Long Turn to Poems
Long Turn to Poems. Below are the most popular long Turn to by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turn to poems by poem length and keyword.
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
You look sideways at me
I look straight on at you
You glance towards me
I stare at you
memorize the stiches of your coat
they are uneven
it must have been handmade
You look up at the sky
I look at your shoes
They are slim and obviously Italian
You've been traveling in Europe
I look at your cheekbones
You stare off at a tree
It is a beautiful tree
though I cant see why it has captured you
I' look at your hands
they're nice hands
expressive hands
strong enough
big enough but not too big
kind hands
You turn to the left to look out over the gray blank sea
I know we're not going to see each other again
Even the stark greyness of the Cape in late November is more compelling to you in this moment than I am
I am dancing colors
I am a fragrance
of clean smells
I am sauce and sassiness and ideas and concepts
and wants
God how I want you
But you would rather look at greyness
I will never see you again
Thank you for the kiss on the dock
Thank you for the dinner and the dance
Thank you for the moment in the library when you looked into my eyes for one very long minute and I felt alive
Just before you asked me to the dinner dance
But you seem to have lost your moorings
You are like a boat
A buoy
or a wooden raft
floating
you don't know North from South
East from West
Now your sails are not catching the wind
You are sort of flapping
carelessly
aimlessly
I watch you like watching a crab scuttle up the beach
Fascinated
I will never lose my way
( That's a lie)
Tonight
You were simply a dock
that I pulled up to ...tied off
Tomorrow the sun will rise
and I will feel full and excited
I'll move on fast
throw off your bow
You were like the wild north wind for me tonight
for about 5 minutes
The wind is fickle
When the wind changes I tact
While you were in my sails I did love you
Like any sailor is impassioned by the beautiful wind
that suddenly drives him forward
the exquisite unbelievable .... unspeakable
tarp full sail pulling hard
I will miss you
But only like I always miss the wind when it dies
No more and no less
my sails will be full and my beautiful ship will be headed out to God knows where
But you my questioning friend will not know enough to follow
You will be still looking left and seeing only the gray of Cape Cod in Winter and
LETTER TO MY FUTURE SELF
Hello there, sweet Lady Jane,
So, it is three weeks before you turn seventy,
do you think you can honestly tell you found
your peace of mind, contentment, happiness?
Or are you still searching for answers to the
things you never understand and wondering
the what ifs, when you damn know there would
be no answers, no explanations, no clarifications.
Your children are giving you a party and all your
grandchildren will be there to celebrate you.
Do they make you proud for what they become?
Or do you still think you did not spend enough time
with them when you cannot turn back time or do
you still worry and wish something better for them?
All your siblings with their spouses, children and
grandchildren will join your family in celebrating
you reaching a major milestone, are you excited?
Or do you still feel like an outsider for your
mother, their mother treated you differently.
I know your life did not turn to be what you wanted,
as your life journey put you through many adversities
including sorrow and pain that you turned out to be
what you are meant to be, a strong willed woman.
You learned to let go the shadows that haunted you
and you accepted and embraced what life threw at you
becoming appreciative and thankful with your blessings.
In the past, you were asked many times what your plans
were for the next five years? ten years? for the future?
You had so many for you couldn’t get no satisfaction.
Now, you just whisper let it be, the words of wisdom.
Your dreams never materialized; but they never left you.
So at this time in your life you think you are never too old
to dream or create new ones by reinventing yourself.
You dare to live your life at its fullest and take a chance
to create your own happiness for it is a decision, a choice.
So, my sweet Lady Jane, it is nice to see you not worrying
about the future; but dancing and rocking to rock and roll
music, living like Ruby Tuesday, you come and go and
change every new day and you just imagine, living for today.
Ahhhh……..
