Long Stitch Poems
Long Stitch Poems. Below are the most popular long Stitch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stitch poems by poem length and keyword.
Run across the fair fields, as fast as you can run, the fields your grandmother ran as a young girl,
Over long lush dark green grasses, whipping your knees, soft spongy turf springs each new step,
To stop where fast flowing streams rush and dance to the wind, a sweat breaking out on your face,
All out of breath kneeling by the bank of a brook, a stitch in your side, corn waves like a gentle sea.
By the brook with childhood friends enjoying sweet company watching spring as her beauty unfolds,
To walk across wet water mead’s, seeing glades in their finest clothes, to a meadow, in full flower,
Rolling in grass making camps sitting legs crossed as warm summer breezes temper-sweating brows,
Making sure you sit next to the one you care for most, nothing will be as good as this day ever again.
Playing in the meadows where your grandmother played, picking daisies, making very long chains,
Holding buttercups up to chins to see if they shine, then laughing, shouting out loud when they do.
Playing kiss chase, slightly slowing down, when the one you want to be kissed by is chasing you,
Under old pear blossom trees, flushed rosy red cheeks sitting next the one who is your first love.
Laying in high grass chin in cupped hands, it is so special this lovely day will be yours for all time,
Just staring at friends, full of innocence and so happy, this romantic time can never be repeated,
Unplanned moments where beautiful things just happen it’s your youth just enjoy the here and now,
Where everything is brighter has more colour, smells from the meadows become a memory for life.
Laying on your back staring at turquoise watery skies, listening to the silence, a perfect sunny day,
Heaths meeting small woods surrounded by greenest carpets only seen by a child’s pure innocence,
Give your heart and soul to this day enjoy natures gifts, your end of days will recall these moments,
Falling asleep in the December of your life, this last dream your friends will be there waiting for you.
So gather these thoughts, tie them up in a bow, put them safely in a corner of yesterday’s thoughts,
And walk again with your dear young friends in those happy times golden hair fluttering in the breeze,
Back to days of cotton dresses and turned-up jeans with baggy shirts, nobody noticed or even cared,
Hold your sweethearts hand once again and run across the fair fields where your grandmother ran.
Tale of two angels
who lived in a poor neighborhood
who thought nothing would work
but God knew it would.
Everyday they woke up to nothing
no food, no water, no new clothes
but no one knew
but only God knows.
Their mother prayed everynight
to the Lord on the thrown,
wishing all her tears and troubles
would one day be gone.
She did the best she could
all that she could
to raise her beautiful daughters
on her own and everyday this is what she told them.
"I gave you wings to fly
and a mouth to confess and never tell a lie.
I gave you lungs and air to breathe
I gave you a shoulder to lean on
when you couldn't beat the speed."
One Christmas Eve,
the girls were bored
so their friends invited them to a church.
Instead of having nothing to do,
in the church they did discover who...
they discovered a youth meeting being held
in the back of the church.
They walked into the room
just as steady as they pleased,
they sat down on their knees
and listened to what their was left to say,
which made them quite pleased.
They went home after the sermon,
went to their room, got on their knees
and began to cry, they sat on the floor
in her time of weakness and dispare
to think and wonder how much their mother really cared.
Shouting out to the Lord, they did scream
their love for God had grown
every stitch and seam.
"Lord she has done so much
to provide for us
now can you hold her hand and stand beside us.
Christmas is not about presents, it's about
celebrating your birthday, your name
its not about growing up in fortune and fame.
Lord you are God
and we know you will provide
but I pray this pray
to the heavenly father that sits on his thrown
in the sky." They prayed this prayer over and over again
until there was nothing left to hear
except for the sound of the wind.
The next morning they woke up to find
a tree full of presents,
a table with breakfast already made,
and a dinner being prepared as if for a hundred slaves.
The family rejoiced
because God would always make a way
when things were going wrong
a way was made out of no way.
He started with little and everything multiplied
they rejoiced so much
their praises did reach the sky.
It started to rain
"Don't worry child, Jesus is crying
and rejoicing to because we are so blessed
to have two little angels like you."
