Long Cannot Poems
Long Cannot Poems. Below are the most popular long Cannot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cannot poems by poem length and keyword.
This tussling the maple’s hair
rocking her in feigned caress
sweet promises of whispered gusts -
“I’ll close my eyes while you undress”
this dalliance of summer love
a sultry robe’s once flowing grace
slowly tossed upon cold floor -
“you cannot hide from nature’s fate”
I serve the whim of fickle wind
that seeks but pollination’s thrill
a lust that bears no looking back -
“My warmth must sadly fade to chill”
So sway in mourning’s frigid dance
to baleful moan of iced regret
caressing still your shivering limbs
with whispers of - “I won’t forget”
John G. Lawless
©9/24/2018
A nation of millions, converted to the round table of a charmed circle
ruthlessness, propelling dictatorship in absolute efficacy
just an innocent blink is deserving of a cruel sentence
he escapes out of the republic, which is now a family directorate
the scars are the consequences of his choice of religion
blood stains his epidermis, ascribed on it, his tribe
the need to be free from a society where humanity is obsolete
cannot be debunked from the groans of his persecution
a writer, a poet and a doctor with cracking skills
his value distances liability for his new home to dance
a great one to be who you are without any high impact slam
his family, escapes with him from brutality’s enforcer
allegiance cannot be frugal, patriotism has changed its uniform
teleporting from death’s training ground, run with no air
he settles for a better one to enjoy life which comes only but once.
This morning I was notified by TPS that I had been gifted a lifetime premium membership and that the donor wishes to remain anonymous.
I have been given an incredible gift. A gift that cannot be wrapped in a pretty box with a bow but something I will cherish and use for the rest of my life - the gift of words on Poetry Soup.
It is impossible to put into words what I want to say to this amazing person. Thank you just doesn’t come close. I want them to know that I will use this gift wisely and will continue to learn and grow as a poet.
I try and make people smile with my humourous poems but today I can’t wipe away the smile I have on my face.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart
Hugs Jan xx
10~14~16
Coyly smiling at the sun
with brightly colored face,
a demeanor quietly homespun
garlanded with ruffled grace;
wherever planted, sheds crisp cheer
all about the garden plot,
sophisticated peers may proudly sneer;
bravely, she smiles on from her spot.
Determined through the winter cold
to continue blooming by the walk,
I love to see her shining there;
oh, if that simple face could talk!
There are others, I confess,
who possess more glorious flair;
but, to me, in all the world of flowers
to the pansy they cannot compare.
Copyright, August 11, 2016
Faye Lanham Gibson
Whatever woes betide;
(And let cynics exhaust all they have to say)
Hard work shall be my pride,
For I know someday it shall pay.
I know that great enterprises are not for all,
And that the crown does not belong to losers;
I know that victory does not easily come,
That you cannot expect the Pharisees to adore Jesus,
And that East and West can never be bedfellows.
I intend to be the first
Where honest and virtuous deeds are fronted.
And after all is done and I'm back to dust,
I want both men and women to say,
That I did all a mortal could in my day.
And may the Father who all knows,
Pardon all my folly and flaws,
And grant me His eternal mercy,
And welcome me in His golden abode.
A frustration that can cannot be abated,
Knives flashing in the blindingly brilliant Sunshine.
Blood drops spattered across the delicate petals
of white roses clutched in a child's small fist.
horror lances through her body it reacts before her mind does,
all the years of self control suddenly break away,
a woman sits only in a peaceful garden,
not at peace, but thoughts whirling like a deep
malovolent tornado,
as she thinks about the lonely years,
of that little girl that lurks beneath the
surface wanting ,needing, and waiting for
a god to be able to reunite her with now,
her mother, sister, and older loving overprotective brother.
The Antique store
Antiques she adored, a relic he was.
She had a special place for art.
Unfortunately it wasnt her heart.
I'm clinging on to the older things
the antiques of our time.
Sometimes they break or get lost.
I cannot replace them,
no one can replace them.
But I'd rather have an antique
than nothing at all.
At least I can say I enjoyed it at some point.
Teach me to make beautiful.
No beauty can I find.
Search me whole.
Tell only what thoughts appear to be mine.
First comings need an exit of least disgrace.
No one wants to be kept waiting.
