Long Events Poems
Long Events Poems. Below are the most popular long Events by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Events poems by poem length and keyword.
A people without a god
I ask you to serve our goddess,
to pay the dues of our kinds,
leaving those western men you call priests and imams at the expense of our shrine masters
and their fabulous incantations,
pouring wine at our ancestral shrines,
perhaps dance the formidable tunes of our “Nfehveh;”
But you rather preferred the Yahweh and Allah of our western compatriots, soaring with
them … just feeling happy,
getting in motion with their beloveds rhythmic melodies,
placing all evil curses on me and calling me an animist;
Forgetting the good old past of our ancestors that have sunk into this stock of past events,
terming our tradition an enemy of progress
and changing the dancing path of our marvelous “samba;”
Besides,
time may have change
but the past is still part and parcel of life
and it hurts more when you grow wild ignoring me,
giving me impressions that I need redemption;
To be continued...
Okay, time for a chuckle and have I got a good one
Wife Cathie, VP son Scottie and I went to a garage sale on Saturday
Along with our golden retriever Annie
I was in charge of making sure I had a good hold of her leash
Annie behaved really well, dropping little treasure on a few lawns
Scottie dutifully picked them up and placed them in a little green bag
Neatly tied the end and placed it in his pocket
Bought a couple of gadgets for a song and continued on home
Then it was off to the signing for his new car
Followed by a celebratory meal in a classy restaurant
Finally back home exhausted, we each had a wee nappy-poo
Upon waking, my sharp-as-a-tack son put his hand in his pocket
And broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter
There, neatly wrapped was that little green poop bag
Which he had neatly tucked away through all of the day's events
The signing, the restaurant, the wee nappy-poo!!!
We were totally convulsed with uncontrollable laughter
For a good half hour or more... a real class act eh! LOL
What are your most winterish
critical trauma events
in these most recent
three millennia?
Why
just my traumas?
Why not their corresponsive
therapies
for restoring EarthJustice?
Please go on
and on
questioning my questions
seemingly without end,
like an arctic wind-blown
starless night
in eternally restless January.
As you say,
and, but for this grand analogy,
you would pay dearly
for your unsprung youth,
Back in pre-colonial daze
of sacred tribal glad,
mostly naked clad
reunions
Fall harvests produced fertile gratitude,
more of a positive
win/win attitude.
In those last warm and golden times
of nature nighttime naivete
some Governor,
a Wise Elder, perhaps
No matter how Patriarchal,
would deep dream
to set defenses against
each sacred Other
Yet pantheistically inclusive Mother Earth
could not feel ripe
or right, apart
Summer fullness
and winter dormant absence
fail to positively correlate
Earth's spirited spring minds
and physical womb-falling bodies
with metaphysical,
sacred bipartisan,
deeply thoughtful
yet hibernating
frustrated feelings
failing to confluently
and competently understand
Communicating
and excommunicating
across seasons
and present seas
of sacred vulnerable immigration
integration
creolization,
followed by thoughtfully transparent
slow-grown emigrant sacred status
rooted in wisdom
and freedom to grow copassions,
not mere freedom from
some other kindless
kingdom
Immigrating/Emigrating EarthTribes
exhaling summer's sway
away
migrating winter's WombDream play
back in to sacred circling
and recycling stay.
Thanks for that,
Aunt Eartha.
Sounds like less of a summery answer
and more of a deep wintering question.
Yes, my dear,
and what does winter taste
and look
and feel like?
Restoring Earth's
not-quite-so-everlasting
seemingly endless
cold white privilege,
Thawing into
more spring/fall balance,
green/blue global
hibernating
matriarchal,
yet apparently dormant,
sacred honed ecologists.
Sorry, Aunt Eartha,
drifting off,
wandering in winter wonder
EcoTherapy, once around again,
regenerating global
GoldenPlaying Peace
Within this silent wintered star's
bright prolific night.
(For Her Birthday last January 8, 2014)
N-ice and loving poet friend’s birthday is finally here,
E-ntering another year of her life, I loudly cheer!
T-his simple poem of mine may bring sweetest thoughts and prayer,
T-hat her life may be blessed abundantly today and forever.
E-very single day, may all things in her life make her a lot perkier.
O-n this day, 8th of Jan. 2014 is her very special day,
N-o matter how busy we are, may we give her big hugs and kisses today;
C-akes, roses, balloons and birthday serenades are now on their way,
L-oving thoughts of this poem may also make her happy.
A-sking God to give her the best of health,
U-nderlying are fulfillments of her dreams and wealth,
D-ropping now to our dear celebrity these gifts wrapped in golden sheets.
Jan. 11, 2014 2.10 p.m.
I’m so sorry if this birthday greetings to u comes only now my very dear friend Nette because I didn’t have time again this week due to our 2-days Sports Day, Thurs. & Fri. (It’s one of our biggest events. After school, I’m already knocked down on bed;) HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Biggest hugs! Wishing you all the best. hope it’s not too late.
This here is... History in the making
they say imma rapper, I say no far
from it, life of a sinner yeah dats
what I used to live in, but dats past tensed
so regardless of what you think I'm
still winning despite what you think I'm still
a sanctified christian, born again gifted wit
the lyrics I spitt so in a sense, yeah I'm
ministering.
Been quiet and shy all my life and truth
be told I have no control of the role of
the dice but question? Have you ever
been able to foresee certain events in
your life? How about being told to give up
everything your pursuing in the physical
because in the spiritual is where your being
sent to fight.
