Long Victorian Poems
Long Victorian Poems. Below are the most popular long Victorian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Victorian poems by poem length and keyword.
She was the hub of Christmas time but
when she got sick, the world they knew fell apart
The empty freezer hummed void of cookies and tarts,
as the old tree lay in the shed undecorated and bare.
In the lobby the doctor gathered her offspring and gave
them the sad news. "Your mom has cancer. She
only has a few weeks to live."
Dust to dust, soon she would be free
her last words,
"Don't forget to decorate the tree"
Tears were kept in check hands were linked
and souls regrouped. Only one broke the silence with
a verbal vow. "We are going to remember her, simply"
On the first Christmas without her they gathered
by the old oak table with a carafe of white wine
and a home made apple pie to die for. Ida who
had been nicknamed Idaho Potato peeled the
plastic wrap off the pie just like mom would do*
It was Christmas, mother had taught them
about wine reduction winks and Xmas slips
There in the center of the table was a puny tree
holding up a Victorian ornament. The one mom
had inherited from her mother, back in 1952;
No throngs of gifts this year
only her voice humming in their sternums
keep it simple girls, keep it simple.
The End.
Dec. 18, 2018
Our trail led to a hilltop, high above
the lake, where we had driven to that day.
But, much to our surprise, abandoned there-
Victorian-style house in disrepair.
With peeling paint, some shutters gone, it stood
on seedy grass unkempt with weeds and vines.
We walked around; just two doors-back and front;
the back was sealed; the front- slightly ajar.
As we went thru that door, it fast slammed shut-
then locked! With bars on windows, no way out!
The antique furnishings lay thick with dust,
and gray webs glistened in the filtered light.
On left, we saw two standing armored knights-
there as decor, for sure- but now they moved!
As they walked forward, screeching awful sounds,
we quickly ran into the next large room
filled up with cobwebbed-portraits on the walls;
all mouths were moving, saying, "We're the ghosts-
and masters of this house! We've caught you now,
and here you'll stay for all eternity!
I yelled and screamed- then felt my body writhe!
"Oh no, oh no, I need to get away!"
"Oh, honey, please wake up, it's just a dream!
We're here at home in bed- just you and me."
August 21, 2018
~2nd Place~
Contest: The Haunted House (Scare Me Or Make Me Laugh)
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Judged: 09/01/2018
Many people don’t believe and are skeptics today
Ghost and spirits are made up rumors they say
People making up stories to manipulate and prey
I am a not a skeptic due to my experience one day
We lived an old Victorian house on a hill
Thinking back to that day still gives me a chill
I was a child, not more than five or six years old
When I saw a gold colored spirit on the threshold
My parents thought I was making it up, dreaming
They even accused me of lying and scheming
I am sensitive and very intuitive in some ways
That is why I was able to see the spirit that day
I am not a skeptic but agree some things are a hoax
Not everyone really gets to see spirits and ghosts
I know some people think it’s crazy, made up and fake
But I know what I saw that day, I was totally awake
9/22/18
UNDER THE GLASS CEILING part 1
Mary and Angelica ,ladies of great renown
Painters extraordinaire in Ol' London town
Still life,portraits & history on a grand scale-
Left out of a group painting because they were not male !
NOTE Mary Moser & Angelica Kauftmann help to found the R & A but were left out of the 1770's painting of Academicians .There were to be no other women members until 1922.
UNDER THE GLASS CEILING part 2
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann
furnished with brush and pan.
Each a Victorian 'Miss'
tied in service's abyss.
NOTE Upstairs and down stairs ,no in between,just thirteen and just there to please as Master and Lady take their ease.
THROUGH THE GLASS CEILING
Deborah,God annointed Judge&Prophetess
a matriarch,overseer of men,..no less;
Mary,at Jesus feet,studied...just as a man
in Christ there is no gender ban
In an old Victorian building live two cats and a lady,
The girl cat is Patches and the boy cat is called Peanut;
And the lady is called mother, they all live in harmony.
One day, mother decided the cats needed to have collars,
So, she bought a pink one for Patches and a blue one for Peanut;
Each collar had a little bell that tinkled and tinkled as the cats walked.
Now, Patches loved her collar but Peanut twisted about,
He flopped on his back, putting his paws inside the blue collar;
Finally, the bell fell off and he pounced after it across the room.
As Patches walked around her little bell went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Peanut was determined to get that bell and became quite the pest;
Mother talked to Peanut telling him to STOP and leave the bell alone.
When mother came home from work the cats came,
She reached to stroke Patches and noticed the pink collar;
The bell was MISSING, she looked at Peanut, bad cat she said.
Where the bells went is still a MYSTERY that will stay unsolved,
Patches always wore her pink collar, she really loved to show it off;
Peanut totalled destroyed his within days and was very proud of that.
Mother pulled out furniture to look for those bells,
She looked in every corner, in every cupboard and drawer;
The bells were too big to eat, where did Peanut put those bells.
