Long Homemade Poems
Long Homemade Poems. Below are the most popular long Homemade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Homemade poems by poem length and keyword.
Chubby little dimpled hand’s reach up to stroke my face
Happy cowboy booted boy, with hair all out of place
Broken nose, stepped on shoes, doggies left behind,
These are the things as I grow old, is running through my mind.
It only took a dollar to win a skip bow game
And if you lost the first one, we would play again
The homemade pizza and the pop would add to all the fun.
If you won $2.00 you’d be the lucky one.
How precious do those days now seem with all the children gone
Their children grown and have their own. Where do I now belong?
Tiny children calling grandma, I look around to see,
But they are calling my child, no longer calling me.
Life’s gone so fast, what do I do with the days that’s left ahead?
How many book’s can I read or how long stay in the bed.
The years have taken toll on me, and bones within me ache
Forgetfulness encamps my mind of the pills that I should take.
They call these the golden years, they say they’ll come a time,
When I will say I’ll take my rest and life will be a rhyme,
Of words I put together, to say how I do feel,
Forgotten, Laid aside for now, Hey what is the deal?
I once was young but now I’m old and I can only see,
The path that’s laid before me and I shall walk with thee.
Oh gates now open wide for me, do you see me coming in?
The brightness of your being Lord has made me to live again.
The ones I’ve loved are waiting, their hands stretched out to me.
Mother’s, father’s, cherished ones I see oh now I see.
Rejoicing, laughing, loving ones, oh wait I hear my name
Grandma, Grandma comes the cry,I turn to see the same
Loving girls hand in hand as they rush forth for me
sunlight shining in their hair, death had set them free.
I catch them up close to me and I finally get to say
I am so glad to be with you, you'll brighten up my day.
Let me tell you of your mother's that have missed you very much
Who would have given everything to feel your baby touch
How fast life goes and very soon they will come here too
To share with you the beauty and their joy of loving you.
But now I will remember…dimpled hands upon my face,
Cowboy booted little boy with hair all out of place.
I look back and I can see how lucky I have been
To have those precious moments, that I relive again.
So booted boy and dimpled hand’s, so fair, so fair of face.
I put you back within my heart, till I have run the race.
Chosen to be a perfectionist
all things in order
not out of order
the pantry is orderly
the shelves are amazing
the dishes are placed
neatly arranged with a homemade cake
perfectly amongst the race
clean clean clean away
no time wasted, non-worried faces
this is right, that is wrong
a perfect home
If it means being alone
straighten out items, neatness all around
when leaving, must come back to the cleanness
orderly you see, nothing is thrown around
If it is, you have to get down
seemed perfect in all that was done
the atmosphere is right
each day and night
shoes come off at the door
sinks are wiped down after repeated usage
no time for disorderly, nor items misplaced
a day to relax, some days are amazing
the perfectionist, having some patience
what a view being seen
overall, it's clean clean clean
neatness in appearance
nothing out of line
even the clock on the wall
cannot be the wrong time
a picture that is crooked
has to be straighten
don't keep them waiting
Some things are not outdated
not a lent on the floor
that cannot definitely be ignored
a life with the perfectionist
as time definitely goes by
sometimes asking, why? why? why?
the dinner invite, extended settings
just a piece of the delicious apple pie
the hand slightly was hit twice
barely hurt, a smile with love
no, not now, that is the dessert
just wait for the appetizers, the entrees
fancy elegant dinner plates are placed
gold silverware, decors, red flowers, and more
the table is so extraordinary
the view is so nice
the room is full of peace, love, and joy
If you're messy, you might not be invited anymore
oh well, the day has gone
all family, friends, and others went home
until the holidays come again
invitations are amongst limited
maybe next time the host will be the guest
and all, figuring out the rest.
The perfectionist.
Note:
Sometimes a perfectionist will change some guidelines.
Faith, Prayers. Jesus. Grace.
