Long Nigh Poems
Long Nigh Poems. Below are the most popular long Nigh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nigh poems by poem length and keyword.
REMEMBER IT ALL
So many memories that leave few traces
All the friends I knew and their faces
And when the time is nigh, at least I’ll try
To remember it all
It’s been so long, a danger of forgetting
As recollection fades it becomes upsetting
And when it’s time to rest, I’ll do my best
To remember it all
The decades pass and we don’t meet that often
Is it even true that feelings can soften
And playing my last card, it won’t be hard
To remember it all
Events and times that happened in my youth
Whether fact or fantasy, but I know the truth
A photo album from which those faces are staring
Blurred but smiling, I wonder how they’re faring
Images that I still see, and it depends on me
To remember it all
Hoary sun now trolls the availing sky
Radiant lamp gilding all who under its shade lie
Golden streams of light kindle hearth on high
Burning parasol fans its flames warming all that draw nigh
A fiery portent to all who under its horizon fly
Spreading thermal blanket its spawning heat to re-apply
Through porous seams sultry beams ply
Silty founts it doth bleach then dry
Scorching leafy tents that on its succoring warmth doth rely
Streaming with misty vapors, earth's boiling caldron doth gurgle and sigh
Sending convecting currents across earth's table, its residual steam to pry
Jealously blanching the darker hues that with its mercurial splendor doth vie
This morning I stumbled out of bed and stood at rigid attention!
(I thought I'd had a nightmare and had lost my military pension!)
A familiar strain wafted across the valley and swirled about my ears.
'Twas the "Reveille" bugle call, a sound I hadn't heard in years!
The sound came from nearby Fort Carson since the wind was just so.
(I recalled my warrior days rising at dawn to earn my meager dough!)
I pictured in my mind the bewilderment of the young and raw recruits,
Cussing the bugler, gathering up their gear and pulling on their boots!
At noon the bugle called, "Come and get your chow, boys! Come and get your chow!"
(My grub was slopped on a battered steel tray - troopers dine off china now!)
That's just the way it was - I'm happy for them tho' - they deserve the best!
For their devotion to duty and firm resolve, we are truly blessed!
At five o'clock, the bugler sounded "Retreat" to end another day.
The garrison flag was slowly lowered, folded and stowed away.
The cannon boomed - its thundering boom reverberated about the post.
Every soldier stood proud and tall and saluted the flag, totally engrossed!
The haunting notes of "Taps" sound at ten o'clock then fade away and die,
As sleeping soldiers are assured, "All is well, safely rest, God is nigh."
How I relish the dulcet bugle calls echoing from across the way;
I wouldn't object if the wind would blow my way each and every day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(©All Rights Reserved)
There once lived a worthy, wonky his view,
Having invented a business model,
Craftily he called it as Debt Spiral—
This creative, cock-eyed guy— Brummell Beau!
Got many a suit by his tailor made,
All on credit— big as his business was,
On highest crest he enjoyed credit grade,
And sure his business grew pulling no pause.
When so his tailor talked of unpaid bill,
Three more suits he would order on credit,
Pushing the spiral of debt— way uphill,
Poor tailor worried was—at end of wit.
World’s Uncle Sam today treads on this trail,
Its dollar debt breaching the global roof,
Producing a package of Holy Grail,
Gullible Faith, when hast thou needed proof?
And nations nudged are on green backs to trade,
Sprouting and pushing up paper credit
That, if not junk, nigh but of sub-prime grade,
Backed by gold, goods nor yet goodwill a bit.
There seems no alt, Euro in crisis worst,
Their pledges far less than plenty can pool,
Not more than wool in eyes world’s left to trust,
And globe’s gullible suffer silent fool.
Yea, China may be too eager to wear
The pinching shoes— with little trust, least faith,
As trade spouse, yet to prove she’s not unfair,
So, Dollar's here till one parts— debt or death!
Tailors of world may have a grudge to nurse,
But Brummell had invented male trousers,
He sure deserves his coveted a crown—
For catching world tailors clueless, pants down!
