Long Occasion Poems
Long Occasion Poems. Below are the most popular long Occasion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Occasion poems by poem length and keyword.
We always eulogize a child on his birth
We also eulogize a person on his death
On both occasions he is unable to appreciate the praise
At birth he is unable to understand the words
At death his ears are unresponsive to the sound
Why do we always say good things on these occasions?
Must we confine our eulogy only to these occasions?
A child doesn’t understand our words at the time of his birth
So it doesn’t matter whatever our words may sound
The logic isn’t the same for a person on his death
We have an innate fear that his spirit is hearing our words
We wish to impress the spirit by using words of praise
Why should we impress the spirit with words of praise?
There is a belief that the spirit will leave after such occasions
Some believe that the spirits are not influenced by words
Our fate after death depends on all our deeds after birth
All good deeds will be rewarded by the Creator after death
Fate is not decided on words irrespective of how it may sound
It is impossible to infer true feelings from how the words sound
We often pretend to please others by telling words of praise
These pretensions are useless when hearing ability ceases on death
But may be fruitful when spoken to others on different occasions
It is ineffective when the sense of hearing is undeveloped at birth
The generation of feelings depends upon how we express the words
Human relations depend on how we express our feelings in words.
Expressions, conveying different feelings, are said in a varying sound
The effectiveness is lost when conveyed to a child at birth
Damaged human relations can be repaired through words of praise
The appropriate expressions must be chosen to suit the occasion
Feelings and expressions must amalgamate in the occasion of death
One of the most solemn occasions in life is that of death
While expressing feelings we carefully select the words
The choice of words matches the vibes of the occasions
The speeches are characterized by a particular sound
On such occasions we forget our true feelings and praise
Ebullient feelings are aroused on the occasion of birth
The strength of a relationship is expressed by the identity of the sound
The effectiveness of the expressions rest on the choice of words
Alas! The only expressions a child has are cries at birth
In all honesty,
I never learned your name.
I didn’t need to;
The look in your eyes is your name
Like fireflies, they twinkle and glimmer your name
A name I love saying
The way you stare at me
It’s like I’m the color yellow,
And I’m painting away the grey of your world
That’s what you tell me
As my head rests in the crook of your neck, and your fingers trail up the bare of my hip
You’re yellow, and sunshine to me you say
And I’m grey like a pebble, soaking up your rays
I laugh
But grey is my favorite color I tell you
It’s the color of the skies on the days I’m tucked in your arms, because its too cold and wet to go outside
It’s the color of my favorite blanket that I keep under my bed
Its only for special occasions
When I need to cry and shake and let the dreams of the night know I’m not okay
You’re not just for special occasions though
You’re for every occasion. Every fight, every dance,
Every laugh with my head thrown back and my fingers tightening around you for purchase because laughing with you is like an ******, it breaks me, it builds me, it loves me
Even when you’re not here
I still think of you
I sit you beside me, and tell you thoughts, even when reality speeds around us, and you’re not really there
Even now I can sit you beside me
And trace the figures of your love with my eyes
Black hair, straight and deep. Sometimes short, sometimes long; I can’t choose, you’re beautiful either way
Brown eyes, deep like the dirt flowers and dreams can only sprout in, that burn like the hearts of spinning stars
Tall, and I hate it, but you always use it to your advantage to capture me tight
I lied
I love it
Long fingers, and you pluck secrets and whimpers from me like notes from a harp
God, I love them
God, I crave them
You’re my all dreams bundled into one, my opposite, my piece of the puzzle, my favorite melody, my infinite addiction
I can’t live without you
A day that goes by without you is another breath stolen from my lungs but what can I do because you’re not even real
Like Pygmalion, I’ve fallen in love with my own mind’s tortured creation and now I can love no one but you
I can stare at no one but you, and when the night falls, I can go to no one but you
To Orsino, how can you say women can’t love like men?
I’ve fallen in love with a woman and now I’m dead.
September 25, 2018
I’m sitting in a dark, nothing but a T.V. on.
I’m watching horror movies, or am I watching paint dry.
I see people, I see faces, but I still can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.
A scream I hear, I chalk it up to the T.V.
A rat-tat-tat, on the door, only to see no one,
I’m not sure I even moved.
I’ve been sleep deprived for days, but today, on the most holy of holy days,
I cannot sleep.
Today is a day of celebration.
For once, the evil, the dark, the macabre, it’s celebrated.
My interest aren’t looked down on, they are praised.
I think to myself, maybe I should makes something, to commemorate
the occasion.
