Long Pie in the sky Poems
Long Pie in the sky Poems. Below are the most popular long Pie in the sky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pie in the sky poems by poem length and keyword.
With face of grace radiating exuberance
while exuding his best cheerful zest, blest with vitality
our special son does delight us, despite blight of mobility
as we pray to God* with faith for miraculous ray from heaven
for his freedom-zeal against wheelchair bondage
toward fortitude to fly high in the sky in his pilot attire.
*Philippians 4:6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
September 28, 2024
9th place, "Pie-in-the-sky" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Suzette Richards; judged on 10/2/2024
My love for this multihued world, like a magnet, pulls me,
The unknown, (portrayed like pie in the sky), surges my fear;
My rebirth, though it looks like a myth, brings a bit of glee,
An absurdity, yet, within, often seems to appear...!
Everything, here on earth, looks like a celluloid fancy,
Days dawn with wonders, optimistic and pessimistic;
Joys and pains, like mushrooms after rains, are often chancy,
Caring and sharing, like heaven, make life altruistic...!
A single human life, here, is enough, if lived deftly,
Born again to die again, is a mere musical chair;
The soul should find its place of rest, being lived intently,
A life, clear as a crystal stream, is my only prayer...!
Finding the divine in each being be my constant strife,
May Nirvana (perfect peace and happiness) fill my life…!!!
Miniature Bats with big blinky eyes batting butterscotch kisses
Baby belly flop Frogs that happily hop and squiggling Lilliputian Octopi
Tiny hats on Teensy Teddy Bears casting star bright wishes
Squeezable short-legged Dinky Dogs that are eating Pie-In-The-Sky
Lil' Bitty Butterflies that spread their wings like a whizzing carnival ride
Pocket Size Pixies dusting Boxcar Buggies with carts that whirl and glide
Baby Grins that play hide and seek with every Peek-A-Boo Lullaby
To my chagrin and giggles, heavenly hearts fly off to Lollipop Skies
The itsiest-bitsiest, mini-infinitestimal treasure that is never seen as it is
magically small
Is the giddiness and joy of cuteness that brings so much happiness to us all!
July 17, 2019
Miniverse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Go on make a wish, for mine came true
A sure thing, appeared out of the blue
Make it a good one, could be your last
Everything eventually, comes to pass
Wish for happiness, wish for release
Make sure it’s something, within reach
You won’t be able, to resurrect the dead
That would be a miracle, all being said
Go on make a wish, do it straight away
For who grants, these requests anyway
Toss some coins, into a fountain or well
Cross your fingers, to enhance the spell
Touch wood, in case things turn to stone
Break a chickens clavicle, old wishbone
Seek shooting stars, find pie in the sky
I wished my life away, time duly obliged.
By
David Kavanagh
Huge pie in the sky,
visiting her grandparents.
A lofty and crusty bake
from ages ago.
The chill cellar held jars.
Fruits were homegrown,
handpicked, canned.
Humongous, it was not
an average-sized pie.
The gigantic pie, at least
to a child that remembers,
was gorged on satisfying
fat-purple-blueberries.
I can only imagine a taste,
to take a bite out of
1950’s life. My tongue
red and blue, savoring.
My memory only holds
my Great-Grandma
in a corner chair
in her daughter’s home;
and a couple visits
to our home
with her sister.
At least I remember that,
but paint me purple,
or let me go closer,
for her granddaughter
made me rhubarb pie.
That’s my mama,
whose Great-Grands
will only mostly recollect
what I surrender
from the past.
She was a kitchen singer.
Her mother, who had the knack
of never appearing young
(though she was never that old),
did not approve of the vocal arts.
She would shush, and hush, and tsk-tsk
whenever songs made the kitchen jingle-jangle,
the tunes distracting her
as she applied layer upon layer
of cosmetic goo to her bitter features.
Her father,
he who drank more than most,
who also listened to Spike Milligan shows
on a reel-to-reel tape recorder
had no taste for music in general.
He was a gentleman but not the best
yet was kind to cats at the very least.
Notwithstanding and nevertheless
she sang merrily to the pots and pans,
and perhaps due to the unusual acoustics
of that particular kitchen,
or maybe because her voice (so tinkly and elegant),
seemed carved out of the translucent ivory
of fairy thighs,
she did sing on for all her live long days
and prayed, when she remembered to,
to the Dancing Masters of Woo,
who knew her as the Mistress
who made pie in the sky dreams
come true.
And so it came to pass
that merry kitchens everywhere
were given throats of their own;
they trill now in both sweet and dramatic tones.
God bless them all, and God bless her,
she the kitchen singer
and cheers to all her jolly sing-along
kitchen songs.
