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.
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.
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.
I sometimes attend meetings of our "Seniors for Peace" club at my retirement community. The vice president saw some of my poems in our paper, the Leisure World weekly, liked them, and reached out to me, and I wrote something for her. It remains to be seen whether they deem them suitable for the newsletter. In the meantime, I share them with you, lumped into one poem. I know that many of my kind, regular readers don't share my political beliefs, so I've put them in one place.
Consider a Cabinet Job
You say you'd like to improve your station,
but you're lacking a good education?
You're ethically challenged, been unfairly declined,
but you can ignore your conscience and be unkind.
Any part of the government, you'd gladly destroy
to make America great like a good girl or boy.
You can be loyal to anyone, as long as it pays,
as money's the only thing that matters, anyways.
Then, I suggest you consider a cabinet job,
be Czar of any domain and destroy it - no prob!
Just make sure your term hasn't prematurely expired,
like, if you contradicted the "boss", and got fired.
The Death and Destruction Game
Death and destruction, play the lexical game,
Here's your introduction: though it's all the same,
always say, "terrorist" if it's the other guy.
If it's you, then "make the world safe" would apply.
Cruelty Does Not Impress
In a country, world, or a playground,
we may not like it, but nevertheless,
bullies can always be found.
For some, power and cruelty impress,
but our conscience knows what's wrong
as we resist those who would oppress.
It may be easier to follow along
behind he with loudest mouth or biggest stick,
but, it's compassion, makes us strong,
and thus, we say, "Not so quick -
we'll fight for peace and democracy -
brick by brick".
Capitol Hill in the Spring *
*Published Writer’s Newsletter June 2017
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
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.
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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“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.
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
Amuck in this life, she fights and bumbles
Onward and forward she kicks and stumbles
Easily, angrily, quickly she grumbles
While in the distance dark thunder rumbles.
At last she falters, listens, then mumbles
“Good God!” and into oblivion tumbles.
“Soul’s Battle” first appeared in the Dead of Night Newsletter, July 1994, then collected in Lake of the Devil: Poems of Morosity and Jest (Duck's-foot Tree Productions, 1995) limited to 75 copies. It was included in the poetry section of the omnibus edition of novel, poems, and tales Anthony Shriek: His Doleful Adventures; or, Lovers of Another Realm (Centipede Press, 2017). It is also included in my forthcoming Hippocampus Press collection The Ghost Garden and Further Spirits.
Dawn was grey,
He was sitting in a dark aisle,
Steel was cold,
His nerves were giving away their hold.
And then he heard,
A cry of delight,
He saw sunshine.
She was bright ,
Brighter than daylight,
Wrapped in pink and white.
She held his hand,
Moulding her fingers around,
And he promised,
"I will never let you be down in the mouth",
Time blazed,
Winds fluttered by,
Now she was eleven,
Sitting on swings high.
She have got little friends
And he thinks they are all errands,
They always make her cry.
So she came to him,
Blowing her nose,
"Why this world so unfair,
Why everyone's so cold".
"Hey young lady ,
This is what world is ,
Filled with happiness and miseries,
Still pristine as it is".
She cried and cried,
Ran around,
Huddled in a corner,
Till he reached out.
And then he slipped,
A book ,
Half ripped,
"People" its pronounced.
"It will guide you through the world
Show its colors
Rainbows
With black and whites".
He shined.
It traveled through the world with me,
Crossed many huddled maze,
I carry it with me,
In my memories haze.
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