I step to the kitchen, pull out a knife, and begin carving the first thing in sight.
Tonight, it was a pig.
I think last year it was like a bumble-bee or something, I don’t know, it was making a lot of noise and I just wanted some peace.
Either way, after trimming the fat, I had to clean up a bit.
The phrase, bleeding like a stuck pig, totally true.
Blood got everywhere, this is gonna take so much bleach to clean.
So I shove it in the oven, mouth watering at the thought of the sandwich I’m gonna make when it comes out.
I knew animals fought,
But this one fought like it really didn’t wanna be dinner.
I just hit it with the pumpkin it carried.
A few hours pass, and the pig is done.
I trim off the hair, and then the skin.
I can’t stand the skin, so stretchy and not tasty.
It’s like eating elastic, or a shirt or something stupid like that.
Either way, I peel back the skin-and I indulge myself.
Normally I go for the entrails first, but tonight is special.
I go straight for the brains.
So tasty, with just a tinge or copper, or was it iron, I’m not sure
Either way, it was salty, and metallic, and delicious.
I only treat myself to this kind of meal on the special days of the year,
You know the days I’m talking about
Easter, July 4th, tonight
Those days, they are wonderful
So yeah, the screams were annoying, but they stopped now
All that I hear is some laughing, and my own noise
Tap-tap-tap-squish
Tap-tap-squish-tap
It felt divine.
Then it all ended, someone said my time was up.
That pig’s blood went everywhere
Everywhere. It was intense
After all of that, I’m back in front of the T.V.
I’m really not sure if it was a T.V. or a wall.
The first thing I remember other than that night,
Was asking the guards if I could watch Silence of the Lambs on Halloween.
during talking to this young lady
i looked on her quiet fondly as a friend
still stunned when she kissed me
i stepped back with shock
yet looking at her in a softened heart
i felt for her looking into her eyes i said
stop sweetheart as i looked at her
inside i was crying
so long since i heard them words
i love you
putting both hands on her face
saying looking into her eyes
you are so very sweet
she never saw inside what them words meant
i saw in her eyes hurt
feeling so ashamed
i hugged her saying
never give your feelings away
so easily to a man you barely know
you began pleading
saying you knew me for ages
it was only in the space of shopping
i felt ever so bad
wishing the ground to swallow me
so much going on in one's head
finding it hard to cope
then you began telling me
that for months you had been watching me
as we spoke once a week on the rare occasion twice
always smiling sometimes
coming up behind me
playfully giving me a fright then laughing
all this time i saw you as a friend
during the conversation
she began telling me
each time i entered the shop
she got butterflies
i felt so sad heart touched
honestly did not know what to say
beyond flattered
at that moment i felt broken hearted
i did not want to hurt her
she began saying you are always so nice
i love speaking to you
waiting and hoping to see you each we
smiling lost for words
each time after shopping
always headed to her till
she always smiled beautiful
each time she saw me even
among'st a crowd
her look would single me out
at the time one never noticed
to wrapped up in everything else in my life
there was no room within
my heart that time
to let you in
in fact i love the company
inside emotion
i shut completely down
flattered she kissed me again
honestly it tasted beautiful
i stopped her
deep within the mind one was hurting
with shattered love deep inside
please darling i said
i do not want to hurt you
try to understand my is not right
never mentioning hospitals
making one feel heartless
you began promising me
the very world you live in
inside i could feel a crying emotion
my mind in bits and pieces
barely living walking around
blind to everyone in my own hurt
the scars were still attached to feelings
of emotion that was not dealt with yet
i was a million miles away in a different space
now i see a lot clearer this is on story i will write
continued angel 3
By Lora Colon and Brian Johnston
Original Poem: Lord, How Hard Could It Be? by Lora Colon of PoemHunter.com
Lord, if you're the Essence of Love,
Why do you find such difficulty
In answering my simple prayer
To send a love with whom to share
Each new day of life you grant to me?
You leave me baffled by this mystery,
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
Your sunsets, Lord, are breathtaking,
A small measure of your grand design,
Splendor painted across the skies,
Healing chrism for pain-filled eyes,
Proof of a Creator most Divine;
But why has no love been designed for me?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
The night crowns the mountains with stars,
No royalty could claim such rare gems,
Reaching upward though they may try
To snatch Heaven's jewels from the sky,
Earth's stones must adorn their diadems;
Can you not forge a crown of love for me?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
Trees proudly raise their brawny arms,
Designed by your mercy and your might,
Where weary birds find peace and rest,
A secure venue for their nest,
A stage for their anthems at twilight;
Am I not worthy of such charity?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
You tend to Earth's necessities,
Yet, you're blind to the needs of your child,
Returning tides embrace the shore,
Winds uplift the birds as they soar,
Yet, from Eden I remain exiled;
Do my needs transcend your ability?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
December 29, 2016
Echo Poem: In Praise of Praise by Brian Johnston
All your poetry documents longing and loss
And your words spin us all in a heavenly daze,
For they seem to attract many souls who agree,
It seems misery’s message does have special charm.
