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.
I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention
There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart? Should I?
And to what profit? Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs. However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody
and "Mama's Song"!
Note: For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children. RIP w/Papa!!
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
Peace In The Light
I live in a drywall box
Sitting alone staring at my clocks
With landscape art hanging all around me
Its no wonder inspiration has finally found me
One day my mind forced my hand to start writing
About my parents in Heaven still fighting
Knowing their bodies lie beneath the ground
But believing that is not where there to be found
One night I dreamt of a beautiful house
It was on a sunny hill where I saw cats playing cards with a mouse
There was a young woman sitting on a porch rail
She turned to me and asked why I looked so pale
She told me she did not die
She told me I no longer have to cry
Then all of a sudden I awoke
Asking myself... “Was Mom's death some kind of horrible joke”
The Wake…The Funeral…
The Burial Mass…The Grave
Mom's dream message proved to me
She had risen from her Coffin in the Cave
Sometimes I wonder if Mom and Dad are really dead
Or are they living in my head
Can our parents be more alive than we think
Could they be some kind of Supernatural Link
Some say this life is a trial
With certain emotions recorded in our Spiritual File
We all experience wonder, joy, sorrow and pain
Some days… it’s a challenge just to stay sane
I pray our parents watch over us from afar
I swear sometimes… Their sitting in my car
Maybe when we experience life’s emotions
Our Parents are there recording the commotion
I bet Mom sews all day
She probably still has no time to play
I bet Dad writes all day
Will my sons ever find their way
Someday I will tell everyone
That Heaven maybe closer than the Sun
And even though our parents may not be here
When we take our last breath there is nothing to fear
Because what seems like a very dark day
Is really a small price to pay
So the next time you hear a familiar voice in your head
It could be your parents telling you they are not really dead
And I thank… GOD… I no longer have to write
Because my parents have finally found Peace in the Light
And some day when it’s my turn to go home
I will show my parents this poem
Joseph Adam Elward
Dear child,
Do you see the lady in the red dress?
She has eyes like diamonds
Crystal clear, sharp, blue and shining.
And a smile that could
Stop your heart cold
And then, in a moment, bring it back to life,
She has hair that makes Niagra
Blush, and forget her own worldly wonders.
But darling dont be fooled,
For shes not gold,
Don't be fooled by Antimony.
Dear child,
Now you stare unapologetically
At the lady in the red dress
And chains connect the two of you at your ankles
Shackles of disguise
Do you walk as she walks?
Stroll as she glides?
Wait, dear friend,
Let me meddle some more.
Turn your freckled face my way
And listen darling child.
Do not be fooled for shes not gold
Do not be fooled by antimony.
Dear child,
I heard from the friend of a friend,
But you may suffice with just me.
The lady in the red dress is nought but a muse
And lures unwary travellers to fatal depths, foetal deaths.
You may think that you are a man of fifty-one
And flagellate your opinions of her to me,
To your family,
To your sisters and your brothers
But be aware dear child
For you are a mere embryo
And abortions do not draw tears from her gems.
So darling child,
Do not be fooled for she's not gold.
Do not be fooled by antimony.
Dear child,
Do you see the lady in the red dress?
You disregard all I say,
Just as I had feared.
Your eyes follow the grace of her hand
And the blood of grapes
She so elegantly downs
In most ritualistic manner
From most ritualistic crystal goblet.
Dear lord,
Pray that you are not hypnotised
But instead you pray that you may be the thread
And she the needle's eye
Yes, she is sharp
And polished and sews tremendous garments
Of Rage, Romance and Regret.
But darling child,
Do not be fooled for shes not gold.
She is not steel
Nor platinum,
Nor copper,
Nor bronze,
She is not even as simple as coal.
Nor is she carbon's other allotrope.
She is crystalline - true.
But as toxic as can be.
My lady in the red dress,
Dear child,
Is antimony.
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
Whether by design or luck
Or maybe just because
Summertime in Tennessee
So scorching hot and dry
The family thought a swim could be
Relief so we would try
While swimming came so easy
For most of us that day
But Mom was water queasy
So on the bank she lay
My friend and I, we swam like fish
In the deep Duck River
A day that would make you wish
This fun could last forever
My baby sister was so small
She could barely walk
She toddled and then down would fall
And jabbered with her talk
So Dad had moved into the deep
That’s when I saw it well
My sister ran without a peep
Into the Duck she fell
Momma screamed and I just froze
And out of sight she went
The muddy Duck would now propose
Another life be spent
My Dad had sprung to action
On hearing of the scream
He dived as a reaction
Into the muddy stream
.
