Long Thank youme Poems
Long Thank youme Poems. Below are the most popular long Thank youme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thank youme poems by poem length and keyword.
I used to wonder
What you sounded like
What you looked like
Why you weren’t here
For so long,
I thought my punishment from God for all the wrong I was GONNA do, was your absence.
I wondered if I were simply a mistake of two teenagers who didn’t know their head from
their a$$es.
I used to ask about you, a lot.
I was either sent outside to play or given a look that told me I shouldn’t even be asking.
So I stopped and simply accepted what I had
And I always had plenty,
Even when I was too ungrateful to realize it.
I let thoughts of you go
During what I call ‘The Dark Years’
The years when I’d hardened my heart and my mind
The years when I felt like my life was founded on rejection and pain
The years when I didn’t care about much of anything, including myself
My teens and early twenties weren’t much fun at all.
Then something happened
I became a mother
The father proved that he wasn’t ready to be a father
I entered the real world
I got a better understanding of what you and Mommy just have faced
A better understanding of the responsibility it brings
Over the years
I’ve matured
I’ve gotten smarter
I’ve grown into a woman
And my mind came back to you
I started again to wonder
What you looked like
What you sounded like
If you thought of me, like I was thinking of you
My wonderment got the best of me and I replaced it with a need to know
To know
If you were still alive
If you lived close or far
If you were a fine, upstanding person
Or some cracked out drunken loser
Not that any of it really mattered
I just needed to know
So I began my search
For answers
For closure
For my father.
Each leg of my search brought me new revelations.
You were still alive
You were married
You had other children
And finally
An exact location
It took courage I didn’t have even know I had to send that letter
It took even more to answer that first phone call
Stomach flipping
Heart pumping
With a simple “hello”
A door opened
To my past
To my future
To the unanswered parts of me
To my father
Now that I’m here
I don’t regret a moment lost
I know that time cannot be replaced
But a new, improved future can be made.
And with you, my father
I’m looking forward to it.
I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.
She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.
But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.
Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.
Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."
She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.
I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.
I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.
Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.
Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.
Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!
1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest
Dear Sharon, I see no end
To the rant of an educated mind
Once the pen is moving. I've seen A students
Butcher my writing. I remember the Fall
Of 2009, the poetry workshop at Stony Brook University,
The hipsters and emotional braggers
Eying my work and telling me what it was about
While the smirk on my face concealed
The howls of piteous laughter.
I walked the solemn paths
Of that heavily decorated school
Where trees had been uprooted
And replaced by foster bushes,
Convinced that my English professors
Do not know how to read, but only how
To dissect.
However, I also remember the A on my report.
It was the proudest one I'd ever had,
And I thought of the first day of class
When we were asked to choose a poet
To fall in love with.
I thought of the summer of 2006
When I walked into a little book store in Hampton Bays,
Pointing my freckle tipped nose at the poetry section,
Looking for something new
To look up to or somebody else
To look into.
I picked through the leaves of Blood, Tin and Straw
By the shelf, at the register and on the way to my car.
I read it to friends and perfect strangers
As a devout fan and penniless salesperson.
I did not take notes or scribble on the pages.
I did not create bull- in the hopes to expound
Some undiscovered truth
Between the style and context.
I did not uncover the root of your sorrows and joy,
For you had already done the task
So perfectly.
Mrs. Olds, you and I find solace
In a dying art. I see you as a friend
As I've seen you as
A lover, a mother, and a mentor
Through the gift of a vivid imagination
Where I've been given the chance
To love and applaud your work
In the comfort of my room,
Under the flickering light
Where the renditions of your heart
Lure me to sleep
As a silent lullaby.
It is an artist like you who keeps me writing.
It is knowing the chances,
That if my words can reach a soul
Like yours have reached mine,
Then there is still purpose in contemporary poetry
In my home, my heart, and my spirit
Outside of the classroom.
I have made a promise to You.
And like many of my promises, I wasn't able to keep it,
Time and again, I would fail You,
But time and again, You would believe in me.
Accepting me, as if I never hurt You, would never ever do.
With open arms, with all your heart, You would take me.
There is nothing that i would do or say, more or less
Would amount to what You have done
And would still do for me.
The kindness, the understanding and the patience,
That You, so generously give me all the time.
The Greatness of Your love is too much
Compare to my little soul.
