Long Take leave Poems
Long Take leave Poems. Below are the most popular long Take leave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Take leave poems by poem length and keyword.
Sitting in church on a warm Sunday morn
we were thinking of food as the service drug on
Instead of the sermon, we could hear tummies rumble
in spite of my Grandpa, who grumbled and yawned
Pews hard, and uncomfortable, and fannies would squirm
waiting to hear the preacher's last word
A prayer and a song, and the very last one
at last it was time we could finally walk home
.....
Once out in the sunlight, and on to the house
In a state of starvation, and patience long gone
Our lips in a quiver our salvation would be
to sit at a table filled with Grandma's reprieve!
Gram had been up quite early, since the first crack of dawn,
Mashing potatoes, and a bird, golden brown,
With gravy and dumplings, and tomatoes still warm
straight from her garden, with vinegar, poured
and pies from her baking during yesterday's chores
She would pray to the Lord, reverently asking for peace
Also "Please, Oh My Lord, when they flock here like geese
Hungry and squawking , and honking to eat
may they be always grateful for blessings we keep
and praise all my cooking as they take leave"
Smiles, and full bellies...It's what Sunday was for
Grandpa held hands, bowed his head, then to pray
and was always quite grateful for his blessings that day
But he also would add, to the blessings that day
"Oh Lord", help that preacher have a bit less to say!"
Gypsum drags in the inwards
Welcoming solace in embrace
My mouth parched
Still searching
For the warm dew
Of gentle thighs
Empirical knowledge
Heralds the familiar refrain
Engulfment echoes
in what follows
Failing intently the pressing
Of conviction
Thoughts bare fruit here
Heavy from ponder
Never falling to be heard
Where senses take leave
To hoard in greed
Sabbaticals of feral kisses
We will dine tonight
On ourselves
Me, Myself and I
Stuffing further what's left
Into this comfy cocoon where
Time consumes our lingering
Transforming purpose
Yet, not transformed
Leaving the solvency
Of existence to hold breath
My chrysalis weaves itself
From dreams caught adrift
Binding barren pages
Yearning for their author
A Soul bereft of form
Metamorphosis in progress
Waiting.....
An eternity and still.....
Bound tightly to await
For Serendipity to unfurl
Her gifted Genesis
To touch my Soul
(English Sonnet)
Somber as death doth pace about her room
The sadness cloaks with black the loud silence
Gone souls she’s loved wait there at her cold tomb
The orb of death prepares silent cadence
My heart weighted with words that go unsaid
Whisper a hushed farewell, my last goodbye
The sentinel, I wait, beside her bed
For death to come and thus release my cry
From there her eye one tear I see the sheen
As each wave of her chest I wait the last
Her breaths come now so deep and long between
With one last breath the stillness she has passed
I see her soul take leave in that minute
The tears come now as death takes her with it.
Written for “DEATH” Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
October 24, 2017
When twilight comes,
be morn or eve,
a time when cares
and fears take leave,
when the sun arises,
when the sun does set,
when the trials of the world
have not come yet,
nor will they you beset,
when ferns and flowers
are tender with dew,
when dreams
that you've dreamt
become alive and new,
when the stir of a breeze
and a rustle in the trees
become as music
to the soul
and the landscape all about
is as a heroic Grecian frieze,
when Time knows no time,
when sorrow has no pain,
when grief is lost forever,
when joy is free to reign
when the heart
is filled beyond measure
when Love abounds 'til never
then will you see and feel
things more precious
than all the world's
golden store of treasure.
To be in love with a poet
Is not an easy thing
Try as you might, you will never
Live up to his dream
For the poet isn’t content
With love’s status quo
You please and you tease him
But it’s not enough you know
For living there in his mind
Is a picture of the divine
You know that he longs for her
For it's shown in every line
The woman of perfection
Who is not of this world
With raven tresses of hair
A passion flower unfurled
The poet “sees” this woman
And his senses just take leave
For her love is deep, intense
Her body rivals that of Eve
She is tender and she’s giving
Never asking in return
She waits for him night and day
And for his love she burns
She nurtures his desire
Fulfills his every whim
For she is his possession
Remains faithful just to him
She sees in him embodied
Every single manly trait
Each and every need of his
She’s sure to satiate
Ah…mere mortal woman
Who must compete with this muse
You find that you fall short
And your love’s prone to abuse
For who can dare compare
With a poet’s romantic dream
The siren who sings to him
Who floats on clouds of cream
Poor lover of the poet
Sitting all alone at night
Waiting for him to see you
and your needs to ignite
Love him, my sweet, love him
For in the end...he’s just a man
That silly muse of his dreams
Can’t caress him, but you can
So win him at this love game
Make the fires really burn
Try to enchant his mind
So that for YOU it will yearn
Warn that charming seductress
That muse who tries hard to woo
That you have a jealous heart
And you've made him drink your brew
Your body, your soul, your desires
Bathe him in all of these
Not with words but your hands
Make him to do just what you please
For a poet is just a man
Just a simple man is he
Grant him all he desires
Only then he'll set you free!
