Colorblindness would be a disadvantage for a person in many ways
Some of the beauty of spring would be lost
But they would probably notice shape and design more than someone who sees color
Night is coming
When the darkness covers over me then I won't be able to see how to write
This would be a great disadvantage in accomplishing finishing this work
The yellow green or banana yellow yard light has come on it light radiates outward
In the distance a very large tree reaches upward skeletal but has few spring green
tiny leaves that contrast the gray sky.
If I were color blind I would not see that.
fine pOwder
O
what a pleasant
mOrning
intake
cOffee
eee…ew
keep the dOOr
clOsed
bathe
the steps & car
thOse
hazardous
areas
the mat
underfOOt
handle
that can drive
yOur nOse
craz…eee
O
what blOOming
daffOdils
willOws
wisteria
bradfOrd pears
O
my
eyes
see
flOaters
flOtsam
pOllen I thOught
swiping at my hair
nOt gnats drats
strangers with wings
O
Spring
we sing
sOngs of thee
hutchOO
and
eee…ew
sO
beautiful
tOOdOOlOO
tO the cOld
sOlidly sOld
On glOrifying cOlOrs
hutchOO eee…ew
O
my
Spring’s
dreadfully beautiful
Delicate verdant leaves on the Weeping Willow dance in the brisk wind like a harem dancer's
sheer covering. The sighing of the pines sounds like a cymbal gently playing. As rain
droplets sparse and large touch bounce upon late winter's earth, gray amassed clouds pass
over at a moderate rate speed...Then stillness__Is this the quiet before the major storm or
only a repose giving the turbulance a break from blowing in the storm from the west? The
Star Magnolia that was devoid of flowers yesterday fifteen open in different stages..Will the
harsh wind and rain destroy their beauty and let only such a brief life be theirs? The
Japanese Magnolia has flowers open in different stages with more on it than ever a year
before..The Bradford Pear buds opened during the cold late winter's night gracing all who
pass with their gracious beauty...Yes, as in life the storm did blown with harsh winds and
chilling rain...Damage was done to the lovely spring buds and blooms..After the storm, the
survivors were hanging on with a quiet strenght..
A year has passed. The dark clouds still loom.
From the sea voyage, harsh winter, disease, and doom.
The Mayflower set sail 102 Pilgrims aboard,
55 have went on to be with the Lord.
God has heard the Saints and their cry,
Not wanting them to suffer any more and die.
God will provide a wise and strong tribe.
The Wampanoag was chosen to be their guide.
The Wampanoag lived in huts.
They hunted, planted, gathered, fruits, and nuts.
Squanto was an English-speaking man.
Who taught the Pilgrims to hunt and work the land.
Some accounts by Ed Winslow, December 11,1621, in a letter.
With the dark clouds lifting, life is much better.
We built 11 houses and buildings, after the freeze.
Sowed acres of corn, barley and peas.
Our harvest was great. Our crops, abound.
We were taught to use herring and shad to manure the ground.
The last of the crops should be in storage by now.
Governor Bradford sent 4 men to hunt for foul.
We prepare for "Thanksgiving" it was a plentiful year
although the dates was not very clear.
Between September and November 1621
It was a 3 day festival of recreation and fun.
King Massasoit and 90 men from his tribe,
joined the Pilgrims bountiful feast, as history describes.
They gathered around and they bowed their head.
We give "Thanks to God" for this Harvest and our journey ahead.
Mayflower 400uk.org
11/16/21
Bradford pears line the drive
Golden mops, dense supply
Ivy climbs, in designs
Elegant, are these vines
Cyprus trees, thrive with ease
The goods of woods minus leaves
Spongey grass, rich in hue
Heaven for morning dew
Purple trees adding spice
Alternation feels nice
Variations zig and zag
A dash of contrast, adds swag
An oak that’s lived many years
Rings align,descending tiers
Base is broad and trunk, stout
Pushed through frost, flood and drought
Just beyond this house of mine
Rows of pines, you will find
The beauty of it blows my mind
Twas a dream, once upon a time
He was the Yodelling King of Whitby.
On a calm clear weather day
You could hear his practice yodels
On the cliffs at Robin Hoods bay.
He would stand there at the bar
In his Tyrolean feathered hat
With dark brown lederhosen,
Black cloak thrown over that,
To hold then all enraptured
When he got up on that stage
Setting female hearts a beating
No matter what their age.
His repertoire so varied,
From classical to rap,
With the occasional dance,
Sometimes breaking into tap.
Booked at the Alhambra Bradford
He attracted audience motley
All of his dedicated fan club
Some from as far away as Otley.
Then he strode on that stage
And his throat suddenly dried
And on the brink of stardom
His career withered and died.
They still talk of it in Eccleshill,
Bowling, Idle, even Runswick Bay
And many a tear is still shed
About that fateful fateful day.
He’s still Yodelling King of Whitby,
Still holds the pub under his spell
Particularly performing his finale
Of excerpts from William Tell.
Stardom no longer beckons
It’s lustrous lure dispelled
By the hurtful memory of
That Bradford performers hell.
Some times in his cups
It really gets his goat:
Yodelling King of the World maybe
But for the drying of his throat.
Hockney the ultimate experimental artist
Painter, printmaker, photographer, stage designer, draughtsman
Always challenging traditional elitist art
No barriers, no preconceptions, eyes always wide open
Bradford boy whose roots always prevail
1962, demands to be judged on his art not his writing
Submits Life Painting for a Diploma
RCA considers and changes regulations
Diploma awarded, so art wins
Continues his artistic quest
Vibrant colours capture people and places
His vision reaches beyond everyday reality
Unconventional proportions and perspectives
Fresh new takes on vistas of old masters
1980s, he arrives at photo collages
Painting ceases for a while
Creates two hundred plus patchworks of joiners
Photos, manyfold, of a single subject
My Mother, Bolton Abbey epitomises his experiment
Embraces technology using phones and iPads
Bending it to his artistic aims
No texture, no brush strokes
But still his take on life prevails
Locked down in France during COVID
Chinese scroll painting and Bayeux Tapestry feed fertile mind
A Year in Normandie results
Two hundred and twenty iPad paintings enlarged
Ninety metre chronicle of changing seasons
Salts Mill exhibition, back where it all began
Visitors immersed in a linear experience
Hockney pursuing a lifetime of artistic exploration
A contemporary art virtuoso
...
A
Tree
Named Braford
Shaped like a Christmas Tree
Sets off at least two seasons
One with white and the other with fire
Spring blooms are beautiful and Fall puts on
A great show but when one looks at winter closely
The Bradford's buds does surely show along side these
Are tiny little pears; Food for all the birds, to feed in winter
Snow, Who would have thought that the Bradford woud hold
Hands with old Sweet Gum Joe, as they dance to the win-
Ter breeze and shiver in the cold two friends so different
They are love struck because they are so much the
Same color, Their bright burgundy and gold so
Looking like flaming touches one in yards
The other is the wild, wild woods so
Far apart but in love are they
The birds and bees
Bear their
Love
Tales
Back
And
Forth
Each
Day
In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye at the last trumpet:
for the trumpet shall blow, and the dead shall be raised up
incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
—1 Cor 15:52
To Friendly Face and Open Door
Spring of daffodils and time change,
of snowy Bradford pears and I,
to friendly face and open door;
ecstatic at the doctored lift.*
Of snowy Bradford pears and I,
an hour that cannot be reclaimed.
Ecstatic at the doctored lift.
Latter smile on church-countenance.
An hour that cannot be reclaimed,
and thus the gimp has no inkling.
Latter smile on church-countenance.
Pain perished in twinkling moment.
And thus the gimp has no inkling,
saved from the click clack of a clock.
Pain perished in twinkling moment,
in glory of Great Physician.**
Saved, from the click clack of a clock,
to friendly face and open door.
in glory of Great Physician,
Spring of daffodils and time change.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
*lift - elevator and metaphor
**Great Physician - Jesus Christ
***non-rhyming pantoum