Long Sews Poems
Long Sews Poems. Below are the most popular long Sews by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sews poems by poem length and keyword.
The Lord weaves His grand tapestry across the skies
He outlines charcoal colored clouds with silver threads
sews the sunlight of dawn into rays that caress the sea
and folds ocean ripples into fans of intricate patterns.
Each morning God’s canvas awaits His ready hand
a master Artist, His creativity knows no bounds
He dips His brush into the spectrum of rainbows
like a whirlwind, He mixes and paints dazzling designs.
God deftly blends pastel shades to greet the rising sun
He sweeps white, cotton clouds that hover over land and sea
He paints the morning light to touch lush liquid waves
and adds violet colored shadows that fade into the horizon.
His living canvas continually changes its hues and tones
each moment rearranged by heat, wind or sudden storms
a cornucopia of shapes sweep across the heavens
like rapid time frames that move within an eternal film.
Will not many among the nations fail to see His mighty wonders?
Will not many among us look up to relish in His majestic sky?
God’s handiwork daily displays His infinite creation
may we lift up our eyes to behold His unending glory.
Written on 1/17/2021
Head down
The old woman sews
A dress
Nimble fingers
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Threading memories
Of another time
Reminding her
Of a night
Long ago
When she was afraid
To speak to a boy
Sitting next to her.
As her busy fingers work
She remembers more
Of that summer night
A blue cotton dress
With tiny ribbons
Lace curtains gently
Pulled by a breeze
Drifted out through opaque windows
While musicians played a rhythm
Of their own
And shadows pranced
On empty walls.
Waiting that night
She wondered
Why no one
Asked
Her to dance.
Old memories
Glide by
On silver sails
And today?...
She knows that today is now.
And yesterday was yesterday
Finished with her work
She catches her breathe,
Straightens her hair,
And turns off the lights.
Pausing to look back
Into the darkened room
Shadows return her glance
With a gaping stare
Adjusting to the darkness
She begins to recognize
Familiar shapes taking form
Satisfied that all will be the same
When she returns
She closes the door.
Going outside
She holds onto her purse
Waiting
For a traffic light
That has already
Changed
A smile crosses her face
As she remembers
When the boy
Became her husband
Children were born.
And the years went by
In a brown bag
Neatly folded in two
Is a blue chiffon dress
Almost like the one
She wore years ago
Only this one
Is for her granddaughter
Impatient for no reason
To go nowhere
The crowd pushes forward
But the old woman lingers
On the corner
Savoring the moment
Glad of memories
As a busy world saunters by.
Lovely soul which is purely Silk
Owing to be my heart's genius loci
Valorously he seems to be Keen
Endeavouring me with cuddles aid
Mellowing my body with his finger
Yearns to listen my echoes ablaze
Perspiring thoroughly high heated
Aroused completely with his kisses
Rapid heart beat's thunders to recoup
Tensions awakened whole night & i
Never wrangle my lover's render
Evergreen is our reciprocation Foci
Reviving memories sews us intact
27-5-2020
~DEEPA~
Third place in the Contest.
Note1:Double Double Words To Bubble Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Note2:BRIAN'S SELECT 4,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
It still hangs there,
there on the back of my door.
“Wa d’y lev ut thur?” I can hear you say
in that Chatterley-esque accent of yours,
rippling through me.
“It’s so I can smell you”
I’d reply if I could:
a waft and scent of your neck,
hair… whenever I’d leave the
room. When I’d enter it.
If I just pass by.
I’d tell you that, at night, my arms
loosen their flesh and peel on the cotton,
a needle sews blood afresh into my seams.
At night, the zipper puts my chest back
together and holds my knocking heart in
place…. my ribcage ivory buttons, poached.
My beard grows longer to the left, matching the
lopsided drawstring I pulled in a prank. At night,
the frayed knitting weaves its way into my arm hair.
The smattering of chest hair that made you laugh is now
indistinguishable from where a sewing machine once clamped
shut. At night my fingers become the tips of each sleeve – just out
of reach of your hand
but forever trying.
“It still hangs there” I’d tell you, if I could,
“there on the back of our door.”
It hangs there, it hangs there
still
My house is perpetually full of stuff I do not need.
Diapers? No.
Hair bands? No.
Pens that do not work. No.
Patterns? Who sews these days?
Material? No.
Stuff I have dragged in myself after dragging other stuff out.
Like stuff.
Stuff so similar, it was silly to exchange it.
I am looking at an Easter banner that I took down and put on
The TV set last April or March.
I did not even see it again until
This second, and it is November.
My piles of stuff is staring at me.
Glaring at me.
Laughing at me.
If I had to identify what was in the pile in the corner
Right now or a guerrilla would machine-gun me, I would be murdered.
I would be luck to guess two things in that pile.
Death might be preferable to
Cleaning out this stuff.
Grandma Sews
Some yarn, a bit of ribbon,
a flour sack, and loads of love...
these are the materials
that made the dress I wore
the day I came to live,
with Ma, and Pa.
A driver took father,
and mother,
away.
The sad man drank too much,
and was allowed to live,
but they were not.
I see them in my heart of hearts,
I know they watch over me.
Grandma tells me everything,
I need to know,
and remember about them,
from before,
so that I can tell my children,
of their existence.
Carefully Ma worked-in the details,
as to never let anything fall away,
that was of importance.
