Long Mature Poems
Long Mature Poems. Below are the most popular long Mature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mature poems by poem length and keyword.
First Love
I tried to sense your coming
the time and moment you would pass.
All day I pondered words to use
actions, sighs, and movements embracing you,
as you come,
I am silent, look away, eyes downcast.
I sought you in quiet moments, still rooms,
places and familiar corridors we knew.
Yet when you pass, you hurry as you usually do
with impatience and blind ignorance.
I hoped you felt the same,
the way I do.
I dreamt of you continually, at night and in the day
but night empties into mornings dawn.
The evening mist, once full of gentleness
reminded me of the you I loved and knew
but I am still alone and waiting,
now, too long.
I was just a child then, not a woman
full of fantasy and dreaming.
I had dreams of being yours and yours alone,
I was foolish and wrong.
I’m older now, mature and not loving you
and lying all the more.
He was old, so old. Not just old, but archaic, ancient. In his seventies when I was born… and I remember, his face well worn. We shared a feeling, the two of us. A feeling, a family, a faith in our heart. He was old and I was young. Together, we found the wonder of love. Love built on the sharing of ice cream cones. The love built on knowing that chestnuts were best consumed after they’d been roasted in Granny’s old wood stove. A love built on knowing that Granny knew more than she should. And the time would come when we’d feel better on the porch than we could in any room. Together we shared a feeling, a family, a faith. Faith in each other and faith in God’s amazing grace. Faith in the old spring’s water. Faith in the hay God made. Faith in Granny’s garden. Faith in Jesus, the Way. He was old, older than I knew. Him and me found a purpose in planning our days and we’d agree, life would never be the same after he passed away. His light, though, would remain, to brighten the way with truth. The truth that tells me, he was my proof that there is good in this world and there is love, too.
too old to say no
he was a living legend
offering me hope
I am from a mature lemon tree from tall uncut grass,
And pots and pans,
I am from the blue broken house and bags full of recyclables, to the smell of home-cooked pozole, and the feeling of comfort,
I am from the nopales planted on the fence,
To the willow tree whose long-gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I’m from family gatherings and recalentadas, from storytelling & crying,
From my mother and sister
I’m from card games and dice,
and from family visits to bonfires,
I’m from si se puede, and everything happens for a reason,
And nonstop oldies and corridos,
I’m from baking cakes on birthdays and fishing in the evenings,
I’m from Sacramento, the capital of California,
and deep roots in Mexico, a proud Mexican and Cora,
And from Chile rellenos to lasagna,
From a hardworking immigrant who has been hardworking since the age of 10, who has always been selfless and full of calluses on his hands, from high school graduation ceremonies to fond memories and photos of every milestone, hidden away in a safe spot in my mind, never to be lost.
My dress unzipped, it falls with ease
and puddles at my feet,
Without a word I'm on my knees
I'm shivering, despite the heat
A magnetism will unfurl
Pulsing between our skin,
I know I've been a naughty girl
I await a fitting discipline
Your hand, it fists around my hair
My head pulled back to see,
that though your intent scares me,
it doesn't flaw your beauty
You bark commands to please you,
though the pleasure isn't mine
You can't deny the fire and ice
racing up my spine
The buckle of your belt, undone
Should be a warning sound
But everything you make me do
Keeps my knees to the ground
You tease because you're so sure
I can take it, but I cant
I beg and plead for you to stop
My pleasure, you won't grant
Your name plays on repeat between
my gasps and panting cries
I cannot bear the contrast
Your hot mouth on my cold thighs
And just as I sense heaven's near
You fill me, violently
But I wont fight and I wont scream
Your pleasure belongs to me.
_____________
Tiny eggs rest-
ing on the vine
produced by
Mother Earth,
when touched
by man cre-
ates body and
life. As you
mature in the
belly of aged ripe
oak, like a baby in the
womb. You develop sturdy
legs that slowly slither down the
side of my glass after each sultry
sip. Born in different regions all over
the world and of different races. Red
or white, Syrahs, Shirazs, Cabernets,
Chardonnays, Sometimes a blend; all
I
N
T
O
X
I
C
A
T
I
N
G
bottled up, full of potential to be the
next best thing in a market or in
a magazine. I pick you up and play-
fully swirl you around. I breathe you
in and smell the sweet earthy notes
you play in my nose. You’re a
Maestro! Entrancing my senses with
hints of berries, spices and deep
dark red chocolate. Some grow up
to be very sassy or somewhat
sophisticated. Of course, some are
more delicate and delightful than
others, sometimes one bad grape
can spoil the whole barrel. Always
willing and able to make the most
arrogant of dinner parties more
interesting and inviting. Our nights
full of sin, soon to be confessed and
forgiven tomorrow. You truly are
the blood of Christ!
Entering upon this amusement park
full of thoughts and dreams,
you see unique makeup upon each face,
different clothing upon each body.
