Long Day in Poems
Long Day in Poems. Below are the most popular long Day in by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Day in poems by poem length and keyword.
You told me I was not just average!
But when told that all one's life we
are...
We define ourself as such.
Till some metaphysical angel blows
the cobwebs off your mind.
Then, like a baby,we learn to think
and talk in ways of our own..
We grow beyond definition.
We rise to new heights with grace
and precision.
No boundaries, nor inhibitions!
The nay Sayers are still clinging to
their cribs and cities,
We live in states and in countries new!
Make new friends and we don't look back.
We lay track. We are not sheeples.
Lessons learned, openness to life
Not stuck to cliches from long ago..
Have made my life a meteoric ride,
An original life of which some may
disapprove.
The joy is one not need the stamp
Of approval from anyone in the present.
You, yourself, must give yourself the
coveted prize.
The past is but a wonderful to visit,
a soul vacation.
But the transformation into a butterfly
of a being...
Freedom and not seeking adulation!
Living in this day, in the now,
fully,
Has by far more a deeper meaning
And vast spiritual implications.
Pangiota Romios
3/6/2019
Saw a blurb on MetFest
Held today, at the museum.*
Musical performances
Outdoors – I had to see ‘em.
A former stomping ground
Pre-Covid, but it’s been a while.
Once there, ‘twas like I never left;
I couldn’t help but smile.
The melting pot that is New York
Was fully there on view,
A pleasure to observe and yes,
Some upbeat music, too.
A group of female drummers
Followed by a cool brass band,
Then a bunch of Double Dutchers
With their jump rope skills on hand.
The locals and the tourists
All applauded, laughed and danced,
Toddlers, teens to wheelchair seniors,
Every passerby entranced.
Vendors set up on the sidewalks,
Food carts had their treats to hawk;
What a lovely day in sunshine
At the MetFest in New Yawk.
*Metropolitan Museum of Art
I’ve often heard him playing his violin…his music has a way
of finding its way into my heart…be it night or be it day.
He plays outside while looking up…always in the same place
underneath the power lines with a smile on his face.
He has no music in front of him…it seems to flow from somewhere within
but there he sits day in…night out…this old man and his violin…
I asked him once how he does it…how does he find a way
to play a different song each evening…a new song every day.
He pointed up to the power lines…then played some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard…
“It’s really very simple.” he said…”Each day I play the birds.”
The power lines are my musical staff…when the birds land there each day
I don’t have to think about it…all I have to do is play.
“But what about at night?” I asked…”You play different music…
different tunes with different bars.”
The old man smiled
“When the birds go to sleep in the evening,” he said…
“that is when I play the stars.”
I watched them go to work each morning
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
The self respect that came from earning
The self reliance and the sense of community
I never knew the need to knock on a door
My dad’s keys were in the ignition of the old Ford
Kids playing baseball with taped up baseballs
Carpenter’s nail holding the bat together
And eight gloves between seventeen kids
Catcher didn’t need one
Wednesday afternoons the miners filled the bars
Sunday mornings they filled the churches
I watched them coming home each late afternoon
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Blackened faces smiling
Another rugged hard day in, walking proud
Wrestle with the kids, family time
The important things
I watched them converging on a home
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Mining accident, covered dishes, neighbors
One town, one neighborhood, one family
A feeling of belonging, community, our town
Clothes lines, party lines, coal mines
The dirt and the pride. TAMAQUA.
The lake shimmers in the early breeze
Dancing rivulets of light kissed by the rising sun,
Reflecting passing clouds hopscotching with such ease
It heralds a new day just now begun.
Observing its environs with majestic grace
An Ibis meanders daintily along waters’ edge,
Confident in its prowess to outpace
Its curved bill natures’ dancing dredge.
A ripple breaks the perfect glass
A little beak emerges from the deep,
Imbued with curiosity and sass
The snapping turtle juts its head to peep.
All the while majestic palms sway to and fro
Their fronds fanning summers’ air,
From high the watch the mornings’ show
Shielding those below from radiant glare.
A perfect harmony of sights and sounds
It bathes the soul, lightens the heart,
Natures’ beauty truly knows no bounds
Of which we we’re blessed to form a tiny part.
How refreshing to rise again with the sun
alive yet again to a new dawn
Another gift of life; much thanks to the Lord!
A beautiful day awaits outdoors
for all of humanity to seize.
It's a new dawn, and life blooms
like a rose. And I see so many happy faces!
I walk into the wide open air
Oh, the swirls of sheer optimism!
The early birds tweet their joys.
I gaze up at the clear indigo sky
Oh, the hope I see floating above
like an airborne feather!