Can this be me? You?
orderly, clean, & neat.
Some people have said that cleaning can be mind relaxing. Also, a form of exercise because you're always moving. After the results, you can see the finishing.
An atmosphere that is suitable to live in.
The Gift of Christmas
Some people say Christmas in this present time
Wanders lost
Through flashing ads and tinsel carelessly strung
On an artificial bough.
Some people say the Spirit of Christmas
Lives no more -
The simple Christ Child’s birth
Coldly mocked by glittering commercials
For diamond rings and robot toys.
Some say our plastic credit cards
Bring shame to one, who, born so poor,
Wore no fancy clothes
Or even slept in a cradle of his own.
Some say a Christian world forgets
The simple song of angel praise and shepherd lambs
In hustle crowds who only hum
Atonal harmony in green cash jingles
Some people say that Christ remains absent
From our Christmas celebrations
So lost we get in buying –
So drunk we get with wine.
Yet, I see his star rise up again
In children’s faith, eyes aglow with awe,
Reflecting wonder back into the darkest night
The miracle of the Christmas story.
I watch a callous world
Retell Nativity
Then remember little acts of kindness
From a neighbor, or a friend,
In homemade thank you cards
Of cookies, cakes or ornaments.
The Yuletide air overflows with scents of sugarplums -
Pungent cloves, nutmeg sweet
And aromatic cinnamon -
A gift of time given to baking memories
In sweet spice with children.
Music fills the world again,
To herald
Carols dancing in our hearts,
“Joy to the world!” the lyrics say,
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come!”
Each year I watch the world
Stretch out a loving hand of help
To strangers shivering in the cold,
To those who live alone -
To ones with rags for clothes
And families who face each day
Empty cupboard shelves –
Whose children would be strangers
To the joy of Christmas morn
If not for hearts and hands
Of women and of men
Who bring the Magi’s gifts to poverty again.
I see this cynical world
So closely guard the spirit of this time
A world of Santa Claus’ asks no gratitude
For countless days of aching feet
Crowded streets
And traffic jams.
Their love returns a hundredfold,
Through smiles and gasps of childlike glee,
To nestle beneath boughs of evergreen
When the dawning light opens up the givers joy
Spreading across a silent world
A message sprung from hope’s own heart
Born with a baby boy.
12-2-22
Contest: Christmas Spirit Poetry
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
SEASONAL LOOKS IN MUSE
Curtains of heavy rain showers from nimbus
are removed after moistening Earth.
Torn pieces of fluffy cotton cloud
scattered in clear sky to float in mirth.
Nascent novel colours in niche of Nature.
Golden touch of crimson glow to flow in rapture.
Dry withered leaves leave deciduous trees
as the season proceeds.
Tender foliage in luminous luster and shiny lamination.
Classy cluster of chrysanthemum, cosmos, hypericum.
Season's radiance paining sky,
adorning calm amiable ambient to amuse.
Emotive urge surging to converge
at focus of my cherry dream drinking desires.
Mystic morn-mist with glistening dewdrops.
Dazzling dawn ! Bright sunny day to forecast.
Fragrance of fresh jasmine recalling redolence.
Ruminating childhood memories to share and relish
homemade candy with siblings in zest and zeal.
Sweet tweets of song birds !
They lilt melodious, mellifluous
resonating in symphony of my muse
on display of spectacular seasonal hues.
Maple tree in fiery flame to flash .
Display of diffracted refracted rays of
shimmering Sun on tranquil Twilight.
Flocks of eager egrets flying framing garland
on firmament targetting to nest on dusky evening.
Amour in glamour to glaze in my apple heart.
Bubbling blood to flood with scarlet passion.
We too cooing doves tied in rosy love
to observe amour in glamour.
You and I to try open air outdoor romance.
Life is all about family and love.
July 20, 1969, this day in history
Astronaut Neil Armstrong walked on moon, 240,000 miles
From Earth, a billion people
Listening at home:
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
This same day near midnight
A small town in Taiwan island, a baby
Was born. I was born!