In this sea of teeming life,
nobody remembers you.
Three shots later, you're sitting in the corner,
stubbornly reciting a song of youth,
listening to it dissipate amongst the crowd.
Nobody notices as you whisper a shaky toast.
One to the midday sun, one to the moon,
show me that path of light
and dispel the smoky, toxic fumes.
Let me soar carefree against the wind,
unafraid of ice in my heart and frost over my eyes.
One to home and one to the foreign land,
shield my kindness and help me mature,
so that the road is no longer endless,
so that my soul is no longer homeless.
One to yesterday, another to tomorrow,
support my fragile frame, strengthen my shoulders.
Though I never believed in an everlasting reputation
nor a so-called fairytale,
life is too short to dwell and linger,
so why remember?
Just an uneasy traveler, always on the road,
acting, performing, pretending, never-ending.
A toast to our freedom, a toast to our death,
forgive my mundanity and rip the fog from my head,
because sobriety is insanity,
because when dawn breaks we will all stagger away,
indifferent.
My Dad is an Asian, declared by his color and height...
…since the supreme Lord has blessed him with that heritage
Through such physique, he performs well by great faith’s might
…that upholds his prayer life he regards as an advantage!
He is my Daddy dearest, my human fortress…
…who loves me, his darling daughter, as he trusts the Father’s grace.
Assertively adamant is he when his point he can stress
…yet readily laughs out loud when he loses in our debate-race.
I delight in his prudent sense of humor...
…with his wholesome jokes that need analyses
His boyish looks (decades ago) earned my Mom’s favor
…especially his mature perspective in facing crises.
A champion in his family-roles’ fulfillment…
…my Dad is a model of "the responsible provider"
He is governed by his faithfulness’ commitment
…and entitled with the award for "the steadfast home-builder!"
I thank God for my father* and his pampering kindness…
…but he has never “spoiled” me; that I can testify
To the Almighty I entrust my Dad’s years-bountifulness…
…for him to enjoy His goodness as His name he does magnify!
*Psalm 103:13 Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him.
July 6, 2018
Edited on June 10, 2020
Dedicated to my Dad this Father's Day 2020... (though he's now with the Lord, enjoying heaven's bliss since February 2, 2019).
3rd place, "I Can’t Breathe" (People of colour, tell us your story. For those of us who are white it is good to take this time to listen. ) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux; judged on 6/14/2020.
We all must attend the university of adversity
The abounding nature of a problem is the emblem of certainty
Witty and Brave is a product that lives among humanity
The glory of our story will be found in the difficulty!
We all must attend the University of Adversity.
We grow through the process of irritation
We mature as we grow through the process of irritation
We become a gem through the process of irritation
It is a principle of our life on this planet
Through irritation
The Kingdom of God will expand in us
Through irritation
The message of the Kingdom of God will influence our territory
Paul understood this very well and His growth was phenomenal
We grow through the process of irritation
We mature as we grow through the process of irritation
We become a gem through the process of irritation
We all must attend the university of adversity
The abounding nature of a problem is the emblem of certainty
Witty and Brave is a product that lives among humanity
The glory of our story will be found in the difficulty!
We all must attend the University of Adversity.
Copyright 2024
Spread your wings around me and move in the direction of the wind, dance to the rhythm of the sun until the day is done and when the stars lit up the sky and the moon passes by I will plant a pole for thee at the other end of the galaxy and nature will sing a sweet lullaby. It is not only the song you hear at nights or the ones, blasting in the street in broad daylight, when emotions are running high, but the ones that sing the loudest are those that resonate after midnight that tells the tales of human sacrifice and show the path to man’s destiny. Night fall like space walkers bouncing up and down in the sky with a message pressing against its lips telling them to come and see me quick, Life is strong in the East when you walk with courage in your feet and when the night is mature, I will meet you on the dance floor. Take a piece of me and record it in history, take a piece of me and run with it to the galaxy, tear down the wall that divide us and remove the barrier that separates us, the edges are sharp and you will escape from the dark. You have to make one more mission to the sky before we say the final goodbye; you never settle this alien thing and we want to know if the government is chiming in. I will be waiting for you by edge of the sea to see you off to your final destiny.
Wait for me.
There is a bird in nature called the Cowbird.
It doesn't build a nest or rear its young.
Whether it lost the ability to or never knew how doesn't matter.
It doesn't rear its young or build nests.
It lays its egg in a songbird's nest.
It lets that host bird forage for the food that nurtures its chick.
While it watches hidden from view, ready to destroy its victim's chick should that host fail to submit.
It sees its young mature as the victim's young wither.
Willing to steal the efforts of the host to provide for the continuation of its way of life.
Destroying the bloodline of one species to promote the lack of action in another.
Oblivious of the fact that in its madness it too will die.
Oblivious to its folly.
Written 2021.06.30