Long Resigns Poems
Long Resigns Poems. Below are the most popular long Resigns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Resigns poems by poem length and keyword.
'Ah Sleep' my tired body coos to the fidgety brain,
When the face of the clock says eight and twain,
The cajoling is a waste, it has the temerity to feign,
'Still at work', it prides and my body resigns in vain.
Hours go by and the cells, they twitch in pain,
At the ruthless obstinacy, and the organs, they complain,
'Why can’t he switch off, it’s well past rest time',
A war cry gathers. The body; it tries hard to contain.
The call to Morpheus, a lament so humane,
Doesn’t go unheeded, as he descends with calm disdain,
With his plush cargo of an endless dream train,
To put an end to the vagaries of the brain.
A collateral victim in this battle for supremacy,
Innocent I lost, beg for their clemency,
Morpheus and Mind don’t afford me any sympathy,
As I churn up the bed in helpless agony.
Flitting and rolling between sleep and dream,
Battered by insomnia, as it reigns supreme,
My eyes are heavy and my soul, it screams,
As I wait impatiently for dawn to begin.
My mush of a memory pillow and pajama satin,
Together they lovingly caress my hair and skin,
But even the lux of these earthly elements,
Fail to bring a cheer to my sullen sentiments.
Minus tender sleep, my head begins to spin,
Night in, night out, a fight that I can’t win,
And my liquid frame held hostage by the brain,
Walks a twisted path under the tumult and the strain.
In the dark hollows of my turbulent mind,
I see me drop the memories of my past behind,
Will I survive another endless night?
As I wait at the entrance to the portal of light.
Finally, it has come down to spirit and pills,
The unavoidable root of all my ills,
But under its influence I do sleep well,
Until the time machine pounds me with its bell.
The Quiet keeps a little Door—
No Mortal sees it Swing—
Yet every Rose that folds its Silk
Knows well the hidden Thing—
A Fragrance—not of Orchard fair—
Nor Clover, kissed by Noon—
But Earth's own solemn Covenant
Beneath the Harvest Moon—
The Lilies do not chide the Dust—
The Robin stays his Hymn—
For Life resigns her borrowed Breath
To Chambers faint—and dim—
What Men would name Corruption's Trade—
The Meadow whispers—"Grace"—
Each Falling Leaf becomes a Star
In some forgotten Place—
If Putrescine should wear a Crown—
'Tis woven not of Shame—
But of the patient Chemistry
That gives the Soil its Name—
So Death—who keeps no jealous Purse—
Returns what once was given—
And every silent Molecule
Still keeps its Road—to Heaven.
It was only a few days
On their barren soil
Through a doorway he went
So many lives now spoiled
An explosive device
Plastic in design
Could never be detected
Now a life resigns
The regimental medic
Rushes to his aid
To stem his internal bleeding
Through his eyes he fades
His lifeless soul lies lonely
As he is gently stretchered away
Where he will be flown back home
To where the angels play
In honoured ceremony
As he is carried to his carriage
On the tarmac awaits
His fiance, without marriage
In the chapel of rest
She stands in a tear laden pose
Her tribute to her lost one
With him goes a Rose
For tomorrow she will awake
A new day in her life
As she remembers her love
Who would have made her his wife
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/loss-2.php
A dark nightmare-
dementia is a living Hell
that grinds the mind away while one's aware-
it's crumbling very well.
Lewy Body Dementia- grim adversity;
unlike Alzheimer's- which dulls one's reality,
this victim feels mind's sparsity-
the pain of it fragmenting- utterly aware.
New call defines;
was labeled first as Parkinson's.
Though Lewy may show physical declines-
worse are brain afflictions;
hallucinations, memory loss, resonate-
while victims know inside- these changes dominate;
no cure- just death will terminate.
With Hell on earth- a shattered family resigns.
June 17, 2019
Form Used: 'Crumbling Rhyme'
invented by Constance La France
Maiden misses her fate down by the sea
Novel has taken her interest away
Missive on her lap quells her light
Sailor ponders whether she might court he
Watching her from shallow part of the bay
Maiden misses her fate down by the sea
She is farmer’s daughter, name of Ashley
Her book is filled with romance, hey! Hey!
