Long Handcrafted Poems
Long Handcrafted Poems. Below are the most popular long Handcrafted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Handcrafted poems by poem length and keyword.
Come gather near," I gladly say,
"To brighten up your tea each day.
A cute little teapot, what a sight,
To make each morning warm and bright.
Just brew your tea, then pour with glee,
The perfect cup for you and me.
In winter's chill, it stays hot,
In summer's sun, it stays cool—not!
No need to fuss, no need to plot,
It keeps the season's perfect spot.
You'll smile a lot, believe me true,
Each cup tastes fresh from first to last for you.
Leaf patterns gently grace the pot,
Handcrafted charm that can't be bought—
Well, not at prices sky-high, see;
It's friendly on your pocket, happily!
Made from eco-friendly care,
With artisan hands beyond compare.
No waste, no rot, no cheap old sort,
Just beauty made with loving thought.
A family of four can gather near,
Sharing laughter, love, and cheer.
An evening tea, a memory caught,
The sweetest moments can't be bought.
"What a lovely pot!" the children cry.
"The tea stays perfect!" comes reply.
From little tot to grand old we,
There's joy in every cup of tea.
The price won't leave your wallet blue;
It's made with everyday folks in view.
A little cost, a mighty gain,
A daily pleasure time and again.
So take it home—why wait, why not?
This charming little handcrafted pot.
The buyer smiled, "I've found my key
To better days with perfect tea."
The deal was done, the hands did shake,
A happy choice for goodness' sake.
The seller grinned with heart and glee,
"Thank you kindly!" said he.
Happy went he, his task complete;
Happy went she with her cozy treat.
She poured her tea with joyful plea—
"Here's to warm hearts... and perfect tea!"
One has a rallying spear
Other has a chomp to fear
But on the weekend to give gratitude
A Seminole and Gator won’t be showing any attitude
Cancelled is their rivalry match
Neither one will be the dinner catch
Gator meat
Sautéed and sweet
Will not be grilled by holiday heat
As for the Tribe
Known for the warrior horseback ride
Albert and Alberta will not have them in their clutches
Prescribing prosthetics and crutches
Due to a viral infection
Contagious and doesn’t hear the word rejection
Has ended this simple little thing
That is nothing more than a festive fling
After sailing down the Amazon department store river
Shopping with prime free delivery
Tight Izod shirts
Great gift for Seminole evenings filled with flirts
For the Gator’s heart
Nice handcrafted jewelry a nice giving season start
Maybe a medicine ball
Would be the stocking stuffer call
No game attending
School spirit must have some mending
Road trip to the fountain of youth
And seek some truth
Before the first semester grades hit the roof
It is the time when reality starts to show
Debating what the professor really does know
About the All American Academic Athletic show
Requested to be let go
Hopefully when final exam time arrives
This hash tag anti-social behavior drive
Will take a nose dive
Finding the answer
Just like they did for HIV positive and cancer
My monocle, please,
or if you please,
my spectacles so
I
can attempt to eye
a book with both irises
and which book
to attack first:
the gigantic book of fashion;
it’s
not a lap animal, vegetable
or otherwise;
and the floral pages -
both have large print,
I think.
Oh, yes,
and speaking in tongues,
that is
the craft of language;
a book (oh, yes, quite funny)
on trees (aren’t they the funny things
that we write upon);
and murder!
Murder, you say?!
…those found in the bible.
“What!” say you…
First the death of pleasantries or
pleasant trees (funny, right?)
Then sibling rivalry to the extreme.
‘Thou shall not kill,” did Cain know this one?
or ‘thou shall not covet…?’
All of these emotions, quite the spectacle,
spectacularly so… So what is in fashion today?
Do we like a good murder, on parade…seems
too many do. Jesus flipped the script -really,
he handcrafted the language of love. Love
God first; and love
your neighbor as you love yourself.
Sins brought to the surface.
Love covers a multitude of sins.
It is a sin not to go to the library
and bring home so many friends
that you can listen to.
Don’t kill the messenger.
My monocle please!
“feeling not thinking, soul with love linking ~
we attained God consciousness unblinking" ~ Unseeking Seeker
L e t t e r s
I weave with
tears of twilight,
wishing written words would
reach selenite stars of lyrical longing,
singing sparks long veiled~
linking verses from the
cosmic consciousness
to your soul in sublime silence,
near the mind of your heart,
scribbling poetic quotes~
while the demise of ego
illuminates internal thoughts
like the hyacinth halo of moon-glows
crowning the third eye~
waltzing through astral realms,
amplifying awareness,
from the heat of the throat chakra,
transcending beyond
the bluest of horizons
to etch the emerald empyrean
with strokes of galactic gold,
forsaking forests flourishing
with fickleness and greens of greed.
When warm is the dawn
and bright is the dusk,
when sleep is no longer
a perplexing paradox
with no ultimate antidote~
but a remedy of divine trust,
when love is more
than a perfumed prose,
painted with illusive imagery.
When distance is a mere myth,
as flames of forgiveness twirl
beneath the same sky,
reminiscing acrylic sunsets
bathed in aesthetic wisdom~
a mystical essence
enhanced with inner zen…
To feel the pulse of peace beyond
what the eyes could see,
for it is through the psyche
we learn to draw
constellation of solace…
Remember, love is an eagle
with white rose feathers,
fragranced in everlasting devotion,
d e s i g n e d and dressed
in diamond-glazed contour…
Tonight, I refuse to breathe
lies that linger,
I’ve long been a faithful slave
to the sacred lanterns,
flickering blissful blurs
upon landscapes of loneliness~
to be the rainbow radiance,
steering suspended odysseys
onto a pristine shore of
porcelain peacefulness.
