Long Handfuls Poems
Long Handfuls Poems. Below are the most popular long Handfuls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Handfuls poems by poem length and keyword.
Ongoing rows of trees
branches reaching binding
crawling braiding trunks of
olive trees capturing my senses
warm breeze glides down my
spine the ripened forestry handfuls
delightful ripeness historic scenery
as I mastered the monopoli landings
the essence of extra virgin oils pour
to perfection stored in tins we carry
them between the lemon zest aroma
of the countryside an afternoon filled
with pacifying my fancy with a charming
pinot noir settling down between the
largest tree trunks split into from thousands
of years of draping olives trees throughout
the hillside magnificent magnitude strength
balancing heritage while embracing culture
saving the old country the vanishing Puglia
leaves in trembling hues of bronze and gold, fall gently to the earth, where they’ll leave a carpet of crunching truths, blessings in beautiful ~ by poet
walking in silence, on the edge of twilight
subtle sighs, singing, stirring serenity
remembering the joy found on a still night
autumn’s descant, hints at my identity
blazing grace, richest praise in pastoral pulls
perfect hope in breaths of fall’s amenity
planting seeds of grace as we don our soft wools
while harvest reveals what colors hearts gentle
in aching arms, gathering crops in handfuls
blazing leaves, tremble and praise, sentimental
erasing the tears from souls mourning summer
fall’s splendor is hardly temperamental
oaks rest where majesty is the newcomer
falling in shadows who truly become her
I watch him
gathering days in arms,
like handfuls of sand,
spilling, pouring,
into an hour-glass
with never a grain lost.
His voice, once sweet and melodious,
cracked,
now fed on adult's breath.
His steps impress, they sink deeper into the dirt,
confident and sure-footed with knowing.
He no longer looks back
to make sure I’m still
there to care and watch.
In fact,
his furtive glance away,
shows I'm about to become
somewhat of an embarrassment to him
when in company of his friends and mates,
though he's too kind, good and shy to admit it.
So I just, let him go,
just stand and watch
at a distance,
when I can,
amazed at what
my son has become,
when let go to grow.
I wanted this infatuation stone.
Perched upon the fringe of a great unknown.
Wading into warm shallows called hope
My eyes out of tune with the murky shoal.
Reaching out with lusty intent.
Bumping infatuation over the ledge,
Wobbling down a trail of salty nonchalance,
Following, like a drunken, big-footed clown.
Leaving sunlight behind with each foolish stroke.
Into a deep blue ball of unforgiving cold.
Blue relenting to a black pod abyss.
Until the spirit struck the face of godless.
A million stones for a fool to blindly grope.
With handfuls of infatuation, I quickly rose
Each stroke loosening up a few more stones.
Breaching the surface with nothing left.
But the refraction of lust and the ghost of regret.
Rise Up
ryes on the rise
with soothing flours
and Spring flowers
Rise Up
with handfuls
of caraway seeds
at Winters End
all your cares will cease
Rise up
ryes on the rise
the aroma of sunrise
the butter
on your bread
Rise up
to toast and jam
dancing
through your mourning
for scripture says
Joy cometh in the morning
Rise up and kneel
before the King
ryes on the rise
with resurrected flowers
medallions of
daffodils, lilies and a memory stone
the heavy plank of death
rolled ‘way by chosen angels
Rise up
to a day reborn
beauty from ashes
blind eyes opened by faith
ryes on the rise
molasses-colorized
rose-colored glasses
not a lie
God cannot lie
Rise up
raise palms straight to the skies
Taste and see that the Lord is good
I’ll take a bite now
with thanksgiving
the whole loaf will last
forever and ever
opposite of
til death do you part
I will join the holy throng
as a seed planted
in eternal Spring
Rise up, y’all
meet the King of kings
Sometimes he feels good in the morning when he gets up
Sometimes he's sick to his stomach and he throws up
Is he out of luck
Does it have something to do with his past
Why Is his body going down hill fast
His earliest memory's are filled with pain
Is he losing his mind and going insane
There's never any change
It always remains the same
Is it because he's filled with all kinds of shame
What has he became in this complicated game
It's hard to explain
He has tried to live his life in the name of the Lord
Yet his body suffers it feels ignored
Trying to be thankful for what he's got
Yet the painful memories never stop
He's Losing the will
Taking handfuls of pills
Having a hard time expressing how he feels
He wants to feel loved and rise above
Why does everything always become push to shove
Every day is a battle
Like trying to ride a horse without a saddle
Or being stuck up a creek without a paddle
It all started in the womb
Constantly playing the same tune
The truth will come out soon
Will he live or will he die
He just wants to run and hide
Scared of everything scared to cry
Scared to see what's on the other side
Will he go to heaven or be denied!
