Long Recovers Poems
Long Recovers Poems. Below are the most popular long Recovers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recovers poems by poem length and keyword.
This bowl is no longer mine,
was never so,
Let it go.
well worn before the oath,
A gift that despised the guardian,
Presented freely without a dowry in May.
tainted, and abandoned.
used, and widened by many.
too wide to keep a home.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
insatiable, licentious and libidinous.
The bowl was scorned by many.
ere i fell a wandering,
incorrigible, rebellious, untutored.
a bait on my way, the sorrow on my path.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
Like many seeking for prey, and so was i for a time.
intent concealed,,
desperate for the gift of the semen.
as adulterer urged rebellion by ignorance.
the rage, the rave of ego and bestiality.
deceived the Law for mere gain.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
It is broken cannot be fixed by logic.
this bowl is old, alluring by mascara.
This bowl was used,
i take exception on your list,
This bowl is free available to all.
the next victim can explore.
the bowl is cheap,
forced a dowry to conceal the shame.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
T'was sold for free at Ikoyi with ego,
Who is next?
A thousand many had the bowl,
I played along for a time,
ere this voyage of deceit,
I took a flight from restrain ,
hoping to make a jewel from the Flesh.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
This bowl is addicted to the red zones,
Incurable addiction i recalled,
The friends,
The internet,
The phone,
The TV,
The cinema,
And tattling,
The routines of unending dark flights
Incorrigible,
Venomous.
You may have the bowl if you would.
think no shame on me, I lusted.
This bowl is No longer mine.
Let it go
Once a street bowl,
and always so.
Find the bowl in your homes,
Let's hope the bowl recovers.
but a broken bowl is irreparable by man
When you first get your dog there is a wonderful joy, like he is one
of your own children. You go through a get to know each other period
and a Special bond is developed, with you and him.
You soon grow to love one another. He is part of the family, he is there
to love you when you get home from work, and there to say goodnight
before you go to bed.
There is a bonding and interaction that develops affectionately between
everyone in the family and your beloved dog. He is the king of the house.
My brother Gus, his wife Elena, son Brandon, and daughter Briana can
attest to these words. My brother decided to answer a dog ad for a Pug.
When he got there he realized he had a sister and he decided to bring
her along too. Not wanting to separate a brother and sister.
The boy was named Jeter after the Yankees player and the girl Lucy
after Lucille Ball. This is their story.
Jeter and Lucy were Pugs that were inseparable.
You can say that they were very attached and compatible.
Everywhere Jeter went Lucy followed.
One day they got loose and got in a bit of trouble.
The family spent hours looking for them.
They were found down the street, both with a Cheshire grin.
Both were brought home and no treats for a week.
That didn't last long, they begged and got their treat.
If Lucy got a treat Jeter, would ask, what about me?
They were quite the team, full of drama and comedy.
These two spent many years enjoying each other's company.
Some lovable moments and some very funny.
The joy they brought to the family, will forever live on.
As their beloved Jeter today Sadly moved On.
Lucy was there till Jeter's final Breaths.
She knew because she cried at the time of his death.
She then moved and laid her head on him.
With much love, whispered, "Jeter some day, I will see you Again."
Gus and Elena filmed her farewell.
As their Heartfelt emotions, were saddened and deeply felt.
Tonight will be Lucys first night without Her brother.
We pray that in time Lucy recovers...
Jeter will live on in Our Hearts
and minds. He will never be
forgotten says: Lucy, Gus,
Elena, Brandon and Briana.
Michael Tor
Hamlet developed in stillness, stillness torn by warfare,
Warfare ricochets through jungles, jungles drop their brilliance,
Brilliance once lit the skies, skies now propagate blur,
Blur cries hangout the basin, basin bewails inside.
Inside the aggrieved acreage, acreage naked of its emerald,
Emerald fields turned to debris, debris wound the prospect,
Prospect of broken streams, streams dry and bare,
Bare mounts stand as spectators, spectators of desolation.
Desolation mists the firmament, firmament once peaceful and azure,
Azure dreams now are devastated, devastated hopes fictitious,
Fictitious peace feels gone, gone by the fire,
Fire of unending animosity, animosity leaves its tag.
Tag engraved in regret, regret pigments the terrain,
Terrain longs for rebirth, rebirth seeks renaissance,
Renaissance of mild restoration, restoration calls for nimble,
Nimble shall patch the village, village recovers its picture.
