Long Ready made Poems
Long Ready made Poems. Below are the most popular long Ready made by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ready made poems by poem length and keyword.
A young girl of twenty,
Starry eyes with wonder,
wishing on the brightest star.
A love like no other
came that fateful evening of New Year’s Eve.
A chance encounter, love at first sight.
Butterflies in the pit of her stomach,
slow dancing to “Hot Child in the City.”
Eye to eye—no one else in this space,
talking for hours seemed more like minutes.
Slipping outside, a goodnight kiss
beneath the fallen snow,
only feeling the warmth of his embrace,
a promise of a better tomorrow
with love in tow.
The one-sided romance is no longer;
A commitment not meant to be,
many sleepless nights,
reliving the memory of that first night.
Solemn, closed like a new rose,
the thorns stinging but creating an inkling of hope.
Like a newborn baby bird,
the awakening of a new season,
a purpose, a dream, the sun shining even in the shadows.
You can move mountains with the flutters of love.
Signs all over, a twinkle in our eyes,
lunch hour connections, escapades for two.
The pain of first love now turned into “Thank God for Unanswered Prayers.”
A new beau, a shiny new ring,
a courthouse “I do” on a warm summer day,
a ready-made family grew by two.
The years flew by,
building a loving home
side by side, united we stood.
The baby daughter is now living among the stars.
The two pillars now older and gray,
still united with a wedding band.
Hand in hand, a purpose at hand.
First sighting
It was an early summer morning when my best friend Edwin
threw pebbles on my window to wake me up
I like morning slumber, waking up at six, looking at the alarm
the clock on the bedstand and think of two hours more sleep.
Ewin said there was a big ship at the dock fully laden with
copra; five minutes later, I joined him as we ran to
the harbour to collect the broken nuts.
When unloading, bits of copra fell down; we had pockets
full of it, and the white flesh was still soft and chewable.
Look, said Edwin, and there, on the gangway, stood
the first black person we had ever seen; he had a bag
in his hands that turned out to have booze and cigarettes.
We took him home to our street to show him to my mother
She was working, but my aunt, living on the first floor
took him in; we were milling about till she threw us out.
Two days are gone, a tall -in our eyes- old man, the captain
who came looking for his cook.
He is from Sudan, the captain said, which, meant
little or us and he is black, oh, him, he is in my aunt's flat.
Half an hour later, the captain and his cook walked
to the ship, we followed at a respectful distance to think
a captain!
On the gangway, the Sudanese waved to us he looked
Happy smiling, broadly; it was a day everybody was happy
the crew waited to be fed, my aunt sat in a chair in
her flat smoking ready-made cigarettes.
In the blue light of screens, the soul is lost in a mechanical dance,
Where thoughts flow like rivers through forests of pixels and silver threads,
In a world where dreams are frozen in frames, with no time for dreaming,
And the mind struggles, like a captive bird, in the virtual cage of silence.
Technology steals our gaze, drawing us into its webs of light,
It distances us from the moment of respite, the secret breath of the moment,
In the constant noise of its wheels, we forget ourselves,
We lose ourselves in endless movement, with no time for questions or answers.
In a world of continuous stimuli, we lose ourselves in the hum of the perfect image,
We no longer know how to listen to silence, to speak with the shadows within us,
We surrender before screens, with empty eyes, the soul inert and distant,
We bow to ready-made answers, without seeking truth anymore.
But deep in the heart, a spark flickers, reminding us of what we once were,
And in the silence of the night, when the screen's light fades, we rediscover a tremor,
In the moon's reflection on the window, a call to what we forgot to be,
An invitation to return to the essence of the world, to the unseen miracle of being.
No matter what I do,
No matter what I don’t,
Return one day I’ve to
This water hole-- hangout haunt.
To this polluted river
Fouled by me to wash me clean,
Me, the same old beaver
To build my lodge anew and green.
To plough my own karmic field
To sow seeds, raise my food,
If or not they would yield,
Yet, I must try still if just to feel good.
And find I must my own fault
To start all over again,
Wash my wounds-- there’s no alt
But to play the same old refrain.
Guru there’s nor a god-man
Nor a ready-made lotion
To rub on my wounds if in vain,
Imbibing same bitter potion
And search for remedy,
Create my own antidote
To cure my self-wrought malady,
Life is to struggle, swim sans boat.
No matter what I do,
No matter what I don’t,
Return one day I’ve to
To this water-hole-- hangout haunt.
