Long Formally Poems
Long Formally Poems. Below are the most popular long Formally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Formally poems by poem length and keyword.
My childhood memory of Easter confronts me with three very pleasant reflections. Perhaps my first experience with the idea of Easter came with the way our parents would sacrifice so much for us to look pretty and handsome at the church on Easter Sunday. We never felt more special nor looked better than that at any time for any reason.
Coming in second as I look back over several decades ago is the delightful Easter egg hunt. As a child, that was one of the most fun experiences of the year. The hunt was always on Easter Sunday after returning home from church services. There was the added bonus of the hunt within the hunt. That is to say that there was always 'A Golden Egg' that included something extra special that always lit up our happy stary eyes and hearts.
But the third item was the most mysterious of the three even though it always appeared first chronologically. In fact, there was Holy Week that always seemed to flow with a sense of awe. There were movies depicting the 'day Christ died' and the Sunday that he rose. Nevertheless, the Friday before Easter known as Good Friday was a problem for me because I did not understand how a day could be good when such an evil act happened to Jesus. I do not remember when, but heaven surely shined its light on me and explained the goodness of Good Friday. I tell you, that light was so bright that it lit up my entire life and the light of Christ's Goodness and what he did for me and you have served me for a lifetime and will continue to do so throughout eternity.
Certain traditions and celebrations over time often fall by the wayside, and family values and habits change. Life takes on different priorities. Notwithstanding, we must remember that we enter this world with a family standing by our sides, and when we leave this world, families will be there as we exit. Oh, I know that the boiled and painted eggs no longer grace our lawn, and our kids and grandkids may not be as well and formally dressed as we were in yesteryears. That's okay, as long as we never forget as our families gather for dinner this Easter that Easter must always be about THE CHRIST and The Family.
03292018 FB PS Contest, Easter 2018, Hopkins-Drewer
She was lady of Charpay.
She dressed formally every day.
Most of us called her Great Grandma Doll.
At one time she had been a gangster’s moll.
Swing that skirt, Grandma D.
Flash those gams, and wink at me.
Go back to Chicago, you sweet young moll.
Your gangster is waiting – handsome and tall.
Charpay had nothing on Great Grandma Doll
Dressed to the nines, so brassy and tall.
Her jewelry was totally glitzy
Her clothes pranced forth so ritzy
Swing that skirt, Grandma D.
Flash those gams, and wink at me.
Go back to Chicago, you sweet young moll.
Your gangster is waiting – handsome and tall.
Happy Birthday America
What colors are the early darken skies
And why are the runaways of Britain father's cry
Some two-hundred forty-four years ago
America those United States formally originates
What color are the grounds
Freedoms bloods running wild
Spirit flows
The blood flows indigenous
Skin DNA
of blood flowing
reds those of a new nation
What colors are the early darken skies
Red, White, Blue
Brown, Black, Yellow
Spirit flows
The blood flows indigenous
Birth of new nation
New freedoms for ALL?
???
We the people
blood flowing
reds those of a new nation
Happy Birthday, America
Spiritual colors flow
of blood flowing
reds those of a new nation
What colors are the early darken skies
Red, White, Blue
Brown, Black, Yellow
Spirit flows
The blood flows indigenous
Birth of new nation
New freedoms for ALL?
Happy Birthday America
7/4/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I have
Been
Relegated
Condemned
To follow
The straight
And narrow
Path
Of Poetic
Minimalism
I shall not
Stray
From behaving
In this way
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
From now on
For me
Straight Arrow
No more
Than a few
Words I can
Say
Its the new
Style
Of Poetry
DONT stray
I shall abide
Keep things
Straight
Narrow
Like
The Indians
Arrow
I shoot this
Poem
Over your way
Do not laugh
Nor should you
Play
From now on
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
If you wish
Spaces
That’s ok too
As Long as
You know
Straight and
Narrow
Is still for
You
That’s the rule
So don’t be blue
If you cant beat them join them!!!!!!!!!!!!
Notes: The
formatting issues of
short lines and
double spaces seems
to be fixed, however
if anyone needs help
to fix their posts
feel free to email
me, be happy to
assist.
I stand corrected, there still seems to be issues. However, it seems if you post
in the Chrome browser is ok. I have tried in in Firefox and sometimes it works,
and sometimes not.
Around the corner and half a block away, the flavor would grab me, tie me up to some irresistible force, then drag my nose to the source of its home. The aroma that wafted in the air and up my whiffer was sweet and warm - rich with orchards of deliciousness and cascading with the buttery peachy-ness of what was to come. It knocked all other thoughts out of my realm and led me down a path of complete submission - surrendering like the energy of cold water on a hot skillet. With each step bringing me closer, my musing would swirl with the anticipation of that first ultra-luscious, gratifying juicy bite - the one that ever so longingly and lovingly would delightfully roll around on every palate of my watering mouth and lingering tongue only to succumb to gulping down the first chunk.
From the flour and water and salt
Her timeworn hands kneaded magic
A mystical mixture of love and fruit to concoct-
A pinch of this and that, nothing formally systematic.
This masterpiece was an untold legend that "rocked"
The socks off anyone and even rival the "Titanic"!
Her ritual was simple and deep rooted
As uncomplicated as a baby's grin.
"Easy as Pie" she mooted
And laughed while she hummed all the while.
