Long Give birth Poems
Long Give birth Poems. Below are the most popular long Give birth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Give birth poems by poem length and keyword.
The Litany of Cold
The cold draws near like a herd of nameless angels,
heavy leaves fall over the village, old blood of another world,
the women pull their kerchiefs tight across their temples like a wound,
the sky weeps in fine, steady drops, soaking our thin clothes,
inside it's warm and golden; out here, only cold and smoke,
we knock on the frosted windows, calling out faceless names.
Take us into your arms, mothers of clay and candlelight,
we know how to say "mama" and clap out the rhythm of the world,
give us a red ribbon to tie around our foreheads,
we'll dress ourselves in restless colors, in sounds and in pollen,
you have no idea how cold it is inside our glass bones,
take us in under your arms — our fingers have turned to ice.
We came on foot, eyes closed, following a blind horse,
an old law drove us on, one we felt deep inside our chests,
we dug corridors toward you with fingernails of smoke,
we pressed the wet earth to our mouths like a heavy kiss,
my loves, you don't know what hunger our bare footsteps carry,
we're closing in, in ranks — the only ones who never forgot you.
We are your children, lost in dreams of mercury,
we carry a small sun in our chests, cut from the flesh of night,
our blood runs in circles, like water inside a crystal clock,
ripe moon, heavy seeds of warm darkness fall from you,
we dance around your hearth, thirsty shadows made of jade,
the psalter of the cold sings forgotten litanies into our bones.
You can give birth to us again, it's still one road to the same threshold,
we keep rolling on like the forgetful wheels of a cart,
reapers, bury us beneath your warm threshold,
there where the cold sleeps and memory turns to clay,
we will be the seed that grows inside your silence made of light,
and in the spring to come, we will be cold and prayer once more.
Winter's touch 'pon the peach orchard
Gray limbs await spring's buds
Lavender beauties adorning
When deer passed their ruts
Winter's bare hold dark and dreary
Nature trapped within its spell
All buds captured in its lair
Joy could be quickly quelled
Then sunlight reaches through the gloom
Instantaneously gray removed
Warmth touches down to the sinew
Such a time now approved
Winter's peach orchard bare not barren
Spring will come and give birth
Time will call forth its forgotten
Come love dancing with mirth
Sponsor: Juli-Michelle
Contest: Winter Blues
This is written in a form which is a type of
Poulter's Measure
Syllables 8,6,8,6
Only the 6 rhyme..
Deep inside a tormented soul, where suicidal thoughts give birth;
Where the cost of what it takes to live hardly seems to be what it is worth;
Deep in the abyss of forgotten dreams and of a wasted, forsaken life,
Is faintly heard, the angel’s word, uttered in whispers of light.
In the darkness of despair; in the shadows of lost hope;
In the emptiness out there – at the end of one’s rope;
In the moment of willingness to abandon the good fight;
The angel’s song, starts growing strong, echoing whispers of light.
The stairway back to spiritual health often comprises many flights;
But, to help us go, we might first know, the angel’s whispers of light.
by Joe Flach, written and posted 2/17/14 for Gail Doyle's "Whispers of Light" contest.
Folks say his mother used to read
Stories of ancient warriors indeed,
To give birth to a child as brave
As a legend beneath a historic grave.
'Achilles'- She used to call her son
And he grew up, fascinating like none,
Granny still zealous, planted ardor aboard
His mother gifted him a fervent sword.
Ninja granny took him to a wonderland
Where he was hailed as a warrior grand,
Every day he read of kings in wars
Every night he escaped worldly doors.
That night he was woken by an alphabet
It was an 'A' shivering in cold sweat,
"Achilles our savior, we need thee
To release our inmates and set them free."
Arose Achilles to the land of words
Where stories flew past like birds,
Colored houses of phrases spoken
Missing alphabets from windows broken.
The morning sun made up of a sentence
Pleaded Achilles for their independence,
Leaving A and C all had been caught
Their land left with stories that fought.
Achilles swayed his little gifted sword
Headed to the prison he'd never explored,
Oh what courage flowed in his veins
Passionate to free alphabets of chains.
The prison of punctuation was guarded
By creepy spelling mistakes disregarded,
He fought valiantly and killed them all
Released alphabets from the prison wall.
He met the King of Punctuation Marks
Demanded to know why he fired sparks,
"Achilles the brave! We hail thee
We were ruined by an unknown flea.
But now that you have saved our land
I plead you to let our message expand,
When people in the world pen their tales
Let them punctuate or the train derails.
As long as punctuation stays alive
Their stories will flutter and strive,
Or else mistakes might attack us again
Their follies will make our enemies gain."
Brave Achilles narrated to granny on his way back,
Tired, dozed off dreaming of another exciting track,
He mumbled "Hold on! I come to save the world afar";
Granny closed his book, tomorrow The Alexander or a Czar?
Poet's Note: Experimenting with the funny granny series, this is my first tale. You can read the second one here:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/ninja_granny_ii_-_exuberant_colors_1261206
May 17, 2020
BRIAN'S CHOICE L ,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~Winner: 3rd Place
enter the wood, end of the day
deep deep reverb, everywhere
eerie sound from between the trees
from bowels of earth, around the sky
then chilling stillness, flee or stay?
thump thump! disturb the very air
flurried dance, the following breeze
as yowls of mirth personify
monsters lurk and skulk, hide away
blink blink, acerbic scary stare
belly scales grow knobbly knees
fat jowls of girth, the fleshy eye
children scamper, fierce games they play
beat beat, why curb their merry dare ?
carefree clamber through ill-at-ease
with howls of worth they yelp and cry
fungi feast while dank leaves decay
sleep sleep superb in fairy lair
life poking head, no guarantees
where scowls give birth, when dreams do die
look up beyond where branches sway
squeak squeak perturb the glary glare
past hazy stars, the " Pleiades "
night ghouls of dearth by radar fly
Embrace the line
it flows straight yet narrow
guiding the eye and the hand along its edge.