Even more drastic, leaving your worldly
friends behind because on his throne is
where you're needed, and true it ain't easy
but, would you? You see I'm more than
a poet, this is more than calling, imagine
being able to possibly save a generation
that's literally fallin, imagine being born
into a rebellious generation but if one man
could change the world by the grace of God
maybe this one could save it.
So if I'm that chosen one what does that mean?
That I was chose to lead a nation, and they
love to say false idols ain't what they praising
then tell me what color is the average american
in this country is chasing.
Happiness is built so like
a cake we bake, giving joy
to taste the breadth of life. The recipe
begins with one filled cup of resilience
to keep it all together. Next, place two
cups of cheery acceptance
loving yourself, as you are.
Then, sprinkle in two equal cups of your
strong, deep-down appreciation- to drink
in the beauty of life. Now, add two cups
of guidance to help pursue
the notable goals you seek.
Then, three cupfuls of balanced emotions
for all life's changing whirlwind of events.
Next, blend in three cups of relationships
full of family and friends,
of all young and old alike.
Whip in eight cups of magnanimous love
to feed acts of kindness- concern for all.
Last, stir in twelve cups of solid purpose.
Bake for a better lifetime;
notice the happiness rise!
Solitude is a blessed thing
They say
A blessed thing known to few
And like a fool
I bought it upon myself
For now I know
What immense joy it is
To hear a human voice
To feel its warmth enveloping you
On a cold sad night
Solitude a blessed thing
The falsitude of which I felt
When in pain
I wanted a dear one
To hold my hand
To soothe my brow
To sit on the chair beside me
Coming home after work
Tired and weary
Knowing that there would only be
Solitude
To share my days events
Solitude
To share a bowl of popcorn
In front of the TV
Solitude
To go to bed with me at night.
Form:
LIFE IS LIKE A MAYPOLE
Outstretch above are blue skies and golden sunshine
as train of threads is softly thug and braid to a pole.
Behold, this sky high pole of bright crayon colors,
they speak slowly about life in quite a number. . .
Sturdy wooden pole standing high and tall
is like a man endowed with wit and strength
The lengthy colored ribbons children install
are the shifting, rolling faces of life's events
Black as night sometimes dawn in life,
one maybe blue but not long, instead
do stand and chase rainbows on green belt bend.
Being a tickled pink to explore, never strife!
See, how the color red blush as it dance in the wind
so must we as we share love along kinship line
we aren't all born with a green finger
yet, each kindness touch, grin lingers!
Shed that yellow-bellied skin
to mingle without any charign.
Our life is given by God in silver plate.
Hence, let our daily goal be a red-letter day!
If we do, earth and sky may wed of rapport
like the ribbons together pulled and blend
by hands of dancing children that mend...
Raising the Maypole aloft with ribbon pour
so is a lived life despite black and blues decor.
As the threads slide smoothly in span of minutes
we, humans, must climb to reach our full limits.
The intertwining colors that fused, all roar
salad differences of man can be sorted, united to be one.
Screaming colors tickle lowly spirits' to fire
daring man to live before his body will retire. . .
Living life to the fullest before each setting sun!
_____________________________________________________________
©O.E. Guillermo
11:23 pm-- February 02, 2015
Sponsor: Seren Roberts
Contest Name: Life is like a Maypole
Placed 1st
Blissful emotional, physical, and spiritual state
(alternately titled Ataraxia)
No rhyme nor reason
explains ecstatic feeling woke
bright eyed and bushy tailed psyche
weight of the world
(think Atlas shrugged)
and/or mysterious Sisyphus
regarding former fate did unyoke,
while immense burden freed the latter
either one or 't'other analogy
allowed, enabled, and provided
unexpected reprieve, each reconnoitered
at convenient joint
rolled their own,
and took prolonged smoke
felt themselves as if in dreamland
hooping, pray née wishing
never to provoke...
stealing their lightness
of being with one thunderstroke
of wand, now think Voldemort
(Harry Potter nemesis), i.e.a mean bloke
exempli gratia re: "theft of death"
one whose path,
I would never fain
to cross, wha... iz zat
some kinda lame joke???
Nevertheless the two,
albeit fictitious gents
aforementioned larger
than life characters,
no no no... agents
provocateurs did espouse feeling
unbridled exuberance
communicated nonverbal
crystal clear subtle signals
to each the other regarding
most striking events
exceeding giddiness re:
measured in iambic accents,
than any costly expense
sieve sabbatical writing poetry,
especially Mephistophelean tense
chock full of suspense
romance, drama, comedy...
danse macabre no absence
spanning any genre
plus unfortunately saddled with immense
Earth shaking burdens without sense
and sensibility, hence...
analogous to this poem,
not worth two pence!
Something happens, a thought forms, I'm alive
First memory, looking from my pram, at the sky
Not a clue where I came from, don’t actually care
So this is life, reality, I’ve just become self aware
Bouncing instinctively, whilst breathing on reflex
As time goes by, I start to imitate moving objects
Bonding with family and friends, in tears and joy
For the moment at least, just chewing on my toys
Then comes early education, perplexing traditions
Must be kept in check, as I make innate decisions
Turned out a mischievous child, borderline liability
But falls and injury, bring me sense of vulnerability
Meanwhile random events, appear out of the blue
People start dying, I notice babies being born too
Curiously asking questions, getting same answers
Told about heaven and hell, emphasis on the latter
Sometimes wish I could go back, change my ways
But whats the point, life would simply be on replay
Only get one chance as a child, it’s better than none
And at the end of the day, is over quick as it begun.
By
David Kavanagh