Form:
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
To be a polylepis tree you gotta know
You're a polylepis tree & this knowing
Cements by being a polylepis tree,
Knowing between diagrammatic cracks
Fork'd already info knowing during descent.
Mud run through alpine meadow. Rubberized
Crunch on ruddy paths, rucksacks looped,
Deltoids, silly sound serious bulge spine
Ached before leaning away to swallow,
Sepia bark holding his musculature;
Paparazzi march out crimped edges
Of fungi, sussed then left together.
Glottal ribbing. Skeumorph thread
Discs, spades, b-side timpani under eaves.
Copper sheaves, wine burning in cups
Thickening until dark brown oozes
At a lesser velocity, blown eardrum,
Given the climaxes of greater viscosity—
Green epiphytic ferns stitch airy
Misconceptions (soil, root), the drawing in,
& expulsion, the search for a golden
Arboreal rat. A tunnel-maker
Said to be densely populated in woods
Near-gone to potato farms, cattle,
The absent lecture, then, on survival plastic
Spool of thread glued to the back
Drawn in a thin white line, followed
For ur-experiment, hundreds of feet
Climb up the lateral limb, down, dug under
Grass, tunneled, then over miniature crick,
Through nodule floor-sponge, a wetland,
A watershed for a whole valley, to grass
Again, below, finding elaborate nests but
The rat escaped, the sinewy string left.
A choreography misses it, an instinct
Closest but dull, so a blind sight in high
Sun, a canopy growing at itself not up,
Sift, shrift, the want to lay down before
Night freezes the water inside the air.
A return at night to the espeletia, giants
Sunflowers shocked by moon, switch-backs,
Doing Zs, squared, cubed to the tenth clouds
Departing, something horribly there not
Constellation no not a galaxy those are
Not things let them not be where’s the
Name laying in the grass, alpine creekline
Eschatological curvature, mutter, murmur,
A yellowing light flung, the cold how they
Open little air, the screaming sleeve, there!
Of not-this this, in it, out it, here & away,
Something recalled, what a string, rat,
What ways you move, only that body,
No containers for the humans so the sea
Could get that travel-manic blue, sworn
To make another moon of it, another go,
Unfixable, in need of fixing, air adjust,
An alkalinity expectant, a Sulphur rain,
Chattering cargo setting fire to night.
---------------------------------------------------------
------ this is meant with a degree of humor -----
------ but I know, joy is in the ears that hear -----
---------------------------------------------------------
To quote as truth a source for which
You otherwise show great disdain
Is humorous at best, a stitch
That some might say was not quite sane.
And if you cherish this sweet book,
But have not read it much of late,
It’s time you took another look,
And gave some other verses weight.
If Genesis is normative
For when it is all life begins
Then we should take a closer look
At other verses close therein.
For “breath of life” can only be
Applied to one by “Adam” called;
That you’d apply this verse to Eve?
Oh, exegete! Do be appalled!
In fifteen verses, very clear,
We see God do a nice ad lib,
Puts Adam in a heavy sleep
And liberates Eve from his rib!
Now something here just can’t be right;
No, something here just doesn’t jive.
God’s “breath of life” did not her grace;
The woman cannot be alive!
To call these verses normative
Is simply ludicrous, of course.
The “breath of life” God gave the dust?
Not air, but animating force.
And in this telling of our firsts
neither of them come from a womb,
So literal or figurative,
we need to give these verses room.
A babe will breath when it is born
On schedule or ahead of time.
You know that’s not the entry point:
As silly as a talking mime.
Way back in John, when Christ appears
upon arising, after death,
Gives the disciples Spirit then,
Conferring it with sacred breath.
Were they then dead before he breathed?
In some sense, yes, perhaps contrived
Christ’s Spirit thus has come to stay;
Spiritually, they are alive.
You don’t belive that labor does
Somehow propel those clumps of cells
By magic through the birth canal
And then form babes when they’re expelled?
Of course not, or there’d be a glitch
In logic with regard to sections.
But nobody believes all that;
it's just a case of misdirection.
We read a babe lept in the womb;
In Psalms, He forms our inward parts.
Christ, too, alive, ere left the tomb,
And now, he’s giving life to hearts.
