Long Recitals Poems
Long Recitals Poems. Below are the most popular long Recitals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recitals poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh beloved dear one , sing to me your song
its caress to rest my ears to fall thereon
the tenor of its soothing balm unto my heart
from its intonation wish never I to part
Break the mold beloved to the high exalt
sing about true justice compared to mans default
take true aim with words designations mark
lift them from their misery with the divine spark
Your skill of composition compliments of sound
where breathes a truth in stories made renown
highlight their intentions for the cause you wish effect
pointed the veracity that leads to circumspect
Take elements of history a tale told in note
outline in detail its morality in wrote
expressed is your ability the mind to mesmerize
where realities of men's behavior brought to size
Accompany with melody instruments design
harmonize those tones and tales ultimately fine
your songs can lead one to the right conclusions
break the chords wrapped with mankind's illusions
Oh beloved Bard your ballad sets me a sail
a chronicle of joy or those that we bewail
from you shall I never turn away my ear
its narration and aria brings recitals near
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC
Upon a bed of petals
We became like Gods in murals
There, we burnt all our passion
By letting go of all our negation
Upon a bed of petals
I heard the Angels' recitals
When love bells are rung
When love songs are sung
Upon a bed of petals
I saw opening all those portals
Leading to the solace of your arms
Melting faced with the wrath of your charms
Upon a bed of petals
We bid life to show us the boreals
Given to us by a grace of the Lord
When He was merciful enough to give us his word
Upon a bed of petals
I became lost in depths, abysmals
There, in your eyes,
Was the expanse of the skies
Wales to me is ...
places of unpronounceable beauty
steam trains coastal walks in the rain
castles Cromlechs and Celtic crosses
Diolch yn fawr for the memories ...
beautiful welcoming people
stubborn and fiercely resilient
who gave me a home for years
An immigrant greeted with kindness ...
Wales is where I raised my five children
bandaged scraped knees and innocence
set them forth on their wonderful journey
The most beautiful flag in the world ...
fiery red dragon on white and green
pastures for magic passion and love
proud banner and mythical legends
An anthem unsurpassed by any other ...
land of poets singers and people of stature
spirit not hindered by treacherous hands
or silencing the sweet harp of my land
My farmhouse of field stone and wood ...
coal fired Aga warming the kitchen
providing shelter and sparkling dreams
cows sheep and daffodils cheering me on
Rugby propelling this tiny nation
past oppression and invasion
staking its claim on a peaceful map
my daughter plays for the national team
Eisteddfod recitals dance and song ...
my kids trilingual from the tip of their tongue
international examples of healing the wounds
of ignorance belligerence and aggression
Charming Wales to me is ...
part of my heritage and narration
sea shores and mountain retreats
part of my body mind and soul
05th June 2020 and counting my blessing
‘Croeso y Cymru’ - - - Welcome to Wales
‘Diolch yn fawr’ - - - Thank you very much
Fifth stanza with translations from the anthem
Born in Madrid, in fifty nine,
A military Kid, 3rd of 7 in the assembly line;
They named me Michael, but I answer to Wedge,
A Master Sergeant’s son—not much here that's cutting edge.
I grew up a runner, and I wrestled some,
I was a skateboarding brawler and a surfer bum;
Didn’t try very hard in primary school,
Laziness, not ignorance—I was a bit of a tool.
Then I met this fine girl, long hair just like copper,
Who took me to church, sweet, innocent, and proper;
At Wood’s Grove on knees, accepting Him for long haul,
In 1978—just weeks before Uncle Sam called.
In a flash came the Navy, Marriage, college, and kids,
A submarine, 2 surface ships—I was a bit of a squid;
On to Chapel Hill, where I taught Midshipmen,
By ’94, farewell my Navy—I’m now a businessman.
Life moved fast from the crib thru each grade,
For Mom & two girls—my female brigade;
Growing up we did lots, mostly travels and school,
Plus church, school sports, dance and piano recitals, how cool!
Today, they’re gone—our empty nest in their wake,
New lives, with spouses, and pups—and new names.
So I paint and I hike—while my soulmate sews and she reads;
And we both now teach high school—sharing Christ as He leads.
I’m grateful my Navy recalled this old goat,
To lead men and women, ashore and afloat;
Retirement and selection, to teach young Cadets,
A large pain in the butt—but I have no regrets.
After 60 odd years, I’m modestly content,
With where my life’s been, and headed—once spent.
But mostly I’m thankful—family, friends and great health,
And for wonderful friendships—the source of my wealth!
Some say sixty's getting old,
Creaky knees, aches and pains, hard hearing—all told.
And I contend, aging's NOT for the faint hearted,
But most who know me know—I'm just getting started!
For my four children I've been working Almost every day
There was never enough time to play with you
There were baseball games, dance recitals That you wanted me to come to
But with all the time working There was never enough time for any of you
On weekdays and weekends, I had to do my chores So it left very little time for you four
I may always say maybe the next time Which I might have said so many other times
Sometimes I had to work all night And I wouldn't see you to the next morning light
I know our lives are short, and days go by fast
And all your children grow up in a flash
Then I finally realized that my children Are no longer by my side And now I no longer have to provide
I still have pictures I can still look at Showing me the past and the laughter
I'm retired now and once I was so busy Now all my body and hands are still
And for me, these days are too quiet and hard to kill
I wish I could go back into the past And change all the ways I reacted
And for my four grown children I want to say I'm sorry, and I want to say you are all One in a million and I love you all
[POET’s NOTE : This is the second of five poems on Revolutionary Poet, Bertolt Brecht : Spoken Word written in Blank Verse]
___________________________
It is not enough to assume safety, question !
audience and readers one with poems
writing is not divided, stories homed
engage, clash one with another find truth
what is writ, read, recited incubates
unaware embracing sagacity, sighted
as minds see yourselves in actors miming
bewail or laugh on easy seats, it matters not !
