Long Rejoined Poems
Long Rejoined Poems. Below are the most popular long Rejoined by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rejoined poems by poem length and keyword.
I watch the rain flow backwards,
back up into the sky.
I was soaking wet
and now I am dry
All the moisture is gone,
sucked up from the ground.
Reversing rain,
it makes no sound.
The flowers cry,
tears joining the rain
As the moisture is lost,
do the flowers feel pain?
Their colors exhaled,
only dust remains.
The trees look angry,
gnarled branches are bare.
Colorful foliage no longer there
Leaves like breath,
have blown away.
The birds have left,
no reason to stay.
The world we know,
reaches it's end.
Back to the sky,
life's blood ascends!
With each droplet,
we make amends.
Back to dust,
we do descend
Our crimes are many,
the earth cries out for blood.
We become part of,
a different kind of flood.
Now rejoined to the earth,
us foolish men of mud.
Questions answered,
as we rise from the dead.
The Earth is restored,
by rivers of red.
Fountain of life,
no more need for rain.
True Joy makes way,
ending human pain
Blessed are the forgiven,
God mercifully reigns!
Waking in a garden,
within a city of light.
We are clothed in garments,
of brilliant white.
Sins now forgotten,
like dust blown away.
Night and darkness,
replaced by this new day
Gifted new bodies,
we're no longer just clay.
God's promises are kept
He has the final say!
On dark nights, in cold beds I cry
Tears of purity, tears of asking why
I cry with questions, Do they believe in me
Do they let me even try?
They don’t understand My effort
They can’t solve my Darkness
Bleeding with agony, I fall in pieces
Pieces that are hard to be rejoined together
Pieces incurved, sharp, Broken
Never meant to be joined
People try to take the best of me, go away
Feelings just thrown away
Not even give a thought about my tragedy
My tragedy, my misery, my life…
If I messed up, I’m the bad guy
If I did good still I’m the bad guy
There isn’t a thing in them
That says: it’s ok
It was a mistake
I didn’t mean too, no you did
How come are you crazy?
Is it craziness that causes mistakes?
Or is it their attitude that makes no sense
Sometimes I think adults make rules
Rules about what is right or wrong
No sparkle in their eyes
No passion in their veins
They’ve lost the motive to feel
To sense…., to forgive!
FLOWER POWER
He broke the rule, shattered it,
left the pieces for all to see.
The hill rolling, tree climbing,
butterfly chasing, game of tag
was over and the race for the
water fountain was on.
He ran with his flock,
suddenly breaking sharply
to the left, slowing to a
two knee landing.
He bent low, rolled onto
his side, did a little snake
dance, then lay motionless.
After several minutes he rose,
corrected his circuitous cycle,
and rejoined the thirsty flock.
Intrigued, I investigated the
cause/effect relationship
of his deviation - A lone dandelion.
It had drawn him in,
he had studied it, touched it,
smelled it, tasted it, spent a
few moments getting to know it.
He remained unfamiliar with the rule
but had gained a familiarity with
the dandelion.
Perhaps he was on to something.
Submitted to Encounters with Flowers – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Anthony Slausen
11/22/2014
So fair the child,
heir is the child --
Dear Woman
Your Babe Divine
Behold the child,
Mary’s child --
Son of God is
Thine
Mother of Christ,
our redeeming grace --
Jesus, our blessed
Brother
Rejoice for the child,
we follow as children
miracle of all ages --
wisdom above all
sages
Sacred heart that purges
Spark of loving presence urges
not fear of rod
nor dreadful wrath
He clears the brush
making way pure path~
Love, His reclamation --
mission to heal God’s
nation
breaking the cycle of
sinful damnation – Father,
Son and Holy spirit with us,
Prince of peace, dwelling within
and about us -- transfiguration
His Royal Proclamation:
let all men hear and abide;
earth, rejoined with heaven
henceforth together outright
eternally will reside --
No need for humanity to live further
forlorn – this day, man’s Savior has
been born!
Dragons may live forever;
At least it’s what legends say;
But, we who love them
Know that they just go away;
To live with other old ones.
In senior colonies,
High on mountain tops, in caves;
Old dragons in their nursing homes;
Will live for many days.
They’ll rejuvenate, aging in reverse.
The only way a dragon dies;
Would be if it were killed.
Even then, it will return;
Its new life to fulfill.
For dragons will return to their
Most loved families.
So if you love a dragon,
And perhaps it seems to die;
Just take heart; it’s out there
Somewhere in mountains, high.
It may be weeks or years or another incarnation
but, soul mates of the dragons
will always be rejoined.
