Long Peopleday Poems
Long Peopleday Poems. Below are the most popular long Peopleday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peopleday poems by poem length and keyword.
Great songs
On your day
In your own way
May your day be bright
Filled with special delight
Let your burning candle shine
From your yum cake royally dine
May your family and friends enjoy
Your birthday with a great poetess friend
Now tell me the big number if you will
I will take it just like a sweet pill
Thirty-one and holding I see
Hope your day is full of glee
Wishing you more birthdays
Writing your own ways
Poetic thoughts
In great parts
Touching
Hearts
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., 8/6/09
© All Rights Reserved
The Etheree poem was created about twenty years ago by an Arkansas poet named Etheree
Taylor Armstrong. The poem consists of ten lines of unmetered verse. The lines may also be
rhymed or unrhymed depending on the style of the author. The first line of the poem has
only one syllable. Thereafter, each succeeding line adds another syllable. There is a total
syllable count of fifty-five in the poem. The Etheree poem is similar to a Nonet poem with the
exception of the 10th line and syllable count. The Nonet only has 45 syllables, which is 16
shorter than the Etheree poem. One may get creative and write an Etheree with more than
one verse. This may take the form of a Double Etheree: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, then 10,
9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1; that is the style in which this poem is written.
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
It was cold and windy, always seemed to be the same
whenever he dug out a grave and often it would rain.
Grave digging was something he knew someone had to do
that was his job and he always took pride in doing it too.
People knew him in the village where he’d made his home
this strange young man, who was always on his own.
But he was just a lonely man, as harmless as can be
who wanted to live a normal life, just like you or me.
The girls always made fun of him and were a little cruel
he looked a bit simple and they treated him like a fool,
When he tried to tell them, a new joke he’d heard one day
they wouldn’t listen to him and just told him to go way.
Looking for company, he’d be in the village every day
he’d try to talk to the girls, but they would just walk away.
Really he just wanted a girlfriend like any other guy
not wanting to be alone until the day he would die.
Most evenings he would spend at home on his own
without any one to talk to, not even a call on his phone.
But just the other day, while he was in the churchyard
checking out a plot he was to dig for a Mister Trenchard.
A young girl said hello to him, the first person to that day
and she listened very carefully to him and what he had to say.
Her eyes watched him closely, reading his lips as he spoke.
even smiling at his difficulty, in trying to tell her his joke.
They started to spend time together, she with the silence she knew
he with all his strangeness and their for each other just grew.
He would look at her so tenderly as they walked off hand in hand
and then they’d gently kiss each other, like any couple in the land.
Happily their lives were changing, knowing the love they’d found
and now you hear him singing, as he digs his holes in the ground.
Summer days in a mining town
Lunch box sitting by the kitchen door
Whistle blows at the Colliery
Time for work, all my muscles sore
Long day’s work for little pay
No complaints, we’re doing fine
Wednesday, got a half day off
Have a few beers, forget the mine
Down inside that mine we give it a go
No panic here, no need to be hurrying
Mice are moving kind of slow
I’ll start to panic if I see them scurrying
The Colliery overshadows the town
Sometimes causes a bit of strife
A sense of pride putting that hammer down
For a miner it’s a way of life
Wife stays home to raise the kids
When that alarm goes off sometimes she’ll cry
Town waits quietly to hear the news
There’s a self-respect that money can’t buy
A constant struggle from day to day
Months pass quickly and the bills come due
Most times they are larger than the pay
But somehow, Thank God, we make it through
Though the times are hard trying to make ends meet
We get a perspective of what’s important in life
Our riches aren’t measured in the material things
They are children, good neighbors and a loving wife
There is a brotherhood within the town
A sense of belonging, a sense of pride
The colliery may have been shut down
But the spirit of the miner has never died.
Tamaqua, Pa. USA in the 50s.
It was only a shed
Leaning on the wind and your courage
But there always you fed
Each child with a special knowledge
Of the world and its art
Into them you poured your heart.
And I, barefooted child
Struggling to flower in the sun
Drawn to your shade so mild
Came with you, built on what you began
And day after day we
Labored to a calling more than duty.
I came to teach the tots
And found seeds of all ages there
In stony soil and rusty pots
And I followed you to make them bear
Fruits uncommon to their lot
And found me sprouting in a pot.
It was your hand, your love
Your wisdom of kindness that rescued me
Pushed me to make my move
Along the path that shun despondency
And that day when the board
Lit up with my name, I saw your pride restored
Those thirteen JSC subjects
Was this a beginning of the times
For gold its light deflects
And the sweetest bell that chimes
Repeats the song that brims
The heart of love secret whims.
So always I serve still
The same constituents you taught
But unsatisfied till
My desire in your presence is caught
That may say thank you dear
For empowering me to rise above the fear.
