Long Marches Poems
Long Marches Poems. Below are the most popular long Marches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marches poems by poem length and keyword.
Joy floods and fills the path you take,
Love soothes and thrills the choice you make.
Peace of mind sums a profound feel,
Heart knows outcome with words that heal.
Live well this day with cheer that moves,
Now find the way to happy grooves.
Time marches swift in highs and lows,
Waltz as you drift into life's flow.
Start where things end and try once more,
Fashion new trends with faith your core.
End with sure change that starts new page,
Sculpt style and range to mellow age.
See miracles unfold right here,
Soul oracle greets curious cheer.
All is lovely if you but see,
Love funds easy true bliss you free.
Leon Enriquez
24 March 2016
Singapore
Saints and Fireworks (Anacreontic verse)
Saints and fireworks
band marches galore
enriching summer
well worth waiting for.
Tradition and faith
a culture alive
passion, emotion
which none can deprive.
Big celebrations
that hold an appeal
lights, decorations
in rhythm bells peal.
The banners and flags
in lavish array
damask in churches
hangs down on display.
Processions take pride
of place; do not miss
the hymns and statues
highlighting all this.
The ‘festa’ attracts
it’s second to none
I tempt you with words
come join in the fun.
------------------------------
31st October 2015
Contest: Anacreontic verse
Sponsor: Edward Ebbs
Placed 4th
Women of the early 1900’s should have been justifiably outraged
Owned like chattel by their men
Elections were held willy nilly
And if you did not have a willy, you were eliminated
The rare woman who thought she should be
a voter, was not even a contender for a listening ear.
Treated rather like a hog, pig, or a cow.
Ostracized by both men and other women.
Women who were given a glimpse of what
could be, by stand-up liberated women like
Susan B. Anthony did not automatically jump on the bandwagon of liberation. These loud obnoxious free-thinking women were no doubt annoying to socialized women whose February was filled with valentine chocolates and love notes rather than protests and marches. Why did the uppity women insist on equal rights and the right to vote?
Many of the well-behaved women were irritated and outraged
by the uppity attitude of these liberated women, encouraging their men
to throw these loud vulgar rabble rousers into jails.
They strongly encouraged the punitive efforts enforced on these troublemakers. Glaringly on board and fearful of change, many women were not yet ready to admit they were equal in wisdom or feelings of their men.
Sadly they did not recognize their worth or take a stand against oppression and did not insist on the right to vote for many years. Adding to the confusion of our masochistic society which even today has not allowed a woman to be President.
Page 2
With the force of a thousand storms, I turned to face you.
When they dragged our beloved off I thought that I would lose my mind.
I shouted loud enough to stir the crows.
You caused this to happen with your radical cries and marches for equality.
Teaching our only beloved to help in stirring the pot.
What do I care about freedom now?
I speak through my wounded heart when I tell you that my pain is too deep for me to see the righteousness of your cause.
Never will my mood be of a jocund one without our sweet beloved.
I will remain fray of heart and spirit until you bring our beloved back home.
There will not be a homecoming for you without our beloved.
I refuse to surrender my mind to the thought of never seeing our beloved again, never setting my hungry eyes on his soft golden face with prune color eyes, and soft peach lips, never to hear his rich voice with worldly questions, and solutions.
What do I care about freedom now?
My soul will be burden with grief for an eternity.
I will never walk equally contented with any soul.
I sent you away from me to look for our beloved.
Now the fragments of time tears into the year.
As I watch from my doorway with eyes captived by the dusty road in search of the impressions of the soles of your feet before the coming of the seasons.
My mind is whirling into a maddening coil as the days drop from the sky and the nights went scurrying by and the sun scuffed at my stubborness.
And the moon hid behind the gray clouds.
I died a thousand deaths in awake of your return with our beloved.
My seasons will soon end and my curtain shall drop, it will be then that I will rise from this cursed state of misery.
copyright@ Library Of Congress under Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.
(Re tiny box-like homes lining the west side of
South Bundy Drive, north of Nebraska Street, in West LA)
The soiled feeling comes not
From the indignant paradise
Scurrying past their frontal lobes
It arrived in silence
Borne of being first to the party
And the ensuing, deafening wars
With the partycrashers
With their cranes
Their progress
Their eclectic sense of
Civilized degradation
Squeezing the life from
The Boxes Before Nebraska
That modest set of
Stoic pre-war cookie-cutter domiciles
Perfectly groomed
Impeccably aligned
For Ozzie and Harriet, and
Their silent parade of nasty
The Boxes, they struggle
To remain relevant in the haze of
Modernity's hammer and
Banality's autoimmune disease
To avoid temptation as
The developer's succulent lips and larceny
Get wider and wetter
To simply let be amidst the swollen busy
Not to mention a new cast of characters to contend with:
- The brackish bendejo careening in stride, unaffected by the Boxes' sidewalk's ill-timed permanence and oblique conundrums, left from quakes and lashings of yore
- The livid madman embracing his next lethal dose of humanity as he marches, barks and feuds with phantom nemeses camped out at the Boxes' doorstep
- The ragged cougar across the street, squeamish exterior gone bad, pounded into Angelino submission by the tricks and spells she conjures and endures
- The dual threat of LA Fitness night trolls, basking in cardio vampire glow, while the next morning's brew of rainbow children percolates into G-d's bitter latte, sipped cupless on fresh asphalt.
