Long Lapels Poems
Long Lapels Poems. Below are the most popular long Lapels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lapels poems by poem length and keyword.
Wounds Into Scars
by Odin Roark
It takes not a wise man to know
What we resist
Will persist
So goes the healing process
Just as a tree
With its heart and initial carvings
Carries its scars with little notice
So too might we carry our own
Those verbal
Physical
Spiritual
Lacerations
Often a suffering performance
As if they were for public view
The small child knows early
“Kiss the booboo”
And mothers are quick to reinforce
The child’s need
But as we grow
We forget the essence of a mother’s care
The mother’s empowering way
To repair with love
Instead
Many wear pain and sorrow on their lapels
Trusting a confused society
Often glorifying pain
Placing many an open wound
Before audience-sympathy
Unknowingly substituting exploitation
For the teachings of maternal empathy
How wanting one’s instincts can become
Innate reaction to hurt
Once serviced by natural response
Too often succumbs to ego pampering
Rather than seeking the axiom therein
That place where accepting the hurt
Seduces pain into questioning
Bringing to bear
The precarious courage
To learn the lesson
Of self-love’s curative
Might it be
Like mother nature’s engraved trees
At any age affliction reminds us
Growing is still the purpose
Injuries and scars inevitable
Like the tree
Perhaps it’s really a question
Of how we absorb
And treat ourselves
From within
Seventeenth of March is Saint Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
All over the world they’ll wear the green
Drink some stout and a glass of poteen
There will be parades up and down the land
With marchers walking behind the band
On lapels they’ll wear a sprig of green
Outrageous hats so that they are seen
You don’t have to be Irish to join in the fun
The St Patrick’s parades are for everyone
Some travel from near and some from afar
By plane, boat, train and motor car
If you’ve never been, go on enjoy the craic
You will enjoy it for sure and next year, go back
But it’s still March, might rain and be cold
Look out for a rainbow, you might find the gold
Many will be late going off to their bed
The next morning they might have a fuzzy head
But it’s only once a year so do have a ball
And a Happy St Patrick’s Day to one and all.
this is a true if near impossible contest
how can you write a poem about mourning
and honouring the ones deceased in a war
without it being somewhat political
you do not have to be a feminist
and as a man I hope to be one
to know that the personal is political
and the private is a very public sphere
making decisions in groups such as
celebrating Memorial Day for example
remembering My Lai and Buchenwald
can never be an individual solitary pursuit
a poppy on lapels and automobile bumpers
where have all the flowers gone indeed
grieving purple hearts not lost in amnesia
are statements which involve statesmanship
gone wrong
missions failed
skeletons gathered
loved ones bereaved
ethics become immoral
for sure I do condemn all wars
and not the pawned veterans
artificial borders are frontiers of madness
and soldiers wrongly pay the ultimate price
for what insanity exactly for whose gain
a flag draped over a coffin appears to me to be
a euphemism and declaration of capitulation
to greed money power and humanity’s inherent bedevilments
and in that sense I have a place for thinking of the dead
I wish to have compassion empathy consideration
not just for soldiers fallen in the course of seeming duty only
but also for civilians slayed by unfriendly fire and contempt
like others I have often claimed ‘never again’ in vain
on Memorial Day I chose to read war poets and philosophers of peace
pray reflect meditate and hope as I suck in the pain that wars are causing
and on the matter of writing an unpolitical poem on this very day
it is like fighting for peace with weapons or copulating for virginity
‘live by the sword and die by the sword’ is never double edged
instead quite clear cut and it takes immeasurable guts to refuse the call
a tribute of distinction allegiance to conscience strength and objection
and to the principle that pacifism involves never forgetting what matters most
notes to the reader:
I spent 15 years in the Armed Forces and was discharged with honour and alive
I have a subtle feeling that I might not place in this contest
A heart felt prayer with four chambers alights on a maiden voyage
Meets valves and percussion awaits tenderly to be tuned into harmony
Passion where had been void and stagnation and pulse been icy and flat
The mind once arrested in dangling contemplation halts its corrosion
A wandering soul solders confusion towards awakening warmth while
Destiny folds its narrow lapels onto the fabric of chimes of the time
Tim had enough of canned laughter mocking his elegiac mourning
Surpassing melancholy contempt he ventures an unknowing path
A map shadows mountains temples and valleys in starlit desire
His labyrinth mazes amazing adventure looms spindles of thread
The open book threatens no longer all gloom and fear has been bared
Closing chapter and shimmering verse find beginnings in ends
Trenchant acrimony cast aside Tim arises from pulverized trenches
Reminds himself gently that happiness is more than a smouldering gun
02 February 2019
arminius a German vassal prince, offered bait.' Of the best. More
Land in Germanica off to their west.' Two legions decamped
And were led on their way, by this dastared arminius villian
Of that day' his warriors were waiting in undergrowth thick
Druids there many, made potions; chanted and waved sticks'
Publius and two legions.' Were slaughtered en'masse nailed on to the oak trees.' What can we draw; from such a pass?