Makes me smile on occasion, as my poetry
Struggles mostly alone in desire to sing praise,
Is it strange I’m not nursing a love/hate for sauce,
Or that I am not ready to give up the farm?
My concern here’s that misery causes a freeze,
Causes focus that limits your world view to “you!”
Might not “unanswered prayer” be an answer that’s kind?
Where’s your empathy showing God’s love is remiss?
Is the presence of pain “lack of love” in your mind,
Does He mean it to punish or make us review?
Are you missing the forest by looking at trees?
Can “Love” be more than this: World that “leads” you to bliss?
March 23, 2017
From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.
As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?" Can you blame her? We should have had at least one mountain story to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke? We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.
On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta. While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired. The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.
Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe. Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life. Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.
Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca. This time there was plenty of room and power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.
My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet. Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
love the grey in a lazy day bridge the gap in my dreams through twisted schemes
filter through the notion of belonging mark the longing get a following
we are in this til the end my faithful friend with whom I can depend
inside I have rollercoaster emotions with the ups & downs
take a walk on the beach try to catch that frisbee way out of reach
love the longing of belonging there's a yearning hearts are turning
take a shower in the hour of power nestled in a memory come to sit next to me
Each man chooses their own destiny call it magical chemistry from when you were a memory
Rise to the occasion with soaring hearts as in some decorated mast to impart
love is basking in the jewels of renewal carry on with a song in your heart
love is the mere tenderness of the given moment from a sought after vintage smile
comfort me to the conclaves of lasting love soon you will discover a heart to unfold
many are living in mere fantasy basking in the leaves or newly fallen snow
hearts would unfold some time a go the notion of surrender
Come with me to the sea of tranquility lost in a dream feel the breeze
Tea leaves with Leonard Cohen singing basking in the vast expanse between time & space
Surrender to the moment with cadence as its following and deep heart belonging
the tender moments of belonging soaring like an eagles to parts unknown
Caress the bossom of softened decorum as we choose to be healed
the day is fast approaching and the night is far too spent
to quiver in the moment let the temporal vanish capture the longing
I sit alone above to dew left to groom a brand new view in what is left to do
give me a smile your support and your fantasies let them flourish let them unfold
Hear each passing wave rise to the occasion with the real remnants of nature
To equate laughter with forgiveness give pause to think being in the moment
one touch and one will rise with triumph in their eyes
The ability to let go and let God take over feelings to recapture prepared for the great here after...
arm me with harmony filtered through a dream give pause to breathe
Achieve your dreams to light the way of forgiveness the mere wanting to let go
Be compassionate when you learn to focus on your goals in which to unfold
like Stevie Wonder singing at your funeral learn role reversal
Choose to let go & let God each & every passing day
Swimming in the deep depths of tales
A place where writers sometimes go
In urgent need to find themselves
To envision again the writing flow
A place where words swim like fish
Many are like sirens that sing in bubbles
that carries their voices in bliss
Hiding their beauty in the trenches tunnels
All glow shining with inscriptions within
Giving ideas that can create
A plot for your mind to confine in
That exploit to initiate.
As you go deeper in the abyss of it's body
It gets darker, colder
Luring you to it's embody
Time is growing older
As getting closer yet feeling bolder
Enthralled in its ebony shadows shoulder
Now alone with a blank mind
No one can save you this time
It's up to you on how to evade the mine.
It wants you there
Now trapped and soon in need of air
You're falling in despair
It's calling you but seemingly to not bear!!!
Swimming through is a murky cast
It swims in, at full blast
Stalks you like a shark
Can't see well it's too dark!!!
Freshly still like a simple bass
It's way too sharply fast
As hoping that good fate
Will make it pass
Or make you it's ideal bait
Maybe even to occasion a special date.
It comes...... It comes!!!
Then silence fills to surround
Yet there's nothing around
With not a speck of sound
What has happened?
This is all so rapid...
Am I dead in the oceanic's shroud?
Then a source of swirling light
Endows my presence
A feeling so unique in essence
giving me a sense of no fright
Darkness and fear is now evanescence
What never was to result in a bad bite.
