Long Tribute Poems
Long Tribute Poems. Below are the most popular long Tribute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tribute poems by poem length and keyword.
SINGLE MOM DOUBLE HONOUR
Tears won't dilute your strength
Your mood won't make it less of who you are.
You're not broken but a token that is indispensable
A fraction that's left and yet inevitable.
That's who you are
You speak the voice of two
Just to take care of one
You put up acts of two
Just to raise a mighty one
You show love of two different persons
Just to prove to the world better lessons
You double your passion and shower it on one
Just to make your child a complete mansion
The world sees you as incomplete
Yet you fill more than a gap of two
You train your hands and won't allow those strains to constrain you
You don't give up even when it seems the world is up against you
You turn your words into bricks and build a world for your child
When others build with bricks
You build with gains of the risks
You shunned your supposed shame
You raise a world that will bring you fame
All just from your crumbs of gains
You're a superwoman.
If no one ever said that to you
They are either blind to it or rather jealous to admit it
That's who I see in you
That's who I believe you to be.
You may not be completely right
But you can't be more an angel than you are already.
I adore your strength
I respect your hustle
I envy your myth
And I pray for your might
You don't need get everything right
Not everyone can stand in the arena where you fight
I pray that you win this fight
And never quit praying every night
You may be the wing of flight
Every other victims will like to fly
Make them look unto you
Never you breakdown
Crush a brick and the building may go all down
Hold firm and win this battle
You won't just be called a winner
You will be a legend with double honour.
(Tribute to all the single mothers out there)
CONCEPTUAL FM ???
An Old Cowboy
An old cowboy left yesterday.
Once drove herds over open range.
Many hardships along the way,
But a life he would never change.
Heard sound of cattle full stampede.
Rode days in slush up to his knees.
Tall in the saddle on his steed.
Broke, but had all a cowboy needs.
Up before dawn most of his days.
Often playing an old guitar,
Singing tunes about dusty trails,
And lost loves that were torn apart.
Old age and time at long last struck.
Glory gone like western ghost town.
Life’s work over and spent last buck,
A cowboy king without a crown.
Withdrew in deep grief and doubt,
His way of life had gone away.
Last words, “head ‘em up; move ‘em out”,
Old cowboy died yesterday
What you give attracts people
The way and manner you give it attracts God
Therefore give in humility and love
Giving is not an occasion to show off
Rather it is calls for remorse and brokenness
If you cannot give from the little in your hand
Giving big when you are rich may never happen
Giving is a sacrifice only
When you give what you cherish
When you give with all your heart
Someone will be waiting to give you
Giving with expectation in mind is giving wrongly
Cause giving is an assignment from God
And you cannot afford to fail God
It is much blessed to give
Than to receive says the Holy Book
The secret of blessing is in giving
Those who are to receive must learn how to give
Giving helps us reshape our destiny
Love expresses itself in giving
True giving is giving without expectation
On Halloween- so many years ago,
our grandkids had a pet named Georgie cat;
a sweet Tuxedo cat for sure, although-
could offer soothing purrs or claws combat!
Kids dressed him up in a red-devil suit-
were so surprised he did not hiss or stir.
Just slight annoyance on his face, so cute;
to dressing up, he sweetly did defer.
The glare within his gold-green starring eyes
so much enhanced his red-horned costume, that
our Georgie with his Halloween disguise
became our holiday's much-loved black cat.
But now, in heaven- where dear kitties go,
we're left with memories- and one photo.
As Georgie angel purrs neath halo-glow,
we smile- remembering his devil show.
October 12, 2020
Contest: Halloween Meow
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Revised from a shorter 12-line Rhymed Poem
posted October 14, 2015,
to this longer 16-line Iambic Pentameter Poem
DICKINSON PHRASIS part 111
The sunshine almost spoke this
morning as Summer laid her supple
glove in the sylvan drawer.Nature
confides now its crowning extravaganza.
The fruit should be more sweet,apples
are ripening fast, cider is almost done.
The dying day more golden,twilight
seems to pause.I try to delay the frost
and coax the fading flowers from
shadows which silent,sleep.
Autumn has been here.
Letters of Emily Dickionson ed Mabel Todd 1894
A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s (out of copyright) prose to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis trilogy on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
Yo, welcome to the vibe, where Brooklyn’s streets and soulful beats collide. A sanctuary for the mind, a chill retreat, where mellow rhythms and memories meet.
