Long Of late Poems
Long Of late Poems. Below are the most popular long Of late by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Of late poems by poem length and keyword.
Our love is like a Baskin Robbins store,
These years with you, with flavors, each their own.
The carton's deep, Lord willing, there is more;
My taste for thy confections, sweet has grown.
Rum Raisin, sour, wrinkled, in a rut,
A scoop of Rocky Road, or maybe three.
Pistachio and almonds when life's nuts
And lemon, bitter, thankfully set free.
Sometimes vanilla might describe us best,
Or peach, the warmth and freshness of our youth.
Of late it seems one stands above the rest,
Yes, Cookie Dough as we grow long of tooth.
Though none of these are ones I would forsake,
Right now ’tis truly Icing on the Cake.
The air was eerie with the fairy-tale hush of late nights.
I saw him—his face devoid of emotion.
When he laughed, many teeth were missing,
save two extra-long canines.
He stood in that scary air—
a lone balloon in hot wind.
He whispered faintly, “Time’s up.”
I whimpered back, “Time up for what?”
And he said, “It’s time for you to die.”
My feet turned cold.
My bed was drenched with gallons of dread.
I was soaked to my underpants
by the fear in his eyes.
Then I remembered my debts—
the unpaid love of those who loved me.
I once had time
to repay that onerous love—
but I hesitated, believing life lasts forever.
Even just before the car veered off the road,
I dreamt in what's now my last sleep to pay back all the love I owed.
How will my soul leave for the black horizon
without repaying the love my parents gave?
Is it their unalloyed sacrifice I’ll leave unpaid,
or the care they unconditionally showed?
And my soul cannot forsake the belief
my wife and children have invested in me.
No key to heaven’s gate will be found,
though death pricked precariously at my thoughts.
But death, before you strike,
wait—let me say goodbye
to my parents, my friends, my loved ones.
Just a minute to rush my last words,
enough to write a book—
but your breath burned through my plea.
I dragged my thoughts into the realm of longevity,
though all I owned was packed in ephemerality.
My calendar showed only the past,
not a single word about the future.
I float, my body forgotten below.
The people I see are angels—
the journey to heaven is so short.
When I look down,
many well-wishers have gathered, spilling tears.
Oh, my mother’s cry was the loudest.
Depression hits hard like a tsunami wave,
threatening my house, welcoming the grave.
Should I thrive on my daily medication,
or survive, unaided, gravitation?
Should I deny myself of natural lows,
because they're so intense, like violent fist blows?
Should I be an altered version of me,
one sedated, less complicated, carefree?
Is this an effective alleviation,
or is there a possible toleration?
Would pills create chemical fences
that weaken my natural defenses?
Can I still empathize if I don't feel pain?
What lasting effect will this have on my brain?
Should I forfeit assistance from an upward shelf,
to be my indifferent, bipolar self?
Should I let my known weakness sometimes reign,
or spare myself of avoidable pain?
Should I grieve joy's seasonal cessation,
as my heart freezes from sun deprivation?
Should I undulate to the beat of the moon,
eagerly awaiting its fullness' resume?
To medicate or not medicate? ---
the question of old, the question of late.
The question begs like dessert on a plate.
Is it devil's food or angel cake?
Neither is there any daysman betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both.
Job 9:33 King James Version Bible
JOB
I stink of death and boils.
My wife is left to stir my trouble.
Friends, of late, do suffocate.
Oh Lord, I give you my complaint.
JESUS
Clouds of darkness covet the sky.
Thunderbolts scream from on high.
A perfect man offered up to die.
For now, friends question why.
GOD
Sees that a man is righteous
When a man is covered with his son’s blood
Jesus, divine and man at the same time
Our daysman, stretched out his arms
One hand on God, One on man
10/22/2017
When I was younger my quest was to be,
The best person that I could possibly be.
Now that I am older, I have a better plan.
Just to be exactly the way that I already am.
It’s not that I am perfect now, quite far from it,
But change is now like a half century comet.
What goes around comes around. I’ve been around a while,
And thinking of myself, in spite of myself, really makes me smile.
There isn’t much left of my glorious quest to improve,
Because most of what’s left is already on the move.
The eyes found hollows to sink themselves into.
Years passed, I have developed a second chin too.
.
Everything seems to be vacating south,
Most of my skin, boobs even my mouth.
My hair has developed a flurry of silver sprinkles.
And my face once plump and smooth, now has wrinkles.
The mind is still clear, though I detect it may fade.
I am happy the way it is and will be happy if it stayed.
Although I have noticed, I have a failing of late.
I tend to mix letters, not getting all wodrs straight.
Its quite enough to give up on any quest.
The old me isn’t ready to pass any test.
But still, I am a contented old goat.
Happy to say I am now a reasonable pote.
I would like to share a tale with you
About an ongoing Spud feud
Between two potato families
And the shenanigans and antics pursued
We have the Tater Family
An extremely large family indeed
Round , robust, varied , versatile,
Availability always guaranteed
The Sweeties are the other family
Long, oval, tapered , also versatile
Orange and a little softer on the inside
Availability, sometimes quite the trial
Now, the Sweeties think the Taters common
Often heard yelling ‘You are rotund and quite frankly cheap and crass ’
Many of you are a shade of ugly unripe green
AND~
You are always getting smashed!
Well… ‘HALLO’ , responded the Taters
Have you looked in the mirror of late?
