Long Sunday Poems
Long Sunday Poems. Below are the most popular long Sunday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sunday poems by poem length and keyword.
We love these fields where golden sunbeams lie.
They're like a canvas, part of nature's art.
The whispering winds within those leaves do sigh.
Down here I feel the music in my heart.
And in that hall such music then unfolds
that symphony, its every pitch and tone;
concerto now with stuff my gay heart holds
as treasure - and I'm glad I'm not alone.
We're keen and jolly, sparkling, wild and gay.
You fill my heart with happiness, it swells
my very soul with gladness, yet I say
I'm getting something curious, and it smells.
I do so love you, know you love me too,
but oh I know you need a great big poo.
(written on 8 Feb 2026)
(this is not based on anyone in particular - and it was written accompanied by red wine on a Sunday)
Old fruit tree
By front porch;
July harvest
~~~~~~~~~
A dear friend visits
Chat over old times;
Feeling young again
~~~~~~~~~
Scary dream last night
Unhappy endings;
Morning aftershock
~~~~~~~~~
Jigsaw puzzle pieces
Mickey and company;
Difficult fit
~~~~~~~~~
Morning ritual
Early wake-up call;
Drowsy awakening
~~~~~~~~~
So much stuff
Too much nonsense;
Not much else
~~~~~~~~~
Temple visit
Prayers for the dead;
Ancestral tablets
~~~~~~~~~
Sunday church
Sermon on the Mount;
Lovely echoes
~~~~~~~~~
Morning papers
Another beheading;
Modern barbarism
~~~~~~~~~
Sadly we mourn
Your sudden passing;
Think upon old days
~~~~~~~~~
Familiar faces
From another life;
Nondescript
~~~~~~~~~
Troubling times
Conflicts and chaos;
Empires of the mind
~~~~~~~~~
Dying is easy
Living feels hard;
So much suffering
~~~~~~~~~
Close encounters
Death and taxes;
In-between distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Early songbird 20th floor
Sweet lullabies cooing;
Pleasant surprise
~~~~~~~~~
Joy in the morning
Savvy sunburst;
Light on my face
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
09 February 2015
Singapore
oh, my precious child!
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night
(stars whispering their ancient lullaby)
swallowing not, the western reach
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that the grateful star of morn
should adorn its burgeoning bosom
let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill
such certain and elegant inequity there be
should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed
a scandal be my name with thy mother
should those eyes dampen your Sunday best
and surely not for the sake of Luna's languor -
oh, such dire dalliance, that!
I adore thee, my wee lass
Boundless are the ways -
Echoed in your mother's smile
There, so deep your gaze
'tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting
dipping his dusty chin to the sea
but it was for Sol's regard only
(their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek)
and no misfortune was spun
we shall return, my child, sooner than soon
and you will bear witness their recurrence
your old man moon will beg company again
with his patient aspect beaming
shimmering bright for your veneration -
soft, soft, so daubs the moon
soft as bluebells blooming -
wan on skin to softly swoon
e'er a dream's consuming
yes, I vow this to you, my daughter -
you shall dance again on this shore
bound and prance, my tiny ballerina
you will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure
lit by the gangling glow, star-ward
and tonight's lament will seem a silly song
you shall see and be heartened, my little one
and should I yet kiss that weep away, too?
ah, but joyous, those tears...
and as the heavens themselves
(and the best born of a father's heart)
how immeasurable their number …
oh, my darling, precious child!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (4), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
Sunday dawns bright by Little Bay,
Rise from dream flights as sleepy stays.
Explore the space of rental spree,
Succinct fine pace Air BnB.
A homestay neat as tempo scales,
A lovely feat as trip avails.
Rain keeps things wet and off we go,
Car drives to set agenda flow.
Seek out the place: The Rock Sydney,
Old wharf, holds space: flea market spree.
Baby sleeps well in stroller ride,
Yes you can tell how outing strides.
Sit down to eat at the Pancakes:
Feast on fine feats with gourmet stakes.
Hungry mouths feast on lovely meals,
Dessert at least completes warm feel.
Then by and by, we walk around,
Savour fond highs upon these grounds.
Stop by coin stall to pick fine choice,
Souvenirs call to buy fond poise.
By artist stall: caricatures,
Stop to see all, such fine textures.
Stop to sit down by Munich brew house,
Beer sips, cheer clowns, with taste aroused.
Photo snapshots gain currency,
Laughter frames lot in funny spree.
And as we pass hot mull wine shouts,
Sip on warm glass as we stroll out.
Car ride home feels a carefree high,
A relaxed thrill flavours our sighs.
Old dwellings here tells a story,
Strange and odd cheer to feel and see.
Along the way sheer curious looks,
A pleasant play as flair now hooks.
Rest for a while till dusk descends,
Then seek to style what to attend.
