Long Tie Poems
Long Tie Poems. Below are the most popular long Tie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tie poems by poem length and keyword.
Tethers float & tickle like feathers
I'm aloft unaware of outside weathers
Evening enhanced by colloquial pleasures
Malleable & manipulated
Esoterica like yours specifically stipulated
"Tie me to your tongue" I sing
Oh I utter the strangest things!
Yet I must admit I'm fully focussed
Overjoyed at this conversational hocus pocus
Unusually laid back & vocally gushing
Rampant points of interest gain further pushing
Tantalise & give me traction
Obligated now to end-goal satisfaction
Nerve endings sever in hyperspace
"Great subject matter expert kept perfect pace!"
Unbiased reviews are fully flowing
Eloquence like yours has me all glowing
The sorrow of losing you will never fade.
The intensity of your love deserves applauds.
Forever on our hearts it is engraved.
More than twenty years later in the middle of night,
With her luggage, she stepped out of the house.
Dewy wet eyes, knew that she would never return.
Yes, she was right confirmed the turmoil of her emotions.
All this while she needed to be freed,
There was rerun only of negative deeds.
She had finally snatched her sovereignty.
She was just too tired of his oddity.
He woke up to see no one around.
Bereft of hope yet her presence surround.
Unrequited emotions of the lovelorn.
Still craving for her immediate return.
He begged on his knees,
Howling in pain, he sought help of his peers.
Loneliness was an unbearable screech.
No one could hear his beseech.
He told every one, “ I will die if she doesn’t return.”
He told her so but she was adamant and firm.
His body had no way but the soul could not stay away.
He lay dead, his soul glided to unite.
There around her, for two days his soul lived its last life.
So very happy, to be with his beautiful wife.
Quietly watching joyous sparkles in her eyes.
He loved even this way to be by her side.
The sillage of his love failed to ignite.
Wailing helplessness knew now there is no respite.
Dismayed in pain, every day his soul too dies.
He is no more but his love will always survive.
Rest in peace. People gather around to pay homage. Every one gets busy! I feel the soul’s craving for solace. Probably the last few minutes, the most precious moments, when the soul can say “Good Bye!”.
I curiously asked mom, “what would you do, after you die?"
To this she replied:
Don’t mourn, when I die,
If you feel that we had a strong tie.
I promise you,
I’ll be with you, throughout your life.
My love! My daughter! you are my part,
How will I depart?
And yes! My parents will miss me the most.
So, I would rather prefer to be a ghost.
I’ll be with my parents too.
I’ll look after them well,
that's my vow!
I will wake you up every morning.
Together we all will go for jogging.
When dad, would be in some urgent meeting,
I will sit in his lap and still won’t be seen!
I know, I am his life.
I’ll also prove that, I am a perfect wife!
I would fly up in the sky,
I would dive down into the sea,
Without any hue and cry!
On the snow and in the rain.
May be! It might be another gain.
There is lots more to say.
But, let’s wait for the day!
When I die,
There should be no sigh.
Else, I will also cry!
22/2/19
Two of us on a sixties hippie trip
to see if our gears would slip or mesh
innocent but wary yet wide-eyed
to the Imperial city of Marrakech
she perfumed with patchouli
me I traveled totally tie-dyed
all around was peace and love
we teamed to a tee and seemed
a fit the perfect hand in glove
but not long later it was deemed
as it was commonplace to see
in the medina not strapped for cash
kif from the Rif sellers
in the souk smoking hash
the country lacked law and order
no sooner said than escorted
back to Ceuta across the border
funny now in retrospect but not then
how when we blew out on the Sirocco
tho' we hadn't gone so far as the kasbah or bazaar
were deported without ceremony from Morocco
Why can’t I tie my laces right, why can’t I tie them good?
I always get them in a muddle, by not doing what I should.
The first part I can do but the bow is where I fail,
I get the laces in a twist and cannot thus prevail.
I told my best friend Sammy James that I was having trouble,
tying up my laces, it was such a massive struggle.
I looked down at her shoes but no laces I could see,
I shrug my shoulders saying ‘Sammy, how can that ever be?’
Turns out her shoes were slip on, so no lace even required.
The answer to my prayers, I was so wonderfully inspired.
I ran home to my mum, this was freedom in the making.
For tying up my laces needn’t be mum’s undertaking.
‘Can you buy me slip on shoes? Can you buy them now?’
I asked my mum in hope that she might find a way somehow.
‘If you cannot tie your laces then you shall be deprived,
of the pretty shoes mummy bought which today have just arrived.’
