Long Ties Poems
Long Ties Poems. Below are the most popular long Ties by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ties poems by poem length and keyword.
Cartilage Cartridge Carthage
Spread my skin around your city limits
And sow these Dragon Teeth to reap my heart
Apple red lace, apple sweet lips, apple techie, apple allergy
Let's play Adam and Eve and make faces at the devil, because we own this Tree
My fingers plow the earth and pluck your laughter off of autumn branches made of purple ties and navy sweatpants,
water the butterfly's palm with these kisses and tether the sun to the pier so you can light up the day and night at
once.
Where I might somewhere be speaking birds out of my mouth, I'd much rather here have this butterfly land on my
lips and silence my.
I want to believe that when I die,
I will enter a tunnel of light.
And rising in its spiral embrace,
Angels will take away all my fears.
God's everlasting love will anoint
and sanctify my eternal soul.
And bathed in His grace and purity,
I'll be free of temptation and sin.
Exhalation will follow Death's touch,
as it sets my eternal soul free.
And I'll instantly rise to heaven,
assured of my immortality.
Cut from all earthly ties, my soul will
slip away, from my mortal body.
And cradled in the arms of rapture,
I will bask in the glory of God.
I'd like to believe in paradise,
and yet, regrettably, I do not.
For it's my belief that life's fleeting,
and when we die, we cease to exist.
I find myself in this moment, reflecting on many instances -
ones that brought great joy or pain, some that brought change
or love or death, extraordinary moments of memorable things,
and a million moments in-between of varied levels of import ...
The thing that ties them all together, the common thread that weaves
the tapestry of life - that ties this blessing of breaths and heartbeats
into a bow - is that each moment, each precious period of time's
steady passing, is given to us to make of as we see fit ...
To take into our spirit's hands with care and intent, as a raw, soft clay
for our molding ... to think deliberately on its design and purpose,
allowing for space, order, simplicity, and contemplation, and focus not
on the destination, but accept as a rare and precious gift.
We ALL have the power within us to shape that clay to our choosing ...
to form blessing or a bane, to create something to recall and cherish,
or something to cast onto the breath of indifference and apathy ...
to receive with joy and reward, or let drive us into defeat.
No one moment is any more or less extraordinary than another,
except in regard to how we shape it, or how we let it shape US ...
for learning to appreciate ALL the moments in this journey,
is learning to be truly happy ... truly ... at peace.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the ZEN Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 9th Place ~ in the "In The Moment Of Time" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.
I plant my feet firm on this ground
And declare with every breath in my body—
Never again.
Never again will I shrink myself
To fit into spaces not built for my expansion.
Never again will I dim my light
To make others comfortable in their darkness.
Listen—
My body remembers every time I said "yes" when I meant "no."
My spirit carries the weight of every boundary I failed to set.
My heart bears the scars of each person I allowed to take
Without ever giving back.
So today I whisper, then speak, then shout:
Never again.
I am learning that self-care isn't selfish.
It's the sacred act of tending to a garden long neglected,
Pulling weeds of doubt planted by those
Who were threatened by my potential bloom.
I am understanding that healing
Isn't always gentle streams and soft landings.
Sometimes it's the thunder clap of "enough!"
Sometimes it's walking away from the table
Where I was always hungry but never fed.
I am remembering that my worth
Was never found in their validation.
It was always here, crawling beneath my skin,
Waiting for me to listen closer.
So I sever ties with places that cage me,
Let corrupt opinions fade out until they no longer phase me
With voices that diminish me,
With people who love the parts of me they've invented
But resent who I truly am.
And when they ask why I've changed,
When they wonder where the version of me went
That always bent to breaking—
I will stand tall in my truth and say:
Because I've made a promise to the child in me
Who deserved protection.
To the dreamer in me who deserved space.
To the lover in me who deserved reciprocity.
Never again will I betray myself
For temporary peace.
Never again will I accept crumbs
When I deserve the feast.
Never again will I apologize
For taking up the space my soul requires.
This is my boundary.
This is my healing.
This is my declaration.
And I speak it into existence with each breath:
Never.
Again.
Written: March 2nd, 2024 3
Rumi's quote: Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Allow love to spur you in whatever you do,
Life's a canvas, awaiting artwork to ensue.
Ignite your passions and spark in the night,
Allow your soul to be your mentor, at full might.
Allow nature splendor to serve as inspiration,
Exploring the cosmos with fascination.
Allow hues of sunset and budding flora to flow,
Assist you to paint art that makes souls glow.
Allow pristine music to lead your way,
whilst you empower melodies to play.
devote the beat to invigorate your soul,
Let music convey the soothing console.
Allow diction to flow fluidly from your pen,
You have skills to lustering tales echo again.
Allow your mind to flow freely, akin to a river,
Express out explicitly with words that shiver.
Allow euphoria of smiling at the scenery music,
As you put delight in each minor task you pick.
Maintain that your amusement is pervasive,
Send smiles to everyone's faces; be persuasive.
Allow mellifluous kinship to serve as an anchor,
facing various hurdles and rewards, or rancor.
May your ties be sturdy and your bonds deep,
Genuine friendship is a commodity to reap.
*Image of Nursing Home provided by Pixabay.
Just Stating The Obvious Poetry Contest
Poetic Form: Rhyme
PLACE: Hereafter Harmony House (Assisted Living Facility)
Morning ushered chairs align the walls
blanketed legs with tabled meal trays
infirm progress neath Andy Warhol's.
A chambered room fills every which way
those ably walks passing out game cards
help checkers rounds, the game is in play.
