Long Holding Poems
Long Holding Poems. Below are the most popular long Holding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Holding poems by poem length and keyword.
The bracelet is gone from my wrist.
The doors sighed open behind me
as if the building itself
had finally loosened its grip.
Home is no longer a place where I expect to recover. It is the room where I will learn the final work of my hands— to release what they can no longer hold.
There is no victory left to chase, no mountain to claim, only the quiet discipline of meeting each morning without bargaining with it.
I have discovered that courage is smaller than I imagined. It is asking for water. It is thanking the nurse. It is smiling at a friend whose eyes are already grieving.
The body, once so loud with its demands, has become an old instrument playing only a few true notes, and I listen to each one as though it were a bell calling me home.
If I have any strength remaining, let it not be spent pretending I am unafraid.
Let it be spent holding another hand, speaking the names of those I love, and leaving this world without bitterness.
I wish to die as a true man— not because I never trembled, but because I learned that dignity is not the absence of fear.
It is the refusal to let fear become the final word.
When my breathing grows light like a bird preparing for a journey no map can measure, do not remember me for the illness.
Remember that I looked into the closing evening with my eyes open, my heart unhidden, and whatever grace was given to me, I accepted with both hands.
She took my name today,
radiant, white-dressed, processing
in an old church of her choosing,
her sisters in ugly dresses,
roll their eyes when the priest says:
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker,”
They’re not cool with tradition,
think she should stay ‘Isaacson,’
for ‘the cause,’ or something like that,
but my wife does not give a damn,
she took my name today.
She took my name today,
signed it in the hotel guest-book,
in swirling, old-fashioned cursive,
fine way to start our honeymoon.
It looked so beautiful to me,
I asked if she would hyphenate,
‘Isaacson’ is part of her too,
but she is all or nothing.
so I decide that our first son
should be given the name Isaac,
she took my name today.
She took my name today,
holding our little daughter tight,
a stunning mess is hospital bed,
but I’ve never seen her finer.
‘Isaac’ will have to wait, I guess,
this girl we have named Deborah,
Deborah Parker, she and her mom
will share both a name and a bond,
telling all that we are family.
She took my name today
and I am forever grateful.
We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture
Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight
1/28/23
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Julia Ward
August 27 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Lamentations 1-3
Key Verse – Lamentations 1:9 …O LORD, behold my affliction: for the enemy hath magnified himself.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR BEHOLDING OUR AFFLICTIONS
Praise be to God for beholding our afflictions:
Hoisting us from hellish heat
Helping us with His heavenly host
Handling us against hardening howls
Holding us upon His hedging heartiness
Healing us along His health-hewing hands
Lamentations 2:9 Praise be to the Lord for
leading us with His vision so:
Vivid with His Biblical view
Victorious by His blessed valour
Vocal along His best against vanity
Virtuous building us through His verities
Valuable by His bestowments, vanquishing vileness
Lamentations 3:22 Praise be to the Saviour for
His mercies and compassions that fail not to:
Lead us to His light
Love us midst His liberty
Lose us with His leadership
Lift us despite our longings and losses
Link us toward His lasting lessons of life. Amen!
August 27, 2024
Pumped
Reams of paper sit upon my desk accordioned untidily, dimpled where the cat stood or sat too long. The wastepaper basket was full of crumbled balls, reflecting the topography of the Nepali adventure I am trying to re-count. The heavily grained desk of golden oak supports a range of dictionaries and thesaurus’s, any one of which was heavy enough to use as a doorstop in a windstorm. An old Underwood typewriter sits, holding court, in the midst of all this, enamel black, with chrome edged keys and struts which depress at the tap of a fingertip. The radio blares, God Bless the Child Who’s Got His Own…as I formulate the saga of a heroine seeker, lead by two caramel colored Nepali boys, toward the foothills of the Himalayian Mountains.
The spindles holding the black ribbon snag in the clip-like opening which holds them taunt. Adjusting the tape turns my nails blue-black. I brush the hair from my eyes decorating the tip of my nose. Dirty business this writing. I tear another sheet from the rubber roller and crumple it with a sigh. “Damn, irascible machine don’t you have a soul? Give Mama something! Anything” I whine.