But you're always being there for me
Simply tells me that I deserve You.
You give all of You to me
But in return I know,
I wasn't able to do the same.
Yet You, still stayed with me.
To give me the peace and quiet that I wanted,
The security and comfort that I longed for,
To always take care of me.
To listen to my weaknesses.
To believe in my dreams,
To take away the pain and the hurt in my being,
To be the Truest Friend.
These and all wonderful things
That only You could make possible.
I know in time more than just saying 'Thank You',
I would be able to really be of worth
To the Greatness of Your Love.
I would be able to keep the promises I made to You.
I would be able to stop hurting You,
And failing You.
I know that I need not tell You to stay with me
And be with me all throughout my life,
For You will be.
You have never left, and never will You.
But I would still ask you to be forever present in my life,
Through the sad and mad seasons,
For every imaginable situations.
I would like to thank You for everything that has been,
That is, and that will be.
And for all that I have become, and would still become.
Just for the simple reason that
You are in my life and that You love me.
With all my heart, thank You, Almighty God
For Your undying and unconditional Love.
When she first saw me
She was in fear.
She would do anything
Except come near.
Oh, I didn't blame her
For her fear of my being.
I was wrapped in bandages and used a walker
Little kids can be afraid of those things.
Then, when I was stronger
I walked only with the cane.
She was still too young to understand
Fear was in her eyes, again.
So she would cling to her mother's apron
Following her around the room.
Like a little caboose stuck on the back of a train
As down the track it would zoom.
The accident I had was painful
Left me with problems that can't be cured.
The hardest one of all of them
Was trying to get a little girl to not be injured.
Time has gone by...it's been five years past
Since I hit that tree.
And how time has made a differernce
Between me and little Ashley.
She sees me walk now without the cane
And has realized that I'm no ogre.
So when she sees me come into a room
She smiles and doesn't go diving for cover.
We play games together she and I
Or use crayons and color a bit.
Some days we'll play with puzzles or read,
Other times we chat and just sit.
It's been a wonderful journey for me
To have this little one sit with me for an hour.
Instead of having her to run and hide
Expecting her only to cower.
For there is something so resiliant in children
That makes us old folks young.
And when they are afraid of us
Our hearts are only stung.
But Ashley doesn't sting my heart
Except with the love she now shows.
And I feel so grateful and sillilly young
From my head down to my toes.
She is not my child but a niece
Who has taken over the heart of an old man.
Especially when she sees me coming
And says, "Where've you been, Uncle Dan?"
She's is now fearless and full of life
And mirth and smiles and laughter and glee.
So here's a birthday poem for this dark haired cutie
Dedicated to little Ashley!
I’ll tell you why…
Written by: Debbi Fry
8 nov 01
When I watch you work, you demonstrate power and strength.
And I am in awe.
When I listen to you talk, you speak with wisdom, sense, fairness and truth.
And I am filled with admiration.
When I am with you – wherever you go, it is because you want me with you;
Not because you feel obligated to have me there.
And I am grateful for that.
When you hold my hand – in the supermarket, car or alone in bed,
You share your affection for me with me.
And I feel like I am special to you.
When you hold me in your arms, you make me feel protected, secure and loved.
And I have never been so at peace.
Whenever you say my name (whichever one) or call me “girl”,
Hearing it from your lips always makes me smile.
When you lie next to me at night and gently brush the hair from my face,
Look into my eyes and tell me you love me,
I have no doubts about your sincerity – I can feel it, I can see it and I can hear it.
You want to share everything in your life with me,
And you want to partake in everything in my life.
I have never experienced that unselfishness before and I appreciate that.
In addition to all that I have mentioned –
You make me laugh.
You listen to what I have to say (when you can hear me).
You are an incredibly handsome man, whom I find difficult not to touch when you are near
me.
The passion in our kisses is raw and meaningful – a wonderful combination that melts my
heart and warms me inside.
Your generosity, sincerity and demonstration of love are second to none in this world over.
You are everything I ever wanted in a man, that I thought I would never find in one alone.
And that, Herb, is why I love you.
Form:
I ask for nothing,
just relying on Providence;
surprisingly I will experience
an enriching event
that fate has sent...
does anybody wonder why I sing?
I age, and furthermore I feel younger;
wrinkles appear to attest their reminder
that my troubles are of another sort,
and despite more unpleasant occurrences confirming my tort:
these upheavals are raging storms that will soon pass,
and this phase is the ultimate test!