Most play onward while others do naught
some just sit there, a few simply talk
while bingo goes on, helpers will spot.
A blank gaze onward, a blind man feels
his fingers balter a page of braille
while edged lips rise and a smile reveals.
Hue balls tumble, a number is said
it goes till one or more says BINGO
winners got gifts, games till lunch is spread.
TV is watched by the non-sleepers
wheelers part ways, escape to their rooms
prop up on beds made by housekeepers.
Incessant tapping, a hallway clears
an attentive dog nudge e'er so oft
side partner pleased, loyal all these years.
After their dinner and no caffeine
long distant talks with family ties
blissful hearts, sleepy-eyed and serene.
2021 May 09
*1st Place*
'ALL YOURS(May 21)'
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 May 21
*1st Place*
Just Stating The Obvious Poetry Contest
~~Brother Jacob: Judged 2021 May 18
Can I return all that I owe to
Persons who gave birth
Persons who showed love
Persons who taught good
Persons who appreciated
Persons who protected
Persons who employed
Persons who supported
Persons who recognized
Can I return all that I owe?
I must say nay; to be true
The love received from mom, dad, all brothers and sisters
The special relationship and moments cherished with spouse
For education from teachers
For encouragement from friends Cousins, uncles, aunts, relatives
Support from kith and kin,
in-laws, employers, well wishers
Can I return all that I owe to:
School and university mates Career and professional colleagues
Clubs and community buddies
Friends of family and friends of children
Godsend strangers and co-travelers
Co-players and residential cohabitants
Relations by marriages; other ties
Local communities and Temples
Good Samaritans at airports, bus and train stations
Helping hand at the pool or gym or a game
By mishaps and hospital stays
At musicals and restaurants!
Can I return what I owe?
May be yes; may be no
We owe it to parents for birth
We owe it to ourselves
To owe nothing to anyone
Be it love, money, apology, service
Before we call it a day!
The Foxy Escort With Her Date
He drank his wine,
savoring it just fine.
His spirits a lift
now he opened his gift
Out jumped a foxy dame
ready for his game
Are you ready for bondage
my little young hostage
Ties and whips
Hot wax and clips
Her young face turned red
not knowing what was ahead
Escort service said it was dinner,
not be a hoar and a sinner
I'm a student at night school
not your playmate and fool
I sorry, I rain on your parade
and can't play your charade
I must go right now
not be herded like a cow
Forget the bells and whistles
then, just soft land on my missile
Sir I'm not that type of gal
that sleeps with any kind of pal
Please take your rocket
and deep pockets ...
To my pent house room
with your flaming fumes
And there's your desire
waiting for your heart's a fire
Huh? Why did you play your game
to light my flame
Huh? Did you whet my appetite
for a long rough night
My dear, you're a good tease
I hope you please
Sir I hope you back the talk
with your walk
It's going to be rough,
let me tell you, and with handcuffs
and Hot wax
To the max
Sir I hope you back the talk
with your walk
I roll my eyes
to you, I despise
Sir take these pills
To give yourself more of a trill
You'll need it, to keep up
with this young pup
Again, Sir please don't disappoint me
with your church key
Or your mama's boy
with toys
Oh baby you're good
This is what the doctor ordered
Babe what's your name
Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
1/06/17
Hope is light gathering in silence until it crystallizes. quote by poetess
Granddad’s Selectric waited in dusty silence, keeping the memory of words he did materialize.
Its keys once polished, now dulled by years, still guard the faith he refused to minimize.
As a child I listened beneath his desk, hearing letters lift like prayers my muse did recognize.
His hands moved with a pianist’s grace, shaping truth into lines no shadow could incise.
After he passed, I carried it attic-ward, a quiet procession where my childhood dream did die.
Each summer I climbed the attic ladder, dreaming of stories my imagination did fertilize.
Many years later I returned, the ladder moaning, heavy with mothballs, regret, and forgotten ties.
My flashlight found its silhouette waiting, a ghost-bright outline time could not neutralize.
I lifted the cover, hands on home keys, its faded letters whispering ‘don’t compromise.’
Something in me stirred awake, a long-kept dream beginning softly to rise.
The first keystroke jammed, the second struck true, ink warming and with hope did energize.
By the third paragraph, words unfurled through me, swift as breath my soul itself supplies.
I felt the years fall back like dust, as if the attic air had chosen me to baptiize.
that part of me that once believed in stories before fear taught my voice to downsize.
And in that hush I sensed a truth returning, an axiom no silence could disenfranchise:
In truth, hope patiently endures waiting for courage to mobilize.
Gifts we bury still remember us, calling softly for us, our dreams to reprise.
Even dust lit dreams can bloom when the heart dares to visualize.
Every story waits for its moment, every calling waits to revitalize.
Until at last, in the quiet glow, I let my long-kept hope fully crystallize.
you may read the related story at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/a_dream_deferred_13827
No eye could bear to meet the beggar’s gaze ;
A chasm lay between his world and theirs.
Vicarious, sham empathy might raise
Some paltry coins or hollow, barren prayers.
Whilst mockery would be his daily bread
Smug opulence passed by with callous stride,
Determined to leave every plea unread
And anxious to exult in plenty’s pride.
The affluent adjust their silken ties,
And homes with lavish luxuries adorn,
Whereas the impetus for this wretch lies
In having strength to greet another morn.
The irony of fate had played its part,
For he, like them was once stone cold of heart.
18 word challenge poetry contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
19/08/18
'Tinker,Taylor poetry contest' : sponsored by Julia Ward
15/12/18
2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 16 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
Strand Choice 10,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest