Long Fourth year Poems
Long Fourth year Poems. Below are the most popular long Fourth year by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fourth year poems by poem length and keyword.
I am stifled, stagnant, stressed and seriously strung
from streetlight to streetlight
There is nothing left, my energy is kaput, gone.
My creativity is something I barely remember.
Until I get home to my refuge in the country,
my trees, my lilacs, my lilies, my tulips, my earth.
I shed the cloak of heaviness, at my front door,
running toward my lightest coolest dress.
In seconds I am outside walking from one corner of my yard
to another, taking photos.
Talking to my trees, hugging them even,
replenishing the bird feeders, while cardinals soar in.
Butterflies light on my shoulders, dragonflies dive-bomb me,
I am Snow White here.
I do not whistle but I chant as I walk around my yard loving my flowers,
pulling up weeds.
All of the weeds have a place somewhere. I place them where nothing grows,
Knowing next year they will fill up this bare spot.
The only plants I do not replant are thistles.
Thistles hurt so much when I step on them barefoot,
and barefoot I am in my faerie yard.
So I pull up the thistles and I put them into my dumpster
knowing they will thrive at the dump.
I have a wild rose bush I had to dig up from another place
way deep in the forest.
It took me six hours. I thought it would be worth it.
It took four years to bloom.
That fourth year I said to it
“If you do not have one bloom tomorrow, I am throwing you away.”
The next day I woke up to that rose bush with forty beautiful hot pink flowers.
I kid you not.
When I am gone for a few days my yard comes alive upon my return.
The trees begin waving frantically even when there is no wind.
My husband always comments on it. Archangel Jophiel and I laugh about it.
She comes to me at night, and we discuss the beautiful things we have seen.
We discuss the grasshoppers, bees, wasps and yellow jackets too.
My yard is alive, five flower gardens in all. With unexpected visitors.
I sometimes see a gorgeous snake or a handsomely painted turtle.
There is a reverence and awe about it
I cannot fully explain, but it amazes me always.
Congratulations! You have bought a new car.
May you have many joyful and memorable rides with your family!
As regards how fortunate you are
to get such a quick loan to buy the car,
Aha, ask me!
Few years back,
in all excitement and overloaded love,
I gifted my husband, umm.... a high end german car -
You see, I have faith in all German technologies-
they are strong and reliable,
'coz one of my aunts is a German.
The first year or two is pretty blissful-
Right? as it is with all ignorant fools-
happily enjoying the rides,
coyly smiling at envious eyes,
holidaying in distant places,
and paying back the loans religiously.
The third year I kept on wondering,
Oooish!....how many more left?
The fourth year I just wanted to get it off my back!
Sorry to say, but- the itch was always glued there,
no matter how much I scratched, rubbed,
mowed the back with a roller-
Oof! -I just couldn't get off the painful itch.
The final year, when a handful loans were left,
my patience was depleted,
I begged, borrowed, emptied my piggy banks,
dug out all my hidden vaults,
squeezed out the last bit to
just pay off the tortuous loan.
Plomp! I fell on the sofa,
and heaved the biggest sigh of relief!
By that time this not so young companion
had travelled many tedious miles with me,
burrowing the largest manhole-
Aha! - even ripping through my last bank account.
The next day I peered at it with raised eyebrows,
shocked to realise that it truly looked
uncomfortably older, scarred and weatherbeaten.
Honestly speaking, I was tired of it,
found flaws in it, and who wants an old hag?
I started eyeing and drooling over other beauties-
Whew!-the youngest and latest models!!
May you have many joyful and memorable rides with your family!
A sky of gray dances before me
Endless and angry
Blanketing this dirt road
In impenetrable fog
We're all lost, enthralled
With our delusions
Clinging to our convictions
Tightening the ropes around our necks
And everywhere I look
All of my friends are dying
Trapped within a car wreck
Brought about from lack of trying
A game of halves continues
Half a year, a month in review
And when nothing's getting done
Could I point them out and blame you?
I was promised worlds and lucid dreams
And all I got was ancient memes
No promises are sacred now
And I doubt they've ever been
So everywhere I look
Windshields are crusted with salt
In this endless snowy traffic
Where the harbinger at fault
Doesn't have to face their actions
A cold and aching autumn
Sends my heart into the breeze
To grasp the fallen branches
And arrange the falling leaves
Into a bed where I can rest
And leave this all behind
And pray that I don't wake
Until dead promises do as well
A passing thought
Relights the night
More often now than ever
If anyone knew
This hero's tale
He'd be stricken from the pages
But no one's reading this book now
And maybe no one ever will
A small town library's treasure
A second year has passed
Without a passing sound
The fourth year you've been a corpse
And left with all my light bound
Buried in an unmarked graveyard.
They stayed with us after the war.
They stood by us after the battle.
They understood our plight,
Recognizing the immense troubles we faced from the tendrils of the night.
Two towns were at war,
Fighting for supremacy and sovereignty.
Our town was ravaged by malevolent spirits,
Summoned by dark warriors.
It was a horror in the stillness of the night.
Darkness crept into our homes,
Capturing the minds of fathers, mothers, and children—
They became prisoners of chaos and confusion.
A sage had foretold this.
Those who believed were prepared.
My mother summoned the elements of nature,
While my father called upon the benevolent spirits of the forest.
Others also took a defensive stance.
The battle lasted four days.
On the twilight of the following day,
In the afterglow of the sky,
Peace and calmness were restored to our town.
The dark warriors were cast into the abyss of nothingness,
As the sage had predicted.
The other town was mysteriously set ablaze.
Those who escaped fled far away.
The sage explained that it was the act of the benevolent spirits—
They stood by us,
They stayed with us
Until the fourth year of the fourth harvest season.
