Long Knowns Poems
Long Knowns Poems. Below are the most popular long Knowns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knowns poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear Poetry,
Sorry it's been so long,
but I've really been thinking about writing to you a lot as of late
I keep pondering the thought, and wondering- if?
If- if you knew, and if you are aware, and if you had any idea
how important you've been and how important you are to me
When I think about it- I myself really didn't know exactly how important
you were and are to me.
But now that I think back to when we met each other,
and think about all the times you came when I really needed you.
And how I've knocked on your door at hours 'round the clock, and you answered
And the times, when you were there with me, holding my hand, lifting my spirits and head,
and inspiring me to write- priceless!
You encouraged me to share myself, thoughts and life's journey to the knowns and unknowns
You silenced the surroundings and filled some of my wasted time so that the mornings, evenings and nights would be pleasant, heartfelt, rewarding and comforting to not only myself, but for even more important- for others too!
Together, with you- we have met people from all over the world and across every sea
Together, we dried the tears of sobbing eyes, and we wet the whistles of lover's lips
Together, we brought piles of smiles, joys to girls and boys, and happiness to families and friends
Together, we have read some great poets' poetry and learned many different styles and forms
And now- "Together" We are... ((Poetry))
A s usual
B efore bedtime
C ome sit with me he did say
D onald Dennis my grandpa
E tering the inner room curtain
F alling by his bedside we
G athering almost in a circle
H earing his old cracked voice
I nner our heart ears
J ust before he fades up
K nowledge of life and mysteries
L oves to our memories embrace
M ind our tender age
N o man knowns it all , he did say
O pen your heart's ears let them pump wisdom to the veins
P ut attension inner your forebrain pulse before you get puzzled
Q ueer the times and tides
R eminiscence life not bed of roses
S ay ye when you mean ye and no when its no
T hrust not away the truth but trust in the Lord
U se your instincts unbelief goes the broad path
V ine fruitful when vintage is come
W ait patiently your time impatience is a step
forward three step backwards
X ylose by his bedside ,sip little then winkled
his eyes yearn his this words
Y ou recall someday someway somewhat
somewhere when time upon you.
Twenty-Seven Club--not open to all,
nor is joining top of most people's list.
A club of sadness and shock midst the pall
of last birthdays--twenty-eighth was just missed.
Many well-knowns have passed at that young age,
to a better place, fans and music gone.
Rock stars overdose, leave a darkened stage
fans lay sweet bouquets, and then they move on.
Many don't look forward to twenty-six,
so fearful it might be their farewell year.
Feeling doomed to join Joplin and Hendrix,
yet still infuse the drugs they hold most dear.
This presents a huge conundrum to those
who want to keep their cake and eat it, too.
Can we feel sorrow when it's they who chose
a life expecting they'll pay club dues soon.
September 2, 2022
for Anthony Biaanco's The Twenty-Seven Club contest
*** OF AND ABOUT IT ALL ***
Life’s so much a-coming or a-going,
With hours of waiting or flowing
From now to next
While we step about, hopefully blessed —
On a quest for things major or minor to cherish
In our sometimes to come. We sojourn thence
From this place over to a rushing creek’s edged cliffs—
To linger, to draw some solace, some rest…
And there, we see suddenly manifest:
The sacred red rose, growing
Near, beautifully on high,
Surrounded by the flames of our worship-full prayers.
Life’s a range of highs and lows waving
Aside the roads that fork and lead ventures
Along moss-lined knowns
Or beneath shaded canopies of unknowns.
Our searching, dawn-to-dawn roamings
Carry life’s tales of getting and giving;
Suffering and forgiving;
Ever grateful for living and breathing.
Life brings mapped ways that vacillate
Over ranges of changes; lessons
And puzzles; ideas, moods and feelings
Immersed in working and dreaming of someday
Realizing true love — wondrous, sweet.
From birth and learning to stand, to speak…On to
Old-age dimming our eyesight as happens…
Even to such gifted artists as
Edgar Degas, Mary Cassatt, and Claude Monet.
