Long Familiar Poems
Long Familiar Poems. Below are the most popular long Familiar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Familiar poems by poem length and keyword.
You’re the woman I see in my heart
On this day I finally know I can honestly say
That all my prayers have been answered
In such a big way
My girl is coming home
Now, at last, we don't have to roam
Because soon baby you won't be alone
So many odds against us
But it's our love that has grown
I am your king whose heart always sings
For your love with that familiar ring
You are my queen up on a thrown
Who I feel I have always known
Not able to talk face to face or on the phone
I wake up every day
Feeling the sugar you send my way
Dreaming of the moment you were here to stay
Loving you right from the very start
Nothing could come between us or tear us apart
You’re so beautiful funny and smart
You’re the woman I see in my heart
I waited for this to come to be
As I can already see us talking and planning
As we sit under our family tree
As we begin to see how much this love
Was meant to be
It's our understanding
That has been so demanding
As our walk to be closer to God is for all to see
Together at last living our destiny
Echo world behind the glass,
I make the same faces I did at twelve.
The grinning Cheshire Cat
with teeth like piano keys,
mendacious and coy
because viewing my portrait with sobriety
forces me to march with familiar frailties.
I’m certain my gravitas is a forgery.
I am sure my laments and torments are
playacted animation.
Their drama is loathsome.
Instead, I turn my left eye toward my nose
while keeping the right straight.
This contortion masks multiple blemishes.
I summon my childhood buffoon, making
self-mockery hide all my impairments.
Concealing them by exposing them,
I become the object of my own joke.
What guise can be greater?
I am Charlie Chaplin getting kicked in the rear.
I am Soupy Sales hit by a sloppy pie.
With this impression, I never need to try.
Flashbacks on the wall.
They all die like Curly Howard.
Laughter is short-lived glee,
after which the spirit secretly craves.
My life is made of printed images
on a carnival tent.
Memory fragments are all I hold,
each enlisting some particle of my journey.
Yet with this, I find another way to fit into
a clown car,
another way to do my pratfalls,
another way to get my pants pulled down.
Accepted for publication: The Opiate, Spring 2024
restless sleep, struggle out of bed
walking like a zombie, newspaper read
thought patterns familiar rise, am in their grip
over cravings nurtured thus far, we once again trip
recognising piquant dilemma, distanced from joyfulness
we reverse attention polarity, choosing playfulness
as an experiment to begin with, soon addictive
before we know it, our orientation meditative
continuous consciousness correction
whereupon we choose our hearts expansion
erases gently aberrations of our conditioned past
memory images of yesteryears now leave us all aghast
we know not about God or any esoteric spiritual technique
discerning mind lays aside urgings that make us weak
as we go in within in deepening tranquil silence
we rekindle flame of love by this dalliance
feeling lighter now, carrying no burden
shifts were slow although it may seem sudden
treading now gently, flowing like the breeze, at ease
we amble along in wonderment, aspect embrace-hold-release
31-March-2021
a firefly kisses me unexpectedly
perhaps it is a symbol of hope
i then smell the familiar scent of her
it feels like yesterday returning to today
sitting on the now worn deck
caring about nothing, again i dwell on the past
everywhere i turn i see the creations of beauty you conjured up
it feels like yesterday returning to today
the cat now sits on the edge in a misunderstood anticipation
perhaps it is a sign of things to soon come
i then feel the unforgotten sense of a presence long since gone
it feels like yesterday returning to today
if there was a way i could wake this present time up,
then i would
if there was a way i could magically change the way things went down,
then i would
if there was a way i could make all the tears cried into a wishing well,
then i would
maybe then i could make this miracle in my head happen
instead i am mister at the tale end of the color purple
though on certain days i find a smile, today's quiet is as eerie as the realization of why
On a dark dense night
Ah a rare nature-lit light,
What a ghost-like sight!
___________________________
Here is nature lighting its own light, a rare happening locally called chir batti, a long-burning lamp or ghost light. It happens in this desert due to a phenomenon called bioluminescence.
Reminiscences |20.01.2021|
Topic: desert, soul
Poet’s note: Planned to visit the Rann of Kutchh in the north-west part of Gujarat, and got myself familiar with all its attractions, places to visit. But the visit had to be cancelled. Yet, the poet in me took off still. Here are the reminiscences, The Lure of Desert I to VI.
