Long Trade Poems
Long Trade Poems. Below are the most popular long Trade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trade poems by poem length and keyword.
Biobab ever sits unable to stand but a tree.A broad trunked,huge like rocks,from silk-cotton family fruiting for paper,cloth and rope suiting.
Bab is gate in Arabic and the tree is an African origin.A gateway between Asia and Middle East kept opened for centuries.Ancient,heavy,immemorial gift from Arab traders for shadowing the Sun hitting Mannar soil in then Ceylon.A mark of gesture of Arabs on their merchandised soil but no a trade mark as traders hail.
Hats off dear Arabs for your kind hearts.Biobab a tropical being sits smart for half of Adam’s age in the coastal belt of Northern province of Sri Lanka!
She offers far greater potential than the frame upon which she attaches
She is flexible, agreeable, and delights to be covered, opened, or closed
She provides a reality far and above her surrounding strong walls
If you should decide to uncover her, she will light up your world
If you desire to open her, she will comfort you with cool breezes
She’s transparent and flexible, willing and able to serve your needs
She’s a window and wishes to make you smile, but don’t break her
And even if you wish to close her, she will agree to give you privacy
Mirrors will aid and assist; but mirrors will never sustain or satisfy you
But if it is privacy alone that you seek, you need walls and not windows
If it is your world alone you desire, you need mirrors, and not windows
If “your point of view” is all that matters, you have no need of windows
But if you care about what’s out there, and how others see and feel;
If you long to share, to touch the souls of others, to give, to help, to heal;
If the tool of your trade is transparency, and you have no need for a shield;
You are a window person, and your heart has been touched by the Almighty
You’ve heard sounds, seen visions, and you cannot be retained behind walls
You have uncovered and allowed yourself to be opened for the benefit of others; you felt the breeze of the Almighty. You are free from mirrors and walls, and like God, through windows, you seek to love.
09142017Submitted for contest, Mid September Premiere, Brain Strand
To the layman’s unlearned eye,
Parliment is just another cigarette
To I, the educated expert its an extension
Its a bayonet with the mouth of a
cannon
A filter’s recession made with such
adaptive intention
Dab the divot in the pile of Columbian snow
Raise it like a glass to any curious biff
Just a sniff, a bumpskie, a twitch of the nose
Fireworks in the membrane and off they go
Under the cloud of cigarette smoke, the expert walks
a road of elation for eight minutes or so
Those days have been behind me for a number of years
and no matter how often i say cocaine is an unremarkable drug
As I was a conisseur of hypnotics and downers
the memories of explosive speed and dread and fear
Yet some are so comforting, when I see a Parliment
my eye allows the escape of one yearning tear
As I am heading into my “later years,”
Something amazes me.
It’s still me!
Gone is the fresh glow of youth,
The innocence and uncertainty.
It was replace with experience, wisdom,
Knowledge and kindness.
As I look into the mirror, I smile.
I like this “older Me.”
True, sometimes I scare myself
As I glance at the face reflected.
Eeks, who is this old woman?
With lines, and double chin?
But- it’s still me.
Now, I realize that everyone feels
The same way.
The young, adventuresome, trusting,
Energetic Me is still in here,
And always will be.
My hair may all turn white,
My step may slow down.
Yet, the true Me still
Wants to dance, run and jump.
I now discover more,
Find more joy in every day,
That nervous rush of my youth is gone,
But I like the Trade!
It’s still Me!
Thirty years since we signed on that line
The oath of allegiance to serve our time
We served our country and our queen
Far off lands and conflicts we have seen
87c was our intake
Many friends for life we did make
Just boys broken down again and again
Stuck together it made us men
Taught to march and iron all our kit
Lots of physical training to get us fit
Twelve man rooms along the corridor
See your face in the bumpered floor
Team work and a real passion
Got us through hard times to a fashion
Quick change parades and bull nights thrown in
The permanent staff thought they would win
Then after 12 weeks of basic training
Exercises come even when it was raining
Young warriors and external leadership
Plenty of shooting but not from the hip
Amongst all this stuff we learnt a trade
Only 16 but still getting paid
They tried to break us but they couldn’t see
We were the mighty 87C
A Chinese Sonnet
They call me impimpi*,a word fraught with scorn and smoke-
Yet I am the echo of truth inside the brewing storm,
Engaging the law,though no law guards me,
A river trembling by myself and singing my song.