Behind lies the blanks waiting
hoping for some beatific message
to be filled in along the emptiness.
Focus and see the ink
flowing from the pen
in a cursive calligraphic display.
Words and phrases wrapped around a vision
that waltz dances on the page
then springing forth in calypso imagery.
Hears it, feel it, see it give birth
in poetic prose and rhythms felt
deep in the mind, heart and soul.
Embrace the line
it draws attention
and unexpectedly,
poetry is born
right there
with love, inspiration and deep emotion
revealed along the lines.
when you think of a woman giving birth your first thought is the labor pains
the struggle a woman endures so that mankind will forever remain
but in the spiritual realm giving birth is not just a woman's role
it involves every human being for it's about the evolution of one's soul
it consists of first perceiving the gifts and blessings that God has for you
then it's about letting go of the fears, the sins and those issues you need to work through
in the book of Jeremiah God made a statement that was bold and strong
He said He knew of us in the womb before any of us were born
He set each of us apart and gave us each an anointing
He made a promise to each of us and gave us all an appointing
we all have a purpose to fulfill and a task He desires we perform
we're all here for a reason and that's why we were born
but in order for your Godly gifts to manifest
the labor pains of spiritual birth you must address
and in order for you to spiritually grow
the seeds of God's wisdom you must now sow
it's time for you to give birth
to discern your purpose here on earth
don't be in such a hurry as a fetus needs time to formulate
for the gestation period is the time to sit back and wait
you want the baby to develop completely and fully
and not run the risk of having any birth deficiencies
and once that child is born be mindful of the things that it ingests
give it the bread of life to eat and the living water to quench its thirst
then train it up in the ways of God and tell it about Jesus the Christ
and that child will never stray far from the Christian life
it's time to give birth to be reborn and be renewed
it's time to give birth to the spirit of God that now dwells in you
there will be some sacrifice, some concessions and surely some pain
but you have to walk through the fire in order to remove those sinful stains
as a new babe in Christ have no fear, don't be weak and fold up your tent
God has so much in store for you, His blessings, gifts and presence
it's time to give birth by stirring up those Godly gifts that are inside of you
it's time to give life to the things that God has pre-destined for you to do
It was an old tiled house that I was born,
My mother grappled to give birth to me, That night was the worst one for weself Which made my mother as a rebirth, All the family members accursed me a lot, But I was very cheerful to come out,
From the dark fetus fluid sac of womb, I condemned myself for not doing any crime, That gave her the greatest punishment, Thank almighty fo making me and her alive, God sent millions of angels to the globe, Who had given birth many innocent infants, No wonder for me to praise her patience,
That she maintained for more than ten months, Though she was fond of eating fondants, She never dined that was not divine for me ,
She sacrificed a great deal of things for giving birth, That I couldn't compensate in the life, Verbbring into the world was a worthwhile, That depended upon the worthy of a woman,
Where was the mercy to come from for myself,
I had no doubt,it was given from her genes, Could you save the sacred feminine gender?,
That guided glory to the womanhood.
'twas the night before any Christmas...
And all over our any town,
Lonely seniors tried so hard to forget,
What life was like in a land long ago.
When husbands or their wives were still living,
and the kids were all still home, very giving,
Today, that device called a phone,
Is not used even though they
are now even in cars?
And families send you photos of them in bars?
Or...places to impress we silly old elves!
"Why don't they leave us alone and get a life
for themselves."
So off they go, these abled bodied-beings,
Not even dreaming that perhaps one day,
they will be ancient and alone, too.
So, whether it's Christmas or just a plain day,
pick up any phone you own!
Say hello to the living,you cannot speak
to the dead!
What is wrong inside your head?
Don't think a text or email can ever replace
lovable you.
And as for our"busy" excuses?
I won't say what I call that.
What, are you...a conceited aristocrat?
Call your friend, cousin,grandmother,
grandfather,Mother or Dad.
Anyone that you care about.
If not, it tells me it's you....it's only
..whom you value.
These old folks in the twilight of their
years,
Must not be ignored, you never see
their silent tears.
Do people no longer care?
They miss being loved and respected,
And believe it or not,
A dog or a cat will not make it for them.
They need a human being,I ask...when?
These seniors are terrified to call you
at home or at work.
In a world that over glorified technology,
Where life has become one word
communication.
And there is no life on earth,
Except living in the Facebook Nation?
Worse, emojis are not cute,
Nor, what does it say about you?
And more horrid to me, when the initial of
your baptismal name becomes you?
It's sad..and as for automated replies?
Are you kidding?
An insult to humanity.
None of us is royalty.
Conceited, full of self, you bet.
I don't know where the life I knew
has gone.
I don't even know where love
has gone.
We all morphed into Alexa's?
I cannot give birth to the past.
Just talk to my walls and stare at
unwashed frying pans..alas!
PanagiotaRomios
4/26/2019
2:15 pm PST
You needn’t win the lottery,
Get married or give birth
To have a day that lifts you up
And makes you feel your worth.
For little things are what may paint
A smile upon your face –
A grandchild’s voice, some daffodils,
A legal parking place.
A lunch with friends, a brand-new hat,
Your favorite type of book,
A walk along the river,
Yummy food you didn’t cook.
An ice-cold beer, an ice cream cone,
A bike ride in the breeze,
The perfect music for your mood
(And no one disagrees).
Every day cannot be special
But those lovely little things
Are the pick-me-ups that matter,
Smoothing out life’s daily dings.