Long Handiwork Poems
Long Handiwork Poems. Below are the most popular long Handiwork by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Handiwork poems by poem length and keyword.
He gasped for breath under the brutal feet.... George Floyd, the black man at Minneapolis, a hapless victim of color prejudice. One more in the list... maligned for centuries, casting dark shadows in the dim light of apartheid, assault and abomination !
Our world is now fractioned and fragmented into a million pieces, unable to be welded, pulverizing the rock of ‘Fraternity’…the holy symbol of the divine design- a common thread connecting one and all. ….the black and the white, the Occident and the Orient.
Alas! Humanity stays at daggers drawn, intimidating and pouncing on one another. Language is split into an incomprehensible prattle and blather of the Babel tower. In a world of symmetrical proportions, differences have multiplied in astronomical dimensions. Many are forged in the crucibles of difference in a nasty cult of exclusion and repression. Many have been trapped, bullied and abused, living in constant hurt and insult,feeling inept and incompetent with life turning into a nightmare, to live and live through
Color of the skin may differ, appearance and looks may vary....yet each one of us is uniquely magnificent! As different colors in a palette in an artist’s hand well blended would create a rainbow resplendent, a heaven could be created through unity!
Aren’t we, the beautiful handiwork of God? Why discriminate man from man?
Release the shackles of the oppressed… lift the shroud of their harrowing despair to ablaze hope and to envision a brighter future
Mighty sun, shed light
Dispel darkness from our path
Bring in a new dawn!
Placed second
Haibun – With a Message Poetry Contest
Sponsor- charles messina
Rummaging streets in darkness,
sob caught my awareness,
I paused a bit in anticipation;
then, I noticed a girl sitting
upon a sewerage, I moved to ask
what harm her ecstasy.
I married my hubby a few years
ago and I once have a
twins daughter, but they died after
three weeks they were born.
Days after, my man broke his vows,
I woke as a female in his hand.
He used his mouth like
that of parrot to mislead me.
I was ultra besotted with
him, is as the sky and celestial
objects. I yield to all his
utterance. He told me to put
aside my learning, a
year to end my S.H. grade.
Though, I should have
Learnt handiwork, but he
convinced me It is time
to get married. He would
be the dimple and smile
within my cheek. I'm the ocean,
he is the wave upon, he
would stand by me; I should
not fear and he would be
everything. They told me those
days, but I am a Deaf, I even
fought them for not let me do my want.
Now, peace elude my air,
I'm hanging around at night.
He sent me out to my
parent whose my habit
toward them then,
was like a cat and mouse.
I should be the one to die
instead of the innocent infants.
8/20/15
Non-fiction.
Together with princess Mystic Rose.
Wonderful woman, you are the bread and the fire of my unseen life,
A crumb of solace locked in each grain of the hourglass,
You are the solstice pulsating in my veins, always present,
A moonbeam that caresses the night of restlessness with a touch of gold.
You are the wine that trickles into my soul, with a taste of immortality,
Transforming every moment into an ode to the eternal.
And you are the fruit, ah, that forbidden fruit, which haunts my dream,
Imprinting upon my lips the seal of euphoria, wave after wave of sweet pain.
With your voice like an echo, a choir of seraphim, you roam my being,
Filling my heart with a yearning interlaced with the flight of a butterfly,
A melancholic song of the angel who stopped here,
In this temple beaten by the wind, resting next to my unbeating heart.
When spring caresses your lips, time weaves its green-hope,
And summer, oh, my love, you dress in the midday sun’s fire,
Pure and perfect, you wrap yourself in the petals of my steadfast love,
Tower, as you are, with your feet rooted deep in the sands of our love.
I hold you to my chest like an unwritten verse, with a rhyme only we understand,
And I regard you as an unfinished masterpiece, the handiwork of a godly artist,
In your eyes, day and night sparkle, stars in the sky, mirrors of my fairy,
You are the poem that sings in whisper to me, the music of my empty soul.
Ah, wonderful woman, my crucible of the immeasurable, you are everything I could hope for,
In every kiss of yours, hides a promise of dawn,
You are the end of my quest, the conclusion of the story,
In your arms, I find the place where the universe bends and says: "Home".
~ Frost
by
design
~ delicate,
crafted in the night,
dainty — like lacy handiwork
~ inspirational, like twisted wire, a story told —
details meted out behind heaven’s door, with peculiarities that we adore
~ O
please
inspect
windowpane
crystalline effects ~
~ seraphic white silver and gold —
the finest craftsmanship, twisted with Eden’s treasure ~
filigree beads of angelic hoary-breath, reminders of the invisible God
~ Rime
clings
to soil,
inspired world —
embraced by cold hands ~
fragile tendrils spread like ivy,
intricate cherubic smithing — like spider webbing,
subtleties sensational, O how it sparkles ~ seasonal diamondiferous earth
1/24/2018
The Magic Of Three
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Fibonacci (8 lines) x 3 = 24 lines(pattern- 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 syllables)
How do the makers of military hardware
Sit at the dinner table with their kith and kin
Do they sit and pretend they don’t care
That their handiwork results in a mortal sin?
