Long Orphan Poems
Long Orphan Poems. Below are the most popular long Orphan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Orphan poems by poem length and keyword.
It is a village of beauty and green
A lot of amusements are there
He is a insane youth living at that place
Helping others to fetch water to their home
H e is Manilal by name and
an orphan living lying under trees
He is very helpful to his villagers
for hisconsumption of handful meals
H e is a good and noble insane ofcourse!
He fell in the love of Nancy
Who was a only daughter of devil Prachi
Their love grows day by day as a crop
There it spreads as a spark of fire
The spark reached the ears of her father
His anger goes to top of the peak
to smash their love
He planned to kill him in fire
Manilal doesnot know this cruel plan
He is sleeping under a tree
Prachi comes to near the tree and
set fire on Manilal ‘s body
Cried in highpitch due to burns
There Prachi enjoys his cry
In a fraction of a second
Nancy came and embraced with love
The fire on his body embraced her too
Nancy died with her sweet lover
Again love conquers and
left it’s mark in the History of Love
my chief ...
thoughts go back to that again -
the day you found me on the plain
so bleeding from a musket wound
and dying, slow, with fear and pain
my own kind left me there to die
to not waste cares for such as I
an orphan white boy, still a child
with troubled heart, I won't deny
yet, you did lend me mercy then
with no concern of who I'd been
and raised me like your very own
to learn the ways of Tlingit men
my course has not been easy life
more basic, yes, but hardship rife
and still, my gut and heart are full
midst joys of family, food and wife
and now I watch this poignant fire
of sparking cinders, drifting higher
while tribe and I conduct you home
all dancing ‘round this funeral pyre
each flaming ember turns the thief
and steals you off, my father, chief
o sad, to but command the flames
and scorch away my crushing grief
and yet, as each one climbs on high
those precious mem’ries, you and I
are borne the heavens, ever-bright
and placed as stars …
upon the sky.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Tribute To Native Culture" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
Born orphan, the torture of her stepmother and stepsisters
shaped the fairy tale Cinderella with fire, the ember girl,
who didn’t dream seeing the dormant love bloom,
but seethed within to take the retaliatory revenge.
On the night of the grand royal ball the cruel family
left bedecked with jewels and satin for the palace,
locking her in the attic in the company with rats.
She didn’t cry, performed a mystic trick, mother taught.
She came out glowing, dressed in a gorgeous golden gown,
wearing slippers made not of glass, but of sharp steel.
She strode elegantly like a flame in the wind to the ball
where she saw her stepsisters dancing with the prince.
Like a mesmerized moth the prince was drawn to her fire.
They danced passionately amidst the petrified spectators.
The entranced prince slowly burned in the embrace of ember,
while the stepsisters fumed in anger and envy.
When the clock struck twelve at the fated midnight hour,
the music stopped for a while in dead stillness.
The spell on the stunned prince was shattered
as with the steel slipper she stabbed him with a smile.
She ran away barefoot, disappeared like flying cinder,
getting the torment of stepmother and stepsisters avenged.
Curio cabinet full of
Memories; a small dent from a wild child
All hopped up on penny candy, running on
Giggle energy, because of the excitement
Of the Little Orphan Annie radio program,
Stopped in her tracks, and stopped in her breath.
Scraped on the lion paw spindle leg,
From when nervous grandson watched
One small man shoot 3 small bullets into one small skull,
Like a whole book depository landed on point.
A stain mimicking the Grecian coastline,
On the drum top, from the spill
From the redwine from the news of pa-pa's death,
A slip and fall when reaching for the remote.
The drawer can't close correctly because
Daddy's head landed sideways after the bullet
Pierced his temple; how many times can you be laid off
On December 24th?
Curious cabinet guarded loosely
With skips in posture and hiccoughs in time.
Maker o maker,
Here is my resume.
Author Dana Redricks
September 11, 2024
In a world where hearts are fragile, and love brings both joy and pain, we search for a connection, someone to share our gains. But the fear of rejection lingers, the wounds of past betrayals, leaving us hesitant to open up, afraid of love's veiled trails.
Alone in a crowd, longing for a bond that's true, feeling like an orphan, lost without a clue. Every goodbye a dagger, every loss a heavy toll, yet still, we hold onto hope, that someday we'll find our soul.
The weight of loneliness, a burden hard to bear, tears stain our cheeks, in the silence of despair. But even in the darkness, a flicker of light ignites, a spark of resilience, a will to fight the night.
While we may feel shattered, emotions raw and real, we're not truly alone, there are hearts that understand and feel. So let the tears fall, let the pain flow free, for in our vulnerability, lies our strength and our plea.
