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Long Father daughter Poems

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Long Poems
Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
Anyone...

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?

Copyright © Darian Rehder | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Kai Michael Neumann | Details

Hope-and a father is could be

Hope and…a father is could be 

Against all odds and expectations
so many rules and norms and
clever theories society’s demands
cultures and conventions there is
no magic wand no miracle solution

I throw you high up in the air
and catch the giggled strength
and heartfelt laughter companionship
rising high in motion slow and fast emotion
reflected suspense of moments passing by until
my hands and shelter embrace you
when again I have to let you go 
to fly from our roots confirming journey

We swim the ocean brace the waves 
contend the currents
time the tides and titillating surf
taste the water salt and progress
from distant shore to open seas
with the calculated risk
to need a boat for all the necessary
safety and return

At times I wish to push the river
hold it halt you be your life raft
when the river flows itself and you
need to dip in different waters 
have to struggle on your own 
until there is another river
never yet the same for now and then

From the tree of life we swing from
vital vigour bark and leafy pleasures
pull the pulley push a plank
balance from even higher branches
or build a ladder to the tree house
where the fantasies are swelling
into pictures and experience
in your sense-world and your mind

We read and listen and explore
skip the home-work find
our own words full of mystery
imagination entertain a fairy tale
away from grim prescription
scribe our story as it should
write our own create and play
on the fields of fancy poetry
and comprehension meaning

We sign the goal posts where you
my sons and daughters wrestle 
kick their shins scratched knees
and footballs score for team and
individual satisfaction 
test the limitations and discover
the rules they wish to follow
and the ones they wish to stretch

Clothed in mud and perspiration
we turn around walk back to our abode
meshing webbing sense perception
movement understanding
eat ice cream with gravy
roast potatoes topped with 
chocolate puffs and gummy bears

We make our time a market place
decide what goods are good
resist temptation and indulge
forget remember and forgive not just
the temper tantrums at the check out
mine and yours that is
recast and sculpture what matters most

We organize the shelves not 
always in the senseless order
put soap with meatballs in the freezer
and flower seeds with books
where they belong when we escalate
and stop in time for reason

You push me round the shops in trolleys
run up descending escalators
practice for the topsy-turvy demarcation
that adult being holds in store
too much too far too early and
resist the fallacy that only one way
leads to where the happiness is found

Life will not always be the pleasant circus
where clown and jester mocks
the foolish wisdom clarifies the
laughing sadness bruising hurts  
where bigger picture parades in
masquerade of tidy tiny universal
sanity and madness preventing
what love and kindness
would suggest to be the better option

I may be somewhat helpless 
when your hearts are broken
so labelled real reality sets in
when friends betray you 
toxic poisonous encounters
lie in waiting

When fate surprises curve balls
broken branches riptides swings
cul-de-sacs and roundabouts loom
and call for your resilience for
the application of what you’ve got 

For not a day though I would have missed
your childhood when most likely
you taught me more than I could give

The time will come when I will need
and wish for more support and guidance
when you can be the fool wise man and
guiding daughter when my trolley is
the wheel chair in the wheel of life
and I am truly of that trolley

When ageing sight drifts and falters
where bones might crumble 
mind could vanish and regress 

Time for your foresight hindsight vision
and the dreams and aspirations of
your children’s father mother
guider and protector never
loosing sight of childhood
and hopefully incorporating
the imperfect wishful father
good enough at times I try to be

24th May

Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Walter T. Ashe | Details

Forever Tracey-She Never Stopped Loving Me

I was born before her-
but she existed 
long before my life's debut.
Ancient Spirit.......
Old Soul!....Really Old Soul!
The "Great I AM"
knows her as "Tracey, You AM!"
As a young girl she was giving advice
to adults.......
they would listen and take it to heart!
SERIOUSLY!!!
That was a sign!
She was always there.....
ALWAYS-
but I wasn't!
M.I.A. dad was my status.
There's that voice again.....
"But she never stopped loving me-
She NEVER stopped loving me!"