This clinic nurse in the lobby
Told my grandmother: “It’s a girl.”
Disappointing granny then
Turned around and went on home: without hesitation.
Everyone wished I
Was a boy!
Life is all about family and love.
Introspective, peacemaker, stammering, am I so.
My order sister
Too, born as a special child. She
Blames my mother granting me a prettier face. She
Demands everyone rewarding her undivided attention. I
Pretended permitting her full control over me – until, I
Ceased pretending!
A blessing or a curse, am I not.
Lack of nurturing,
false, no one – mom and dad did their very best.
Celebrate. I am the pretty one.
Life is all about family and love.
Grounded, stubborn, fearless, am I so.
Sunrise; sundown; circle of seasons,
presenting the most powerful version of me – fiercely, am I not.
Schooling, work, duty, responsibility, I am so.
Tearful five years of family revolution – a summon
From entropy, chaos! Three people
again one – the disgraceful one as I
was named!
Shocking, awakening, baffling, agonizing,
Life is all about family and love.
Eccentric, curious creature, solitude endeavor, am I so.
A grateful heart roaring
Abundant resources, reaching
Extraordinary heights, a lifetime student, am I not.
Millions of mistakes. Countless mis-turns.
Knowledge applied become wisdom.
Walking this lonely road missing
A mentor. Not a road less traveled, but
A road worth travels.
Life is all about family and love.
Ecstatic, untethered, blissed soul, am I so.
My father – a giver, a protector,
a provider – kindest man on earth.
Along the way, without permission, his little girl makes him proud.
Truly my father’s daughter. I am so!
Redeem mother’s homemade
Cooking once more. That’s one
Small step for the self-chained mother, one giant leap
For a tranquil daughter.
Life is all about family and love -- forgivingly.
a flustered tango of Gypsy moths
drumming the porchlight; chalk artists;
the endemic disappearance of farms—silos lost
in unkempt fields; space stations; the sunlit-scent of lemon
oil on cherry wood; birth; the chasm between cultural
appropriation & cultural appreciation; the history in our dust;
loneliness & heartbreak; trivia; funky funerals;
climate change, hurricanes, earthquakes & neglected
victims; heirloom charm bracelets, homemade
wind chimes & the homing sound made by a singing bowl;
masquerade balls; cityscapes hidden in ant hills; fly
fishing; serendipitous skinny dipping; missing children,
teddy bear memorials, forensic identification, monsters
never found in sleepy towns; the horrors of zoos—
elephants gone mad, lions robbed of their pride;
book reviews; civil unrest, bad cops & good cops & young men
gunned down; brand new fire stations; cancer survivors who wear
baldness so beautifully; my favourite pair of jeans; river rocks
found by dearest hands; a letter that can never be
received; joyful celebrations; incandescent dragonfly
dreams; twenty million at risk of starving to death;
wildflowers shaking pretty little heads;
misogyny disguised as religion; forgotten veterans who die
a bit more inside every day; the rainforest, shrinking;
saintly stoners & postulant prostitutes; toxic smog;
madmen with warheads; cheese cake & ice wine;
every personalized Kama sutra move & the God-given
ecstasy of body on body language; holding hands;
why one giggle can change everything; Thanksgiving
prayers; abandoned minefields, boy soldiers & devastating
amputations; the songs of the working poor; lightning
over the lake; his timely phone calls; brotherhood & sisterhood;
love in its every form; old maps; twenty-one gun salutes;
the extinction of the Galapagos Giant Tortoise; being
five, being twenty five, being ninety-five; kites; dogs chawing
on ragged rawhide; church-like museums on a Sunday
afternoon; make-shift picnics; deja vu; thrift store
wedding dresses; long drives with comfortable silences;
fading freedoms; censorship; seamless moonlight;
introspective dalliances with self-acceptance; the power
of purpose; how to be the bigger person; how to go
in a new direction; how to rise above . . .