___________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek | 02.06.2010 |
Poet’s Note: In ancient India, Charvak talked of rinam kritvaa gheetam pibet… incur debt and enjoy. USA today follows this dictum to perfection. Countries like Japan that export more than they import have a huge balance of trade, which when saved has to be kept in a reserved currency like Dollars. You save and keep these savings in the form of Dollar Bonds. Many countries do so. China is another among the big. USA invests this money to be prosperous. Today, it seems only fools save. You are smart if you can borrow big, consume big. This narrative poem tells us how it all started.
The Daffodil, peeks at the yellow rays of the Morning Sun
She raises her head :through the withering snow mound : with Dazzling Beauty
The Daffodil , Sings in harmony; Arise for I am : the Spring
The Golden weed, the Dandelion , reflects the yellow Halo Floating in the Sky
Knowing Life is short ,the Dandelion dots the Summer landscape
With Her Halo turning White, She calls the Wind and flies through the rays of the Sun
Goldenrod waits until summer is nigh o’er before waving elegantly
To the Yellow orb, warming her roots, She melodiously Sings Forever be Your Glory
The Goldenrod , humbly Hums Hymns : to the very Eye of a Loving GOD
Yellow Roses speak of the Memories : “watching the grass “Sportsman’s WAVE””
She sees the Glory of Nature : more Beautiful with each Magnificent : Sunrise
Yellow Roses, petals so Silky Soft, holding in “ Remembrance “ a long Lost “ LOVE “
The “ AquaRose “ that Grows, in the deep Caribbean Sea “4 miles North of Aruba”
Screams For the Sun, from her watery Grave, Yet she shines in a sea of “ Sapphire
" Blue "
The Depth of the “Blue sea, the Blue Sky above” Shadow the glow of Sweet
" Sunshine "
Inspired by the Contest : " Flowers " : Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Dedicated To my LOVES : " Barbara Jean " & " Lenore Ellen "
Author's Note : I Hope this is Read the way it was Written
YOUR Liege ALWAYS, LOVE : HGarvey Daniel Esquire
7th Place win
In a peaceful sky shone the Star
when all was silent and quiet.
We felt the warmth come from afar.
Solemn, we followed the riot
of angels gathering on high
when all was silent and quiet.
We heard a blessèd birth is nigh,
a glorious message that rung
of angels gathering on high.
A child is born is what was sung,
Savior, Messiah, son of God,
a glorious message that rung.
Three Magi came forth and were awed
by the boy child in the manger,
Savior, Messiah, son of God.
He is the answer, the Changer.
We can find favor and be saved
by the boy child in the manger.
The road to salvation is laid.
"Has solitude ever led your steps down a forest path . . . "
Quote by Constance La France
Down a lane I'd run, one bordered with myrtles of crepe,
Lost in thought, I hardly noticed that twilight was nigh.
Plagued with sorrow, I'd sought a safe haven for escape.
Welling clouds hovered over me like a gray serape,
that held a threat of rain, but a storm I would defy.
Down a lane I'd run, one bordered with myrtles of crepe.
A maple forest stood before me on the landscape.
High above their canopy, a flock of geese flew by.
Plagued with sorrow, I'd sought a safe haven for escape.
Beneath withering crimson leaves with a trident shape,
my sadness faded as if they'd tried to pacify.
Down a lane I'd run, one bordered with myrtles of crepe.
Grief disappeared as I felt a cool breeze on my nape.
Darkness approached. To the forest I whispered 'goodbye,'
plagued with sorrow, I'd sought a safe haven for escape.
Past the need for solitude, I threw off heartache's drape.
Moments spent in the copse calmed me, I cannot deny.
Down a lane I'd run, one bordered with myrtles of crepe.
Plagued with sorrow, I'd sought a safe haven for escape.
11/17/22 ~ Writing Challenge "V" Forms Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Quote #2 - Inspiration with a theme of - Nature
He was born in a shelter for animals,
Meant to keep off the wind and the rain;
For there was no room for them in the inn,
So it was here that they came.
His father did the best he could,
To see to His mother's comfort.
"Please God,' he prayed,'take care of her,
For she is no king's consort."
"I cannot give her all she needs,
And now her time draws nigh.
Please see Your Son into this world,
And watch them, lest she die."
So He was born in Bethlehem,
Jesus, The Nazarene;
And Joseph taught Him all he knew,
And He surpassed their dreams.
Wise beyond His years was He,
So thoughtful, good and kind.
