Long Routinely Poems
Long Routinely Poems. Below are the most popular long Routinely by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Routinely poems by poem length and keyword.
WHEN MOTHER PULLS THE CART
Way back my classmate of middle school
Lost early on his father in the clutch of cancer
Destitute family cart mother was forced to pull
Clouds of trying times in the void sky he saw gather.
The study expenses weren’t easy to meet
He thought from the school he would drop out
But his mother said he needn’t, should never do it
She would soon find the way out, without any doubt.
He had no idea what that way could be
He was so assured, didn’t lose sleep over it
For he knew mother would do her best to see
Her bright son finished the school study with credit.
He woke up in the middle of a winter night
Found his mother’s bed empty, not slept on
When this happened routinely night after night
He decided to find out where she could’ve gone.
In the dead of cold night he went out to explore
Saw from the antique room a streak of light seep
He peeked through the keyhole of the closed door
She was stitching cloth bags, eyes half-closed in sleep.
January 23, 2019
Contest : All Yours (Feb 19)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The whole world considers the Suez Canal passe-partout.
Every day, numerous ships routinely pass through.
A big ship called the "Ever Given" blocked the passageway.
For a while, it looked as if this behemoth was there to stay.
The carrier getting stuck there was quite a calamity.
Many other vessels waited in the Mediterranean and Red Sea.
Other European craft desiring to reach ports in Asia
decided to sail the long way around South Africa.
With considerable effort, workers got the Ever Given free.
Merchant vessels again go through the canal to reach the sea.
from a news story found on www.abcnews.com
The spent year sinks in the captivating cauldron of history,
traces a fading furrow on traversed time by the setting sun,
etched on the realm of remote remembrance weary,
the new year comes blooming buds of promise one by one.
Janus opens routinely for me the door to the new beginning,
after my time crosses the corridor of the worn-out year,
I’ll weave unseen dreams in the tapestry of future ensuing,
unsung songs I’ll sing for the seasons as they will appear.
Along the path God paves for me I’ll begin the new journey
with cornucopia of resolute resolutions to make me wise,
reach amused the edge of the time plateau I don’t see,
yearning to greet 2026 with a joyous sunrise in my skies.
Maybe I’ll make naive the old mistakes many more time,
but resolve to commit them the way they won’t repeat.
I’ll swathe life with some fun, make jokes of me in rhyme,
and laugh my heart out as seemingly senseless stupid feat.
I’ll express profuse gratitude to those close to me I’ll see,
even if they don’t take me as I am with imprudence inbred.
For my muse my pen will be re-filled with ink in glee,
I’ll keep on writing poems that may not disappear unread.
'Foggy' location seeds were from, curiosity won
Five months later, wanderer from roof tall trellis hung
Violet globe pods were bitter but oddly addictive
Several dozen daily dose, sour juice inflicted
Soon supplied smoothie zing, purple milk vibrant
Irresistible, the youth inducing effect they provided
A year after planting, I'd positively lost ten
Face entering wrinkle free twenties again!
Friends amazed by results of youth fruit blessed
After eighteen short months, I appeared adolescent
Freely sharing my vivacious treacherous discovery
From her desirable rewinding hand, no recovery
Benjamin Button's slow motion journey ridiculed
- My eight year old routinely tucks me into bed!!
9th August 2020
Tall Her Eminence stood, calling my name,
My first-grade teacher of notable fame,
Who had taught most all my kin years before,
Now she was summoning me to her court.
She was judge and jury, penalized fast,
Any wrongdoing or mischief in her class,
No one could counsel me in my disgrace,
She was the defense too, for goodness sake.
I had committed a horrendous crime,
Someone’s stomach had felt my fist big time,
Now this tiny hoodlum was called to pay,
For what he had done at recess that day.
As I slowly approached, a friend of mine
Whispered, “say you’re sorrow, might work this time,”
As I stood before the bench for judgement,
I said those words, vowing I would repent.
Reprimanded, I quickly retreated,
Glad my life had be spared and not deleted,
Learned great lesson about grace extended,
On which I routinely contemplated.