Let’s study then, the scriptures well;
Bereans be: look for yourself.
Review in depth when life begins,
Not leave His counsel on the shelf?
“Phoenix Dreams in the Realm of Crows”
wake up
shake up
kaleidoscope girl
jigsaw
see saw
fit the pieces
she
another world
away
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
curious kaleidoscope
stories to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
time’s racing
discharge fear
or remain
feathers spreading
in the realm
of crows
poetic
messengers
casting their spells
for opening
tombs turning
dead leaves to tomes
in the crowded hideaway
where shorthand, fixed tight to masts,
swings suspended for transcribing
dark nights,
where soft and fierce
treasure dwells
feathers spreading
cunning cuneiform for ghosts
who speak in tongues
transformative
strange letters
unfurling
spreading
deep indigo and
jesserant jet feathers
swords and keys
for plundering
and opening
impromptu places
mysterious better nests
for hidden golden eggs
broken yoked,
freed
spilling silver spoons,
curl love drunk
into warm skinned
velvet embryos
hugging new bodies
of work, slick palaces
for bedding
better never-endings
never ending,
electric muses
flocked
and kissing
sated singing
dreams
in the realm
of crows
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
bejewelled St Elmo
phoenix fire stories lit, to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
astral charting
glossy winged stars
albatross angels
waxing lyrical
follies and flights
ignited, illuminating
phoenix dreams
in the realm
of crows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Hideaway”/ Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/2dcbcic06vw
"Let It Happen" / Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/NMRhx71bGo4
"Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control"/Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/C1VelTQ3hdY
Crow Symbolism
https://www.onthefeeder.com/crow-symbolism/
LYRICS/ “Hideaway”, Queens of the Stone Age
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/hideaway.html
LYRICS/"Let It Happen", Tame Impala
https://genius.com/Tame-impala-let-it-happen-lyrics
Dark space
Cold
&
inexorable
soul
adrift
heart
stopped
plopped
shocked
gawked
I see you
in
majestic
&
forlorn
debarred
Not alive
Not dead
depressive
state
bereft
of
cocoon
&
callousness
drunk
on
cashmere
kisses
on
brink
of
wonder
as
flying
soaring
beyond
tipsy
skyline
glimmering
where
love
left me
breathless
soaked
inebriated
with
aroma
of
flowers
snagged
in
tangent
thought
needle
thread
tales
of
antique
mauve
lodge
in
every
stitch
and
soldered
spirit
wanting
to
learn
about
peace & love
a
touching
scale
to
climb
hanging
upside down
from
clouds
in
a
starry
sky
1st place contest winner
Written: March 1st, 2023
Your Pick Again Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
The windows are closing in, and gaps are getting thin, mankind has paid the sacrifice for useless pollution on the surface of the earth and their lungs are filled with dirt.
I look above the benevolent sky and search for the big lie, Fossil Fuels supply eighty four percent of the world’s energy and you want to phase it out in a hurry, what alternative do you have to supply the world with clean energy?
The scientists don’t know this and the chemist cannot prove it but the physicist can narrate it. Their work is outside but the formula is embedded inside and the philosopher is their guide.
Hydrocarbon is lining the throne and natural gas is homeward bound. The coal is floating around in abundance and the oil is shooting through the pipes what the row is about is to bring it to net zero or phase it out?
They come from all over the globe to listen to the multitude shout and have joined the climate change choir and expressing their innate desire. The band is in place and the musicians are on the stage, they have composed the fossil fuel hymn and everybody began to sing.
But the rhythm and the harmony are not right and there is a silent internal fight, the heavens are standing tall and the mountains are rubbing against the wall.
The chief is singing the base and Opec giant has entered the debate and blocked the fossil fuel phasing out scheme and have shattered the green minded countries dream.
What alternatives do you have when the world demand for fossil fuels doubles every twenty years? Why are you in such a hurry when there is no other voice to join the choir.
Climate Change is real and you have got to have continuous negotiation to generate a practical solution to appease your fossil fuel ambition. You must knock off some of the theory and stitch the entire loose edges together.
Carbon emission reduction is on the agenda too, it is causing controversy for me and you and if you put fossil fuel and carbon emission all together the internal combustion will move the engine around the world.
