Long Elder Poems
Long Elder Poems. Below are the most popular long Elder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elder poems by poem length and keyword.
In California where the dream is of sunshine, and ocean beaches
There are those who drape themselves in the freedom of the presses
However they use that ink to create fake think
How dare people want a new leader who dares to think!
As the recall of Newsom nears
They work to create fake fears
The slander and lies about Larry Elder is brought by a cowardly bunch
An ivory tower group who enjoys Sunday brunch
He is a self made man who grew up in South Central LA!
Walked his own path and built his own fate
Don't forget to vote next week
Larry Elder will bring back the California dream for weeks and weeks
Sometimes, we have to be brave to say hello,
To a neighbor or a stranger who won't respond.
At times, we have to wave at the ducks in the pond,
Without being sprayed with spittle or water of coco.
Sometimes, we bow our head to greet a teacher,
A president, priest, a pastor, a general or an elder.
At times, we remove our hat to salute the brave flag,
To show reverence, respect, love, affection and to brag.
Be dauntless to initiate kindness or to offer the first step.
There is an ineffable inner feeling that assuages the heart
When we do so. We feel good and strong to take on a schlep.
Be gallant to say hello to the hillbilly bullies at the laundry mart,
Because they fear people with good manners and friendly gestures.
By overcoming superficial phobias, we will enjoy peaceful pastures.
Copyright © January,2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Some mornings I slow down.
If you had seen me this morning,
you might reasonably conclude
I could not possibly further reduce my productive pace,
a social disgrace,
slogging through my domestic place.
Days, or at least my light within each day,
grow shorter,
while everything remains to be done
to care for future generations
of children
and puppies
and cubs
and kittens
and kids
and calves.
Yet dawn silently screeches toward timelessness
as I realize
I was produced
in a moment of ecstasy,
but also nine-months prepared to thrive
on Earth,
while my unique,
yet resonantly symbiotic, DNA
is born of prehistoric generations,
back when time and light's productive moments
were measured in full and empty,
ecstatic and aptic,
rising toward another regenerative morning,
and setting toward yet another sacred decomposing night.
It is this slow memory of near timelessness
that revolves through my bones and flesh
and is cooperatively shared
not just with my own Win-matriarchal
and Win-patriarchal lines,
but also our globally shared regeneration
through timeless ecstatic moments
of symbiotic great transitions,
commencing nine months for each preparation
to greet our brothers and sisters,
cousins and families
extending back through competing histories
and cooperative matriarchal nutrition and health mentoring,
fire and wind and water and safety education,
revolving through slow-growth wisdom
of timeless sunrise,
oceans of DNA and Elder RNA,
regenerative,
synchronic
places and times,
landscapes
and heathy creolizing climates.
I have bloomed and wilted
where I have been planted,
and where I have chosen to plant myself,
and our future
greeting past revolving sacred memories,
here with now.
Hey there little one
Toddling ‘round your parents’ feet
Not yet knowing who you are
A whole wide world to meet
You have Nobility -
Heroes’ blood pumps in your heart
Martyrs, warriors and pioneers
Are part of who you are
Both your grandfathers
Served honorably in the military
Tom was in the Marine Corps
I was a UN Peacekeeper in the Army
Fred Halliday served,
Himself a war refugee,
Somewhere in Korea
With the US Army
Mark L Halliday served
In the British Army
Fighting Nazi oppression
Buried in Italy
Paul Redeuilh,
Your Nana’s grandfather
Morte pour la France
At the start of the Second World War
Pappy’s grand uncle
The late Wilford Berry
Fought the Japanese in the Pacific
He was also in the Army
Fred’s grand uncle
The Englishman Cyril Kinsella
Was an indentured servant, then soldier
Twice wounded in 'The Great War' for Canada
Not all heroes fight in wars
But do great deeds that matters
Such were the Utah Pioneers
Who crossed the Plains from Winter Quarters
One Pioneer, your fourth great grandfather
Elder William Shanks Berry
Was a missionary martyr for his faith -
Assassinated in Tennessee
Uriah Roudy, your sixth great grandfather
During the American Revolution
Was wounded at Bunker Hill or Brandywine
And served General George Washington
George Berry, his father Bradley, and
Moses Clack Sr (father-in-law of George)
Were in Virginian Infantry Regiments -
Bradley and Moses at Valley Forge
So Carolina, there may be
More heroes on your mother’s line
Search for them; honor them, too
Dig deeply and see who you can find
Live nobly little one
Because heroes blood pumps in your heart
Martyrs, warriors and pioneers
Made up all of who you are
Spoke by the blind Elder By the fire
Hear the tale of The Lord of the Night
Long ago when I was young
There was the time when The Lord of the Night
Tried to steal The Lord of the Day’s light
I did watch as he did
Sneaking up on him from behind
Closer and closer most carefully
Thinking He that he would catch
The Lord of the Day and cover and take He’s light away
Then will I The Lord of the Night
Will be greater than he and will rule the world
So I watched him steal up
Grab The Lord of the Day from behind
Cover him over and take his light
And I thought that he had won
Defeated the Lord and taken his light
But The Lord of the Day still fought
And threw him off and kept his light
And I did laugh as The Lord of the Night ran
And he heard me from in the sky
So thought he I will show that man
Who laughs at me in my lost
And in the night as I Sept
The Lord of the Night came to my bed
And took my sight with which I had saw
That would never see again
And never since seen the Lord of the Day again
So dear children said he
You must never look on him
The Lord of the Night when he tries again
Or he will come and take your sight too
in the gloomy darkness, late, past sun set,
the six blood sisters of fate often met,
their venue the slumber of mortal minds,
in the depth of sleep when the reason's blind.