Layering the rich sheets of goodness in a pan
From pie dough to peaches to butter and sugar
There was nothing in this world so simple or better than
My Aunt Grace's Peach Cobbler!
Stare all over, O World, you scarcely utter.
Bear stalwart angels to arise over the air tugger.
Odoriferous water may abscond the realm of prosily.
Such as the Goddess of Heaven perpetrates an odyssey,
Please, Lord, I pray you are aware of my plea heed.
The blunder I committed thwarts a significant need.
My wickedness is crucial to fade as it's such a bigwig.
I aspire that everyone will stay ready for the callow sprig.
My trudge to the palatial gateway has formally begun.
I'm embedded in the exacerbated curse greaten.
We embody no faith in eliciting heavenly mercy.
And will do it as soon as I can from a gallows tree.
My mighty task was a cipher accredited to splendor.
Plus, the angels yielded me their smoldering ember.
They allotted me munificently for their rare care, too.
Failed my mystical prowess to beckon them, they mellow.
Below kaleidoscopic bulwarks or in a raving creek,
In bosom nirvana, we withdrew the draughty bleak.
I earned a lasting bliss than one could dream.
And I willingly sieve to share my peaceful stream.
Written: December 15, 2021
A STRAND (DEC 26) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Colors of Confusion
Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Blue, I feel blue as I stare into an idea confused by the new:
Divided States of America.
Formally the United States of America.
Epstein’s dead, suicide they said…
Hollywood’s elite, they are all creeps.
Antifa/BLM cynical groups that believe Police are criminals.
Trump was President, it was pinnacle; a miracle that we survived in a country divided by hate.
What is the real mission of the politicians?
It’s the have and the have not’s, the keeping up with the Joneses era.
The Carbonaro effect.
The Media implants these thoughts of sorts, controlled by technology we are robots
Looking for a hotspot, wifi, somebody let me in, let me online.
We have gone mad, it’s sad.
Slaves, modern day slaves to tik tok, instagram, Facebook, such crooks robbing us of human interactions.
What’s the attraction?
Where is the dress, where I hold the edge of the seam
My formally flowing reservoir of dopamine?
Against her skin I made epiphanies of gold
Despite my tender age of several days old
I once vowed to not escape her silky touch
As I grew old, it turned trapping much
Beside her, now matured, I grasp my creation
She watches and grins; I met her expectations
Now with her gone, I must voyage for approval
For that is how the human mind copes with removal
Her warm aura of blossoming rosemary
It only turned out to be...temporary
I turn to face you now, Sir Statuary
Before I set off on this forever ferry
Could this destination become final?
Like my heart, which always ends on a high note?
Thralldom etched in *****sapiens (mine) DNA
Though your true blue stated civilian
never enlisted nor impressed,
nonetheless I own an opinion
originally embarked on poetic quest
to express purposelessness,
when soldiers rest
at peace i.e. eternally,
many attired courtesy
smart uniform strong with zest.
Psyche steeped, macerated, brewed
as token scapegoat, cue
trumpets Don to toot
courtesy more'n one
nasty shortish brute
weasley chastened me
round mulberry bush
said monkeys chased scaredy
cat me... point moot
regarding... rung me
ragged standing astute
adjacent Thomas Jonathan
"Stonewall" Jackson
(Confederate general during
American Civil War),
his own troops accidentally
fired on him during
Battle of Chancellorsville
in Virginia doth not compute
"friendly fire" unleashed during
one among many hot pursuit
part and parcel of wars,
since time immemorial
gung ho practiced soldier and/or
scared cat neophyte unwittingly shoot
pellets traveling speed of
sound bullet out - gunmetal chute
ordinarily pardoned distinct mistake
versus homicide statute
nonetheless...about
thee (rhetorical question), wherefore
art thou purpose to war,
those slain now paid tribute
since major hostilities of
World War I formally
ended at 11th hour of 11th
day of 11th month of 1918
yet... I question military conflicts
battle hymns constitute
legacy e'er since Homo
sapiens stood erect,
many soldiers of misfortune,
sons of destitute
versus wealthy heirs accepted perception
that war was "a rich man's war
and a poor man's fight"
countless generations ago
deserters fate would mean execute
"the bastard," even second decade
into twenty first century
once sworn in at basic training,
getting discharged (vodka luck), but absolute
zero tolerance quitting before
duty commitment desertion flagrant violation,
no easy task leaving service minus
tribunal meeting severe to prosecute,
thus joining military unlike
accepting any other job
punishment greater than Das boot,
yet patriotism, née jingoism
not ideal, viz conflict resolution,
verstehen, or did this wordsmith convolute?
What tree looks pretty in the fall?
Twas ! Spender to mine eyes;
I spied the presents of autumn;
Formally dew the crisp warm breeze;
Fall’s early leaves, leave;
Autumn fall color blue skies
Fall autumn leaves, fall foliage;
Maples, oaks, and sassafras
Gray-black branches snake
A bang, through clouds of yellow
and burnt orange leaves, leave
A fall scene that is a familiar herald
Beautiful, ever so miraculous brilliants;
Colors of Oranges, Reds, Yellows, Bronze and Browns
Alas so tree looks pretty in the fall?
Twas ! Spender to mine eyes call;
I spied the presents of autumn sounds;
My Father Elohim paints such a beautiful, Autumn Fall-Picture