Long Verandah Poems
Long Verandah Poems. Below are the most popular long Verandah by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Verandah poems by poem length and keyword.
Rumi's quote: If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?
If you are irritated by every rub,
How will your mirror be polished?" - his love
For wisdom wrapped in words, a timeless gift,
Invites us to a journey, spirits lift.
A moment of reflection, as two souls entwine,
On the verandah of life, a union divine.
You and I, apparent duality we feign,
Yet, in soul's embrace, an undying terrain.
Imagine, then, the soul as a mirror bright,
Reflecting thoughts, emotions, in the light,
A polished surface, clear, without a stain,
But rubs abound, inevitable pain.
For if we let each irritation sting,
Without the grace, resilience to bring,
The mirror clouds, obscured by discontent,
A hazy view, distorted and unkempt.
Yet, if with open hearts, we face each rub,
Embrace the challenge, join the cosmic hub,
A transformation, silent and profound,
Polishing the mirror, brilliance unbound.
Let the rubs be notes in life's grand score,
Each irritation, a step, a dance floor.
For in the mirrored soul, where reflections expand,
A polishing journey, hand in hand.
Curl of smoky streaks
Joss stick messages;
Heaven bound
~~~~~~~~~
Temple visit
Feast day moments;
Talk to the dead
~~~~~~~~~
Bright Hill Temple
Where rites bring peace;
Family gathering
~~~~~~~~~
Temple verandah,
Spacious prayer courtyard;
Surreal this heaven
~~~~~~~~~
Closed eyes salute
An inner realm calls;
Spiritual insight
~~~~~~~~~
Here we gather
Offer our earthly harvests;
Poignant celebration
~~~~~~~~~
Briefly we come
Ply food offerings;
Gratitude tells
~~~~~~~~~
Columbarium niche
Earthly ashes laid;
Fond remembrance
~~~~~~~~~
All Souls Day
By parents' niche tomb;
Familiar voices speak
~~~~~~~~~
Echoes in hallway
Death talks in silence;
Life feels message
~~~~~~~~~
Poise in strange voice
Talking in my head;
Ecstatic insight
~~~~~~~~~
Brief is our time here
In-between eternities;
Grief comes too late
~~~~~~~~~
Songbirds sing
A rustic hymn;
Salute the dead
~~~~~~~~~
Flowers sparkle bright
Crimson, violet, orange hues;
Bourgainvillea vines
~~~~~~~~~
Hurl of midday sun
Casting odd silhouettes;
Deserted columbarium
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
22 October 2014
Singapore
Out of the darkness of night
crept the dawn.
Steaming with thirst,
the dry mouth sun rose—
inebriating itself with morning
dew—leaving sparkling stars of green
scattered across the quilted earth.
The graying, languid sea,
annoyed by quiet cheerful winds,
laboriously molded lethargic waves;
lethargic waves of fickle frothed faces
falling upon the pillowed shores.
Above, a lone sea gull
slices through the salt laden air—
leaving an invisible trail—memories
left behind by the perilous journey’s end.
Laying in the roped womb
of verandah hammock, I cracked a smile,
and humming praises to the Creator,
gave thanks for sharing another birth of day.
I have seen them stand outside my door,
pleading mother to help stage their show,
on our verandah with stony floor,
tattered clothes, hungry child, wife on tow!
dusty robes speak of miles he walked,
two woven baskets on wooden yoke,
usual wares with which he embarked,
a venomous trade to feed his folks!
with widened eyes I saw him sit down,
his sweat pouring down in summer heat,
mopping face and brow with long sleeved gown,
asks favour of water, food to eat!
rested and nourished his show is on,
a crowd of urchins get a free peep,
melody like from an old car horn,
he blows sharp and sweet but yet so deep.
speckled cobra nearly five feet long,
rocks in anger with an open hood,
heat of summer is no time for song,
disturbed from slumber, how very rude!
As child was overawed by his skills,
such deadly snakes controlled by his Been*,
there is tragedy behind each thrill,
truth of life, often hidden unseen!
snake charmer’s life is twin tragedy,
education denied from a child,
for snake it is to be in custody,
to lose their freedom to rule the wild!
let’s solve this tale with education,
help their children go to a good school,
use their skills to help conservation,
so the snakes roam free, the wild to rule!
*Been a musical flute made from a coconut shell used by snake charmers to distract the snake
Premier contest winner (3)
Written 4/01/2021
9 syllables each line except one that has 10 syllables
‘The Snake Charmers’ poetry contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
My bones are creaking and my bed is squeaking
Im one short of eighty nine
Bosom friends come gather around me
Lets crack some jokes and drink some wine
Long lost relatives are looking me up
Their eye on my wealth, damn they really suck
I spend my days thinking what must I do
I want to leave it to someone who is true
There is a beggar on my street who wishes me well
I think I could leave him some and make him swell
Or the garbage man who comes knocking at my door
Cleans my porch and the verandah floor
Missionaries of charity, that’s where I will put some
For the cause of orphaned kids, lost and lonesome
Or to the church which I often visited
Where I’ve left my prayers and alms distributed
But to that crafty old woman who walked out on me
I will leave my rusty ring on the tombstone in the cemetery
Milton Brown
1822 – 1917
I knew C. W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
I lived on the first floor of his Greenleaf Hotel
By Bailey Street.