She kept growing,
and I......
was not there.
Time does not have a 
"recapture lost moments" 
in life button,
and we don't have the ability 
to see memories
that we weren't present
to help create!
Sporadic contact of that nature
should be a punishable offense!
Capital punishment 
for detrimental treatment
of a young girl's heart!
That voice.......
that voice keeps saying-
"But she never stopped loving me!-
She NEVER stopped loving me!"

As her growing stature 
started catching up 
with her way out in front maturity
and the male species
found her attractive....
when I should have been there
with an axe handle in the left hand
and a "Louisville" slugger in the right-
I wasn't there.......
I WAS NOT THERE!
I hear it again.....
that voice keeps saying-
"But she never stopped loving me!-
She NEVER stopped loving me!"

Educated, very intelligent, 
very spiritually insightful,
a true "daughter of GOD"....
and I.
HE blessed me with her!
I would ALWAYS be in her prayers!
I COULD FEEL THIS THING!!......
but I couldn't put my finger on it
to understand it!
Even when time would pass by
without a word from me
she would ask HIM to keep me safe
and hoped one day, one day 
I would come to HIM!
Unbeknownst to me
my steps in this life
were being guided by her
with HIS help!
Yeah.......That's right-
The other way around!
The "Great I AM".......
HE was listening to her!!!
WOW!........
Talk about being connected!
Where is this voice coming from?????-
"But she never stopped loving me!-
She NEVER stopped loving me!"

In time I felt this-
(I really don't know how
to describe it)
tug from deep within and
something started happening to me!
"What the.......
WHAT IS GOING ON???"
I blurted out within!
Next thing I knew 
I was coming to HIM
requesting HIS assistance
in keeping my steps
on the straight and narrow path!
Now I know........
I NOW KNOW 
HE WAS LISTENING TO HER!!!
She had both of HIS ears
and HIS undivided attention
because not only was I guided to HIM
without reservation, mind you,
but HE put us back together
with a "godly spiritual superglue"
that only HE uses
and it can't be bought nor found
anywhere in this world!
Though I can't change the past
I CAN determine now, 
(with HIS guiding hand)
the future!
I keep hearing that voice
saying over and over and over-
"But she never stopped loving me!-
She NEVER stopped loving me!"

Geographically,
there is distance now
but this high tech world has erased that!
She has "absolute eminent domain"
in my heart and on my mind
these days!
She is never more than
a heartbeat's thought
away from me now-
even at this very moment!
We talk....we text....and we email!
We email....we text....and we talk!
Testimony to the modern wonders 
of mankind!
??? Ever smile so much
at the sound of a voice
that the corners
of your mouth
touch together
at the back of your head?!?!?
Mine do.....
weird sight!

Everyday now while kneeling
and with head bowed
I say "THANK YOU" to HIM
for doing what only
HE COULD DO,
DID DO and CAN DO!
YOU know who YOU are and.......
"YOU ARE TRULY AWESOME!"
And that voice-
that voice
that kept repeating on a loop 
between my heart and my mind,
I know it was she
whispering in YOUR ear-
"Today, don't forget to tell him!-
Ok, don't forget to tell him!"
(I can hear her asking)
.......AND YOU DIDN'T!!!
YOU have told me to ALWAYS remember
and repeat over and over
and over again......
"But she never stopped loving me!-
She NEVER stopped loving me!

Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Kathy Larivee | Details

The Window

She stares at the paper not a word comes to write
Surrounded by peace on a dark rainy night.
Like the page in her notebook her mind remains clear.
Not a word to be written, her pen she cant steer.

No thought comes to mind as she drives memory road
Not a vision, no flashback nothing waits to be told.
She thumbs through the pages of an old book of art...
Searching for something that touches her heart.