A Divine Tie
It`s a tie knotted since childhood days
That has grown tighter and tighter
Through daily light of the sun rays,
Through service, love and devotion
And episodes of suffering
That surely served as life`s lesson.
This tie has grown from strength to strength
With mercy showered by the Lord
Each time fate dealt a blow to my health,
Each time fate pulled me in its maze,
Afflicted my body at length
And unfurled upon me its haze.
This special tie has been secured
With renewed faith and trust in Him
Despite periods of pain endured,
Despite moments of sad despair
When the spirit dipped to a low
And it was a woeful sight to stare.
It is a tie with the Divine
That will outlive my final breath
And with renewed vigour will shine
Until will exist on the earth
The glory of the divine shrine,
Until will chime the clock of time,
Until there dwells the Divinity,
Until the end of eternity.
Written on 26 March 2023 for:
Strand no. 1203 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Morning slips in sideways.
Moonbeam dips a cotton shirt
into a bowl of dyes~
colors blooming outward
like shy creatures
learning their names.
She lifts the fabric.
Droplets fall in bright plinks,
each one a tiny skipping stone
across the warmth of July.
On the clothesline,
the tie-dyed shirt sways~
a small carnival of swirl and hush,
its spiral turning slowly
as if practicing
for some future miracle.
Moonbeam hums.
Not a song~
more like a friendly spell
to coax the colors
into behaving.
They don’t.
A streak of green wiggles free
and settles into a shape
that looks suspiciously
like mischief.
Wind arrives,
ruffling the hem
with the politeness
of a guest who knows
it’s early.
The shirt answers
with a soft flutter~
a tiny applause.
By afternoon,
the spiral tightens,
gathers itself,
and glows faintly
as if July tucked
a secret inside it.
Moonbeam takes it down,
presses the warm cotton
to her cheek,
and laughs.
Then she slips it on,
and the swirl settles
against her like a tame comet
choosing a shoulder
to rest on.
She was an artist
And he wore a tie
He was established
She needed to fly
She loved the sensations
Danced to vibrations
She wasn't wired
For logical thinking
She learned to detect
Rules and regulations
And steered clear
Of these situations
He was a tad bit square
Didn’t always play fair
Oblivious to the severity
of a triple dog dare
He took no chances
Sat out the dances
His biggest concern
Was career advances
They lacked communication
She needed stimulation
Their marriage was built
On a hollow foundation
She was faithful, still
An oblong pill
It hurt going down
But she had the will
While she was off
Painting the world
He was falling
For a business girl
A lady in heels
Gave him all the feels
Perfectly polished
Making business deals
Well put together
From head to toe
But lacking color
No sparkle or glow
The way he looked at her
Was something new
The man with no heart
Had the passion of two
Before the looms of humankind were strung,
July had learnt the tincturing of light:
She steeped the dawn where amber thrushes sung,
Then wrung the west with mulberry at night;
The heavens, twisted in her verdant hand,
Unfurled like banners no two winds had planned.
She coaxed the rain to bruise the lilies blue,
Persuaded clover into greener vows,
And bade the scarlet poppy wander through
The sober linen of the meadow's brows;
Even the brook came home with colours caught
From secret blossoms no eye ever sought.
The butterflies wore garments yet still warm
From Nature's silent vat of bloom and breeze;
Each dragonfly rehearsed a brighter form,
As though the sunlight flowered into bees;
No hue was idle: every shade had grown
By patient covenants the roots had known.
Children, laughing, knotted cotton white
With fingers stained by happiness alone,
Believing they invented such delight—
While July smiled, content to leave unknown
That every spiral blooming on their sleeves
Had first been practised by the summer leaves.
Then evening loosed one final length of sky,
Still damp with saffron, indigo and flame;
The stars emerged where deeper pigments lie,
Each one remembering its forgotten name;
And I perceived all colour, wild and free,
Was Heaven's oldest form of memory.
My friend used to work for a TV rental company,
installing TV's was a 'soft' occupation easily,
during the course of his work, he would meet ladies,
the bored housewife fraternity were all really his.
Good looking, easy sighs, with those bedroom brown eyes,
some people should not be allowed to have such a prize,
he was, and collected the bonuses all along the way,
adjusted the business tie and was the main man in the play.
He said: 'It's easy, why don't you go along and take my tie,'
I thought that I'm not good looking like him, handsome guy,
but why not - it would be a laugh like Ranganathun,
I'd just need to learn a little about TV installation.
The day came, went on my rounds but walked on by,
unfortunately, because all the neighbours were waiting for me,
Note: Ranganathan is an Asian British TV comedy star.