Long Renovated Poems
Long Renovated Poems. Below are the most popular long Renovated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Renovated poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear Papa,
Sad, my siblings and I,
Never got to meet with you;
You left us too soon,
Out in this cold, dark and unjust climate;
Out in the deep ghettos and jungles;
In the hands of conmen and wolves
In sheep's clothing;
In the hands of those
Who have turned a house of refuge
Into A den of thieves
With no proof of roof
Over our bruised heads
The fence you mended
Has caved in
Your old, durable coat
Of many colors
Has frayed at the edges
Refusing to be mended
Father,
If we had known
When the thief
Would stealthily saunter in,
We would have guided our loins
Now,
Men have lost their fate
A good name is no more precious
Than gold and silver
Even when there is a way
There is no more will
Men have rolled up their
Goat skin mats,
Tucked away in rafters
To be fanned by smoke
And feasted on by rats
Men have hidden their drink horns
Refusing to tap wine or commune
Feigning to be temporary
Rather than contemporary
The glories of yesterday
Have been washed away
By memories too battered and faint
To remember your charge
Staten Island is being renovated
But they feign ignorance
A grave yard is more presentable, appealing and serene
Than our back country
Dogs now feast on fellow dogs...
Father, please don't look back in anger...
A child's hand is not scaled
By the hot piece of yam bequeathed by his mother;
Only a man who has not been
To his kinsman' s farm assumes
His father's farm is bigger
Mandiba,
Tomorrow is pregnant
We do not know what it will bring forth....
Today is here, alive with us
Our hope lies in the fidelity
That one day,
Perhaps one day, we Will get it right;
Smile and call you Mandiba
The battle is over,
Herald are sent and uncovered.
Elites are deported from the nook and crannies.
Leaders of the war are now demised.
Aggression and oppresion escoted love;
Serendipities of hoity clamour are shoved.
Time came and gone
Overruled by peace life moves on.
Frights of bullets escaping from the pistol glottis deceased.
Truck of ammunitions had all their periods missed.
Halt of demolition thrived,
Elated hearts,adorned souls again did rise- but
Some are paralyzed,two eyes with no hand.
Trance of ambiguity made more of them strand.
Resting in afflicted peace; the casualties.
Of all the dead,their breath hold unto them atleast.
Night seemed a breaking new dawn,
Graced with deception and truthful morn.
Origin of the clan is again renovated,
News and joyful dirge are transported.
End of all comes; rumour of clamour;but onething life owns;
Strong ones eat the teeth-breaking part of the bone.
c.2017
The day succeeds the night,
and through night the day is born.
repeatedly, always, always ...
The water sweeps the sand
in the tides that happen.
What arrives renews,
what is left is renovated ...
From the seed, the flower and fruit,
from one life, another life springs up ...
Deep mysteries,
transmission of the divine
inflows ....
Superior emanation
message...
Perfection that happens
in the confines and throughout
cosmo...
outstanding result
that from the Father
emanates ...
extremely intelligent equation.
expressive algorithm
that the eternal precisely
processes ....!
In our leisurely drive across the country one of our delights
was an old school house in Nebraska…where we were blessed to spend the night.
We were already in the middle of nowhere….when ‘turn here’ our GPS crowed…
and took us another 4 miles down a one lane gravel road.
The renovated school house was secluded…there was no one else around
and once we turned the car off…you couldn’t hear a sound.
Until, that is, our eyes and ears adjusted…and we both shared a smile
as the animals in the country said…welcome…come and stay a while.
So we sat out in the school yard…in the disappearing day
totally aware of the sights and sounds around us now on display.
Birds singing in the trees surrounding us…everywhere we glanced
joining in a wondrous harmony…while the dandelions all. danced.
A robin sitting on her nest…took time out to tweet…
Rabbits hopped over to listen…and grab a bite to eat
A rooster, a woodpecker and a frog…not to be outdone…
joined in with their distinctive sounds…adding to the fun
The lilacs were in bloom…their aroma our noses kissed….
in flew a hummingbird moth…whose bloom she couldn’t resist.
A cool breeze waltzed across the yard…and as the dandelion seedlings flew
we closed our eyes, made a wish and I wondered…what the Earth was wishing too.
