Long Family relationship Poems
Long Family relationship Poems. Below are the most popular long Family relationship by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Family relationship poems by poem length and keyword.
Love’s Extreme Unction
by Michael R. Burch
Lines composed during Jeremy’s first high school football game (he played tuba), while I watched his mother watch him.
Within the intimate chapels of her eyes—
devotions, meditations, reverence.
I find in them Love’s very residence
and hearing the ardent rapture of her sighs
I prophesy beatitudes to come,
when Love like hers commands us, “All be One!”
Keywords/Tags: motherhood, mother, son, Mother's Day, mom, love, family, relationship, extreme unction, devotions, meditation, reverence, love’s residence, beatitude, beatitudes, heaven, unity, solidarity, togetherness, oneness, one
Special child triumphs midst physical zest
Expressing his love with warm gestures’ best
As his hugs and embrace
Reign over wheelchair race
Making him the winner in running test!
In pursuit to be champ in sports fest
Our special son is cheered to the fullest
While siblings with God's grace*
Drive him for success-pace
So, they all receive trophy, feeling blest!
*2 Corinthians 12:9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
May 14, 2024
4th place, "A New Funny or Bawdy Limerick Set" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 5/25/2024
For years I’ve sadly known of one who dislikes me—
A member of my family, whom I do love.
No matter how I’ve tried—solution not to be,
My fervent prayers unanswered by dear God above.
Except I’m granted a recurring dream, so real,
Whereby the two of us are friends and get along,
And in my dream, I thank dear God that my appeal
Was heard whereby he helped to make our kinship strong.
This haunting dream recurred for many hopeless years,
And still, invades and stirs my sleep at present time.
In it, my heart accepts apology with tears—
Rejoicing, we embrace and kiss in scene sublime.
What disappointment when I stir and then awake
And realize once more it was this same old dream—
My morning seems less bright, my heart forlorn with ache;
If only this were true, not sleep’s nocturnal scheme.
However, I do feel that God sends me this gift
As his firm sign of things to come some future day.
My hope is strong, my heart wanting to mend this rift,
And make my dream come true—take this heartache away.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Emotional Anger, Hurt, Rage
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 11/30/2017
~3rd Place~
Contest: Dreams
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 04/28/2015
Iambic Hexameter
Something old, something new!
I rebirth beyond what my roots eschew.
I ascend from my descendant's group shadow,
to rise above and beyond what they bestow.
I cannot shed their genes and heritage.
While I respect my upbringing and parentage.
I rise above the limits of pedigree,
to shred the trammel bounds of mediocrity.
So here I stand both old and new.
Living a dream they never knew.
With the blockchain defining my past,
Eaten with my fate in a defiant repast.
My genes define my descendants' phenotype.
Alas I cannot change their archetype,
beyond the mutations in my DNA,
to give my progeny my ascent display.
Arise descendant now ascendant
Bask in joyous glee resplendent.
A Marriage of One
Shazar P. Diddle, a one-man-woman loved Bart, utterly, completely with a full heart.
Bart was a loner, a self-lover, a married-to-my-habits, this man who stole her heart.
She loved her dogs, her cat, rabbit, a goat named Meanie, but they only received about 10 percent of her love, the rest of it was reserved for Bart.
Bart loved his alcohol, cigarettes, secret stash of cocaine, his single lifestyle, and the money he made selling drugs, this good man, named Bart.
Shazar saw goodness and love when she looked at Bart. Bart saw an easy mark, a convenient wife and home, from whom he would promise to never part.
Yes, Shazar and Bart were married three years ago this Thursday,
and we all said, “Bless you both.” We enjoyed their wedding in a sense of family fun.
They pooled their loot, bought a boat, enjoyed a 3-day honeymoon. On day four, Bart called Shazar and said, “Sorry, but I’ve decided to be a marriage of one.”
It was the kind of marriage he wanted, forever and always, but of course she ran after him and the boat up and down the coast line, trying to change his mind.
Shazar, Shazar, Shazar, He was never yours in the first place. He’s too selfish to be in any relationship, To yourself, you must be kind.
Never were you an ally
Walking the halls of home
Chaos erupting
Leaving babies all alone
We learned early to be busy
Keeping the energy flying
Shushing the evils
That blood was buying
So many secrets in disguise
Operating the huge machine
Presenting pretty pictures
Showing out golden seams
You are not welcome, my friend
In a home full of fear
You must always keep your distance
Though LOVE draws you near
There must always be noise
Dying thoughts lie in silence
No one wants to face the truth
Of what family secrets bought through violence
...move along little doggie...move along
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-09-2026
Granduncle Rey was inimitable… uncommon.
He could make a story out of a passing wind
and have me crying, giggling like an imp--
this God-given knack could spin yarns of myth
that even my siblings rasp with bulging eyes ,
mouths wide as a crater, entranced from
delicate plots soaked in mystery.
Every trail climbed one step away from anticipation,
but a story was a story, the larger the better…
how could a pirate turn into a lizard
or eve's starlight emerge as a queen?
It didn’t matter what the tale was about,
for between, “And then” and “Later on,”
my ears were sucked deep into
another world beyond my own knowing.
Ambling on with this gifts of plums and gab,
my adolescent days romped with our exchanges--
his warm commentaries of asteroids, pharaohs,
and eternity made me a student of life,
that when he breathed last this year...I was ripped
only to build my own tales in life's center stage.
-------------
Royal Relationships Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cook 5/15/2020
I stand in the doorway of his heart, holding a blueprint he cannot read. I ask for a shelter, a fire, a soft place to land, but he offers me only the framing— strong, upright, and terrifyingly bare.
He loves me in the only language he was taught: the dialect of survival, the grammar of silence. He fixes the leaking tap, he checks the locks, he brings his body to the bed like a shield. But when I ask to be held, really held, not just contained but cherished, I see the panic rise behind his eyes— a deer startled by a warmth it does not understand.
I know the story of his making. I know he grew up in a house where "I love you" was a currency so rare it caused inflation, where needs were noise, and feelings were flaws. He learned to metabolize neglect into armor, starving the boy to feed the man, until his chest became a vault where nothing gets out, and nothing gets in.
But I am starving, too. I am a gardener trying to coax orchids from soil that has known only drought. I water him with patience, with pleading, with tears, waiting for the ground to soften, waiting for him to realize that the war is over, that he does not have to ration his touch anymore.
I want to be loved correctly. Not just kept safe, but known. I want him to look at me and not see a task to be completed, but a question he actually wants to ask. I want him to break the mirror of his childhood and step through the glass, bleeding if he must, to find me on the other side.
I love the boy he was, the one who froze to stay alive. But I need the man he is to finally, finally thaw.