Long Reliant Poems
Long Reliant Poems. Below are the most popular long Reliant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reliant poems by poem length and keyword.
Is it over, is it really now over,
Are we just dreaming or simply misled,
Can we resume the rest of our lives
Outside these four walls and the shade of our bed.
Can we now fill our lungs with fresh air
Breathing no longer through layers of cloth,
Or must we endure that little while longer
Protected indoors, cocooned like a moth.
Exhausted from watching show after show,
Tidying closets, climbing the walls,
Snacking in boredom, growing in girth,
Constantly texting, washing our smalls.
Hair growing longer, nails more like claws,
Roots ever greyer, solutions too few,
Pampered and spoiled, lost in a haze
Reliant on others, but whoever knew.
So tell us it's over, we pray and beseech,
Bring back the life we knew and adore,
Life's little pleasures all gone in a flash,
Staying cooped up is now such a chore.
I enter the field, colored by sun's flames
Dark distant mountains, mystery lures
Life now survival, without any games
I am alone, reliant on my own cures
The bright distant light, soaks me with warm hope
As I make my own path through the tall grass
There is a reason that I strive to cope
To reach dreams that could break easy like glass
My heart is softened by few clouds that drift
Lifting my spirit to some place unknown
That eliminates my fears, as they sift
Falling into the sunset that is shown
It is all in the way that nature tames
I enter the field colored by sun's flames
5/14/19
*Entry for Nature Scene Orphan Sonnet contest. Sponsor: Dale Gregory Cozart
When we lived beneath thatch-roofed houses,
Curry simmered in pots,
Flames flickered from firewood gathered
From hills and thickets.
When bullock carts creaked
Under paddy loads,
Harvests reaped from fertile fields,
Bicycles spun on dusty roads.
When sounds of hand-pounding paddy
Echoed from homes everyday,
Women weaving at fly- shuttle looms
Sometimes till late night.
And when caws of the crows
And chirpings of tea cricket at dusk heard.
Then we helped one another -
Life was simple,self reliant,and beautiful.
( Third in the Poetry Contest entitled "Write Sixteen Beautiful Lines" sponsored by Constant La France )
In a squat way at the back of high street
Lived a blue-eyed soul, Orpheus his name.
A blues and roots minstrel of rock and beat,
He was a living legend, with fame aflame.
Eurydice was his radiant star.
They sang and danced clasped together tight.
In duet jives, beating twelve to the bar.
But cruel fate ruined all this one dark night.
Eurydice was drugged by a snake.
She died, her spirit falling without trace,
Into the Hades dark arms at daybreak.
Orpheus loss gutted, missed her embrace.
Orpheus, maddened sad by love's despair,
Entered the underworld, to get her back.
Reliant on songs of hope and prayer,
To free Eurydice from the attack.
Orpheus' music pierced evil ears.
With his words of sorrow, lifting the shades,
Making the underworld weep, and shed tears,
Making the guard dog, slacken its charades.
Hades hood-winked by the sad sorrow song,
Agreed to let her go on the proviso,
That Orpheus would not look back along
Their journey back from Hell's gate to Soho.
Hades knew well that the urge to look back
By Orpheus would grow and grow too strong
As their path grew lighter from gloom doom black
Love would no longer postpone their duet song.
As light was in sight, journey's end so near,
The longing to see his love one triumphed!
Whispers of doubt echoed drones in his ear.
Surely the pledge he made could be defaulted?
As he looked back and smiled, his love faded.
Eurydice shrunk to ghost, slid away.
Orpheus left alone, gutted and jaded
Was tormented by remorse, tears could not allay
His music now has a somber sad tone,
Seeking some solace in each note he plays,
With his black heart blues hoping to atone
For the love he lost, for wanting love's gaze.
Guess they may be minute in your eyes
But this tiny insect can pack quite a surprise
The sheer strength of these little ants
May make you give them a second glance
Scientists have now discovered an ant can lift
One hundred times it’s body weight – what a gift!
Just because it’s tiny it doesn’t mean
The power of this insect cannot be seen
So next time you see a teeny ant remember if you can
It has so much power but it’s simply hidden from man
In actual size it may not be considered a ‘giant’
But for psychical strength it is self-reliant
Contest - Giant Animals
Sponsor – Nathan D
Poem inspired by this article
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1252481/Pictured-Incredible-gravity-defying-ant-carry-100-times-body-weight.html
08~25~15
I AM THE HERON
There is a stoicism to me
silent, self reliant, pensive posturing
suddenness of intent and action.
My aggression is calculated,
measured in response to need,
activated by impending threat.
Stillness is the garb of my determination,
patience in the solitude of calm
spring loaded – a sharpened, piercing, beak.
I still retain my forebears ways,
their ancient chiseled features,
dedication to the rookery’s domain
amid the din of springs cool birthright.
I will cross swords defending nests
asway in natures treetop rocking chairs.
There is a stoicism to me
//Heron – aggressive, self determination,, self reliance//
submitted to – Picture Yourself As a Bird – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Andrea Dietrich
5/16/2015
Prune juice as effective emetic
Brainstorming yields casting
the following plumbline
netting genetic, italic, kinetic,
magnetic, opportunistic, quixotic,
synchronistic, and universalistic result.
