Long October Poems
Long October Poems. Below are the most popular long October by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long October poems by poem length and keyword.
The year 2020 was a year of adjusting to new realities dealing with the pandemic. A pandemic that affected so many people in many ways. This year is one of hope that the lessons of yesterday will become our blessings today.
I am so grateful for my life which includes my loving wife and family. I have also been blessed with two dogs who greet me every day with wagging tails and sparkles in their eyes when I come home from work. They make me smile inside.
I became more aware and thankful for all the things that surround me because of the pandemic. This spring, the dandelions were the first flowers to stand out against the green grass, and I found them to be beautiful. My heart was a bit sad when had to mow the lawn.
The other colors this spring was truly amazing, especially the plants and flowers. There were animals that came to visit us, including raccoons, a mother deer, and her baby. It was special to witness a skunk and a cat eating side by side from the food dish left by my wife. Yes, we feed all of these animals.
Although we have a comfortable home, and a roof over our heads, and those creatures outdoors needed some help this year because of a drought. We installed a soaker hose on our fence dripping to the ground. It was a blessing to witness all the different birds and animals searching for water to quench their thirst.
We installed several hummingbird feeders and they are everywhere now. The hummingbirds have come to know us so well that they fly in front of our faces to chatter. We have a water trough for the animals outside the fence around our house with a few feeders.
The drought this year was so severe that the plants were so oh very thirsty. Thankfully, we are blessed with a well, allowing us to care for those things that needed our help.
Then autumn came, and there was an explosion of color. The leaves seemed to be extra brilliant this year. The tree leaves chattered in the autumn breeze that ending our drought with rain.
As Thanksgiving approaches, we experience moments when we feel overwhelmed by the blessings of our relationships, opportunities, and the beauty around us. We tend to express our feelings and share them during Thanksgiving, but we should always remember that this is not just about Thanksgiving day. We need to express these things everyday.
Edward J Ebbs - October 30, 2021
The world of Expectations
Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.
They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,
of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul
and of the one’s you seem to want to know
and would prefer to show.
So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go
so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,
might have a chance – into something – grow.
Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,
making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.
WORDS
Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,
from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,
to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,
clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies
out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,
- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -
the empty spaces that wait to be filled.
Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,
pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows
that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,
upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.
Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,
Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow
– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –
giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,
portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,
my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,
indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,
– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,
their tails streaking across, upon, all-around an ocean
of material objects, objects of historical value,
objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history
basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,
drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across
the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,
this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.
This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,
chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –
by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –
to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which
the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.
Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.
Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
The original version of this piece is too long for me
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It
was an honor to write this.
Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,
and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive,
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into
my life.
Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,
before you climb your soapbox and begin to think
that way, remember these are times when all the
black folk here are slaves.
Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,
do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick,
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.
My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to
call me Nat,
the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim,
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.
I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her
here to freezing cold,
she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me
grow and take a hold.
I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to
read it right,
then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.
I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've
stayed away because I really wanted to,
but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that
was key.
The visions I receive I know are messages from
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my
heart,
I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by
fellow slaves.
As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the
hands of the Almighty have me primed for
something great,
I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........
To Be Continued
{This "Free Verse" entry Received HONORABLE MENTIONS
IN THE Intergenerational Poetry to Bridge the Generation
Contest UNO Elders & Youth track" 2017
UNIVERSITY OF OMAHA
OMAHA, NEBRASKA}
(I was the only male entry in contest)
October 15, 2017
I'm A Teen This is What I Struggle With
I’m a teenager I’m upset depressed
Being so,
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
And I ain’t gonna call you mam or sir
That’s in the history books nobody does that anymore
I represent 30 percent of us that are one or been bullied
All adults want to do is make us study
I close to being grown you don’t understand
I know as much or more than a woman or man
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
I ‘m a teen this is what I struggle with
Feel like I’m imprisoned, these are our teen issues
I have a right it’s my body part selective if I selective
It’s my life if I choose to be sexually active
My life complicated I’m not the only one you used drugs smoke pot now what
Back in your day
Getting drunk the past month I also say
My life, my right again you did that too by the way
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
My message is I’m not heard, I’m hurt
I eat the wrongs things I get big obese some of us throw up
You can call it stayin thin being bulimic
Can’t get no education, don’t have patients for them
They can’t teach or tell me nothing gonna drop of school
Maybe I’ll join the Army
Where are the grownups when I have my problems peer pressure?