Do they praise little Johnny for schoolwork done?
While their despicable little toys
Bring an early end for a poor woman’s son
Who will be deprived of experiencing life’s joys.
In the evening, when day welcomes night
And they tenderly kiss their lover’s lips
Whilst holding a soft body tight
Do they think of one who has no limbs below the hips?
Indelible ink on the hand stains
But the mark on their souls forever remains.
My narrow hands made minarets
Of castles in the sky
The phantom figures that I traced
Were but for just my eyes
I did not draw upon the sand
For fear the rising tide
Would devastate the effort
And then – what left – have I?
I did not sketch in quarters
The public would review
For fear their introspection
Would taint my simple view
And what my slender finger drew
Upon the canvas blank
With such utmost authority
Took just my breath away –
Alone I viewed my handiwork
Took stock of every line
Internalized the ephemeral
Nature of the rhyme
Which set the spirit of the thought
Which grasped the shades of earth
And shaped my castles in the air
In minarets of verse –
My soul sings hallelujah, a chorus of praise to God above
For the beauty of this world, for the gift of love
I feel His presence in every breath I take
In the rustling leaves, in the waves of a lake
My soul sings hallelujah, for His grace and mercy
For His never-ending love, that sets my spirit free
I see Him in the sunrise, in every star at night
His handiwork surrounds me, filling me with delight
My soul sings hallelujah, for His unfailing light
Guiding me through darkness, into His eternal sight
He's my shelter in the storm, my rock and my refuge
With Him by my side, I have nothing to lose
My soul sings hallelujah, for He is always near
In times of joy and sorrow, He wipes away every tear
And when this life is over, and my time has come to part
My soul will sing hallelujah as I enter heaven's heart.
Psalm 121: I lift up my eyes to the hills;
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of heaven and earth!
Each morn the first thing I do when I arise,
Is throw open the blinds to greet a glorious sunrise!
Then, I cite Psalm 121 lifting my eyes t'ward majestic Pikes Peak,
But, alas, America's Mountain hasn't been visible for nearly a week!
Smoke from western fires have eclipsed my view of that venerable mount.
His Handiwork has inspired me more times than I can recount!
Even though I cannot see it, I know Pikes Peak will e'er be there,
And I will continue to lift up my eyes each morn and recite my prayer!
Spring’s beauty is indeed a wondrous sight
highlighting the supreme Designer’s best:
flowers bloom; daffodils, tulips delight
as vegetables abound for blest harvest
hibernating animals shake strength’s might
birds flutter sweetly in each breeding nest
affirming precious life wrought by great God
midst His miracles, deserving our nod.
Showcasing vibrancy, active in nature
Spring features great handiwork so divine:
rejuvenation with birthing gesture
sprouting along restoration’s bright shine
revival glow of spiritual posture
thriving stewardship for heaven’s goal-line
grateful to the Lord*, re-creation source
offering hope, peace, joy ~~~ by His love’s force.
Isaiah 45:8 Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness: let the earth open, and let them bring forth salvation, and let righteousness spring up together; I the LORD have created it.
February 23, 2021
2nd place, "Spring" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh; judged on 2/24/2021.
The undertaker at Butcher's Funeral Parlor received the dreadful call.
Seems old Senator Cheatum keeled over and succumbed at the local mall!
His untimely demise spurred the undertaker to set a series of events in motion,
To ensure that everything went smoothly with a minimum of commotion!
Senator Cheatum made prior funeral arrangements including the care of his cat.
He was to be interred in Glorious Sunrise Cemetery in a pleasant, shady plat.
Mr. Butcher, the undertaker, had to arrange for guys to excavate his grave,
So he collared three of the town's ne-er-do-wells, Arnold, Cletus and Dave.
He found them hanging out at Clyde's Saloon guzzling Old Milwaukee beers!
Those fellers had dug graves for dozens of townsfolk for years and years.
They loaded their shovels and a couple of cases of beer in Dave's pickup truck.
They figured on having the job completed before the sun set with any luck.
They measured the plat to a precise four by six and when all was ready,
Their elbows flew as they shoveled that hallowed clay, albeit, a bit unsteady!
They paused for a break every fifteen minutes or so to tap another brew.
As the grave reached the prescribed six feet, it grew more and more askew!
In their bleary-eyed state they weren't concerned about the esthetics of it all.
They just wanted to pack up their gear and head for Clyde's Saloon and Pool Hall.
They eyed their handiwork, drank some more and Cletus was heard to expound:
"Shucks, that old fart was so crooked that they could screw him in the ground!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Stay tuned - sequel to follow!