Destiny, unfold this enriching event,
and usher in an age of contentment;
the vitality of these years don't reflect fragility:
resolute and strong, hopeful and diligent...
I can face any hurdle and defy tragedy,
and the hardest challenge is finding trust!
An enriching event was predicted in my natal chart
and astrologers are putting much effort in their research,
to assure me that a better tomorrow is coming;
and should I place my total trust in them,
and catch a rare glimpse and be content...
but Who has given me a last chance at living?
I could never be guided by the unpredictable stars,
what I am amazed about them: is their mysterious glimmer,
but fortune and wealth is the damnation of the sinner,
of that one cursing God for all the plagues and sorrows
inflicted upon them...to punish them for all that was taken without honor
and appreciation; and wouldn't they envy the one opening the golden door?
My harvest is finally ripe, and spacious fields offer their abundant fruits,
every bird has a more sonorous song to make me feel vibrantly alive:
o larks and nightingales, let your joyful ode reach the Heavens above!
My blessings have been too numerous to be counted and this joy exalts
Him with a gratefulness that is equal to every breath I inhale and exhale;
when peace blends with silence: a realistic Heaven is an enriching event!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
For the gift of verse, thank you Lord,
I'm grateful too for the endowments of rhyme;
These are apparatus of treasured worth
Given to a juvenile youth at so early a time,
Of a tender age of score and three
And as green as the leaves of a virgin tree.
Now, thank you Father for the blessing of greatness
And praise to you for the trappings of fame;
Glory to your omnipotence for the joys of name,
Hallowed be your name for the riddance of pettiness
And honour to you for benediction of sense;
All these I'll use for your laudation hence.
Many have tried these assets to nurture
And saints for them did pray,
But acquired not these invaluable tools;
I'm a sinner and I often forget to repent every day,
Yet these vitals have given me.
Let pride and conceit overtake me not
And let me thrush the iron while its hot;
Let me bake the dough of rhyme while its lithe
And to the Muses of renown pay my tithe.
Let me not compare my lines with anyone else's
But through practise better my art ;
Let me not commit the despicable offenses
Of praising my outstanding craft.
Whatever the words use I feel like I'm saying less;
Again, thank you for the effortless finesse
That you've freely given to one humble out of choice,
Or perhaps his pious parents long ago raised their voice
That upon their son you place this treasure;
And thus their prayers you've answered to the measure.
And when it envelopes the bliss of death,
When the blanket of cold shall suffocate my breath,
Remember my toils of verse and virtue,
And let in my soul be done a searching by you;
That I may qualify for life everlasting,
And among the angels I shall eternally sing.
And herebelow let not my poetry rot
When I join your seraphic lot;
Let generations upon generations to the end
Sing my verse till He come's that sinner's friend.
He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.
Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears,
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!
I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!
I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father;
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?
He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!
Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep;
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!
Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "
I had hoped to beat the violent storm's shooting hail,
struggling through falling branches, some broken and some whole;
my mutt with a rigid tail growled steadily and pinned his teeth to my jeans,
and I stuck in mud, vainly tried to break loose, but nobody heard my screams.
Trucks loaded with tar drove by and the burning smell made me terribly sick,
someone thought I was the farm's scarecrow and threw a beer can at me,
and he even hissed and cursed with a deriding tone for my disheveled shape;
I waved like humans do, but he thought the gusts had shaken my hands with frenzy.
Lucky me it wasn't winter, the warmest wind slapped my unconsoled face,
naughty quails flew over to pick strawberries hanging from my torn hat;
all of a sudden a few became a herd, and my body was being mouled into pieces,
and before I turned into rags and bruises, the farmer came running with his rake.
And I stuck in mud, I yelled for help, then all the birds flew away with discontent,
the middle-aged farmer introduced himself with his sourthern friendliness;
what would I have cared about his hospitality, if he hadn't pulled me out of the dirt,
and hadn't taken me straight to the shower, and given me some clean clothes?
This was my immediate need, and he saw it in my disgusted mood and slow thought,
and with his witty Tennessee accent, he addressed me as sir as if I were his officer superior;
respectable and kind, without prejudice for a yankee, he picked me up without effort,
and singing a country tune, he lied me down on the back seat without slamming the door.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci