Long Maybe tomorrow Poems
Long Maybe tomorrow Poems. Below are the most popular long Maybe tomorrow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maybe tomorrow poems by poem length and keyword.
why will men fight and suffer to advance the interests of their masters, who fling them aside when they have no further use for them?
Arthur Findlay
The black king and the white king, well they didn't see eye to eye
A war was looming, but not them; it was the pawns that would die
They placed them up to the front, with their cavalry at the rear
No side had any notion of backing down, and no side showed fear.
God is surely with us, the bishops on both sides proclaimed
Anyone saying otherwise would have been publicly shamed
A white pawn was the first to move forward, ready for the fight
But in just a couple of moves was struck down, by a black knight.
Two white knights moved forward in a blazing counter attack
The black pieces managed to hold the line and didn't fall back
Then a white bishop moved forward in a straight diagonal line
Black King told his pawns to move forward; everything will be fine.
The black queen wanted action and urged her pawns to be brave
But it wouldn't be her or the king that would be digging their grave
One by one her pawns were slaughtered, like lambs on the battlefield
A ceasefire was out of the question, because neither side would yield.
But the proud white king was about, to meet an agonising fate
When the black queen with her knights, declared a checkmate
But there were really no winners or losers, in this senseless war
Supporters on both sides wondered, what the hell it was all for.
The two main players in the background escaped without a scratch
And were already preparing to meet on the battlefield, for a rematch
Both sides exchanged their battered pieces of the injured and the slain
And maybe tomorrow or the next day were preparing to do it all again.
Meanwhile the arms manufacturers, were making big monetary gain
Whilst the landed gentry ate caviar and sipped on their champagne
Victory parades were held in all the towns, with all the pomp and flair
Hollow platitudes read out to mourn the dead, but do they really care?
Written on 6th June 2022.
My Dearest Most Only BeLoved Lenore, I woke up this morning with the warmth of the Sun cascading on my face.The morning Doves singing for YOUR Happiness in Glory.If YOU are reading this on YOUR way to the Pearly Gates to meet me, I won't be there but I ask a boon.Please go to the Door of Heaven for there YOU will find Martin Richard, 8 Years old; Krystle Campbell, 29; Lingzi Lu, I don't know how old she is but she's young and Chinese, which is not a language barrier in Heaven. All three should be joining YOU today,courtesey of the evil ; YOU do not know that thrives here on Earth. that's not all I ask YOU to Salute Officer Sean Collier, 26 he was a victim on the GOOD side for the betterment of man.(If they want they can each have a B O S T O N RedSox Pennent from those I gave YOU to hold FOR me.Tell Them, Their Family Loves them, the Community LOves them, Their Country LOVes Them, Their Leaders LOVEs them, and I'm
sure I and the "SOUPERS" LOVES Them. As for me my LOVE : Maybe Tomorrow.With LOVE for the EONS of Eternity,ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Husband Entwined as ONE.
Harry
Dedicated to the Victims of the Marathon Bombings
and the Officer that gave his life trying to Quell the Enemy.
I staggered and weave to my bedroom down the hall
Good night JACK, as I swallow, drop the bottle, and fall
I Kick off my shoes, mumble my Prayers, “Maybe Tomorrow”
I awake in the thickness of night, with a shattered Heart of Sorrow
I hear whispers of my name, Who’s there? On goes the overhead light
My eyes search the room, no one is there; yet I feel an eerie presence
I ponder a moment; with a click I return to the labyrinth of the night
Suddenly the stench of Death filled the room, fiery burning, evil incense
A whisper becomes a soothing voice; “Walk with me, Talk with me”
“Tell me how can YOU still LOVE YOUR Wife?, she bought a Life of Sorrow”
“I have washed my hands in the tears YOU Cry : Your Soul is very important to me”
“May I offer You Eternity, if You will follow me, I want to be Your GOD ; Tomorrow
To be Continued
Author’s Note ; It took me 3 weeks to write this. I want to Thank Everyone for recent
Comments Soon I will spend time Commenting to all of MY POETIC Family. With LOVE
ALWAYS and FOREVER, YOUR Eternal Liege… HG
Losing You
I never knew the depth of pain
That would come from losing you
Or how terrible my life would become
Loving you made dreams come true
You gave me such hope
Of a beautiful life together
Your smile shining so bright
Promising your love forever
I love you forever and always
You said those words to me
But now you have gone away
Forever and always just a memory
How can I live now day to day?
With no word from you my dear
The words I lived by each day
Have been replaced by lonely tears
Will I get over you and live?
I don’t have that answer now
I have to get through today
And maybe tomorrow somehow.
Connie Moore
December 15, 2015
High ho! High ho! What a wonderful beautiful day
The birds are tweeting, squirrels are chittering.
The sky is glistening with faeries and poppers
Streams of happy sunlight beams disarm faeries
Compelling monarchs to light on my marigolds.
Nothing can take my fire; I am ready to write THE poem.
I have a new purple notebook and smooth roller ball pen.
“YOO HOO!” Oh, man!
Mrs. McGilly has something to say.
Could be an all-day thing.
I pretend I cannot hear her, until we are touching noses.
What are you doing?
Writing.
I write!
You do?
She runs home for her baby books to prove it.
Returns with two friends. They have brought a little picnic.
You shouldn’t have! There are two sentences on the page.
They were not brilliant, instead hurried.
