Long Outgrows Poems
Long Outgrows Poems. Below are the most popular long Outgrows by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outgrows poems by poem length and keyword.
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The seed planted in frozen earth now grows,
through storms and time, its tender stems arose.
Once choked by thorns, stubborn, toward light it goes,
No pleas for light—it takes what sun bestows.
The moth unfurls from silk it once outgrows,
the river carves the rock, no hammer slows.
Wounds I wore now bloom in the vein I chose,
old meanings dissolve where deeper Knowing flows.
Stars fade as night gives way to dawn’s quiet repose~
my former self decays, unmourns, and does expose
my ego, that internal script that age and turbulence depose.
soul reshaped—my life is now stunning prose.
No toys to play with,
she draws dolls on the dry soil
with soft soiled fingers.
The pale face is drenched,
not by joyous summer rain.
Is it dripping tears?
The sad wet eyes graze
on mother’s wilted body,
age drained before time.
Cute girl of sixteen,
doesn’t see the hues of sunrise,
sleep sags the eyelids.
She drags fragile feet,
goes out with mother to work,
holding her frail hands.
Are these only hope?
Feels the touch of scant safety,
childhood demolished.
Days in and days out,
she labors with her mother
working as a maid.
In her mangled mind,
ruined by storm of harsh times,
she outgrows her age.
The dreams of the child have died.
—Lingers in Nerves—
Thou say’st that less is more; I bow thereto—
yet silence, once begotten, will not cease;
for what thy lips deny returns anew,
and what was once a hush devours my peace;
till what was but the little hush of breath
outgrows the tongue, and speaks beyond all death.
My cedar-born quill, once quick with vernal flame,
could summon dawn from darkness at my hand;
now grey comes creeping where the colours came,
and leaves no kingdom bright enough to stand;
yet, bleeding inwardly, it makes no plea—
but spends my briny blue obediently.
The page once opened like a sovereign gate,
and every letter entered it like song;
now whiteness guards an inviolate state
where even light seems trespass all day long;
and every stroke that falters on its skin
seems less a word than silence entering in.
Still do I write—for love, when answer’s fled,
becomes the hand that writes against the void;
one syllable survives where ten lie dead,
and one more follows, though the first’s destroyed;
for what returns is neither thine nor mine,
but silence wearing language as a sign.
Thou hast but said be still—and stillness grew
until it filled the empire of my speech;
it drank the names by which I summoned you,
and drew their buried meanings out of reach;
till less, which seemed so little when begun,
hath so consumed the word that none is one.
Now watch the cedar yield—not unto age,
nor grief, nor any wound the years can heal,
but to the dark beyond the final page
where nothing waits that it is sworn to feel;
the last stroke stills the worlds it might have sung—
and unborn songs die wordless on the tongue.
Coordinates require input, chance comes coincidentally,
Rendezvous a meeting point, your wandering aimlessly,
Vector on interception course, we cross paths randomly
Anticipation is foresight, I never imagined such beauty,
Innocent palpitations strike, overwhelmed by nubility,
Calibration nonessential, elegance exudes so naturally,
Reason is the difficult part, am I thinking irrationally,
Infatuation happens, pubescence outgrows captivity,
Desire lost in translation, god what is happening me,
Cannot understand, attractions growing exponentially,
Resistance futile, unconditional surrender I give freely,
Stay a little longer, for I’m helpless through invisibility,
Somehow you went away, disappearing into obscurity,
My only confession now, is yearning a crushed fantasy.
By David Kavanagh
A young man bought a tight pair of fleeces,
And their stranglehold filled all the creases,
But the fit was so thin
That he couldn't begin
To pump blood to his bits ... and his pieces.
Well, they made him look chic as expected,
Though his girlfriend was feeling neglected,
Cuz from belly through bum,
His poor junk was so numb
That he just could NOT get it ... erected.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "What's Bugging Me" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Bawdy Limerick Contest - Let's Keep It PG-13" Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchin, Judge & Sponsor.
* One of my weaknesses is expensive clothing, and my pet peeve is the new "slim fit" men's suits and clothes - I hate the way they look and feel, like a little boy who can't afford new clothing and outgrows them. I can't WAIT 'til they go out of style! * ;o)
("The World's Greatest Toy" is the motto and ad line used by the makers of The Erector Set, which I had as a boy and remember fondly ... though the word later took on much "grander" meaning, lol)
* Syllables - 10, 10, 6, 6, 10, counted at HowManySyllables.com *
To you, O women great, in obeisance, I bow,
For your primary forms of mother, sister, mate;
Full of love, patience, kindness and compassion, how,
The almighty has adorned you with goodness great;
As planners and arrangers, today, you excel,
As big bosses chiefs and heads, powers vast you wield;
Teachers, officers, authors - In all you seem good,
Care, caution and concern - with you go very well,
As economists, to homes and globe, wealth you yield;
In your head and heart, virtues reside as they should...!
