Long Bring Poems
Long Bring Poems. Below are the most popular long Bring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bring poems by poem length and keyword.
The guns are going off in Downtown Kingston
Police and bad man are at war
World War three just got started in the streets of Kingston
We need to clean up the problem... without Dudus downtown is in a predicament
The sound of guns going off is a constant noise in our ears
We are in a war zone
We are in a war we didn't start
How do we bring back peace ...it's started with political parties fighting for votes, tribalism
Now its ending with innocent lives in a graveyard
Lifeless bodies
Blood all over
No one will tell the truth
We need the army not the police, they can't help us
It's a war zone in downtown Kingston...150 dead more bodies still counting
How many more will of to die for the peace to come ...We are living in a war zone
From some old country
This is the oddest card game
With rules to make your hair stand on end
No use trying to make sense of it
Just accept that it’s the way it is
Don’t bother asking too many questions
They call it Clabiash quite similar to Tarbish
It’s still a favorite of the Maritimes
Played back in the day
As far back as I remember
Come the weekend let guests arrive
Clear the table bring out the cards
A round of beers before we start
Bids to launch the rounds
Partners ruse and much excitement
Base count one sixty four
Trumped or sandbagging
Twenties bellies fifties
Count your points or else go bate
Absurd rules lead to hot tempers
Misplays turn to family feuds
Otherwise a lot of fun around the table
A beer or two resets the mood
Playing Clabiash all weekends through
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.3~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
First Annual Poetry Soup Convention shall be held on June 21st at Stonehenge
For Nina’s convenience and to entice Jan, Melani, Brandy, Heidi and Anne-Lise.
M.L., Rhona, Brian, Joseph, and Emile will build the fire, and bring magic.
Jennifer, Michelle, Aditi, Carolyn, Lu and Panagiota will laugh into the night.
Victor, Demetrios, Andrew, Gershon and Chris will build their own cabins.
Mahtab, Brenda and Jim will help construct them, but will refuse any credit.
Directors Line, Eve, Connie, P.S, Ann and Irene will be assigning bunk mates.
Sarah, Sherry and Anisha will create food using M.L.’s epulaeryus for recipes.
Andrea, Gregory, and Kim will be teaching "how to win" poetry workshops.
Peter, Vera and Freddie will bringing along cockatoos to entertain us at night.
Tom will be down the hill re-enacting war stories with a bunch of the fellows.
Maureen will be teaching senyrus. Beata will be holding Bible sessions.
Nette will be coordinating with Susan, Robert, and Teppo to recreate the moon.
Sandra and Maurice will be sneaking onto computers to do their own thing.
Jack and James will arrive without James’ special pal, who is at Mar-a-Largo.
Bobby and Wren will make banners. Everyone will be hugging Line for the idea.
Constance, Sherry and M.L. will bring their cats, who will go from lap to lap.
Charles and Carol will be rich by the end of the night from their cut of the money from Chantelle and Tania's workshops. Arturo will be Grand Marshall.
Winged Warrior, Pixie Dust and Silent One will reveal they have regular names.
We will have so much fun, we will have to do it again next year in Kansas City.
Where Caren can put up all the tents. She does not sleep anyway.
Written 3-8-2019
Contest: First Annual Poetry Soup Convention
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
When I was young, I wasn’t always sure
If following my heart was the thing to do
Should I allow feelings to play a part
In the decisions that drove my thoughts
There were times when I followed my heart
And I don’t mind saying, I was a little hurt
There were people who took advantage
Of my kindness and compassion, my faith
But, in the end, I finally discovered,
Following my heart was the answer
To the yearnings that left me with questions
About life and love… the dance of hope
I eventually learned that I might sometimes
Be hurt, but if I gave my heart’s desires
The chance to have their say… I would
Be happier, more content and satisfied
Because, in the larger scheme of things
It’s the heart that answers all your wants
For a joy that comes alive and breathes fire
Into the soul, where you can always know
Love is alive… thriving and guiding
Giving back to the spirit all that it needs
To be sure it is pleasing to the One above
Who gives us all the gifts we receive
Gifts of love, hope, faith… feelings that live
Within our souls and teach us to glow
With a light that is destined to bring us all
Warmth from within that reaches heaven’s
Angels with singing, bringing poetry alive
Like a chance to begin a new life
That thrives with a kaleidoscope of colors
Enlivening the joy that delights with pure wonder
Your Advice to the Youth Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
December 4, 2020
Before morning would emerge
The infants stomach became large,
Usual infant's cry became scarce
Where is the mother
Or father?
Tell them to surface.
Mother cried as she saw her babies face,
"Thou unusual thing, where from?
Bring me the broom
Mother needs the broom
In Africa, brooms
Cures gloom And doom.
Mother flogs the infant
Yet she was not triumphant
Weeping became enormous
Like an elephant.
Mother cried a river,
While grand mother sat
In a corner,
Without the sign of anger,
worry, ponder or wonder.
But cherishing laughter.
She picked the broom to
It's position.
Where is the preacher?