They don’t have an answer for them
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
The sexting, hot man what a body, But when I get older that picture still out there
Don’t have to be beaten up physically now it’s done electronically, on social media
Just when I think I can control my life and mind
On screen violence TV shows, movies and violence video games
Keep me wake for weeks and days
I am tired of always being diss
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
09/26/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
for Intergenerational Poetry To Bridge Generations Elders & Youth 2017 Contest
*My beloved Oval, I fear that my words fall short of what I am feeling in my heart. May you accept these few lines of love as my best effort of expressing my concern for you. I have heard much about you, but I have yet to visit and meet you in person. The pictures of you are rather striking and stunning.
It was during the 90's that I first became gravely concerned about what seemed to me, 'a tarnishing' of your office. Circumstances surrounding your occupants caused a great deal of weeping in my soul. It appeared as if the dark clouds of contamination were setting over you, and determined to drive out the awe and aromatic presence of your enduring reverence. Nevertheless, like the giant I always believed you to be, you came roaring back to a place of renown in the early 2000's. And Oval, it was so good to have you back. A new leader so deserving of your atmosphere took great lengths to restore the sacredness that was so rightfully due. I tell you Oval, the reality of your presence and power is so pervasive that it extends far beyond your palatial walls. For centuries you have adorned the shoulders of presidents in attire befitting their sacred trust.
Again, I stand aghast that I am observing a cloud of low regard for your office. Oval, this concern is not about presidents. More than 40 presidents have sat in your room, but you are still here. Presently, you are the one I am concerned about. It's my duty to speak up for you at this "high tide" of divisiveness.
Oval, in closing, there are many forces parading through our country; and it appears that these opposing forces are conspiring for a 'perfect storm'. Be advised and encouraged that much prayer is also invading the air waves. I see indications that not only shall we prevail and survive, but we shall also thrive because of God's Good Graces and His magnanimous mercies.
09292017 PS Contest, Early October Standard, Brain Strand Personification Form *Oval: The Oval Office in The White House
...inspired by 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas
The morning rings with skylarks singing,
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
A woman speaks:
“I will live in a tent, or demand I pay no rent!
My name is Sally, I want everything free!
To God, I never will bend an ungraterul knee!
For my community…..nothing will I ever do!
For the USA, you see, I think so little of you!”
“I will burn every American or Isreali flag I see!
Because everything in the USA belongs to me.
That new, red car you drive, it should be mine.
Anyone else's hard work, I shall never will do!
But all your accomplishments belong all to ne
not to you.”
“I am dying of bright, green jealousy and greed.
I steal anything I possibly can,it is my fervent creed!
I make our government tax you, till you bleed!
For you are my slaves,to fulfill all my selfish needs”
The USA, now a nation that will not work?
Why not we kindly deport these hapless jerks?
The melody I hear is so incredibly tragic,
People refusing to live lives, that are could be magic!
Criminal rioters are now totally honored here?
Teen gangbangers do stand on corners, slurping beer.
Children in Chicago, weekly are with no mercy shot dead.
BLM Marxist marches, rioters destroy, where are their heads?
Alas, the Jews are now not allowed a higher education
But must live as rodents~in fear and open the door in hesitation?
Americans, unite and do so very soon.
Do you applaud the slaughter of infants beneath an October seventh moom!
The new normal of hatred here must end now
I Pray to God, no money to Iran..I vow!
Find people with character who love, not have the joy to kill
October deventh gone,I still hear cries for mercy still!
Tent cities have ruined many delightful towms
fentanyl, thanks to Cartels, have taken many American lives.
While we hide at home,penning pietry that rhymes
Servants of the Gestapo, how dare you shame,
Those of us who believe in the American Dream, lost our flame.
We learned too well …..what happened in Germany,
When people thought that nutcase Hitler was sanity?
