Long Handpicked Poems
Long Handpicked Poems. Below are the most popular long Handpicked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Handpicked poems by poem length and keyword.
Huge pie in the sky,
visiting her grandparents.
A lofty and crusty bake
from ages ago.
The chill cellar held jars.
Fruits were homegrown,
handpicked, canned.
Humongous, it was not
an average-sized pie.
The gigantic pie, at least
to a child that remembers,
was gorged on satisfying
fat-purple-blueberries.
I can only imagine a taste,
to take a bite out of
1950’s life. My tongue
red and blue, savoring.
My memory only holds
my Great-Grandma
in a corner chair
in her daughter’s home;
and a couple visits
to our home
with her sister.
At least I remember that,
but paint me purple,
or let me go closer,
for her granddaughter
made me rhubarb pie.
That’s my mama,
whose Great-Grands
will only mostly recollect
what I surrender
from the past.
The reflection of what you see
To me, it deflects the purities that my spectral lenses catch
Matching with every insecurity of
Impurities overflowing as water through a gutter
Cluttering me from seeing my self-worth
Birthed from times of weakness down the road most of us have treaded
Yet,
a worn path others have made it down.
The thing about a mirror
Is it’s easy to break
It’s the shattered pieces we’re afraid to pick up
Those individual shards made to make up what’s left of your reflection
Your identity
The sharp fractures of what’s left from the whole cheval
Though it now reflects a peculiar perspective.
The intricate things that were once overlooked.
Crafted and handpicked by your own hands and not of that of another constructor.
Cuts and nicks
Pains and pricks will cut deep as you assemble your speculum
A Curriculum self taught to teach you your worth
Birthed from pain to be made whole.
liberté retrouvée
The Lord offered His wondrous love
Bringing forgiveness from above
I’m handpicked.
Upholding my faith’s fervent zeal
His truth-covenant shows great seal:
God’s handshake.
Saviour’s branch I am; He’s the vine
My heart accepts His work divine
as handmaid.*
Mighty sovereign of my soul
He leads toward triumphant goal
not offhand.
With Christ making my life blissful
I thank Him, being His grateful
handiwork.
*Luke 1:38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word…
May 13, 2020
5th place, "A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1218" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/22/2023
Elder sister initiated the process always,
I could see her, like a finch or sparrow, restless for days;
Hay she collected; prepared pretty painted paper rocks,
To cover up the cattle shed made brick-like hard-board blocks;
Handpicked grass and plants she had to shape valleys and mountains,
She had not forgotten, in her plan, feigned flawless fountains...!
Splendid evergreen fir has been planted in our courtyard,
She adorned it with bells, baubles, tinsel, and candy-shard;
Cotton, in the form of snow-balls she skillfully bedecked,
She saw to it that each thing, like the cosmos, looked perfect;
Having arranged the entire scene like very Bethlehem,
She pondered on vivacious ways to place the baby gem...!
Lights she could not connect, since scared of electricity,
It was for this she needed my friendly felicity;
She admired, like a creative artist, my little ways,
Of stooping and scooping betwixt her elegant knit hays;
“Slowly”, she used to shout; “mildly” she used to nock; “gently!”
She could not bear damage though happened incidentally...!
She, in a mishap, had broken her wrist this Christmas time,
Like a dove wings-clipped, she heard in her a seasonal chime;
She looked at me; I looked at her; we smiled; I’ll do - I said,
I'll make, for your sake, my manger-masterpiece (Jesus-bed);
She watched and found everything went so beautifully well,
In fondness of grand sibling love, her heart she could not tell...!!!
28 November 2022
Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Handpicked, like coffee seeds or strawberries, ten eggs I kept
Like a tensed insomniac, for a long time I'd not slept
I found a change in the bloom of the dermis as days passed
There came out surprise-filled tint tots, elegance unsurpassed.
Red, green, blue, purple, and yellow, like a compressed rainbow
With perfectly blown balloons, as children merrily glow.
As seedlings spring up at night and glisten in the morning,
These soft talc and cloud agate gems appear without warning.
Standing erect and straight with sun-moon-stars-tinged, blazing eyes;
Robotic reflexes; peep, peep, peep, filling up the skies
Judgement quality of quantity like the honeybees
Psychic contagion is in them, like treasures in deep seas.