The years took a toll on this book left untouched
Musty and frayed, the paper crinkled and rough.
Its cover is faded its corners are bent
A pressed flower within leaves a soft subtle scent.

Page after page of landscapes and faces
Baskets of fruit and flowers in vases.
Paintings and sketches most done black and white
Ancient ships at full sail, a quaint farm house at night.

Wyeth’s painting; a window, captures her eye
Takes her back to her childhood; a cabin lakeside.
At last there’s a story beginning to grow
She picks up her pen and the words start to flow.

She writes of a weekend back in the fall
The cabin they stayed in among pine trees so tall.
How she looked out her window each day that she woke
Watched the sun kiss the lake as the morning fog broke.

Outside her window there on the ground.
An old gray canoe that lay upside down.
Many times she would dream of paddling out
She’d catch a big fish; she knew it, no doubt!

She went to the window one cool gloomy morn
Happy inside in where it was cozy and warm.
She leaned on the sill, hands under her chin
Wondering what she would do, where to begin.

She gazed out the window watching drops hit the lake
Millions of circle the raindrops would make.
Red orange leaves on the trees by the shore
Now shiny and limp from the rain as it pours.

Sandcastles she built by the beach yesterday
Are nothing but mud now washing away.
No life in the forest, nothing moving around
Just that old gray canoe laying there on the ground.

By noon there was sun as clouds cleared away
“May I go outside? I want to go play!”
“I have an idea” Dad called from the door
“Let's take that canoe down to the shore.”

Dad had the fishing poles, tackle and bait.
“We’re gonna go fishing? Yeeha, I can’t wait”!
He flipped the canoe over, and loaded the gear.
The moment she wished for was finally here.

Dad pulled and she pushed that boat to the shore
She put on her life jacket Dad grabbed the oars.
Out to the middle he paddled them both
Then dropped in the anchor so gently they'd float.

She talked and she chattered about little girl things
Now looking back she must have made his ears ring.
He laughed and he nodded answered questions on cue
As the greatest dad ever, what else would he do?

An afternoon on the lake just father and daughter.
In an old gray canoe out on the water.
Not a single fish caught, only memories were made
That dark gloomy morning became a wonderful day.

At night in her bunk as Dad tucked her in
“Thanks for taking me fishing” she said with a grin.
He turned out the light then closed her door
She’s warm in her bed while out side the rain pours.

Now closing her eyes she pictures that lake
And the millions of circles the raindrops did make.
No life in the forest, nothing moving around
Just that old gray canoe laying there on the ground.

Copyright © Kathy Larivee | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by DON WILLIAMS | Details

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF DON JUAN

It was a bright sunny day, though mixed with scattered sprinkles of snow, 
The Lord had a special soul yet to be given a name this November morning and so…………..
Looking down upon his mother earth,
A young man named George and a young woman named Rose
A beautiful day, a fresh new birth,
Unto these lovers he choose.

(So chipping off a piece of the moon and the sun 
The soul of a poet was born and they named him, Don Juan.)      

Curly hair and a beautiful smile,
Never before a more handsome child.
Little did they know, the looks and the name,
Would be his ticket to the Player Games.

So as time went on there was formed the perfect player,
Old school pimp, poet, lover, fighter, and heartless woman slayer.
The looks, the name, pushed him on this path from the start,
No one, but Don Juan, knew that none of this was truly in his heart.

So day in, day out, up, down and around about the play,
Don Juan went on his way-a different woman every day.
Wondering just what was really the big deal?
Was this admirable life of his times just a cover?
Would he ever find true love from a real true lover?
Fast cars, money, guns and drugs, 
Young cats and old alike praised him as the players’ thug.
Although he was very good at all he tried to do
This meant he was very good at being very bad, too!

After several narrow escapes from the law,
And gruesome murders he can’t admit he ever saw
He decided this thug life, this lonely player’s role
Was only good for a short life. 
The road to death of a Poets soul.