Lived and thrived on the flowered verandah.
Sipped lemonade and gummed soft bread
In the swank dining room.
Talked and listened into the long afternoons
With the fine folks from Illinois and Iowa.
Most of the time,
I rocked and thought back,
And I remembered fondly
The old times in the trackless wilderness,
Seeking a permanent woman and a permanent home.
I found both with a pair of leather boots, a spade and a torn Bible.
Ye Kings and Princes of the Earth!
And to all the rich and the powerful:
“What doth it profit a man
To gain the whole world
And lose his own soul?”
We are truly nothing.
As nothing as the still wind.
As worthless as the dirt
That presently covers my still bones.
Yes, I knew C.W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
He was the richest man in town when I arrived here.
And yet,
He taught me humility and dignity.
Lessons learned with a kind word
And a daily tip of his derby hat.
And after my passing into the eternal night,
He honored me with a kind eulogy at my burial
Here in Artilissa’s flower yard.
My forever resting place
Under these countless stars!
a shipmaster in love
The boat that left at sunset didn't have red sails
but fading sunlight painted grey sail red
even though the vessel was not going to China
not this year or any other year, the Oriental
wanted to know why he lost two wives
in, the short span of seven years
His third wife sees the boat disappear from
the safety of her verandah she doesn't like
a vessel moves and stays at home
She is secure, and pregnant, a feat his other wives
managed, hence that's why he sold them to
a bordello in Tashkent
the boat is a brigantine made of Canadian wood
the timber has the habit of groaning when
sails have no wind and days appear longer than
when a storm is brewing
The captain has a shopping list for his third wife
gave him, about buying figs in Sumatra and
coconuts in Congo, the captain smiles, his wife
she has never seen a map
If nowadays we have become so wise
And are proud achievers
Who have explored the world from our cradle;
If these days men would hear with their eyes
And men would speak by their actions
And would prefer to reason with their flesh;
If today you see chicken gnaw bones
And billy hunt and prey on rodents,
Do not stand to stare or wonder,
For these are the last days!
When a day's old child would stare,
When teens have now become bachelors;
When at twelve you have known
Men and women and fulfil God's injunction
To procreate and litter the earth with waifs.
If at twenty six your name goes
With the scholastic print of Ph. D.
And when at thirty sitting at your verandah
Having coloured teeth from tobacco and kola.
What else are you waiting for my friend?
Do not wait on what the earth has to offer,
Prepare your bed and die,
For these are the last days!
If nowadays we have become so wise,
If today we are proud achievers,
We are like the young child, Umu,
Who sighted a ripe mango amidst dozens
Of unripe mangoes up in the tree.
He detest the burden of climbing
And would never think of waiting
For the mango to fall to the ground.
In his excitement, he pulled up the young stalk
Of a healthy peer tree and
Threw it up at the mango tree.
He threw it up again and again and before
He could struck down the one ripe mango,
He had plucked and emptied dozens
Of unripe mangoes to the earth.
He picked the one ripe mango
Among the others and left in triumph!
If nowadays we have become so wise,
If today we are proud achievers,
When an infant would reject
His mother's breast because he has no time,
Do not stand to ask why or wonder,
For these are the last days
That shall give birth to a new era!
In the evening of this beautiful sunshine day
I took a cooling-off walk through the park.
There I saw buoyant ducks and little ducklings
Watching a bullfrog sitting on his lily pad throne;
His pulsating neck aped silent crocking rhythms.
The greenish hued pond water was as still as death
Until the little ducklings began flapping their wings
In a manner that seemed as if they were in a game
Playing Rock! Paper! Scissors! or skiing with wings.
As I strolled past this joyous view, a distant car backfired!
Suddenly, but for the water, the pond became empty and
Looking around, not an amphibian nor avian was in sight.
Assured by nature that all was well, I continued my walk.
Having returned home, I now sit here out on the verandah
And gazing up into the eastern sky I wait for the rising moon.
Come,” let the church say amen!” For a man “born by the river”, the
Change that’s “gonna come”…allegorically revealed itself today.
Horizons
I sit on the verandah look at the sea no ships in today
open view until the horizon after that, on the other side
there are new limits
I have seen many horizons, some of them are blue or green
but have in common stopping me from seeing what is beyond
What if I met a horizon that had no new horizons?
A blank nothingness that has no dreams.
I look behind me and see an island before the fog sets
obscuring its coastline.
It is getting cold on the verandah, suddenly it becomes
the loneliest place on earth, breaking my spirit.
The island I saw on my endless quest is called Saragossa
I steer my ship there to meet friends long since departed
they will tell me what I need to know, the unsaid.