I hope you recall all the millions of lives thar were takem!
May God help us, this never occurs again ~ our hearts forsaken!!
4/25/2024
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We were bloody.
Bearing the weight
of a gaping moon like
young Titans-
full of arrogant imagination.
We ran, hellbent.
House after house
playing tricks-
casting spells with
veracious foolishness.
That first pumpkin was
my stepfather. I watched
as his carved out grimace
became the nothingness
I was determined to fill with
chaos.
I screamed the lyrics to our
favorite Hatebreed song down
every street. Letting the Universe
know that no matter how insignificant
the World thought we were.
We would be heard.
All of us, brothers.
Bound by dark matter-
the silent replies to our
prayers that we'd never
admit to sending out;
Together we didn't need
Him, The Devil, or anyone else.
We were fearless, because we had
each other. And the might of bond,
not in blood shared, but spilled as one.
Parents tried to chase us.
Reign us in.
We laughed and taunted-
swinging our pillowcases
full of savory sin with a sense
of joy that only a lost boy could
even begin to understand.
Hands covered in slime, and seed
thundered together and sent out our
cacophony of delight as I tipped over
the HOA's Porta Potty.
Red and blue lights flash.
Someone has had enough.
We escape into the woods.
Sit on the edge of Willow Creek,
and light up a bowl of dirt weed.
The creek was shallow that year.
But, our hearts could fill it up;
All that life pulsing, racing through
our ephemeral- jack'-o-lantern husks.
Smoke signals went up that night.
As we exhaled our silent melancholy.
I think we all had some sort of hope
there, in that place. That our rage
would be sated. That we would be
enough to keep each other safe from
what we could already sense
was encircling us.
We never wore masks.
Not until we got older, grew apart.
And began to see we had to hide
that primal nature inside ourselves to
keep the moon from breaking our
backs. Because, we don't have
each other for that anymore.
But, I'm pulling mine off tonight.
Have a good look-
The scars. The worry lines.
The bloodshot eyes.
That same grimace I tried to destroy-
lighting up the room as if it were
carved to scare you away.
But I am no totem.
No walking masquerade to incite
any sort of terror, or joy for that matter.
I’m just another pumpkin head; candle
dwindling.
Waiting to be smashed.
-James Kelley 2018
It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
WHEN TEARS TOUCH
The twelfth of November reminds me of the day
when our paths first crossed then came to grow on trail.
Soon... all the days like waves rolled into years
as we reminisce our pasts: joys and tears for fears.
A pad with pen I hold to write what pops by;
Each tint and curve a bell that says, you and I.
The words are mere push and pull medley of thoughts
shaping a circle melody of heart shots.
Learning flower our way as our cultures shared;
gem writings topically crafted are compared.
Feelings flood colours to our world, closer we became--
Creeping longing is "our meeting" as this both our aim
Beep and peek are lace ladders to higher trust grounds,
every tap and trade a thread fortifying our bond.
The lasso tying our heartstrings to etch some rhymes,
vital signs checked normal but awhile raise second hands
Can it be that this a fruit of stardust's grand wand?
Or a rose waiting to bloom and behold upon bosoms?
Now the day has arrived, suitcases packed, I smile
a journey, I have dreamt about, many many miles.
Nervousness cocoons but it's normal to feel this;
for this my long wish as I enter the coming hours.
Distance and differences our silent enemies!
But... It did not stop us from thinking sound strategies.
Interest and love gleams as our loyal company
enabling us to draw verses of harmony.
Broken bridges we cross by grace of felicity~
yearning to meet eye-to-eye an intensity!
Along the wires we jibe to friendly deal
that as crisp December sings we will make it real.
The cool December made our wanting a tip-top exhilarate..
and from somewhere, a song plays:
"When you feel in your skin in your bones and the hollow
Of your heart, there's no way you can wait till tomorrow.
When there isn't any doubt about it once you come this close
Cos you know and you know that you know...."
_____________________________________________________________
*** the last stanza are lines taken from the song: "WHEN YOU KNOW" by Shawn Colvin from the movie Serendipity.
©J.A. Fraser and O.E. Guillermo
October 29, 2014; 10:05 pm