_______________________
Musings | 07.05.2026 | life, philosophy, river, quatrain
You think your heart and tenderness are far away
but mine in the hidden has reciprocated since
your perspective of me is just too high
not until I liked you, before I became a prince
hellos and hi-s only define our contacts
oh, the pride and uncertainties be cleansed
the needed attraction is long ready-made
same words from our yearnings, why mince?
getting me is as easy as Sunday morning
cos you are rear to me among noble Queens
I see you and understand your unspoken language
I’ll happily make you mine and show you many things
feminine pride is shattered if feelings are unveiled
my dear, this old mentality please wash and rinse.
Knowing eye of the hurricane is still,
Heart’s tranquil in the void of cessation,
Simply allowing God to do His will.
All that’s manifest, is God’s creation.
The table’s laid, everything’s ready made;
Heart’s tranquil in the void of cessation.
We search for joy, that with time does not fade;
Enabled when we choose to surrender.
The table’s laid, everything’s ready made.
Have we felt not within, silent thunder?
Bliss, as in scriptures, ours for the asking,
Enabled when we choose to surrender.
Ceasing striving, ending multitasking,
We feel heightened rapture, within resume;
Bliss, as in scriptures, ours for the asking.
Employing free will, to cravings exhume,
Knowing eye of the hurricane is still,
We feel heightened rapture, within resume,
Simply allowing God to do His will.
10-April-2022
AN ORIGINAL TERZANELLE Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
December comes with certain treats,
Music and psalm and all things sweet.
The year-end grooves to festive cheer,
As commerce moves with spending here.
There is an air of appetites,
A buying flair that trade recites.
So much to pitch for Christmas mood,
The urgent reach for myriad goods.
Cash here works well in buying spree,
Wants and needs dwell on things you see.
Yes we consume more than enough...
Scent of perfume, so much of stuff.
Body-mind speed to acquire more,
That craving need for more to store.
Shoppers invade our city malls,
Goods ready made are dressed to call.
Season Greetings now fill the air,
Grand happenings now tempt and stare.
Warm city sights scream faith and hope,
Love comes to light our festive scope.
Money can buy so many things,
Not lows and highs beyond such flings.
The world knows fear in woes and pains,
Bring joy and cheer in acts laid plain.
Spare a good thought for sorrow's brief,
Resource kind plot to ease some grief.
Then your greetings will say a lot,
In fond wishing that's filled with thought.
For our loving speaks in giving,
Our fond greetings in right living.
Thus our kind tact fulfills love's pact,
For in each act, we heed sure tract.
Cheers then my friends and peace to all,
Goodwill floods grand when true love calls.
Peace on earth comes right here to stay,
Grandeur now sums our cheery days.
Leon Enriquez
01 December 2014
Singapore
Bags all packed and ready to go?
I wish that were the case.
Tossed some clean clothes in the trunk,
With some things I can’t replace.
Won’t take time to be ready to go.
I don’t wanna see her face.
Leaving behind lots of junk;
Getting out of her space.
There’s some good stuff that you should find
At Saturday’s yard sale.
Cowboy boots, mechanics’ tools--
Nothing fancy or upscale.
You can have the gal I left behind.
You’ll get her better than wholesale.
Watch out, she plays dirty pool,
And puts her men through Hell.
Things with my gal were getting cold.
It’s time for some upgrades.
Nothing there was working right--
Need a new gal ready-made.
I want a gal that’s better than gold,
Without charades or masquerades.
Saint by day, sinner by night,
That’s easy to persuade.
(chorus)
I’ll miss my worn-in cowboy hat
And slightly worn-out clothes.
I’ll miss my rig and lariat
With the yellow Texas rose.
Counting all the things that I gave up,
You could naturally infer—
Though I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
I definitely won’t miss her.
Yes, I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
But certainly not her.
Harnessing prana within, in space-time
Divine magnetism and soma nectar
In-pours God’s blessings, blissful and sublime
Enlivening each mind-body vector
God Himself assigns, pathway optimal
That dormant nodes of form, gently awake
In poised calm, we imbibe His miracle
Veils begin to thin, no longer opaque
The table’s laid, everything’s ready-made
All we need to do is trust and allow
In the vast, vibrant void, as we thus wade
Heart lotus blooms and soul becomes mellow
As bliss cascades within through day and night
In timeless time we become living light
10-March-2022
Spark of fine trade
Now ready made
Monday brings fare
Of housing cares
One for one deal
To fashion will
A brand new house
As fate funds browse
Sign and be well
For time now tells
The moment here
Offers new cheer
Come to know truth
In visual proof
Detour and see
How joy sets free
A new era
Frames agenda
Keys to the fest
Of happy zest
Let peace abide
To bless and guide
Here at the gate
Ask for kind fate
A puncture can
Bring blessing grand
See beyond pain
To actual gain
Love works the best
To fund new fest
Embrace and seize
That mindful ease
Leon Enriquez
17 October 2016
Singapore