.
.
And many years would pass us by
She studied hard and long
Nothing was too tough to try
She never got it wrong
A Ph.D, and drug design
She makes the pills you need
If you were really in a bind
And needed meds indeed
She plays piano and reads the books
And knows so much inside
She sews and cleans and then she cooks
With logic as her guide
Accomplishments on every level
Complete and tried and true
But humble, never would she revel
In all that she could do
.
.
.
He came back up and looked around
His eyes began to beg
He dived again and there he found
And grabbed her by the leg
Upside down he pulled her up
And water did pour out
And soon we heard her cry startup
Relief without a doubt
.
.
.
Remembering that day and so
A blessing to repay
That was sixty years ago
But feels like yesterday
I sometimes think of all the luck
That happened just because
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
What has happened to my muse?
It's not an easy thing to lose
Yet, it seems that I've misplaced it
Or, perhaps, I just erased it
In some absent-minded funk
(Lordy knows, I'm never drunk)
Maybe it's just up my sleeve
Waiting for a love's reprieve
Or stuffed deep inside a pocket
Hoping hopes a dream will rock it
Or perhaps behind the couch
Intent to end my writing slouch
Lost in darkness 'neath my bed
(A metaphor for "in my head")
Drifting on a spring-tide mistral
Or poised for ruin, in a pistol
Gossamer as an angel's wing
Or ebbing life, as sirens sing
Dancing on a moonlit sea
Bound for harbors, heavenly
In the grasp of horrors, dim
A last endeavor, chances, slim
Perhaps it's waiting just inside
The smile of a blushing bride
Or in the twisted roots of trees
A thousand angry honey bees
Framed like all the grandest art
Or served on silver, a' la carte
The promise of a mustard seed
Or in the depths of evil greed
The fevered itch of aged scars
Hot like dust, among the stars
See, that's the beauty of a muse
It hides inside whate'er we choose
Imagination sews its seam -
Bound only by how deep we dream
So, it was hiding, from the start
Within the chambers of my heart
And if your muse is missing, too
I'm sure that's where it waits ...
For YOU!
Written on May 10, 2020
Submitted on June 18, 2020
To the "Your Fave Poem 2020 Not Written For A Contest" Poetry Contest
John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Even in the safety of the mountains…we can’t ignore that there are wars
but speaking as a amateur poet…war doesn’t not lend itself to poetry…
Poetry weaves words of love, grace and tenderness
meant to help people enjoy the life they lead
to elicit joy, affection and happiness
to paint beautiful peaceful pictures in our minds
War is an instrument of death…
and those who don’t perish carry the memories of war with them
and are forever changed.
War sews words of discord…seeds of sadness, grief and sorrow
meant to destroy not only peace…but life itself…
perhaps that’s why there is no poetry…there can be no rhymes in war.
If only we would answer the prayers of those on both sides of war
for aren’t their prayers the same?
Keep me safe
Keep my family safe
Please bring this suffering and killing to an end.
If only we could raise up the love that exists
in the midst…but somewhere beyond the reach of war…
The love that waits…quietly…with tears in her eyes
trying desperately to endure…to overcome the hate.
trying her best, like the people of war, to survive
So poetry, like love must stand by…
must fold her hands…must pray and wait….
until people come to their senses…until love returns
until there is peace…even tentative peace.
We wait until friends and family members begin to feel hope again
behind the tears they cry…
when from the rubble and debris of war…
we see the return of the flowers…of bees and the butterflies.
We wait and hope that someday…the lessons of war, by everyone, will be learned…
We wait until the smiles on the children…the children of war…return
We wait for signs that love though forever altered, can be reborn
for then and only then…
when the poems we pen are weaved with fresh words of peace and love…
will we find our rhymes again
Born in Madrid, in fifty nine,
A military Kid, 3rd of 7 in the assembly line;
They named me Michael, but I answer to Wedge,
A Master Sergeant’s son—not much here that's cutting edge.
I grew up a runner, and I wrestled some,
I was a skateboarding brawler and a surfer bum;
Didn’t try very hard in primary school,
Laziness, not ignorance—I was a bit of a tool.