Well in time Peanut, although young went to heaven, God decides,
Patches followed not long after and mother was left so heartbroken;
One night, she was awoken to the sound of two tinkling, tinkling bells.
And still years after . . . she often hears those mysterious tinkling bells.
____________________
October 27, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/The Mystery Of The Bells
Copyright Protected, ID 10-431-323-27
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
In Memory of Peanut the Cat and Patches the Cat
(and the bells have never been found)
Submitted to the Standard contest, Mystery
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron, Judged 11/2012
Third Place
Every day on my shore walk, I walk by a beautiful old dilapidated Victorian Inn
It’s been vacant for many years since a rumored double murder happened within
Today, oddly, I notice a light on inside as I cautiously walk to the front door
I enter the inn and see the ghost of an old Sea Captain, as I pass out on the floor
I come to, feeling foolish, as a fluffy tom cat starts purring and licking my face
Until I hear the old Sea Captain tell me my room is ready to stay at his place
8/29/19
Contest: Halloween Fright Night
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Contest: Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor: Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
first things first
this is not
for everyone you have
to have
quite a belly to
stomach it if you catch
the drift of them
then it gets
tough to let go
second things first be
authentic
and that means
all of you
but only in pieces
that cannot be fitted
back together,
like an eye
& hook, too
dangersome
a game for mice
and then
you can never tell
how
it all started
a slicing-edge away from
where you had even in-
tended to begin with this
mess
third things first you do, you
need a yes-yes-yes man
to temper the sensation of
when you see yourself
as a single blade of truth
in one single minute
we shared
reflected back
over a single order of
magnitude
what would it
have been
like if I had
lifted my hem
further exposing
my Victorian
anklet?
The lines of the glass blur,
the scenery blends
except for that
strange,
semi-translucent curvature.
What lay between me
and my living room,
clear yet an acrylic
boundary to freedom;
as I survey
my post nap situation,
with mortal eyes
I realize...
I’m stuck in a snow globe.
My snow globe,
with the quaint pre-Victorian
house and the sleigh and
snowman
in the front yard;
I’m tiny and my
living room furniture,
gargantuan
as though a giant
resided within my house.
A parallel world perhaps?
No, it’s my world and
at some point between
twilight sleep
and awakening,
I ended up inside
of my own globe.
My it’s cold in here,
oh no, it’s starting to snow
and this snow is not glitter...
what is the Grinch
doing in my Living room?
12-8-19
Stuck in a Christmas Globe Poetry Contest
Bobby May
You are welcome to share this poem for noncommercial use and dedicate it to your favorite mother, but please credit the author if you share it on social media or elsewhere …
Mother’s Smile
by Michael R. Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”
So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, then flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!
I have dedicated this poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, and my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch. Published by TALESetc, Famous Poets and Poems, Poems for Big Kids (anthology), Victorian Violet Press, Better Than Starbucks, Promosaik (Germany), Pour Femme (Italy), Korean Palmers, JIT Jaipur (India), Inspirational Stories and Care2Care; also Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner and included in the Children of Gaza song cycle by composer Eduard de Boer. Keywords/Tags: Mother, Mothers, Mothers Day, family, children, love, compassion, tenderness, encouraging, encouragement, selflessness, sacrifice, comfort, hugs, kisses, smile, smiles
Love has a gentle grace
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth on Mother’s Day
Love has a gentle grace; you have not seen her
unless you’ve looked into your mother’s eyes
and seen her faith
—serene, composed and wise—
that you’re the center of her very being
(as once, indeed, she carried you inside.)
Love has no wilder beauty than the thought
that you’re the best of all she ever sought.
(And if, perhaps, you don’t believe my song,
can your mother be wrong?)
A mother’s two daughters transformed the bookstore the other day…
let me set the scene….
They turned our bookstore into a castle…ruled over by two queens.
In an instant the battlements and a tower were erected…and here’s a fine footnote…
our door became a portcullis and outside…a drawbridge covered our moat.
The Deacon’s chair that sits in our store…the two queens let it be known…
would no longer be a Deacons’ chair as it became their throne.
They wore long and flowing robes and carried the sovereign orb…
in strict Victorian fashion
and I was happy to see the two queens not only shared the throne…
but ruled with fairness and compassion.
From my vantage point behind the counter I sent them good wishes and regards…
they were fair but they were strict but I didn’t want them summoning the guards.
Their mom asked if it was okay…
”No need to worry I said…I love to see imaginations soar.”
“Besides,” I whispered, “the queens and you the queen mother
are the only three people in the store.”
“But there is one thing you need, your majesties.”
I bowed, knelt down then said.
and, with their permission, I placed an imaginary crown on the top of each queen’s head.
They ruled over the kingdom until Mom said, “It’s time for dinner!”
at which point they hurried out the store…
and I watched as the two queens moved their castle to the restaurant next door.
I love imagination…how it can turn a bookstore into a castle…
two children into queens and one bookseller into a vassal.
As I closed up for the evening I thought back to those two queens
with their imaginations so innocent and pure…
Then I made sure the drawbridge was up…
the portcullis was locked
and their castle was secure.