11/22/21 Your Favorite Poem of 2021 Poetry
Chantelle Anne Cooke
9/18/21 Written and Submitted
Letter To Your Future Self Poetry
Silent One
NOTE: My pen name is Sweet Lady Jane
from the Rolling Stone's Lady Jane
what will you be remembered for when you have passed away?
what do you think most people will probably have to say?
what things would you like to be most memorialized about?
what things about you would your friends and family shout out?
what have you accomplished in life? what good works and deeds have you done?
where you a devoted servant of God or a disobedient one?
what significant mark on this world do you hope to leave?
will there be anyone around who for you will mourn or grieve?
will you have touched any souls or enriched any minds?
what type of lasting and living legacy will you leave behind?
when it comes time to take that final ride in that black stretch limo
what of your life's accomplishments will you want people to know?
for as naked as the day that you first appeared on this earth
what bare facts do you wish people would remember about you first?
a lasting and living legacy, your entry in the book of eternal life
will it be a legacy as a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ
to have been a member of the family of the Most Holy Lord
to have been one who was called to come and get aboard
for you can't bargain, you can't scheme and to Him you cannot bribe
to have a place in God's heart where only truth and goodness reside
so as you travel your life's journey keep God always on your mind
don't sweat the small stuff not buy into the devil's lies
now turn to your sons, to your daughters, nieces and nephews
the future generation you need to reach out to
the children, the continuous legacy of our very lives
our children, the next generation of servants for Jesus Christ
introduce them to the Lord and leave a faith in them so strong
show them that your life was a living testimony to the Kingdom of which you belonged
let the children know that God has given them love, power and self-discipline
show them that there's nothing to fear but fear in the end
help them discover the gift to them that God did give
their true purpose, passion and destiny for which they should live
tell them that this faith has always been in your family
the inheritance of belief a lasting and living legacy
pass the baton of faith so your memory will keep on living
fan the flame of faith that which to you God has given
a strong belief system that you will pass on down the line
by living and leaving a legacy that will be remembered for all time
Chubby little dimpled hand’s reach up to stroke my face
Happy cowboy booted boy, with hair all out of place
Broken nose, stepped on shoes, doggies left behind,
These are the things as I grow old, is running through my mind.
It only took a dollar to win a skip bow game
And if you lost the first one, we would play again
The homemade pizza and the pop would add to all the fun.
If you won $2.00 you’d be the lucky one.
How precious do those days now seem with all the children gone
Their children grown and have their own. Where do I now belong?
Tiny children calling grandma, I look around to see,
But they are calling my child, no longer calling me.
Life’s gone so fast, what do I do with the days that’s left ahead?
How many book’s can I read or how long stay in the bed.
The years have taken toll on me, and bones within me ache
Forgetfulness encamps my mind of the pills that I should take.
They call these the golden years, they say they’ll come a time,
When I will say I’ll take my rest and life will be a rhyme,
Of words I put together, to say how I do feel,
Forgotten, Laid aside for now, Hey what is the deal?
I once was young but now I’m old and I can only see,
The path that’s laid before me and I shall walk with thee.
Oh gates now open wide for me, do you see me coming in?
The brightness of your being Lord has made me to live again.
The ones I’ve loved are waiting, their hands stretched out to me.
Mother’s, father’s, cherished ones I see oh now I see.
Rejoicing, laughing, loving ones, oh wait I hear my name
Grandma, Grandma comes the cry,I turn to see the same
Loving girls hand in hand as they rush forth for me
sunlight shining in their hair, death had set them free.
I catch them up close to me and I finally get to say
I am so glad to be with you, you'll brighten up my day.
Let me tell you of your mother's that have missed you very much
Who would have given everything to feel your baby touch
How fast life goes and very soon they will come here too
To share with you the beauty and their joy of loving you.
But now I will remember…dimpled hands upon my face,
Cowboy booted little boy with hair all out of place.
I look back and I can see how lucky I have been
To have those precious moments, that I relive again.
So booted boy and dimpled hand’s, so fair, so fair of face.
I put you back within my heart, till I have run the race.