There you’ll find
footprints of believers,
secured and sketched
with herbs of h a p p i n e s s
on the face of handcrafted mirrors~
and scattered sea-shells
like rainless reflections
of glimmering gloaming,
an unblinking flame of clarity and truth
in timeless credence,
connected to the soothing rhythm
of the celestial rivers
rippling with runes embraced by
the Almighty’s heartbeat.
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she pass?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said goodbye
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma,
She will always wait for you.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night
Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf
Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane she handcrafted before she left
Hello, grandpa, it's me again!
My tears have soften now,
knowing you will soon see her again
Take your place with her in the sky
Please, say hi and give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
I love you grandpa
~*~
Bechstein, Blüthner, Steinway or a Fazioli Pianoforti
long had he craved to play them.
He was in love with grand pianos, their shape and sheen,
their sweeping contours, their circuit bodies.
His hands, so unmusical, his heart a natural composer
of words but not more than two or three notes together.
He admires from afar
the ornate candelabra set upon polished wood,
a wood so dark it shines and reflects.
He imagines the discrete intricacies of maple and spruce
within its handcrafted mahogany torso.
The sprung brass of muted pedals,
A frame of tensile Swedish steel;
its resounding skeleton,
all built to create both delicate nocturns
or the most vigorous of Hungarian rhapsodies.
Ribs, strings, hornbeam hammers,
Lindenwood keys all strung, spun, or carved
all brought together
to construct one perfect medley.
These grand instruments even when silent
enchanted him. He would run his fingers
over their curvaceous ebony forms
allow fingertips to caress the un-played keys,
white on black almost erotic
when a chaste lid is lifted.
He dreams of playing for a lady in crinoline
a music lover, and he the intense composer
of unspoken love and desire.
He dreams knowing that this cannot be
not then nor ever
as his workman's hands crash down once more
upon his hard-worked and clattering
laptop keys.
"The Visionary" sees far beyond the human eye
Further than the moon, further than space
Others can't even see when they are looking in the face - of a "Visionary"
"The Visionary" knows, demands, seeks
She understands who to let go and who to keep
There is something so powerful in the wisdom of her words - Her talk
There is something so powerful in the stride of her steps - Her walk
There is something so powerful right from the start
There is something so powerful that touches your heart - Her love
There is something so powerful from the look in her eyes
There is something so powerful that others despise
What is it about "The Visionary" that has you so afraid?
Is it the faith, the strength or confidence
Is it "The Love Said but Never Made?"
"The Visionary" leaves, but never leaves you
No one is ever ready for the affect once encountered by "The Visionary"
Impacted, powerful, driven, fierce, solid, just the touch of her hand
The one the world has yet to understand
On January 5th the vision was birth
The day she made her presence on earth
The Designer Himself, our Heavenly Father, handcrafted to excellence
The customary, evolutionary, "The Visionary"
One of a kind, no one can define, the depth of wisdom within her mind
A man reached me at the market that day.
He lifted two handcrafted seats on his head.
He urged, "Won't you buy my chairs?" Today.
Nobody took my chairs. All moved instead.
I recall helping others with daily duties in life.
If you find a poor partner, avail him in strife.
None are so flush that they might not borrow.
The fate of the poor may be our lot tomorrow.
Look, these are the best things I have made.
Please buy my seats. I slum my children frayed.
He seems gloomy. This person is my age.
Words nag me. I gave him cash and change.
I echo helping others, even when being mean.
Do not judge your pal's deep suspicions, lean.
No fine, people can avoid shame or misery.
Lift others in the race for a swathe of glittery.
I replied, "I need one seat, but sell the rest."
Kids are waiting, and I wish you all the best.
Thrusting his hands to pray, I was unready.
For me, it was an incomer with tears already.
I never lost the venting of the chair salesman.
It may not be a lot to exalt others when we can.
If it turns on a brother, do not let envy ruin it.
We pray for each other's rightness, joy, and grit.
Written: November 28, 2022
When you spot the stars above your head
Remember you are the quirky ones that glitter
the rivers turn blue under the sky
but oh! its only in my eyes?
Do you see what I see?
Haven't been to heaven
yet I imagine a mansion
A giant magnificent edifice
what a lovely master piece!
Then, let us assemble our feet stronger on the higher ground
Let the sun shines be ever brighter than it used to be.
Let the humans roar at you
even the wheels of your car may be stabbed
well, will you still be in awe of the wonders?
The handcrafted things,
the nature that display its glorious existence.
who can fathom the depth of the ocean?
But there is someone to whom, every detail is fathomable.
every ounce of anguish is known.
"Be courageous". He said,
will you recline and be at rest?
The night will not be dark
the sun will rise again.
and we will have the place in that mansion.
Form:
This belle epoch awakes resemblance
With times of plague in dark-bound books
Allegedly, we’re on dependence
Of history, with all its hooks
I doubt this cliche, however
This comer is a bit too smart
And so it smells he’d stay forever
Being handcrafted from the start
He’s going to mature through the ages
He’d bring the depth in water run
He’ll pass all the required stages
He wouldn’t stop, till work is done
Then may he rest in rich man’s arbour
Where ivy hangs down to the floor
Last glimpse of lighthouse in the harbour
Eroded pier, and ships galore
A guest unwanted, he dissolves
In wee small hours, when the air
Is still at night, while breezing calls
For morning star - and it is there.