Long Uncomplaining Poems
Long Uncomplaining Poems. Below are the most popular long Uncomplaining by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Uncomplaining poems by poem length and keyword.
When the Moon fell in love with the night,
Her luminous knight held her ebony hand,
And the Earth twirled with the day out of sight
She wears a crown of constellations, a breath-taking sight,
And as mere mortals sleep, the nocturnal take stand,
When the Moon fell in love with the night
Uncomplaining, never ceasing, then at twilight;
She prepares the blanket of eventide for another land,
And the Earth twirled with the day out of sight
Infinite awe of wonder, Sylph of boundless flight,
The slumber of sleep waited for majestic command,
When the Moon fell in love with the night
Hypnotic plethora of aura, an observers delight,
A silent phenomenon only her realm can understand,
And the Earth twirled with the day out of sight
Her regal stillness exulted by the stars and her moonlight,
The allures of our universe, as they came forth to expand,
When the Moon fell in love with the night,
And the Earth twirled with the day out of sight
15/11/22
The Beauty of the Night poem contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
DOMESTICATED ANIMALS
Our friends, Animals,
Your name from the Greek word
“Anemos” comes,
That Anaximenes, the wise of old,
The divine wind, that sustains the
Universe, named,
Which with every breath, the lugs of
Living beings fills
All of them animates.
Our comrades you are,
Our benefactors,
Companions in our life’s
Journey,
Guarantors of our
Endurance,
The path to survival, you
Have guarded for us,
Us, who call ourselves,
Humans
Without your presence, absent
We today would be
That’s why I call you
Benefactors
Because
You kept us fed when
Hungry were,
Kept us warm, when from
Cold we suffered,
On your uncomplaining backs
You carried us
And our hard labor you, for us,
Performed
Never asking something
In return
For
Your unending sacrifices!
The time has come for me
And all of us, I believe,
Our gratitude to you
To demonstrate
By treating your nature
With kindness
And never cause you
Any pain
Since you, as well as us,
GOD'S creation are,
Intended HIS HOLLY work
To maintain!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
06 February 2013
Anaximenes Of Miletus , (flourished c. 545 bc), Greek philosopher. There is evidence that he made the common analogy between the divine "anemos" wind, that sustains the (Cosmos) universe and the human “wind” or soul, "anima" that animates people.
in my yard stands a tree
lone like a hermit, regal like a monarch
its roots dug deep
its branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
sometimes its leaves rustle
overall it is silent and still
still....................
like waters without ripples
it stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
indeed a tryst with destiny!
under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
it remained uncomplaining
below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle pricks
it stayed nonchalant.
when the wind swept across
bending its branches in all directions
it stood on firm feet unwavering
it tells a tale of struggle and survival
it had stood there before I was born
now it displays every scar and every stripe
on its knotted bark as a proud trophy
sometimes I feel its pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
yet it holds an umbrella over all
who come to it in sun and rain
Placed First
A Brian Strand 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian strand
Did You Learn Anything?
Go ahead.
Put your shoes on.
Walk outside and face the nervous day.
Know that your lungs will not resist you.
Know that your heart will still stir.
Put the key in the ignition.
Now turn the crank.
You are back there now.
As if in a dream so ordered.
It is 1937 on Hoover Street.
The oleanders are bleeding.
Perfumed orange trees spit white loogies.
Clean children emerge from green digs.
Mothers hang clothes on uncomplaining lines.
Your grandmother is back there.
She’s wearing black reptile oxfords.
Go ahead.
Walk down the long gravelly driveway.
Pass the back porch steps there.
Pass the red-blooming bougainvillea.
There she is, alive again as she was.
Unfurling laundry with old clothespins.
Singing an old Salvation Army song.
Go ahead.
Talk to her.
Tell her who you are.
“Baba. Baba, it’s me,
Your surviving grandson, Harry.
I wanted to tell you,
I am a poet now.
An engineer of the human soul.
A standard-bearer for the mad,
Dressed in mindful metaphor.
You look young despite the goiter,
There inside your sinewy neck.
It appears and seems as if,
The goiter is a python at sleep,
Scrunched up inside there,
All rolled up like kneaded bread.
I hope it doesn’t hurt you.
I come from the future, Baba.
I know that sounds crazy, but
I am visiting from the year 2020.”
The world of my time screams
In lockdown, like medieval Europe,
People of every nation and tongue,
Too afraid to emerge from their walls,
Too fearful of even breathing in,
Imbibing in, with lost enthusiasms,
Mountain fresh air from the antipodes;
Fearful of catching and releasing It - the
Corona Virus monster microbe moving
Silently across the terrified landscapes,
Devouring the cool mornings,
Aside the neon evenings, even
Robbing the noon day of hopeful turnings.
“Baba, can I stay here with you,
In this golden simple time of 1937?
May I remain here now,
A happy and relieved rider,
Astride this awful depression horse?”
Go ahead.
It is time to return.
Baba died in 1963 and cannot hear you.
Turn the key off in the ignition.
You are back now where you belong.
It is 2020 in the United States of America.
Baba is sleeping in the graveyard now.
You are being held hostage by a germ.
Kick your shoes off now and think.
Did you learn anything?
This system has caused me irreparable harm—
Yet still I speak your name in prayer;
I would have been anything you wished of me,
Soft clay beneath your careful feet.
I wandered once in erring youth,
In foolish shadows, small and blind;
Petty trespass against the world—
But not the darkness in their minds.
You gave me life—I gave it on
To one bright child of fragile grace;
She walks the earth because of love
That time and trial cannot erase.
Compassion.
This sorrow stretches long as years
Beyond the span that he himself dared tread,
Long as the ancient pilgrim host
Whom Moses through the desert led—
Toward a land he saw, yet never knew,
A promise burning overhead.
