Long Matter of course Poems
Long Matter of course Poems. Below are the most popular long Matter of course by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Matter of course poems by poem length and keyword.
Clearing out our attic, preparing for our move…as a matter of course
I noticed in a corner, under layers of dust…this old rocking horse.
A present from Deborah’s mom and dad to Ryan.
perhaps it was their goal…
to introduce their grandson…to the joys of rock and roll.
When Ryan grew to big to rock
when his interests turned to sports and games and cable
rather than get rid of that old rocking horse…
our attic became his stable.
And there he sat for years…gathering dust…wondering if and when
he will ever be remembered…and if he’ll ever rock again.
As Deborah lovingly cleaned and shined him up…
outside in the freshness of a morning breeze…
I wondered if the two of them…were sharing some memories.
Deborah informed him we’re taking him to North Carolina
where for entertainment he won’t lack…
Because our great-granddaughter is waiting there
to ride upon his back.
When she told him he will have a new home…
a new rider…a new space….
in that moment we saw
a smile on the old rocking horse’s face.
A present handed down from great-great grandparents
to their great-great granddaughter…
with a similar goal…
to introduce a new generation…to the joys of rock and roll.
...They even claimed that Diaz died,
cut down by Smith’s swift, steady hand,
but Ramsey was nowhere near there,
did not go down amongst the damned.
Instead he was miles away,
slumped half-defeated on his horse,
he had escaped, but thoughts were dark
and depressed as a matter of course.
How could he feel anything else
after all that had just occurred?
Sure, he’d seen his mistakes in time,
but the weight of his past sins burned.
Had he not killed seizing that town,
forced women to bend to his will?
Had he not stolen what they’d made
under threat of them being killed?
Could anyone come back from that?
It was a thing he didn’t know,
he hadn’t felt such weight before,
and his thoughts were becoming low.
He saw the shiny metal gun,
in the holster there on his hip,
was the what ruined men should do?
Was that how he could pay for it?
He hoisted it up in his hands,
felt the final weight of the gun…
when a fleet voice said “{Verily,
you will be with Me in Heaven.}”
He turned, but he saw nothing there,
nobody in sight for miles,
then sighed and put the gun away,
and continued through the wild.
He changed his name, of course, the law
still put a price upon his head,
that new name he brought to this place,
this Mission where he’d find a bed.
That name is now on the front gate,
for the orphans he raised inside,
that name is what the pope called him
when the man became canonized.
It was the name that others knew
when he ministered to their sick,
he’s a hero under that name,
but you see, it just didn’t stick.
Folks come here seeking out his grave,
a saint's pilgrimage they all say,
they don’t find that name in our plots,
disappointed, they go one their way.
We don’t tell them he’s in plain sight,
‘Ramsey Diaz’ is on his stone,
since that’s the name he was saved as,
and to God alone now is known…
If you could see, the inside of me
What would you view, that you would want to see
For inside of me for any given year
Is loaded with music, it's my driven steer
Whether it's Rock with Deep Purple
Or Wish You Were Here with Pink Floyd
Inside my head
Music fills my brain void
Karnataka to Mostly Autumn
Thin Lizzy through the years
That's the way it is by Bruce Hornsby
His keyboard play brings my tears
But I can be rough and ready
And tank up the amps
Coloured Blind by Skin
Leaves me racially in thanks
Whole Lotta Love
Should be out there in force
Music should be in us
It's a matter of course
Close your eyes to the melody
Hey! it's the Moody Blues
When they played Red Rock
What gem would you choose
To answer your question
What has the past year brought
Another year of learning
Air guitar sought
Apart from seeing my kids prosper
Music avenue is my world
And watch them grow into their tomorrows
I have so much to be heard
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-3.php
...Burke grabbed Aura and they both ran out,
riding double on his trusty horse.
The word raced quickly through the town,
a posse was formed, as a matter of course.
So Burke pushed his mount, more and more.
They couldn’t go back, despite acts justified,
not when two men, one a sherriff, had died.
So they rode, pursuers hot on their trail,
until they reach a ranch high the peaks.
Burke pulled a gun while Aurelia seized
a new horse, both study and sleek.
The rancher fumed, too angry to speak.
Burke apologized, gave him all his gold,
then sped off again into mountains cold.
Two days passed, the posse drew close,
and both their horses started to flag.
No longer able to outrun their hunters,
Burke mad camp high up in a crag,
where he could shoot safely if they attacked.
The posse appeared in the meadow below,
lead the by the sherriff’s oldest, known as Milo.
“Surrendor now, or we’ll shoot you down!”
They shouted it as they stared to climb.
But before Burke could even open his mouth
the air exploded with shrill, Indian cries.
A horde of Bannocks their arrows let fly!
They swept into the meadow, circling fast.
The posse died quickly, not long could they last.
Burke and Aurelia hid low in the rocks
until the last of the Bannocks had left.
Not much was left of the posse below,
they lay still, and were mostly scalpless.
But one figured crawled amongst the dead.
Burke climbed down, still clutching his gun,
and loomed over the sheriff's bloodied son.
“You won’t believe me, but I’ll say it now,
I acted only out of self-defense.
You’re father and Grisby were gunning for me,
and Grisby was putting his hands on my friend.
