Long Differed Poems
Long Differed Poems. Below are the most popular long Differed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Differed poems by poem length and keyword.
My father passed on nearly ten years before I got married. He was not present for my college graduation, nor was he alive when I finished high school.
My youngest sibling was nine months old. There was a period of grief at his passing, but then survival demands appeared and said, “Let there be life”. So I moved on.
At the time, his absence never bothered me. I learned to live without him; to leap from boy to man. I never accused or charged him for dying too soon;
OR DID I? I never blamed him for the pains and the wounds; OR DID I?
There were signs that he was becoming a better person to live with;
but I don’t really know how I would have differed had he lived longer.
Many years later I realized that I subconsciously shut him out; I SHOULDN'T HAVE. I angrily charged him for things he did and judgmentally accused him of things he shouldn’t have done. I SHOULDN'T HAVE. Without mercy, I prosecuted, sentenced, and banished him and all that he represented; BUT
I SHOULDN'T HAVE.
Subconsciously, I reacted to his negative ways and rendered him irrelevant.
There were things I did not know, and other things I never considered.
I silently, without fuss or fight, without sufficient evidence, shut him out.
Yes, I rendered him unimportant and irrelevant; anything positive was blocked out, never rising to an appreciative level. It would take years to even realize this. Yes, Father was dead physically, but he deserved a kind memory. However, for years I was as if silent and frozen, unable to remember anything of value.
But then it happened!! Twelve years ago at a family reunion, a younger sister spoke well of our father and sat me straight. She spoke of things I never knew of the man whose memory I had crushed, and whose influence I thought I could live without. She spoke of a man I never knew and painted a portrait of a man that was kind, caring, and sensitive toward others.
It was like a reunion with my long-deceased father; and as if I was
given a second encounter with him. I tell you, I forgave him and consciously let his influence and memory back into my life, and I am the better for it.
07112015
There stood a tree,
Not a rusty, disgusting tree,
But, a tree of life and vigor.
Upon this tree,
A young bud lay
A bud who through rain, sun, and night
Would grow to a leaf.
This leaf however,
differed from its spirited kin.
Upon the arrival of fall
His prophecy was to be fulfilled so another bud may be
And contrary to his brothers,
This leaf clutched the branch of its maker.
And soon was left alone
upon a now dark and hollow tree
In his loneliness,
this once purpose defying leaf
Opted to maintain the cycle upon which creation brewed him.
He let go from the tree
Only to find his stem could bear the weight of purpose no longer.
And unlike his brothers,
he did not fall to the ground beneath.
Rather, hung sullen upon a hibernating tree
Spring came,
And despite the winter,
The leaf clutched on to life.
Unfortunately for the now optimistic leaf,
His newfound life would soon depart,
The stem from which he hung could no longer support the old leaf.
And upon springs first sunlight the leaf found a bed among his kin.
Redmon Yost lived in Iowa
with mother and siblings,
the oldest of seven children
had just turned seventeen.
His pa had passed on two years back,
Redmon had gone to work,
punching cows at Holloway’s Ranch,
long hours made bones hurt,
but pay was good
and all relied
on what he earned,
so he did ride.
Had no room to drink down his pay
or in the saloons lurks.
Redmon differed from his partners
in that he had no gun,
his family were all Quakers,
he was forbidden one.
They ribbed him about that sometimes,
but he paid them no heed,
Ma said turning the other cheek
beat making pour sols bleed.
She said it was
the law of God,
so Redmon rode
without a rod,
and this town was a quiet spot,
so Redmon saw no need.
Until the day an outer ranch
was hit, the men away,
the bandits took horses and cash
in the bright light of day.
News ran fast across the prairie,
a true posse was formed,
but the trail was lost by the men
in sudden prairie storm.
A twister was
no little thing,
no robbers would
be seen to swing,
And everybody hoped that life
would return to the norm.
But normalcy was not to be,
a stage was hit that weak,
old Amos Tanner was gunned down
while driving to get free,
then came a string of robberies,
a murder and two rapes.
Who did this? Nobody could tell,
the town was fit to break,
Redmon saw the
increasing harm,
began to think
of going armed,
but his mother cried,”No, you fool!
Don’t join in with their hate!”
This didn’t make much sense to him,
did God want them to die?
Peace was great, but what evil man
just nodded and passed by?
If God have given him this life,
if it was his great gift,
would He turn and say,”I forbid
you from defending it.”
But mother said,
“It is his will,”
But did He mean
To get folks killed?
Redmon couldn’t believe He would,
and those thoughts made a rift.
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
One size does not fit all and the shoe horn stuck out
Tim shooed away foot prints ghosts and memories
When the clock struck midnight at the end of the year
Not much had differed when the fire works stopped
But resolve had to tighten the strings attached to his soul
Colour from outside of the box seeped through inside
Varnished the leather and the diamond soles of his mind
Weather worn foot wraps were made for walking untoward
His nib had not faltered much but he changed his ink
From angry red to soothing violet and indigo shades
The fountain pen was still the same old Mont Blanc
And valleys and hill tops rose among magic mountains
But when he scratched the core of granite and gold
He decided to rub out volcanoes from burnt paper
Left just enough residue to shine through the pages
Snow boots slipped onto parched story narration
Sandals sneaked cautiously to the front of the stride
Loafers pumped springs into well trodden steps
Moccasins flip-flopped as time poured into sand
High heels towered over a platform of high tops
He wondered how it was to march in peaking stilettos
To parade in high heels and low altitude of change
As he approached the fields and trenches of Flanders
Planted poppy seeds resting on unmarked wooden graves
Tim paused in thought and replaced the cartridge once more
04th January 2020
My daughter wondered how things differed
Back when she was born,
Aside from styles of music
Or the clothing that was worn.