Alienation tearing reflects without
who are specks when travelling, fleeing fast
in courtrooms, as empaths see bombs fall
explode over seas, implode naivety
remove barriers within refines, no hide
penetrate emotions, let words cut veins
ripping open crux exposes connections
alienation and antipathy tails pale
I'm here to wake up audience’s core more
shatter to bring Mother Courage to fore
fragmented world of war engage active
theatre seeks to hammer, shake seats loose
poetic therapy as mirror confronts
inner worlds jumping here and there
inspired juices whiffing extra miles
adoration requires not possession’s pews
Self cares zero about rules to be broken
crushing my bones crooked for knowing
nobody lives sufficiently for all sowing
this is my work and yearning, recognise
blending it exposes false convictions
scruples upon scruples is khaki to shred
raw is perception, insufferable flashes
alive only when not guarding dashes
Germinal ! make deep stamp upon own soil
listen clear (...) be own sage, stage shows toil
allow poetry into lightness of pure being
reintegrate famished divided, feed
go home grieving from theatres, recitals twist
speak to knights, hierophants, fools within
jar them off thrones of brocade comfort silk
for all must recall how dust is to evolve !
presence without demand
s t r e t c h
b u i l d
________________________
His life was marked by infinite strides,
Breakable down into a chanted psalm;
And a doleful hymn after psalters' word,
Plus a petition to bid the kingdom come.
Keener listeners his recitals yet might hear
In plaintive crescendos in misty auras near;
Are not his footsteps bold in deathless ink,
On dark planes along the latent silvery link?
His ever-pledged faith soared on basis lean:
Choice psalms to check soul's bubbly brims;
Caroled hymns to shut heart's bestial whims;
Tacit prayers for mind and conscience clean.
Opposing these no devilish heads may rise;
No mortal skin more lethal ammunitions kept
In trinity synchrony winning wars against vice;
Blazing witty fires beyond Eden's eternal debt.
With a psalm and a hymn and contrite prayer,
He fought and slew old fogs that trillions dare.
Three sisters have I who make me so glad,
and all of us have the same mom and dad.
But there is another sister I claim.
Our fathers happen to not be the same.
This sister – the youngest in our family -
is called my half-sister, technically!
No difference this makes though I left home when
she, at that time, was much younger than ten.
As the oldest, I spent so much less time
with her than with other sisters of mine.
Now knowing her better, I have no doubt
that leaving home early, I really missed out.
I missed all those years when she was in school,
the great things she did, and things she found cool.
Dance lessons my sister took – same as me!
Each other’s recitals we did not see.
I missed out on watching her turn into
a splendid young woman as the years flew.
I ended up living so far away
my kids had no cousins with whom to play.
A few rare reunions in my home state
were times for which I hardly could wait.
My dear baby sister I then got to know.
If only I’d gotten to see her kids grow.
She has a son Sammy whom I adore.
He lives near MY state, so his mom I see more.
When she visits her son out here in the west,
I spend time with her. Those times are the best!
We have much in common, and with our kids grown,
we’ve got lots of time to chat on the phone.
Theadora – though a half-sister – SHE
is in every way a whole sister to ME!
Oct. 23, 2020
NA in the 'From the Heart' Poetry Contest of Regina McIntosh
Now for 'HM's and NA's October 2020' Contest of Constance La France
Sixteen years ago he left me,
I was only two years old.
He chose a life of crime instead,
At least that's what I've been told.
He never tried to come back,
No gifts, cards, or calls.
While he was drinking and running from cops,
I was learning how to crawl.
He missed my first steps,
Missed my recitals and my first play,
He missed all my brothers football games,
I wanted to know why he didn't stay.
I thought it was my fault,
I turned toward men and drugs.
I was only eleven years old
Meeting up with plugs.
I replaced him with pills and powder,
Their love in place of his.
For seven years, I road the high,
Until the overdose had proved what this life really is.
Mom forced me to detox,
To rid my body of the addiction.
The drugs, the drinks, and the wanting to know
How my father could cause such an affliction.
I've been sober for a year now,
Sober from drugs and my need for him.
And though it took some time, I know,
The truth is rather grim.
He’s never coming home again,
He chose the life he leads.
And from him and all of my hurdles,
I have finally been freed.
She wakes before the sun,
packs two lunches—one for school,
one for work,
if she remembers to eat.
She brushes her child’s hair
while tying back her own pain.
She looks in the mirror and sees
a woman who stayed too long
for someone who only knew
how to disappear.
He said forever,
then broke it quietly.
Took the best of her years
and left her with
bills, baggage,
and a child who still asks,
“When’s Daddy coming back?”
She smiled through that.
She wiped away tears
and said,
"You’ve still got me, baby."
And somehow,
that was enough.
She folds laundry with music on
to drown out memories—
his lies,
his hands that once promised safety,
his phone that buzzed with someone else’s name
while she sat in the same room.
He made her feel small.
But she got bigger.
He broke trust.
She built a life.
No one sees how many times
she cries in the shower
so no one hears.
Or how her hands shake
when the car won’t start,
but she still makes it on time.
She carries birthdays alone,
doctor visits alone,
discipline and dance recitals—alone.
But her child
never feels the weight.
Because she shields them
with everything she’s got left.
She is the peace she never had.
She is the healing
she wasn’t given.
So to the woman
who rebuilt herself
from betrayal,
who took pain
and turned it into protection—
We see you.
We thank you.
And we know:
You are the storm.
You are the shelter.
You are the reason someone will grow up believing in love—
because you never stopped giving it,
even when no one gave it to you.