Long Pris Poems
Long Pris Poems. Below are the most popular long Pris by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pris poems by poem length and keyword.
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
I’ve said this before (and I’ll likely say it again!) about our cabin in the trees…
How it’s not just a cabin…it’s a cabin filled with memories.
Memories…compiled from the time our children and grandchildren were small…
each memory plays a part in the magic painted on its walls.
And the way I feel about our cabin…I know I’m not alone
because everyone who’s ever visited…takes away memories of their own.
Some of our memories that surface when we reach the cabin…are of Deborah’s sister Pris…
Her memories remind us of how much fun we had together…
and how much and often she is missed.
After her funeral in Florida years ago we escaped to our cabin
and that same evening a luna moth perched herself upon our door….
in all our years coming to the cabin…we’d never seen one there before.
When we saw the luna moth we immediately took her as a sign…
a message from Pris herself…that everything was fine.
The luna moth…was telling us…in a natural way so sweet…
that when it came to Pris from this world to the next…her transformation was complete.
Now when we visit the cabin…we’re never sure how or when…
Pris, in her luna moth form, will visit us again.
This morning on our porch I sat down to write a poem…
(after last nights rain the morning air was colder)
and as I was wondering what I was going to write…A luna moth landed on my shoulder.
I’m not great at understanding Luna moth speech…but near as I could tell
Pris wanted her family to know that she’s still doing well.
And she wanted her sister, her children, her grandchildren,
and great-grandchildren to know…from wherever luna moths come from…
how proud she is of all of them…and the people they’ve become.
So perched upon my shoulder…in the early morning dawn
Pris helped me write this little poem…and when we finished…she was gone.
You may be wondering if these luna moths who visit at the cabin then depart…
are really Pris or just a little bit of wishful thinking on my part…
It could be this phenomenon is a lot like love…all in the eye of the beholder…
then again I think I’ll wait around and ask Pris…the next time she lands upon my shoulder.
Les petites pépites de temps mènent à de GRANDS RÉSULTATS
je désirais accomplir une seule chose par jour
je croyais avoir perdu la tête
à la fin de chaque journée
je ne pouvais comprendre comment c’était possible
d’avoir encore réussi à ne pas accomplir
la seule chose que j’avais comme objectif.
jour après jour je n’avais pas réussi
à ramasser une toile et un pinceau.
qu’est-ce que j’avais fait toute la journée?
je voulais éclaircir cette énigme
donc j’ai pris en note ce que je faisais et
je maintenais la liste de ce que je devais faire.
une liste était beaucoup plus longue que l’autre.
éventuellement j’ai réalisé que
j’attendais les gros blocs de temps
et ils n’arrivaient jamais.
si je voulais peindre
il fallait que je me claire un coin
et que je ramasse le pinceau et commencer
même si ce n’était que pour
quelques minutes à la fois.
donc j’ai délibérément décidé de
répéter ceci pour me convaincre:
les petites pépites de temps
mènent à de GRANDS RÉSULTATS
je répétais mon nouveau mantra
je ne dis pas que je suis guérie
mais au moins…
je ne pense plus que j’ai perdu la tête
Translated from my poem LITTLE NUGGETS OF TIME LEAD TO BIG RESULTS
AP: 3rd place 2022
I have always believed there is more to life than what my eyes can see
more questions than I can answer…more riddles…more mysteries.
I have always believed signs from our loved ones abound…
even from those loved ones who are no longer around.
When Deborah’s sister died a rare Luna Moth gave our window in NC a kiss
and now we cannot see a Luna Moth without thinking of Pris.
Deborah’s mom loved gladiolas…they were the flowers she preferred.
Whenever Deborah’s dad found them…he’d bring some home to her.
Her Mom and Dad personified beauty and grace and love…
and whenever wee see gladiolas it’s the two of them we’re thinking of.
On our way to North Carolina we always stop at Momma’s Boy restaurant.
They have biscuits as big as your fist.
It’s a tradition heading to the mountains we never want to miss.
When we pull into Momma’s familiar parking lot…we always feel this same elation
unbeknownst to us this year, however, our GPS took us to Momma’s Boy 2nd location.
When I asked Deborah if she wanted to go back to our usual Momma’s Boy
So…to our tradition we would adhere…
No, she said smiling and pointing to the gladiolas…
I think Mom and Dad want us to eat here.
So we paused among the gladiolas admiring their multi-colored hues
thinking or Deborah’s Mom and Dad…and how they loved biscuits too.
Signs like these are everywhere…we find them from the flowers
to the clouds up in the sky…
reminders from our loved ones that their love will never die.
We’ll be spending two weeks in the mountains…
enjoying the view from high up in the sky…
And we can’t be sure but we have a feeling
Pris will be stopping by.
This year we’re celebrating Christmas at our cabin in NC.
where we’ll be gathering together our entire family.
This morning I was sitting alone in the silence of the cabin…
(I find the silence quite endearing)
when that silence was interrupted by the echoes I was hearing.
The room was illuminated only by the lights of our Christmas tree…
and my computer screen….
which didn’t matter because the echoes in our cabin
are meant to be heard…and never seen.
Meant to stir a memory or two…for they are specifically designed…
once I hear an echo….to paint a picture in my mind.
The echoes came out of nowhere…and would suddenly appear…
Friends who have visited the cabin…other friends who honeymooned here.
The loudest echoes were of Deborah’s mom and dad…
It’s as if they were standing right over there….
Their voices echoed off the walls…their laughter filled the air.
I heard different conversations…even the songs some people sung…
I heard Deborah’s sister Pris…and her children…when they were young.
I heard echoes of our extended family and all the games we’d play…
generations who sat where I am sitting…and laughed the night away.
I heard echoes of Whitman our golden retriever…
his paws slipping on these wooden floors as he chased his tennis balls.
I stopped to smile when I realized all the echoes absorbed within these walls.
Since I knew where these echoes came from there was no need for me to fear them….
Instead…I was filled with gratitude they chose this morning to let me hear them.
As I listened to the symphony of echoes stored here all these years.
I lingered in the moment…smiled…laughed…I even shed a tear.
Knowing we’ve added a great-granddaughter to our family
I felt blessed this morning to be awash in all the memories this cabin has amassed.
I can’t think of a better Christmas present…than to look into the future…
while being serenaded by the echoes of past
After finding an old rocking horse in our attic…I was so excited
then I became aware…
on the other side of the attic
sat a dusty little rocking chair.
When I showed the chair to Deborah…
She was a little bit surprised…
“That’s my old rocking chair!” She said
as tears welled in her eyes.
She said, “Be extra careful while you move it.”
“I sat in that rocking chair when I was small
and I have the photo to prove it.”
With her chair in hand she ran off
and behold…
returned with a photo of her in that chair
when she was 3 or 4 years old.
In the photo she is sitting next to her sister, Pris
and it was easy for me to see…
how one little old rocking chair
brought back two cherished memories.
A memory of a young girl…and her childhood rocking chair…
And the memory of her sister…who is no longer sitting there…
I imagine the makers of this rocking chair
could not have guessed…would have never suspected
all the joy this chair would give…all the memories it collected.
I imagine they’d be overjoyed…If they were here to share
the look on Deborah’s face…
when she was reunited with her chair.