Long Sender Poems
Long Sender Poems. Below are the most popular long Sender by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sender poems by poem length and keyword.
as a GMO gluten
and monosodium allow
wing glutinate free
NON SPORTS fan, holy cow
a gentle fear shakes, rocks,
and trembles thru every dDhow
ting fiber of me one hundred
and forty five pounds (give or take a hun
dread ounces) finds me feeling
like a castaway
on an alien nation, none
share totally tubular,
where athletes revered
as holier than thou hook hen pun
which craft
this wordsmith doth shine,
and experiences the equivalent run
tooth ha goal post, and envision
me octogenarian widower papa
paying attaboy with "way tug hoe son"
or a similar comment,
which unasked for unsolicited praise
would be worth a ton
as if this bone a fide wordsmith
would cherish as a sentiment hard won,
which figurative convenient truthful
( Earth in the balance) tangent
arced geometric fender
to express gratitude
(nevermind their gender),
who unwittingly boost and tearful lender
my morale doth render
akin to a spender
for anonymous readers,
yet moost likely an appealing sender
via flattering comments,
an emotional legal tender
this sensitive chap also makes apologies
(and steers clear) ass king for any alley byes
unwittingly me to refrain ushering my demise
hence...THANK YOU
unknown gals and guys
this honest to dog statement
summoned deep within me...noel hies
NOR NON FAKE
saccharine steeped sincere lies.
The Farmhouse
One evening before the sun was set
A memory came and stayed a while
Of a chalk white, sun bright path,
Untrod, passing by where I gazed
By a hawthorn hedge and a wooden style.
And I saw nearby a farmhouse stood,
Empty now and weather worn.
An old post box by an open gate,
In the sky the remnants of a passing storm
Above fields once gold with ripened corn.
It seemed now that a distant memory stirred
Where two children play and horses graze,
As if another had received the thought
And remembered that old abandoned place,
A farmhouse arisen from far past days
A letter lay in the collecting box,
The unknowing sender waiting some reply,
But no word came from that forsaken place
From that far farmhouse weather worn,
Only a distant memory passing by.
Barry Stebbings
March 2024
July 14 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Isaiah 38-41
Key Verse – Isaiah 38:20 The LORD was ready to save me: therefore we will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the days of our life in the house of the LORD.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY READY SAVIOUR
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your divine order
Thank You for providing for me, being my blessing Sender---
I then submit my heart to You, my Sovereign Leader
Beseeching for Your help as my Defender.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your timely reckoning
Thank You for redeeming me from hell toward fatal leaning---
I then entrust my soul to You for spiritual learning
Begging for Your grace with hope every morning.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your healing for my sickness
Thank You for pouring to me Your goodness---
I then submit my will to Your dominion’s steadfastness
Beholding for Your treasures of eternal bountifulness.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your comfort
Thank You for guiding me to Your counselling report---
I then commit my accomplishment to Your mighty effort
Building up for Your glory by Your strength’s support.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your biblical foundation
Thank You for restoring me along Your graciousness’ function---
I then lift up my eyes to Your direction
Bidding for Your wisdom’s instruction.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your judgment
Thank You for hearing me in my needy predicament---
I then yield my courage to Your righteous entrapment
Bursting out with bliss along Your secured fulfillment.
Lord God, You are my ready Saviour with Your rescuing way
Thank You for counselling me with Your Word day by day---
I then fasten my future to Your perfection midst truth’s ray
Bearing Your name while my soul fervently does pray.
July 14, 2023
Without Knowing Your Gender...,
(nonetheless ex post facto still flattered)
Bhutan names defy affiliating,
determining, identifying... gender,
and what a faux pas this dada admits,
when a blessed high school
student did league gully tender
benighted, gifted, ordained yours truly
with sobriquet "Guru"
alluded to in previous poem, render
ring this foolish hearty good fella (me)
falling prey to embarrassing situation,
(I did misrender
as would be expected
from this crash test dummy,
who dented his psychological fender),
vis virtual mind bender,
when an initial presumption
smarted Matthew Scott as offender,
asper online youth NO pretender
by him, aye mean the sender
communicated his admiration,
adoration, adulation for this big spender
of sincerity, viz singular poetic magi - (ha)
made presumption that
unknown messenger slender,
and female, and
upon enclosing appender
referencing person as "lovely princess"
did respondent clarify finding deface
of zee poet here -
logic chops went thru blender
as if slapped by a suspender
experiencing irrevocable shame
as though a contender
attempting to guide false supposition
playfully mistaking sexual
identity of male sender,
he (young kneeler)
bowed as winning scoring goaltender
down as mine professed
metrical feet, he who acquiesced
non Asian minor, friender
NOT seeking moneylender,
nor mistook my heart of gold),
mine apology I did obligingly surrender
and possibly chuckled to himself,
asper an uproarious hellbender
whereat my countenance turned
fifty plus shades of lavender.
