Long Newsletter Poems
Long Newsletter Poems. Below are the most popular long Newsletter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Newsletter poems by poem length and keyword.
On a bleak-cold icy day,
When everything was white and grey,
When frost benumbed my hands,
I stumbled on a frozen lake,
That was tumulted with life and sand.
I put a step forward,
And then I sunk down,
To drink the exilir of happiness,
Abandoning my barbed crown.
Time tangled in ice lattice,
And I walked through the aisle of memories,
Of warmth and cold ,
Of basking in the sun,
In the freezing winters,
Of late december.
Of cold winds,
And Christmas lights,
Of carolings and bribes.
But now I am trammeled,
In a suburban house,
No one knocking at the door,
No one strutting around.
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Their fussing over nesting material.
One sparrow has a lot to say
the other just shuffles her butt feathers.
The sun has got itself snagged like a balloon
on a high twiggy branch.
Foliage rustles where bushy tails whisk.
Some guy down the way
is using a buzz saw.
His ear protectors muffle the sound
of angry squirrels.
The sparrows are now throwing
pieces of yesterday’s free newsletter
at each other.
A hush falls for a moment
when an Amazon van
arrives to deliver a box to a doorstep.
A stray breeze slaps the ears
of a cat as it watches the sparrows.
The everyday ruckus resumes
as the morning sun escapes.
The hands circle the clock
as I watch the minutes pass
into soundless history.
After a time or so
his eyes speak and vocal cords
try once again to master
that foreign language spoken
by both the aged and the young
when thoughts cannot find the words.
My hands cradle his face
as I kiss the salty brow
of his altered memory.
While teardrops freely flow
our eyes meet and two soul mates
sing an old refrain together
in a language understood
by both musicians and poets
when rhythm strikes the right chords.
June 26, 2019
contest: Poetry Anthology, Music Theme Poetry Contest by Geraldine Taylor
to honor the work being done in using music to spark the
memory of patients with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia.
written originally for an online newsletter, Music Therapy Matters, Spring 2008, Angie Elkins, editor.
Three flavors, take the sensation joyride and mystify A brain*freeze. It's mind*blowing wait n' see; I won't disappoint you, taste your rainbow and devour It's pleassure.
Chocolate: Pulses the master shake down, Pouring on the sauce, loosing all self-control
As it takes the spoon to engage out rageious behavior..... melting away through the mystical pathway of Retrieving it's self to get to the next flavor. Cause Life Is Like A Box Of Chocolates, You Never Know What You Going To Get, Til It Smacks you Reesesly Stupid.
Vanilla: Meattled in Plain ol' people being stupid, but sometimes crazy~stupid is fun! Stupid is as stupid does Forrest*Gump once said. So don't justify any action.. Just indulge face first.
..And then there's strawberry: The snapp back to reality,topped off with A little whip~cream n' cherry stem! A satisfaction guarantee to full`fill your appetite... "you can count on that."
Ice~cream; ice~cream, we all scream for ice~cream. Hurray! Hurray!! We all scream for ice~cream.... Read all about it in the up*coming newsletter... Hurrah.. Hurrah... The End.
The wind blew exactly right
For the flying of a kite.
Kites were nearly everywhere:
In telephone wires
And high in the trees,
One or two were in the air,
Blowing ever higher
On a gentle breeze.
Then all at once the wind increased;
It blew and blew, it hardly ceased,
Pulling all the kites so high
Into the clouds,
How high they go!
Pulling children in the sky,
Above the crowds
That watch below!
Children hanging by kite strings,
Dangling over homes and things,
Higher, higher, beyond sight,
Each child dangled from a kite.
Then there was a change in the weather.
The wind stopped blowing altogether.
Children fall, down they drop, one and all,
Plop…plop…plop.
This is another poem from the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It previously had very minor publication in Pamela Olsen's mail art compilation zine The P&E Newsletter volume 2 number 9, October 1993.