No, instead she worked to make
a blanket of pieces gathered together,
that would cover me with yesterday,
and give me a "coat" for tomorrow.
My grandma taught me how to sew.
I sew even to this day.
I take the strings and threads of our lives,
and put them on a canvas,
for my children,
for your children,
for our children.
We are the family of tomorrow.
Grandma told me that... yesterday.
She was right to believe.
O! FLUFF! FIZZ! ICE-TRUFFLES and BANDALEES!
Can't see the forest, for the snow on trees!
Where every gossamer veil of snow delights
And every string of bulbs mimics Heav'n's Lights!
O! TRUE! the tales of gnomes and Ice-Elves are!
(I fear some fool will catch one in a jar
and so, I've held my Peace on this -- so far)
But NOW, I must speak out, you see... on par
With Ancient Wisdom are the Fairy Stories,
Chuck full of Angels, dwarves... filled with the Glories
Of... Champions, Magicians of Renown...
Of tiny folk, who live in Tinytown…
Of Reprimands for those who trouble Nature
(Or use JUST Scientific Nomenclature).
REBUKE! O, WISE! The Unbelievers, ALL!
Who LAUGH at gnolls and trolls, both great, and small!
For He that trusts not, sews with poison thread,
That knots Hope; leaves Imagination dead.
Date Written: December 28, 2018
For Contest: BUNNY LUMP
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Looks like it has a firm foundation
A nice yard for kids to play
Walls sturdy and insulated
And a long rounded driveway
There's a paddock in the back
A barn fit for royalty
A stream with fresh fish
And an owner known for loyalty
He made a promise, unprovoked
I received, and drove on, down the road
Losing friends, cars, homes
As the grief kept piling on my heavy load
Again and again, the path winds
Hills and valleys come and go
Hope barely remains in tact
When will I reap the harvest LOVE sews
Today I passed a marker on the way
No, it was the threshold of a door
My fears are the enemy
That have kept me from having more
Money and men seeking power
Stood as black smoke over my eyes
But today I see the ARCHITECT
And we rejected the lies
I am worthy of all I desire
The jewels of my heart proclaim
I open and welcome
Blessings and honor assigned to my name.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-21-2025
An American perspective on domestic and world events, in no particular order
SCOTUS rules that Trump’s immune
China flies the spy balloon
Starship booster landing glee
J. Assange is walking free
Bergdorf, Neiman join Saks
Our Secret Service sucks
Russia swaps her jailed spies
Alexei Navalny dies
Mitch McConnell’s stepping down
“Boris” causes Europe drown
Biden cancels loan debt
Hunter’s pardoned by his dad
Hezbollah - beheaded snake
East Coast’s shaken by the quake
Eagle Pass – still open path
Gaza tastes Israeli wrath
North of 40 goes Dow Jones
Loses fight one Alex Jones
French Olympics is a dud
Milton, Helen’s awful flood
Bitcoin’s rising through the roof
“Donald Trump is bullet-proof”
MSNBC for sale
Diddy Combs in Brooklyn’s jail
Donald wins and Harris not
Brian T. assassins’ plot
Bankman-Fried, the largest fraud
“AI” reach is getting broad
Pavel Durov nabbed in France
But illegals push, advance
Mid-East war still rages on
“Year of Snake” is almost born
TikTok may not be around
Syria has fallen down
Anti-Semites flowing crud
Israel keeps oozing blood
Taylor Swift, the billionaire
Art, banana, millionaire
Gone Red Lobster, Tupperware
Weapons for Ukraine affair
Prada sews the spacewalk suit
DOJ quits Trump’s pursuit
Spirit Air takes nose dive
Elon Mask in overdrive
Iran rockets come like rain
Hostages remain in pain
No DC resolve, it’s air
Beirut pagers need repair
Russia crumbles from within
Lower price on gasoline
“Brat”, the word of current year
Now, to ones we once revere
Gone for good, but left imprint
Culture, sport, each own footprint
Lou Carnesecca, Dr. Ruth
Wheel of Fortune Chuck, sad truth
Quincy Jones – culture brass
James Jones - Darth Vader bass
Newhart Bob, satire most
One Phil Donahue, the host
Famous Amos, Maggie Smith,
Richard Simmons, workout wiz
Global flier Dick Rutan
Gossett Lou, of actors’ clan
Matthew Perry, Terry Garr
O.J. Simpson football star
Willie Mays of baseball fame
Y. Sinwar, mankind’s shame
Year’s drawing to a close
Parties, cheer and best clothes
Time for thought and time for fun
Merry Xmas, everyone!
December 15, 2024
time …
takes no hostages
but for those let with dearest blood
if there IS such a thing as chaos
it is in the scrambled madness
that intent, circumstance, fate, and impulse
leaves upon our plate …
we trade the futures of our youth
for the memories of age …
the dearest cost -
each moment, each instant -
given without a thought of how
incredibly precious it is
how valuable its utilization …
and it’s amidst that casualty that we
lose sight of the little things
the in-between happenings that become
the thread of our lives -
that gold braid that binds all we do and
think and feel and find
to our desires and achievements
and sews the seam of
existence, grace and hope …
yet …
we all have the option
(and it is a self-conscious choice)
to not accept time’s tariffs -
to appreciate a moment with the
reverence it’s due
and not assess our worth by accomplishment
but rather how fully we embrace the now
and the only true lasting, timeless
treasure …
love.