Ofttimes I experience constipation bout,
and thus the missus pours me a class
of natural laxative with clout
nursing said tonic,
yours truly situated in close proximity
to bathroom without doubt
lest sphincter muscles go into overdrive
wreaking excretory fallout
challenge compounded to access loo
courtesy flare up of gout
while all alone in the wilderness
helplessly at odds how to receive handout
of toilet tissue (or baby wipes), I bewail
to avoid staining underwear
(with trademark skid marks,
which the wife bemoans,
when washing clothes in kitchen sink
repulsed when seeing
a small piece of excrement)
the latter cloth material to clean tuckus,
which I prefer using
to attend unpleasant task
to render posterior happy and shiny tushy
(housing a well functioning conduit,
where human waste eliminated
that without fail
fills tidy bowl brim to overflowing)
frequently necessitating me to bucket flush
and/or notify management headquarters
(for a plumber) located in Lansdale,
which short poem
figuratively sketches thumbnail,
when dyschezia plugs up
lower orifice of the alimentary canal
a side effect linkedin to one or more
of the prescription medications
reliant upon to ameliorate
the mental health issues
of social anxiety, dysthymia,
(a low mood occurring
for at least two years,
along with at least
two other symptoms of depression), and
palmar hyperhidrosis (characterized by
chronic excessive sweating,
not related to the necessity of heat loss)
to list a few outstanding plagues
upon mine body electric
afflicting me since mommy dearest
witnessed debut during her parturition
heralding my debut into this badass
webbed, wide world,
whereby wildly contra dancing,
(the most fun one can have
with their clothes on),
a pleasant panacea,
yours truly foot loose and fancy free
applying nimble fingers watching
lovely ladies fancifully twirled.
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin;
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin, talkin;
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin;
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin, talkin;
Junior Stroll
Well, well, well go head on Junior Stroll;
You don't need no ones permission to grow;
To Go your self a nulled;
You don't need no reliant;
Cause you've been here before;
Though your a baby your a man in this world;
Voided of human love;
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin;
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin, talkin;
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin;
Junior Stroll
My baby, finally walkin, talkin;
Junior Stroll
(taken from North High School Short Story Play "Mother's Baby Boy" 1972 by James E. Lee)
Each day was turning miserable for her
For anything and everything he would yell
He would come home quite late, drunk and wild
Under constant abuse, life for her was hell.
All their earnings, he squandered on drinks
Every night he greeted her with showers of abuse
No more could she cope with his beastly behavior
Leave him for ever, as she had every excuse
When she finally announced her decision
Her words fell on him as a terrible shock
That night he reached home full of remorse
With emotion, his words seemed to choke.
He apologized and even burst into tears
Falling on knees, he begged her to stay
She believed him and cancelled her decision
When men cry, she thought, they mean what they say.
That moment she forgot his past behavior,
The storm and lightning in his words,
The earthquake in his thudding gait,
The sting in his eyes, the vileness in his deeds.
She forgot the sadness that made her think;
'End life and flee from all misery'.
She was manipulated into such a thought~
Her overreaction was what led to such a tragedy.
In the days that followed, he overwhelmed her
With false promises and a show of intense love
Not realizing she was being cleverly manipulated,
She snuggled close to him like a demure dove.
Soon the mask he wore for an interim fell off
He went back to his abusive nature more virulent
Identifying the Svengali in him, she resolved
To leave him for good as he was no more reliant.
I grew up in Bath in the nineteen nineties
wearing short shorts over tighty whities,
while Bath were champions of English Rugby,
a beautiful city farfetched from ugly.
We played on Stilts and had Yo-Yo's,
skateboards with logo's,
Tamagotchi's, Slinkys and Pogo Sticks,
a string tied to sticks for Diablo tricks.
A lot wobbled, we played Wall Ball,
Smarties packets caused trouble.
Political Correctness didn't exist yet,
we wore Reebok, Fila or Hi-Tec.
We had Roller Skates, later Roller Blades,
out on the concrete in the streets we played,
as there were always lots of parking spaces,
space we used for running races.
We played Bulldogs Charge on repeat,
never stopping for the rain or sleet.
We played Wembley, or Heads, Volleys and Beats,
playing in the street our daily treat.
We played Kirby because kirbs were free,
40 40 in, also called Alien,
front gardens were a great WWF ring,
or we'd hit tennis balls tied to string.
Jumpers for goalposts,
or one and a lamppost,
cheated as we'd peek
playing Hide And Seek.
We played Knock Knock Ginger with its hiding,
or we'd get out our bikes and go riding.
We went Garden Hopping, never stopping,
played in the dark after the suns dropping.
We had Master Systems, Mega Drives or Nintendo's,
but were not reliant on technology inside,
we built Lego stadiums, played Subbuteo,
we collected sticker books, Pog's and trading cards with pride.
There was a fuzziness to Radio and TV,
we'd always sneak a peek at Page 3,
we watched films on VHS, played Cassettes or CD's,
or Conkers when they dropped from trees.
We only had four television channels to be flicking,
Saturday mornings were for Live and Kicking.
Bodger and Badger, The Chuckle Brothers, Rosie and Jim,
but you couldn't beata, bit of Blue Peter,
to Neighbours and Home and Away we tuned in.
When home alone emptied living rooms,
played football inside, 2-a-side,
cleaned up damage with brooms,
when parents got home we lied.
I'm proud I grew up in the nineties in Bath,
we had so much fun, so many laughs.
From no other time and place I'd rather be,
so here's to the nineties in the West Country.