Long Fare Poems
Long Fare Poems. Below are the most popular long Fare by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fare poems by poem length and keyword.
~Very Happy St. Patrick's Day~
(Free Style)
St. Patrick's Day
we're celebrating today
folks wear color green
They drink green beer and dance
and throw parades everywhere
people wear shamrocks
St. Patrick's Day
is a day of magic
merry and laughter
people celebrate
drink eat, have fun with family friends
some also dance, have a ball
Might see a Leprechaun
or a pot just filled of gold
at the end of a rainbow
I wish you the best
may you enjoy this fun fare
all the entire day.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
March.17.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
Wishing You And Yours a Very Happy And Safe St. Patrick's Day!
I step out to face the night,
shielded like a medieval knight;
and count my victories boldly won,
need not count far for that is one;
drag my fingers roughly through my hair,
and stumble on the bones of some lost hare;
never to remember peace,
but lose myself a bit a piece;
life never claims to treat us fair,
but rather charges such steep fare;
and seeks your very soul to steal,
so guard thyself with sharpened steel;
and fall not into graves dark hole,
but guard well to remain whole;
cry your prayers long and aloud,
never mind if not allowed;
and strive to reach the distant peak,
for a clue a vision just a peek;
of where we must next set sail,
to keep our liberty from sale;
and suffer not freedom to die,
or our flag in false colors dye;
and hear our hymns in error chord,
allow our necks be noosed in cord;
our lives are split at the seam,
an end to our dream it seem;
sadly faltered off the course,
distrust and greed just too coarse;
having abandoned our true role,
further from the promise we roll;
upon the tides of fouler weather,
and question if our choices whether;
made in a selfish moment idle,
created of ourselves our idol;
and thus we locked within this cell,
our own misused spirit to sell.
A veteran of World War Two sat by his hearth thinking back on the war.
Through dim and misty eyes he recalled his buddies and the horrible gore.
He wondered why he survived to come home when others forfeited life,
In The Battle of the Bulge where he was a rifleman midst that brutal strife.
He recalled too many nights shivering in his foxhole with freezing feet,
Trying to keep awake guarding his post in the blinding snow and sleet.
From afar could be heard thundering cannon that was aimed his way.
"Lord", he prayed "please let me survive this night to live another day!"
He recalled being scantily clothed - hot coffee and food was very rare.
He damned those in the rear for his plight who didn't seem to care.
On Christmas Day those in the rear dined on turkey with lots to spare.
For Christmas dinner he and his buddies ate C-rations for holiday fare.
His eyes misted when he thought of frozen heroes lying in the snow,
Their grieving next-of-kin - the little kids whose dads they'd never know.
But in the midst of battle he must put all such gruesome thoughts aside,
And not let his brothers down - those brave men who soldiered at his side.
With other old veterans he talked with kids in school lest they forget,
Telling them how much is owed to those who paid that final debt!
He buried his face in gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Weeping unabashedly pleading, "Please God, no more strife forever more!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The October wind is chilly, cold.
It heralds the onset of Winter.
Harvest is ending we're putting up stores,
Getting ready for Winter to enter.
There's pies, cakes and breads and canned goods galore,
Family and friends come over.
It's time now to rest and visit awhile.
Too soon the festivities are over.
All Summer long we worked and we toiled,
Preparing for Harvest Time.
Then we worked harder than ever before,
To bring in the harvest sublime.
When Harvest is over we celebrate.
We visit, we party, we share.
We give thanks for the blessings that we have received;
For God's goodness and bountiful fare.
And to the flower that survived
I do salute thy strength
Through wind and frost, to still have thrived
Advance at any length
Though thirsty for the taste of love
You held a barren field
With patience and the stars above
Your will to never yield
Though some might say of brawny fare
That therein lies the ace
Yet I say, through your gentle care
Endurance wins the race
I know the flower that survived
Though faded by the sun
Thy beauty still to be derived
From all that you have done
Dedicated to my dear, sweet mother…
(Still surviving!)
