Long Decoration Poems
Long Decoration Poems. Below are the most popular long Decoration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decoration poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun cries for us, its heat fades away
snowflakes sprinkle round its orbit, yet go unmelted
it feels like evening, but its yet noon
time never changes its pace but now runs from a rifle
daylight sadly pretends, just to soften night's mockery.
Blood has substituted the rains
death has defined our borders
humanity is rendered homeless
and politics, given the borrowed authority of a landlord.
Life is cheaper than wine
tribal dominance exhibited in a show glass
for love to become an expired product.
Unity is deprived of its oxygen
from a gang of beasts, spare headed by religion.
Genocide celebrated, killers protected
understanding and cooperation, required from the affected
silence and denial, demanded from the afflicted
marginalization defended and grievances rejected.
The edge of the cutlass strikes harder than racism
Indigenes in their own homes hit worse than xenophobia
hope is lost, drowned in the sea of Impunity
faith is locked up in a cage underneath evil's valley
decades of cries to the heavens
the tears flow down to meet more affliction.
The sun rises, but presents in dark red
setting hours later to the notice of no one
a people bounded on falsehood
a large home of smaller fenced habitations
as everyone needs protection from everyone
and where space becomes too small for the stars;
but when distinguished into different galaxies,
it beams brighter to be a better decoration.
An unbearable course too small for the river to flow
makes nature justify its split into tributaries.
Enemies can no longer be in one home,
so live and let's leave, or leave and let's live
is the only policy left for us all
and the survival anthem for this beautiful garden
no more suitable for community germination.
I WEAR IT, LIKE I MEAN IT
Brim dipped low enough
to make you look twice
high enough to let you
catch the heat in my eyes
This isn't decoration, its declaration.
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I heart it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it just like, I like it.
The Brim traces shadows down my cheekbones
across my mouth, resting like it knows it's framing temptation
My posture deepens, My voice lowers
My walk slows into something deliberate
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I like it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it like just like, I like it.
You really dont know, you haven't been told
being unforgettable is not the goal. Please hear me, queens
I must speak bold. Sexy isn't noise, Sexy is control.
So when I step into the room, uplifting the gloom.
hat angled, confidence charged
understand, I didn't come to be noticed
I came to be remembered.
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I heart it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it like just like, I like it.
I originally wrote “Remembering Memorial” on 24 May 2020. Thinking I was through, I posted it on Facebook, Poetry Soup and e-mailed it to friends. When I awoke, this Memorial Day morning (25 May 2020), I was bothered that, for me, it was not complete. Those who did not give all, left parts of themselves where they served with those who did. The experience is a part of us always. Some of our self was left where we served, and some of where we served returned with us. “Remembering Memorial – Revisited” is written to reflect all of that. Welcome home, brothers and sisters of all wars.
Remembering Memorial - Revisited
(Edited on Memorial Day, 25 May 2020)
By Franklin Price
05/24/2020
Remembering Memorial
The last Monday in May
We need to all remember
Why we Nationalized this day
Began with Decoration Day
To put flowers on the tombs
Of ones killed in the civil war
That sent them to their dooms
Officially made Memorial Day,
In one nine seven one
Was made a National event
To honor dead, of all wars done
Always keep within your thoughts
That our freedoms are not free
The ones, we honor on this day,
Gave freedom up, for you and me
Went when they heard their country call
Did not flee or turn away
We recognize their sacrifice
And the price they had to pay
Don't forget vets left alive
Who served and came back scarred
Their fight, for all our freedoms,
Has made their own lives hard
Mentally or physically
Each day they're going through
Affected by their service time
And what they had to do
They're not yet with their brothers
And their sisters who gave all.
Yet part of them was left there,
Where their duty made the call
Some only recognize this day
As beginning of the Summer
They are the unappreciative
Don't become one of their number
Coffee is called Latte now.
The café near the train station in Loule
there was a café that sold coffee and tea
cakes and sandwiches too.
It closed for two-month work was done inside
and I was full of foreboding
The person who had bought the place had gone to
hotel school and had great ideas.
It was as I thought, all modern style, with baristas selling
latte this and latte that, one coffee with decoration on top
would have cost me my lunch money.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee with a drop of milk, but
no, it had to be Latte or nothing, pondering this option
I left with nothing.
Through chaos flies the wyrm of time
Unyielding wingbeats do not pause
Untroubled by the pantomime
In constance serves no cause
Experience shall take its toll
And mete out pleasure with the pain
The fickle dice will always roll
And fall - but they will roll again
We husband all our self deceit
To ward away the truthful knives
Cutting clean and cutting neat
They slice into our lives
For what we are and what we do
Is decoration in the dark
Preventing truth from showing through
Reality is stark
A slender thread suspends all worlds
At fragile risk from every knife
There is no rhyme, sometimes it fails
The slender thread of life.
