Long Lump Poems
Long Lump Poems. Below are the most popular long Lump by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lump poems by poem length and keyword.
As the time creeps near
Hold back your fear
Swallow that lump
Did you hear that bump?
Creeping creeping creeping ever
so close
No one recognizes the danger, no one knows
A chill runs up your spine, fear
grows
Ice in the air as the wind blows
Barely holding strong, pushing down the scream
Solid darkness not a single sunray nor light beam
Knowing its so close you can taste its stink
Quickly over taken you no time to think
Fear collapses your legs, dead stops your feet
You know for sure this time its death that youre destin to meet
The lump in your throat impossible to swallow
Finally you lay yours eyes on those that will always remain completely hollow...
As I suffer in pink
My world came crashing down,
to know that I suffered cancer breast,
Having pink disease was such an agony,
Better had I been dead.
Why me ?
Had been so fit exercising,
Healthy food, taking lots of fruits and vegetables,
No tobacco, no alcohol, no drugs, perfect weight,
No family history in blood relations.
It was only while self examining my breasts,
A little lump my soft palms could feel,
There was nothing till last week,
In front of mirror while bathing I regularly checked,
or while laying with flat of palms I felt.
Then mammography and FNAC did prove,
Other tests to know the extent and spread,
My womanhood at stake
as I get them removed ?
I might not at all look sexy,
What would my man think
as I lose my magnetism ?
No no I better die !!
They say it's an early thing,
Quick early diagnosis
means a complete cure,
Surgery, radio, chemo....
May be my hair will fall...
They say I must put up a brave fight,
To this deadly disease
and prove it for others,
Not be the lone survivor
as many might follow me.
I am priceless for my family,
My man, my kids, my siblings and parents,
all love me, need me,
One life is all we know of
to cherish and to be loved,
It's through body emotion is expressed,
My pure soul is what completes me !
Made up my mind...
Ready for the surgery and treatment and follow up...
I am at war with cancer....
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Written Sept 4th, 2015
For contest - Pinktober #2
Sponsor- PD A
Thankful to Linda who chose this topic.
Dedicated to my dear friend Dr. Shabnam Bansal who is giving cancer breast a tough fight n almost won with weapons of surgery n radio n chemotherapy.
Awarded 10th place win
They were both afraid and madly in love, but neither he nor she would say goodbye. They fought back the tears for the longest time before each of them
began to cry. They met in Paris and fell deeply in love, whereupon the greatest dilemma was born. Yes, their emotional world merged, and the
romance began, but they were deeply torn because they lived oceans apart. The time flew quickly by, and they were duty bound to depart. There were
sparkles in their eyes, but there was a despairing lump in their hearts from the start. She was very rich and he was of modest means; and it would take
more than love to unite them together. They knew that their lives would not become one, but their friendship could somehow last forever. Or could it?
Realizing that they had to fly or sail away, never to be reunited on another day, they bought a hand held replica of the Titanic, a symbol of despair and
tragedy to give comfort to their malady. He returned to his home in Sydney, Australia., and she to Manitoba, Canada, 8,926 miles apart. They knew that
the likelihood of them being together again was as likely as the replica being placed in the Indian Ocean and reaching her in Manitoba via the shores of the
Pacific, or her replica reaching him from a launching in the Pacific and reaching the Sydney shores of the Indian ocean. Nevertheless, when they
reached home from Paris, they did the unlikely. Two love letters, their last and only letter, were attached to their Titanic and set sail. In Paris, she was 20,
and he was 21. Now, both are widowed and remembering each other. Jerry is 81; Mary is 80. Both Jerry and Mary had attached a strong red
cloth to their letter hoping that someday it would be read. But until then, the wait continues as their lives sail on. Apart.
010621PSCtest, The Last Love Letter, Mystic Rose Rose
I wish I knew you when I was young
Self love, why did you fail to show up
When I needed you most?
Don't you know how painful
Can hate laden arrows feel
Don't you know of the humiliation
Of putting those who never valued, first,
Only to realize that their sole aim
Was to shatter me to pieces
So that they do shine forth
While, I, taking myself to be
A mere lump made of dried mud,
Hid and cowered in places where darkness
Refused to peek?
Self love, with you, I would have learnt confidence
Probably, even how to give love
But since you were not there
I grew up with a piece missing
And that is, the bright side of myself!
Now, I am in a rehabilitation process
One in which I am learning to love myself
To forgive myself, to lick at my own fur
So that, like those raging lionesses,
My roar does make my enemies cower!
Self love, you were not there
And I never knew happiness
All I ever did was try to please others
By pushing their boulders up the steeps
All I ever did was to try to adjust to society
By being the rose in its jar
When I am in fact, the silvery flower from the moon
Meant not to be revealed to anyone
Except to those having, like me,
A pure heart and an awakened mind!
Self love, during my youth
I was the butterfly
Who believed it was a moth
Never did I perceive my own essence
Never did I give anyone a chance at it either
Self love, without you, life was harsh
So much that I always felt I was swimming in seas
Infested with sharks and crocodiles
So much that I always felt I had to keep afloat
When the waves raged
So much that I always felt I had to keep smiling
Even if I knew, in the very end, I would drown!
Self love, without you, I have learnt to be strong
And brave
My strength has pushed me, though,
On the path where you reside,
And now, I am learning to know you
And to live with you
As if, I was still young!
CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT
The north is frozen over; it’s far too cold for me
The sun is hibernating and it’s much too dark to see
I’m glad I am at Orangewood; such a warm and festive mood
Stretching out our stories and enjoying Christmas food
We’re waiting out the winter, playing games and having fun
Slopping on the suntan oil, in the valley of the sun
The magic of the season, buried deep within our soul
Working on our attitude, to avoid that lump of coal
Its Christmas in the desert, my favorite time of year
Outdoors at our happy hour, enjoying a cup of cheer
We celebrate the season, with lights on every street
Up and down the laneways; a nightly walking treat
There’s a cactus with some lights, a Christmas one I guess
Careful you don’t get too close, you could end up in a mess
Flowers in hanging baskets, fruit on most every tree
Christmas in the desert, is such a pretty sight to see
We’ll gather at the main hall, right on Christmas day
So many grey haired seniors, all-trying to have their say
Who will talk the loudest, who can even hear
We’re celebrating Christmas, my favorite time of year
At dawn, when I wake my world is a winter wonderland
blustery, gusty winds are blowing pure white snow into drifts
cold, chilling and icy is the air in this lifeless world beyond my window
down, deeper under my fuzzy blanket I sink
even my kitty does not take a peak, but
finally, we did get out of bed . . .
getting a cup of coffee I gaze at my frozen view
hopping on the window sill kitty tries to catch a snowflake clinging
inside is so nice and cozy warm . . .
just thinking of going out makes me shudder
kissing me, kitty jumps down and runs away
labyrinth paths in the park are buried deep
magnificent, regal and sublime the trees have donned their white gowns
nature knows how to create a landscape beautiful . . .
over there, yonder is my car beneath that lump of white
painfully, I realize that I am going to have to go out there into the cold
questioning my sanity I put on my winter gear
ready- I look like I am going on an Arctic expedition
snow, pure white, heavy and blowing waits beyond my doorway
trembling, I leave the safety of the house . . .
unsympathetic, kitty watches from her warm window sill with a meow
violent, a cruel wind almost blows me over, but, oh so
whimsical the snowflakes dance fanciful all about . . .
Xquisite is my view-
yes, winter can be cruel and nasty but so magical too, yet I hate these
zephyr wild snow storms . . .
________________________
February 9, 2020
Poetry/Abecedarian/A Blustery Cold Day
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1224-398-09
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Abecedarian
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, NA, Judged 03/03/20
Submitted to the Standard contest, Best N-A Poems 2020
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 01/16/2021
Second Place
I felt a lump when I was with my wife one terrible night.
She lost her battle even though she put up a good fight.
I tried to think positively, I thought she would be fine.
But after having tests done, the lump wasn't benign.
After two years of battling breast cancer, she was gone.
I lost the love of my life, how can I possibly go on?
I was by her side until she took her final breath.
I've been living in misery ever since she left.
Every day I cry and mourn as I sit by her grave.
Even with modern technology, she couldn't be saved.
If we had found the lump sooner, she may have had a chance.
It's very hard to eat and sleep, without her, my life cannot advance.
I would give anything if the doctors could've saved her life.
My baby is gone and I lost my best friend as well as my wife.
(Even though this is a fictional poem, breast cancer is a serious threat to women. Women should have themselves checked.)
Cradled in her loving arms,
Swaddled in his cotton cloth,
Still Born.
Her piercing cries split through the air,
Thundering,
Echoing,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
Deafening silence
He bowed his head in disbelief,
Father,
Shaking like a leaf,
A lump,
A sore throat,
A whipping of the heart.
She took the baby close to her,
Peaceful,
Final,
Sleep,
“Breathe, little one”
“Wake up please”
She whispered
Denial
Hope
Evaporated like the morning dew,
Tears heavy on her cheeks,
She knew.
He knew.
Nothing any one could do.
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
His grief, their grief,
A tear ran down his cheek,
He clasped his face,
Eyes red,
He sobbed,
Robbed,
Immense their loss,
His heart wrenched,
A thud!
He collapsed into a heap,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
Loath to part
She gave the baby up,
Her pain,
Anger,
Hate,
God,
Fate.
The nurse,
A job,
Her curse,
To Bare witness,
Pain,
suffering,
Loss,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
My babies loved the cats,
through the ages of the naps,
in the pages,
in the clasp,
on the floor,
atop a mat,
I pull it out and flip a bat-
let a lover free the band,
so I may rebuttal and unleash some wrath...
Because just one tap on the blacks,
leads a lover to the back,
just like one Cambridge man of the past-
holds a drink,
and chats your gas-
shoots your lore back at the boss-
holds your cross with MS DOS,
dances slow,
without a flirt,
dances slow,
and acts the jerk,
wounds the birds,
with sailing lurch,
corrodes the curbs,
with wheeling verse,
feeling verve-
eats the skirts,
while doing peddles,
and bronzing metals,
mutating meadows,
while racing against yellows,
seasons those fellows pollinating in the bellows-
of an R1 while you're having so much fun...
Being a beast while you're facing the gun,
in the rip of time between going home and burning the buns,
focusing on the fever that got you your lump some.
Clay clamours to potter man:
Too proud, today ye pound me,
A day will one day dawn, when
I’d smother the mortal thee.
__________________________________
mati kahe kumhar se, tu kya raunde moye,
ek din aisa ayega mein raundungi toye.
The wheel of life turns round and round. One day it goes upward and then downward turns. Good and bad tidings alternate. It helps if one bears this in mind. A potter man was preparing his clay for his wheel by crushing it under his feet to smoothen it into a uniform lump. The clay seems to tell him: Today you are stomping me under your feet, but wait, a day is going to come when you would die and get buried under soil. Then, you too would be treated the same way.