Poem by Mugisho N. T
the town awakes to someone yelling, "save yourselves you fools",
with sleepy eyes I wake to see, some wild stampeding mules.
the cowboys with their lassos, face a growing windy gust,
appear as riding puppets, caught inside a maze of dust.
soon the town recovers, as the carnival arrives,
people seem amazed, to see the expert throw his knives.
caught inside the melee, I have searched to find my way,
back again to watch in awe, the dancers at the cabaret.
Matilda leads the chorus line, she smiles in my direction,
her movements hold me spellbound, as she moves in pure perfection.
I picture her and I, back at the ranch in midnight rapture,
If only her attention, I could find a way to capture.
back to the long and arduous road, I have yet to tread and travel,
until the mystery of my life, has finally seen to ripen and unravel.
when it’s been done, when my life will no longer seem so grey,
on Matilda I will call, and hope she sees that I’ll no longer go astray.
we’ll raise some kids, on Blue Ridge mountains far from town,
where no one talks behind our back, where no one there will put us down.
yes she’s a dancer, in the noisy, smoky, riotous cabaret,
but in my heart, she’s just an angel I would love to take away.
take her to another world, where she can spread her wings and fly,
into my arms and hold me tight, and be together ‘till we die.
A war rages on, on two fronts,
three or more.
The world is a wave
crashing upon swords,
or so I am told.
Yet the tea in my teacup
does not tremble
to the thud and scream of shells,
my easy chair is not stained
with the flesh of the slain.
In the garden songbirds
do not shake with fear.
Headlines bellow.
People are marching
to God knows where,
a passionate ignorance
betraying their cause.
Those wars never draw near,
this talk of blood and death
seems but a talking point,
a furfure over spilled milk.
A rap singer dies of an overdose,
a beloved cat falls ill but recovers.
Fools are still fools.
The price of bacon is outrageous,
another Bachelorette's heart is broken,
yet her made-up face and life carry on.
Slippers still warm my feet
just the same as they always do.
So, what's new with you?
Grace grows best in the Winter. ~ C.H. Spurgeon
Feathery whispers gently falling all around
Aimless and breathtaking wishes
Making their way to the cold, hard ground
Where a miraculous layer of flakes
Leave frosty, pallid flurries to astound
Coloring hearts and souls with compassion
Blessings that fall, continue to comedown
In coatings of wondering flurries, delighting
Exciting dreams with inspirations earthbound
Breathing out a caress that captures light
Which glistens joyfully in the background
Raising hopes and reassuring beliefs
That these fluffy drifts are insights found
Coloring the earth with washed-out shelters
Finally, silence meets noise with an embrace
Where the dancing flakes twist with a grace
That can only find happiness in a special place
In you, the snow recovers its peace and accord
The way to reach down and calm the earth
With the lightest caress from a flake who is adored
By the heavenly Father, the One who created
Sparkling joys who pirouette across the unexplored
Landscape, the brilliant sky, the fire alive inside
Passing across the soul with the snowstorm’s horde
The drifts touch lifts my senses with intensity, wonders
Wisdom that comes from believing in the dream
Falling across the land in brave and lively blunders
With this light and lovely caress, I find answers
To the questions, the prayers, the pleas
All given satisfaction in the truths of these dancers
shooting stars twinkle
sprinkling sparklers on the loose -
fading light expires
vows everlasting
impermanence tightly squeezed -
woes’ storms intertwined
sunshine’s radiance
reflects warm silent repose -
disquieting loss
winter breeze swishes
seasoned kindness transgresses -
permafrost daggers
future corroded
skies disunited in pain-
new love on the rise
listen to my words
it will only last three moons-
passion sprung open
it’s all about sex
carnal desire corrupted -
wild new passion heals
yesteryear future
dream catchers barely composed-
golden communion
seasons have faltered
grossly dishevelled it seems -
autumn recovers
jetsam’s drift reclaimed
anchour line in secure knots -
the universe heals
20th July 2019
Writer's statement:
Haikus normally do not have a title, but I cannot leave the field blank on the website.
In my opinion a writer's statement distracts from the poem.
They have a turn after the second line.
They are about nature and nature is love and love can be lost and rediscovered.
This haiku is personal and autobiographical.
Enjoy reading.
