Long Residency Poems
Long Residency Poems. Below are the most popular long Residency by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Residency poems by poem length and keyword.
When it comes to being a good father what do most young black men see?
Can they picture their fathers passing down any legacies?
Do they remember any male bonding or talks on how to be good men?
Do they have any perceptions or even comprehend?
Unfortunately too many households are single parent with only a mother in residency
Caused by incarceration, unemployment and dysfunctional inadequacies
Too many don't have a clue of what a good father should be
As the father factor in their lives was one of obscurity
But God is the ultimate father figure to each and every man
And if you desire to be like Him read His words and follow His plans
To become a good father you must examine the Holy Scriptures
And hopefully you'll be able to obtain a good father picture
Now tapping into God's heavenly Twitter account
And Facebooking the Gospel to see what its all about
Fully prepared to formulate, cultivate and stimulate your spiritual life
So that your behavior and way of thinking lines up with Jesus the Christ
A picture of a good father is a man who leaves a financial legacy
So that his children won't exist in a state of abject poverty
By showing them how to save and how to invest
Leaving a fruitful inheritance and a full hope chest
A picture of a good father is a man whose vine is rooted in a strong foundation
And structured to lift him up in godly formation
Respectful, resilient, loving, loyal and kind
Of strong moral conviction and secure in his mind
Knowing who he is and what he could be
And having healthy relationships with every member of his family
So if you're broken, bitter, angry and have any doubts
Seek God and a professional to help you work it out
And i say this to all women and I hope you receive
You need to let a man be a man to his family
Stop disrespecting him and put your anger and pride to the side
He is doing the best he can so work with him by walking stride for stride
A picture of a good father is a man concerned about his community
Who comprehends we live in a global society
A man who gets involved and not stay isolated
As we are all a part of this world that God created
A picture of a good father is a man who loves and respects his family and community
A man strongly rooted, striding humbly and secure in his spirituality
It wasn’t until this evening while I was sitting
in the hospital lobby watching blood pour from
underneath my chair from the women behind me
waiting for my name to be murmured over the loud speaker
that I witnessed the depths our society is willing to go.
Directly across from me was Gertrude, I don’t think
that was her real name, but that’s what I called her Cyclops pouch
that was playing peek-a-boo with the 5 month old child bouncing
on her knee. The mother’s arms (if you could call her that) were
as holy as a tree after a woodpecker has established residency
and as blue as the vessels that carry blood to her heart. Maybe
the doctors will show her how to properly insert a needle when
she goes behind the curtain wall.
To my left were the Espinoza’s, a family of five,
maybe six, there was a boy playing in the parking garage by a van
with a rock, he was waving it around like a wand.
The wife was the one having problems, she does not remember
them, even if she did, she couldn’t say them.
It was as if I was watching a 2 year old communicate with no teeth desperately trying to
pronounce words that start with “S” or “F”
At least she was trying.
They couldn’t find their insurance card, she couldn’t
remember where she put it. She looked at her translator for assistance but
he was to busy rocking their child to sleep.
In the corner were the Muses, it did not seem like there was
anything wrong, as if their son or daughter dropped them off
hoping for something to happen to inherit the family fortune.
I think they were really there to oversee the moral of the lobby, contracted out by the hospital staff to amuse
and entertain frustrated numbers,
because that’s all we are, numbers on a chart board, names on a wristband, like cattle tagged by the ear.
Jean was the older one; she had toes like crochet hooks, crossing over and looped,
Gladdys was younger, wearing a green jumpsuit with a gold Greek Key belt,
she looked like a dried out Christmas tree on the street leaning beside the trash cans after New Years.
It was in the corner of my eye that I saw
a sheer bit of hope for our World. Jean leaned over to the father,
slipped money between the paint on his hands
and the babies bottom and said,
You have a beautiful family.
no (apparent) rhyme nor reason
(satisfactorily) explains academic
disposition, ideally suited
(swiftly tailor made,
and harried styled)
unflattering venomous wicked xhenemy
(fill in choicest expletive) damn cruelest
"meanies" always in season
winter, spring, summer, or autumn,
psychological rabid
bullying and teas'n,
which only exacerbated
ma deathly coffin and wheeze'n.