The cool crisp air where cirrus sweeps
like strands of angel hair flow deep,
in the heavens where faith resides
on this Christmastide.
As the light of day grows dim
and carolers sing familiar hymns,
scarved red and green, side by side
on this Christmastide.
In the night the bright bulbs glow,
lane by lane, row on row,
while the fire warms those inside
on this Christmastide.
At worship faithful praise and sing,
around the village church bells ring;
within this love we will abide,
on this Christmastide.
In silent night while children sleep,
mothers kneel and softly weep,
praying for a peace worldwide
on this Christmastide.
Out in the fields, no city lights
among the stars there in the night,
the brightest hope on high presides
on this Christmastide
So here I am on the beginning of my journey
A man invited into the woman’s mind
An unusual experiment I must admit
But one that might save all of mankind.
So where am I now, nothing looks familiar here
There are emotions I cannot understand!
I am sensing things I never sensed before
God, it’s much easier being a man.
Why is she not thinking about sex all the time?
What is this need for nurturing things?
And why is it that once each month
A feeling of bloating and instability it brings?
Oh, now that feeling is nice, what could that be?
Wow, a deeper sense of selflessness love.
Now that is indeed something man does need,
I’ll have to have a talk with the guy from up above.
Okay it looks like my time is up
This experiment has come to an end
They are making me exit the woman’s mind,
I sure hope they let me come back again.
Entry in The Opposite Sex contest
Whispering wings ~ feathers afloat,
Molting and marvelous, magnanimous
Wonders, alighting in familiar places.
~
Each feather remembers the warmth,
The pear-shaped cradle ere birth.
The quietude-nest, the guardian enfolds.
~
Even in rapid flight, into ebony night,
Wings, like a butterfly’s, though they sing,
trumpet no sound, unless one’s in tune
~
With God, unless the Spirit is just right,
Unless the Father is prepared to save
Or take away or just delight - just because…
~
Molting and marvelous, plucked from memories,
The magnanimous calls to the perceiver —
The flight, the whisper, the hesperus-hour,
~
Tingle of senses, the angelic featherbed
Releases an echo of space and time
To loved ones left behind…a single dove.
~
Even the blind, deaf and dumb recover
their senses, grab hold of the felicitous flight
…somehow, one’s guardian angel delivers this gift.
~
Godspeed, feather-light, wings that glow
whiter than snow. The Holy Spirit prepared
to disentangle truth from fiction in one’s frightful season.
~
Guardian-wing’d, miracle snow-drift, lights up
those dust-filled dendrites, attempts to clear
the cobwebs — spread of peace and light.
~
Next to her, smiling wide, exact replica
of an angel - Mom. Next to her frame —
a feather-gift treasured by my father.
1/12/2022
White Tip, Red Coat/Alouette
Numbed, I sit alone
neither dish nor bone
to console me as a friend,
space and time confined
future now defined
by this leash - me at the end.
Length of tattered rope
freedom’s shortened hope
dulls the eyes and slows the tail
of low howling hounds
old familiar sounds
bugled scent of foxes trail.
White tipped red coat flash
chicken stealing dash
inflames the lust of instinct
foxes on the loose
chasing duck and goose
trails the scent of thieves distinct.
So I am set free
as the hound I be
maestro of fox hunt sounds
low and moaning bay
echoing in sway
to the dance of fox and hounds.
8/30/2014
For Andrea Dietrich, A Lovely Alouette – Poetry Contest
`
Driving by,
lost on a side street
directly in the middle
of where I never wanted to be
Clamoring at the expectations
strewn along the curb
between the broken dishwasher
and empty beer cans
Where neighborhood gnomes
painted gaily colors
wave as if they know me,
but I ignore them - sort of
There is one though
with a hollow bookish smile
that seems familiar
or is it the tulips
Your porch used to look like that
but this door is standing open
behind a welcome mat with a clover,
wish I hadn’t lost that rabbit’s foot
Maybe I am lucky after all,
just found a spot with ten minutes
remaining on the meter, forget it,
it took me fifteen minutes to park
The empty passenger seat
still holds your form,
at least I can see it -
Corinthian leather never forgets
A speed bump at 40 mph
rattles me back behind the wheel
when I see the bank clock flashes 5:00 pm,
still offering a free toaster
And that’s it, another Sunday afternoon
wasted as much as I am,
spinning my wheels
with just enough gas to get back home,
alone