Now my hands are inspired
to naturally write
For the seas stories had conspired
To paint in black ink
Giving a talent with passion
So there's no way for them to sink
But to float like jellies
With pink flopping bellies
Giving them a sensual attraction
Almost like ballerinas in a stage
That dance with grace
To the seas gravity with no name or age
Love how well they rhythm in same pace
It's all now coming to me....
And I can see and do I proudly see
In a sweet art masterpiece
That I made it be...
I want to feel it's dew
It's meadow harmony that arches in peace
In the profound beauty of it's blue
The skill I carried and always knew
Was never far from me
I had to get prompted starting at new
Hey you got this don't worry
Now get on and write your story....
What’s left of Octavia glides down the hall
Past the portraits she painted in life,
Now framed in mahogany, rosewood, and oak,
And they’re hers for the haunting tonight.
She looks for the canvas she started the day
Her desire became indiscrete;
A nude on a balcony under the moon.
It was one she would never complete.
What’s left of Octavia passes the wall
Where her art is the featured display,
Recalling advances she made in the past
That went far beyond being risqué.
She goes to the window and conjures the scene
As it happened those long years before,
And thinks of the model who posed for her then;
A temptation too ripe to ignore.
What’s left of Octavia mourns what she’s lost
Like a dreamer deprived of her dream.
Her husband threw open the studio door
To discover her subject and theme.
He looked at the model, he looked at his wife,
And he saw what a fool he had been
To blindly indulge her artistic pursuits,
Which she took as occasion to sin.
A new moon at midnight. She whispers a name.
Her face in the shadows, a study in pain.
Still searching for what she can never regain,
And she’s out on a haunting tonight.
What’s left of Octavia longs for the time
She felt anything other than numb.
The smell of the paint and the feel of the brush
Being foreign to what she’s become.
A specter deprived of the flavor of life.
An obsession that won’t fade away.
A monochrome canvas, a faintly drawn sketch
From a palette with ten shades of gray.
What’s left of Octavia stands on the ledge,
And considers the landscape below.
The moment of impact still fresh in her mind,
Because time has not softened the blow.
Her family gathered to lay her to rest,
And the ring was removed from her hand.
Though people would gossip, and ponder her fate,
There are none who in truth understand.
What’s left of Octavia comes to him now,
Late at night when he puts on her ring.
A family heirloom entrusted to him
When he married his lover last spring.
He stands in the dark as she enters the room,
And the séance is set to begin.
She watches him pose, while he takes off his clothes,
With her brushstrokes caressing his skin.
Confessions at midnight. She whispers a name.
Her face in the shadows, a study in pain.
Still searching for what she can never regain,
But he's hers for the haunting tonight.
My wife and I have lived in our present home for more than 14 years, and I think that the loveliest time of the year in our community is the fall season. One look at a tall leafy tree can take your breath away. One such tree is just across the street from our house. When I saw it, one word sufficed. Wow!
Although I am certain that this tree has grown taller and broader over the course of fourteen years, there were years that transpired before I even noticed it's beauty. For years, it's beauty was more than 'bark deep' and staring down at me, but I never noticed.
It was only about four to five years ago that I was walking down the hall on the second floor of our home. When I looked up, I was deeply moved by the sight of the tree. It seems that all things simply came together at that particular moment. Both the door and the window blinds in that North facing room were open, and I was treated to the awesome sight of that tall fall tree.
It was as if I had just awakened from a long sleep, or had hidden in a cave. The summer green had turned a beautiful golden yellow. It was as if a voice yelled out and said, "Just Look At Me! ". The power of orange captivated me, and I was arrested by a live portrait, painted by the hand of God. I have looked forward to the sight every year since.
The tree did not have a facelift or makeover, and it had not moved closer nor farther away from my view. But at that moment, it cried out for me to notice and observe its stunning beauty. With pleasure, I was mesmerized and beheld its awesomeness. On that occasion, I did not glance or pause for a quick look, because this time I was not hurried or too busy to look, as I must have been for so many years prior. I was stopped completely in my tracts and drawn toward the tree for a closer view.
Perhaps this fall tree encounter speaks so much about my life and thinking that has slowed and changed over the last few years. Perhaps I can see and feel more of what really matters because the pace of my life has been slowed. I have a much clearer view because the hot summers of my busy life have departed. I am no longer blinded by the forest because a single, exquisite, and distinguished tree has yelled out to me. The tree of picture-perfect orange has ordered me to stop and stare.
11212011 PS Contest, 09142017, Autumn Colors, Nayda Negron, 2P