Avenging beastly, eagerly,
and hungry knuckleheads, rip-snorting,
analogous to Doctor Zeus
characters, vis a vis stomped,
and trampled upon my wuss
self, who appeared as
a listless, passive, puss
see footing, and
timid complex edifice
christened Matthew Scott Harris,
who regularly got pushed,
shoved, and verbally gored
in utero potential quintessential
no salvation from Unitarian lord
ugly vicious wretched
insults liberally poured
(pre snapchat, instagram,
hash-tagged age) roared
increased spell of losing measured
necessary pridefulness scored
requisite susceptibility toward
brow beating, name
calling, plus tossed
brickbats staged early life, viz
psychological schizoid state courtesy
hateful nemesis within
corporeal lodge warred.
malevolent habitués received
permanent residency thence
"green lighted" status
since birth I cannot sense
sub billy understand
(near) total recall
particularly names
no matter offense
of classmates and/
or teacher's, hence
especially dumb
founding since defense
less "boy" did not
shine as a star student
as is if he (me)
took emotional absence.
plus to add insult
to injury, my mouth
stayed hermetically shut,
near invisibility designated nut
tin beat pluperfect
"scapegoat de jure,"
such intimidation found me
feeling thrashed in the gut
where (stellar) qualifications
only made cut
ting worse, (essentially attributed
to genetically inscribed
behaviors, characteristics,
habits, et cetera)
immediately designated yours truly
most puny, and
quietest convenient but
of any atheistic, ethnic,
and/or idiotic jokes.
“Even after our corporeal form leaves, a letter speaks to us in a language so intimate, conveying pent up emotions so personalized that one cannot express through spoken words without causing embarrassment to the one thus divulging” ~ By Poet
It was like a cunning marauder,
That cancer sneaked into his healthy body.
After the initial shock, John got over it.
Then ensued a brave fight to restrict its advance.
But it ravaged his body inch by inch.
Stage four cancer took residency in his bones.
After thirteen months of incessant struggle
His invincible life came to a peaceful halt!
At the end of his funeral rites, his best friend
Showed himself up before the congregation.
In halting voice, he said he was on a task,
To read out a letter John had prepared.
Long before his death but had kept sealed until then.
Opening an envelope, with wavering hands
Like an envoy divinely ordained on a sacred mission
He took out the carefully folded sheets of paper.
The subdued murmur inside the spacious hall
Gave way to silent breathless anticipation.
'My dearest family and friends' the words ran,
'Long at last, I am at peace, absolutely at peace,
With no emails to check, no bills to pay,
No more deadlines to be worried over!
But unfortunately, no charming females in sight''
The words breathed his flamboyant humour,
With his trademark grace and copious dignity.
He led the audience through his life under death sentence.
He was thankful for the love and concern,
His friends and family had so profusely lavished on,
In his ailing days of agony and dejection.
That exceeded far more than what an ordinary man,
In the whole of his lifetime could accumulate!
The last part was a pronouncement of love,
On his beloved wife and his wonderful child,
Who stood by him in silent suffering by proxy,
With a plea to all to keep peace with one's soul.
Despite life's sham, drudgery, and shattered dreams!
The congregation silently dispersed, walking away,
Into a day of sunshine, greatly consoled and inspired!
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.
There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.
I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.
I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.
It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.
I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.
I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.
I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy .
There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."
I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?
I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.
I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.
My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.
My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."
I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.
"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.
But that's a later worry =]
p.s. I write short stories too =]
In March 2001, Melania granted green card
asper elite EB-1 program
intended for renowned academic researchers,
multinational business executives
(linkedin with Uncle SAM)
or those in other fields, such as
Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors,
who demonstrated
“sustained national and international acclaim”
until...now, when (FAKE trophy wife)...
besieged with WHAM!
The Don whips to defense of
(legal residency status),
sans his third wife
imbroglio finds the president flat footed
regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife,
where details concerning former
in vogue Slovak model now cushy life
challenging her right to live in The United States,
the most Democratic nation
plus concomitant abrogation
afforded robber Baroness admission
dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION,
where sentiment underscored verbatim
"Some people come in,
and they bring their whole family with them,
who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!”
The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet,
hence quoted with poetic license,
a prime example how two
(or more faced) president didst react to un seat
fairness, which November twitter
allowing parents with bearhug he did greet
legal residency of her parents,
Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite
who received figurative green light
despite riding piggyback
Nsync with military beat
ting back pesky atop flimsy green card,
the freedom appetite got whet
scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set
tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet
files, particularly equality
for those skeined alive in the DACA net
ready to boot innocent offspring
of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!
The heart aches as
a fire rages inside!
Tucked away
under unseen embers
for decades
a secret
smoldering there.
Children whose minds
not yet fully bloomed
who have not yet pondered
I’d be this or I’d be that
must now deal with
confused emotions and
a struggle to recover.
A manifestation of guilt
when they’re reminded of holy water
used to wash their mouths
as they whisper
“Forgive me ‘Father’
for I have sinned
it is one week since my
last confession”
And the irony is…
For a lifetime they exist
shrouded under layers of deceit
closed mouthed as unsung lyrics
remain stored away in silence
while the wrong secretly
changes the course of their journey
to an alternate existence.
Adult smiles
grace their faces
amongst many others
hiding unforgivable secrets
as though guarding
a secret pot of gold.
No one guess the facade
or see beyond false
laughter dressed as humor
as a place for secrets
to lay uncovered
hiding broken auras
masked
in pain and shame.