Happy Mother’s day
5/14/23
In these uncertain times,
Where the world seems dark and bleak,
Nature offers the peace and solace, that I seek.
I am thankful for the sunrise
That meets me everyday,
The chattering of migrant birds,
Going on their way.
The changing palette of the meadow,
Adorned in seasonal fare,
The towering trees, whose brawny boughs
Reach high, in the crisp autumn air.
I am Thankful for
The work of God alone,
The abundance on our table,
The warmth of family, hearth, and home.
I Am Thankful
Of then,
Smoke of a squandered summer morn
The barrel of a summer afternoon
And the spittle of the soundless shots of the stars within a summer eve
Homeless homage, tainted talent awaits to watch and berate
Wilting wonders to wound a heart the size of a horse
Hoarse to mourn the drowning drought of the mellow monnow
To drown the blessed sapphires of summer fever
With fevor and bloodied weather
And sleep on a velvet throw
Turn these demons and paralysis upon the stars
And stitch and tie and tighten
And wear aware of the consequence
And ensnare the stars aware of the darkness
Pay the fare to the ferry
And pretend not to hear the merry walks and dreary ends of life
Pretend not to tighten without the enticement of and ending life
Pretend not to sleep
Away and away and away
Further than the astral splurges of this
Life
Sleep with the intent of death
So death may bless the creaseless crown of my forehead
And sleep with his singular kiss forevermore
2//5//2025
In rare gustation dine we here tonight!
For you, my feast; for me, your pleasant sight!
And for them both, I raise my glass to cheer:
Let all that’s sober end before the year!
Let music, wine and wantonness prevail!
Let revelry erase the dry and stale!
And light your mortal youth that burns so strong,
For I, the God of Wine, who’s lived too long.
And when my followers stand - or rather, sprawl -
Across the landscape, shall the dreary fall!
And when my wine the final frown shall lift,
Then sprawled amidst the rest, I’ll share the gift!
Let wine make us wise, and feasting for all!
Till morning shall rise, or each of us fall!
Evil sobriety! It shall not last the night!
For I have found munitions, ample for the fight!
The vine divine, from whence the grapes of wine!
I tend its thirsts, and it doth water mine!
The beasties of the Earth and air,
I do invite to be my fare!
Yes turn off the right to question:
Insipid instinct feigns traction
The crazy world is now so mad
And decent people look so bad!
Fleeting impulse wears a stern face
Embraced by a deeper disgrace
So why and how and who and where
Can veil the questionable fare?
So many corrupt minds endear
Frail human woes that harbour fear
Hence round and round we go around
Until we smash on solid grounds
We crash and burn and wallow well
As a decadent story tells
Can you then curb that turn-off voice
Disown your character and choice?
Leon Enriquez
28 August 2017
Singapore
The crew, thinking the Aeolian Gift was not Odysseus' alone but common property
Stole the bag, with avariced mind, curious to find, broke the seals - the winds were free
The winds in fury, unconfined, vent their wrath - the ship's were blown like chaff
Till driven they wee to Laestrygone straits - the wild Winds had their last laugh.
Great giants were the Laestrygones - they of Cyclop's ilk - perhaps ten cubits tall
They threw great boulders of stone and sank the ships - elven of them all
Like scattered beads were the corpses of men - the Laestrygones cannibal feast
While busy they were in relishing the fare - Odysseus's ship quitely slipped from the East
Odysseus and his battered crew did, doleful and weary, away from land, sail a while
With blazing sun, parched throats and hungry maws - they sighted fair Circe's Isle!
Now Circe was in beauty cast, fair in diaphanous drape, an enchantress to beware.
With welcome arms, (and welcome bed), she charmed with kingly feast and handsome dress.
But soon the welcome did turn around as the men did quaff the sweet mulled wine,
For half the men, in spells entrapped, soon transmogrified into squealing swine!
Great Zeus, from Olympian heights, sent Herme's to Circe to plead for their release
Most reluctant was the maid, but abide she did, made men again, they once more set to sea.
------ To be continued
~11 Jun 2016~