All the while all he wanted – All he would ever yearn
Was one true love and family
(But alas, this soul had a lot to learn).

With truth and faith came much heartache,
Wine and beers flushed with rivers of tears,
Of failed love affairs, year after years.
Still masking the pain with his smile and his name,
Though deep inside his tears poured like crying rain.

There were false threats of a son then came his beautiful little daughter
By an alcoholic woman who couldn’t give her daughter a quarter
Nor get out the bed to give her a drink of water!

He stuck by his daughter from the second she was born
She has his last name and a similar first name of, Dawn.
Three years passed with no sign of the mother-his ex-lover,
Till one day she poked her jealous head 
From under her alcohol vomit stained covers.

Knocking on his door with officers from Juvenile,
Full of hurtful sinful lies, knowing all the while….
Her true motivation behind all this hurt
Was only to see the soul or a true poet, hurt!

Now it’s been well over two or three years
Since he and his daughter shared a smile or a tear.
Having no idea where his baby girl might be,
His smile growing bigger so less pain others would see.

So with that let’s come to a temporary end,
To the look behind the big wide grin.
And don the mask of joy and laughter,
Waiting to open the book on yet another chapter.

Always so lonely though in a crowded room,
The smiling best man, but never the groom.
This poet’s soul constantly reshapes itself,
Having learned there will be no one else-
Until he can find peace within himself.

Merely the portray-er of the role of a player.
Of all the roles that he can choose,
It’s the only on he has
And has

To lose.

Copyright © DON WILLIAMS | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by shaunda lindsay | Details

Axeman Cometh

woo hoo. Donald Duck film at school today.
I'm so happy I'm five, cause now I get to do
all the fun things at school.

Donald showed me what to do if a fire comes to my house
to burn up my brothers and sisters. I never want them 
to die so II'm gonna save them when a fire comes.

I have dreams about the axeman chopping my brothers and sisters neck
but i can't save them, so i wake up screaming.

When i scream, my mouth opens and no sounds come out ever. 
something is always wrong with my voice, cause daddy
tells me "no noise" and now I can't make noise come 
out when I scream.

I wake up in my dark room with my arm over my little
sisters neck so the axeman can't chop her in the throat.
her arm is over my neck too because 
that's what brothers and sisters do for each other

I hear the sounds of crying from my older sisters bed
I sit up, look over and see her covers
all blue and moving. "GO TO SLEEP, SHAUNDA"
says the axeman, who is in my sisters bed making her cry.

OH NO! It's the axeman. The blue from the nightlight 
distorts the axeman and he looks just like daddy.

but daddy wouldn't hurt us.

Donald duck said fire is blue sometimes when it's
really hot, so my sister must be burning and crying
from the blue fire the axeman brings.

I get on my belly and crawl like a snake towards
the bedroom door just like Donald Duck says to do. I touch
the door with my hand to feel if it's hot and it isn't.
still on my belly, i crawl out the bedroom door and 
down the hall into mama's and daddie's room.

I yell "fire, fire, mama! Daddy there's a fire in my room.
I'm crying with the loud hiccupy sounds of the forlorn.
Mama jumps up and yells "What? a fire? " 
she yells for my daddy, "Wayne, where are you"?

Daddy comes running down the hall from my bedroom
in only his underware saying, "she just had a
bad dream, Margaret, there's no fire."

Mama looks at daddy with a funny look in her eyes
and demands to know why he was in our bedroom in only his underwear. He tells her that I scared my older sister with my bad dream by yelling'fire', and he ran into our room to calm us down.

Daddy guides mama back into their room, 
and turns to me and say's " no more bad dreams young lady."
He gives me the same look he gives me, 
when he tells me not to scream. The "NO NOISE" look.
I know, I better not say one word.

I go back to bed crying, the blue fire is gone
from our room. No more night lights for us. 
I don't like them now anyways. I lay in bed and think
how much daddy looks just like the axeman.