Where is the preacher?
Mother seem to remember
Needed is his attention
Tell him to his God, mention.
Grand mother squeezed her face
For things were about to be in place.
The preacher was summoned,
Prayer was altered,
Some one confessed.....
The unusual grand mother
Sibling of Lucifer....
=================
such things really happen down here, we only watch and pray.
Sun rising casts red against gray
Those wispy cobalt streaks
Trying to keep the sun at bay
While roosters crow across the creek
A jet leaves its exhaust behind
White against a blue sky
Such a clear blue this morn~magic
For poet's aging eyes
The clouds are supposed to bring rain
Water in the makin'
A dampness in the air surrounds
But out here joy in the takin'
Cocoon wrapped waits for metamorphosis
Surrounded by His love
As the clouds slowly change and move
Entertained from above
The mood disturbed by man's noise
Closed eyes against the world
The dove's voice begins to sooth
Then tires begin to whorl
As a bumblebee seeks a meal
Inside begonia's bud
The sun slowly slips up higher
Now in middled of sun's flood
Life's duties call out come inside
Where waits a flowing tide
Thank you, God, for time on the porch
For Your love in which I hide
If I was a cat with a long hairy tail
you’d bring me to your home from a fare.
Not a long time would pas by though
when you’d satiate me with your love and care.
When I’d prowl regally like a magical cat
you’d call me your charming feline queen,
as white as the first snow of the winter
or as lovely as the spring lily with a sheen.
Wherever you’d go on your daily errand,
your warm company I’d always keep,
pacing ahead of you in my swift strides,
and every night beside you’d let me sleep.
I’d climb and sit on your broad shoulder,
or lounge leisurely on your plump thigh.
You’d caress me with your gentle fingers
and with their magical touch I’d feel high.
I’d be pampered by you as your naughty child,
to have me on your hold you’d race after me.
You won’t even mind if I’d wet your clean sofa,
for, to go to the assigned place I’d feel too lazy.
As you’d stroke fondly my fur while I’d snooze,
I’d wake up with purring melodic meow like a song,
and to the food bowl you’d keep with care I’d run
in a trance as fast as I could a distance not too long.
At night when all the sounds would subside,
the house would be a domain of dense dark hue,
sleepless, you’d recline on the couch alone,
my steps would create the lullaby tune for you.
Our yesterdays have come and gone. Today
is now- so mixed with trying times. We yearn
that our tomorrow will improve- outweigh
these negative, dire problems of concern.
Pandemic and societal unrest
are now dividing us in many ways.
The media presents facts we detest-
sad news that makes us long for better days.
We pray vaccines will end our virus fears,
and reasoned leadership, across some States,
will bring back comforts known in former years
of normal life- more welcomed, peaceful fates.
This decade started with a fresh, blank page.
Dear God, help us create a better age.
September 12, 2020
There are many thing's I would like to say to you
But
Words can only do harm
When your world resides in the palm of your hand
And the lightning strikes at very most 6 foot away
On a rainy summers day
With hailstorms like tennis ball's
But as they say
It can't rain all the time
Unless you are stuck in line
Closed for lunch
When you are running late for your dream job interview
And the sweat has ruined your suit shirt
Isn't it ironic
That some might say
Tomorrow will bring a brighter day
Knowing there is a better than 78 % chance
We may have faced our Waterloo
Or the wheel of future will turn
And I shall awaken a stronger man
Cast aside my Battle scared war tin helmet
And rise above my feral station
Only time will tell
If I am destined to rot in hell
Or sound the division bell
Ascending up to heaven's gate
And god awaits me
With either a smile or a scowl
But hey ho along the yellow brick road
I stride deaf and blind
Merely a passenger along for the ride
Oh bring the joy of pink,
I can sink my teeth into
the growing beak, topmost
wings of loveliness,
through my lacy windowscape.
Don’t obscure your smooth legs,
your growing up, woman;
though not really human,
just a link to sublimity.
No limit, to the brink
of Summer happiness, at peak.
You speak of high season;
we wait all year to see; but
of what do we see in the rest
of the quarterly divisions?
You light me up in Summer heat.
Some have rows and rows,
so neat. You complete me,
standing alone - oh how
I admire my quiet scenery.
Others might have a bounty full,
other hues bleeding,
but I admire my eyeful, leading
me upwards to a full stop.
Others, too, might take
you for granted, myrtle,
thinking you immortal.
My grand, the youngest hand
pointed out my garden,
when I believed I had none.
The lips of a child
utter vainglorious visuals,
where I might otherwise
wander toward a blackened forest.
Why not grab the handful
that stands right before me;
why look for happiness
through another groomer’s eyes?
Plentiful is pink, sweet and cherry,
cornering my sighs.
She will not last long;
what beauty does;
God does but place
an amorous trace, after Winter,
after my willow has let down her hair,
after seeds of potential grass
run with their carpeted feet -
footprints everywhere.
I stare at the focal point, looking out,
looking up, esteeming pert ink,
fascinated by her name,
rolling my tongue in poetic feat.