Long Months Poems
Long Months Poems. Below are the most popular long Months by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Months poems by poem length and keyword.
I’ve formed this sweet relationship with this rabbit I see on my morning walk…
almost every day.
It all began a year or so ago when I encountered him on the street
I smiled, said, “God Morning, Mr. Rabbit…and he quickly hopped away.
This went on for many months…
It appears we’re both out walking the same time every day.
I’d smile, say, “Good Morning, Mr. Rabbit…and he’d quickly hop away.
Over time our morning encounter turned into a little game we liked to play…
We’d pause, I’d smile, say, “Good Morning, Mr. Rabbit.”
then he’d let me take a few steps toward him…before he hopped away.
There were mornings I’d find him standing in the street…
as if he was waiting for me to start his day…
I’d smile, say, “Good Morning, Mr. Rabbit…
and he’d let me walk right by him…before he hopped away.
Then one morning after stepping out of my house…who did I happen to meet….
much to my surprise….there were two rabbits in the street!
I smiled, “Well Good Morning, Mr. & Mrs. Rabbit!” I said.
“Mrs. Rabbit, I hope this is a proper way to greet you….
I must say, after all this time…it’s so very nice to meet you.”
This is how our mornings went for a while:
Mr. & Mrs. Rabbit…were the only rabbits I would see….
Until one morning I noticed two baby rabbits in the grass not far from mom and dad
I smiled, said, “Good Morning Mr. & Mrs. Rabbit…and your entire family”.
Now each morning in the street in front of my house,
“Good Morning, Rabbit family.” are words I love to say.
and I like to think the five of us…look forward to it every day.
I feel blessed for having met Mr. Rabbit…
glad he was so patient with me….
and am thankful in some small way I’ve become
part of his Rabbit family.
She feels it again. The hooks try to grab her again they try to drag her under. The brown eye girl fights it. She tries not to look around her town everything reminds her of him; It reminds her of the man she once loved. The church down the street where they met and kissed for the first time. The sound of his voice still echoes in her head. Her heart sometimes rushes even when she doesn't think of him. The dark place tries to pull her in again by using all the stuff the green eye man did to her. The brown eye girl has done her time in the dark place she did nine months of it back in 2009. She climbed out of it once before it took everything she had. The brown eye girl doesn't want to go back to it ever again afraid if she is dragged back in she won't be able to get back out again. She won't be going back there due to him; he won't be her kryptonite.
We mark our lives with milestones which are cold
and mathematical. Dry almanacs
and calendars, we carry on our backs.
But heavy numbers perish, once they're told.
Our age is almost shameful. If cajoled,
we might reveal it, may just tell the truth.
Why don't we celebrate remaining youth?
Why do we tell off years in terms of "old"?
I have another way to measure time.
Sensations matter more than months or years,
loves lived, loves lost - these are my souvenirs.
The old north bridge, our secret meeting-place,
warm wind, that pollen "blizzard", that embrace ...
these count my life. And I count them sublime.
Written: September 25, 2023
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Deep in the realm of nature, a raging inferno
A power that was blazing for eons, a volcano
It is always there, on the verge of imminence.
It will sing and act for plenty across Providence.
Shrill cries of the toadflax, as sounds in the night,
Whispering secrets upon the ash-covered sight.
Petals of vibrant shades, ablaze with life
As the fire rages on, its flames spawn strife.
The wind carries its messages far and wide.
A scent of pine wood wafts on the ember side.
An unparalleled sense of power imminence.
In the midst of a warm embrace and eminence
It writes its chapters among a million stars.
Flapping in the breeze, carrying the scars
The pooled image vaults and historic tomes
Rooms loosened with worth, cups of roams.
The natural world's walls are akin to a scroll.
The mind-roaming eye captures control.
Praying hearts caught as a leaf in the wind.
Months spent taking solace via lap of mind
One of the first officers to venture door to door.
Lost troops who drove amid peak fires that occur.
The edge is rimmed with undulating brilliance.
Wise lands contain the key to valuing endurance.
To a fire-forged past, a narrative carved in time.
The might of nature is shown by undying rime.
During darkest nights and most severe storms
It stands towering and sturdy, a symbol of reform.
It remains unwavering in the face of adversity.
It understands its flames have power worthily.
To be reborn and renewed as rising out of fire.
Eternal flames, a testament to nature's dire
The perception that marriage is lack of connected with "craziness"
Empathy, and Unresolved Conflicts
Poor communications and the lack of effective communicative skills
and the constant influences of others can cause a relationship to fail
She wished to stand out front of the crowd by impressing her friends,
she had been unfaithful to all those she had afflictions with and when
she meet a stranger she said she had been blessed now she was able to
leave all the others alone and start new with the guy she had just meet...
Negative interaction developed days after she told her new male friend
that she was pregnant and he was the father: they celebrated happily and smiled before the world as they had planned to marry: she said that these
had been the happiest four months of her life: but when they went to the doctor the doctor said she was six months pregnant. Well the guy told her that he could not be the father due to the time frame. She told him she was only four months pregnant to just stick around and see. Well he did, and three months later a beautiful daughter emerged, and he packed up and left. He detached from the craziness, and found someone who loved him without the need of involving many people to make a spectacle of oneself and others.