I put my arm over my little sister's neck to save her 
from the axeman who smells like beer just like daddy does.
I watch for the bedroom door knob to move, which tells me 
when the axeman is coming into our room. I vow to 
stay awake and never, ever, go to sleep again. 

If the axeman comes again, I will yell fire. 
I know I will get a spanking, but I know I will
yell fire anyways to save my sisters from the axeman. 

That's what brothers and sisters do for each other.
I pray to Donald Duck and thank him for the informative film.
There will be many more fires and many more spankings. 
The Axeman isn't done with me yet.

Copyright © shaunda lindsay | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Carol B. | Details

A Game Of Thorns - Collaboration with Maurice Yvonne

i heard a...what do they say...a spine chilling scream ...is that the saying? a spine chilling scream followed by 'he's dead, my G_d he's dead' the phrase echoed inside the whole of me like tennis balls bouncing between two parallel walls i ran up aware i would be at the edge where the road ends and the gates of heaven stand saw a young man looked through the aperture of his existence looked and singed his eyelashes looked and could not see beyond now you know those beautiful fluffy white clouds the kind that feel like large teddy bears that want to hug you she had landed her very own- she cherished him knew who he was felt lucky they shared a mutual love i can't imagine the despair flowed through her when she saw him like that his doughy complexion screamed volumes breaking the thunderous silence he was a pale grey, blank, empty a sight impossible to process at odds with how one survives the experience of this tragedy she was lost in a dreamless mare [most of the time life its outcome depends on the flip of a coin if you don't know that you don't understand life his coin landed on its side ...all the kings men and all the kings horses...] her 'beautiful huge fluffy white cloud' had succumbed to the storm heart in throat hesitantly she touched him he was a frigid cold for a moment she saw her own smokey breath moving as if she was walking through the thick grains of unbearable pain thoughts racing she attempted to make sense of the senseless despair had grabbed her by the throat shook her around like so much thread and fabric she thought he might of seen life as futile society as a guise, as a failed paradigm thought he had reached the last motel on the road to nowhere and just...checked out depression the illness it's unlike any other pain when it peaks few if any survive it the afflicted instinctively self medicate but street drugs are mean she could easily empathize she too was him honestly she was tired of living in her sadness a life marinated in tears basted in blood the experience of having seen her partner lose his life to drugs and alcohol affected her profoundly experiencing his death was like getting hit over the head with a sledgehammer she'd never wash it off it clung to her like a pariah you can't wake up from reality and you can't sleep through it the tragedy had possessed her sensibilities it was a malignant truth she could not ratify singular in its nature unfathomable she'd been blindfolded and spun a ballerina on a high wire across the span of time spiralling down an infinite vortex one plus one is seven the ceiling isn't a celestial painting how many fingers a forty ounce of vodka opioids a hundred times stronger than heroin men in uniforms and and ...lost... what happened? less than two hours ago he could think- speak he had his very own persona now lying there as nothing it could have been her it could have be anyone but it wasn't it was- Him what did occur to her was the loss.

Copyright © Carol B. | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details

HE GAVE ME THAT FEELING

 

When I was just a little girl, I stared into my mother’s
eyes, and asked with a serious look, "What is Love" Much to my
mother’s surprise, I was only five, but she answered.

 Love is the
feeling that you feel, when you are feeling like you feel, like you’ve never
felt before. 

When I became a teen, I asked my Granny, what is the
feeling you feel, when you're feeling like you’ve never felt before.? 

She looked at me and sat me down, she asked again...

‘What did you say”? She then cut me a slice of her
pound-cake, added Ice cream and as I ate...she mentioned “ Love taste better
than this, and better than my greens, even better than my Mac and cheese”.                                                                                                                                           She said” love is all this plus a feeling”.  “What Kind Of feeling” I asked; It's that
feeling that you feel when you’re feeling, like you’ve never felt before; “Plus
my fried chicken”. Grandma said.

