Long Verse Poems
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It was a cold winter's day, the wind howled
Sky missing hiding above, the dark clouds
that were pelting rain had revenge on mind
the cold, wet city was like a death-trap
for the aged and homeless with no place
to go and cover themselves with blanket
on a soft warm bed with double pillows
and a full stomach with warm homemade food
Roopsingh, an old man of eighty-odd years
was shivering under the scant covers
all day there were no passersby because
of the biting cold and incessant rain,
to give a few coppers or leftovers,
the hunger within him was growing as
his shivering did, he could hear the growls
his belly was making under protest
The wind had picked up driving the rain
onto the footpath where Roopsingh lay sprawled
drenched to the bone unable to protect
himself from the vagaries of nature
the shivering had increased and his teeth
were starting to chatter, not a whole lot
of them were left though with advancing age
breath passing through his missing teeth, whistling
A streak of lightning split the dark blinding
Roopsingh temporarily followed by
a loud thunderclap that shook the buildings
and rattled doors and windows to a fall
The deafening sound almost took his breath
away leaving an echo in his ears.
Roop's poor belly growled just as the wind howled
he moaned with guttural pain losing sense
Roop wondered how many have gone unfed
and how many have to bear the bitter
cold, he was still concerned about others
forgetting his own predicament of
gut-wrenching pain and cold body shivers
Morning papers carrying a small caption,
"Rain claims one more life on deadly footpath",
missed the point, Roop died of unfed hunger.
Hunger is a worldwide problem unsolved
Many die of hunger among the poor
The rich have enough food to eat and throw
away the rest with scant concern for the
needy and the poor, a dangerous trend
the habit of eating less and leaving
more on the plate must be condemned strictly
and awareness raised regarding the poor
It was a Victorian garden with winding paths,
With a formal terrace and a conservatory;
Where exotic plants flourished in the warmth,
And planted urns of wisteria and roses grew wildly.
Chestnut trees with fallen leaves crumbling;
Benches worn and beckoning to rest a soul;
The sky was muted and grey without a moon,
It was deeply dark and cool in the garden this night.
The lady was quietly absorbed as she walked,
Lost in her own world in this gentle atmosphere;
She wore a mauve gown that revealed pale skin,
And her wrap was of the softest peach chiffon.
A pearl necklace embraced her slender neck,
And dark flowing hair blew in the cool breeze;
Her sadness deep, perhaps the death of someone,
Perhaps the death of love yet she was in quiet repose.
He stood watching her for the longest of time,
There was such a calmness and serenity here;
A deep love for this lady filled his heart and soul,
And stepping off the terrace he called out her name.
. . . she ran to him weeping for she had thought him lost . . .
_________________________________
March 4, 2015
Poetry/Verse/'In the Garden'
Copyright Protected, ID 15-1117-095-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Why
When people hate
They hate so hard?
And
I
Am so sorry
For
Their
Menacing words
To be
Be
William
Is
To be strong,
courageous,
and beautiful not just out rightly but within your soul
To be William
Is to be true to thin self
To be William
Is
Not easy
But to be William
Is to instill hope
And
Why do words
Like
***, Homo, ***** exist
Because
William
Unlike you
They do not see the good
In themselves
And
There will be those
In life
Who will always try to bring you down
BUT
To be William
Is forgiveness
And to be
William
Is
To be
Bigger than
It all
And
Never stop
February is a love song
composed on the mood of spring
in the tempo of a Christmas waltz,
modulating to estival embraces—
recapitulating vernal feelings
when autumn falls.
February is a pulsing heartbeat,
a twinkling eye,
a bold susurration,
here and gone in twenty-eight days—
an interrupted cadence.
The whole world would be stoned
should Cupid's quivers march along.
February is a bouquet of roses,
a box of chocolates;
goblets of a bubbly cherry wine,
threads of scarlet satin suited for ballroom romances;
two salmon swimming upstream undaunted
to birth the next generation.
