Long Hand made Poems
Long Hand made Poems. Below are the most popular long Hand made by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hand made poems by poem length and keyword.
Dimmed Eyes crack their shells first.
You rise up in the half light of a fading moment.
This is the plane – wait, tie a rope
hitch it to a trading places moment.
When you passed away
leaving a layer of makeup and clothes strewn
upon a tilting floor
the mind went wandering on its own,
it returns now with the debris it found
loosely bundled into a persona.
Twist some knots into memory.
Plan a-head, then insert body
as an Allen key does into the right
socket.
Be sure to leave your big red heart plug
jammed tightly into this matrix of
electrified reality.
Loose ends can dangle for a while.
You’re within a workable shape now,
you’re fingers in a glove.
Time to shuffle self-consciously
from behind the lens,
let eyes see what no other being can see,
for your hand-made once more,
spun-out into an opaque silk by mind-moths
and now can fly blind
utterly unnoticed.
Again, I was freed from a mad hurricane
Call it by any name, it's still the same
Two eldest siblings, lost their lives in the dark
Freedom implores fresh start.
I needed to search, to find the right key
To set free, the rainbow that is me
I lied, and lived life as pseudo art
Freedom implores fresh start.
I wove my very own hand-made strife
Piled firewood burned my studious life
I was flown to the U.S., to carve life like a star
Freedom implores fresh start.
Meanwhile, my two eldest siblings made the family proud
From in the days of carefree years, I'd known dark clouds
Sometimes discombobulated, I couldn't see far
Freedom implores fresh start.
Until sky-light rain song transported my soul, as I wept
Until I envisioned my better self in depth
I never saw love, and life from God, as supreme art
Freedom implores fresh start.
Now, I live to learn, and hope my lessons show
I can pause and ponder where I choose to go
I'll wake and meditate, keeping light my heart
Freedom implores fresh start.
*
My Hooded Towels Hobby
There are so many things I love to do...
write poetry, create with art and more,
like sewing...awesome hobby while I make
fine hooded towels for my daughter's store.
A quaint established shop at the east end;
her hand-poured soaps of lovely scented bars
with lotions, creams and varied novel gifts,
assure her store earns ratings of five stars.
I sew my hooded towels, trimming them
with grosgrain ribbon, printed with designs
of sports...like baseball, soccer, racecars...or
cute kittens, ponies, flowers, and peace signs.
From ages five, perhaps to eight or nine,
the kids love them for baths or water fun.
While sewing each, I often think who will
be wrapped in cozy softness of that one.
For ten years now, my hooded towels still
are sought as special gifts...one of a kind,
hand made with loving care and packaged well;
my help for daughter...fun for me combined.
January 29, 2019
For Contest, 'Hobbies',
sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Note: I do not make these for profit, just for my
daughter to sell. For me, it's a fun-time hobby,
and a great feeling to make them for her.
Yet another year
To bake spring cookies;
Time now to endear
Gourmet treats you see.
Just the way you plan,
These three days you squeeze;
Recipe and trends
In a steady breeze.
A mini workshop
Of processing steps;
Each working non-stop
In a brisk mind map.
Crafting fond delights,
Each moment makes more;
From dawn to late night,
A harvest galore.
Each man to a stage,
To muster and make;
Cookie cutter gauge,
Flavours on a take.
One by one attend,
Cookie on parade;
Mix and match the span,
Freshly baked charades.
Oh the sheer delight
Of hand-made cookies;
See tasty treats bright
Made for you and me.
Heaven is on earth
As cookies come forth;
Taste finds grand re-birth
As our work goes north!
I can hear the spring
Sing in tasty bakes;
Tea and cookies bring
Warm moments we make.
Ann now flings surprise,
Serene can add form;
Chong works the reprise,
Leon sets free the norm.
Three full days to bake,
Zest sets the bar high;
Lots and lots to stake,
Feast comes when time flies.
Leon Enriquez
08 February 2015
Singapore
Light fractures, as it filters through Jasmine
a soft splayed light on the wrinkled skin
of an old man's hands
it brings warmth to his mornings
under the vines, wrapped and tangled overhead
Each day he shuffles to his hand made rocking chair
to consume time and the passing of his life
that is fading away, like a flickering candle
that's melting with his memory, of burying his wife
he spends hours in conversation with his loneliness
before taking a deep long breath
exhaling away his tears, in a quiet pause
with trembling hands, reaches for a pipe his wife gave him
and searches for tobacco he keeps in his overalls
she would complain each time he blew smoke
through the vines, as if connecting to something beyond
with an offering
she would say...stop that
he laughed in amusement, then do it again
looking over to see if he could catch a smile
during midday, he pulls weeds and tosses seeds to birds
they seem to understand when to show up
as they eat he'll clean the birdbath his wife loved so much
when she would watch them flap their wings
like a dance in the water
at sunset, he returns to his chair
to continue his conversation until dark
before he leaves he always looks back
and says...are you coming
8/17/17
I watch them on parade,
Wearing medals won by relatives long dead
And poppies hand made.
I see expressions as cold as the grave,
As they remember the brave who fought in wars moving further away each day,
As they fade back, ever back into the mists of time.
This young generation from our great nation
Standing tall, marking their respect as best they can
With little knowledge and even less understanding of past deeds and sacrifices.
For them I have great despair if they should ever go to war,
With less discipline than those who went before
Relying on group decisions, never having been under a chain of command.
Their immune system already shot to pieces.
Fitness levels below par
And feet that have never seen boots.
Yet it may not be too late to change their fate,
While relative peace still prevails.
And only professionals are relied on to go to war in a few hot spots.
If we can ease them into a plan with enough discipline to help,
Whether in peace or in war to bring them back safe
And keep faith with those who once stood in their place.
My eyes open to the feeling of the warm sunshine glow
The bed feels so good that getting up will be slow
Peering through my bedroom window and seeing there isn’t any snow
The news report was again a no show
I go into the shower, watching the drain take away the soapy water flow
Dry myself off with a rag towel combo
Get dressed and put on my hand made boots from the people of Navajo
I hop into my car, turn on the audio and begin to drive with gusto
To where, I don’t know
Zipping, passing a few vehicles in a row
Telling myself, hope none of my tires blow
I see up ahead a stop n go
Thinking of a hot cup of coffee or espresso
Definitely feeling hungry for a gyro
A pick up truck passes me by with loud music playing the classic Lionel Richie song, “Hello”
Triggering a memory from a long time ago
Snapping back into reality, looking at my rear view mirror, it is too late, I’ve passed it like a tornado
I quickly feel for my wallet, I forgot it! at home is my dough
Get back home soon without getting pulled over for no driver’s license to operate my pinto
Home is destination incognito
Creativity, a style
The gorgeous fashion
Jeans with heels
A Hat to match
Eye-catching
The designer purse
Sunglasses with diamonds.
White buttoned-up blouse
Belt fashioned and designed
Name brand red bottom shoes
The latest news
Jewelry is with many karats
A watch that lasts.
Shopping in many expensive stores
Handbags full of items
Carried by their assistant
As they arrive at their destination.
Communication, accommodation
Many organizations
A Philanthropist
Handed down by generations
With appreciation
Luxurious transportation.
Fashions and Designs
Fine art
Fancy dishes
Very delicious.
Designs are one of a kind
Hand made
Measurable time
Silk, creative
Fashions and Designs.
Last Minute
The old lady went to the thrift store.
She found the row of coats,
and looked for just the right tags.
The color of the day.
She bought everyone that she could afford.
There were nine in all.
Then she pushed her cart…
toward hats and gloves, boots and shoes.
Soon enough there was no more room in the cart,
and no more money in her wallet.
The old lady went through the line at the front.
Outside in the snow,
she put shoes, gloves, a hat and a coat
in a hand made denim bag.
Nine bags filled the back of the old Oldsmobile.
The old lady went to the corner of Row and 5th.
She got out.
She opened her trunk
and placed all the bags under the lamp.
The old woman left.
The old woman went home.
She went back to her empty apartment,
with no family,
no friends
and no heat.
She had not paid the bill.
There was no reason too.
(9)
Nine strangers made it
through the coldest night
in a 100 years!
Someone had left bags…
Someone filled a need.
The newspaper read,
“Old Woman Dies… Alone.”
It was not a tragedy.
It was a last moment, purchase,
on the way to heaven.
The ticket already stamped…
The passenger just waiting
at the stop,
for the arrival,
“the Herald of Angels”
Amen.
You punctured me with words of painstaking poetry, but yet it was moving ~ ~ ~
You painted a picture of adoration and joy in my heart’s melody
Passion and happiness was never easy to get, but once I got it, there’s no such thing as losing
I won’t be losing this race tonight – you’ll be failing miserably…
Alright, dark angel…
Give me your best shot and show off your dynamic spirits of the abyss
Oh, you little devil…
Come and get me…hunt me down like your next prey..I pray I won’t kiss my distressful mistress
If I were handsome like diamonds in the cave,
I would’ve been like a knight, standing tall and brave
You and I were so perfectly flawed…you are the sunset and I’m the sunrise
You and I never quite fit in like those lonely pieces of the puzzle…you stare me down with knives in your eyes…we were lost in a multitude – oh boy, what a surprise…
Surprises hit you at every angle
Are you a devious devil or an elegant angel?
Be careful what you wish for
What’s behind the closed door?
You open the mysterious door in curiosity (Without hesitation, you let out a defeated cry)
I caught a glimpse of you, wandering around sheepishly (in the labyrinth of your mind’s eye)
Are you lost in your own paradise? Look into my deep blue sea eyes...
I’m done with you...I’ve waved my goodbyes...stop whispering lies...
I no longer walk on sticks, needles and rocks anymore…(your poetry made me ache extremely…I thought out bond was sacred…so holy…)
I knew something was awaiting me – a future in store…(your poetry, on the other hand, made me bleed out melancholy...oh so cruelly)