There choices brought them to their ends.”
But Milo just snarled, and crawled away,
Burke and Aura sighed, and left him that way.
No one from Tillico ever saw them again,
even when Milo put a bounty of their hides.
Some say they made for themselves new names
and peacefully lived out their lives.
Others said, like most outlaws, they died...
And if you all liked this tale that you just heard,
Tell your friends about me, Bruce Bowden the Third.
God created the earth
everything has a logic
A gorgeous place, but
affected by blameworthy choice
Lend us clean air
its touch so light
Breathe... the lungs satisfied
a gift so dear
Life-giving water stream
You fill your glass
a matter of course
Several different water qualities
The red fire blazes
is it for love
or is it hate ?
Eyes with tender tears
It feels like they've been here forever,
How long isn't easy to tell.
They claim they arrived from Australia
but I think they came here from hell.
The cats all left home for a fortnight
the fleas on the dog did the same
The washing machine thinks it's having a fit
but maybe it's me that's to blame.
I should have known just what would happen
my house would not be my own,
but instead, I said "Treat the place just like it's yours"
"Please make yourself feel at home".
I wonder if their house has multiple showers
and loo rolls that never run out
I wonder if their house resembles a bomb site
I'll hopefully never find out.
They changed my routines as a matter of course
and I didn't have any say
They made me feel awkward and sometimes as if
it was me that got in the way.
Some gratitude might have helped matters
a 'Thank you' or two would have done
But never a hint from either
they were even having fun.
So now they are gone and the place is my own,
doors are not locked anymore
and if in the future they wish to return
I won't even open the door!
I strolled through the local cemetery the other day
And here are some epitaphs I observed along the way:
Cletus O'Toole lies herein
Too much boozing done him in!
Here lies a gambler molding in his crypt
Odds are he was shot by a chump he had gyped!
His spouse spotted him leaving a house of ill repute
In short order she done him in during a heated dispute!
Clyde raced down the mountain and failed to swerve
Meeting his doom on an S-shaped curve!
His plea to the judge was ruled to be moot
He was sentenced to hang for fencing some loot!
Buckaroo Bob was throwed from his horse
And was buried with his boots on as a matter of course!
The town ruffian was our late friend Keith
He met his match and was interred sans his teeth!
Pilot Pete's final radio message was, "Oh! Shoot!"
Seems he forgot to don his parachute!
Farrier Fred was a premier cobbler as a general rule
Alas, he was kicked in the head by an unruly mule!
Butcher Bruce was expert at wielding his knife
But in a fatal spat he was out-wielded by his wife!
POTD 24 June 2021
Death doesn't barter, it bares no remorse.
Death doesn't falter it's matter of course.
It bares no false whiteness, makes no mistakes
It never brings back whatever it takes.
It gives no warning of it's arrival
Death has no match, It hasn't a rival.
Death isn't gracious, courageous, or kind
Death isn't pleasing, it's rebuked and maligned.
Death has no lover, no friend of it's own
Except what it favors, mans flesh and bone.
Deaths seldom wanted, except by the few
who open their arms, and bid life adieu.
Death can't give back, it keeps all it's winnings
Is it the end, or just the beginning?
It's full moon fever on this cloudy Scottish night
Dark angels leave their roosts in shadowy eerie flight
To the fields they fly as if summoned by an invisible force
This date has always been, it's just a matter of course
For always on this night when the scarecrows face becomes lit
A village would soon be divided in terror screaming split
Frenzied inhabitants, would run amok in killing spree
Frothing at the mouth whilst staring at skeletal trees
The moonlight captures flapping silhouettes of black
Swooping down in stealth their attack shows no lack
Beaks in laceration whilst crimson oozes free
Like headless chickens they run in panic spree
The dawn draws ever near amidst scenes of carnage spew
Bodies abound in deadened lie, as the new morn views
What's strange about this happening, is the lost are never mourned
It's as if they were never born, their birth never adorned
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-10.php
I was raised Catholic,
but never asked to be baptized.
Of course, I had no choice;
it was a "right" my parents exercised.
When it came to being Catholic,
I was something of a maverick,
and certainly a rebel
when I sometimes "raised hell".
And this is really something
I cannot sugarcoat:
Catholic dogma was constantly
being shoved down my throat.
When I was just six years old
I realized I was being coerced
to go to Sunday mass -
a rule very strictly enforced.
As far as my parents and others were concerned,
Catholicism was never negotiable,
but throughout my childhood and my youth
I simply refused to be moldable.
When I was growing up, I had to go to Catholic schools
and prayers were said aloud several times a day.
That was the reality and those were the rules
along with other functions where we were told to pray.
And attempts to inflict "Catholic guilt"
would certainly, and frequently, ring
when I later refused to do readings at mass
or join the church choir to sing.
In those days, the churches had a firm grip
on people's hearts and minds,
so much so that when evil acts were committed
church leaders - and the public - were willfully blind.
When I think back, there was much deceit and hypocrisy
and I wondered "Do we really live in a democracy?",
because, given the powers that churches had,
it seemed to be more of a theocracy.
Today, in the twenty-first century,
the churches' power has waned considerably,
and while organized religion is still a powerful force
it needs to be monitored as a matter of course.