Written by
R.U.Wittol Bedsweaver
"Were We Say Yeah Right"
I like you careless
Never bothering to think “what if”
Never bothering to give a damn about the people
Never upsetting yourself over the tiring thoughts of them
I like you blunt
And cold to those who try to aim fires at you
And the only visible emotion is indifference
Hard to touch
And seemingly so very unmoved
But most of all
After months of patience
Days of holding up with all the indifference
I like it when I burn through those icy impassive walls of yours
I like it when I make you feel a little fiery
And you can learn to love it when you burn
You can see it through my eyes
And whenever you are vulnerable
Depressed and homesick
I see how little things matter to you
And my heart softens a little more for you
And you become everything I need to fix
I grew up in Ohio but have spent most of my life in Florida
where I am now 73 years old…
and having just spent the winter in North Carolina I have a theory:
We age differently in the cold.
When it comes to winter in the mountains I can put all vestiges of age on hold
because here my 73 years of age…is concealed by the cold.
Take the fact that as I’ve aged my ears have continue growing…
and I have much less hair than I did the day I wed…
but in the winter in the mountains…all those flaws are covered
by the stocking caps or hoods upon my head.
After 73 years…my face…by wrinkles have been attacked
but in the winter in the mountains…they disappear…
the snow fills in the cracks.
At 73 when I get up or move my bones might pop or creak…with every step I take.
but in the winter in the mountains the crunch of the snow beneath my feet
muffles any noises my bones will tend to make.
At 73 I have a tendency to trip…I’m no longer that young, spry, agile sprinter…
but slipping and sliding on the snow…why that’s just part of winter.
In conclusion…this is not scientific…just an observation from a 73 year old
This is the main reason I believe we age differently in the cold:
In winter…in the snow and cold… I feel less like an old geezer
and more like a sirloin steak that’s been stored inside the freezer…
The cold temperatures help to stop the aging process..
and when I’m thawed out as the warmth of spring returns…
the only sign I’ve aged at all…is a little freezer burn…
If my theory is correct…as each year I grow older and turn another page
a little winter freezer burn is a small price to pay
to knock a few months off my age.
Nobody thought what causes the destructive force
of an hurricane in hot summer months, one thing
we can't deny is Nature rebelling against Man;
Harvey is followed by Irma, others will arrive soon.
A fierce wind bending and cracking palm trees
blows away rooftops, traffic signs and lampposts,
we build and rebuild in the same spot hoping
that he next one won't be as wild as he last one.
Our prayers are vain, God is not listening
to our desperation, we all are to blame;
we forget Him when times are good,
and invoke Him when tragedies strike;
the devil laughs and dances seeing our vanity
and foolishness, and in these he greatly rejoices.
Another full moon in September will allow tides to rise,
and they will rise ten feet high and flood streets, avenues
and boulevard and wipe out what was built to withstand
any storm, but not hurricanes of this unimaginable magnitude.
Defiant people choose to stay and ride out the fierce hurricane
and behind bordered windows and doors...will they beat it or die?
Mostly likely, they'll be drowned without a chance to be rescued,
the aftertmath is indescribable: wreckage and death everywhere.
Written on 9/10/2017
For my second Covid birthday
Nature surely did its duty
For providing me (and others)
With a day of perfect beauty.
Did my early morning walking
As the sun began to rise,
Hearing birds belt out their greetings
Under glowing orange skies.
Spent the afternoon just strolling
Through the paths of Central Park,
Where the trees are all a’blossom
After months of being dark.
There were bicycles and children
And musicians on the sax,
Also joggers, dogs and picnics;
It was time to just relax.
I could see the city waking
From its sad pandemic dream.
There’s a long way left to go
But slowly, hope is gaining steam.
Now I’m back beside the river,
On a bench beneath the sun,
Feeling happy on my birthday
And the day is still not done!
In the recognition ceremony during the Special School’s commencement exercises, I was ecstatic while witnessing my child jubilantly flashing his double thumbs’ up trademark gesture. He was screaming with glee when he acknowledged his name announced as “Academic Excellence Awardee.”
Oh, so triumphant was I in propelling his wheelchair, as he painstakingly, yet zealously maneuvered my hand toward the stage. Yes, I was filled with gratitude to God on our way to receive his medal. Such milestone was, and is a miracle, since fourteen years ago, I was confronted by his pediatrician with this torturous prognosis: “He will progress toward retrogression.” He was ten months old then, and I must admit fretting while pleading to the Lord amidst faith*, uttering, “How many more days will I bear this burden?”
Now, I surely cannot wait to behold him joyously walk on streets of gold throughout eternity.
*1Peter 1:5 21 Who by him do believe in God, that raised him up from the dead, and gave him glory; that your faith and hope might be in God.
July 31, 2023
Honorable Mention, "RELATIVITY - TIME - a vignette" Prose Poetry Writing Contest; Sponsored by Suzette Richards; judged on 8/6/2023