Long Sons Poems
Long Sons Poems. Below are the most popular long Sons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sons poems by poem length and keyword.
In unison they shook their heads and wiped their teary eyes.
None could quite believe the scene and gasped in their surprise.
The gunman broke into the school, releasing all his rage.
The victims of the horrid crime were 5 and 6 in age.
The bodies of the innocent lay silent on the floor.
The blood was splattered all around the windows, desks and floor.
The questions started coming from the people everywhere.
They wanted to have answers as they bowed their heads in prayer.
The answer was quite simple and so many did agree.
The gunman’s easy access to the weapons caused the spree.
The rifle that he had obtained was fit to use in war.
Bullets sprayed in seconds that were made to cause such gore.
Many argue that the answer is to have more guns.
And that is how we can protect our daughters and our sons.
Arm each single person so that they can shoot it out.
The advocates of guns say that is what it’s all about.
But many others do object to more guns in more hands.
For our society must curb the violence in our lands.
Easy access to more guns just feeds the burning flame.
That some have hidden deep inside to kill and hurt and maim.
Written in memory of the innocent victims in Sandy Hook.
Just imagine if you could time travel,
What sort of mysteries could you unravel?
I would stop every minute of the day,
Pull down the bosses trousers for all the deductions in my pay.
I would go back in time when I was young,
And kick the bugger’s **** for all the times he failed instead of won.
I’ll take a stack of photos all of me,
And scatter through each era in history.
I’d place crab claws in all the fossils they consider a human missing link,
And in each crab claw a Budweiser drink, what do you think?
But most of all I would love to see God creating the heavens and the Earth,
To camcorder the events of their birth.
I’d tell Adam “Don’t listen to that woman, don’t eat the fruit.”
For her daughter’s will nag your sons and spend their loot.
And how they boast that birth pains are like no other,
That his sons are blind to the fact they turn out to be just like their mother.
Did I tell you I can time travel but it’s a pain?
And did I tell you how frightened I am of flying in a plane?
All I get out of it is feeling tired which is a drag,
So good night all, this time traveller is going to sleep off the jetlag.
© 2000
On day one, how sunny was the sunlight?
Did prodigious brightness, blast…
the sun delight, its birth?
The first time in the sky was nightlight blue?
The moonlight, was it waxing -
Was it festive blue at birth?
Fruit chewed from sin’s tree by Eve and Adam
Did clouds shadow sun and moon
the first time sin was chewed?
Day and night switched places, bleak was the cross.
The moon bled red…the son died.
With men, Jesus switched places.
On the third day, hallelujah sunrise
Jesus walked out of the grave.
Salvation light, the third day.
A multitude of stars, Abraham saw
when God pointed out his sons —
one star, one famed night sky
10/7/6 per kimo verse
with chiastic structure
(Hopefully I have done it justice)
“When I passed by you again and looked upon you,
indeed your time was the time of love; so I spread My wing over you and covered your nakedness. Yes, I swore an oath to you and entered into a covenant with you, and you became Mine,”
“As I looked, thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took his seat. His clothing was as white as snow; the hair of his head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and
its wheels were all ablaze.”
“He will renew your life and sustain you in your old age. For your daughter-in-law, who loves you and who is better to you than seven sons, has given him birth.”
“For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes.”
“For this is what the high and exalted One says—he who lives forever, whose name is holy: ‘I live in a high and holy place, but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.’”
Prayer
I worship You as My God because of Your almighty power. I magnify You as my Lord because of all You’ve done for me. I follow You as my Master because of Your wisdom and miracles. But I know You intimately because You are my Father.
My heavenly Father, hallowed be Your name in my thoughts, actions and service. Father, I love Your name. It cheers me when I am down. It gives me strength to serve when I am weak.
It guards me against evil when I’m tempted. Because I know You by Your name, I come calling You Father. Amen.
