Long Close knit Poems
Long Close knit Poems. Below are the most popular long Close knit by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Close knit poems by poem length and keyword.
It took some heavy digging and a lot of clever research.
But scientists have now explained in full detail how evolution works.
Finally it all comes together after much debate and so much time.
(To appeal to the little 'uns they even told it in rhyme).
"And from the mud-baths of primordial soup we came to be.
Rising from the currents of a ginormous boiling sea.
Once things cooled down a bit, leaving cells with room to breath,
things developed quite gradually,
as each individual body part became part of the team."
The Mouth said to the Ear:
You there! Get your Butt over here!
What the Mouth didn't yet know, however,
was that that the Butt was still processing
in some foul smelling black ether.
(Just ask Nose and he'll tell you clear as day,
that smell was nothing short of risque.)
Mouth's voice was very muffled you see,
lacking the Ear's wondrous ability
to take in sound.
You could see it for yourself if you wanted too
(still Eyeball was no where to be found).
Somewhere along the road the Head came rolling down.
He had great determination in his jaunt,
though those big gaping eye-holes were sure to haunt.
And after a two million year nap,
at long last, the Elbow and Knee Cap
came oozing their way from the horrid soup.
Once attached to Mouth and Vocal Chord, they beamed,
"Pee-YOU that reeks, if Stomach were here I'd surely turn green.
One sure develops an appetite after a billion year fast.
If someone doesn't throw me some grub I don't think I'll last!"
After such great struggle there was still so much to be done
Feet and Legs were still in a hot sweaty run
trying for a thousand years at least to find Crotch and Torso
(To make matters worse they needed Esophagus to get re-hydrated also!).
But after all that I think you will find the struggle worth it.
What great things can happen when we're all so close knit.
We're not perfect yet, as you can see, evolution is a work in progress.
Things could always improve, it just takes time to process.
One fellow man of science inquired a rough estimation
of just how long it would take to grow wings
(some bickering was involved, due to his ridiculous proposition).
The real concern is however being totally ignored,
of which I think you will be completely appalled.
It will probably take another 17 billion years,
at least, to get the Brain installed.
It has been twelve years
Every one of those years
I have been turned away
by officials of the city
Twelve long years
of being on the housing waiting list
Being the only breadwinner
Times got tougher
To my children I imagine
that to them
I am a failure in many ways
No where for me to seek refuge
The only way is inside my head could convince me otherwise
What do you say to a
man living with cerebral palsy?
Who has to proof himself on all fronts
Spiritually it becomes draining
in a one room flat
He becomes out of touch
with those immediate loved ones
Wife then kids or vice versa
All freedoms are compromised
Specially the kids
As a physical impaired man
I am not much affected
Considering my boarding school days
It becomes tough
when it is an all female club
And I am the only male
and physically impaired
Mentally the impact takes its toll
There is a heaviness within me
I cannot seem to find an outlet
That's why I'm living on a page
Out of control
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
If you see me smiling
It is a front
this is how I deal with my pain
Many second job attempts fail
I am beginning to doubt myself
I sometimes stare at myself in the mirror
My wife's take on it
is that I am full of myself
That may be the case
It runs much deeper than that
Maybe I am taking her
too much along with me
But I can't help it we are close knit family
The Lord has blessed me
With three daughters
They could write
a book about me
one day if they are aspiring authors
along with my wife as their editor
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
I silently wish for all those material things
Things that is out my grasp of understanding
Why some of us
gets it easy and others hard
Is there a lesson
to us that are disenfranchised
or are we nearing our expiry date?
Hey, it is just a thought
along with my perception of things
Who gets to build us up?
When you hit rock bottom
What is the bottom line?
What if we get to that helpline too late?
What will they say in your obituary
Were you worthwhile living with
Or were you known to be a prick
Only time will tell
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
I’m from small town homes and rose bushes overgrown, with
Close-but-not-too-close-close-knit-crazies.
Where my best friend lives down the block and I make late night trips to her house past the town curfew, because I am from just inside the city limits.
Where I can’t drive underage in a non-road-legal vehicle on the road but I do it anyways.
From hydrangeas to big dead oaks with darkened limbs and forgotten branches. Unattended to hidden ponds with sand dunes keeping close company. Winding trails through the woven pines and golf cart rides through the night.