I think maybe his brain is fried!
Form:
Arctic front just a little seems to much
A tolerance to something with no passion or no desire
To be that frozen bird on the wire
Burning purpose Burning reason
reason to plant the greatest ideas
A non-touch society bleeding out slowly
As they shape our mold
To be a force or be a commune
Starving the less prepared
Now their army they call us the metronome
Building their power forgetting humanity's moral disaster
Ambiguous though they left us no escape held hostage
Corporations traps us always fighting for food.
Panic it's out of their control
We the people
Hold all the cards
Watching the economy teeple
Expecting only handfuls to be still driving cars
I have been stuck in a black hole
searching for ammo for my soul
Searching for camo
Before gravity takes it's toll
Now it's 2066
They think home will be hit by some close encounter
Some near Earth object is eyeing annihilation
Apophis at 3.4km on 2029 sounds pretty close
Apophis Just go away we don't want you back
*** NOMAD ***
(For Ian and Bryan)
The gifts just out of reach…Always?
Scoping the search?
With the contentments
Of peace to be found,
Buried like treasure…And
Hunted?
Beloved nomad
Seeking place
Among the ridges
Of the lost caves your eagles
Scan horizons
To discover, while watching
constantly over you —
Traveling with your long stretch
Of discontented camels,
Snorting and spitting,
Their loads grown heavier than
The darkness near descending;
Their eyes forever looking
Over the empty distances —
Perhaps as feared
As Earth’s edges —
For any, any possible oasis
Appealing to you with
Some hope of settling.
So do
Stop periodically,
To recall all you love. And
Bend, to measure sought ends,
Letting run
Handfuls of unfamiliar sand
Between your fingers — not
Worrying over spent years
Yet to come —
As you watch the grains of sand
Drizzling down, falling
To a familiar dune
To continue their endless rest.
Nomad, continuing the search
For that similar someplace
Of origin, for re-starting on
The pathways to the where-
Evers far from any ends…or
Before finding then truly
What was held all the while.
Consider that the sought ends
Could assuringly be meant
To wait for the journey’s close,
With much to be said for
Actually moving through reality
While the mind, too, may wish
To avoid doubts or deliberations
In stillnes —
Most happy to feel new breezes
Touch past; or to hear unfamiliar
Voices sing out greetings; and
For incongruities to shake
The soul closer to God.
The journey’s progress (surely
With some luck in the going,
Or help from a greater
Force if while staying)
Does occur in the there
Or the here, hopefully to be
Concluded in a spot for
Body and mind, which
Your eagle has eyed
In many fewer than forty years…
For you are loved, your way blessed.
————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 2/25/22
Thanks be to God
Taco chili. Pumpkin bread. Zucchini bread. Gingerbread cookies. Chicken and dumplings.
It is a potluck at school and we were supposed to bring our favorite fall desert.
The food keeps coming, and so do the teachers, following their noses, poking around in crockpots,
Laughing as they discuss what they might be tasting. Is this beef? Do you think this is chicken?
I am silently weaving in between them, sneaking out tiny handfuls of candy corn with each mission.
Older people are usually invisible, and I am no exception; so I sneak in and out, unnoticed.
They can have their grown up soups and breads and other junk. I have not had candy corn for a year.
I am here for one reason only.
A young teacher pregnant with child whom I am fond of looks into silent sneaky partner, my cupped hand filled with candy corn, and she laughs.
That is what makes you so awesome, she says. I love you.
I love her too, knowing she will not talk.
One wonderful trait about being human is the ability to reminisce…
to remember people, places, things and moments
that have happened…that we miss.
Take our house for instance
its floors and walls and ceiling are lined
with a myriad of memories our children left behind.
Floating in the air…they wait…and we would be remiss
If we didn’t stop and catch a few….
If we didn’t reminisce.
It’s like dipping our hand in the water as we float along a stream…
catching handfuls of our memories
times we laughed and loved and dreamed…
Today as we were cleaning out a drawer
we found a bookmark, that had years ago been misplaced
It was yellow…made of felt
with a little smile for a face.
A little yellow bookmark
picked out of the river flow…
A little yellow bookmark
made by tiny hands so long ago…
A little yellow bookmark…spanning a time continuum so vast
A little yellow bookmark…linking our present to our past…
A little yellow bookmark…
reminding us of a moment in time we miss…
marking that moment forever
every time we reminisce.