Symbols of resurrection, springtime splendours, and new life
A masterpiece of nature's craftsmanship after a strife
Scenes of Elysium, Coleus, and Jannah revealed
The mysteries of chicks, like the Milky Way, are concealed.
It’s cruel to ask us about our past.
Do we interrogate you? Do we probe
you to reveal the long buried,
demand to know each dirty secret?
We (by which I mean everyone
old enough to own their own wrong turns),
don’t need to reveal those things,
lessons really learned are not repeated.
We just hold up a few
handpicked moments
to illustrate how we won through,
or perhaps merely began
our own path back.
Truth is, we messed up.
Here’s the thing,
this life of yours
is already a broken record,
an old tape, just blather on a cellphone.
a dusty path most everyone has trod before.
It’s a missed call and a dead end.
A swamp that you will have to spend
the rest of your lifetime backing away from.
Give us a call when you’re ready
to dig your way out,
then we’ll talk.
Now let's begin
This tale I'll spin
Took it on the chin
Never thought I'd win
Honeysuckle
Boot belt buckle
Scraped up knuckle
Raspy chuckle
Kicked my ass
Soft green grass
Still I sass
This too shall pass
Knew I'd lose
It was no use
I had to choose
Handpicked noose
Before I fought
Tied a knot
In the rope id brought
For justice sought
But then a sound
Shots rang out loud
Eyes search the crowd
Never been more proud
To my rescue
My only nephew
To my opponent says " I can't let you."
" I should be the one that gets to."
With those words I shut my eyes
Feel the lump in my throat rise
Purse my lips choke back my cries
Really though it's no surprise
See we all had a common flame
All three had tried to stake our claim
Yet all we did was bring her shame
Upon my lips her sweet name...
Form:
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was handpicked by God
Also Forgiven
I am redeemed and accepted
My name also Love, I am love
I am first and foremost people who live by faith
I am of deep endearment my name Beloved
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was handpicked by God
I am a seeded tree that has blossomed
A symbol of God I am Branches
I’m a child of God a Child of promise
I am Chosen, Forgiven, Redeemed, Loved
I am a Citizen of Heaven
I’m a Conqueror, a Disciples a Warrior
I’m a Farmer, a Fisher of men and People
My name is a Follower of the Way
Jesus declared he is the way and I AM A FOLLOWER OF His Way
My name is the Elect
First fruits of all He created
My name is Son of the most High God
Also known as a Chosen one
I was Handpicked by God
Also Forgiven
I am redeemed and accepted
My name also Love, I am love
I am first and foremost people who live by faith
I am of deep endearment my name Beloved
My dear Miss Peach how lovely!
Your table boasts so fair
You've chosen the finest bubbly
Best porcelain plates and crystal ware
Your handpicked guests are perfect
They know just what to say
They are prefects without defects
With no real opinions per se
Your parties are full of boasting
With braggarts, blowhards and egos
Pomposity excels in what they are toasting
Meaningless, pointless placebos
So Miss Peach I beg you not be stilted
Or try in your best elegance to change
What manner you provide is boring and gilded
And matters not to bourgeois talk wearisomely deranged
October 20, 2020
Completely Your Choice (30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Late summer
and the barefoot boys are scrumping.
They have scrunched-up themselves
into the green sap of leaf and branch,
as trees to be climbed, branches to fall from.
In the village shop
an ample lady sells apple pies,
she has apple cheeks,
and her twin apples are full and warm to the eye.
Orchards are prisons to be broken into,
they are owned by the owner,
the owner haunts the blind corners of our minds,
sometimes we feel him leaping upon our backs.
We scramble upwards,
never speak of it, ever.
Then we are among the hanging apples.
They glow, heavier than the sun,
yet we tug them down, shaking sky and stem,
taking them.
Rush away, no basket or sacks -
none yet have discovered the art of thinking.
Racing into the dry-husked cornfield,
hearts thumping ribs,
pockets tight and bulging,
hoping that they may be handpicked
by the choice hands of dream-girls.
Charging onward into the first flush,
apple-full, apple hauling,
we rush
headlong,
into the too readily harvested,
all too fleeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Scrumping' = Stealing apples from an orchard.