And yet...they stand
Together as one
By accident
By stupor of justice
By de jure
By no better place to go
Testament to legacies
Begging to remain
Living proof that
Bounty, modesty and sanctity
Can be achieved
When you stop thinking outside of the box.
(4/11/15)
In the stillness of slumber
In the wee morning hours
Far in the distance of night
A faint whistle can be heard...
Roar of eagerness shakes the night
As Kublai barks in happy delight
Scratching and clawing the back door
Dancing and jumping on the floor
The great Kublai cannot be contain
He must hunt the morning train
I stumble up with head of sleep
I drag myself if trying to keep
An urgent appointment late at night
I open the door Kublai takes flight.
Into the darkness Kublai runs
Barking louder for the oncoming Hun
The distant sounds of whistles and bells
Gives my Kublai his ultimate thrills
The mighty Choo Choo chugs along
Screams its warning ever so strong
But fearless Kublai barks right back
As if he could bark it off its tracks
Round and round back and forth
The fearless Kublai runs in force
As the train rumbles swiftly by
Kublai runs in circles staying in stride
His tail wagging, his tongue out
He barks and barks as if to shout
Oh mighty train you met your match
It flees into dawn before it gets catch
Blowing a horn in fleeting defiance
For the great Kublai has slain his giant
Faintly the train whistle sounds
No more thunder smokes the ground.
I pull my head from against the door
Triumphal Kublia has won his war
Panting and smiling with his tail up
Satisfied he just whopped some butt
He marches through his Arch of Victory
I remember how peaceful sleep used to be
Kublia circles around than lays down
Falls asleep safe and sound
I close the door and open my eyes
Did I do what I did I realize
It's 2AM and the house is dark
I got up to let a dog run and bark
Stumbling back into my jealous bed
I place a pillow over my head
His little short legs run in his sleep
As Kublia dreams of his great feat
The iron horse ran into his domain
The Great Kublai caught his train.
Almost four-o-clock in the afternoon
and not a single tambourine in sight
you should have jumped over the moon
hours ago, until
secret alien creatures on the surface
said the autopsy was inconclusive
which explains for me why
icicles drip from your heart, as the sun
warms the memory of your embrace, like
moonflowers, gently unfolding at night
reveal the mysteries of love
the bandleader, wearing a feathered pompadour
signals a final formation
somewhere in time
your tune marches into the distance
marches
.......into the distance
01/02/11
The Nazi concentration camps were liberated
by allies of the Second World War . . .
they found camps filled with sick and starving people
including children and babies
the Germans attempted to hide the evidence
of mass murder by trying to demolish
the gas chambers, but parts remained as evidence
prisoners were forced on death marches
with no food or water or shoes or warm clothes
and of course tens of thousands died before reaching a destination
some were shot when they could not keep up . . .
Bergen-Belsen camp was liberated
by the British forces
what they found I am sure haunted the soldiers forever
thousands, thousands of dead bodies lay strewn throughout the camp
barracks held 60,000 starving ill people including children
and they found mass graves and cremation ovens
this is what happens when a dictator tries to
exterminate a race of people . . .
On April 15, 1945, Bergen-Belsen concentration camp was liberated
by the British Forces - what they found is unfathomable to comprehend.
______________________________
September 18, 2030
Poetry/Narrative/A Historic Event
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1287-758-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, A Historic Event
sponsor, William Kekaula
Second Place
A Turning Point & Voice Lives On
In Arizona’s desert land,
A faithful son was born to stand,
With Scripture held within his heart,
God’s truth would be his counterpart.
At eighteen years, with courage true,
He launched a dream both bold and new,
To wake the youth from slumber deep,
And teach them freedom’s vows to keep.
From stage-to-stage, and state-to-state,
He proclaimed what makes our nation great,
With microphone and fearless voice,
He made defending truth his choice.
Like Jesus, who at thirty-three
Was killed upon Calvary’s tree,
At thirty-one, young Charlie fell
For speaking truths he knew so well.
A husband loving, father dear,
With Erika he held most near,
Two children blessed his faithful home,
Though duty called his heart to roam.
He taught us all to raise our voice,
To make bold courage our own choice,
“Stand up! Speak out! Don’t hide in fear!
Let freedom’s message ring out clear!”
Though silenced by an assassin’s hand,
His legacy spreads through our land,
In every voice he helped to find,
His boldness echoes in our mind.
So when we speak where Charlie spoke,
And lift high truth’s unbroken yoke,
His spirit marches on with us,
In Christ’s glory victorious.
The torch he lit burns ever bright,
In those who choose to stand and fight,
For God and country, truth and right—
Charlie’s voice lives on in light.
My mind is in a death cage,
Time plods slowly forward
Towards its logical end.
Yet I have to look back.
My cold body lies pale
On a cold marble slab.
Dark corridors of memories
Echo with screams
Begging for forgetfulness
Imploring forgiveness.
A library of thoughts,
Of fears and torments,
Of hope and love,
Of reality and dreams.
The reaper of grief has come,
But not oblivion,
As a collection of events
Of my past marches by,
Inexorable fate,
Depressive images,
Luscious dreams,
Shady deals,
Delectable delights,
Greed and compassion:
All vibrating viciously
Within my tortured soul.
Why can't my mind
Be like a barren womb,
That I might die in total oblivion?
Forget my past, my loved ones,
My hated ones, my friendly ones.
Let me aim for the morning star,
There I'll find peace and love.
There the Mighty Son was/is/will be.
Mercy Lord, my judgment is at hand.