Grace.
As planets turn about the sun
With faithful, uncomplaining art,
So do you turn and look again
Upon the number 90-14869 and my heart—
Strange reckonings of guilt and blame,
Cold figures set apart.
Empathy not he the beast.
I did what youth in terror does,
When bruised by hands that were not kind,
Trying to cry without a voice,
To force the cruel world to mind
The brutality of a single man
Who should have sheltered humankind.
in Love.
Then is not now—yet children live
Because some souls refuse to sleep;
They guard the small, they tend the frail,
They sow where broken fields lie deep.
Without safe children, none grow whole,
And none return the lost to keep.
Change.
O good Woman, bright with light,
You who outshine the grievous day,
You lift the fallen into dawn
And show the trembling where to stay.
I am your servant in this hope—
Your friend, if I may say.
And if the world be hard and stern,
Still mercy moves in Magdalene—
A tenderness that walks through dark nights
And washes what has been.
In my yard stands a tree
tall and sturdy
silent like a hermit,
regal like an empress
her roots dug deep
her branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
She has a coy dalliance with the Wind.
Sometimes he comes tickling
her tender parts, whispering
sweet nothings in her ear.
Overall, she is still,
still.....like waters without ripples.
She stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
Indeed, a tryst with destiny!
Under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
she remained uncomplaining.
Below the thundering clouds,
bearing a thousand needle pricks
she stayed nonchalant.
When the wind swept across,
bending her branches in all directions,
she stood on firm feet unwavering.
She tells a tale of struggle and survival.
She had stood there before I was born.
Now she displays every scar and every stripe
on her knotted bark as a proud trophy.
Sometimes I feel her pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage.
Yet, she holds an umbrella over all
who come to her in sun and rain
and blesses creatures like squirrels and birds.
Driven by a growing angling fad
The jolly fisherman took a fishing rod
And walked onto the nearby stream
As the sun rose from the mountain seam
He had in mind the swimming Trout
With rising hope and speeding steps, he set out
Sat on a rock and swished the rod in the air
With the quickness of a practiced bowler
Looking at the line sinking low, waited quiet
Hoping to see the fish nibbling at the bait
Inhaling the fresh morning air, he sat
His head well protected with a frilled hat
As the hook line went taut in his grip
With rising hope, he pulled it up
But alas! With no booty to boast
And no fish at the hook to fry or roast
Uncomplaining, he sat like a statue on the rock
For hours, never allowing his heart to break
He waited all day till the sun went down
And at last with a smile, walked down to his town
_______________________________
August.19. 2022
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Julia Ward
Kindheartedness
Ellen had a lot of experience in washing nappies, six bairns in less than eight years. William
Chapman had a lot to answer for. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, what poor Ellen had
to put up with. His drinking, his womanizing, and, some said, his violent behaviour towards his
uncomplaining wife.
The other women in the village tried to lighten her load without appearing to pity her. That
would never do.
Grace, Isobel, and even Nancy left bits of worn soap and washing soda by the scrubbing
board, and with Ellen being fourth in line, very often there was a good full boiler already
warmed with her neighbour’s coal. Most miners’ wives had plenty coal, but Chappie was not
above selling his allowance for beer money.
The van men from the local co-op store were also heroes in this respect. Davie the butcher
always made sure that the soup bones Ellen bought had more than the required amount of
meat still clinging to them. Her half pound of mince got another dollop after it had been
weighed and the odd sausage found its way into her meagre purchases. Then there was
Jimmy the baker who... accidentally... squashed some bread so it was not fit to sell. Ellen’s
brood did not mind squashed bread, it went well with the very slightly overripe bananas from
Ben McCabe the fruit man.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Not sure if this will qualify as a poem on kindheartedness but kindheartedness is what it was
in the 1940s
When the chilly wind starts blowing from the North,
I don't curse the wind,
But lovingly admire the birds and their
merry chirping for the last time this year,
And locate my most preferred shawl!
The birds are not cruel, they are not abandoning me for ever,
They promise to return next summer,
I just have to be patient, and uncomplaining, and tolerant!
I watch stoically the last batch of Red Roses wither.
Appreciatively I cut and pick up the last few green veggies
from the tiny patch in the corner of my garden,
Rake yellow leaves from the backyard with tender hands
when the ground gets covered,
And welcome and admire the sweet smell of Fall's
Pleasant, gentle, entrancing air!
With a priceless Kashmiri shawl wrapped around me!
Oh, those exotic shawls from the heavenly place they came from,
A place overlooking unforgettable serene Dal Lake
where sikaras float causing tiny circular ripples in the tranquil water,
And the Mughal Gardens harbouring exotic Chinar with pointed leaves!
Irreplaceable by any memory!
Surrounded by Olympian mountains, one magical valley on Earth,
I may not ever return!
In my garden, the calm willow, the playful crab apple, the majestic rose - stand
In silent prayer!
The air is still, you can hear
Buzzing of bees, feeding on nectar
And pollen of fruit trees; we
Slowly walk through with gentle ease
Grateful for a small measure of shade
That tease by uncomplaining trees,
We stop. Sit for a wee rest upon earth breast
Beneath the pavilion of overhanging limbs,
Dangling leaves and fragrant blooms
At that moment, time runs out as the clock
Keeps ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
Ceaseless beating of our longing hearts
Our future naturally occurring now,
Our lives are worth, but a second
We see the past, present, and future
The infinite and eternal nature of our soul's
Bathe in a warm trance that can only belong to us
7/6/2020
Time- 8 Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: A Dear Heart
1. time 2. moment 3. clock 4. ticking 5. past 6. present 7. eternal 8. infinite