Search if you will but you will see,
One like Him you won't find.
Here it was He spent His years,
And grew to be a man.
When it was time He left His home,
To teach and walk the land.
So much sickness, pain and sorrow,
Jesus saw and grieved.
He brought them out of the darkness,
And all their pain relieved.
He spoke to them of The Father.
Taught them what they must know.
He went where The Light was needed,
To places the priests would not go.
At first He was cheered, they received Him,
As one receives a great king,
And the priests were jealous and feared Him,
As to their old laws they clinged;
So when the fullness of time had come,
They brought Him before the courts,
And He was tried as a heretic,
And He suffered their jeers and retorts.
At length Jesus stood all by Himself.
Not one man stood beside Him.
His followers wept and were gripped with fear,
As they waited to see what betide Him.
Our Lord knew fear and lonliness,
And heartbreak cut like a knife;
But He was strong and withstood it all,
To end our personal strife;
For we'd been banished, cut off from God.
Our portion was certain death.
He was tortured, bled and died,
And forgave us with His last breath.
"Forgive them Father,' He cried aloud,
'They know not what they do."
And then He hung His head and died.
He died for me and you;
But that's not all my friend, Oh No,
He went into Hell that day,
To reclaim those who waited still,
And led them all away.
Then He returned to show us all,
He is The Father's Son,
Come to reclaim us as His Own,
And save us one by one.
He conquered Death, He conquered Hell,
He Is The Conquering King.
All Hail The Mighty Son Of God!
All Hail The King Of Kings!
In twilight's hush, the sun did wane,
A crimson orb fading pain,
Upon the horizon's edge it bled,
A portent of the night ahead.
The world was weary, hearts were sore,
The weight of life bore down the core,
In restless slumber, dreams were fraught,
With visions of all that life had taught.
But through the shroud of darkest night,
A whisper came, a beacon bright,
Of verdant fields and gates of pearl,
Where every sorrow would unfurl.
A Shepherd kind, with gaze so bright,
Spoke softly of a land so light,
A holy ground of love's embrace,
A sanctuary of eternal grace.
He painted tales of streams so pure,
Of life's own trees, a cure,
For endless days without a tear,
Where joy would dance, and love draw near.
The weary souls, with hope anew,
Saw burdens lift, their vision true,
The distant dawn, so faint, so clear,
A promise in the atmosphere.
Within their hearts, a flame alight,
Guided by the Shepherd's might,
They saw the path that wound its way,
To realms where night turns into day.
Through trials deep and valleys dark,
His words, a lighthouse, their safe harbor,
A solace true, a star so bright,
To guide them through the longest night.
For faith, a seed within them sown,
A hope in every heart was grown,
To rise above the mortal coil,
And claim the prize of their own toil.
Though shadows cast by worldly care,
A hope within their souls they bear,
The promise clear, a voice does say,
"Fear not, my child, your home is nigh."
Heaven's gates, with love adorned,
Await the ones forlorn,
A paradise of ceaseless mirth,
A sacred place of rebirth.
So let your hearts be not dismayed,
For every tear, in light, shall fade,
God's endless grace, His loving hold,
In paradise, your dreams unfold.
She is an unsung, unaware, unbridled, unsuspecting scene, deep in the woods, lost in time.
Not ventured into by hunter, or explorer for nigh onto thirty years, full of undisturbed cobwebs,
Large, and beautiful, intricately built by joyful diligent spiders, who have orchestrated them as delicately
As a maestro, taking their sweet time, using inner knowledge to enthral and entrap their prey.
Birdsong lullabies rarely glide through this forest, but the hoot of an owl can be heard nightly.
Wolves, skunk, fox, and beaver, do not notice the owl any more, focused on scavenging and hunting.
Raccoon and opossum scurry in the underbrush, hesitating only when encountering anything strange.
The mirrored pond, where animals gather, but only with their own kind, is the focus of the night.
Opalescent reflections of moonbeam light her, a beautiful contrast to the shadow dreams of the trees.
Mother Nature’s tapestry at her best, she will instantly enchant anyone brave enough to venture near.
Her affinity with twilight spirit, and her joy of being undisturbed, and undeveloped, keeps her safe.
She gathers her sleeping menagerie to her breast, watching them sleep, unsung protective mother forest.