Long Cement Poems
Long Cement Poems. Below are the most popular long Cement by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cement poems by poem length and keyword.
Where do I find a contented life?
ECHO: WIFE
Will marriage bring this to me ?
ECHO: SEE
Can two ever complement one?
ECHO: DONE
But do opposites cement,still?
ECHO: WILL
Aye,will it hold fast from above?
ECHO: LOVE
Here,there,where does agape hide?
ECHO: INSIDE
Ah yes,but how will it draw near?
ECHO: HEAR
Perhaps for me,too great a task!
ECHO: ASK
Yes,yes but how,what words to pray
ECHO: SAY
Journeys begin
Watch pulse of heart;
Intent conspires
Old Casuarina tree
By school compound;
Witness to history
Stormy morning
Thunder and lightning;
Moody weather lashing
My old school dome
Now a museum;
To cement yesterday
Book shop retreat
Between covers;
Too much to know
Tour agency desk
Brisk bookings;
Now here or somewhere?
Chinatown hotspot
People congregate;
Worship by shopping
Ancestral shrine
We commune here;
Our forebears await
Clogged intersections
Crossroad commentary;
Noisy traffic jam
Leon Enriquez
31 July 2014
Singapore
Technically, not a sea at all,
Lake Superior churns up its share of sea storms.
There is not a lot to do in Marquette, Michigan:
Except for high school drivers to "buzz the gut",
Or cruise past a courthouse where "Anatomy" was filmed.
You could smoke dope or drink underage
Under a disused, fourteen story ore pocket dock.
Rusted off shards of flat black paint
Fall on the gently sloshing waves.
There is a breakwater of dumped cement blocks
That has a chain-linked fence and sign that says,
DANGER! NO TRESPASSING!
But of course, the young ones do.
And better yet if a sea storm comes.
Maritime law forbids including those who drown
As sailors lost at sea.
Written: August 26, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the tapestry of life, a friend we find
A precious treasure, a soul so kind
Through tight and thin, through joy and strife,
A friendship blossoms—a gift for life.
Devotion and loyalty intertwine.
A bond unbreakable, a love divine.
Through laughter and tears, we share our days.
Supporting each other in countless ways.
Such cement, our friendship holds us strong.
In the face of hardships and moments gone wrong.
Through swirls and tribulations, we stand,
Hand in hand, together we withstand.
Our souls abiding in a sacred space,
Connected by love, grace, and embrace.
A friendship that's woven, thread by thread,
A tale of friendship that will never be shed.
Through the ups and downs, we navigate,
With trust and understanding, never to abate.
We draw on each other in times of adversity.
The essence of life is knowing our perversity.
We share our dreams, our hopes, and our fears.
And wipe away each other's tears.
In moments of joy, we celebrate,
In moments of sorrow, we commiserate.
Bound by friendship's tapestry, we grow,
Supporting each other as we learn and glow.
With every challenge, we rise above,
Together, we conquer with strength and love.
In this tapestry of friendship, we find:
A connection so deep, it transcends time.
Through the highs and lows, we stand
Hand in hand, forever bound, a friendship so grand
Home, not built with bricks and cement
But on the rocks of love and trust
Where all live happy n’ content
Where, life moves smooth in hope, robust
It is a place we love to stay
A haven in all storms of life
Where our true self, we can display
With no room for mistrust or strife
Home is not roof over our head
But a place where concord shall fare
Where all are bound by love’s strong thread,
Where we bide with duties to share
A place of joy one can retire,
In shine and darkness, day and night
An abode of what we aspire
Where, in strong bond all shall unite
Placed Second
March.30.2022
Form L- Lay- New Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Subject Chosen- Home
Approaching Storm
by Edmund Siejka
It was unexpected
For what everyone thought
Would be a mild April
That no one saw it coming.
The first signs
Came over the horizon
Thick grayish fingers
Slowly inching towards us
A warning of coming snow.
Waiting at the train station
Anxious to get home
I could do nothing
But watch the light flurries,
Floating gently in the wind,
Come down
Faster and faster
Heavier and heavier.
In the station’s waiting room
An old man sat down
Bad leg stretched outward
Cane by his good side.
Unbuttoning his top coat
He said to no one in particular
‘First hint of snow here
And everything slows down.’
I nodded quietly.
A woman waiting at the far end
Had a worried look
That only parents have
As her daughter,
Really only a child,
Held her mother’s hand
And recited her numbers
From one to twenty
In a voice as clear as an angel.
The old man, tilting his head to one side,
Listened
Counting with the girl
Tapping the cement floor with his cane.