“The Visitors”
They hide,
because arrival
is not a flashing “Welcome” sign;
they remain compartmentilised.
what fits best for their safety?
remain hidden,
small and invisible;
sound like a magnet
sent to them, personalised
on a golden disc by the lower world
first drew them in;
the message
was received
just like this.
the sender,
they sensed
not so friendly.
they still tune in daily
they watch, they wait,
they listen, they never speak;
it seems like an eternity, yet,
nothing will deter them,
they are drawn into the Others
like a favoured home coming.
they are on their own
arriving in a strange world,
their entrance ignored masterfully
while the sender, hungry monsters
are consumed, lost
in their brain-sucking technology
too busy to understand
the approaching golden thrones
of other gods;
there are those
without provocation
who would shoot them down,
without them
even ushering a word -
ignoring their word, like an alien world
borders
are well and truly
crossed.
the visitors arrive
silently, most powerful
realing in those that matter most,
the prophesized left-overs;
the gods
are phoning home, it's been aeons,
they are on their call-back mission.
the natives
they sense,
not so friendly;
from above, they observe
there is much division
in the underworld
amongst the demons.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
reeling/realing.
Upon this pillow I lay my head with the crucifix dangling around me and incense burning in front of me. I wasn’t quite sure how I got there but something peculiar was happening over there, and not too far from me a basin with purified water sits orderly with a clean folded towel tucked beside it and a half fill whiskey stood up right next to it. I did not know what to make of it but I drained everything from my mind and allow nature to decipher it, and all of a sudden the thunder began to roll.
I lay myself down on this pillow staring at the ceiling above me, waiting for the night to pass to read the note that is written in the dark; it has been there for eyes to see but only one person can analyze it, for everyone to understand it. It wasn’t written by man it was written by a special hand from a distant land and delivered express before the sender breath the final breath.
Shall I breach the plan and unlock your eerie hand? Anxiety is racing around the city and liberty is trembling in long gown, how much longer shall I wait in this city and watch my people burn? Anxiety is floating around in my heels and a hideous burden is bloating my gut, you can get it done without a fuss.
Time has passed and history is cemented inside the factories and promises were made upon my victory. The three branches must meet to iron out an acceptable plan before you hand down the final decree.
Shall I breathe the air of contempt in my sleep or shall I tarry with you in the deep, time is on your side and the note is waiting inside it is sealed with blood and you have to open it before the day is done.
Upon this pillow I lay my head with a ghastly note from the city of the dead, it is time to open its and the bearer will analyze it, open the bed room door and you will see the mystery unfold.
Man
A word so small but huge with emotions, stress but you have to tag along
So creative yet so blind
So loving yet so abusive
So manipulative, lying and cheating in a sensible way yet so emotional
Man, a family, love, respect yet so arrogant
An ear, shoulder to lean on and encouraging
But a killer in a leopard skin
Man, very smooth talking creature
A smile that turn to sorrows and pain
Oh man the creator of a woman through bone yet so conniving like an on-going headache
A comfort, protector and a free ride yet park station in terms of feelings, care and emotions
Confusion, misinterpretation, Father, uncle, husband yet a rapist
Man, oh man
A fighter, a role model yet cruel
An adviser, a friend yet so jealous in a mannerly way
A hell sender like terminal disease
Man yes man, man oh man
Form:
When vultures cast sardonic smiles on his waning soul
Rehearsed their hisses for a feast of agony and epitaph
She gripped the moment and clawed her nails into his skin
Like pikes into a lover’s cross
A wake-up call struck the mind of the silent falling ghost
Whispered like a distant ceremonial angel in spiked disguise
Lit a scented candle and disavowed her festering claws
Scars turned into lightening stars
The wounds became too loose for manicured incisions
Thus he wound free from cynical talon’s lacerations
‘Keep the coffin with broken seals and rusty hinges’
Return to sender mailer demon unbeknown
26th May 2019
After you left
It was never the same
No one seemed to understand
That You Weren't Coming Back
I tried calling you
On the first day
You said
Nothing
You didn't pick up
I tried again
Still
Nothing
I began to realize that
You wouldn't
Ever
Answer
But I
Didn't
Give
Up
On your birthday,
I called
Waited
Cried for the rest of the day
On Christmas Eve,
I called
Waited
You don't have anyone else to be with
On Valentines Day,
I called
Waited
Sent you a box of chocolates
Three days later,
It came back
With your handwriting,
Return to Sender
I
Cry
and
Cry
Why
Did
You
Leave?
A is for an album to hold my stamp hoard,
B is for back of book where my “specials” are stored.
C is for the cancellation that causes such strife,
D is for definitives with their unlimited life.
E is for excitement, the thrill of the find,
F is for fiscal and its financial bind.
G is for the gum that sticks them in the post,
H is for the hinges displaying those I love most.
I is for imperforates, those joined with no holes,
J is for a Johfra box to soak off without bowls.
K is for a killer mark that destroys a stamp’s worth
L is for local stamps with a limited dearth.
M is for the magnifying glass used for searching out flaws
N is for the newspaper stamps that brought headlines to our doors.
O is for “officials” with a government cachet
P is for postage due when the sender fails to pay.
Q is for the Queen’s head on all British stamps
R is for retouches and forgers re vamps.
S is for a stockbook for stamps that are spare
T is for tweezers to handle them with care.
U is for unused, a stamp postally mint,
V is for variety, it has a fault in its print.
W is for watermark to prove authenticity
X is for xanthic spots, rust, that strikes without pity.
Y is for youngsters and encouraging their dream
Z is for Zemstvo a rare Russian theme.
To see a stamp thrown in the bin, now that is such a crime,
I’ll revere it in my collection making it sublime.
Written 1st March 2013 by Rachel Fawcett. I am a Trained Nurse by day and spend my time off collecting stamps and trying to write poetry. I haven’t been publicly writing very long and this is only the second poetry competition I've ever entered. I love writing as it stretches my imagination and I enjoy the challenge it brings. I love collecting stamps as they bring order to my mind.