I try to escape into my house where I maybe could write something.
But my sons-in-law drop by looking for an apple pie or a cheesecake.
So I feel compelled to make them.
By three p.m. I am sitting on the toilet with my notebook
rapidly writing down two more sentences.
“Hey, Mom!” are you okay in there?
My three daughters have come for supper bringing my six grandchildren.
Maybe tomorrow I think.
My underactive mind takes my ideas swiftly away from us,
Kicking them in mean ways into corners, under redundant debris.
But wait I say, protesting
It does no good; my status quo mind is done.
Ideas are now kaput, thrown away in all directions
Nothing tidy about her terribleness, certainly not cleansing or kind.
I try to coax out my sensitive muse, but she is in hiding, terrified.
Worn out and sad, for our underactive mind is insisting on its way.
Wants concretes and absolutes, tired of imagination winning daily.
Maybe tomorrow? I suggest to muse gently, stroking her faerie hair.
Muse is in fetal position now, tucking her face under fluffy blanket.
I reassure her gently as we drift to sleep in perpetual soul land,
Knowing our ideas will be replenished and revived by morning.
Our Love, Eternally Bound
Our love is embodied in words,
clinging to our lips, yet fated to never touch the real,
forever exiled from taking form.
We whisper "I love you" day and night,
but our icy, bitter actions freeze the love onto paper,
as if affection were ink and not flesh.
They say love is worth more than pain,
but some prefer pain over love,
and our love, spoken to exhaustion,
drifts off to sleep on the precipice,
where it falls in love with its own failure.
Laughter and words of love are lavishly spent,
promises echo, vows of longing never felt
drip from lips like sweet bitterness,
stumbling between lies and half-truths.
Today, maybe tomorrow, or perhaps one day,
We walk together, yearning, to the gallows.
With words of pure love, I tell you:
my beloved loves me so much
that he loves my pain more than my love.
If you ever heard of this story
If you ever felt the presence of a stranger
If his words were soft and kind
And you could see him smiling in his eyes
Lookout and be careful
The eyes are not the window of the soul
Nor are words as innocent
As you may take them
By crafty words men will deceive you
And for the lack of knowledge you will perish
Yes men will try to outfox you
Because it takes a fox to catch a fox
Men watch for me
Lookout I am coming
Just wait a minute
I’ll be right there
No wait maybe tomorrow
If I ain’t too busy
I’m sorry I had a lot to do today
Please be patient
Don’t worry my word is good
I’m not like those who speak with a double tongue
Think about the missions we’ve been through together
I have always treated you with mercy
Have I not?
Maybe Tomorrow Night?
by Odin Roark
Early last night
thinking got heavy.
Uncomfortable feelings crept in.
The mix was,
I don't know…
Revealing, I guess.
How much?
How much is one person supposed to carry?
How strong this body thin?
Have I not hammered enough nails,
untangled enough twisted synaptic vines?
When will it be finished,
this lean-to in the forest of high-rise expectancies,
these mindscapes where insomniacs of abandoned conscience
meet persistent awareness in flames?
Is there only sitting alone on empty subway cars
careening through express stops,
where ghosts of ancient ether float suspended,
waving their giddy hands as the blur passes,
where the burning midnight oil insistence
searches for better light,
illuminated dream signs,
visions that never cease?
That was before I reached the last stop,
climbed the stairs into midnight darkness,
listened to my cacophony of silence,
pushed through that familiar door,
straddled my stool at O'Riley's,
made my pencil write,
while five and dime glassware
became faceted crystal of my dreams,
sloshing melted memories about,
elbowing their way into napkin after napkin,
crossed out words after crossed out words,
caramel river after caramel river,
finding my liver oh so accommodating.
Later last night,
I found my perch atop the familiar railing.
You know,
the same one as before,
and before,
and before,
studying the arc.
Did you know water runs deepest
when you know it's really the right time?
And they keep telling me two-hundred feet
allows plenty of gravity to collect.
But…
They've got me in this awful green room again.
Took my pencil.
Gave me a crayon.
Black this time.
Words don't care.
Curls and lines.
Paper doesn’t care.
Late last night,
they said i had to stay awhile.
Again, you know,
‘til I convinced them, again
that I'm all here,
all together,
just a little lonely,
no harm.
You know,
I'm thinkin'
there's gotta be another way,
you know.
Better than making you up all the time.
Maybe we could meet,
you and me.
Coffee.
Nothin’ fancy.
Just...
Maybe early
tomorrow night,
before my believin’ gets heavy again.
Maybe?
Sweetheart?
With His Word in my ear and His praise in my heart
The sunrise so near as the new day begins its start
In the distance the sun's rays so powerful and bright
And if you are one who prays you can feel His Light
Each day a different sight but all reveal His Majesty
Casting shadows of light for the whole world to see
Shades of but an instant as beauty is always fleeting
Not knowing what His Love meant is in so defeating
Peaking over the horizon I finally get my first view
And as darkness begins to run His sky turns blue
Each cloud so divinely outlined in a rainbow shade
My heart you needn't remind these moments fade
Maybe tomorrow you can look and see His Story
Putting aside your sorrow, replacing it with Glory
It's such a sight to see as the birds sing His Praise
The Lord said "Let It Be", how great art Thou Ways
Job 35:5
Look unto the heavens, and see;
and behold the clouds which are higher than thou.