Long Brimmed Poems
Long Brimmed Poems. Below are the most popular long Brimmed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brimmed poems by poem length and keyword.
You squealed with joy, O' darling child,...
on that autumn day, white-washed with clouds
Your gleeful laughter could be heard
As we traveled through the rolling hills
where farms were scattered, red and brown
Your captured eyes, through the windshield glass
found wheat turned gold, beneath blue skies
And pastures green, where goats that pranced
had caught your glance, with keen surprise
You were entranced, and ......O', so beautiful.
Eyes wide with glee, you begged to stop
The sun broke through the the misty air
With joy and haste, your eager face
pressed tight against the window's glass
As we pulled off near the meadow grass
We slowed our pace....your smiling face....was O'...so beautiful
Quickly out, you scrambled fast
To climb up through the muddy patch
Such chubby legs, you quickly raced
It almost seemed, a playful dream
A sunny day....your rosy face
This time and place was, O'......so beautiful
I remember how the moment passed
You plucked the stems of tallest grass
We followed soon, to lift you high
With chubby hands, right through the wire
White eager faces, their eyes so bright
Your own of blue, they brimmed delight
So very, very beautiful......
My eyes would sting, with tears unshed
My heart could burst with words unsaid
So all I do, is stand and smile
Such beauty on a country mile
One autumn day, to cherish while...
I hold such love my darling child
O' darling child, ...........you are...................so beautiful
Its the 1920’s, what a time to be alive!
Sure we struggle with money
But, we have love.. and that suits us fine.
I have my four daughters,
And a good husband too.
He works so hard.
To get us through.
I don’t sleep at night
Cause the littlest one cries
I think that she’s hungry,
I see it in her eyes.
Thank goodness..
He gets paid this week,
But, his best friend needs money too..
And he is so sweet.
Tears fill my eyes
As he writes out the check
How will we get by
Until he gets paid next ?
He senses my worry
And cups my cheek
“Please, dont be scared, honey,”
It’ll be OK, wait and see
I went to the bookstore to calm my nerves
Flipping through the pages of some of my favorite words
When it came to me
Like a miracle on a breeze
Each page hid a dollar
My babies would eat
Tears brimmed my eyes
“my God, he was right“
I smiled and wept,
I would sleep well that night.
At 7 am.l found time filling
my mouth with coffee-brimmed grinds;
my hand circling a porcelain mug
and dropping sugar,cube by cube,
into the murky liquid; never expecting
it to be sweet enough to drink
Then by noontime, my fingers
designed a crepe kite heavily trimmed
along its tai that it landed
on a neiahbor's fence. I needec to make
this day a fruitful one as I feigned sick ,
mumbling on the phone about a vicious cough---
frazzled and bored from a dreadful Wednesday,
yet looking at that dead kite,
I felt really like a champ. My sense of ennui
tells me, this day is a good one!
For Nayda Ivette Negron 11/23/2016
Pulling this wagon by the scruff of my neck,
is like relaxing cross-legged on feeble bike handles.
The gentle gusts of your hurricane dazzle me.
Humouring the limitless requests of an oxymoronic cloud that swoops over your vision,
second by hour,
are the 3 batteries connected through the flat sides, powering my crowd of maggots.
The pedagogy of every goddess' life without the gods;
the arthritic juddering of a pencil after snapping between one's fingers that fell off;
spurs that sympathetically pierce the apple after hearing of the triangles;
wide-brimmed umbrellas drunkenly spiralling down to the epitome of existence -
"Mercy!" screams the provided resolve to them all, rekindling its might and willpower with its insecurity.
"What is the bread but flowers?
If the orchid and the rose would through the solemn winter implore,
Would we lie here in fantastical distrust?
And when the clock is returned unscathed, will you cower in it's presence?
What will it whisper to you, should such words of passion ever exist?"
The sake has been forsaken,
The sole has been consoled;
In which ethereal distrust should this fantasy subside?
For, in ours, I see a merely extinct world.
And the caterpillar has started its pledge across the tapestry again.
I saw you for the first time today as a lady.
You were sitting in the sand in the late day sun,
Your face framed by the broad-brimmed hat.
You smiled so beautifully under that,
That even your father could see the lady inside.
I saw you for the first time on your birth day.
And I thought I’d never seen a song til then.
But angels whispered and parents prayed
So fervently that angst was stayed.
And the Father blessed the lady inside.
I saw you for the first time as a woman.
It had somehow not occurred to me til then.
That you could have a life apart from me
Or anything other than this family.
But even fathers, someday, must see the lady inside.
Staggering through red rocks,
hot to the touch in sun,
desperately scanning the
far, muttered, desert horizon.
Looking for anybody,
amidst the baking dirt,
desperate for a drink,
to slake an endless thirst.
My wide-brimmed hat is soaked
by and endless, grimy sweat.
I wish to god my horse
Wasn’t lying dead.
He fell back on a slope,
sliding sideways down.
I clung atop his body
to avoid the jagged ground.
My boot heels hurt my back,
not made for long walking.
My mind can’t take silence,
no noise, clamor, or talking…
Just a hot wind blowing,
background music to pain,
my ribs ache and throb,
can’t focus my brain…
But wait! A glint out there,
distant, but repeating!