The Vietnam War was on the news when I was in high school
The ones who got sent over to be fodder were from poor counties
Sons of congressmen and senators were not drafted
But other men were readily plucked up and sent over
To morbidly hot jungles full of mosquitos and the enemy
More got blown up or killed than came home intact
If they went over as an officer, they were killed by their own men
Usually in eight minutes
Why? Because if there is no officer to lead, you do not have to fight
Many of these young men were not fighters, they did not want to be soldiers
They had been involuntarily drafted, with little training
If they lasted one year, they could return. Most did not make it.
In the fifties, sixties and seventies eighteen-year-olds left home.
They did not come back either. They were “grown”.
They either went to college, the service, trade school or to war.
Some went into matrimony at eighteen.
Today’s eighteen-year-olds stick around longer.
They like the conveniences at their parents’ home.
They like internet; it is expensive.
They like having a phone, also expensive.
They do not care about being independent.
They like being kept.
I know a woman who said “I will never have grandchildren.”
I said “You don’t know that.”
She has two sons. They are forty-four and forty-six,
Still living at home. Neither ever left.
They sleep all day and play video games at night.
She does their laundry, provides their meals, and pays their bills.
She is too busy to have grandchildren anyway.
What is Family?
The Faces you've known since birth...
With all their childhood memories of laughter and joy.
What is Family?
The Myriad of Relationships you've grown to know...
With all the pleasures and sorrows inherent in them.
What is Family?
The Fathers and Mothers, Sisters and Brothers...
With all their attention and care devoted to you.
What is Family?
The Husbands and Wives, Sons and Daughters...
With their willingness to join our exclusive club.
What is Family?
The Uncles and Aunts, Nephews and Nieces...
With the extension of love that makes them part of your life.
What is Family?
The so many Cousins, Second, Third, and so on...
With whom we share the stories and tales today and memories past.
What is Family?
They are All of These and more...
With them we share our secret and unspoken love.
What is Family?
Mine are God's special gift to me...
With Him some now rest; to them and all not yet there I say,
"I LOVE YOU", and "THANK YOU" for being my Family.
October breaks my heart
When it ends, begins
And the days in between
It never lives up to my expectations
I am often disappointed in the weather
And other various things
It is anxiously waiting for the days to draw colder and the Earth to paint her face only to be met with countless days of continuing heat and an ever drying landscape
October is the month of my departed sons birth and the month of my mother's last breath
Its remembering the last time I saw the sun on his skin as he walked out of the doors of the school for the last time, the first time I experienced the death of a friend
October breaks my heart
Into a million pieces
Yet I'm always sad to see it go
When I take my final breath,
And close my eyes, embraced by death
I'll have but one uncertainty:
What will become of my poetry?
All the words I've set to rhyme,
Will they last 'till the end of time?
Or will they swiftly fade away,
Forgotten in the everyday?
My poems yield no treasured wealth,
They prosper no one but myself,
And to encourage those whose soul is weak,
To lift them from their troubles bleak.
My husband does not read them now,
To keep them he has made no vow,
If I had a daughter maybe she,
Would keep them as a memory.
My sons would not be so inclined,
Though they wouldn't want to be unkind.
Perhaps they'd put them in a book,
So future generations could take a look.
Will they end up in the trash?
Or on the burn pile turned to ash?
Or hidden where no one will find?
Out of sight and out of mind?
I'd hate to think it was for nought,
That I agonized and fought,
To find the perfect word or rhyme -
To have wasted so much time ...
When I take my final breath,
And close my eyes embraced by death,
Perhaps my poems will rise with me,
To be enjoyed for all eternity.
3/29/21
They rode to matches in an old school bus.
The rookies at the front, old players in back,
the coach, by the driver, "she's one of us!".
Wore team colors out, came home wearing black.
An ice hockey team, the pride of Humbolt,
met a 40 ton semi that just didn't break.
Sixteen young players' futures bought to a halt
by a worn out driver, barely awake.
Six thousand people in that prairie town,
a whole nation cried for their sons that night,
but not enough tears the sorrow to drown,
of a mother sobbing, eyes wet, throat tight.
Think on your kids, playing sport, feeling fine,
then think on the loss at lonely stop sign.