From two tracking at 2am, to popped tires riding on rims all the way home.
Bruised up and down and scratches I don’t know how I got.
I’m from sunday night football with crockpot cheesy potatoes
to rolling blackouts and chasing charter vans down flat onto our bottoms.
Muddy heels to get to the dance and paying seven dollars to watch my hometown football team lose.
I’m from where smoking our meat and video games in the garage is a party but we are the only company we need.
From corny jokes inside and out and witty humor, none taken. From where insulting one another is nothing but love and curfews are often a thing of the past.
Descending from lovejoys I am often filled with both love and joy,
I’m from oddballs and country folk yet we have evolved.
I’m from soccer games even when it’s raining. From no quitting all the way to you tried your best.
From high- highs and even lower lows.
I’m from the land of schnitzel, pickled beer, and pizza. From ‘go play outside’ and ‘walk it off.’ Nuts and bolts for christmas snacks to ‘honor thy mother and father.’ Sunday school lullabies and don’t use his name in vain, following all the common Godly precautions.
I’m from waking up early just to see the sunrise even though the trees are a war barricade from the burning fire you long to see. I’m from the fog that made my acres of yard an abyss that I can’t see through, even though I know what’s there.
I’m from family trips and a loving home, missing it when I’m gone and hating it when I’m there. I’m from supportive love and ‘can’t isn’t a word’. I’m from you can do anything if you work hard enough, and whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.
The cottage was no more than just a shack,
But it certainly took memories back,
To that place, where I spent all my young days,
Living and learning, it’s all quite a haze.
Yes poor, but always had enough to eat.
My dad was hard, and oh, my mum was sweet.
A good combination to raise a lad,
I was always happy with what I had.
Fishing and exploring my dog with me,
As it all came back to my memory.
Not having much, there's a thing to be said,
Kids like what they’ve got and make do instead.
Most do not crave more than what they have got.
So poor kids do not find they need a lot,
A pole to fish, a log on which to sit,
A stick to throw the dog, few friends close knit.
Fun and exercise, a creek to swim in, *
Things change when he grows to notice women*.
Then it is time to move to the big smoke.
Women will show no mind to a poor bloke.
They like to be romanced and you should know,
That requires a good job to earn some dough.
It’s farewell, I was off to the city,
Now looking for a lass very pretty.
Finding the sweetest girl did take a while.
I knew I’d found her when I saw her smile.
Now with my wife and our four kids, life's good.
I will try not to spoil them, though I could.
I’m a happy bloke, take all in my stride.
But I look back on that old shack, with pride.
The Lord’s fair I lived a good life indeed.
Avoided temptation helped those in need.
Walking a path, times to follow or lead.
Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
Contest Name : Take a Chance on Chanco
5 verses. 6 lines in each . 10 syllables in each line
Envoi 3 lines. 10 syllables each line.
Spelling, Grammar HMS all checked
Rhyme Zone used. 3rd Verse Lines 5 & 6
Rhyme Zone quotes two poems that have used Near Rhyme
• Swim in * Women as Near Rhyme.
Rhyme theme: AABBCC, DDEEFF, GGHHII, JJKKLL, MMNNOO, PPP
Posted 26th May 2023
With 6 lines per verse, I did not know how to do ABAB rhyme style as specified in your requirements as ABAB is only for 4 line verses.I took a chance and entered it anyway.
Siempre el rostro de lo bestial
Always the face of the bestial
a creature in fabric
of no more than instinctual
an instinct driven by predators
Knee-jerk reflexes for survival
and so we are this
the painted animal
All morality by some gangster curse
alpha above each other
educated in the doctrines
of humanities warmonger
to be the worst resort
the scrabbling rats
who chew and gnaw at the meaning of life
Ever depicted in this trait
towards destruction
to destroy ourselves
this self-hate
a brushstroke of our obscurity
to whitewash a desperate search
for loves actuality
But the painted animals do not love
they merely perpetuate the species
obsess themselves with close-knit families
And throughout histories translation
by politics and religion
so degraded the human
this painted animal of violent intention
the pretense of its rebellion
a damp squid
as time would tell
And although we struggle to recognize the lie
the truth of ourselves eludes
lost amidst the rhetoric
and murderous abnegation
deliberate confusion has no conception of what it means to be a human-being
only what it means to be less than human
"We were saying how very important it is to bring about, in the human mind, the radical revolution. The crisis is a crisis in consciousness, the crisis that cannot anymore accept the old norms, the old patterns, the ancient traditions and considering what the world is now, with all the misery, conflict, destructive brutality, aggression and so on. Man is still as he was, is still brutal, violent, aggressive, acquisitive, competitive and... he has built a society along these lines." Jiddu Krishnamurti 1966
The human never exalted
for the miracle it is
within Gods creation
Unloved, unwanted
yet still the tool of obsequious
yet the human demeaned
painted and derided
sinful
bestial
nothing more than just a painted animal
Siempre el rostro de lo bestial
Y con este fin arrasa con su amor
por solo los malos y los amargos
es su sabor a vida
Oh dear! It’s December - time again to look into my crystal ball.