Marshmallow clouds float along, too
It's a new dawn illuminated by sunlight
I took a whiff of the morning glory
Ah, the promise of the day in its fragrance!
The breathtaking majesty of a new dawn;
quite captivating to behold
I shall make the most of it!
submitted for...
STRAND SPECIAL any form,any theme,any number of lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand (Winner: 3rd Place)
Date written: 10/25/2019
We lost a friend…he made his own life end…we had no time to prepare
News…hard to receive…harder to believe…that left us in despair.
Death disturbs me, it perturbs me, how it slashes like a knife
always lurking, coiling, smirking, ready to take a life.
Young or old, meek or bold, like a morbid game of chess
Poor or wealthy, sick or healthy, death takes us nonetheless.
No matter the season…sometimes without reason…from deaths clutches we can’t hide
It’s especially sad, it makes us mad…when death comes as a suicide.
Every day in the USA…suicides number 123
leaving friends and family to wonder…how did we blunder…what was it we didn’t see?
Who’s to blame, we sadly exclaim…we are dazed…confused…we’re stunned
We search our minds…how could we have been so blind….
was there more we could have done?
When he was blue, we wish he knew…on our strength he could have drawn
but it’s too late and now we bear the weight that someone we love is gone.
For the tragedy of his death, of his last breath, and why our tears are spilled
is not just that he’s passed…that he’s gone too fast…
but for the dreams he’s left unfilled.
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/
It was morning when my cat Fluffy meowed a warning for on our porch was a
stray cat his fur a tattered mat but his one blue eye spoke to me . . . and my
heart broke. Oh, how he growled and hissed too late, for my soul had been
kissed and each day "Grumpy Cat" was on my porch waiting yet, I could not
catch him and that was very frustrating ! Finally, I was able to catch him and
bring him inside my home. He never left. A bath revealed a brown tabby. We
developed a bond so deep and meaningful and I have lots of stories to tell.
The years passed too quickly and soon Grumpy was a very old cat, feeble and
weak, until his last day in my arms and with tears and a kiss I had to let go.
I was cold and scared, rejected by the world, shivering on your covered porch;
but you did not chase me away but you brought me food, at first I hissed a lot,
so you named me Grumpy cat ! Eventually, we shared unconditional love each moment. You cannot save me mommy, I suffer from old age. I love you. Will
be waiting at the end of rainbow bridge ! As I draw my last breath I am within
your shining love ... First Draft 2012, Been trying to write this since.
I could speak of the seedlings rising through
The soil, or the stunning roses and lillies.
I could muse about the spring power of
The color green defeating winter's brown.
But something else is inspiring me today.
It happened every year on the first day of May.
The Lord always gave us bright and sunny skies
That always blended well with anticipating eyes.
There simply wasn't any day like that day.
A tall white pole is what I recall;
Long, colorful, and hanging ribbons;
Boys and girls 'platting the Maypole';
Never realizing we were planting memories.
Around and around we went, skipping
To the sweet beats of the music, until at last,
A beautiful pole laced with rainbow colors.
Presently, like the plants of May, the pleasant
Memories of one sunny day in May are alive.
They say that the region has more storms
In May; but it's not tornadoes that I remember.
Sweet rice
Sleep tight
Everybody ride a bike
Home sick pick up bricks
Throwing up doesn't necessary mean you're sick
You could be having an exhortation
Just missed the revelations
Now whose gonna abide, who will ride on this train, this train
Coppertone, mega phone
You are not alone
Jeremy, Conway Twitty
Everyone a bit gitty
Throwing up doesn't necessary mean you're sick
You could be having an exhortation
Just missed the revelations
Now whose gonna abide, who will ride on this train, on this train
It could have been me
It could have been me
Oh, oh well it could have been me
Lost and destroyed and losing my soul
It could have been me
There was a car accident about six miles away
it could have been me
On a journey t hat I normally would, go that way, go that way
Running a little bit late so I chose to go another way
On the news later on I heard what went down
Was a seven car pile up on the highway where I was gonna go..
It could have been, could have been me
In that horrible accident many died, few survived
It could have been me at the scene
Later on that day in the early evening time
On the news I heard of a bank robbery
it was at the branch that I usually go to even at the exact time
Opting out of danger is unknown to me
but took a different route that day
Running a little bit late
Oh, Lord it could have been it could have been me
in a car accident, dead or dying Oh! I thank you for saving my life
and redirecting me
Oh, Lord it could have been me at the bank been one of the customer and tellers who got shot
But you saved me you redirected me
It could have been me
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
June 14 2011
From Anthology "Revelations"