Long Chair Poems
Long Chair Poems. Below are the most popular long Chair by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chair poems by poem length and keyword.
Ashes
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
How many times have we heard this?
on TV, in a play, in a movie…
Have you ever read it in the bible?
The very book of life!
He that made all things,
you, me and the trees,
is the true creator.
Sadly the high in chair,
stare into the dark willingly.
They are using You.
Those in the seat of power.
They speak Your precious word,
to bludgeon others into their own belief.
Not the truth at all,
But a miss-happen, miss-shapen, explosion,
of warped possibilities all gone wrong,
culminating in a virus that closed down,
the whole world!
Now we watch as our friends pass.
Now we take note,
if not too late;
that people are worth more than money,
that hurting others is a bad thing,
that killing unborn babies is a sin,
and murder is murder…
regardless of reason.
We need to bow are heads,
and know that our prayers…
are desperate.
This will pass, stay inside, God is real...
So the chemo got the cancer
though I have three more trips to the chair
but for this very moment there is no lump longer there
Its kinda a revelation with the battle going on
but this silly computer game producer
still manages to motor on
I miss the cowboy
He turned out to be a charleton.
But he used to make me laugh and keep me on track
kind of a funny thing
I am now doing pot gummies
just to battle nausea
because despite my best I was at unrest
and it was beginning to take a toll
This war with cancer, sucks I tell you so...
And I have no specific thing I can point to in my ways
that will prevent it from coming back again
So I am on a quest to lower the chances of that
and laying down best practices in my hat
I still have my hair, though the strands are coming out
And surviving I am, despite the fun and games
chemo is surreal, and kinda a big deal
but you can make it out again
Chemo and the side notes Artimus (C) Susan Manley 8:41AM 11/11/2023
A rickety old chair sits in a corner of our house…it’s a chair no one can fit in.
Which begs the question why hold onto a chair we never intend to sit in.
If you asked I’d tell you, “That old chair, the one in the corner you’re looking at…
Deborah’s dad made it with his own hands…we can’t get rid of that.
Our house is filled with children’s books…books we definitely no longer need.
Which begs the question why have so many books we no longer intend to read.
If you asked I’d tell you a secret…one every parent knows
They were all books we read to our children and our grandchildren…
we can’t get rid of those.
We have our share of knick-knacks…on which only dust accrues…
Which begs the question…why have so many objects we never intend to use?
If you asked I’d tell you…and I’m sure that Deborah agrees…
Every object reminds us of someone, some time…some place…
we can’t get rid of these.
By now it must be obvious…I believe my point…I’ve proved
The reason we can’t throw these things away
is they’re all too heavy to move.
Not too heavy physically….for we can lift them all with ease…
What makes them difficult to throw away…
are the weight of their memories.
Sepia-tinted season is on
You are yellow and red
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Soft sun on bed
You are yellow and red
As I pick apples
Soft sun on bed
Squirrels under maples
As I pick apples
In red-and-gold forest
Squirrels under maples
A Robin in your armrest
In red-and-gold forest
Snowy mist in air
A Robin in your armrest
A petal in your hair
Snowy mist in air
Gondola waits in the lake
A petal in your hair
Rich flavour of the cake
Gondola waits in the lake
String of verdant hillsides
Rich flavour of the cake
Evening playing with tides
String of verdant hillsides
October nip in air
Evening playing with tides
Melancholy eyes in the chair
October nip in air
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Melancholy eyes in the chair
Sepia-tainted season is on
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October 3, 2019
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
At Pearl Harbor I was a Second Class Gunner’s Mate,
On the USS LCS(L)-53, it was my home straight,
And we had radar picket duty with my proud gun,
Between Okinawa and Japan, my 20mm connon.
Unfortunately, I got an infection in my right hand,
But our craft was too small to have a doctor at hand,
But the destroyer William D Porter was right on duty,
So our skipper knew I’d loose my hand, so he did hurry.
He contacted the destroyer which pulled up aside,
I was chair lifted onto her, and luckily the sea did abide,
Felt so happy to set foot on her, and my mates teased,
That I’d be exchanged for ice-cream any day, they eased!
I was only there for one night, then went to hospital,
I went onto a hospital ship anchored that so was brutal,
And after Porter had dropped me, she returned to duty,
But within the hour was sunk by the Japanese in cruelty,
I got back into good shape on the hospital ship,
So went back to my ship, discharged and feeling tip;
I checked my record for all of the ships that I served,
And I was surprised, the Porter’s listed unreserved!