You are certainly no oil painting
AND~
Whats that weird hairy bit at the end of you mate?
The Sweeties retaliate with fervour
Well, at least, we are healthy, special and sweet
Popular, sought after and make a delicious pie
Known as POET-ATO …..a favourite with artistes!
‘Yeah right’ ….reply the Taters
Did you know we ARE known as the people’s spud?
Always available and at hand to help
AND~
To be quite frank Sweeties
When the male spuds wear their jackets….they are considered quite the Stud!’
Now, this feud may always continue
Their differences may always be their fuel
HOWEVER~
There is one thing they will always agree on
SPUDS RULE!!
i cry at the thought of heartbreak
i speed in the hopes to create a kaleidoscope alternative
i crash to make the illusion last forever
i die dreaming of you loving me
as i cross over
i become a dark artist painting light images
i look for a penny, but i can't find the fuse box of my sanity
suddenly, it is the third day and i do not remember a thing
it is then that i learn the definition of unconditional love
it is then that i understand the inner making of my broken heart
it is then that a realize that i had no comprehension beyond the satisfaction of my self
it is then that i reality hits me in the head like a hot anvil with cold thorns
it is then that i discover to late.....that it is indeed too late.....
Abuzz (Aldrin The Afternoon) With Energy
a-gush with vigor
of a balled umpire
after a cold shower,
particularly most enjoyable, when
(during hot weather),
these lovely fleshed
out bones heavily perspire
me no liar,
plus the boost,
I didst acquire
from downing one guarana
to help jumpstart mental empire,
(essentially caffeine
in capsule form)
initially found me
figuratively being catapulted
skyward blasted, as if shot out
like a healthy
arsonist flame of fire
into cerulean heavens, like an
Aerospace rocket ship
this dada packet
thrust above Gaia
moony miles higher,
but after so
many hours overtaken
by invisible drag net,
re: led zeppelin
said charge (akin to quaffing
one cup of coffee) did expire,
a crash test dummy) systems
of a down quite in dire
straits, sans dramatically dropping
altitude as kamikaze hire,
thus needed to recharge,
without a nanosecond to wait
this foo fighting
beastie boy (George), hence
upon padded foldout chair
comfortable seated poise,
aye didst create,
and commenced meditation
(a transcendent closed eye practice),
sensing the oblate
spheroid (planet earth) traveling
thru deep purple space
NON GMO flute'n gree
holistic practice helpful to abate
anxiety and/or panic,
I resumed of late
which light trance like state
brought me a measure, where
inner peace didst inflate
of blissful fate
essentially homeopathic ploys
to quiet mind chatter
within my pate
accessed to help me feel
(like Tony the Tiger) GRrreat,
thence returning to man my station
i.e. sitting facing Macbook
Pro external (Lenovo)
and dash (imaginatively) riding in a
one horse open sleigh.
The neighbors gazed at the sky with the nighttime stars.
There is plenty to see while they’re living on Mars.
Since the planet is dry with a thin atmosphere,
so much can be seen because the sky is so clear.
The colony has been peaceful and serene here.
However, concerns about earth clutched them in fear.
The colonists viewed as they sat on their front porch,
their home earth shining brightly like a blue-green torch.
From one hundred million kilometers away,
nations have begun to fight each other today.
One night, they were watching as the earth burned with red.
An atomic war began with millions feared dead.
The blinking light Morse code box relayed a message.
It described a global war with massive carnage.
“Detonations obliterate Australia.
Explosions decimate Cape Town, South Africa.
London, Paris, and Los Angeles are all gone.”
This made all speculate of what was going on.
“Are my parents, brothers, and sisters still alive?
From what happened, will civilization survive?
I have not written to my brother as of late
because there’s a five dollar first class postage rate.”
The new circumstances perpetuated fright.
The luggage store in town stayed open late that night.
The decision to leave was made amongst themselves.
By the dawn, the luggage disappeared from the shelves.
Based on "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury
of Knowing Thee
…Of Thee
holding peace…Glory
overlying, fine/
quite sheer radiance
overall/
dimensional
The Omnipotence of Thee
Most Holy I-AM…
nonperiel
— infinite — intimate —
pervasive Divine
enduring Breath of Life
composing the songs
of legions of translucent angels
opening petals unseen
that our souls glean
completely in the blessings
of all the shades and hues
of your redeeming life
and light
(from allizarin to zuggarat)
dressing our hours…
as graced in delight or suffering
bringing degrees of learning
to transform our journeying
time anew
— from being grown
in humanity’s coarse ground
— to becoming branches bearing
the fruit of this New Wine
grown from deeply rooted vines
for Thee, by Thee and in Thee
from dust to stardust:
magnificent!
——————-
————————————*** Inspired by & written for my dear soul-friends at PoetrySoup.com (especially of late for the support given to me & Jim duing my illnss), as I am so daily touched by their poetry’s deeply creative spirits voicing their devotion to Our Holy Father God and King. I have found no other place on-line as similarly expressive of such blessed love. Finding the world of poetry here& & the sweet fellowship it founds, saved my life from a degree of lonliness & grief, after my beloved poet friend here in KY committed suicide without warning in 2019". I am so thankful…to God for the open & ready hearts that may be found here. In the theme of many poems I’ve read here, I’ve truly re-defined my definition of Gratitude. I repeatedly & repeatedly, too, pray God will bless all of you!
(c) s.y.eslinger 5/2024
Thanks be to God—