As I drive by the end of days I see a pumpkin and a happy witch on the doorstep of my joy,
As I pass by my four year old’s awe toward friendly ghosts down the street of nostalgia,
I am reminded of Saints gone home and good souls on their penitent journey,
Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Paul Robeson and the poets of my past,
Hendrix, Morrison, Michael, Louis Armstong and the Sounds of my testimony,
Prince and Wynton Marsalis, Miles Davis, Amadeus, Earth, Wind, and Fire,
Saints living, saints dead, souls vibrant, souls sad in the darkness of regret,
We are a glorious symphony on this, this all Hallows Eve,
The eve of that day when I celebrate the muses of my sacrifice and the foundations of my epiphanies,
“Halloween is here” my youngest daughter exclaims and I am reminded of many a night spent scavenging for sweet things and expectant laughter,
Tragic kings like Edgar Allen and Charlie Parker, souls with so much pregnant genius that the world was too much for them,
It is our celebration dear friends that will move the mountains of discontent,
And so in this season of harvest, carpe diem calls me to absorb as much love as I can as the sun sets on purple leaves and gorgeous corn stalks,
And in mother Africa, the ancestors dance like their Celtic sisters who fused the worship of our Lord and the glory of mother Gaia,
And in mother Africa the land recovers from the grief stricken sting of rape,
And in mother Africa my sisters and brothers celebrate the saints gone forward into that great mystery,
Tecumseh and Black Elk I celebrate the brilliance of your aptitude,
And I cry with you in triumph for the resurrection of a people forsaken but not defeated,
Come Glory,
On this All Hallows Eve, I celebrate the beauty of a journey full of confusion and catharsis,
For the reality is that we truly cannot fail,
As our cloud of witnesses sing to me of the victory that awaits,
Tonight, adorned with the fashion of merriment,
And the subtle chill of October wind reds our lips,
Come Glory and Glory be to the faithful departed,
Happy Halloween!
The blindfold slips away under currents of corrosive tears
Shadows line myopic eyes in blistering haze
Cataracts melt sightless accusations and brooding incisions
A flickering candle waxes and wanes the stare
Monosyllabic lines dance repetitions in the moribund chorus
Sound out how far boundaries of sanity refrain
A masked persona reverberates and berates piercing doubts
Red hot pokers reveal a babble of puncturing focus
When my soul parades on a tempting abyss of volcanic eruptions
My Alter Ego becomes my best friend near the edge
Honest reliable and trustworthy she voices concern and advice
‘Stay close to yourself’ she repels ashes and ember
In starless nights her song recollects meaning from a lunar eclipse
She never complains about the hardship I bring to task
Simply challenges and embraces what is left in the seeds of darkness
Sometimes shouts to overcome shrieking cacophony
Beats the drum of retreat and leads muted reason onto the stage
Demands an encore when I am again tangled in a veil
She never asks for gratitude does not demand applause or acclaim
Like a mother of pearl she will not pretend to be a diamond
At face value she recovers my face and faith in an alchemist’s world
And then her lips sing a lullaby instead of the eulogy
29th January 2020
An institution for the average man and also for the Toff
The gun blasts, the gates fly open. They’re off.
Eight magnificent Steeds already to win the race.
Trampling all before them, galloping at full pace.
Jeremiah takes the lead, closely followed by Your Grace.
Simply Simon at his heels, True Tess is gaining a place.
Here comes My Hero, a grand, black stallion gaining on the pack.
Flight Steward, Flame and Conroy are positioned at the back.
Stampeding round the bend, bulleting on the outside
True Tess the small grey filly, taking the lead with pride.
Manes flying in the wind here comes Conroy flying round the pack.
Now in second place, the odds thought him to be a hack.
Clumps of turf take flight from the pounding of the hooves.
Horses surging forward at an almighty pace, none wanting to lose.
Jockeys standing upright, leaning forward smashing their whips.
Jeremiah responds to the whip with an almighty lunge and trips.
The horse recovers, but all others pass him by, at least he wasn’t hurt.
Joyful screams from the punters as each horse puts on a spurt.
Simply Simon trapped against the rails pushes his way between a gap.
Racing with the pack, hurtling against the wind the jockey loses his cap.
Its anyone’s race as the galloping group head into the straight
There’s a oneness between each horse and its Jockey mate.
Wails from the crowd are heard, some had bet just on spec.
The crowd are on their feet as two horses are neck and neck.
The thunder of their hooves sending sparks My hero crosses the line.
A whisker in front of Tess. A photo finish sends tingles down my spine.
My ticket says Tess To Win, the track is silent for results of the race
The Marshall makes the announcement. Its my Hero in 1st place.
Sponsor Brian Strand
Contest Name A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1219 -- 23 May2023