Long Infrequent Poems
Long Infrequent Poems. Below are the most popular long Infrequent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Infrequent poems by poem length and keyword.
I was as a tree seedling
Trying to grow on a steep, stony mountainside
Very little soil or moisture
Sometimes the harsh wind blew in some dirt
Infrequent rain barely quenched my thirst
I grew no bigger than a bonsai
Each day a struggle to keep my spirit alive
I tried to help the creatures that came near me
But I had too few leaves to give much shelter
And I could not produce enough food
So they moved on
Leaving me lonely
Then came a time that someone saw me
With true love and compassion
He understood my potential
That I longed to be a sheltering home
To others who struggled with life
So he dug me out of the strangling rocks
He took me home and planted me
In a beautiful lush garden
Fed and nourished me
I never lacked for water
I grew and learnt to love myself
As I was loved by him
I was able to nurture so many
Because I had become
That which I was meant to be
A tall and stately tree
Giving shade and shelter to all
No longer a tiny, tortured bonsai
A funny thing happened to or with me this morning during the 11 O'clock hour. During the few moments that I was watering our lemon tree, a train went back. This was the Amtrak and not the commercial cargo locomotive. For the most part, I had always thought upon the trainline behind my property as an annoyance and not an asset. But today, for reasons unknown to me, I was forced to acknowledge my selfishness, the variety that does not always focus upon the common good.
With regards to the sound of trains out back, at one time my prayer would have been, "O Lord, deliver me from the pain of the trains. O Lord, what was I thinking when I bought a home within two football fields from a trainline?
But this morning as I watered the plum and lemon trees, the flowers and the Rose of Sharon, I was not so inclined. As I listened to the sound of the train making her way down the east bound railway line, it dawned on me that I was without the usual whine.
I then, in a moment, refrained from my usual way of thinking and saw the trains as rolling wheels of commerce and many tons of economic activity. There were seeds for the sower and food for the hungry. There were oil tankers, logging cars, and automobiles. Today, I heard the infrequent sounds of horns as safety measures, and found that the rumbling of loaded boxcars behind the protected sound barriers was not so annoying.
73120PSCtest, Completely Your Choice(26) Any Theme Any Form, Strand
Goldie, my peculiar but beloved cat,
has certain affectations --
she prefers, most times, her own society
and shuns her housemates.
But, sometimes, she cuddles
or will join the others
to laze around -- in the living room,
the dining room, a hallway, or
in the kitchen.
An inside cat who, early on,
suffered the indignity of
"the operation,"
she asserts her independence
by darting into the front yard
when a door is opened --
and she pointedly ignores
any calls or pleas to come inside.
But when the door shuts
and no one is around, she is fearful,
immediately climbing up into the ash tree.
And there she stays
until I come to coax her down.
She may climb high up
and, finally, shakily manage
a descent to allow me to pick her up
and carry her back inside.
She never leaves the yard
but does enjoy ignoring me
when I am in a hurry.
She will dart about and run
from one side of the yard to the other.
For her, it's only an infrequent game.
And, as my treasured pet,
she certainly deserves to play
while testing the limit
of my affectionate, chagrined
commitment.
There are things unseen
Many things unknown
Like unspeakable dreams
Like a mind is only prone
A living without consequence
A savory without hunger
Decided yet infrequent
Where the body leaves for the mind to linger
They who bend the truth
We who listen intently anew
Evidence without proof
Did we learn to identify what’s true?
The troubling thought for the settled mind
An unsettling mind isn’t yet trouble-free
Distinguishing between yet earns to find
The never-becoming of either you or me...
Behind a black screen I’m seen
Though I remain indefinitely unknown
I do have my troubling dreams
Like a mind... I’m only prone
A Letter To Rose
Hello Rose,
I know that you have questions and have missed me as much as I am missing you. I do not like excuses, but there really is a good reason for my infrequent visits. Of course there are others, like Tulip and Lillie to whom I must give my attention;but you know that I treasure and favor you above all other flowers in my garden.
I know that this summer has been very hard on you, but there’s nothing I can do. As you know, we have been in a drought for the past three years and counting. My once green lawn that must now tolerate brown, is longing for more water; but the authorities require that we water lawns and gardens only twice a week.
I know how you must feel, and I am so sorry to have to treat you this way.
I feel your pain, and it makes me so sad inside. It makes me cry that your external beauty no longer shows; but yet, I love you no less, because your true beauty is deeper than the sea. In a little while, you will blossom again for me.
It hurts me that I can’t smell your sweet fragrance nor feast on your loveliness. Your beautiful colors of red, white, and purple, no longer embrace my front yard; nor do they grace my living room.
However, the weather people are predicting a wet winter that could improve things! I hope so, because I will cut back your branches, allowing you to grow new ones. And come late Winter and early Spring, you will burst force in splendor and elegance.