The wyrm of time flies silently
We think we hear it ticking by
And yet what we fear constantly
Is but another lie
For we observe, that is our role
We are the eyes, we are the mind
Perhaps we even are the soul
Reality is blind.
TO ENTHUSE MUSE
All around my ample activities,
abilities and inabilities,
simultaneous creation,
recurring recreation
on wide broad spectrum.
So! Seldom feel boredom.
Never lazy,
mostly busy,
sometimes crazy,
Yet, me at random,
enjoying freedom.
Muse floats on my professionalism
in Science stream,
though Fine Arts claim enthusiasm
in dulcet dream.
Relishing Literature, Music
Dane, Drawing, Painting being Ecstatic.
Remaining rapturous, frolic:
My inherent characteristic.
Entertainment and Activities entwined
run parallel like Like-Twins
I try to adorn life with imagination,
dormant desires ready for decoration.
“Brevity is the sister of Talent”—
To enthuse Muse every moment.
04/07/21
'All Yours ( May 14 ) Contest by Brian Strand
Each year Deborah and I share one Christmas tradition-we do this religiously.
Together the day after Thanksgiving we buy our Christmas Tree.
As we head out to purchase our tree we are filled with anticipation
for we know the gift lies not in the tree itself, but in its decoration.
From the moment we open our storage bins and rediscover the ornaments they contain
It’s not just a simple trimming of the tree...it’s a trip down memory lane.
There is a special feeling about finding an old ornament time and time again
Holding it up and saying....Hey Deborah do you remember when....
Each ornament adds to the story of our life as we’ve watched our family grow
Most are significant only to us and carry meanings only we would know.
We have ornaments that remind us of our children,”Hey, isn’t that Ryan’s baby shoe?”
There’s a photo of Ali and me, Bryan’s manatee and pickles for the grandchildren too.
There are ornaments from old friends, a few of Whitman: he was a great dog!
And the ornaments of places we’ve been form a lifelong travelogue.
Each year when we’re finished trimming we have more than just a tree
There in the corner stands memories of our life...it’s an album in 3-D!
Every year when the tree is finished Deborah says, “Now you might think me mad,
but I’m sure this year, this tree, is the best we’ve ever had!”
As I stare at the tree and nod my agreement I think I can now attest
to understanding why every year our newest tree is the best.
Last years tree was the best we ever had…that was easy enough to see
but we’ve added another year of memories to the boughs of this year’s tree.
So as wonderful as last year’s tree was it’s the new memories we’ve amassed
that make this year’s Christmas tree a little better than the last.
And I’m sure as another year of memories in 2021 we add
next years tree will take it’s rightful place as the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had.
Before and after house decoration photos amuse me
so many designers specialize in blah tans and grays
the before photos are often wild, whimsical and carefree
toned down to blah, gloomy and faux in various ways
I like oranges, reds, pinks and purples especially
designers ignore fabulous colors as far as I can see
I’ll live in a cement garage if I want plain dull gray
tan and beige also, do not take my breath away
color calls your name, gives the viewers a peek
at your preferences and attitude, let the walls speak
throw on whimsical touches of you here and there
don’t ooh and awe over blah-ness, that goes nowhere.
Inspired By Connie Marcum Wong's Poem "Dreams Of India"
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
Notes: *a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held right away.
MY TRIBUTE TO CONNIE MARCUM WONG
Connie never went to India, but she thought
she should have been born there…a mythical, mystical, sacred land of her
dreams ~ a Princess wearing
a Banarasi saree, a gajra on her hair…stunningly beautiful!
In my mind, she is there holding, for her beloved, a Varmala!
September 24, 2022
Short Connie Tributes - How Did Connie Marcum Wong Inspire You Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
And the silence clarifies to me
Which one you singled out -
Because real service answers
While pretenders avoid, and
Some carry the vow while
Others only carry the name.
You ever notice
How a little can sparkle
Even when the person behind it
Stays dim?
How they hold authority
Like a trophy,
But dissipate
The moment you need
A single ounce of duty.
I learned everything
From the emails they never
Sent.
Silence became the teacher.
Silence became the proof
Silence became the medallion
They didn't earn.
A servant of Accountability
Show up
Stands up
But some of them?
They only stand still.
They only stand silent.
They only stand in the way.
And that's where the truth
Cracks open.
Because a title without action
Is just decoration.
A medallion without courage
Is just metal.
Authority without response
Is just role-playing
A servant serves.
A pretender performs
One answers.
One avoids.
One carries the vow.
One carries the name
So, I'm asking loudly,
With every unanswered
Message
Behind my voice:
Are you a servant of
Accountability
Or just wearing a title
That looks righteous,
Because I've lived long
Enough
To spot the actors
Before they even step on
Stage.