A ball of thoughts in front of me that I don’t need at all,
for I can see the images portrayed from other years,
where different circles feel the touch of agony and tears.
The focus and the buildup always comes across the same.
We’ve indoctrinated to our culture; that Russian roulette game;
not with one bullet in the gun, but alcohol and cars or shame
to spoil the festive season when commemorating the Lord’s name.
From that party’s endless pouring where limits have no end.
Who pays the price of conscience when someone has to send
the messenger to bring the tears that flow from they close by
who live Christmas as another day, with the question echoed - why?
I hear on the dates, the ninth, thirteenth, fifteenth or twenty-first;
the closer to our Christmas Day the more it seems the worst.
A shattered family claims a body. Gifts are silently held dear,
and Christmas Day is over before the twenty-fifth is here.
And there’s the shame of letting out what has been a lustful thought,
loosened by a carefree attitude the Christmas orgy bought.
One misdemeanor iced with lust brings on magnitudes so great,
where children, yes the children have their Christmas filled with hate.
Family’s who have lost touch; not through distance from afar,
believe that Christmas is the time to heal the feuding scar.
Curt are greetings for the foe, for so long kept apart,
and soon the flame of alcohol awakes a murderous heart.
Through close knit societies, away from your very own,
a fragile crack can open; the time of peace and love is blown.
This may not happen close to you where the path is smooth and clear;
Christmas comes and goes in perfect time. This is your lucky year.
Come January just look back. Ponder what you’ve heard and read.
Piece together one by one, the living, left and dead.
I know like me you will be touched with every role that we recall.
It’s the lead up to each Christmas - I am no prophet after all.
In 1967, Magog was no thriving town. Dad had lost his job due to the company’s closure so he accepted a transfer to Sudbury and our destiny took a turn.
I was nine and my family’s move affected me in so many ways. I was torn from my beloved grand-mother, my extended family, my little friends and a school where I excelled. We even had to leave behind our piano. They were now all five hundred miles away.
Had we not moved, cousins would have invited me to many parties and weddings over the years. I would have participated in the daily lives of aunts and uncles. I would have had more role models. I would have had my choice of shoulders to cry on and sounding boards for life’s decisions. I’m sure that I would have married young, become a teacher and been blessed with many children.
But from the perspective of my parents, moving was both scary and exciting.
Scary? Mom was only twenty-nine, with six young kids aged two to nine. My parents gave up the close-knit circle of family and friends to move to a tiny country house in dire need of fixing up. They would have to rough it out with less than the bare essentials, not even running water!
Exciting? Yes, finally be free of a meddlesome overprotective mother-in-law, free from social obligations, commitments and rules. No longer having to keep up with the Jones, but about to live the Swiss family Robinson experience on their own terms. Overwhelmed no doubt with a new sense of adventure and freedom, but here was their opportunity to be creative, tackle challenges, build from the ground up, live off the land as best they could. They were truly masters of their own destiny.
. flying solo
. no safety net
. doing it our way
AP: 1st place 2025, 3rd place 2021
Posted on August 20, 2021
I am a little Alsatian puppy- can you empathise with my wretched plight?
I cannot impress upon insensitive humans, my God given inalienable right,
As a scrawny tottering helpless babe, I used to suckle milk from my mother,
I slept close to her warm body and had great fun romping with my brother.
Men snatched me heartlessly without any qualm from my dear mother’s care,
She searched and searched for her precious offspring desperately everywhere,
They separated me from my siblings too, did they think I liked thus to be parted?