Just one more avenue that will take you down
As on Satan's head you place yet another a crown
As a homeless man scavenges through the window pane
You look upon him with complete and utter disdain
And once having your own fill
You now add dessert to that bill
Adjusting your chair so as not to look outside
For sympathy was never something you really ever tried
Getting ready for the chill you don your coat
Having suddenly gotten this little lump in your now empty throat
Now on your way, walking out the front door
Hoping you don't see that pathetic man any more
But as you continue your walk back up South street
There he is lying on a vent, crumpled up at you feet
Casually walking past, trying to look the other way
He looks up at you and say's, "sir, it is for your soul that I pray"
But you didn't hear those words that he said
For your too content and completely fed
Having so little he has given you so much
For life is so brittle without God's Touch
Ms. Mary was usually sitting in her La-Z-Boy chair! She loved to watch Blue Bloods on the television and was a Tom Selleck fan. With a sweet and lovely smile, she welcomed us in! She gave Joy, the Newfoundland therapy dog, a pat on the head! Then Joy laid down by her chair while we talked about her grandchildren and the people at Brookdale.
Ms. Mary was a Methodist, and she spoke about her church family too! She had lived in the area since the 70’s, and she owned her home since that time. She was so very thankful that her granddaughter and her family were there now.
I spoke about Joy and what she liked. She would look at Joy with loving gaze. Some weeks we’d see Miss Mary in the halls and she’d be using her walker. She would always stop and give joy a pat on the head. She was truly loved by the other resident and the employees too!
One day we went to Ms. Mary’s door, and knocked on it. The door was locked, and I was alarmed because that had never been locked before. I said a quick prayer for her, and week after week the same thing happened. I couldn’t ask at the front desk, because I’m only a volunteer. I was able to ask another resident, and she said was in physical therapy. Each week was just the same, until I noticed the her name on the door was gone. I was guessing her family moved her on to a different place.
Ms. Mary, it was a pleasure to know you, and we’ll never forget you!
Windowpane
Sitting on the rocker above the street
Chair takes its station with the man, old and weary
Placed there in time to look out side
A broken window holds them both fixated on the day
Cracked in several places caused by storms and age
Five or ten passersby stream past in a flash
They can’t see him due to the tinted fractured glass
Events spirit them away in any case, in any event
One cannot be preoccupied in the mundane or number of the day
They seize the moment and shrink in size, meander down
The wharf is a welcome warm distraction with sun and sea
Out of reach, out of sight, at a distance, beyond the old man’s vision
The window glares complete indifference to these matters
Down to the shore men march against the storm
With nowhere else to go they come and go again
Maniacs cry for such lives as theirs
Someone used to bring reports and papers
To forecast disasters and read about times gone by
But no more; that time has passed, eclipsed by history
Old man gets all his news by looking through the window
Through it life stares back through cracks
Rising past the damaged world into the bungalow
It seems like everything is somewhat fractured
Like humans, window and the pane, will crack more over time
Mediators to the universe, a microcosm of themselves
They see all things unfold although distorted
Real things happen every day out there
Old man catalogues them all in a glancing gaze
On his rocking chair beside the window
His glaring friend in pain is there
To share his ways and gather up the moments
Daylight slips in and out
of yellowing curtains,
as the sun blinks.
At such times
her thoughts
appear and disappear
The old lady has planted
her mind in closets
where dreams wither,
in kitchen cupboards
where herbs and spices dust the dark.
She will leave what she can;
small packets once gardened
when she cared to cook.
It is coming -
a change of occupancy.
She senses strange feet
and slamming doors,
young laughter runs in and out
of her breathing space.
Until then, she is here
in her last chair
in a memory-seeded apartment,
listening to the history
of her tucked-away life.
When I visit my GP these are the words I truly fear
‘You need another blood test, just take this form my dear’
I have to ring the hospital – I pray they have no room
They say ‘we have a cancellation please come in this afternoon'
I suffer from needle phobia and a blood test I must take
I’m sitting in the waiting room awaiting the inevitable fate
My name is called and I start to sweat and shake
The vampire nurse’s shadow falls on me; it’s my blood she wants to take
I try to warn them how I feel and how I may react
Some of them will listen; others have no tact
Oh follow me and don’t be silly, I fear that they may think
But I need to lie down and have some ice cold water to drink
The tourniquet is on my arm the pain I start to feel
I start to feel faint and woozy this I cannot conceal
Please lay me flat and let me rest – I hope that they will listen
I don’t want to pass out on the floor; tears form and my eyes glisten
The needle is drawn ready to take my precious blood
Oh its just a little prick, I must try to be good
But my head starts to swim and the cold sweat appears
Oh how I wish I could get rid of these irrational fears
One time the vampire nurse was in a bit of a hurry
She came to take my rich red blood and told me not to worry
You don’t need to lie down you will be alright
My eyes were as wide as teacups I really had a fright
She took my blood and the fear began to show
But she said I was fine and to the waiting room I must go
I stumbled to a chair and began to feel so faint
I lay down on the floor - I didn’t look too quaint
My hubby went back in and said my wife needs your attention
She came out to see me I needed her intervention
Back into the vampire nurse’s lair I stumbled
And into the chair I had to be bundled
I was lying down flat with a fan to cool me
I needed water – oh why oh why hadn’t she listened to my plea
After years of blood tests I know how I will react
I have needle phobia it is a well-known fact