Democrats like Damocles Sword's imminent jeopardized positions of power hail her rise,
Decades of teamsters support, NO, Harris-Demos few endorsed her in the public's eyes,
Democrats today are like the Dixiecrats of Dewey's days are playing old-school, sex-race cards,
Repubs set in their ways, and Demos are bendable like what's his face got her on second base, charades.
He needed to win, expendable, same cards played, sex-(win over for the women voters) it is a given for the race.
D for Demos who are Distancing from Drunkards--her hidden card takes centerstage--loses face.
First line expounded of my original Pie-in-the-sky, and
the rest was a shot in the dark, played with dance cards.
*She can seek help if she don't slur her words on camera that she is,
being tailed., f0x learned from Di' lawsuit--pass the buck.
Repubs are no angels in this with Trumy-Dumpy on a ticket and not a wall, the third possible gallops in time with withdrawals TBA.
A poet's decision, a peaceful vision
I purr in sleep whisper
Sparkling in tinkle winkle
I fine in wistful shine
My dreams in prone schemes
Dreams sheer on, by night delight
Mind lookin' to da' pie in the sky
For wistful, prayer in the air
Supine I am, deep in peep sleep
Keepin' utopian dream to extreme
Nomadic musing sifting 'n drifting
In space of a silent place
Stargaze embrace on a lonely face
Having forty wink in slumber be·think
Relaxing to the snore of a heavenly explore
Dreaming deep end; resting in the fog's nesting
Sleeping while clouds weeping
Imaginings under wild blue yonder
Witching hour itching 'n pitching
I keep on a dreaming in deep sleep
Run with the idea while hot;
fun—
stretch your imaginative pun.
For a pie-in-the-sky, it is not.
PHI
POSTED ON my blog on my website, Suzette: Poet, dated 22 July 2021,
PHI POEM INSPIRED BY THE GOLDEN RATIO.
_____________________________________________________
PHI POEM – INSPIRED BY THE GOLDEN RATIO © 22 July 2021
Phi (f 1.618033988749895…) is most often pronounced fi as in ‘fly’.
The golden ratio is about 1.618, and is represented by the Greek letter phi, f. That is, (a + b) ÷ a = a ÷ b. These elements inspired the design of the Phi poem.
The spiral pattern created from the golden ratio is also called the golden spiral. The Fibonacci spiral is related to but not identical to the golden spiral. ‘The golden spiral has constant arm-radius angle and continuous curvature, while the Fibonacci spiral has cyclic varying arm-radius angle and discontinuous curvature.’*
In the 1800s, the German mathematician, Martin Ohm, called the special number 1.618 golden, likely because it has always existed in mathematics. Further back in time, it was even described as divine because of its frequency in the natural world. The golden spiral symbol has inspired countless people throughout history. It’s been associated with the fundamentals of life, spirituality, and creation. Furthermore, the Fibonacci sequence was the inspiration for a poetic form in its own right.
The © Phi poem is a 5-line syllabic poem with a rhyme scheme, invented by Suzette Richards in 2021. The 4th line should enhance the concluding word (in caps), for example, ‘PHI’, by using any number of poetic devices at your disposal. In my poem, Golden Spiral, I pun pi (p). Presented centred on the page.
Rhyme: a1 + b; a2; a3; b; x. (L1: a = an internal rhyme that cross rhymes with L2 & L3.)
Syllabic format of first 3 lines: 1 + 6; 1; 8. L4 & L5 are any number of syllables.
Saturated with fish fry smells, Bar-B-Cue smoke,
rodeo dust and sounds of deep water blues,
with teasing frothing lace spread on the shore,
Gulf Coast birth breeze blew winds
in sails to Caribbean Sea, Blue Mountain
berries, banana walk yam hills,
And coconut rain drops tapping reggae beats
on zinc roof tops on cool verandah nights,
in herb scented air, curling roast breadfruit smoke.
The tarrying there tested the soul,
matured the spirit, fulfilled long tried
attainments of deferred dreams; then
the sea recruited its journeyman again.
Pacific Coast pleaded an adopted native son home. Home
to new sea shore sands dusted in smog self negation
of urbane destruction and self nullification of community,
caught in the veiled nightmare—lurking in the promise land.
Hence, lessons learned from a gospel tower that never knew a church,
yet gave life-lived sermons that put homiletics to shame, crucifying
pipe-dream pie-in-the-sky nuances on the crosses of realities.
Atlantic waves, undulating like rhythmic buttocks, frothed
a scent of magnetism greater than the tightening hold of gravity,
attracting an uneasy soul, searching spiritual solaced sands; only
to discover that the seas all share the same shored design: Yes.
Same shared sorrowful savage slave story! Different sea: same sand.
Now awaits Guinea Coast sunsets and Cape of Good Hope
cul-de-sac early morning sunrises; then on to the sands of heaven.
Regrets are for those who fail to chase their dreams to realities.