Long Verify Poems
Long Verify Poems. Below are the most popular long Verify by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Verify poems by poem length and keyword.
On a high branch,
a squirrel in a green felt fedora
lifts a pair of binoculars,
surveying the yard
with the solemn focus
of someone guarding
a very small kingdom.
He is today’s sentry~
the latest in a long line
of creatures appointed
to verify what passes
beneath his tree.
He watches the mail carrier,
the jogger,
the neighbor’s dog,
each subjected
to his silent scrutiny.
No one escapes
the authentication ritual.
He tightens his grip
on the binoculars,
as though the world
has become a place
where trust requires
magnification.
Even the wind
must prove itself,
rustling the leaves
in a pattern he recognizes
before he allows it
to pass.
And I stand below,
waiting for permission
to enter my own yard~
passwords memorized,
codes confirmed,
identity authenticated
in triplicate.
The squirrel nods once,
a gesture of clearance
or perhaps indifference.
It’s hard to tell
with squirrels.
The squirrel resumes his watch,
fedora tipped,
binoculars raised.
And in the small precision
of his woodland audit,
I see a reflection of myself~
another creature
trying to navigate a world
where every door
asks for proof,
every gesture
requires verification,
and even the simplest trust
must pass inspection
He scans the yard again,
not for danger,
but for certainty~
a thing neither of us
has managed to keep.
And in his quiet vigilance,
I recognize the strange truth
of our age:
that we have become
guardians of our own fear,
checking the locks
not because they are broken,
but because we are.
lift moon high,
swaddled in clouds
between
two slender limbs —
soothing wailele.*
pontoon boat
far low,
quietly
nesting.
Hawaiian
aloha
breaching the tall mast.
mahina orchestrates
the
cool sapphire cascade.
9/4/2019
Emile Pinet’s Yalto poems only Poetry Contest
Yalto listed as verse. Invented by Edward Ibeh: line 1 to 15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables
*howmanysyllables.com correct except for the Hawaiian word wailele.
Can verify on https://www.to-hawaii.com/hawaiian-dictionary.php
wailele - waterfall (pronounced why-leh-leh)
aloha - hello (pronounced ah-loh-hah)
mahina - moon (pronounced mah-hee-nah)
My wondrous love, my soul cries joyful tears,
when i do feel your heart beat against me.
As i hold you close, gone are all my fears,
and our glory i know shall ever be.
Your siren eyes they do call to my heart,
in the depths of my soul your song does sing.
From the heart of your eyes i shall not part,
all my love and care to you i shall bring.
In the depths of my love beauty i see,
you are the beauty, the light of my soul.
In your embrace love so gently can be,
ever in echoes your love is my goal.
Ever i know throughout all of my years,
my wondrous love, my soul cries joyful tears.
~ ~ ~
What fulfilling love through the years we've shared
Our hearts pulse as one though age takes a toll
With no other would I've wished to be paired
Our romance lives through each breath we extol
What you glimpse in my eyes can be defined
by the same vision I fathom in yours;
A forever love, heavenly divined
Come and walk with me upon moonlit shores
In echoes our love shall ever resound
to depths far deeper than ocean or sea
Our hearts and souls, perpetually bound
Wherever you are is where I shall be
Tears of joy testify to love's glory
They verify years of our love story
Thanks for renewing our joined writings, Mike. Your sonnets are always a joy and an opportunity to imagine.
She’s usually smiling, usually inspiring, usually delighting – in the moment, the quiet, the light of a spirit who brings her fulfillment. ~ quote by author
Usually, she gives – generously
With joy, offering her gifts
Her kindness, her acceptance
The wonder of a tender word
Pretty songs of hope, shadowed
By love that she usually knows
Will forever abide inside her
Heart, where there grows…
A melody of gentleness
The depths of serenity
Usually, she sighs – thankfully
With delight, presenting her smile
Stirring feelings of aliveness,
Passionate prose and poetry that
Shows much more than she says
It is this poem of her faith…
That silences every dread
Usually, she tries – contributing
With excitement, a promise
In the shadow of her provision
The impact of a love so sure,
So brilliant it shines, like the sun
Sparkling like stars in the night
Reminding hearts why …
She believes, without evidence
To verify her faith, she believes
Because, usually, she knows
What it means to listen
To the whisper of His still, small voice…
The mystery, the chorus of a psalm
Drawn from the feeling He excites
Feeling so strong it is alive
Usually, she abides in the light
The rich, vibrant hue of satisfaction
That comes from knowing…
The Son who is…
far more brilliant than the sun
will ever be
Usually, she believes
Without a doubt,
In the One who brought her out
Of the darkness!
Into the assurance of a LOVE that is eternal
Writing Challenge - Unburden a ''U'' Word- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
November 6, 2022
From the moment we became grandparents we have felt conflicted
at the way, in books and media, grandparents are depicted.
But we’ve been grandparents for a while now
(one grandchild just graduated college)
So we believe it is time to share some grand-parental knowledge…
When a cartoonist draws a grandma her hair is invariably in a bun
If she’s not wearing a sweater…chances are she’s knitting one.
When she walks it’s with a cane and we will forever take offense
how she’s always wearing glasses and has no fashion sense
When a cartoonist draws a grandpa he is never very tall
His hair is a vibrant shade of gray or white…if he has any hair at all.