Incarnation of love! You’re my inspiration!
Visionary you are; your views always outshine;
So beautiful! True jewel of any nation!
In forms of goddess, you dwell-in many a shrine;
Your perfection permeates limits of the sky,
Your determination deepest of depth pierces;
In patience is like the forbearing mother earth!
Your optimism outgrows the very palm tree, high,
Your trustworthiness, every painful hearts, nurses,
Honesty and loyalty, in you, find no dearth...!
In integrity, O women, you're never less,
Sense of wit and humor in life you never lack;
With grace of forgiveness you raze all hatred-mess,
Your nature of nurturing heals each psychic crack;
Your encouragements make the humanity grow;
Your fun and frolics, happiness in hearts, blossom,
In facing hardest of challenges, you've no match!
Thoughts and feelings in you, like the gentlest breeze, blow,
There lies constant comfort in your benign bosom;
Wisdom and wit, with you, merrily, get attach...!
You've been the source of all human origin,
Wombs that have given birth to global history;
In, form of, immaculate virgin with no sin,
You've brought the redeemer, full of mystery;
It's hence; I extol you, dear women, to the heights,
Strength and power of the universe hides in you;
Creating, protecting, destroying each power!
Hills mountains, vales, landscapes and all marvelous sights,
Earth and ether were born by feminine strength too,
My wish is to be your friend each-and-every hour...!
23 March 2022
TRIBUTE TO WOMEN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
The computer era, indeed, has marred you and the pen,
A romantic feeling, when I think of you, fills my mind;
Will those Calligraphic times, the writers loved, come again?
Wherein, a feeling of hand-to-heart touch, the poets could find...!
Feathers in red, green, blue, black, white, brown, yellow, and maroon,
Or like the rainbow multicolored single quill well used;
Your existence before devising of pen was a boon,
In you was the enchantment of vivid bird species fused...!
A satisfying dip... lo, your magnetic-pulled words flow,
Like a fountain, forming floras and faunas of annals;
As you curve and wind like the music outgrows your tempo,
Words and thoughts fill, spill, and thrill like irrigation channels...!
You have turned a decorative piece owing timely change,
Your gifts, yet, to humanity have been beyond all range...!!!
Good news
grows healthy outward actions
from inward integrity attractions.
Pathological propaganda,
fake news,
grows conspiracies
and black magic outside my door,
From unconscious accidents of ignorant mistrust
and deliberately mendacious distrust.
Good news plantings,
waterings,
fertilizing outcomes
harvest polycultures of healthy wisdom--
more good hope-filled news.
Fake news evermore outgrows paranoid
fake absence of historic news,
lack of weed discernment,
drought of PositivEnergy,
toxic salt and bleach
build sick subclimates,
monocultural worship
desecrating MotherEarth's healthy karmic grace
with more red Ego Outrage,
anthro-centric bad win/lose business
trending toward lose/lose
absence of secular LeftTruth
and sacred RightBeauty
gospels.
For example,
Today, in the USA,
declares FakeNews Incorporated,
Donald John saved everybody
in the whole world
from the horrors of Green EcoTherapeutic Cooperatives
restoring Health/Wealth News--
Positive organic energy
devaluing derision of evermore deflating
FakeNews competitions for market share.
Yes,
that,
AND Donald John saved no one
currently living on RealTime PlanetEarth
with contagious bliss of more Integrity
through RightBrain ego entertainments
observing adrenaline-soaked
over-heated competing subclimates
of pathological Fake Busyness
pushing nothing healthy--
merely more WinLose
trending toward LoseLose devolution,
counter-revolutionary absence of anything
PositivEnergy newsworthy.
Gospel narratives
grow healthy multicultural salvific actions
from Left with Right integrity attractions.
They cradle absence in inherited creed,
A sculpted sky of words they never test,
Where certainty outgrows the need to read
The fine-print silence lurking in each rest.
They build a Heaven stitched from stolen light,
A fragile citadel of borrowed breath,
Where doubt is taught to bow and step from sight,
And fear is softened into faith till death.
For Heaven lives in language, not in ground,
A story tuned to quiet human dread,
A place that only ever can be found
Within the living, not among the dead.
And when the final pulse gives out its claim,
No gates unbar, no choir bends the air;
Just vast unlit indifference, no name,
Where belief fades into a wordless stare.
Fate was cruel when you broke down the walls
I’ve never been shattered in midst of the rainfall
Was my life meant to be celebrated with love and joy?
As hasty as a thief, you took away gaiety; left the lost boy.
Nix of your shadow, a nick of your smile,
Only in good night, I see you in life once in a while.
Fury was my ally but was never my best friend,
What remains true is my hope; outgrows in the end.
Behind the window curtains, I spelled out your name.
Watching outside my dried leaves that are wistfully aflame.
A figment of my thinking becomes an archaic chance
To see my living folklore alive; my family romance.
Lei Strauss 2021
( a father's day poem)