One day you’ll be out walking;
Or perhaps out on your bike;
You’ll feel loving, gentle warmth,
And then you’ll be surprised.
Turn and greet your dragon;
like the phoenix. he won’t die.
Psalm 119:28 – "My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word." King David in the Bible.
Swords
Grief is the silent, ripping sword,
the razor slashing inward;
the days, the weeks, the years go by
and time is an enigma.
Some say normal life returns
but they have never lived this;
there is no normal after death,
there never is returning.
The space remains, tormenting void -
once filled, your vibrant face within it.
Upon my heart your image burns,
much like the sacred veil,
the essence of a treasured soul
who outgrew life as we still know it
and moved beyond this place,
beyond this world, beyond time’s face,
by lifted hands made sightless.
But, I believe, someday,
we will know reunion;
the banquet seats will all be filled,
the smiles all genuine and real,
banished the deceptive costumes.
Healed, our hearts will be rejoined,
more alive than ever here,
where all the swords are beaten smooth,
shining troubadours of joy,
and all the tears forgotten.
February 22, 2022
"Ralphie, Big Yellow. Ralphie, get up here it's Big Yellow!"
"I'm not as excited about Big Yellow as you are. I've made this quite clear."
"But the STOP! The STOP, Ralphie! We made a bet!"
"Brendan, I'm not gonna sit here and bet over people's lives."
"Holy hazelnuts, Ralphie! It's nearly here. One stop away!"
"I refuse to participate. These are human children."
"Last night you bet me no one would ever run the STOP."
"That was the walnut liqueur talking."
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
"That car went right past the STOP!"
Breaking ranks through the branches
They jumped across rows of trees.
There maple brown fuzz now rejoined,
Brushing against each other in the
Early angling sunlight.
Squad car sirens took to the air.
"Ya see that, Ralphie! Someone DID run the STOP!"
"With all those children."
"With all those children."
"But Ole Blue took care of it.
"Yes they did."
"I'm going back to sleep."
"The city bus comes thru in couple minutes."
"Good-night."
"It's MORNING TIME!.....
...
...
sorry for yelling."
I was painting – a painting painting –
and when that right moment arrived
I went deep into the manic time, the flying zone.
For those readers who have never gone flying,
let me tell you it is the absolute best feeling you can have – ever.
How often do you get the opportunity
to be clear and fast and all-powerful,
so deep in love with what you are doing that you can’t breathe
and time and the world vanish and you don’t care?
My bedroom was my studio.
My mother was dying, my wife had divorced me,
and I had ordered a dozen or more pints
of every color of acrylic paint I thought I might like,
plus brushes in every size.
I couldn’t afford it, and I didn’t care.
When the order arrived I moved the bed
out of my/our former bedroom and ripped up the carpet,
stapled large sheets of heavy drawing paper to the wall,
turned Ani DiFranco to full volume,
and went to work.
Going in was the hard part, the getting there,
but I could feel when it was happening,
feel it in my chest and breath, the movement of my body,
and I was gone.
I painted until the piece itself told me to stop;
in that very instant I rejoined the world.
You left me, oh so, long ago
my baby, my only child
before I wanted to let go
you'd said your first good bye.
For you had so much work to do
you needed space to grow,
and surely could not do so
with a fretting mother in tow.
My son you walk beside me now
rejoined, grown up, a man,
trying to explain to me,
you're doing the best you can.
You didn’t mean to cause me pain
such anxiety and fear
all of those small good byes
were just meant to get you here.
The whole world we gave to you
and it took a quite awhile
to see the sights and sounds
around to, wander and compile.
Now, you are searching for a wife
hope one day to have a child,
and as you walk beside me
we ponder your learning style.
How each of us has our own path
which parents can’t walk for them.
How children grow to be men
that’s what good byes were for then.
Contest: The Second Hand Emotion
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
*Love of a child....emotions sadness /anxiety
I met my child within, 'Amy'.
We talked, we played, we engaged,
We looked each other's faces
for expressions.
We looked into each other's eyes
for emotions.
I had a lot to learn from Amy.
I saw a toy truck in sandpit, Amy saw a 'dooger dooger' bulldozer.
I saw a kid, Amy saw a person.
I was bound up in multiple layers, Amy was uni-dimensional.
I was a novel, Amy was a preface.
I tried to make fun, Amy was fun personified, gushing.
I was inventive, Amy was curious.
I was burdened by past, Amy lived in the moment.
I was grown up, Amy was ageless.
I was biased, Amy has never heard of it.
I was constrained, Amy was forever hopeful, free.
Amy and I rejoined, made up,
when I clasped
my hands together.