Long Patches Poems
Long Patches Poems. Below are the most popular long Patches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patches poems by poem length and keyword.
The old man gazed at the sun about to set
And its molten core soon to dissolve in the sea
Scratching his head with tremulous hands
And running his fingers on the stubble of his unshaven face
He held once more tight to his wheel chair
Casually he had a glance at his hands
Those dry, weak and shriveled hands
Gone wrinkled with passing years!
His hands once so busy are now limp
His days once brisk are now long and dull
He noticed the discolored patches on his skin
Under them the lattice of tortuous veins on the dorsum
They run down to join with the bigger ones
Like small rivulets flowing towards larger rivers
He remembered how the streams from summits
So vigorously come down with a gush
Also the noisy cataracts somersaulting down,
Leaving reverberating echoes all around
But they produce only a soft musical sound
As they join with the rivers and pass through plains
And finally end in a kind of hushed stillness
Just before merging with the sea!
The old man philosophized;
Life too is like a river:
Fierce and ferocious when one is young
Gentler and sedate after middle age
And slow and sloppy in old age
With this calm acceptance of the need to de-accelerate
Wrapping himself in the shawl against the growing cold
He turned away from the window.
Pushing his wheel chair,
He moved forward,
Knowing no haste…..
Towards his bed for another night’s tired sleep!
From Earth and Through
Steeping whilst stepping
From realms made in this world
Into patches of pink and yellow clovers
Covering the paths in static hope
Crushing through them
While wishing to apologise
Except this feels like an acceptance;
An accommodation for pattering feet
Like swallowings of excess
Carving through in roving rivulets
As the most joyful and innocent of destruction
Puffs of attempted balance
Now marshmallowed into impressions
Under the forgiving sunshine
Able to heal them
Should the right patterns of chemical timings
Warmings and coolings apply
Into the next transmutation
Using the needed resources surrounding
To stretch and strive once more
The chances a new patter of footfall
Shall land another fatal imprint
Higher by the bite, the cat scratch, the goat finesse
As it would always be
Here or there
No matter where
I always find the tug
To be alive
At worst, to be destructive
But of course
Only to the allowed extent
How varied are the ways of excess
Of imprinted deathblows
Showing us what we have to overcome
Like careless steps of an ignorant giant
Thrashing wistfully through
And pouring huge drops of tears
Randomly nourishing dots of sun-globed sadness
Slogged consolations to fight over
And avenge for new reasons underfoot
In a finite Earth basket
Just a matter of time
As hands and feet finish their gouging
And sleepless journeying
Known to demand implicitly
Whether to be absorbed
Or charged at an accepted rate
Deemed market-appropriate
So I lend work and productivity
Home-based remedies
Of someone else’s ingenuity
Handed down from ancient history
One shared family belonging
From mutual beginnings
Of simple necessities
And through spiced diversities
I shall remember you when
night crawls under day
dressed up in sunshine and
colorful hues I shall remember
you in every single book I
read catering to the fundamental
findings craving thought like
Langston Hughes I’ll fondly
remember civil rights field
trips dancing through cattails
in the woods wandering
between dandelion patches
and rows of daisies peeking
through cedar slats nestled
upon a garden nook I dig the
magnificent magnitude of our
telepathy designs of hope
courage and joy I will always
remember your smile opening
the window letting fresh air
inside a dull dim room something
about William Butler Yeats
Yolande Giovanni something
about me black power rings
the subtle warmth of the
voice of dignity human need
to express one’s own abilities
communicate with all walks
of life we are who we are
I thank you for giving me
encouragement my humble
beginnings I shall see you
tomorrow in paradise sunshine
In loving memory of Nikki Giovanni
DUSK
Feeble sunrays pasted pale hues on sky album.
On sundown, distorted colors of sun spectrum.
Twilight fading in horizon looking indigo periwinkle.
Stars still hesitating to glitter, sparkle or twinkle.
Sun sinking bidding bye to evening, welcoming dusk.
Dusk appearing with dark turquoise patches on dusty mask.
Being quiet, birds stop chirping, wish quite rest.
All keen to settle on soothing sleep returning nest.
Forming garland, eager egrets flying in a trail.
Cooing doves are silent, and crows cease to yell.
Floating clouds are indecisive to hide maroon Moon
under astral veils, or allow to glow in sky soon.
Solitude prevails with sadness of hidden cries.
Lost dreams of forgotten past pricks and heart sighs .
Sun goes down blending in dusk and sets on promise
of surprise: With new vigor next morning sure to rise.
07/19/18
First Place
' All Yours (Feb 28 )'. Contest by Brian Strand
"Snapdragons and Dandy Lions (Part 1)"
“Don’t move,” she smiled gently,
“stay there, stop fidgeting, let me put these in your hair”,
I was sitting cross-legged
on the lush green bluegrass lawn
it felt like 70’s Shagpile carpet,
long and unshorn.
“I said, don’t move! There’s a Blue Tongue over there,
you’ll frighten it away, they don’t like to be scared.”
