Long Recounted Poems
Long Recounted Poems. Below are the most popular long Recounted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recounted poems by poem length and keyword.
We have loved and we have lost
We have rejoiced in times of merry
We have delighted in the many gifts
The recounted stories and tales
The gifts and talents displayed
The wonderful soupers with love
The encouragement and care
With thanks giving for a great year
With thanks giving for the journey
With glad tidings of merry and love
With rejoicing for the year of growth
As a new year beckons
As we anticipate great things
As we pray for prosperity and growth
As we pray you have health and wealth
We give thanks for the journey
We give thanks for the faith
We give thanks for the breath
We give thanks for the new day
(Your mercies are new every morning)
How do I love thee, let me count the ways
Now give an ear to hear what my Heart says
Give audience to Mind to speak at will
My Soul will testify and won't be still
I love thee!
Heart:
I love thee with emotion's thundering dance
With passion's stormy show and calm romance
I love thee with each beat that life bestows
The strength of love I feel with each day grows
I Love Thee!
Mind:
I love thee with discernment's guiding light
Revealed to me are weaknesses that blight
I love thee for I know though thorns may sting
Your beauty is song I choose to sing
I love Thee!
Soul:
I love thee with the lasting hand of time
When life is done, I'll love in heaven's clime
I love thee with immortal constancy
For you're my all in all, my sovereignty
I Love Thee!
Recounted are the ways: heart, mind, and soul
My love, you are the one that makes me whole!
I Love Thee!
For Mystic Rose's How Do I Love Thee Contest
February 20, 2016
Happy is my heart again, for I'm no longer confused.
At last I've found escape from a life that I'd abused.
Peace is mine since my Creator heard my confession.
Please, I begged of Him, rid me of guilt and depression.
In sorrow I fell to my knees. "Oh, God, hear my prayer."
Next I told Him I was sorry, and to Him my soul laid bare.
Each shameful sin I recounted made me feel so relieved.
Scripture brought me comfort, and I no longer grieved.
Salvation is my hope because God's Word I now believed.
===========================
December 16th 2015 ~ Lin Lane
Happiness Acrostic Contest
Sponsor ~ John Hamilton
In my dreams
like many have dreams,
I went to number 10 Drowning Street.
in this pandemic, isolation to cheat,
there is no other better place
to meet, greet, drink and eat!
In the back garden, I sat with Boris,
chatting and laughing a guff!
Donald sat drinking a can of beer,
American, of course! all in good cheer,
tears rolling down his eyes in mirth,
as he recounted his Capitol trick!
there were a number of barking dogs,
running around and wagging their tails!
that waited to be fed of the remains
on the table!
their long ears pricked
but their faces were human.
I thought they must be Boris’ pets
all drawn from his cabinet.
The party lasted long into the night,
hopefully from media-hush, hush- out of sight!
such fun, such fun, such god damn fun,
with such a pack of looneys to govern,
this old queen’s country to run!
someone said the poor old bloke is dead!
that guy to whom the queen was wed!
couldn’t recall his name, these drinks,
makes you go fuzzy in the head!
Shall catch up in the morning,
send a wreath, or something,
right now let’s get on with the drinking!
there were some souls that stood
all in silence in the outer ring.
a crowd of souls, a very large crowd
in ‘thousands of thousands’ that watched.
I thought these must be the ones
that passed during the pandemic
dying in loneliness away from their families….
…and that shattered my dream..
I was back in my home nursing my own,
in fear, and all alone…..
Written 03/02/2022
Farmer Fred lives down the road,
And one day as I was ambling by.
I heard him singing about a toad,
And how it had pooped in his cherry pie.
Now this serenade seemed odd to I.
So, shouting out to Fred I said,
“Where is this toad, who dumped a load, in your cherry pie?”
Fred retorted with this cryptic reply. “The toad is dead!”
The toad it seems had hopped away down the pathway.
When an old red tail hawk swept down from a pine.
Clutched him in his talons strong, then flew on up and away.
Landing on a maple limb, that hawk proceeded to dine.
Now these are the facts of the case or the crime.
Fred recounted the tale over a piece of key lime.
Christmas celebrations were precious times
filled with family bonding moments of love chimes
in gatherings radiating wondrous bliss
as Dad and Mom cooked comfort food we should not miss...
Christmas reunions rekindled sweet partnerships
marked with gratitude around warm fellowships
while we proudly recounted parents' nurture
as Dad and Mom led us toward triumph's pasture...
Christmas vacations keep me longing for home
since my heart yearns to dwell in our peace-fortressed dome
where I first enjoyed vibrant togetherness' worth
as Dad and Mom made it paradise on earth...
Christmas moments are still thrilling with delight
while we relive legacy aright
midst dear kindred expecting victory glow
as Dad and Mom in heaven wave their favor's show...
Christmas Season always brings memorable days
for which I thank God* for and worshipfully praise
especially that life-building is my vow
as Dad and Mom cheer me of my choice until now.
*1Thessalonians 5:18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
December 17, 2025
3rd place, "Snow Fantasy or Christmas Nostalgia" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 12/18/2025
The Hunter for PD
Yesterday, I visited
the timeless monastery
where the Buddhist monks dwell,
the place a sublime testament
to their simplicity, perception
and peace.
With delight,
I viewed the fragment of skull
and the skeletal fingers:
repellent to some,
yet exquisite to me, my fascination
with the enigma ravenous.
I listened to the monk’s story,
fantastical, but not filled
with excessive intensification.
He looked into my eyes,
his own moist,
steady but not defiant,
as he recounted the epic tale.
As the minutes ticked by,
I was filled with ecstasy:
this wasn’t a nefarious conman,
his story was not tainted
with planning and motives,
and, as I thanked him for his time,
I believed he really had seen
Meh-Teh, the yeti,
the abominable snowman –
call it what you will -
on a glacier, and, again,
in the snowy valley;
he had heard gunshots ricochet
and had later retrieved
the gruesome relics.
I would never quit searching…
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
It's funny the simple pleasures recounted in life
all manner of wonders reminisced I'll miss most..
though list grows shorter with each passing day
thoughts align in proper time as desires sway
storm bent trees, sunsets, a child's laughter,
and chicken salad on toast.
To be true others may find want of finer things.
fancying first class flight or latest in 'lectric cars,
refined tastes in Nanterre brioche or imported caviars
yet never replace good company a heart brings.
As winter closes, and spring finds its way home,
eternally grateful for all new pleasures won
give thanks warm day's return in rising and setting sun
yet alone, to bygone days my thoughts may roam.
Yeah, there'll always be chicken salad and sunsets..
perhaps a slice of keylime pie or two.
When I look back to a wonderful past,
what I'll miss most
is you.
THE ROOKIE
He said there is no “GOD”
She said it might be true
They, “both-in-one”, recounted scen-a-rios
To explain the stand He-she took;
I was sooo hard on rocks:
And where was HE!
I sooo needed him when my loved one was sick:
And where was HE!
I fell, real hard, and needed an Anchor:
And where was HE!
I cried, so hard, because I thought I was just a Patsy:
And where was HE!
My mom and dad broke-up:
And where was HE!
I was going wayward, with no conscience to tickle or trigger:
And the same….
Where was HE!
Then it Dawns….
HE! Is and was there….
Always, in everything…
In the Good and Bad,
The beautiful and ugly,
The preferred and disgusted…
And,
He-She understands,
I “am” and “was” a
ROOKIE!
In life-experiences
In my suffering- Perhaps!
In my “ardent” search for HIM; and
For answers….. Thus,
HE’s there and truly EXISTS….
BY ASANGALISAH AKANTERE ISAIAH