Jade
We get buried under tents
in cemeteries, a sensible
insurance send off,
throwing roses into a hole.
At parking lot carnivals in June,
I throw rings at
impossible duck necks,
tommy-gunning pop-up
rubber gangsters all for a
shot at the giant stuffed cod
you never wanted
...under a tent.
We got married under a tent.
Guests bit into
crisp leviathan shrimp, and
it was raining good luck rain,
so, our tent bet against
the weather paid off.
We were carnal
under a forest canopy
before we met, roaring and wild, we
kept the creatures up all night;
Your awning was sort of a tent:
striped in red and white over
your upscale catering truck by
the upscale curb,
you saw me coming
before I saw you going.
And the rain is deranged and pelting
as we gather under tents
throwing Kroger
roses into a hole.
I see them everywhere on my way
home from work in the hot summer,
the baking tents…bold, festive stripes
ripping across the melted
asphalt lots, hawking
all kinds of hope and fervor,
And I am raptured by their retail
evangelism, and always
come home proudly
with that leather ottoman
on sale, drastically reduced,
the one you always hated,
the one that nearly matched
the living room couch, and still doesn’t.
But in my own defense, my dear,
my sweet gone dear,
I had taken leave of my senses
for a moment, under a tent.
You would think, that as a prisoner,
Incarcerated for a crime you did not commit,
Abandoned by loved ones who believe the imperfect jury,
And thrown into isolation for your inability to get along with the other inmates,
That you would feel lonely.
Sitting in a small, whitewashed room,
With a mattress and toilet as your only companions,
No natural light to cast shadows on the wall,
The opening and closing of the food slot in the door
being the only sound not created by yourself,
You would think that battling loneliness would be your greatest challenge.
But …
… you would be wrong.
For you are not alone.
You have a constant companion.
Watching you;
Mocking you;
Judging you;
Questioning you;
Laughing at you;
And waiting to take leave of you.
You are not alone.
You sit in one corner of the cell
and your sanity sits in the other.
And you wonder;
Which one of us will leave this cell when our sentence has been served?
My friends were here;
We saw no deer.
(They’re hiding from the cull.)
It would appear
The atmosphere
In Hemlock* seems quite dull.
The time was nigh;
My friends waved bye
And headed to the city.
I will not lie;
I’d hoped we’d spy
A bear, but here’s the pity:
By morning’s light
I had a fright
Which made me stop and gawk.
A mama bear
With cubs, a pair,
Passed by me on my walk.
Who would believe
When friends take leave
The action just gets started?
I can’t conceive
That just last eve
They bearlessly departed.
It goes to show
You never know
What Nature may have waiting;
And even though
My friends did go,
Those bears kept navigating.
Perhaps next year
They’ll reappear
When those same friends come calling;
Then we’ll all spear
A souvenir
Of Nature most enthralling!
*Hemlock Farms, a community of homes in Pa.
By the beauty of her eyes,
A dumb like me became wise.
By the beauty of her talk,
My static life started to walk.
She looks really so pure,
Even my deep wounds are cure.
She looks really so angelic,
Even the nature want her to click.
But...
A beauty with every beauty,
Is like a fake duty...
She dwells alone,
Deeply hurted and swollen.
No more she want anyone to support,
Once she sat with worries she can't afford.
Waiting for a moment to fly over her peaks,
Loving deeply someone to cry for weeks.
Hope is still alive,
Love is still a feeling she believe.
She still wants you not to take leave,
Honest love is still a way we can live.
When Death comes knocking at the door,
And as the last petal finally falls,
My voice will be stilled.
My heart, now ticking off like a clock,
Will ever be silent.
My footfalls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen,
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear.
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before.
Stars will illumine the night sky.
Days will follow days in endless succession.
Time, chanting refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my loved ones still hold me close to their hearts?
May be for a while
A short little while.
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies overgrown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out into morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod,
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy bosom!
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united,
Look down evermore content-
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!