I gather the (dark gods of nature) were sated: with gore?
Did the havests grow better.' Was the weather more sure?
Quick snapshot of horror, 1940's again war.' Oak leaves on
ss lapels, gets my attention for sure! fast forward to our time
And 'a green planet to save' claus a swiss again pagan' and the
commitment 'to grave' measures to protect all nature at
Any costs.' Even introducing con-vid (and the intervention)
Though human lives could be damaged and lost.' Yet the the
Back drop is an area of 'green has emerged since around
The naughties? Well so I have heard? Twice the size of the
U S.' Will any experts concur.? Or show by a mapping' maybe
With a ( lectern chart and stick ?) Like we saw throughout
That con-vid ' the very thought of which; gets me sick.)
(The Days That Followed)
The dust began to settle, but the silence didn't lift, The skies were clear and empty, a strange and sudden shift. But then the colors started, a bloom against the gray, As we woke up to the morning of the distinct "next day." Do you remember how the porches changed, the windows and the cars? A sudden sea of stripes, a sudden field of stars.
It wasn't ordered from above, no mandate or decree, It rippled out from house to house, from sea to shining sea. The tattered cloth from attics, the stickers on the glass, The small lapels on heavy coats watching the seasons pass. We signaled to each other, a code we understood: I am here, and you are here, and standing here is good.
Then came the twilight gatherings, the parks and village squares, The Fracturing of darkness with the light of silent prayers. Do you recall the paper cups, the wax upon the hand? A million tiny flickers lit the contours of the land. We stood on high school football fields and city capital steps, We stood in quiet driveways, taking measured, deeply breaths.
The fracture broke the frantic pace, the rushing and the race, And left a gentle patience in the open, wounded space. We looked strictly at the pavement, then we looked up at the eyes, And found a kindness waiting there, a comforting surprise. The way we held the doors a bit, the way we let folks in, The way that grief had peeled away the thickness of our skin.
We healed by being near, by simply standing close, The remedy for terror was the thing we needed most. For in the days that followed, when the world felt fragile/new, The Fracturing revealed the bond that held us—me and you. The candle burns down to the wick, the flags eventually fade, But never lose the memory of the promise that we made.
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
Hans Staten explorer in 1557 was at large!! And into the Amazon he did
Barge..He was sion taken as a prize..To be cooked and eaten
Later..No lies.) It took all his ingenuity, and our God the only Creator.)
To be the survivor.' And an escaper, of such really vile capers.'
He had to sing a merry song..? That they taught him while he
Waited long (it went now! here comes your meal.) Or close enough
Narrated i feel' in reading you'll be quite enlightened.!! And learn of other religions.' Of pagan deity and how that affected some people
A bit frightening..? And religions? anyway..) Its a cultural feast.' to
Put away.' in this you may; choose (how you will banquet?) On the sacrifice of Jesus.? Or you could go by these green gods; rule sets?
You choose.' And they are now again
Reviving? As the davosites have reset, or re-started? devising.? Just have a read about dear Hans; before you. And real sanity are parted Oh lands!.. Reminice of
Those oak leaves? on ss lapels..And repeat after watching
At least' 10 million peoples hell? That some experiments didn't really go
That well.'
With the dawning of every new day
Comes the chance for my mood to change
It's really no secret how this I do
As I don the apparel of my Ice Cream Suit
On the few days that I'm feeling bland
I take the Vanilla Bean right off of the stand
And the Mint Chocolate Chip I yank off the hanger
To cool down a bit as I battle with anger
If you're looking for a hint of the truth
I know about me but not sure about you
There's no telling what I might do
Without the favorable array of My Ice Cream Suit
There's the chocolate for my darkened moods
With the fudge lapels that helps me brood
And the Neapolitan of brown, pink, and white
In my daily struggles to make up my mind
There's even a suit in Pistachio
When I'm in the mood to let it all go
If you're ever wondering at the mood I am in
Just check out the suit that day I'm wearing...
THESE BUTTERFLY KISSES
I cannot tell what happened
But I heard somebody telling me:
“They vanished in thin air”
“My butterfly kisses are broken wings”
“I know no butterfly kisses”
Yes! They told me like this:
I am Petal from rosebud secondary,
I know butterfly kisses that whispers to my lapels
Drawling how irresistible My fragrance is,
Realizing not I am being carried away to permanent bunk,
Not reasoning. My reasons are these beautiful sterling waggish wings.
These are severe hands and clubs against flesh,
Designers tyre; attires to pregnant bellies.
This was illusion to knack and knackers.
“please give me a paper and the pen so
I can write about My life of sin”
Dear Lillies :
These butterfly kisses ain’t loyal.
By: Nosipho Madywabe
Pen Name: Nosipho bleeding ink