I am man’s “Best Friend”, but towards me, why are they harsh and hard-hearted!
They brought me captive to a mansion cold, and kept me within its encircling walls,
They expected me to be satisfied with silly, inane toys, and a few multi-coloured balls.
In the fields I was free as the untrammelled breeze-- I would then frolic, roll and play,
In nature we lived happily in a close-knit pack, not in solitary confinement all day.
Now I am forced to chew on artificial bones and in a secluded house I must stay,
But it was so much fun to be with one’s kith and kin, this I can now honestly say,
Even when I’m hungry, I have to make do with whatever portion they deign to give,
The same processed unnatural food daily, isn’t appetising, to be had as long as I live.
My master gorges on lip-smacking food which I would have also liked to munch,
I too would have relished digging into juicy flesh, for breakfast, dinner and lunch,
My jaws and teeth were meant for food, other than the machine-made dog fare,
Thoughtless men assume they are doing a lot, that we’re treated with a lot of care!
Men should realise how much they’ve been unfair in unreasonably torturing us!
Why should they expect us to submit to their senseless training, without any fuss?
If men could become the wretched dogs and dogs could turn into “God’s Chosen men”,
They would certainly understand our miserable plight, without my having to explain.
The Reason is what I am looking for,
a reason why things ripped and tore,
A reason is what I am trying to explore,
A reason to retry and restore.
My mind is split,
There are some things that don't quite fit.
But, you have to give me some credit,
Because I'll never forfeit.
I'll just keep taking the hit,
I've always been a good target.
Just ask my dad, oh wait, he already kicked the bucket.
With my family I was never close-knit,
I guess it's my fault, but hold on a minute.
I've got evidence that should help acquit,
Now what did I do with that exhibit,
Losing things has become a real bad habit.
I'm trying to find a reason in the rhyme,
I'm afraid I don't have a whole lot of time.
In this case, the punishment doesn't fit the crime.
I feel like I am always in an uphill climb.
Trying to find
Some peace of mind.
But I guess I wasn't designed
To leave it all behind,
So, it's all just combined.
Now, if you could be so kind,
And if you would be so inclined,
I've got some things outlined,
Just waiting to be signed.
Okay, so where was I?
Let me give this another try.
I may need you to clarify
Because the reason doesn't justify.
What ever happened to the 'eye for an eye'?
When did my mind go awry?
My mind I need to rectify.
I think to find the reason I need to verify
How much of my mind they all occupy.
Perhaps this whole time I've known
But every time I'm close I get thrown.
Off the path, I'm blown.
Overthrown from the throne.
I try to find the trail, but it's been overgrown.
I become more lost, more alone.
Until I start hearing laughter from all around.
It's coming from everywhere, the sky and the ground.
Being inside my own head echoes the sound,
Trying to keep the reason from being found.
To be Continued...
They once lived here on Hudson River banks-
Lenape Indians of long ago.
Beneath our home may lie the underworld
of spirits that we know to come and go.
Our kids and friends held campfires down the hill,
and from the woods heard chants clear as can be.
An arrowhead was found and brought inside,
and from that day the spirits seemed most free.
For years we've seen the shadows down our hall
and darting figures rushing by each door;
a fan that starts to whirl with no switch turned;
lamp lights that dim at will on every floor.
Much time has passed since we had built our home-
the coffee maker still turns on at will.
The touch lamps glow and fade all by themselves;
computer icons move, do not stay still.
So many mornings, our computer screens
are fixed on 'guest' and not our email names,
just like some ghosts signed on and off all night-
these spirits are intent on playing games.
No harm has come to us, just puzzling times,
in never knowing why this came to be.
Perhaps a tribe once lived here long ago;
their roaming spirits, still alive and free.
September 12, 2016
~7th Place~
Contest Name: Give Me Goosebumps
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Judged: 12/21/2018
True story- based on the myths about these Indian spirits still roaming.
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"Newburgh, NY, is located on the west shore of the Hudson River on the lands of the Waoranek peoples described by the Europeans who first encountered them as a close-knit, loving, and peaceable group. The Waoranek was part of the Lenape tribe of the Algonquin nation. Around them, in the bay, were other related bands also part of the greater Lenape-Algonquin peoples."