When is a newsletter not a newsletter
When it's full colour and 36 pages long
That was 12 years ago when I began designing it
It was a 4-page black and white newsletter
It has since grown into this schmaltzy
Quarterly full colour community publication
I've always taken great pride
In every venture I've become involved with
Now in my years since retirement
Once again had my fingers back in the pie
It has given me “raison d'être”
Translated... “a reason for being”
My only regret is that it's quarterly
Instead of monthly as I would have preferred
It is so very important to remain active
Any way we can in our retirement years
Sitting on a bench
In Lincoln Park
Heart of Capitol Hill
Beating heart of the Empire
On a warm Spring Day
Watching the Cherry trees
Watching Me
Wondering what thoughts
They must have heard
The things they have seen
Over the years
But they are quiet
They do not say a word
As I fall into my spring time dreams
Sitting on that bench
Seeing the children and dogs play
Looking at Spring flowers
And pretty women
As they stroll by
Hearing the sounds of the city
As I dream of my past life
Memories of places and people
I said to myself
What a wonderful life
published in writers's newsletter
Normally people claim to like
New things. However, this is
Not always the case.
Neuropharmacologists have found that high levels of
Norepinephrine can alter minds to cause other
Neurotransmitters to direct thoughts along
Non-divergent paths so that the old is preferred and
Now reject any changes to environment.
Naturally people will take a
Noncommittal approach to all of this by denying all of this if asked
Negotiations will then take place to elicit the truth from these
Nonconformists who feel that anything said will be printed in the latest
Newsletter for Neurological Sciences which will make them appear to be
Neurotic
Neophytes. They may feel they have to inhale copious amounts of
Nitrous Oxide to regain their sense of
Normalcy. But this is being
Naïve.
No amount of a drug will allow them the
Novel lifestyle they so enjoy.
I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child
I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child
I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child
I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child
I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?
I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.
(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)
If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me!
restoreachild.org
http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)
https://www.facebook.com/RestoreAChild
My poem will be published in the next edition
“But by the grace of God I am what I am…” 1Corinthians 15:10 of the King James Bible
Let me tell you a story…
It is neither fiction nor fantasy
since the main character is yours truly…
Anchored upon scriptural theology
my narrative highlights the Creator’s glory
against pride of carnal hypocrisy…
This is the chronicle of ministerial journey
commencing from momentous encounter at Calvary
when Jesus Christ set me free graciously
against sin’s grievous penalty by His love and mercy…
I was a freshman in our country’s premier university
and the Lord intervened, setting me toward what’s heavenly
though struggling, my spirit heeded to His call obediently
toward divine trek of precious, priceless legacy:
Gospel-sharing and teaching children Bible stories joyously…
With God’s compass directing along wondrous serenity
my spiritual adventure progressed meaningfully
as biblical stewardship reigned over my humanistic philosophy---
thus, enabled to choose what matters most vis-a-vis immortality
I left my prestigious college teaching job for full-time ministry
trusting the Saviour as my Master Who knows best for me…
Midst mission trips, reaching-out travels and volunteer tasks’ array
participating in kingdom-advancement, empowered through prayer-fervency
I am nurtured, nourished for life-building and care-giving simultaneously
allowing me to bloom in discipleship pursuits by His wisdom’s sufficiency
as an orphanage Mom, a learning center Ma’am, serving gladly
a values coach to police lady officers, giving counsel to live righteously
a writer of church newsletter, publishing goodness of the Almighty…
Now, I am still continuing with my journey, blest bountifully
sailing with the Captain of the sea safely
overcoming, by His compassion, doubt and uncertainty
soaring along faith’s flight majestically
vanquishing fear, misery and anxiety
hiking atop supplication-retreat mountains steadfastly
walking with my best Friend around intimate fellowship sweetly
ready for jubilant face-to-face triumphant worship throughout eternity.
April 23, 2022
1st place, "Form N - Narrative - New Poems; Theme: Journey" Poetry Writing Contest; Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 4/27/2022.