Then gradually…as if in partnership with the setting the sun….
the sounds began to fade away…slowly…one by one.
As the animals of the day found their beds in the fading light
the serenade continued…as the crickets would sing us through the night.
And so we sat there in the darkness…it was not yet time to go…
we waited and weren’t disappointed as the stars put on a show.
Neither of us dreamed that night…we slept deeply and soundly instead…
realizing we had already experienced a dream..long before we went to bed.
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
talcum powder was almost the death of me
it was bathroom winter elegantly scented
blinded by the dusty seductress, and i ache to bathe again
then cocoa shea hit me like an odd sort of heat
there were so many bumpy roads and dead skin cells
there were so many speed traps and balled up and torn up tickets
what should have been clues instead came as covered comfort
yes, lou, there was, originally, always something there to remind me
now, as naked as the current version of my eyes, i put the unexpected generic on the recently renovated pedestal
yes, again, Your Highness, Mr. Radio, the Woman of today is still smarter than Man in every way
thank you, Sweets, i will now live longer
I’m racing down flights of stairs.
More and more of them appear
as I search for something recognizable.
I run back up them
and then to the opposite side of the building.
The room I want – wasn’t it on the northeast side?
But it’s not there.
After what seems like an interminable amount of time
racing around this giant building
which is swallowing me up in
its limitless labyrinth of hallways,
I still see nothing that looks familiar to me.
When was it renovated? It’s completely changed!
If only I could recall the number of the room
for my important interview.
I am a crazed and shrunken Alice in Wonderland -
a Wonderland that has become my nightmare.
And still I am running about gripped by panic
as foreboding creeps through my body.
I can no longer depend on my memory of this building
from over twenty years ago.
I don’t even know the floor I need.
Was it the eighth or the eighteenth, or
something in between?
How could I have left my phone at home?
All the information I need is on my phone.
and there’s absolutely nothing I can do.
As I move along new corridors,
I open doors to rooms, from which strangers’ faces
stare blankly back at me.
I have no information for which I can even
formulate a question.
Any room inside this nightmare building
could be the room I seek,
for I completely forgot its number
and I was told it was a random room
not part of the department.
I glance at a clock, realizing I am much too late
to continue this relentless quest.
How can my memory of this place
have become so dim?
I step into an elevator, pressing basement level.
Hopefully, I’ll remember at least
where I parked my car.
Scented Nightingale sets sail
Foraging through every, well-forded dale
Primped, preened emasculated shell
Black crown renovated for sale
From seductive perch casts alluring spell
Easy catch your lucrative Grail
Burnished cloak gleaming 'neath the moon pale
Brightly adorned feathers flap and flail
Arched talons ready to caress and assail
Hoary head cocked; each passing suitor to hail
Chirping beak with flattering lines doth swell
Her prominent tail quivers at the sight of every, virile male
Innocent malingerer she'll stalk then trail
'Till clutching his beating heart and hearing his bleating wail
Under a smother of dark clouds
a city skyline sinks,
there will be no starshine
the lights of a million windows
must drain and replace another blanked out evening.
The eyes of stray cats fire up,
it is time now for noise to hunt silence down,
for the garish to consume the subdued.
Shoes, new and old, scuff grime
into renovated store fronts, where shadows
cling to the detached hissing
of neon signs.
It will be dawn when the shoes bleed,
when the stars return to briefly gutter.
There are rodent tracks that arrow
between gray blocks of masonry
where nocturnal crimes crumble
into obscurity.
The metro subway is empty yet full of ghosts,
but just for a moment,
only a moment.
Words that echo the sublime
Each syllable resounds a doleful chime
Accentuated by a bleak, monotonous rhyme
That skews the cadence and scuttles the time
Words that filter through, then prime
Heart's engine to slowly pine
Fueled by structural anomalies; sick, semantical serpentine
Break lines that throttle, then realign
Soul's transmission shifts in gear to divine
Sorrow and suffering in every byline
Each strut, an awkward bounce that jars the dragline
Leaky, cracked manifold manifest in every squeaky note, sign
Incongruent parts renovated to shock by design
Tales-end, toxic fumes will every literary splice twine
Finish will be sealed with a lackluster shine