April 3, 2025.
How vast and pervasive is the Moon?
Hugeness hints there stand two
Orbs and a turbulent stream
Simply like the dawning sun
All over the half-moon horizon.
On the shore of credulity
The froth shed detritus and sea salt
Carving a path into level sand
Slicing the weft out of silk
By cutting across the fabric kernel
The waves were sealed on the scanty shore
The furor was in harmony with the dust
Pearl-like seaweed and scrubber.
Moonlight over the Sea at Dawn
It is ideal and so spectacularly tempting
The churning water bred white foam
I am enthusiastic to have the plunge
The tendons, sinews, and guts were all wary
A season invests these twilight hours
Fetch the ache and gentleness
Misleading magnetism
My inner mermaid is hopeless
The moon was merely out of the embrace.
It related me to a no-blue world
Spume was kicked by white ponies
As they did in our fourth year of dreams
Cantering toward the welling of time
In the utter stiffness at the two ends
Do not feel dire about shedding tears
The spectrum of the dull light
We never noticed.
Written: October 29, 2022
Come's, our two thousand and ninety-fourth year;
the earth is green, and the atmosphere clear.
The mimosa and kudzu continue to grow,
and which shall prevail – does anyone know?
The kudzu is stronger and more eager to win,
but the winter remains mimosa’s old friend.
Humans? They’ve become an insignificant bunch;
living under mimosa, having kudzu for lunch.
“Self loathing” bade them quit the great chase,
now they have become the ridiculed race.
None knows for sure who shall finally rule,
but betting on man would be that of a fool.
Kudzu creeps strongly and relentlessly on,
and mimosa’s seed is everywhere blown.
They’ve crowded away every other kind,
leaving only vine and fern leaf behind.
By kudzu, in summer, mimosa is bent.
In winter, ol’ kudzu’s energy is spent.
Then, seed of mimosa filters on through;
bringing revival of the fern leaf anew.
Humans, as animals, scurry around,
and dwindle in number as the fauna abound.
It would have been different; this comical end,
if they had “subdued”, as told by a Friend.
Gen. 1:28 “Be fruitful and multiply, replenish
the earth and subdue it”
Lionel
It's the summer of my fourth year.
Dad is driving us to the seashore.
The sun follows us, a happy fellow,
beaming in the mid-morning’s azure sky.
In the back seat with my two sisters, I’m looking out the window
as I crunch on Mom’s homemade salty Chex Mix,
anticipating the warmth of salt spray
from the waves I’ll be jumping on this beautiful day -
Life is a beach not yet even in my vocabulary.
We are now at the shore, a large blanket laid out,
Mom with her bright red hair tied back with a brighter red check scarf,
and my dad, dark-haired and handsome, smiling.
So rare is this happy countenance he wears today!
For a while I sit as if entranced, watching the waves roll in.
But eventually, and predictably, my joy ebbs like the tide.
Dark clouds are gathering; gray begins to envelop the sky.
I look over to my dad; the gray has recaptured his face.
In the vanishing sunlight, familiar dark thoughts invade my mind -
Dad, can I see you be happy just once for a whole day?
Rain . . . always it rains when we go to the seashore.
Teresa of Ávila
Dreamt the passion of God.
A physical fire
Burned an image of his power.
An image I envisioned was one so dull
Full of pain
A nightmare stabbing my mind's eye.
A frail image of my mother
Some quivering voice I remember
In my dimension of inception
That my mother was at her end.
A disruptive anxiety burdens a peace
But that day, it was at bay.
Paralysed by a hidden sight that I couldn't bear
Petrified by a dream, one that was so rare.
This despicable numbness I endure
Sympathises the fools of fiction.
As reality shapes its needle
To fill with its anaesthesia of truth
And inject into those who walk in wonder.
Today, I trudged through that trail
Of some twenty-fourth year
My Lucky Strike ablaze
And my hands on the balcony window.
Experiencing no sore throat
That I remembered from youth,
Only a deep sensation of numbed limbs
Suffering this cold spring night.
Even the cigarette wasn't fazed
Of the wind’s devouring passion
Blowing its burning ashes.
Shavuos, a holiday with two different faces
One in an uncultivated desert
The other on a cultivated farm...
On Shavuos itself Jews soar to the highest of heights
But this poem's about the run-up, pre-flight
For it's all about how well you prepare
that determines the outcome when you get there
God whisked Israel from Egypt to Sinai in 45 days
Then gave them the Torah without undue delay
One face of Shavuos is therefore called 'Weeks'
Jews count seven of them, then on Sinai God speaks...
The Festival of First Fruits takes five years to evolve
For the first three, there's no touching a tree
In the fourth year, that fruit tree is holy
In the fifth year, in Jerusalem, Israel partakes, finally
What is the reason for these two different faces
God didn't tell us, He left us no traces
But I think there's a lesson: We reap what we sow
~ The longer we anticipate, the more we grow
Fourth year of bemoaning fellow Filipinos,
Justice wasn’t served yet to our Commandos,
Whose desire is safe haven to live, I suppose,
But nightmare of SAF Troopers were impose,
Which will certainly be like hunting shadows.
01/25/2015, when our Mother Unit flooded with lamentation,
Either way, corruption was everybody’s quotation,
Destroying soldiers of God is a big damnation,
That will totally devastate the hearts of the nation,
HIS chosen armies are the backbone and our foundation.
SAF 44, your heroism will never be forgotten,
Lies, greediness, and power will soon be rotten,
Grieving families let your hearts be soften,
Eventually, God will call for justice to our fallen,
Do not lose hope, nor let your faith to be shorten.
BROTHERS IN ARMS….LEST WE FORGET….