11072015 PS Contest, Ode To Flower (s), Hamilton;( PS Contest, Second Chance, by Broken Wings")
He is a catcher of unrevealed thoughts,
his mind staking out the spaces between words,
his patience in a tug-of-war with emptiness
until hidden truths are pulled into view.
She is an eavesdropper on unheard tones,
her ears tuned to the labor of pregnant spaces,
waiting, waiting, until the next note emerges,
piercing with an unsuspected beauty.
He is a voyeur of the abyss between colors,
his eyes wandering the barren spaces on canvas,
while rummaging a memory of worn-out shades
until they surrender a fugitive light.
And out of these long vigils over blankness
kept in the solitude of creation
and the agony of drought,
are born man’s infrequent raptures,
tattooed on life ordinary.
IS IT THE CASE
Is it the case that
Lands are small, to contain all of us,
Or that
Our hearts are not big enough to love?
Is it the case that
Seas and oceans are narrow for our ships to pass,
Or that
Our minds are not wide open?
Is it the case that
Food is scarce the hungry of the world to feed,
Or that
The greediness of certain men is so great?
Is it the case that
Concern for our fellow humans is infrequent,
Or that
Indifference is incessant?
Whatever the answers may be,
My dear brother,
My loving sister,
This question must be answered first:
How HOLY is it for someone to build
His happiness
Over
The unhappiness of
OTHERS?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 February 2013
This summer's evening still echoes
with the distinguishable city' noises:
the screams of adolescents,
the cranking of cars and motor-bikes
the loud rotating blades of helicopters,
and the blasting music
from luxurious convertibles
that unawarely tranfix...
We can get away
from this madness,
and find a silent,
infrequent place
where nothing has to be hushed;
where the firmament
emanates a perfect peace
to submerge us by awe
as we coalesce
in a lascivious wish...
We can return to be innocent,
and lean over blue waters
to cover the still lake
with beautiful,velvety roses
as the gondolier enthralls us
with his poignant vocals...
The quite geese float
in the aromatic lake of flowers,
inperplexed by our presence
as we lean over blue waters,
so intoxicated by the balsamy air,
to invoke and inflame
an incessant desire
and incur no regrettable fault...
Avoiding the girl-scouts
I hasten out of the store
trying hard not to see the people
huddled in their thin coats
as they wait for an infrequent bus.
This ice-chilled evening
with its stark revelations
is like the nag of an irregular heartbeat
sheathed like a thorn in my shoe.
Later, by a warm fire
sitting in an upholstered armchair,
a despondency chews at my breastbone,
it is a reaction hard to pin down,
to objectify,
a lingering presence.
My mind shifts through a symbolic iconography
effigies depicting:
a lost and hungry dog,
an ill-treated child,
a stranger I refuse to call brother,
places long deserted,
places found far too late.
A love unpicked from a now withering vine.
That same presence
sets a table and chair before me
that I may write, try to explain
this tumbleweed of unnamable sorrows,
a phantom, that even in happier times,
I recognize it as a coarse impression
akin to a grating scar
beneath a tender tongue.
Tomorrow may emerge as a frail old lady,
struggling with full shopping bags,
head bent to a cold uncaring wind.
Many might offer her a lift
but in my present brittle mood
I probably would frighten her,
so,
I don’t.
Once I was infrequent hard to pass ;
As God's righteous movement in my heart and my chest;
Caught up in mine spirit soul dysfunction;
Captured heart beating in my chest;
Why am I constipated with the world's thoughts;
I believe that I believe beliefs attitudes can't be brought;
Feelings emotions travel through the interstate highways of my mind and yet;
Subconsciously, I am abundantly yet still thinking;
reasoning what is my purpose I know my purpose;
And know I ain't been drinking, don't need no control substances to catch feelings;
There're mine, those of yesterday and tomorrows past through the glass;
Outwardly now I've forgotten;
But yesterdays life past stored, becomes tomorrow lessons;
Free will choices, yet in still you have three voices;
Whose do you hear, which one the quiet quietest ;
How I'm I chosen am I loved I know I am loved;
I'm a three-part being housed in a fleshly shell;
But am I instinct with Spirit soul body praise am I aware;
of the right order
Am I a witness witnessing believer more than with My soul;
But the real meaning in my spirit purpose is it love, it's love His love;
But yet through life's toils all along my body to rule;
When my spirit the center of me, should be the reverence of me balanced;
And my soul surrounds my heart endowed with due process;
I am His Child
Captured heart beating in my chest;
Why am I constipated with the world's thoughts;
I believe that I believe beliefs attitudes can't be brought;
Feelings emotions travel through the interstate highways of my mind and yet,
I fly I'm above in the heavenlies looking down with eagle eyes and I see what transpires
And I fly even higher I am God's child I am loose of this world, I am His Child;
Now I am influent infused filled with Him;
Diarrhea out my sins, been washed and cleansed;
Hung, laid up high on the cross, them there those my sins;
I'm a new vessel, under immediate construction;
Potholes been sealed I am influent infused filled with Him;
11/29/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022