In honor of those legends, Phife Dawg, Scientifik, and Tony D, gone but never forgotten, their voices echo through the beats, in every rhyme, in every spot. Real hip hop, raw and true, no artificial, just the essence in what they do, A tribute to the roots, the hustle, the grind, the spirit of the streets, forever entwined.
So, kick back, let the vinyl crackle and flow, feel the nostalgia, let the good vibes grow. This is more than music, it’s a story, a legacy, a sound so pure. In the heart of Brooklyn, hip hop’s soul endures.
This mixtape's a time capsule, a golden thread, from gritty streets where legends bled, Dusty beats and rhymes so raw, A culture that broke every law.
Boom bap drums, a heartbeat’s pulse, Soulful samples, stories convulse, MCs spitting truths that cut deep, reviving memories we forever keep.
It's more than music—it's a movement, a voice, A legacy made by choice, A journey through struggles, triumphs, and pride, where hip hop's soul will always reside.
Press play, let the past ignite, feel the spirit in the night, this rare find, a treasure true, A gift for me, a gift for you.
Welcome to the era that still inspires, A flame that never tires. Hit like, share, let the world see. This is hip hop's legacy.
Born in Brooklyn was Italian-American singer Julius La Rosa.
He was destined to be a popular vocalist in America.
In the late forties after a short stint in the US Navy,
he got the attention of radio and television star Arthur Godfrey.
Julius recorded two popular hit songs in 1953.
They were "Anywhere I Wander" and "Eh Cumpari".
In 1955, near the end of an October radio show,
Godfrey unexpectedly announced he was letting Julius go.
Despite this setback, La Rosa's popularity would grow.
In and out of show business, he would be frequently seen,
until he passed away at eighty-six in 2016.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for valuable information I obtained to write this poem.
g
Grammie’s Basement
A quiet place of rest covered with the dust of decades
Where wicker chairs of discarded summer days
Sit with tangled strings of Christmas lights on their laps
Alongside ornaments of glass so thin a whisper shatters shining globes;
Bowler hats and boxes of stray buttons among the useless collar stays
Seek reunion with blouses out of fashion and starched collars;
Puzzles, games - pieces missing - a china doll, one shoe lost,
Takes tea with tea sets buried beneath cards of celebrations long forgotten
In melodies of old records played upon a phonograph
Stuffed with card decks of fifty one, without their jokers,
And cancelled checks - records of a life now passed
In steamer trunks and satin shoes near yellowed lace on broad brimmed hats,
In sewing patterns seen through new eyes as re-purposed treasures
Awakened from their moth ball naps and cardboard catacombs,
Blue mason jars filled again with harvesting preserved, refinished rockers,
Crystal lanterns lighting up the twilight, walking sticks restored,
Pictures welcomed back to life, remembering names forgotten,
And fabrics reborn into warming winter quilts beneath the stars,
Witnessing their rebirth, gracing once again a sleigh bed -
Life no longer waiting for revival – rejoicing in the resurrection.
10-21-19
Craig Cornish
My Favorite Junkyard
Niagara Falls
Aboard the Maid of the Mist, drenched from the spray,
Approaching Niagara Falls, I gaze in awe
At this wondrous sight of the renowned cataract,
Cascading fervently over the precipice
And violently crashing down upon the rocks
In a roiling boil is mesmerizing to see.
And behold! Out of the mist a rainbow appears,
Arching a span over the turbulent waters
From where thunderous roars are heard and eddies swirl
As if the heavens opened: “The Rapture is here!”
With angels descending to carry Christians home.
And I am small amongst giants (walking in the world
Defenceless against nature’s challenging forces),
Who will read “Insignificant” etched in my headstone.
Unlike those who think their works will last forever,
I’m like Niagara, trickling into the future.
Steady in my walk
Taking it in stride
As I compliment my feet
With the latest style
There's a gazillion of them out there
Doing what they do
If you haven't figured it out by now
I'm talking bout the shoe
They come in many styles and dazzling colors
Giving us the widest choices
Some even come with tongues
But have yet to find their voices
Although the tongue still flaps at times
The shoe it does not show
The ignorance that comes with it
Unlike some people that I know
Another marvel of the shoe
Is that it has a sole
Unlike men when it wears thin
You can replace it on the go
In NYC they prefer the high heels
In Florida the famed flip flop
Nothing beats a good boot in Texas
When you dance that Texas stomp
So won't you join me in this tribute
To the shoe cause there's no other
Which should be praised for the lives it's saved
In it's major role as a stink foot cover