Leon Enriquez
10 June 2018, Sunday
Sydney Tour Day Two/
(13 June 2018, ACT)
Will you sing for me?
Your soothing voice
Melts my heart away
It always does
It always did
Ever since that one Sunday
When I first got to hear it
I loved it from the start
And now that voice has made its way
Deep inside my heart
What I mean
When I say that
Is that it moves me so
It's gentle like a soothing rain
It's soft like falling snow
But sometimes it gets passionate
Intensity runs high
And there is where you're set apart
And that's the reason why
I always say there's no one else
Who does what you can do
It's hard to put it down in words
But how I know it's true
Is when I hear another voice
When another starts to sing
I may say, "Yeah, they're pretty good"
But don't feel anything
Not so with you, when you're up there
My pulse rate's racing high
And were it not for gravity
You'd see me in the sky
No dear, you're the only one
Who reaches that degree
And that is why I ask again
Will you sing for me?
Rising, a second ahead of stead, fine timing of executor
Horse gusto momentum, mortality a trot towards death
Tied up apple placated decades are dust obscured
Gallops a gamble heart squeeze mane clenched
Bridle left imprints jovial jockey rubs in virility
River pebble tossed prospect to become creek victor
Firm hooves with haphazard legs flail out of depth
Eyes which recognise primary desire, easily lured
Guile of reliance, combed gleamed pretense
Leads to forsaken stable of lollypop loyalty
Karat snap accusations on nonchalance don't register
Angry words inhaled in dawn fragile waking breath
Hat shade Sunday hums hymn worship conditional
Dictation praise from chapter of Shera Seven
Pampers offbeat imminent dog food frailty
Eleventh of May
Mercedes, Argument, Diamonds
Teaching is a noble profession
But, given less regard on golden opportunities
I saw their plight of sacrifices
One example, teacher in remote places
Where servicing education to less fortunate ones
I saw teachers start hiking on a Sunday morning
And arrive at the place at evening
They have to go to the ordeal of cliff hanging bridge
Flowing river and rocky rough road and too many stops in between
They are stay-in teacher for the whole week or even more
Only few teacher survive the ordeal
Many quit and gone abroad for greener pasture
Some change places and practice in private school
Those who survive the ordeal remain skeptical
But because they love their profession and the children
They remain true and love their profession by heart
I wonder what the government can do to alleviate the situation
I wonder where our taxes go, where the resources went
I wait God to intervene my government and raise good leaders
To address many social issues that concern people and its progress.
I can still remember my tiny hand in yours,
loving me so tender regardless of my flaws.
Holding me so tightly as lightning lit the skies,
singing to me nightly until i closed my eyes.
Wiping frustrated tears as often as i fell,
abating all my fears when i was not well.
I became a terror so you became my friend,
steered me from my error watched me till the end.
I became a man crafted by your heart,
giving all you can so my adult life could start.
I know it was a sunday the day you passed away,
because it was my birthday on that very day.
Even at the end you gave with all your heart,
my birthday we will spend together not apart.
Nothing ever dies your always with me mum,
in my daughters eyes and the father ive become.
Taking my old Town-Car out for a little spin,
never suffer through rush hour traffic again.
Now we have time to see all those places we’ve never been,
baby I can’t wait for retirement to begin.
Me and my baby going for a Sunday drive,
only doing thirty-four in a fifty-five.
Slurping a raspberry malt from the local ice cream dive,
I can hardly wait for retirement to arrive.
Hitting Walmart on a Tuesday morning at eight,
going to bed when I want and getting up late.
Taking my sweetie out for a four o’clock dinner date,
man oh man, retirement is going to be great.
Just sitting by the pool letting it all hang out,
white socks and sandals is what it is all about.
Drinking daiquiris and working on my movie star tan,
now that is what I call “A Good Retirement Plan”.
All lathered up with a quarter inch of Ben-Gay,
you can smell me coming from a half-mile away.
As long as I am home before the sky starts to turn gray,
that’s the way I’m gonna live my retirement day.
MY WAY
I see reflections of my life, how I arrived
at this stage of my telling life, the phase I thrive.
Was a curious child with too many questions
that I kept to myself from my keen attention
for inquiries from a child were not welcoming.
Was hard to conform to ways, so disenchanting.
I was a rebel without a cause inside me
for showing off good reputation was not me.
Like going to church every Sunday was for show
for following and applying scriptures were low.
Complain, compare and criticize were always said.
Whatever is true, praiseworthy were not impelled.
Verbal abuse were there too, mean words stabbing you,
affecting your belief, doubting their love for you.
The kind of environment they grew up, passed on
to next generation and could continue on.
I was a problem child for not caring about
others’ opinions of me, I could go without.
Being different was not easy; but being
myself, staying positive gave my life meaning.
7/28/21 An Interesting Couplet Poetry
Funom Makama
Meter Used: 12 syllables (How Many Syllables)
Used: RhymeZone