Yet, they went on painting masterpieces, nearly blind —
With God’s inspiration helping them to find
A new approach, perceiving and creating
With their Inner Eyes.
Life’s an orbiting
Between reality and imagining;
Between perchance and possibly —
Between the often said, “If-only’s…”
And the magical, “Look there
At what’s already appeared.”
Life’s a calendar of playing and celebrating,
But includes sad times and final wakes…T’is
Somewhat a dizzying dance of circling turns,
Of rounding passes for however long
Until that unknown day of going on beyond…
Taking our storied hours along,
Relating how we stayed
Alligned to God’s willed ways,
For the good of the All and Everlasting,
From our toddling time
To our leaping with starlit promises
To compose a delighting song,
Unfurl wings and fly —
Eternal
————————————————————————-
(c)sally young eslinger 11/8 /2022 - 1/12/2
Written to Bocchenini’s Cello Concerto in B-flat major
Thanks be to God…
Tis' a break
Tis' a break
There's nothing to scratch.
Ponder for a vendor,
Rice for a sake
And there's no Ale for a man.
Silence is broken and golden,
The trees are not in the mood,
To be wavy by the gale.
Bright is the moon,
But not the mood.
It's a fair,
A given fair.
Life's a moron,
And I'm a boron.
Golden is the hull,
But not the heart,
Where courage lies in the cage,
Hiding from the knowns and waves.
Planks can be the constant,
For the wanderer,Angels are these floaters.
Wind does not guide the wanderer,
Searching for the Eden.
Young are these youngsters,
And old is the captian.
Cups can be full of wine,
Not the gold.
Huge are the ambitions,
But not the efforts.
Tricky is the rope,
For the weak.
Ready is the kraken,
But not the canons,
Rust lies in the barrels,
While,Wine fills the tummies.
Let the glitter of the sun engalf the palms,
Anchors leave the decks,
Waving the visitors.
Let the gust fluff the mast,
All mans on hands,
For the search of unknowns at the end.
But songs are a musical story.
I know a difference
between telling a story
and voicing these same lyrics
of anxiety and ease,
of bearing and healing injustices,
medicine for well-earned peace.
I feel a difference
between progressive story telling,
between historically accurate autobiography,
and singing cultural passion narratives,
felt experiences,
perennial sensory moments
of nutrition and starvation,
light and dark,
health and pathology,
resilience and fragility,
privilege and responsibility,
resonance and ongoing anxiety,
harmony and yet mystery,
acceptance and hidden avoidance,
integrity, yet irritating dissonant echoes
either empowering verbs
or neither un-nouned knowns
win/lose explicating with shy win/win implications
Why grateful Yes!
suggests, more hesitantly Not Not Yet?
Being, yet still becoming
Left with indigenously
endemically
regeneratively curious Right
earned ease.
II.
A young man should also realize
that for society
all young men are expendable,
cruel as that though might be.
Young women are most protected,
and some people blame this
on the toxic influence of
all modern feminists.
And which those people are quite nuts,
bordering on insane,
this truth goes way back, before them,
it’s written in our brains.
Evolution makes it quite clear,
per the demographics,
we need the young women to breed,
we don’t need swinging d-cks.
A woman take nine months to grow
a single little one,
one man can knock up hundreds and
see it as naught but fun.
To maintain the population
women, when they exist,
have a great value men don’t know
while fertility persists.
Do you think it’s an accident
that so many cultures
emphasize protecting women,
shielding them from the hurt?
It’s because our animal brain,
in seeking to survive,
knowns that we need them more than you,
we must protect their lives.
That’s why the young men go to war,
are killed in endless droves,
one older man can do the job,
and women dare not go.
Men’s value only comes with age,
the status we accrue,
a man who’s made it to forty
knows things you’ve never knew.
This signals to women out there
this one’s strong, can protect,
and probably able to survive
for whoever comes next.
