Long Reserve(a) Poems
Long Reserve(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Reserve(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reserve(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
Once a week, on a Friday
I have the most delightful way
I escape from all household chores
When Friday comes, I shut all the doors
To trouble and woe,
Then off I go.
I take Friday slow,
And savour every second
Because I know
That Father Time will beckon
And the time will pass too fast,
I don't mind,
If the weather rains or shines,
It will be fine for me.
On Fridays, I feel free.
I spend hours in a cosy cafe.
I reserve a window seat.
I have lunch there every Friday.
It is a tasty treat.
Their coffee is the best,
That I have ever tasted.
And would stand up to any test.
And not a drop is wasted.
I love sipping my coffee,
And watching people as they pass.
It's like I can see the world more clearly.
As I quietly sipped coffee behind the glass.
Why the warmth in your skin
Brightens my world from dim
I do not know why
I do not know why for only you I'd die
I can't explain the kisses from your lips
I definitely can identify your familiar grasp around my hips
I can't explain why you melt my heart
I can't explain to you why it hurts when we're apart
I can explain your sight and your seducing baby blue eyes
I can't explain why you make me feel safe when you tower over me in size
I can truly tell you why you qualify for my love
But I can't explain to you why you were sent just for me from above
I can feel your arms tight around me
I can't explain why for you I trust to help me see
I can't explain the butterflies fluttering deep inside
And I can't explain why I am the one who can break your pride
I can explain the feeling when you touch me
I can't explain why only for you I choose to see
I can't explain the deep palpitations inside every beat
I can't explain why just for you, I chose to reserve a seat
I can't explain the short breaths when I see your face
But I can pinpoint exactly your lips and the sweet taste
I can't explain why you want to be a dad
But I also can't explain the random reasons why I get mad
I can definitely explain to you the bleeding in my soul
But I can't explain to you why my life has taken a toll
I can't explain in words why I love you so much
All I can say is, "I love you," and such and such
I can't explain with all the money in the world why I love you so
But here's a bold, "I LOVE YOU," on paper ~ so you know
I can't explain to you how somehow I get lost in your eyes
But I also can't explain why God randomly granted me this prize
I can tell you that I love you ~ I can tell you that I care
I can also tell you I need you ~ and I promise I'll be there...
The wrong facsimile receiving noise in the right rehearsing
recital time of genesis room
What is patriotism?
To love your land, to be there for the cause of the land.
What is the core value of feeling alienated?
You are adopted, precisely located, denied elsewhere beforehand for the land.
Then it is your prodigal representation. You are lamenting as you are witnessing the events of the course.
When will we make up? Do you not laugh at the end of the day?
Ask a librarian
I called this morning. Can you hear me well ?
Yes, I can hear you.
I have to reserve a spot for an art exhibition.
I was scrolling through the library webspace and
I would like to ask a few questions.
We are about to start an event.
You have to call at a later time.
To love that strong
Unprecedented angelic song is a trumpet of Israfil,
the apocalyptic accordion
Waiting there for heavenly oncoming vibe
Once awakened will only serve the later cause,
nothing than that,
other than that.
Unprecedented surges of artistic yearning
Tragedies are assigned to greet you along the way
Once awakened, it can only surmise the later cause
Upon the assignment of the divine decree
To love that strong
Thou must leave ere long.
THE PEN, THE POET & THE POEM
Perfect picture painting a Poets palava,
And divisible dimensional dilemma:
Like a child surrounded by teddys & toys
To make a confusing costly choice;
Loose the pen & play the pipper,
Or choose between the pen & paper.
My pen I choose, though words reside in me,
The inks temporal ambition is to be
the being inside, on hand to always akin
to superfluity the universe blows in.
I'd write all my emotions all over my skin.
The Poem is the Poets next of kin,
No matter what you think,
in the world's ear his words will sink.
I am a bleeding poet with gush of ink,
words cascading from fountains of imaginations.
With no paper, I'd cloth myself with my muse.
Paint me a poet with a voiceless voice,
words would still speak than world's noise.
The Pen might be mightier than The Poet but then,
The Poet is the life and breath of The Pen.
Let The Pen breath to marinate The Poem.
Reserve a thought for these threesome at the helm.
I'm not just The Poet whose works lies on your shelf
but I am the emotions you feel, The Poem itself.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© February, 2021.
Siberia, Scandinavia, Canada and Taiwan have winter carnivals.
None top Quebec City’s Winter Carnival in icy marvelous Canada.
Family friendly, there is an ice hotel – Hotel de Glace.
You can make your own maple syrup popsicle, and ice sculpture.
You may take a ride with sled dogs, or go on carnival rides.