For a lifetime
they cling to hurt
never seeking release of
shame
it accompanies them
till the last handful
of dirt follows
their farewell song.
Their life’s journey forever marred.
But run tell that!
Chorus the “ME TOO” chant
shine light on the offender
to remove the shadows
of agony
taking up residency within.
Do not bear the burden
keeping hidden dark secrets
well guarded in memory vaults
suppressed deep inside.
While the perpetrator walks free
to steal yet another’s innocence
over and over again
hiding in plain sight
Under The Black Robe.
This must STOP!
Free up the tongue
set it loose
to expose the sinful acts
of the Divine Perverts
who committed them.
Heal your pain while
saving others from the same.
Run tell that story!
janice woke up off the game
there was no other way of looking at it
one second she was an upstanding citizen &
a productive member of society,
passing every day in the hospital doing her
doctor thing,
after years of grueling medical school &
years of residency,
she spent her time helping others,
she was one of those people whom other put their
hopes in &
she was a good little wife
loyal to her husband regardless of what he did &
she made dinner despite being on call at the hospital
she still found time to get to the gym
she still found time to be all that she could
in developing an early young couple’s life---
she was a good daughter,
even though she always had to listen to her mother say
that she thought she’d have grandchildren by now &
though janice always called,
her mother never ceased to ask if she was gaining weight---
she loved her father, even though he lived in a different state,
so she made the calls to him as well &
visited at least once a year,
giving hugs to his new main squeeze,
commenting favorably on his new life &
new accomplishments---
stockpiling her funds to move from the apartment to the
house,
reading those books that are supposed to help with child rearing &
hinting to the husband every now & then
about when will be a good time to start,
as her clock, she says, is always ticking---
one of her college roommates introduced her to the music of
tom waits years before &
when she fell in love with the man’s unique blend of melancholia +
insanity,
she memorized the words of “Frank’s Wild Years,”
and these were what she recited while she
filled her husband’s head with nails
freshly shot from the Hitachi NT50AE2 18-Gauge that she
bought---after doing so,
she gave up medical school, helping people in general &
being a good little girl.
My chest feels heavy.
My shoulders are rising up to my ears.
All I did was think about the future.
Even if I had thought of anything else-
The present,
The past,
The only thing left that I can feel is terrified.
Maybe the world can't hurt me from my bedroom.
If I hide out here long enough, maybe you'll leave.
I'll take up residency under these blankets.
I'll form my own city within these four walls.
A democracy of patience for myself,
Of kindness, of treating myself well.
Still the default setting set in my head is to accept this abuse as if it is love.
When I feel terrified or resigned,
I tell myself I want you.
What I really want is love without pain.
I want love without terror and shouting.
Without you making me hyperventilate over things like laundry or vacuuming.
I want the freedom to feel like myself again.
I want to see my friends again.
I don't want to be isolated to only this.
I want to feel love from someone and know it is always there.
I want to feel safe.
I want to listen to the voice that has been screaming inside of me for so long.
I want that voice to scream so loud I finally hear it clearly.
I want that voice to shake this home to the ground,
For it to clear me a path out of this.
I understand its my fault too.
I shouldn't have thought you'd change.
I should never have expected you to.
You are you, and honestly,
I'll always love you for you.
But I cannot accept a love that hurts so much.
I cannot bear witness to this any longer;
I cannot lose myself any more than I already have in this hurricane we called Love.
Its dangerous,
And it'll really, really hurt.
But I'm taking the life raft.
I need to save myself.
Come, let us plant the seed of love,
let's create what some scientist said that was impossible
Let our love show in a magnificent way
Let it be healthy, wealthy and wise in coming years
It would be tears, it would be joy,
He would be our love joy and our sweet boy:
There is madness, there is happiness,
However, as we all know, happiness is found in the
Madness of one's life.
“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
? Friedrich Nietzsche
Enter me with the warmth of your love,
Deposit the gift of life, as you seed flow and reach the tubes,
One smart egg will bond to become our next generation
Why would we do this, why?
Love like this is rare,
Come, let us plant the seed of your love
And we shall see our blessing of tomorrow.
Are you ready for fatherhood,
Are you ready for the responsibility
Are you ready to believe that one plus one
Equal three, are you ready kuku?
So, let's plant the seed of love.
We plant this seed, on the bed of
Residency the Blessing, on the coolest night
In Accura, near the Gulf of Guinea,
A sign of life, a sign of hope,
You should plant this seed,
It could be a future doctor
Would care cure, senseless disease
A politician who can change numerous things
As he travels the world for free,
And speak up about the country economy
Or become the better poet, than his mother
Could ever be, Lord blessed thee!
One day his grandchildren will ask
Who was my grandparents, thank God
For them, that hour, when they planted the seeds.