To find the courage to love again, despite the fear within, to trust in the journey, to believe in what could begin. For nobody wants to be alone, in the depths of their sorrow, and with every heartache endured, a new sunrise will rise bringing a brighter tomorrow.
So hold onto hope, let it guide you through the storm, for in the depths of loneliness, a new sense of self is born. And though the road may be rocky, with shadows looming tall,
Know that you are never truly alone, for love will conquer all.
Before birth
I was the universe
All knowing, all embracing
Molecules of beauty in floating meditations
I was everywhere
Then............
The darkness.........
The womb.......
I begot limbs and flesh
Imprisoned inside this human frailty
I was freed, exposed, pushed, fallen into humanity
Lights, voices, sins, I screamed
They cut off my only bond to the universe
Here, a baby an orphan of the heavens
Imprisoned upon the imperfections of human realms
Hell.................
The holy book of sins...........
The great sadness.........
I miss the cosmic beauty
Stuck here, the devils collection of earthly kin
Days... weeks.....decades…. despair......
I plotted and planned
The great escape
From this finite boxed in land
I begged the infinite, and danced with infinity
The universe waltzed
I twirled with insightful delight
Soon, to be rejoined with eternal light
To be free, to roam the stars
My death, now rejoined with the heavens and all of thee
You visit, candles and crocus upon Parisian stone
I am neither there or even here any more
I have become what I once was, healed and whole
All knowing, all embracing
I am God, the universe once more
Behold there, a Somali child is standing on dry scorching rocks.
Its two eyes glitter like a rough diamond, parched, bleak and dark.
Its shrunken belly exhibits the fragile bony ribs and silently mocks
The phony Art that seeks artistic beauty even in such scar-mark.
The orphan boy was trying to scream but no voice came out
From its barren vocal cord, empty stomach and shrinking lung.
Its salty tears dried out like parched petals of a dead sprout.
Its face looked so blue and pale as if it were serpent-stung.
This child, like all newborns here, was born with a constant Curse
Of utmost struggling life until it moves, stares, breathes no more.
Even showers upon the drought-infested land cannot reimburse
The dry hearts of millions of such Somali children, the Pain-store.
Two immobile figures of parents are half-buried on dusty ground
And the mumbling cries of the child melted in heat of wind there.
No humans there to hear except the vultures that hovered around
The fresh dead bodies and waited until fall of another tiny figure.
At my course I arrived at a city
I saw its palace from rose and rose
My sultan's crown and throne
Vineyards and walls are from rose and rose
They buy roses they sell roses
They hold scales from roses
They weigh roses by roses
Its market and bazaar are from rose and rose
With crimson rose and red rose
As a couple grown in a garden
They look at each other with thorn
Inns and flowers are from rose and rose
Ummi Sinan come and describe
Rose and nightingale problem
Actually, this orphan nightingale's
Sigh and cry are from rose and rose
Written By Ummi Sinan
Translation Onur Ünlü
I read in solitude, I found peace.
I read with love, I felt exulted.
I read when I was lonely, I got a companion.
I read when I felt sick at heart, I embraced ecstasy.
I read histories and spoke to the people of the past.
I read biographies and met my mentors.
I read fantasies and widened my jaws at the magic lamps.
I read poetry to master vocabulary.
I read war tales and realised the value of peace
I visualised orphan kids and felt the pain behind hunger pangs
I read love stories and learnt the best life lessons.
I skimmed through adventures and learnt embracing fears.
While I read,
I became a sailor and traversed on salt waters greeting the storms,
I turned into a detective and loosened the knots of unsolved mysteries
I sang with the cuckoos, danced with the dragons and merried with the magic mats
I felt pain, I felt love, I endured every emotion of my unknown friend.
Read to explore,
Read to exercise your brain,
Read to travel,
Read to know another world,
Read to socialize,
Read to boost your morale.
Read children read, for it makes you what you thought you could never be.
Another revolution 'round the sun:
the plans are laid, the resolutions penned.
This is the year at last to be the one:
lose weight, exercise more, curtail the spend.
Then life, it seems, jumps up, gets in the way:
the unexpected call from a dear friend.
Your planner list can wait another day,
for it was just a minder in the end.
The days then turn to weeks before you know,
and now you’re so far off the beaten path,
the goal you set not very long ago:
completely hopeless, when you do the math.
It catches you off guard, and you’ve begun
another revolution 'round the sun.
—————
for the Orphan Sonnet Poetry Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
written on 05/01/2022