Does this mean that you shouldn’t try?
of course not, seek your mate,
but know that to even the odds
you should do something great.
Quote:"Harriet Tubman: “I had crossed the line. I was free; but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land.”
Inspirationt: "I have been a stranger in a strange land" Bible, Exodus 2:22
Starnger, a name whispered in unfamiliar tones,
A face foreign in a sea of knowns,
Crossing borders, a journey grand,
I have been a stranger in a strange land.
From distant shores, a dream in hand,
New culture's tide, a shifting sand,
Languages twist, meanings unclear,
In crowded streets, solitude is near.
Eyes that glance, but seldom see,
An immigrant's life, a silent plea,
To belong, yet to stand apart,
Survival wrapped in a cautious heart.
In the warmth of my circle, I find,
Echoes of home, memories kind,
Yet outside, in the mainstream's glare,
A shadow I remain, barely there.
Isolation, a cloak I wear,
Loneliness, a constant prayer,
In this new world, vast and grand,
A stranger, always, in a strange land.
...She went with him and she had to, inside a knot of dread,
distracted by all of the things that she feared lay ahead,
disrobed with her mind in a haze, she would not meet his eyes,
complied mechanically when he said, “Now, open your thighs.”
Expected to feel his weight, and the fast beat of his heart,
but Geren just lower his head besides her sacred parts…
the pleasure that took her just then caught her quite unaware,
she’d never even hear of men using their tongue down there,
and though he was her captor, and her life a lousy lot,
all she wanted in that moment was for him not to stop.
When it was finally over, and she lay in his arms,
her mind struggled with all of it, had he not done her harm?
Had not he been one of the men stealing her innocence?
How could she reconcile this with what he had done then?
Perhaps it was a one-time things, since she bore his child,
but that was quickly dispelled, the next night was as wild!
In fact, it became regular, him seeking her pleasure,
wasn’t she a concubine? Why treat her like a lover?
Why smile when he passed her by, why see that she fell well?
Was it only for the child? She couldn’t really tell.
And for nine moths she wondered on whether this man could care,
but hope is torment to a slave, and so she didn’t’ dare.
When the day came she was afraid, of things gone wrong and death,
she knew that for many women birth could bring their last breath.
But Geren has his doctor there, paid for a good midwife,
and despite her petite body, everything went allright.
Admist a pain she’d never knowns, she wondered, in a haze,
why Geren went to such expense for a new infant slave?
Why did he hold her in his arms, and haze with raptured Eyes?
She didn’t understand it and was too tired to try.
But then he called to everyone, said, “Bear witness to me,
I claim my daughter for this house, forever she is free!”
This brought a gasp from the doctor, he must’ve thought him mad,
to claim the slave-born as your own, to call yourself its dad…
the midwife knelt down by her said, “By the gods you’re blessed,
your children will never be slaves, sleep now, you’ve earned your rest.”
She passed out watching Geren lift his daughter up with pride,
and when she woke she found them both cuddled up at her side.
CONTINUES IN PART V
I don’t have a friend to go to
One who feels just like I do
They might say they understand
But they can’t truly see within
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my feelings
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my dreams
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my heart
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my hopes
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my thoughts
You know it all, sweet Jesus
My friend through every trial
The One who sends His angels
To war against satan’s demons
You are the One who never leaves
Nor forsakes me in my needs
You give me mercy and love beyond
What my heart and soul could want
I don’t know of anyone on earth
Who can love me through the worst
Take away my pain and grief
Send me the most tender relief
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my hurt
It’s only you
My Jesus
Who knows my worry
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my sorrow
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knowns my crying
It’s only You
My Jesus
Who knows my fears
You know it all, sweet Jesus
My friend through the worst
The One who guides my spirit
Down dark roads of dread
Through storms filled with terror
Past the nights that tremor with nightmares
You are the One who takes my heart
And sooths it’s deepest part
With your love, sweet Love
My Jesus, your love is true
Thank you for being You