Daddy left Mommy, when I was two
She really didn't know what to do
Four little children under the age of six
Was a situation, she just could not fix
Christmas was coming, she didn't have a dime
The bills were piling up at the same time
She tried to focus on her belief,
Lost the battle and applied for relief
A county program, for the very poor
Barely kept the collectors from our door
So sad she was, by her lack of funds,
She couldn't buy presents, for her little ones
With grandma watching us, she left to go out
She never came home, we were forgot about
I was too young to remember Christmas that year,
It was years, before the whole story, I'd hear
Grandma tried hard to make it right,
She took care of us until Mom returned, one night
Branded in my memory, the day of her return
After nine long months, I would later learn
Mom never mentioned the time she was away
She loved us to the fullest every single day
Twenty-four years quickly flew by
When I think of the day it happened, I cry
God took my mother on the ninth of December
Unexpected, a loss I'll always remember
Going through her belongings, we came across.
A small newspaper article, that intensified the loss
How we found it I will never know
This plea, with a picture, from so long ago
As I read the article, blurred by my tears
I was transported back, through the years
To a little girl on grandma's knee
Looking at a shabby, Christmas Tree
Crying for her mommy, who wasn't there
While grandma patted her silky hair
Grief, it hit me, no time to hesitate
When I saw the significance of the date
December ninth, the paper, said it all
Memory upon memory, I would recall
Two events, so many years apart
Yet, I could feel the child with a broken heart
Holiday Spirit, sad to say, I had none
Decorating that year without the usual fun
Mommies little tree, on a table it sat
Her homemade ornaments, and a tree mat
Going through the motions, I have to admit
All I wanted to do, was quit
Events don't shape us, they make us learn
Even grief, has its turn
Memories of a Christmas, thirty years past
Impressions, they fade, but still last
By Karla Null~Godsgift~
Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance LaFrance~A Rambling Poet~
How small we were sitting in the backseat of that mammoth car. We were dwarfed on the giant sofa-like bench waiting like a great amusement ride about to start. While we waited we explored our new surroundings. The lining inside the cavernous car was short-hair and smooth and as we ran our small hands across the surface, it felt like a young boy’s scalp after his first summer haircut. It was grey, the color of an elephant toy that had been won by our uncle last year at the fourth of july carnival. We explored the shiny chrome ashtrays. You could see your reflection in them like a mirror and we wondered if the owner used them to shave in the mornings as his chauffeur drove him to work. They were spring-loaded and snapped viciously at our little fingers. They smelled of foul ash and stale gum. There were large cranks with polished brown knobs, handles that controlled the windows. Turning them took all our strength like cranking the hand pump for water in the kitchen at Grandmas house on the farm. There were baby windows beside the big ones and they closed with little widget clips, swiveling inward so you could control the direction and amount of air that rushed in when the car was in motion. Too small to see outside, we sat dwarfed in the backseat watching the tops of trees go by and playing with a doll and a green plastic soldier. The doll was homemade from an old sock. The soldier, alone, separated from an army of plastic soldiers that came in a bag we could not afford. He was found, as most toys were, in the gutter or on the schoolyard, abandoned by the more affluent children. Small, simple toys that would not be missed from a rich kids over-stuffed closet. We knew we had to be quiet, for to make noise would be to draw attention that would come in the form of punishment. A slap on the bare thigh of a young boy in shorts or a young girl in a dress would leave a red welt for hours. The ride always seemed so very long that soon our patience would give out and a bump in the road would trigger a tidal wave of emotions; a push escalating to a shove, a pinch and then a shout. The crested wave would end in a crashing roar with a parents’ curse, a stinging slap, and a whimpering cry. Only puddles remaining, tide pools composed of wet pants and tears.
