Long Sister Poems
Long Sister Poems. Below are the most popular long Sister by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sister poems by poem length and keyword.
The both, my Parents, mom, too, are dead now,
And what a thing that is to have to know.
I really can’t get up and have a cow,
But smiles, sometimes, seem they are all for show.
And now, to other twists of laughing fate!
My mother died, but two weeks from my wife.
My father died, nine days before my birthday.
I seem to have a gift for calling strife!
My sister lost her mom a week before
Her birthday, and she says dad said goodbye
Around that time – hard Luck nailed shut the door
In August and September, thus, we’ll cry!
O, what a comedy of hurts is this!
No wrinkled, or rough-whiskered cheek to kiss!
Suicidal Ideation March 30th, 2022 linkedin...
to mein kampf insync with mine body dysmorphia
After reading articles
published within April 4/11 2022
of The Nation
I challenged the efficacy
taking prescription medication
categorized as SSRIs
and/or SNRIs.
Unpleasant side effects
such as earth shaking dreams
and/or especially hefty weight gain
linkedin with former
comprising my daily cocktail
of approved prescription medication
courtesy nurse practitioner.
Deliberation about courting death rooted
throughout mine psyche
fueling sinister chortle
at least since bout with anorexia nervosa,
but... maybe ginned blood,
sans umbilical cord transfused in utero aortal,
though long since recovered, the intractable,
haunting specter, sans grim reaper
intertwining within every fiber of this mortal
rooted, grounded deep, and branched out
into each nook and cranny portal.
Said notion provoked,
when made painfully aware
youngest daughter (aged twenty three)
plagued with similar thoughts,
damn genetics did maliciously engineer
clutching telephone while
seated at edge of chair
did apologetically, despairingly,
grievously... did air
pestilential, penitential, plenipotential... scare
re: distraction and understandable fear,
she might unwittingly plunge
into hopeless abysmal despair
falling prey into irrevocable
deathly hallows lair,
though kudos for her
from me, this sole Harris heir
to communicate, (albeit
hesitantly) into mine ear
suddenly wishing thy
Shayna Punim to be near,
but residing (about three hour drive
southeast of Portland, Oregon)
with my kid sister, attentive to welfare,
a sibling whose persona
doth show tender loving care
and concern, this papa
felt reassured there
would be every action taken
with sixth sense to beware
lest progeny exhibits
pointedly obvious lurching career
dramatic slide in tandem
with Old Rotten Gotham
into behavioral sink
emergency measures sibling
immediately would commandeer,
hence somewhat relieved thee dear
beloved progeny receptive to hear,
this dada expressed his unconditional love,
and grateful psychological intervention
offspring boldly did declare
indicative professional help volunteer
really asserted necessary to stave off
how dice throw of fate unfair
to said lass, whose demise,
would abruptly kill this sonneteer!
We used to be able to speak of children, gardens, quilts, our mutual relatives.
Now my sister has her identity all wrapped up in a political commentary.
She is totally immersed in the side of the Anti-Christ, brain-washed.
Which I could abide, if she did not persist upon trying to convert me.
I will never go to the dark side; I don’t even like the other candidate.
I recognize evil when I feel it. This political stuff has strained us.
Our relationship may never be the same; I feel it is the Civil War now.
Brother against brother, sister against sister. I try to speak of quilting.
Quilting is her “thing”. My things are poetry, cartooning and painting.
I desperately speak of these creative areas, but she reverts to politics.
Every conversation an attempt to persuade me, convert me to her way.
This is something I do not understand; it is a strain to be civil now.
?? "Bestie Became Enemy"
Bestie became enemy, sharp like a knife,
I never thought you'd cut me out of your life.
I gave you my secrets, my soul, my trust,
Now all that's left is broken dust.
You knew my pain, you held my hand,
I thought you'd always understand.
But jealousy grew where love should stay,
And now your kindness fades away.
You smiled while you watched me fall,
Laughed behind every fake call.
The bond we had has lost its shine,
Your heart was dark, while I gave mine.
Now you smile with my worst enemy,
You cherish my pain, not what once set me free.
You've become a thorn, deep in my flesh,
Your presence no longer feels warm or fresh.
But I’ve learned the truth, I’ve seen the signs,
Not all sweet souls walk straight lines.
You were my sister, now you’re my test,
I let you go — and wish you the best.
My identical twin sister is on drugs for pain
Because she has a broken C-2, which is a broken neck.
Watching her on drugs is like seeing myself on drugs.
She is talking sixty thousand miles a minute.
Telling every secret her husband asked her to not tell.
Making friends with people on the street in droves.
Letting everyone know that she loves them.
She drags the homeless to her house.
Blathering all the way
Amusing them with her “me me” stories
Her drug dance is familiar to me.
I have been there.