Have you ever been on the edge of insanity at once in your life where you just feel like it's the end where you've lost yourself completely in what you trust which is your mind and your heart deep inside your chest and you just can't find any way out of it, I'm not so sure if it's just me or just a chemical imbalance of the brain in the mentality that we all get when things just get out of whack suddenly. I went to the book store today and I strolled on by toward a section of books where Philosophy lied and where Philosophy lied, Religion lied and where Religion lied, Politics lied and where Politics lied, so did Confusion. I have never been utterly so interested in my whole life where these things must have come from oh so long ago and yet at the same time, I probably never will, never will know the secrets of what's to come and even when the question is asked; "What happens after we die?" Ohhh; I don't know, Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? We turn to bits of dust and grime? Or perhaps just the materialized particles that hide within the ground we walk upon today but regardless, I know that whenever the time is right, I'll figure out the answers when I've adjusted. I've never felt more depressed than what strong beliefs lead from me were suddenly destroyed and brought amongst others in different ways when they have been blind most of their life too like I have. Oh what a shelter society this small city has lead me to, or even worse what my parents have lead me to. How come I was never taught the study of Theology at an early age? How come Politics didn't matter to me by the time I realized what it was? Sometimes I really wish that I was raised on freedom of religion or read more books instead of sitting on my fatass all day with my father, watching T.v and suffocating in one of the many small apartments we called 'Home.' My Dad had never taught me anything, come to think of it. My Mom taught me a bunch of things but not enough. She was such an overbearing mother then again so how could I have stood a chance in the first place? But being so young still and weed messing up my head, I think it's time to somehow move on and continue to absorbed knowledge, grab some patience too and just get myself out of this mess for once; I know I have said this other times before but this is where I seriously draw the line. I can't believe I keep letting this happen to me.
Form:
Children of faith,
That look up to the heavens,
For help, for comfort,
For a change, for a beginning;
They are like nails hammered into rocks,
They have broken hearts,
They've got nothing,
Completely no one else to turn to,
They walk in the shadow of death.
Children of faith,
They know that they have numbered days,
And are aware of their crashing clay;
They see their fading light rays,
But they have their hopes high,
Like a camel in the Sahara,
That waits for years ,
For a shower of rain from above-
Their tongues prophecy new beginnings,
Their lips sing in thanksgiving,
But their hearts weep in sorrow,
For the afflictions and torments.
Children of faith,
Live each day like their last,
And give each shining sun their best.
Their thoughts are totally lost,
And upon this,they don't boast.
In fact, they're so detached-
From their poor lives.
They thank the setting sun,
For bringing a thin film of darkness,
And for silencing the day's noises;
So that they will shut their doors and windows,
To cry in silence,
And lick their tears;
And face their fierce fears-
While no one else witnesses their agony.
Children of faith,
That look up to the skies,
For midday dusk-
When the days seem longer,
Or appear like they're failing.
That call on,
For midnight dawn,
When nights appear faulty;
With the greatest of scary dreams,
And the highest ranking of their pain,
Or with life-threatening haemorrhages,
With wounds cut and drilled deeper.
Their lives have taken firm grip,
On to the strongest ropes,
Whose ends are knotted to weak poles.
Most of them lose it with time,
Like you and I at some point;
Only few keep the fire burning,
As they wait for their deliverance.
Children of faith,
I don't understand what it is that they are made of,
But only they know what their origins are.
We want to walk like them,
And borrow lessons from their trials,
As we try to put on their coats,
Just to feel the coldness or warmth or both;
That they get from their shield of faith.
She wants to follow their example,
And keep hearing their tales.
He wants to live a life like theirs;
And keep reciting their prayers.
We plead with them,
To Teach us ;
How to build faith like theirs.
When the storms are rough,
When the floods are yet to wash away our feet-
When misfortune befalls us,
Or when we feel we've lost it all.
A Determined Devil -
As I lay another cedar beam plumb for our home
smoke plumes, serpentine and sulphuric, interrupts the sunshine,
I look below the ridge, Eve standing silent
with weapon in hand,
a woman so grand,
panic has no rest in her person, fear has no finger on her pulse,
I move like lightning, to war by my Lady's side,
Valley vandels have come, scortching field fruit,
searing insidious signs into our peach and apples trees,
incarnate, the Devil disheveled with a defunct posse of three
approaches me, hailing not from a city of Angels but from a ghetto of ghouls,
mean and ugly like ignorance injured by the ivory tusks of innocence,
a madman desperate for the destruction of Divinity,
unskillful and wishful for lies to come alive,
he's a scribbler scribe, a dribbler riddler
a stereotype simpleton, frontin' and gruntin'
fallin short of the great gangsta idol,
just a stereotypical imbecile, a pencil with no lead,
burpin chicken feathers claimin them to be the silk quill of Angels,
I turn to Eve now
with eyes saying now is the time for demise,
briefly, before I strike steel across the throat of Hell itself
our first promise to each other repeats in my memory,
"I forever fight for you"
as her brown eyes convince me of loyalty, love royal,
she rips her blade through his groin
as I open a river across the throat of this terrible thug...
Raising A Tribe -
Eve, this land is already populated by persons whom seem like us,
although different too, like seasons in soul,
divergent in their dreams for dynasty,
they have dialects from a depth of Dawn
that awoke long before we arrived to thrive here,
customs peculiar as shapes to stones,
Father never spoke of these klans
who strive to survive outside the mercy of His guarded Garden,
competitive as clouds in a shrunken sky,
I met a merchant, a servant to trade,
he told of banners and blood, laws and legacies
cultures savage and cities of crime,
gleamed from telling stories of wealth and wonder,
said they worship their Gods more ways than gold folds,
consider what we have encountered Luv,
will our children slay or be slain, war or work
love or get lost in conquest,
you, as a Woman of God's glorious gambit
have a harvest of futurity's face in the balance,
will you deliver the destiny of our union into this drama...
Justin A. Bordner...J.A.B. 2021
Poet: Ken Jordan
Story: Street Life
written: July/2014
Child, I have seen many nights
turn to dawn, out in the streets.
I was you once, left home thinking that
I could take care of myself at eighteen.
My parents told me what to
expect from my decision to walk away
from the one's who loved me.
Whatever they said, didn't matter,
because I was mentally gone, (lost) and
rushing to get out there in the unforgiving
cesspool of street life.
One thing is clear, once out there,
I learned very quickly what my parents
tried to get me to see.
The streets are cold , cruel , vicious,
and everyone's for themselves.
When your money runs out, your group
of so called "friends," are gone.
No one is going to give you
something for nothing, you make
it the best way that you can.
Looking back, the temptation of
being out there with my friends,
doing whatever I wanted to do,
without permission from my parents,
was the lure that motivated my
desire to leave home, and hang out
in the streets.
My parents fought tirelessly to
protect me from the hazards of
street life, but obviously, I wouldn't
listen.
They said son, you're too young at
eighteen, haven't finished high school;
you have no money.
What makes you think that you can
make it out there on your on.
You think that it's cool to hang-out, smoke
weed, drink alcohol, pop pills, do edible drugs, and stay up (high )
all night, and fallout wherever
you are.
The devil is a liar, he will set you up,
to lure you in, he'll make you think that
you're, "part of his street family," but, when
it all goes down, (and it will go down), the
devil will point a finger your way, and
leave you to defend yourself, and move
on to the next victim.
In street life, you better know which-a-way
the wicked come.
They wear false faces to hide who
they really are.
I played with the
devil, and crossed many murky,
dark rivers, but, the devil did not win.
I heard my parents voice's saying,
"Theirs only two places to go
from street life, prison or the cemetery."
The devil is a lair, and he's not your
friend. be aware of who and what
you follow, because, all feathers
ain't good feathers, choose the path
of least resistance, and your life
will change for the good in you.