She was shielding her eyes surveying the yard
like a pirate on the high seas,
a ship on the Ocean,
while the Sprinkler
kept raining a moving waterfall
automatic motion
here and there buzzing bees
in the Kumquat Trees.
She was pointing to the boulder
next to the Lychee Tree
close to where I was
legs now unfolded
scrambling around on my knees.
It was around 5 in the avo not morn
we’d been there covered in sunscreen
for a coupla hours and
tired from the heat
we were all stifling yawns
in the sweltering sub-tropical garden
amongst her verdant jungle of flowers and ferns
there amongst the strawberry patches, passionfruit, Lady Finger trees,
Pineapples, PawPaws, grapes, tomatoes,
and towers of fragrant sweet Jasmine, Lilac-mauve Wisteria
plunging Deep Velvety Red Bougainvillea,
flirty Sweatpeas and
the pungent Pink Frangipani
impregnating the air with it's fat-belied
perfume, the scent of which to this day
sends one into absolute delerium; then
came the whirring blood-suckers
that bombed us in buzzing swarms
never foiled no dignified treaty -
one was never forwarned,
that left itchy-bites and
eventually weeping sores,
feeling sorry for ourselves
the breeze carried our songs of retreat to which she’d
impart, “Shush! Don’t carry on,
everyone will hear you way out on the Street!”.
“They like your blue blood, that’s why!”,
she explained in exasperation, kind of worried
spraying us with Stingose.
“Tonight we’ll put up the nets and
burn the Tiger Coils”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
For Lynette
(1)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izQsgE0L450
EMBLEMS
exhilarating
renowned
themes
to hand
patches
of
light
the
curious
hung together
to
evoke&
perhaps
appropriately
encountering
harbingers
of beloved
modern art
in exploded
versions
saved
from
obscurity
to re-emerge
deploying
the immediate
&
simultaneously
ensuring
a virtuosity
conscious
of all
the intricate
shimmering
&
adorned
replicated
in
the
memorable
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Britches to shirt tails
in pigtails not pony.
She's Pippi the Longstocking,
her legs long and bony.
With raspberry lips
been parched by the sun.
Suspenders jacked up
to not come undone.
Her stitches to patches.
The clothes for a Jester.
Her uplifting laughter.
A fashion that's blessed her.
With red raven hair
and freckles to match.
Her teeth buck in front
on jaws for a latch.
Long stockings to thighs
and on past the knees.
Both comfortable wearing
and no-one to please.
A spunnk little child.
with cheeks boldly out.
She's Pippi Longstocking!
Let's all give a shout!
Go Pippi! Go Pippi!
from your smile to your laugh.
You're the girl with stockings
pulled over her calf.
The world isn't fair, the world isn't right,
and I can't control how I'm feeling tonight;
but I can control how I react to the pain,
how I live my life while dealing with the strain.
More than two years down the line from that verse,
the first half yet reads right - like an all too true curse.
The second, however, with each day steadily loses its hold;
as do I, on everything that I once controlled.
Sadness scars, but fades with enough time,
and oft with the healing hands of rhythm and rhyme.
Loss lives, but eventually rears its head less,
like Patches, Brandy, Grandpa, Grandma, Brandon or Jess.
These I can ultimately learn to abide,
taking them with an ever steadier stride.
Remembrance turns from taking you to your knees,
one day into fond memories, honoring such as these.
Yet anger is entirely another story,
one turning never to gain or glory.
At another time, I handled it with care,
and did better at never laying it bare.
Now, it surrounds me at every turn,
and ever more for peace I yearn.
I wake to its heavy breathing at my side,
bed down having chiefly failed to turn its tide.
Even the luxury of a hair trigger just isn't there,
for I must simply breathe, to its cruel vestments wear.
It doesn't feel like power, simply rages and drains,
leaving me, weary, to deal with the pains.
Two more years of this inability I must survive;
seems so abysmal, when for simply every day I must strive.
I'll finally know again, with twenty-two summers behind me,
what joy simply being seen as an adult can truly be.
woman on her scooter scoops chili
from her insulated bag
onto plastic plates
deftly juggling movement while the motor idles
wounded humanity, street people with shock eyes
that smash against the heat,
form a line
their off beat grins that recall the fertility
of hope
men accepting plates of food, paper thin pride
soreness in bony bodies that have no words for
self pity
stitched to her bike, she dispenses hot food for the
mercurial
in city streets, a sparse ground with patches
of charity
fertile soil for those tossed like bags in a storm
burdened by a brutal calm
devoid of the green weeds of ego
Poem composed: August 18/21
Hugs embracing clouds
shades from the darkest grey to silver
floating within Heavenly skies
with white patches toning grey
I look across the mountains sweeping inside
yearning in such sadness
burning deep grief sweetly sings
Just missing my best friend
as the rain begins falling
sharing deeply natures spirit
Whispering souls through the trees
then the seagulls lament
floating across silently a soft lukewarm breeze
touching across waters
Looking down the valley
light painting through clouds
silver beams moving gracefully
Dancing under each branch I pull lately
The willow just weeps
So lost I am without you love
passing you one warm blessing
filled with happiness in a smile
to my best friend
really miss sharing with you