Long Familyday Poems
Long Familyday Poems. Below are the most popular long Familyday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Familyday poems by poem length and keyword.
My Joy
There is a woman crafted in the furnace of God’s eternal fire,
And for millennia, God has waited for her arrival,
For she was to train two sons who would live for his glory,
And she lived a life of suffering such that she might empathize with their struggles,
And though she made many mistakes,
She has been my truth, my wisdom, and my light,
Often reminding me of realities that I would rather ignore,
She has raged against the rager on my behalf,
And when satan had agripped me, she rose up against him and said, “NO!”
For there was a time when I writhed in darkness,
And only she understood,
With an understanding that stemmed from the cosmos,
From the cosmic tree of life, she fed me fruit,
And I survived,
And I tell you, I see her future,
I see her standing in glory with Mother Mary before her,
And I know Joy,
Her name is Melba Lucas, she is my Divine Light, and it is from her womb that I know my
beginning,
She is my strength when I am weak,
She is my courage, when I might cower,
For she walks in the eternal alpha and omega,
And there will come a time when she no longer walks the earth,
But not until her work is done,
And when that day comes, I will not sorrow, but I will rather rejoice for heaven’s gain,
For in times when clouds would obscure the brightest sun,
She is my Joy.
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY MOM!!!
The quiet rain dispelled any thoughts of a rain out.
It was Fenway, it was Father's Day,
And within the sacred realm of wooden bats,
Unswung and dumbly waiting,
There is the halcyon hope of impact
This on our first day of summer
Like the first day with our father
When he slapped us on our day-old baby chests
To keep us alive, keep the beeps beeping,
Forcing life's tiny engine to re-fire,
Making love's literal labor rumble back into place
Like the slamming of the hood of the car or
The smacking of the hanging breaking ball or
The blowing up of balloons, in school, for winter's child
Who needs to see the swelling of life into vivid colors
So that he'll be tempted to speak through the tumors
And show me how even more not-so-small, slow miracles take form,
Like the oldest man on the team,
On the mound, leading the league in wins,
Like my father putting a lunch together,
A salad, asparagus, and sausage in three
Giant containers I could never fit in my work bag
So in a flash he grabs this nifty-sized paper bag out of nowhere,
(the nowhere where the cabinet and the refrigerator is),
That dark and unspeakable vertical slit
Where all things crawl to be forgotten
Except by my dad who hears nothing and attends to everything
Scrambling even now to get a lunch together for his
29-year-old son who slogs eye-blinkingly around the kitchen
As morning-dumb as the day of his arrival
With the first pitch, the first slap, the first symbol of love.
Father's guide us through the passing fog
Like a lighthouse with a hearing problem, on wheels,
Barreling into the future, keeping the ball moving,
Keeping the world working.
The father is our Sun, Summer's Eternal Boy,
Guiding truth (or his version of it) where it need go:
Another Red Sox win,
Another sandwich made,
Another reason to smoke a cigar.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
As long as you promise to keep swinging
I'll promise to speak up. (And answer my phone.)
There, in the kitchen of this modest dwelling,
A cheerful room, in spite of its lack of grandness
Home to the little family
Who gathered together each evening
For string beans and mashed potatoes,
Eating with relish at the rectangle of oak
They recounted a day filled with stories
Of the playground mishap,
Of the clearance sale at the hardware store,
Significant things or things without matter
The scene reconstructed, each night of the week
With new accounts of a busy day
A ritual never lacking in importance.
This coming together at the end of the day,
While chomping away on an unidentifiable casserole,
Filling the belly, as well as the soul,
Consuming tidbits of noodles, and wisdom and the love of being together.
Until, one day it was time to retire
The humble piece of oak with the four wobbly legs
For something more presentable. Something more impressive,
That would serve the expanse of a family
Which had grown in numbers throughout the years.
How could anyone have known the significance
Of that aging old table with its warp in the middle?
The sag she had tried to hide with a checkered cloth.
Those who sat there day after day, hardly aware of it's meaning.
This old oak piece, having withstood crayon marks, spilled milk,
Even small holes from the time when father, while repairing a picture frame,
Had accidently hammered nails all the way through and into it's top.
Who knew that a weathered old piece of wood would be witness
To such love and importance
And in itself, was more worthy than
Anything this family could have ever imagined?
An Apple a day keeps the doctor away
Or so my mother would say
My granny said the same
To keep the ailments tame
A little tummy ache
Many times I would fake
Immediately mama would stand
With an apple in hand
A little sniff when weather turned cold
Thankfully would keep the school on hold
Soon granny would be beside
With an apple sliced
A heat stroke I would suffer
Going out without cover
My mama would be near
Giving an apple she held dear
Both mama and granny would love to say
This is an apple’s day, an apple’s day
All the sickness would melt
If with an apple a child dealt.
Inspired by the saying--- An apple a day keeps the doctor away.