So many people in these days and times
Are busy talking about love but no proof will you find;
They talk about it day in and day out
But if you look at their actions, you will find there is reason for doubt.
They look upon others and think they are or no good;
They feel that they only have what it takes to do and be understood;
And therefore I ask the question, do they love others as they should?
Is it inspired from above?
And how great is that love?
Do they always try to greet others with a kind word and a smile?
Or do they say, "I'm sorry," they will just have to wait awhile?
The Scriptures says to love our neighbor as we love ourselves, but
so many are saying it and doing something else.
They "walk" over others as to say they are nothing and treat them like dirt;
And do it without feeling, as if they wont be hurt.
But as time keeps on progressing and life keeps going on
All of us must take a look at ourselves and figure out what's wrong.
Decide if we are loving, being led by God's Spirit from above-
Search deep down inside ourselves to know
How great is our love?
For John Heck's Beatlemania competition. To the tune of "For No One" from the Revolver
album.
The day fades, the earth shakes
The Haitians find their homes no longer stand as families fear their future
They struggle through rubble
To find survivors, loved ones who've succumbed quietly to nature's violence
And in their eyes we see despair
No spark of hope behind the tears shed for victims
So many lives lost in tremors
They want help, they need ours
And so we dig through empty pockets struggling to find scant resources
And in our eyes they see empathy
In tears we promise to do what little we can offer
To ease a pain that knows no end
We stay home, we watch them
The TV shows such agony that all are moved to send their prayers and sympathy
A day breaks, our hearts ache
Such turmoil spills upon the screen and we reach out to help our Haitian brothers
And in God's eyes they are children
As are we all now joined in hearts and in sadness
Rebuild this nation with His help
Nestled in coconut groves and lush fields of paddy,
with the love of a large family, each day warm and tardy,
Ever poised and elegant, stood my trove of memories,
as boys and girls innocent, played under mango trees.
Soon as grandma came in sight, her hair grey with age,
we rushed to hold her tight, dropping our baggage.
It felt as soft as feather, touching her frail hands,
her eyes filling with tears, to see us back on her lands.
Dewy mornings crawled by, as we grew lazy by the day,
sultry afternoons passed by, watching cows feed on hay.
Breaking the serenity of dusk, came a fishmonger yelling,
catch of the day cooked with much spice, there was no telling.
Swollen with the monsoon, the dark night sky,
eager to pour it down soon, still as the earth did lie.
And soon, when will I see you next, grandma would sigh,
Feeling sad, as the moment came, for another good-bye.
The little birds sing with the rising dawn. Slowly I wake, my face sad and withdrawn.
The songs the birds sing, of my task they remind me. Slowly I smile, and that's how my
friends find me.
Ever so cheerful, I always laugh, always grin. They have no idea what I hold within.
For a person so strong, they don't know that I'm frail. Reaching, and hurting, smiling
and supporting.
But then the day is done, the sun sets, the birdsong stops.
It is then, and only then, that my mask drops.
There's no need to smile, there's no one to please. The darkness reveals what the day
hides from me.
In the dark I face that I am alone. That I don't know who I am, or what is hope, where
is home.
But then, as I tire, I'll go to sleep. I'll dream silly things until the birds start to sing.
The dawn will come, and my mask will rise with it.
IT'S MASK TIME!
Daniexelle M. Lingofelter
When will I get this back
is it far too late
I already stepped on the crack,
now I'm, far too off the map-
Sometimes I wish it were forever,
others, I ponder and regret
but it's a rotten apple, it's spoiled inside
but the outside hasn't been touched yet
Chorus
So hello immortality,
I've quite missed my best friend
you've been gone for too long now
and now it starts again
again when everything rising up
left everyone in despair,
I promise to reject that absence,
cause i'm coming back for good and again
Here I stand again now,
revolver glued to my hand,
society calls, and I repent
this music stays alive again
I wait for the day it's over
I wait for the day it's the end
But unaware, I abide the death
But my timeless meanings occur again
Chorus Repeat*
We got trapped for seven hours
We couldn’t un-trap ourselves
From the dungeon of the road
Couldn’t call or receive calls
Was indeed incommunicado
Sim card got stuck
Would we ever get to our destination?
She got fed up, endlessly waiting
Luck smiled on me briefly
As I got through to my cousin
Who told her of my trap
My sms met hers on the way
She was still very worried
Only short of being scared
The day crawls by gradually,
Hours tickle away slowly
Behold! Darkness hovers
As it took over the day set aside to unveil
The faces behind the phone
The day was over.
Alayande Stephen T.
2.01am
21st November, 2007
It was written at the Abuja Garage in
Iwo Road, Ibadan on my way to her in Ado-Ekiti.