Missive on her lap quells her light
He questions himself getting down on a knee
She turns a page, unaware of man in gray
Maiden misses her fate down by the sea
He talks himself out of it; lets her be.
Resigns himself to a lonely life today
Missive on her lap quells her light.
He leaves in his fishing boat quietly
She yawns, not looking up, having no say
Maiden misses her fate down by the sea
Missive on her lap quells her light
Crimes twisted and horrible are solved by a group of Elite FBI profilers,
re-runs I watch even though I have seen them several times, it matters not.
In each episode the BAU (Behavioral Analysis Unit) solve a mystery.
My favorite character is Spenser, pretty boy, genius, special agent,
in eleven seasons, I followed each nasty crime, at the end my prize is a quote.
Now, I am waiting breathlessly for Season 12 to start in September.
All the characters lives are part of the drama, that makes it interesting to me.
Last episode of Season Eleven, hunky Derek resigns to care his wife and baby.
Most of the characters are like family, JJ, did you know, Henri is her real son,
interesting how Emily just faded away, and Garcia, baby girl, oh so flirtatious,
now has to find a new man to tease. Rossi, oh he is so serious, but I like him.
Do you know Gideon wanted out, they killed him in Season Ten, that was sad.
So you see, I know them all, I solve crimes with them, I am hooked for sure.
__________________________________
July 14, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Criminal Minds
Copyright Protected, ID 16-808-874-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show
sponsor, Tom Quigley
Fifth Place
"Stone by Stone"
Each sin I’ve carried—stone on aching stone,
Dreams left untouched, stacked clean in silent rows.
Each promise broken, marrow turned to bone,
Each wound I’ve borne, a weight that never goes.
"Stone by Stone"
The heavens sang once, choirs now dismayed,
Ignored by hearts too deafened by the toll.
Layers of earth by sacred hands were laid,
Yet mud retains my shape, my heavy soul.
Your voice cuts through—an edge, both sharp and kind,
Unbinding what my ruin dared to cage.
Stone by stone, your mercy shaped my mind,
A sculptor’s hand to calm relentless rage.
"Stone by Stone"
What love remains ascends where grief resigns,
A monument rebuilt by your designs.
"Stone by stone"
Aunt, her twenty-something nephew, his grandpa:
It’s after dinner as her nephew tells her, “Mom’s
making dinner but I’ll have a taste,” A couple bowls
later, my nephew and Dad viewing news flashes
coming at them like strobe lights: Carter funeral,
Trudeau resigns, VP Harris certifies her opponent’s
win. Her nephew’s tall stature, shoulders shaking
with familiar giggles (he’s moving in a couple days
to begin real adulting) and he says, “What is this!
I’m going to have to watch the news more often!”
It’s begun already, his days of “The Office,” behind
Him…no, they’re just beginning.
-VANQUISHED-
Upcoming sun that must rise in the East
Vanquished in loss
abandoned,
flightless,
baby flamingos
a-traipsing down a barren road they go.
One stands before me but how can I know?
The problem is that we do not believe
Deception of millions-acting naive
Marching in columns our soldiers salute
While turning their sisters into child prostitutes
a friendly invitation in their millions they come
Issuing papers and visas and stamps
parcels of food and put them in camps
bureaucratic mess how to deal with all these
blankets and medicine to mass refugees
But then I go quiet when I see what I've got .
When asked to believe, how can I not?
The arms of my bed beckons me "come"
inviting my dreams into warm slumber land
Slowing us down- resigns us to rest
Prodigal sun goes down in the West
As Wallace lay on wood and blood,
His own, his care he did not heed,
Thoughts of moors and springtime flood,
Purple glens, the heather's bud,
The truth he knew had been his deed.
The court had called him traitor thee,
Sentenced him, like pawn, an object,
Against all England, no dignity,
A traitor to Edward?
He was never his subject.
Again, he thought of heather's flower,
At peace, in quiet, he will pass,
When Edwards’ finished his devour,
With end coming and lest his power,
Scotland’s brave again to mass.
Again, to rise, cause future graves,
To tell the truth, freedom is what’s best,
Sons never live like slaves,
Clans will conquer all but knaves,
At the future King’s bequest.
To his freedom he now resigns,
Marching to heaven, regrets not one,
As tall as he stood, in his times,
Clans surround all in his mind,
Venture to the light, to the Son.
Death and Victory