Your lunch waitress will bring your drinks in cups made of ice.
If you have a teenager, remind her or him to bring a bathing suit.
One of the most popular events is to roll in the snow wearing one.
The ice castle has taken seventy workers twelve days to build.
There is a dining room, living room, and a shower inside this palace.
You may take a shower with snow if you want while you are inside.
Lit up at night, it is extremely lovely, seen for a distance as a mirage.
Seven hundred thousand visitors attend Quebec City’s Winter Carnival.
It has been going strong since 1894; the locals take this business seriously.
This festival generates thirty million dollars and employs six hundred.
There are hot tubs, if you get cold and a phenomenal parade at the end.
This festival last for almost two weeks. “We cannot wait until next year”.
If you want to reserve a room in a hotel, you may need to reserve it now.
For 2024; because the rooms for 2023 have already been spoken for.
Quebec City is waiting for you. Pick up the phone!
The wounded lion
There was a calamities
In his land
The brutality of bad politics
Keep burning down
His home town
Time keep passing
Yet this circumstances
Never change
He grew up watching
The rain of fire befallen
His community
This all was an influence
To his braveness
Cos I remember he once said
No matter what the eyes see
It can't shed blood but tears
The wounded lion
As time passes
He grew up to a man
He grew up fearless
Cos what more can he see
To be scard
In an genocidal community
What more can he lose
After losing his land
So his mind was made up
To defend his land
Yet he was hurt
So badly hurt
So sad that out there
He was fear
Yet more sadly they he
Was killed by his own people
So on this quest
I understood the words of the old
I see clearly why the old say to me
When you fight for your people
Reserve a hand for the people
From your people who will
Fight you for fighting for them
The movie theater’s fancy now;
Its leather seats recline
And there is more than popcorn offered
If you’d like to dine.
So we sat down, leaned back and thus
On footrests placed our feet,
Until somebody came along
And said, “You’re in my seat!”
For now you can reserve a spot
Like at a Broadway show.
I think for cinema, that’s not
The way it ought to go.
I liked the old style so much more –
You plopped down anyplace
As long as no one’s coat was there
To claim it as his space.
The floor was sticky, leg room tight
And if somebody tall
Was seated right in front of you,
You couldn’t see at all.
But now the chairs are lush and large
And naturally, not cheap;
Unless the movies’ really good,
I might just fall asleep!
I've never been much of a worrier,
Others do that far better than I,
Nor am I renowned as a scurrier,
Which is not to imply I don't try.
My small circle of close friends and loved ones
Is diminishing one at a time,
And one of these days
I'll wake up to discover
That it's my turn, and I'm next in line.
But if, indeed, that's the next big adventure,
I hope it's a pleasant surprise.
I'd love to prove, or disprove,
All the theories I've had
About life and love,
And good and bad,
And wisdom and learning,
And ethics and such,
That faith is a pillar
And not just a crutch.
But, of course, I’m not worried,
I don't do that, you see.
"Que será, será",
What will be, will be.
But on the off chance that there is a hereafter,
I'd like to reserve a small space there for me.
And should any of you get there before I do,
Try to grab us a nice window seat with a view.
Outside the city, tasty pomegranates grow,
the Wakefields look forward to delayed honeymoon.
British coffee merchant, James was raised in Bordeaux.
Each day, they sample wines after lunch, after noon;
sober sweethearts smile, their selections apropos.
New to their palates - pomegranate/cranberry,
two acidic fruits, both improve in the blending;
secret recipes mix sweetness with pungency.
The two lovers delve in, raw tastes that are trending;
mixing with dry merlot, a cheese rich and creamy.
James relishes sharing his past with Mallory,
his new bride of three weeks and his dearest delight.
It is here, she'll meet his extended family.
It’s here they foster new clients, enjoy old sights.
Here, they reserve a right and preference for coffee.
written 12 April 2016
I only tell of sunny hours while expemplifying gardens in full bloom
a magnet for songing birds that flute and flit I am none other then
a telling wand with hints of shadow from a sunburst sunny day
Concentric circles I do make by an energy powered bloom
my happiest hours are spent in telling time by mystical divine
I am a digital sculpture with tile like mirrors that reflect beauty
In every corner of the world people are awakening to the morn
attached to the surface I own printed numbers that add to infinity
I know no other message true, but sundial reads of handle care
I move across the sky with subtle moves in peaceful waves
using the light of the sun to tell how hour and moments live
inside the gardeners beating heart and thriving scented thyme
I only tell of sunny hours while feeding up her summer muse
and as the sky turns sweet magenta blue I quietly reserve a spot
for moon to visit up the flowers of my optimistic telling room .
Feb 15, 2019