Scared by the abruptness of my outburst, and the carriage's leap left, the scared-y-cat is propelled to the floor, sending a half-stack of unsullied paper to ground, covering my patent-leather pumps.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKNtP1zOVHw
Enjoy...while you read..Billy Holiday
Growing up in life, we want everything to come true
But then reality hits, and it's nobody but you
Trying to run, but your problems run faster
There's no escaping them because they're the worst disaster
So now you're all alone, and situations are calling
You try to stand up, but you keep on falling
With your back to the wall, it's holding you up
You're crumbling on the inside with no kind of luck
Your heart is shattered because no one cares
Now your alone in this dark world with a blank stare
Forgetting about life in an effortless way
Trying to maintain your balance with no sense of space
Neutralizing your body, feel like going through the flood
Movement is getting hard like you're walking in mud
So pull yourself up with a heart of desire
Look in the mirror at the one you will always admire.
I watch women leave with assorted bodies, bulky purses, proudly displaying their newly-done up rainbow hair, blue streak hair, purple yarn hair, six braid in a bush hair, beaded, feathered and flowered hair.
Everything goes here, and it makes me comfortable. Then I see a silly looking up-do with straggly ends floating across a face. My four-year-old grandson could have done this one in his sleep. I am incredulous as I watch the recipient leave happy.
A little guy is almost out of his chair, screaming and wailing “Let me out of here! You are hurting me! No! NO! I don’t like this! You are HURTING ME!” His screams are frightening now, I look up, ready to fight somebody. The hairdresser is having a tough time working around a grandma and a mama who are holding him in the chair by pinning arms and legs that are struggling as he screams.
When I got to my chair I noticed my stylist is cute, young, she will probably have some punky ideas. I like that! She washes me up, not finding a tick, which I think is a great start. As we talk she discovers I teach school. Her eyes bug out. “They let you teach with that color hair!” she spits out.
“I would like to see them try and stop me,” I fire back. I look in the mirror at my new Peter Pan haircut. I look like a boy, but at least most of the burgundy is still there. So much for generalizing how punky young can be.
Within our souls we draw the sword of love
We are mothers fathers grandparents friends and lovers
All Angels guided from above ...
Within our souls we draw the sword of love
We walk the baron sands and I am with you
Holding your beautiful little hands ..
Within our souls, we draw the sword of love
Yesterday has gone and tomorrow we may never know
We walk the baron sands and I am with you
Holding your beautiful little hands...
All that is precious and no man can take
Is the spirit of our love our souls that passover through
The pearly gates
No man nor beast can take the spirit of our love
We are here to help
We are Angels
We passed over
We are love
Mama why?
The sight of me makes you cry?
Oh mama why oh mama why
You never asked me honey what is it like to die?
Mama why can’t you tell me why I keep these tears in my eyes
Why am I so despised. I can see it in your eyes you can no longer hide your precious little lies.. or should I say you’re untold Truth. Of course I’m questioning. What did you think I was going to do? Remember when I asked you.. how my grandma died? I should have known by the look in your eyes that you fully didn’t tell me about her demise. All you said was that she bumped her head, and shortly after that they pronounced her dead.. was that the truth or a half a fact. I know when you look at me that you are holding back. As time went on and I grew strong I still didn’t know what the hell went on. So f*** that I had to find out after a funeral I don’t thank you daughter knew I was going to handle that. But the chick didn’t care, she just hit me with a Mac. To be continued..
A band of gold
bound them together
At first Sue’s blissfully happy
but little by little
he starts controlling
every aspect of her life
eroding her self confidence
by criticising her appearance
choosing what she should wear
and when she goes out
holding her back
with silken threads
Sue loves her job
but he persuades her to quit work
after all …
she’s paid far less than a man doing the same job
When she stops visiting
friends and family
her parents become concerned
but Sue tells them
she’s happy and wants to please her man
knowing it’s far easier to give in
than risk another argument
and face the force of his fierce fists
Now, the only make up Sue wears
is to cover the livid bruises
on her pretty face
There’s no escape for Sue…
she’s held captive by the chains of love
Woman in Chains Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
08/18/20