Then I met this fine girl, long hair just like copper,
Who took me to church, sweet, innocent, and proper;
At Wood’s Grove on knees, accepting Him for long haul,
In 1978—just weeks before Uncle Sam called.
In a flash came the Navy, Marriage, college, and kids,
A submarine, 2 surface ships—I was a bit of a squid;
On to Chapel Hill, where I taught Midshipmen,
By ’94, farewell my Navy—I’m now a businessman.
Life moved fast from the crib thru each grade,
For Mom & two girls—my female brigade;
Growing up we did lots, mostly travels and school,
Plus church, school sports, dance and piano recitals, how cool!
Today, they’re gone—our empty nest in their wake,
New lives, with spouses, and pups—and new names.
So I paint and I hike—while my soulmate sews and she reads;
And we both now teach high school—sharing Christ as He leads.
I’m grateful my Navy recalled this old goat,
To lead men and women, ashore and afloat;
Retirement and selection, to teach young Cadets,
A large pain in the butt—but I have no regrets.
After 60 odd years, I’m modestly content,
With where my life’s been, and headed—once spent.
But mostly I’m thankful—family, friends and great health,
And for wonderful friendships—the source of my wealth!
Some say sixty's getting old,
Creaky knees, aches and pains, hard hearing—all told.
And I contend, aging's NOT for the faint hearted,
But most who know me know—I'm just getting started!
Today, even the hills seem blue.
Unhappiness is just happiness ~
being torn to shreds by you.
Bartleby: "I would prefer not to."
Lawyer: "But Bartleby, you've got to.
Pull yourself together, somehow,
and make a copy for me. Right now.
It's your sad lot to."
Bartleby: "I would prefer not to."
Someone stomped on my heart with their feet.
There's the red blotch ~ on their soiled bed sheet.
Doesn't look like a heart anymore ~
more like an open, festering sore.
And ~ I'm not waiting around for a repeat.
You know what I wish for the most?
That we could drive once more up the California coast,
listening to Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, and John Prine,
with me holding your hand, and you holding mine,
and not stopping ~ till we had safely crossed the fault line.
Here we are, finally at our loose ends,
with no more possibility for amends.
Our love's edges just got too frayed
for anyone to be able to come to our aide ~
no elf or fairy ~ who sews up, patches, or mends.
From Barcelona, she shipped me boots of Spanish leather,
with a note that said, "So you might get to understand Bob Dylan better."
And that's the last word
from her I ever heard,
and sadly, we never listened to Bob Dylan again together.
I made an appointment with me.
I was in need of some clarity.
I needed to know why it was
I felt like I was a lost cause.
And boy, did she act snottily.
The old tree on which I carved your name? ~
during last week's windstorm, down it came.
That staunch, indomitable oak,
that saw you prod and watched me poke,
is firewood now, ready for the flame.
Friendship
Id like to tell a tale all about me mates, The ones who restore my sanity. . . Removes all enemies from my gates.
The friends who remain with me, The ones who’s strength i steal, The ones who have my life trust, The ones who never squeal.
It’s not difficult, these words for me are clear, Your mates are the ones that pick you up or share there final beer.
Your pal is the one who supports you, In anything you do, There is no cost there’s no amount. . . Camaraderie never blue.
Laughter, Banter, Fun,. . . It will always spin you round, A mate pulls you from the ceiling, Sews your feet back to the ground.
Will tell you “How it is” Always call a spade a spade. . . Sometimes get you locked up. . . Sometimes get you paid.
Acceptance, Understanding, Trust. . . With your mate’s that's common place, Always got your back, Never a second face.
Will stand on your shoulder, Make you feel twice the man. . . Never a cant do attitude, Always yes. . . we can.
Love of family is automatic and very strong, But to love a would be stranger, the road is perilous and long. But as my years pass, As my reflection starts to wither, I've realized my friends. . . Love in abundance you deliver.
To imagine a life without them fills my soul with darkened dread, May as well try to stop a train. . . Or curdle poison in my bread.
As there the ones who have made me, The ones who make me strong. . . Each one has a life lesson, Each one has their song.
To all my “Brothers” and all their sisters too, If you have found yourselves reading this, then the words are meant for you.
Thank you to you all, Thank you for all the things you do,
But most of all my beloved friend. . . Thanks, just for being you.