THE MATRIARCH
(In Memory of Eva Vescovi Dixon 1910-2010)
by Tina (Vescovi) Lasley
She was a Sister, Mother, Aunt and Friend
Someone on whom you could always depend
She was Counselor, Advisor, and Mentor to all
There to pick us up if we should fall
She was persistent, tenacious and so strong willed
Not one to be stopped or one to be stilled
She was ahead of her time in so many ways
Working on war planes in her early days
Owning a restaurant and a Florist too
When it was an uncommon thing for Women to do
Arranging flowers each and every day
Making sprays and bouquets to earn her way
Raising two Sons all on her own
Without self help books and how to be shown
Working long hours, six days a week
No time for vacations or much rest to seek
She made time for us all, to sit and chat
Telling stories from the past about this and that
She remembered all the names in the photo book
When we would ask as we took a look
Her homemade ravioli’s were the best around
Her sweet potato pie could always be found
Family recipes passed one to another
Learned from the great Italian Mother
She kept regular hair appointments, clear to the end
Her “Beauty Operator”, more Family than Friend
She was loved by her neighbors and all that she knew
Long standing friendships through the years that grew
Each year, her garden she’d tend
Sharing her bounty with Family and Friend
There wasn’t a plant she couldn’t revive
Even when you thought it would never survive
She tried to retire at age 75
But missed being around people and feeling alive
Back to work she went for 17 more years
Working part time at a Florist that happened to be near
She retired a 2nd time at age 92
Finding ways to keep busy with things to do
She befriended two robins that followed her around
Moving from window to window, until she could be found
Grandmother, Great Grandmother, to such a big brood
Her hugs and kisses sure to lift your mood
She will always be remembered at the door waving goodbye
Trying hard to smile with a tear in her eye
She saw so much in her 100 years
Even outlived all of her peers
But the good Lord said, “Eva, it’s time to go”
Heaven is waiting on you to show.
Children were afraid of metallic plastic face robots
So the solution was to make them look real
Real?
Yes, Lifelike Optimum Robotic Assistant, LORA
She will be the best nanny you ever had, she never needs sleep
Programmed in all domestic chores and child safe and friendly
Children just love her...
Model Z12 2-4-6, lets call her Nora our Lora
The neighbors will be so jealous...
The children are happy and getting so smart
As parents no worries if were apart
Nora can protect, dress, feed even play games
Being a parent will never be the same
She's gentle and soft, eyes with a glow
Anything asked of her she already knows
The house is perfection, the meals homemade
Happiness is a LORA android man made
At night we never lose sleep
Nora is there if the baby weeps
If Tommy is frighten by nightmares
Nora can hold him and soothe away fears
We have it easy and are pleased
Nora has everyone at ease
Last night as we played Mommy and Daddy games
Nora came in our room and it felt strange
She heard me call baby and her functions stopped
Next morning maintenance took her back to the shop
The baby cries and Tommy is sad
The house a mess, the food taste bad
When can we get our LORA back?
Another week! Don't call me Jack!
Finally Nora is here
Everyone smiles with cheer
Nora save us from our fate
Parents can go on a date
But as we try to leave
Nora hands Susie a bottle
No Nora you watch the baby
It's just the Mister and me
Nora seems unsettled
Late at night I am in the shower
Nora comes in like a prowler
She begins to wash me
Nora please let me be
Nora no, she gets wet
Her body is anatomically correct?
But Susie it was just a glitch
Nora is reprogrammed and fixed
Besides the children love her...
Nora's eyes seem alive
She sways as she walks by
Never ages always is fair
Even has a pleasant scent in her hair
She is so soft to the touch
Susie is jealous. Too much
Spring and time to mow the lawn
Whose that with no shirt on?
Tan and teen with a gleam in his eyes
Fernando don't forget the trim
Clean the pool..
But Susie he is too lifelike!
Why didn't you tell me you got a gardner robot?
Baby, you hate yard work
Besides who said Fernando was a LORA?