Tomorrow when you meet and start to greet you must come up with a solid plan to moderate carbon emission and fossil fuel demand on the land without causing power outage and fuel shortage around the globe. The row will continue until you figure how to sort it out.
June nineteenth one hundred and fifty years ago
Juneteenth hint: three hundred
and sixty six days
after eighteen sixty four.
Major General Gordon Granger
led the Union Soldiers to Galveston, Texas,
to announce the end of the Civil war
and the freedom of all enslaved people.
Jim Crow sat perched
over the event horizon
waiting in the wings,
which brought darkened
(non-sheltering) skies
not only for the hot pocket
of suddenly emancipated
persons of color,
who would subsequently experience
immense prejudice
upon their embarkation
as (no pun intended)
"masters" of their own selves
while attempting to eke out a living
dirt poor, yet resourceful
hunkering down on plantations,
which property eminent domain
of federal government,
(a political entity
characterized by union
of partially self-governing provinces,
states, or other regions),
whereby said body electric
codified, fortified, and indemnified
manifest destiny, a phrase
coined in 1845, the idea
that United States destined—
by God advocates believed—
to expand its dominion
and spread democracy and capitalism
across the entire North American continent.
Though institution of slavery
supposedly rendered null and void
at the stroke of a pen
(courtesy Abraham Lincoln)
well actual legislation
passed by Congress on January 31, 1865,
and ratified on December 6, 1865,
the 13th Amendment abolished slavery
in the United States.
Nevertheless merciless abuse
heaped upon the *****
despite their legal status
being Granted leeway
to persevere life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness.
Recognition as equal brethren
among collective soul of American
fraught with bitter aversion,
condemnation, and ejaculation
of physical and verbal violence
against people of color,
whose melanin enriched complexion
birthrights rendered hidebound
severely limited
inalienable rights as declared
in Declaration of Independence,
now still utter abhorrence
regarding treatment
of those proud enterprising people,
whose once storied
African past left in tatters
leaving sparse threads
woven together by diligent dogged research
nsync with twenty first century technology
to allow, enable and provide opportunity
to stitch together a more complete tapestry
and spiritual fusion with shackled ancestors.
In the twilight of thought, where shadows of reason linger,
I find myself floating in an ocean of consciousness,
A man, a whisper against the turbulent waves of culture,
Each wave a metaphor, each ripple a memory of forgotten understandings.
Culture, they say, is a tapestry woven from the threads of individuals,
Each unique response to nature, a stitch in the grand design,
Yet, here we stand, eight billion souls, each desperate for a spotlight,
A grotesque dance of egos, hungry for the nectar of recognition,
Endlessly fighting to be seen, to be heard, in some extraordinary way,
Separate from the collective, yet somehow deeper.
But isn't culture the echo of individual voices harmonized by time?
A symphony born from the whispers of countless souls,
Each note a response to the world, a reflection of place and spirit,
And yet, now, the melody is fractured, a cacophony of dissonance,
As we abandon the chorus for the solo, the community for the individual.
In this melancholic reverie, I see the grotesque unfolding,
A society sickened by its own desire for distinction,
Where the celebration of culture is overshadowed by the pursuit of uniqueness,
Where the importance of the collective is denigrated to the point of despair.
Oh, how we need to find our way back to the dance of unity,
To celebrate the culture that shapes us, the heritage that defines us,
For in the embrace of the collective, we find our true self,
Not in the futile quest to be different, but in the harmonious blend of many.
There is no health in being well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society,
A society that has forgotten the beauty of its own tapestry,
Lost in the obsession with the individual thread,
And yet, in this flow of consciousness, I see a path,
A way to weave ourselves back into the fabric of humanity,
To stray from the norm, to challenge the grotesque,
And thus, to find a leap towards a brighter, more united future.
In this twilight of thought, let us find the dawn,
Where the shadows of reason yield to the light of unity,
And the ocean of consciousness becomes a river of collective spirit,
Flowing towards a horizon of hope, where culture and individual
Are not in conflict, but beautifully intertwined,
A testament to the magic of our shared existence.