The Flower At The Grave
He hates walking through cemeteries
It isn’t all of the tombstones
Nor is it the sadness of loss
His eyes tear up when he sees certain graves
Ones where the deceased are forgotten or ignored
No one ever mourns for them
Has there ever been a tear shed for them
Does anyone even know that they are there
He stops at each one and each person by name
Leaving a single flower on each one
And saying a prayer for each person
He knows it probably doesn’t make a difference
At least not to anyone he knows
But if just one soul smiles because of him
He believes that he made a difference
And that makes him happy
Journey over the Turnpikes to Freeways
East Coast to West Coast
Various routes and stops
All covered when I was in my twenties
Many dream
Took on the task of America’s exploration
Many places visited where America’s history was made
Travel from Sunset to sunrise
Days into nights
Reliving the Stagecoach days
Terrain and Mountains and Valleys
America’s finest
Meeting America’s people full of smiles and sharing their stories
Major Cities and towns visits
Hearing New Mexico, Nevada and Arizona Indian Tribes narration
Speaking with real novelist on their stories
Observing the majestic Rocky Mountains up close and personal
America’s wonder through the eyes of the skies
Sunsets kicking up dust
Stopping at Ghost Towns
Tumbleweed flying and eerie wind blows with shutters heading the houses
A Twilight Zone and Nightmare on Elm Street thought
Sunrises of a new day
Journey long and continuous
On the road again
Get in touch with America pursue
America the Beautiful
How great the sight
The idea of venture bringing the delight
From Old to new
Travel established perdue
America and me
Vast land wide and far to see
Open spaces and rivers
Mountains upon Mountains
America wise
Had to emphasize.
We’ve always done for each other what we thought was good and right.
Tucked up in our little corner under the rainy mist of our street light.
Tucked up in our little life where we know that we only have each other when the world chooses us with which to fight.
We found love and peace in one another in this beautiful little life.
All the years that we’ve been together through the laughter, fears, tears, felines and cries. Tucked up here together, well that’s alright.
Because, I’ll never regret a moment, not one single moment of our life, when I see you, my you, my love, our little corner tucked up in your loving blue eyes.
If my heart could be unveiled
In etchings on a canvas sky,
I would have to barter with the gods
for inks richly dyed,
ground saffron and vermilion, citrine and verdigris
could scarcely start to paint nuances of an exotic gypsy soul.
Could they read warm tones or cold,
looking in the heart's clear glass,
and formulate fresh colors to reveal emotion's tides;
create a new prism to divide the beaming spirit-spectrum light
and pierce the secret depths of me?
God gifts of light and power,
must formulate new tools to awaken mysteries,
break down barriers of mind,
disclosing a story line speaking only heart to heart
unwinding from a tantalizing spool.
Copyright, November 12, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
In and out,
with ribbons held
round and round the Maypole-
charming patterns made;
around, around-
in and out-
weaving purpose in their dance.
In and out,
our days of life-
round and round- through the years,
building as we go;
around, around-
in and out,
weaving patterns of our life.
Over, under,
and then braid-
we weave our days, one by one;
layers make them strong.
Beauty of those
patterns made-
deepens as our years go by.
In and out,
our days of life,
round and round through the years,
charming patterns made;
over, under
in and out-
weaving purpose of our life.
October 1, 2021
Revision of a poem posted Jan 17, 2015
When things get hard in just plain words, to say this is where we come in handy
The wisdom of beautiful language comes into the world, by one who can create
Words that is worthy of all the people who want or will listen to words of fancy
The things we type or write is from our heart to say the wonders of our minds
We are the type of people who would rather see someone have a gentle smile
With love and lust, with passion, and trust, our methods are sincere and true
With elegant point of view, we seek the heart and life of grand words of virtue
The words we spell is somewhat recognizable with sound that is treasured
We can mimic the earth and sky by words that hang around, float, or fly
We as poets dream beyond the border of words that are use every day
The silence of our views and cues are all we need at time to make people think
Our gentle words that spice the air and words that can have fragrance
With high mountains and cliffs that ravage the surface of our earth is poetry
It is words that have emotions and high respect for several parts of society
Poets are needed to explain some feelings that have been hidden
Society it’s self is blossoming to bring our young and old with words driven