We didn’t have computers then.
“What did you do?” she gasped.
We researched in the library,
A concept she’s not grasped.
We had no cell phones. “How’d you reach
The people that you called?”
We used a land line or a pay phone;
She was just appalled.
We didn’t have CD’s or movies
Out on DVD’s.
She thought that was hilarious
And answered, “Come on, please!”
The changes don’t seem too extreme
But still, it made us grin,
That what we take for granted now –
Well, hasn’t always been.
I guess when centenarians
Think back and reminisce
They must be thinking – all those years
Have brought us up to – this?
Mum said "birds of a feather flock together"
so I searched for a man who liked similar weather
until Dad stressed "opposites attract"
and I tried to determine just what I lacked
"Small packages", Mum said, "held the best things"
so I looked for a humble guy with diamond rings
until Dad said I should find a real go-getter
because it's a fact "the bigger the better"
When I fancied a guy from amongst the herds
Mum said "action speaks louder than words"
but Dad said this advice should be ignored
because "the pen is mightier than the sword"
Mum believed men should be kept closely entwined
because of the saying "out of sight out of mind"
Dad urged I give them space and make them ponder
because "absence makes the heart grow fonder"
I worried how I'd react to being charmed
Mum emphasized "forewarned is forearmed"
The male perspective gave my ego a hit –
Dad said "cross that bridge if you come to it"
When I found love the saying Mum liked to push
was "one in the hand's worth two in the bush"
Dad said "there's always time to be the faithful wife"
and persuaded me "variety was the spice of life"
I struggled at courting and was getting old
but "you're never too old to learn" I was told
However my confidence was hit for a six
when Dad said "you can't teach an old dog new tricks"
"If first you don't succeed try, try again"
this was Mum's attitude toward courting men
Dad's radically differed of course –
he told me not to "flog a dead horse"
My parent's advice couldn't have been sounder
for I found a genuine all rounder
but I hope he can live with the reality
I now have a split personality.
From David's unpublished book entitled 'Poems for Wedding Receptions & Poems Definitely NOT for Wedding Receptions
It is so blind, it saw eyes, mouths, bodies, feet
imploring it's paint, it's beggars land, stroked
by hand.
It's can, faceted as one gem, drips only you.
The brush peels back, stroke by stroke, layer
by layer, new always differed you.
Each canvas, some happy, some mad, still it's
always you, is to Regina's sun.
The brush of lips, still trembles it, invitingly...why?
Lips brush the stroke, you make the paint, wants why?
The canvas is always full of different you, asks it,
is it not?
Respectable mirror to try on in you..why not?
It laughs at it's self, seeing a growth on it, so boss.
The rose drips, it is painted to it's natural blush,
as it's meant to be.
It is a struggle between the rose and it's blush, it's
a grippe so tight, the colors run at times, on it..you
still laugh amused.
It just cannot, as much as passion flames it's eye,
be reduced to frame, you in the boring same tired,
eyes of it is.
When every woman is her, she a Queen.
Google poetry James McLain
Good day my fellow soupers, I hope you all are doing well.
Another moment has arrived, for our poetry show and tell.
We are a diverse group; a common quest keeps us sustained.
This disruption from reality, empowers rest when feeling drained.
We share our thoughts in group, an expression of how we feel.
Some words we share are dark and some, for curb appeal.
Whatever the case may be, we all leave our hearts exposed.
Be mindful of how you judge, it can leave others indisposed.
Some scholars will write for contests, hoping their work will place.
When you’re scripting for recognition, it’s hard to keep up the pace.
Poets have differed taste, we’re all just human after all.
Try not to get discouraged when you miss that curtain call.
On any given day, you’ll pen some rhymes that come out great.
Don’t let a biased judge, determine your poetry fate.
Each one of you are special, foster your talent both day and night.
Legends are made not born, now grab your pens and write!
Beauty and the Beast
In twilight shadows, where moonlight fades,
A maiden fair, with eyes so bright,
Did dwell within a castle tall and white,
Her hair was pure, her spirit free,
But destiny had planned a different fate for thee,
For deep within the forest dark and cold,
Lived a beast most foul, with heart turned old,
His roar echoed through the silent night,
As he searched for beauty's sweet delight,
One fateful eve, their paths did cross,
And through they differed, love took its toll,
The maiden brave, did melt his icy soul,
And with a kiss, their hearts did take control,
Thus began a tale of true love's might...
Herod put John the Baptist in prison. He was having an adulterous affair with Herodias, his brother Phillip’s wife, and John was saying, “It is not lawful for you to have her.” On Herod’s birthday, Herodias’ daughter danced for Herod, causing the beheading of John. (From Bible, Matthew 14:1-11)
THE WINDS OF CHANGE IN CHAMBER OF THE DEAD
The trouble’s root, the torn meniscus court.
Entertainment unashamedly crass.
The grape is richly poured — white, red import.
A schism scheme, girl’s hips are made of brass.*
She danced so lightning fast, the strikes betwixt
King Herod’s eyes. The drums, the sound of lust.
A pulse needs transfusion, breath-bait transfixed.
His greedy face excoriates a bust —
John’s dripping tongue no further screams — its ink
‘tis wet with appreciation and dread. **
She-paws and dangly skirt — the shark, her wink —
the winds of change in chamber of the dead.
Fermented pheromones, a teasing breeze.
A tantamount twister forced veins to freeze.
11/20/2020
Contest: WINDS OF CHANGE
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Used how many syllables and Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Two places where howmanysyllables.com differed:
*Schism 2 syllables in dictionary
**Gave this line 9 syllables but when I broke line up, it was 10