His plaid pants never match his shirt…his glasses are as thick as a window pane
He could be in a wheel chair or like Grandma…walking with a cane.
If you look around at grandparents today, you’ll find us agile and nimble and spry
In fact you’ll discover to your amazement those old stereotypes don’t apply.
Deborah doesn’t wear a muumuu…her hair is never in a bun,
If you ask our grandchildren what they think, they’ll say their Nana’s fun.
She’s creative, she’s compassionate, she’s patient and I can verify
She’s great with babies, loves to bake and sings a soothing lullaby.
As for me, though I am a little bald, I don’t wear plaid pants, never would.
snd if I do say so myself, I make the clothes I wear look good.
I do not fish, don’t watch much TV, I don’t read the Farmer’s Almanac
When my grandchildren ask to play football…guess who’s the quarterback?
Deborah and I will try jumping rope, playing soccer and climbing trees too
because in this day and age, in our generation, that’s what grandparents do!
We are a mix of old and new, we are much cooler and hipper than before
(Even though I’m pretty sure people don’t say cooler or hipper anymore!)
We embrace some of the traits of our grandparents, yes the good ones have survived
but speaking for Deborah and the grandparents I know, a new generation has arrived!
So cartoonists when you draw Deborah draw her with style, grace and fun
And if you’re drawing her baking cupcakes, make sure they’re funky ones.
And when you take your pencils out don’t draw me in a rocking chair
Instead…draw me climbing up a tree or in a top hat
and if you want…
you can add more hair.
Among her photos were a special three
quite faded in their vintage blacks and grays.
A man and woman- one of a small child;
not all together- each of them alone.
I look for answers in their soulful eyes.
There's no expression to resemble ours
to say that they were kin from long ago.
Who are these strangers here with family?
No one to ask- I'm now the matriarch;
no clue to help identify their line.
No names or dates are offered on the back;
a mystery for sure in front of me.
These photos were important, for they're bound
with satin ribbon- not mixed with the rest.
I'm left to live with this unsettling find;
to never know why they are in this box.
My find was stored so very long ago-
left undisturbed until this special day.
Now still these strangers lay in mystic peace-
too late to verify why they rest here.
As I approach the first mile marker I realize I am still glorying
in the cheers and hoots of my family; the proverbial die is cast.
a weird smile on my face, I have never seen
so many long legs as they dart past.
Some of their bottoms are so exercise- lean that they barely bounce at all.
This marathon is my first race; I watch others break free.
Do not look back, facing forward, smiling in a keen unnatural way.
It is best if I do not know there are not others behind me.
I fear it, but to verify it might make me lose my energy.
I clear my mind, thinking one step at a time, I follow their trail.
but what about your torn ACL an internal voice queries.
I still it immediately, afraid it will cause me to fail.
The first mile marker is within my sight.
Another runner dashes past me, and throws me a quick grin.
I am invincible, ready, willing, in shape for this.
I run after them, glorying in an anticipation of a win.
Written 12-20-2018 Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon
sponsor: Mark Toney
Can't understand how Covid
Has taken over our lives
Started in Wuhan, China
But some say it's a disguise
To eradicate a population
That the undertones defines
As the count is rising
So does the bogus cries
Some say it's a man made disease
Caused by G5 transmitters
But the fast increases
And mounting funeral pyres
With the tally on the rise
Gives me the jitters
Some say its the future
Some say it's liberty denied
Because in a life and death situation
The government controls our lives
Not with rules and regulations
We have to give up freedom
Before the whole population dies
Some say its a curse for failure
Others , there is no explanation
Even hidden from the wise
But we keep playing with nature
When it avenges in abundance
The whole world cries
It gives us the notion
That these are perilous times
With no end to the commotion
To find a cure
We are faced with the daily tally
And an increase on the score
The old bear the brunt
Of that we can't deny
But the young has no exemption
When you hear parents cry
But what of the un-recorded
When they are certified
In the absence of an autopsy
From which we can rely
Giving some certainty
To verify the eye
We were talking about climate change
Before Covid hit the scene
Now wiped from the front pages of dailys
As Covid, reigns supreme.
How much has to be experienced, for any of us to actually see?
Must we be blinded by illusion, or a veil of secrecy?
Can we only listen carefully, and survive this remedy?
Or do we need more senses to concur with, that can agree?
Maybe this kind of corroboration, is just wasted redundancy?
Or has the environment become so clouded, to verify any reality?
Should we just rely on obtuse faith, without the material
observationally?
Seems to me that the truth can survive, the multiple anomalies.
I sing Death's song as if it were my life's hymn
Celebrating it, making it my sole purpose
I sing of it, telling it of how of it, I am keen
Of how, amidst life's pricks, it remains a rose!
My sole, growing in my garden, in prime
Being that which feeds my strength in my fate
Being even that which propels my rhyme
Being that to push me to love my torn state
But then, Death is not the sad part of life
Death is beautiful, it brings promises
Allowing us to verify of Truth
As it has been decreed in holy verses!
Why, Death's many songs allow me to live
Such is not a reason to use to grieve!
For Contest Beautiful Sadness
Written on 4th January 2019
Sponsored by: John Hamilton