Outside the snow continued unabated
Covering everything
In a heavy white blanket
So that even the tallest trees,
Limbs outstretched,
Knelt before nature’s might.
26 July 2018 8:11 Pm
Facebook is good to keep up with the days ins and outs
But face to face interaction is what life is really about
Do not let facebook and other computer programs
Take the place of real life with family and friends
Let no excuse keep you apart
Cement the bonds in person heart to heart
Lend a hand not just an ear
Lend your shoulder to catch each others tears
Reach out and take each others hand
And walk together across this land
Remember when you had visits from aunts and uncles
When you played with cousins catching bugs and jumping puddles
You bonded with real memories precious and dear
You relive them through phone lines from mouth to ear
Would you not rather hug them close
And show them you love them in the way that matters most
Go see each other have lunch and pick nicks
Make memories that last and forever stick
You will see your love grow ten fold
And you will train the young who will to soon grow old
Clutching
The end of my Zebco rod and reel
As the cast of tackle is flung
Like a small knot of costume jewelry
Skimming atop the caramel-colored Grand River
Dragonfly rattling awry
The vibration tingling in the palm of my hand
As if I had cupped an angry bee
Until the swivel hook and sinker
Puckers
The river’s muddy surface
Splash
Swallowed soft and thick
On the river bottom a dozen kernels of corn
Thread on hook
Weighed down by an ounce of lead
Waiting
For a big greedy carp
To come by and fight to the death.
Tim and me we got that bait
From a stolen can of corn that used to sit
In Tim’s mom’s refrigerator.
While we keep our eyes keen
To the taps and shivers
Of the delicate tips of our poles
Balanced in the crux of V-shaped sticks
Stuck in the dry embankment
Delta 88s clack across Waverly Bridge
And underneath teenagers dig the hard mud
Hitting a joint while sharing a Mad magazine
Their screeches and laughs rising and falling
Like hooks scraping against cement.
We stroke the knives slung in our socks
Wary of them.
Tim wonders to me what it means for the USA
To have lost its first war.
I don’t know.
I say that my parents think that Watergate
Was worse for us
But either way they say
Things will never be the same.
Tim says his older brother slapped his face yesterday
For parking his bicycle too close
To his black and gold-trimmed Trans Am.
We share a plot of revenge.
We listen on a transistor to Ernie and Paul
Broadcast a doubleheader from Tiger Stadium
“And he stood there like the house by the side of the road…”
We love the New York chef turned right fielder Rusty Staub.
The experienced river fishermen
To avoid snags and the false pull of current
Must trust the placement of his bait.
Sit and wait.
The Grand River makes no sound.
Has no reflection.
These kinds of friendships last in a man’s mind
For a lifetime.
Big muscles of the organ grinder, his biceps burning.
Cranking springs, the tired, but cheerful, Italian chap.
Many chapters of his life on streets of cold cement.
His beard, silver tone; his worn hat filled with coins.
You’d expect for the old legs to be moving, it rests
as the tunes be calling, beckoning through windows.
Accordion sounds be arousing smiles and curiosity.
Melancholy dirges wet the shoulders of the bitties.
Again the pedals and thighs grind along, travelling
as the kids and townsfolk wave goodbye. On his
merry way, feet tapping, ladies dancing, men puffing
on their pipes and cigars. The music says so long.
And another group gathers in the waning sun, waiting
for their favorite song; and the grinder gladly plays,
telling a story, with his barrel rolling, his pins caressed.
Kaput - he moves into a museum, a blast from the past.
The Greasy Saddle Resturant and Night Club!
I blushed as I conceeded: she wished to name her nightclub "The Greasey Saddle". I had been seduced and fell into exhaustion from her nights of neocations. Al talks with her seemed to end as they began. Just like the music she had likened: or pretended to like she often critised most of the artist to whom she favored. I ate the cusie and tasted the drinks. I was lefted moved by her willingfulness to plan. She look to morning only as breakfast and every evening was capped off with a dessert. Sweetness in the tenderness of it's having. The fruits of the feilds were inspiration enough. The Greasy Saddle would exsist because the woman who wanted it gained the support of her shareholders. And it would truly exsist because the had enough history to story an Orcastra. Making The ballroom a place I wanted to be.Magnify the sheet music to see if the scriber's pen used cheaap ink. We needed to be critical of something!
The chicken wire would be tacked to the poles. A foot of space would be filled with burnt oyster sheell. The would pour cement walls over that to satisy the people who wish thick walls. We called the ballroom " The Red Earth" and the dressing area "Green Earth" Combined the Area would be refurred to as Oratorio Aer's ! The Concert area!