 Now a Young women
I met a Guy, we became best friends, we took long walks holding hands. 

We jogged together, laughed a lot and with each other
shared stories and jokes. One day he kissed me and I felt an electric shock
tingling through my bodies tissue. I felt the euphoria of grandmas pound-cake. 

I looked at him and he looked at me; We were convinced
that it had to be "That Feeling"                                                                                                                                                                              Now a
young women I went to my dad and asked "How did you know you were in love
with mom"  

He looked at me and said..." Remember when you were
small and  I'd toss you up high in the
air?" Remember, “the thrill of the free fall”; Remember, excitement,
remember the trust.?; “How secure you felt as you landed in my arms”? “Love is
the excitement of the free-fall into trusting arms that will catch you”! And
That feeling that you feel, that you've never felt before.  

                                                                                                                                                        Two days later my friend
proposed. My heart fluttered as he kissed my lips; Fried Chicken, Pound cake
...thrills laughter and trust, laughter and love all at once. He gave me that
feeling that mama spoke of. He gave me that feeling that grandma show me; He gave
me that feeling that daddy demonstrated. 

So, when my children ask me "WHAT IS LOVE"   I will tell them love is security and trust,
love is pound-cake and ice cream, love is Mac"N"Cheese, greens and
corn bread.    Love is a trustworthy Partner and friend.. We lived happily ever
after until the end... He gave me the thrill of ”that feeling”.. ..

He gave me love.                                                                                                                                                 
                                                    





?

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by matthew harris | Details

High School Sadness Sans Shana Aubrey Harris - part one half

Subtitled: A Quiz Sic Hull Emotionally Test Ting Senior Event
 
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform 
   i.e. most likely auditorium stage
marked by pronounced hushed audience, 
   who exude a collective sigh lent sage
laden tour de force vis a vis inhaling, notating, 
   and regaling gleeful yet pained page
turned - closing a chapter of progeny prolific accomplishments, 
 i honor Shana, who did engage 
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
her wholesome being i.e., she with her sunny 
   delightful disposition and lightness of being 
buoyant feat (yeat as heavy of hearted butler) 
   feted for 2017 Redmond i’ ching 
a bundle of mixed emotions sans 
   Enrichment Academy graduates, by tests acing
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
who attained milestone vis a vis earning laurels and plaudits 
   from family members hook air
high school diploma, and ready to launch 
   bountiful daunting challenges, yet surely un clear
about destiny, though place one foot before 
   t'other each young gal and/or guy will exude flair
to succeed, now bestirred by joy and sorrow 
   upon grasping their papier
ma shay – nah - High school diploma aware, 
   a sound education 
   sent each on their own future path veer
ring this way and that, 
   while pomp and circumstances issues forth 
   by adroit musically talented underclass mates 
   and seniors next school year.
man, twitching emotional celebrate 
   achievement denoted, evoked, 
   and feted voiced loud and clear
   by keynote student speaker, 
   who braves the tsunami 
   of glomming audible suppressed tear
but also underscored via 
   well worn mortarboard, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus 
   Eye-to-eye grin freshly minted graduates wear
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
the mood swept up via that well worn tune 
(composed by Sir Edward Elgar, his moon
light Sonata - subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging June
a per cheers, eliciting grownups immense 
   Kleenex moistening overpowering quintessential immune
eye zing, simmering ululating wrenching yowling 
   as tassels get tossed, ripped and flipped in tandem with a boon
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
dog gull (maybe in conjunction 
   with a non twittering uber angry bird) 
to the left side of the caparisoned newly anointed future 
   where flocking sounds of silence heard
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades persons
   momentarily stung with sadness NOT ab surd 
to cry depart ting iz such sweet sorrows adieu
   to favorite classmates and teachers, whose supportive word
just the perfect balm to ease academic despair, who voluntarily
   cosseted, ferried, and whispered magic.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Long Poems





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