Long Chenille Poems
Long Chenille Poems. Below are the most popular long Chenille by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chenille poems by poem length and keyword.
Here the sun shines soft and warm—
Caressing all in vales and on hill—
It gives a glow to every inherent form—
And reveals for every eye a thrill.
Of here they never get their fill—
For this is Bliss, an endless treasure—
Where our dream is the Lord’s will—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The garden is a lush, green platform—
Big blooms with the fluffiness of chenille—
Songbirds’ music raise a storm—
Their feathered robes fill the bill.
Wings spread they fly away at freewill—
Along the curvy course of the river—
They seek the Lord’s grace with skill—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The dream cottage, fancy for the norm—
With a stone paved path to the doorsill—
A neat little shelter from the storm—
Has a spice garden for basil and dill.
And there’s a gazebo for time to kill--
For when gardenwork calls for leisure—
Or even for the blessing of a drizzle—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
To some this vision may instill—
A yearning for the bliss in nature—
But the Lord is sovereign still—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
Chenille, my friend so dear,
Your beauty isn't only clear
Your homely appearance holds a light,
A beacon of beauty in the night.
Your personality is beautiful,
It's something that I can't forget.
Your hobbies of witnessing, I see,
Bring out the best in you and me.
FRIEND SO DEAR
SO DO CARE
ALWAYS
Your favorite place to go to is the street,
Where you find joy in the people you meet.
We have been friends for a year or more,
And I'm thankful for the friendship we store.
FRIEND SO DEAR
SO DO CARE
ALWAYS
Your age group may be adult, true,
But I'm glad I have a friend like you.
You're a companion and a friend,
And I hope our friendship never ends.
6/17/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023?
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
From a derelict house, near the interstate pass,
with her cuff of chenille, she rubs a small circle
to clear away grime from the cold window glass
Better to see now, beyond wooden rails, that have worn disrepair
for thirty odd years
and have fenced in, long hours of loneliness
There's an old pepper tree, that tosses it's head in an alien wind,
in a sea of dead grass, where a garden had been
There's a face, weathered thin, from neglect and despair
she turns for a moment, to glance, here and there,
a room she has known, filled with colors long dimmed,
where the silence shouts loud, not a question to ask....
but...wishing for something..., a chore, or a task
if only the phone might ring.....
Near the rail of the fence are two Rhode Island Reds
grazing around in the tall weedy grass
There's a cock on a post, in the shade of the tree
keeping watch on his kin, keeping her company,
keeping tabs of a life that has come to an end
She will gaze in a lapse, dust motes fall to the floor,
in the still of the gloom she will turn once again
in the grim of the room...
There is still a dial tone, ....maybe the phone will ring....
For a mere month or more, a feral cat came her door
then had wandered the floors, neither friend or a foe
But he soon disappeared, on the eve of the storm
She will call just the same.......just in case he can hear
"Here, kitty kitty"....."Here, kitty kitty", but she calls him in vain
While the wind plays the same dirty game...
Tumble weeds roll and bend, her eyes search through the wind
...as she waits for a friend
a friend never there....always due to arrive
so she stands by the side, of the black telephone
In the old parlor room, in the gloom of a long afternoon
Maybe the phone will ring....
________________________________________________________
it was the week after Christmas,
the one when fate had granted me my fondest wish,.....
(a lustrous, ruby-red, Schwinn bicycle that sported a basket in the front, and a bell to ring.)
On that cold, late December night, I'll always remember how suddenly the sky was stained by the color of alarm
My young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
without tying her robe, rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us like sheep, down raw-grained stairs.
She pushed us from behind with her two hands,
out the door, and onto a frost-slick back porch,
into the wee hours of early light.
By then, wide-eyed, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose,
to douse the inferno,
all the while, in a faltering voice, warning him to keep safe.
Sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"Everything will be alright."
I don't remember much after that,
except looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
_____________________________________________________________
A little girl’s heart, wrapped in sweet tarts,
And pressed with messages of love
And belonging.
BE MINE. FRIENDS FOREVER. I LOVE YOU.
Wrapped in chenille,
Sleeping in a pink and powder blue room.
Chestnut hair spread, silken, upon white sheets.
Encircled by dancing maidens in corseted gowns.
Woman’s work surrounds her.
Spools of thread, ribbon, and tape measures;
Even in slumber her soul’s directed by the desires of others.
Days filled with sunlight, and apple blossoms, on a stage of pine needles,
In a forest of dreams... dreams of family, babies dreaming of babies.
Dolls, play with dolls. Barbie faces the Troll king,
And in her heart of hearts the troll always wins.
GOOD MORNING, GRATITUDE
Just think foe a brief second,
You were given a soul and allowed to be born!
Wrapped in a soft blanket,
And with love and not a drop of scorn.
Can you recall being in your crib?
I really can!
Calling for my Mommy, and she standing there.
Smiling, with a chenille robe and long, dark hair.
All the times you skinned elbows or knees...
And you called out, "Mommy, please?"
Daddy always there to help you with math.
Mommy wrapped you in warm towels, after a bath.
Ah, such sweet meanderings we long forgot.
That we poets were once such tiny tots.
These velvety thoughts so nice to recall.
In the midst of this wondrous fall!
October 26, 2019
You had to know Lucille
Every morning nothing but oatmeal
She never skipped a meal
Her favourite colour was teal
And loved to wear soft chenille
Her pet was a beautiful cockatiel
And every night drank chamomile
Out of crystal cut pinwheel
She believed life had handed her a misdeal
And stopped pretending to feel
Lucille liked things to be even keel
How things changed when she met charming Neil
Propelling his sporty automobile
Until all four tires would squeal
Somehow it was instant undeniable appeal
They were an item and a big deal
And soon became ‘Neil and Lucille’
They got to know each other piecemeal
Both actively fought to save the endangered seal
(But both love to eat fish, chicken and veal)
Both had been through their own ordeal
But that now seemed somewhat unreal
And much preferred to dawdle in the surreal
With their hearts doing somersaults and cartwheels
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
The first king-size bed was fashioned nearly two thousand years ago,
Not by Thomasville, Broyhill or Bassett, producers we all know.
There was no pillow-top mattress made by Sealy or Simmons for the bed,
Nor a chenille bedspread or foam pillow upon which to rest His head.
The bed was not located in a cozy Hampton Inn or Embassy Suites,
But in a lowly stable upon a bed of straw sans snowy-white sheets.
The First King-size bed was a simple manger for a Royal destined to rule!
The King of Kings was born whose birthday we celebate this joyous Yule!