For then their time might never come.
Trimmed antiques in dusty lace.
A whole world
Begging for
Change
Daring to dream
Endless altering realities
Figuring that the end
Generates a new start
Hinging on the application of
'I'
Just in terms of understanding
Knowledge of the self
Learning about the
Magic inside all of us
Nearing that
Ominous future
Persistent in the
Quest for a better tomorrow
Reach for it!
Stand up for it!
Teach the young to
Usher in their new era
Vestiges of ours gone
Without a second thought
Xenoliths of a different time
Yellowed antiques
Zealous youth to push aside our failures
When you don't need me,
you put me on a shelf
with your dusty trophies
you never really earned,
and antiques
you never took care of.
I'm up front, visible,
easy to reach
at your convenience.
But I know you would rather
take what you need from
your precious china cabinet.
Just know that when you fumble,
when you slip up,
and when you stumble,
your precious china will break.
But I will still be here.
I have gathered all time tellers,
grandfather clocks, alarm clocks, phones, watches -
to tell you that : I have all the time in the world for you.
It might not be the most sophisticated way
to say that I have an ear for listening and a heart for consolation,
but don't be too skeptical with my methods.
Forgive me, maybe, perhaps, if I can't be so bold and concise.
At least, now we've got all these antiques to talk about.
he is a lover of brokenness.
he likes antiques,
collecting little fragments of things.
he hates breaking them,
so he finds brokenness,
fixes it up a little,
takes a few pieces and leaves.
he's already taken a bit of me,
and unless I shatter again,
he'll leave forever.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Poetry
Aged eighty Joyce started to write
Her poems my senses ignite
Imagery so divine
I just wish it was mine
Great poetry brings such delight
Making Fudge
Joyce really loves making fresh fudge
I wonder if I give Joyce a nudge
She will send to me
Her fudge recipe
From my kitchen I would not budge!
Tulip Parade
Without Joyce being sat in her seat
The parade would not be complete
Gardens Joyce does promote
On the flower club float
Her zest for life cannot be beat!
Gardening club
Joyce travels to state garden shows
Her knowledge of plants overflows
It would be a great idea
In her centenary year
To honour her name with a rose
100th Birthday
All soupers we must now rejoice
And shout out with united voice
That we just want to say
Have happy Birthday
To a fabulous poet named Joyce
Happy 100th Birthday Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
4/18/18
The outer shell is hard and strong
The home is built where they belong
The independence proclaims aloof
But manifests in times of truth
When welcomed in to loves embrace
The outer shell begins to break
The homely crab is so endearing
And loves so fiercely; feelings searing
But beware, whilst crabs are gentle
If you hurt them, they go mental
Rearing up with cutting claws
Retaliation; no time to pause
Once again you're tossed aside
Forever enemies they can't abide
The outer shell is back in place
As they return to illusive grace
You can't return to their affection
The damage is a staid inflection
The course of love has changed and ended
Irreparable pain which cannot be mended
With tears and a broken heart, I sat alone in the church I grew up in.*
It was just 15 years ago, but life was simpler, and I was innocent back then.
Life is complicated now, and I needed time to myself to meditate and pray.
Perhaps I will open up and share my heart, seeking counsel on a future day.
It's quiet, a sanctuary with dimmed lights, and I sense the presence of God.
My parents warned me that there would be days like this, but I did not imagine this hard. It's a silent presence, free of musical instruments, voices, or the sounds of others. My soul feels lost, my heart is disturbed, but here I find a refuge from my struggles.
I'm being tested and tempted; and swimming up stream, I need God's strength to keep above waters. Without God I cannot navigate the coldness of life or keep from sinking too deep. So many kids finish high school and begin to drift and turn away from the way they were taught. They are influenced by their peers and college teachers, and start doing things they ought not.
In my heart I know my folks are right, and I refuse to be mislead, even at the cost of being odd and alone. When I come to the sanctuary, initially I hear loud voices and the pulse beats of a thousand wrongs. But after a while, tears of joy, a sense of peace and security cover me like a warm winter blanket.
So I'll keep coming to my childhood pews where I found Christ who toughens and beautifies like granite.
121620PSCtest, A Rhyme Story-Poem With Eyes Open, Mystic Rose Rose
*Story Poem based on a photo.