We respond the same way to pain pills.
I am way ahead of her though.
I have more homeless living with me than she does.
Let's entertain no doubt. This book was ,
but birthdays come around, and must be feted.
Five brothers and one sister celebrated
each other's anniversaries. Close-knit
would hardly do us justice. When you fit
into the world around you, predicated
on shared assumptions, fine. I knew we grated
on all our neighbours, weren't identikit
buffoons. That drew us closer, you'll allow.
Each birthday, one same present overlapped.
We each got "Field and Hedgerow" (kids adapt
when they've got nothing). But I vow
I'd love to give that present, poorly-wrapped
in flimsy Woolworth paper, to them now.
Peace is not just the absence of war
Peace is the noblest goal to work for
Peace between mother and father, sister and brother
Peace between friends and strangers, and all the others
***********
Consider Aaron, the High Priest of Old
Who brought enemies together, so bold
To love peace, to pursue it, was Aaron's creed
Love of his fellow man, his greatest deed
He was Moses' older brother, yet humble, down-to-earth
His burning quest for peace the measure of his worth
*************
Peace needs step aside for Truth, some say
I say, True Peace ~ for Truth lights the way
Gathered with sister, my mother and kleenex,
Oblivious to our red noses, facial poses and tears,
Nudging each other with movie memory reflex -
Each of us embrace characters long held as dear.
We submit joyously to this continuous, intense escape
Inside the lives of scandalous Scarlett and romantic Rhett.
Trials and tribulations of civil war, deceit and love shape
Heaven and hell into a dramatic, unforgettable duet.
Torn, we watch as hunger, fear and surrounding violent war,
Harms character’s hearts and more discouragements pour.
Enemy destruction devastates Southern life and lore.
While wishing true love’s fulfillment for Rhett’s desirous heart,
Inevitably his sexy charm will wham our hearts like a wild lamb.
No one should dare interrupt our favorite, dramatic film art, or
Disturb Rhett’s last line, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Thousands of baby turtles
followed each other into the sea that day
Where a large turtle-eating dragon
hid three feet under the surface, waiting.
She gulped them down in droves,
enjoying their taste. For it was everything!
Sensitive Turtle had a bad feeling about following,
So she strayed north, refusing to go into the sea.
Her sister got snotty with her, demanding to know
“what was wrong with her”.
“I have a bad feeling,” she said.
Her sister snorted, and picked up her step.
But other psychic turtles who also felt something
was amiss suddenly began following Sensitive Turtle north.
There were a hundred and sixty-seven turtles who followed
Sensitive Turtle that day, they were the survivors, and found
A new sea, one without a large turtle-eating dragon.
“But what if they had found a cliff instead and had fallen off the edge?”
My grandchild asked me.
“Ah,” I told her, if you follow your heart,
If you heed the messages your soul gives you,
You would never fall off the edge,”
I told her. “You would sprout wings and fly.”
She was the sparkle at the heart of it
The love we all shared
I don’t remember a day that passed by,
without her friendly smile or wink of her eye.
We lost Hildie in the spring of last year
And now we find, we are losing the very thing she held so dear
Our beloved IND, The Institue of Norte Dame
Our Grand Lady the Oldest Girls Prep school in the Country is closing its doors one last time at the end of this term.
She has stood vigilant for 173 years, and educated us all.
A testament to our City, our State and our Great Nation.
As the bombs of the Civil War fell in the background and reverberated through her halls, her classes went on for the students whom she loved so well.
IND Graduates include Nancy Pelosi, the First Woman Speaker of the House AND Current Speaker of the House.
The Former Senator, Barbara Mikulski from the State of Maryland,
My Mothers cousin Adele Wilzack former Secretary of Health for the State of Maryland .
From the very first day, Hildie was there at the door
With a friendly hello and a smile that was warm.
If you needed new pencils or something more
Sister Hildie was there, she ran the bookstore.
She watched as we grew a silent witness to all that we learned
Our Pin days, Ring Days, Proms, Plays and the like
Graduation with long stemmed red roses and we were all dressed in white.
She was our official cheer squad at basketball games, Hildie was there
She knew EVERYONES NAMES
She even sold pretzels during our lunch breaks.
If you came early or stayed a bit late and needed some help
Hildie was there and didn’t hesitate.
To our friend and confidant,
I pray for her and for US ALL.
Our loss is profound.
It’s difficult to think,
She won’t be around.
I pray for our Students, Alumni, Teachers, Parents, Families and Friends
Of our Grand Lady, IND
Hildie loved us all so very much.
Kimberly Sikorski
Class of 1983
And this bit added to be part of the contest ....
Dorothea,
Dorothea may mean “ Gift from God,“
But Heaven broke the mold when they created Sister Hildie
Written May 17, 2020
For Poem about a Nun