sister 'Doubt' is the one that started flare,
letting lose the bull amongst china ware,
her twin sister 'Jealous' took up the fight,
to disturb sleep and keep awake all night,
two of elder siblings have played their part,
Sisters 'Greed' and 'Lust' often problems start,
through the desires of body or of wealth,
they work in silence with a feline stealth.
The result on mind of their evil game,
human relationships are not the same,
the body fatigued wakes bereft of sleep,
'open door' to let sister 'Anger' sweep,
by early dawn mischief fuse has been lit,
an excuse at breakfast to throw a fit,
harsh words are exchanged and decency dies,
that's when walks in their oldest sister 'Lies'!
this family affair of sisters six,
for years have been for love marriages a jinx!
if you wish to guard your true love from them,
build your trust strong and let it be at helm,
don't let the evil sisters get in cheap....
- a calm peaceful mind earns you a deep sleep!
3rd placement
'Six relatives' contest
Sponsor 'Caren Krutsinger'
Written 4/11/2020
10 syllables per line
Reached the panicle of an older state;
faced body rugged, as stone or slate;
I must reiterate, I am not old, but great;
I'm imparting of an older state;
A family that no longer calls;
An aged person whom new crawls;
Though, they sometimes may fall;
you won't find me shopping at the malls;
I am imparting of an older state;
It's about to rise;
You have to get to where I'm at;
you have to live life close to reenact;
I am not just an artifact, in fact;
I am part of an older state;
I know the beginning all ends;
I live now for God He's my true and only Friend;
Fifty is the new teen;
Sixty is the between;
Seventy most never reach;
Eighty is close to heaven's gate;
I'm not old but just wait;
age but a number, a member, I'm in fact an older state;
Call me Elder, Senior call me old;
]When time is done my stories told;
No illnesses, No arthritis, Alzheimer's;
Neither money gold nor diamonds;
Flight of stairs, bronze, golden, grey white hairs;
Multiply wrinkles on the left right corners of both my eyes;
I'll be the one singing my grandchildren's lullabies;
Once left my foot toward the skies in youth;
Now can hardly walk crow the street but in truth;
the youth have strength in part;
But aged are my spirit, soul, mind and heart;
I am a senior to those under me in age;
but I am not too old and not too frail;
For I am full grown matured and great;
I'm in fact an older state, it's about to rise;
you have to live life close to reenact;
I am not just a n artifact, in fact;
I am part of an...
OLDER STATE
(by James E. Lee Sr. from 'Intergenerational Poetry Slam "Elders Track" University of Nebraska Omaha Poetry to Bridge the Generation Contest'
(c)2014
He stooped and wrote upon the ground,
and paused, then said, "If there be found,
among you one who has no sin,
then let the first be cast by him."
Read the story** and you will find, ** (John 8: 2-11)
The elder left the younger behind,
Who also followed them that day,
For all of them had gone astray.
The Lord then said to the one remaining,
"Where are thine accusers, who have no staining",
"There are none, Lord", she then replied,
For all of them had something to hide.
"Neither do I condemn you", He said,
Who is our true and living Bread,
"So, go thy way and sin no more",
From that time on she did adore,
and serve Him as her Lord and Master,
Who rescued her from such disaster.
So what does that mean for us today?
"All we, like sheep, have gone astray",
So we must labor not to judge,
Or yield to temptation to hold a grudge,
For then we shall be truly free,
And live with Christ everlastingly.
(copyright 10/30/15)
Upon a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.”
Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed, ‘til night came to end.
When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh. “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the one which many name Death.”
The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold.
The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed.
Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, for to the grave his soul belonged.
The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.
At Standing Rock, an elder stands
Alone against an angry sky—
A patch of white beneath the storm,
That seeks to swallow him alive
His eyes look out on Turtle Island—
The sacred ground that he calls home:
An ancient place unspoiled by greed,
Untainted by machines and smoke
And as he stands against the world,
I wonder if he feels the weight
Of all of history bearing down,
Wave after terrible, endless wave
I wonder if he thinks about
The stolen land that once was his;
Of traditions now forever lost
In old forgotten languages
I wonder if he calls to mind
The Trail of Tears or Wounded Knee,
As he becomes invisible—
A costume worn on Halloween
I wonder if he laughs or cries
To see the ghosts of treaties past,
Revived by greed, and blood, and fear,
Returning for the table scraps.