Strange how such events look in retrospect,
People like her, I will never forget,
Those who taught me to behave as I ought,
As that first-grade teacher of mine, Miss Mott.
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
No we may never have fought in a great war,
or saved a soul from the snapping jaws of death.
People wave to us, but few know who we are
and most on a good days run could care less.
Like the organ grinder's monkey from days of old,
we have been repeatedly trained to do a task.
We do a job few would even consider doing
and most would not even attempt to try.
A job burdened with ever growing responsibility
due to the minutia of a ever expanding bureaucracy.
A grossly undervalued, underappreciated profession
designated part-time by thoughtless administrations
that mouth how important we all are once a year
only to persecute us for every trifling thing later.
If you are lucky enough to survive a number of years
without resigning or becoming a sacrificial lamb
on the altar of a fearful self serving public face,
you will get a tiny pension for your devoted service.
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
The tolerant souls that routinely put up with
a few rude demanding manipulative parents
and their insolent misbehaving little darlings
just to be able to serve the greater majority
of decent well meaning thoughtful parents
and the precious treasures of tomorrow
they have temporarily entrusted to us.
Like a hamster running on a little wheel,
we go around in circles every single day,
but unlike the hamster we must summon
every instinct and learned skill to insure
every turn we make is executed flawlessly.
We are kept aloft on our spinning wheel
by the deliberate hands of a caring heart
and the many small souls seated behind us
that come to trust us not to make a mistake.
We are the one person in their little lives
that are not allowed to ever let them down
for neither of us may be able to live with it.
We are their school bus drivers...
Lies in the large area of Atlandic deep
Betwixt Florida, Puerto Rico, and Bermuda
A creepy, frightening, and mysterious reef
Formed the devil's triangle above atoll Barbuda
The heavily travelled shipping lanes of the globe
Where vessels vanished in mystic circumtances
Region where aircrafts routinely fly over and rove
But skippers and aviators still believe in chances
With the shot in the arm of weather satellites fly
Seen and noticed the unusual hexagonal clouds
Experts in atmospheric phenomena decrypt the sky
Hoped to save from deadly blast of water-air shrouds
Precioso Tano
May 13, 2017
oh, can't you see..the same goes for you,
because at one point you thought you were special too,
routinely your not the only one,
if you were that search would of been over and done,
it's larger than what we think and know,
it's in branded views of a heart stricken soul,
that ran too fast to see its own track,
never turning around to view the love of his own lack,
hidden in taunt, dropping lines,
seductive remarks...he stimulates to find,
unsettled, still stricken in the past, you'll find,
cravings of his own heart he left behind,
screaming newness heard from miles away,
driving to get there down the wrong highway.
Dream or Nightmare
Written: by Tom Wright
(My Opinion)
Tumbling around all night has left me feeling knackered,
I dreamed of political faces on a Post Office placard.
I could have said exhausted but that wouldn’t impress,
But being tired was the narrative, I mustn’t digress.
To me, some politicians, are like hogs at a trough,
Forever rooting and squealing for a share of the quaff.
Each wanting the most while sometimes doing least,
But I suppose that’s become the nature of the beast.
They routinely bicker, accomplishing little worthwhile,
always in front of a camera flashing a cardboard smile.
Genuine smiles might portray that things weren’t serious,
and God forbid that constituents might become delirious.
By trading handouts for votes they extend their career,
Term limits is the answer to this problem that’s drear.
My opinion counts for nothing
but now I feel so much better. LOL
Tom
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil,
Is for good men to do nothing.”
It's a quote routinely attributed to Edmund Burke.
"I have no right to post this.
Here in my ivory tower where nothing is amiss.
I eat when hungry and drink when I thirst.
Feel pity for those babes, but I always come first." The Poet.
A child is precious no matter where they be.
So who could inflict such agony?
They say the end is near,
If the crying stops by a child so dear,
Sweet might has no strength left to cry.
The mother must sit and watch the babe die.
Donations given but aid cant get through.
Great suffering by hunger, if the aggressors only knew.