Mount Moorosi keeps my secret vigil high,
While comrades who danced once for freedom's flame,
Are now com tsotsis who trade justice for comfort and coins,
And call betrayal what was birthed before courage,
From Kanaland to Zululand:I love Mzansi enough to bleed,
Love is treachery and betrayal,-love is truth, love is the light,
Still,I am unseen, they can unalive me-I shadow the moon,
My corpse lies,humming Freedom's hymn under the nations' feet.
*Impimpi or mpimpi---A S African term for a snitch or police informer
Mount Moorosi---A town in Lesotho
Kanaland---A munucipality in Western Cape Province in South Africa
Mzantsi---A colloquial term for South Africa
Upon their thrones of smoke they sit,
With crowns of rust and tongues of wit,
They bless the poor, they damn the wise,
And trade the truth for gilded lies.
The lords of law, the kings of sin,
Build walls without, and walls within,
They preach of grace through twisted scrolls,
And weigh the worth of broken souls.
They wear the robes of faith and fame,
But power burns beneath the name;
A thousand bowed, a million bled—
While silence crowns the nameless dead.
Oh, what a play! What grand charade!
Where virtue’s sold and vice is made,
The people cheer, the puppets dance—
All drunk on gold and circumstance.
And when the thrones at last decay,
The ash will whisper what they say:
"No god nor crown was ever true—
The delusion lived in me and you."
The servo sign flickers.. then punches your soul..
Numbers climb higher than you can control.
You stare at the price like it’s taking the piss..
“Wasn’t it cheaper? What madness is this?”
You tap on the pump like it might be a glitch..
Like somehow the numbers will drop if you twitch.
But nah, they keep climbing, no mercy in sight..
That shortage excuse rolled out day and night.
We laugh with our mates, “Yeah, she’s brutal, no doubt..”
But under that humour, there’s stress creeping out.
Bills stacking higher, the budget stretched tight..
While headlines spin causes we can’t really fight.
They point at the markets, the wars, and the trade..
At deals that were signed and the choices once made.
Global decisions, far out of our hands..
Still land at the pump where the average one stands.
So we joke and we whinge, ‘cause what else can we do?
When the tank’s nearly empty and payday’s not due.
We laugh at the madness, but deep down we know..
It’s more than just fuel.. it’s the cost of the blow.
Remind me, Remind me
You saw my occiput first
You witnessed my first step
If ever I do forget, please Remind me
You were with me on life's road mark
Before the whistle asked us to start
.
If ever I do forget, please Remind me
You knew my principle before the race
If ever I trade that to quicken my pace,
Please Remind me
You saw the energy with which I dashed
If ever some extinguishing tides get it crashed,
Please Remind me.
You saw my reverence for the rules
If ever for anything, I give observers some clues,
Please Remind me
I may remember, but Life's road sometimes messes with my mind
So I need that one to remind me when I am out of line
And there's none but you my friend!!! ,
When you need me too , I will be available till the end.
Please Remind me
There was a Red Indian Chief
his name was Raging Waters
he lived a pleasant life
surrounded by his four wives
They took care of all his needs
gave him strong sons and daughters
he ruled mainly in peace not war
apart from raids on the Black Hawks
It was one of his joys to sneak up
and steal their very fine horses
and to capture some of their squaws
these he could trade for guns and whiskey
As time went on he grew very troubled
he consulted with the medicine man
who sent him to the hot bath teepee
there smoking his pipe he relaxed
Soon the visions started to appear
war was on the horizon he could see
also a squaw so comely he lost his heart
he left the teepee and sent out scouts
They scoured the lands searching for her
at last one came back with the news
she belonged to the Crows and was promised
gathering up a raiding party, he set off
At dead of night they sneaked into position
then rushed the camp catching the Crows off guard
they killed the warriors and took the squaws,
children and horses too and well tanned hides
Now there had to be a comeback from this deed
Mighty Hawk gathered his tribes of Crows
and set off for Raging Waters camp for revenge
barely escaping he fled for the mountains
There with just a handful of warriors and squaws
he set out to build up the tribe once more
when at last they had enough warriors
he set out to recapture that beautiful squaw
Never had he forgotten her soft lips on his
driven wild by his desire, he lost all caution
warned by his medicine man it would end badly
he paid no heed and set out to make war
The Crows soon heard he was on his way
and set a terrible trap in between the hills
Raging Waters and his warriors were cut down
the unlucky ones were scalped then given to the squaws
Who beat them and treated them harshly as slaves
thus a lesson was learned do not take promised squaws
Raging Waters name was in time lost in the annuals
his tribe no more, just forgotten ghosts in time
inspired by soup mail chat with Sandra