Something out there, mile off,
a faster path I’m limping.
Seems to take forever,
but I stagger on and on,
to the back street, paved,
a highway rolling broad.
An SUV stops and sees me
and they empty out.
“My god, you need help!"
Of that, have no doubt.
We drive on to Vegas,
to big hospitals there,
have to call the trail-ride place,
tell them about their mare.
From the sacred centre of learning streams forth an irrepressible desire to overcome the ignorance between people. Education speaks to us through knowledge, a testament to human potential unleashed.
The classroom communes through books, discussions, and discovery. Teaching, the ever-flowing fountain, reveals the secret of growth through question and answer, theory and practice. All learners long for understanding, and minds give voice to ideas and innovation.
Deep potential wishes to surface, find words and numbers, concepts and skills, and always evolving forms of comprehension. The child wants to be known to the world and find expression for timeless curiosity.
When teacher and pupil connect, insights bloom and wisdom unfolds all minds are brimmed again with wonder—the equations of mathematics and the essays of the student point to the inner workings of intellect.
Schools and universities invite you to understand the splendours of human thought. A look into a classroom will confirm it: What confuses us often as complex becomes clear and simple through learning.
And every lesson and textbook and every experiment is a revelation, another fresh attempt to unfold the harmony of knowledge. Minds start flourishing, and the future brightens.
Education transforms the silent into the eloquent, the unsure into the confident, and the novice into the expert. In every child, a world of possibility; in every lesson, a step towards enlightenment.
The living lesson breathes through generations, forever changing, forever growing, always pregnant with beginning and never-ending. In this eternal dance of learning and growth, we find the true essence of human evolution.
An actor returns to his Beverly Hills mansion –
blows his brains out with a 38 special.
I must have dozed off,
cops at my door,
a line of chain-smoking flashbulbs
in baggy turn-ups.
I watch myself being taken away in a body bag.
The movie is badly spliced.
Black Packard’s keep morphing into flying saucers.
We are all wearing hats,
even the writers in the backroom
are wearing wide-brimmed hats.
The women are wearing hats.
They wear pencil thin skirts,
and talk out of the side of their mouths.
A screen flickers;
a skinny man behind an obscuring microphone
apologizes for the delay.
Meanwhile, space aliens have landed in Brooklyn,
and are exterminating people in hats.
It’s a radio show hoax,
but I don’t know that –
until I wake-up
into a world filled with terror and chaos,
there are no aliens and few brimmed hats.
I can’t sleep.
I thought I saw you yesterday.
My heart assumed an unfamiliar arrhythmia mode.
True it was a humid and hectic day
and I was wearied out.
So as I sauntered
down the busy main street,
when everyone and his friend
had just finished work.
I though I saw you on the opposite side,
strolling towards our favourite snack bar
down by the riverside.
Alas I could not cross immediately
for traffic was as usual heavy,
and the ill-fated traffic lights
took such a long time to change.
Finally I hurried to the snack bar.
My heart beat faster.
A woman sat at a table,
our favourite table, right by the window side.
Her hair was auburn, curly hair just like yours,
her dress a haunting memory of you.
But I knew it could not be.
She turned her head as if
she was waiting for someone.
Then I was certain it was not you.
So I felt ashamed, truly ashamed.
My eyes brimmed with tears.
I hurried out and took a bus,
arrived just before closing time.
I just had time to stand before the stone
that spelled your name so fine.
Rest in peace my love and remember
I'll love you till the end of time.
27 October 2020
Silent One Contest
Placed 2
Picture this: The dust is swirling down Main Street, the sun is high and unforgiving, and the air is thick with the smell of pine boxes. Anne is following a funeral wagon, and Richard steps out from the shadows of the general store, spurs jingling like a warning bell.
The wagon creaked, a heavy load of grief,
And Anne stood tall, her eyes a stormy gray.
She stared at him—that low-down, grinning thief—
Who'd gunned her kin down just the other day.
She spat into the dirt near his black boots:
"You serpent, with your tongue all slick with grease!
You tore my family up right by the roots,
And now you've got the gall to ask for peace?"
Richard tipped his dusty, wide-brimmed hat,
And leaned against a hitching post to sigh.
"Now, Miss," he drawled, "it wasn't quite like that.
I did it 'cause I couldn't bear your eye
To look on any man but me.
It's true— I cleared the trail so I could ride with you."
She gripped her holster, knuckles turning white,
The town went quiet, waiting for the crack.
"I'd sooner share a bed with snakes tonight
Than have a coward's shadow at my back!"
But Richard stepped in close, his voice a hum,
He offered her his gun, the grip turned out.
"Then pull the trigger, gal, and strike me dumb,
If my 'true love' is something you still doubt."
She hesitated.
The iron felt like ice.
He watched her with a wolfish, steady gaze.
He'd stacked the deck and loaded every dice,
And lured her right into his wicked maze.
She didn't fire. She let the hammer drop,
And Richard grinned, the devil in his vest.
He knew right then the killing wouldn't stop
Until he'd cleared the ranch and claimed the West.