Long Vowing Poems
Long Vowing Poems. Below are the most popular long Vowing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vowing poems by poem length and keyword.
As the night fell on a world who keeps turning
joyous thoughts remind my heart of what’s coming
pretty lights, paper and presents, I’m learning
beautiful spirit who’s clearly forthcoming
twilight reflects how heart and soul are yearning
this music who abides is purely numbing
when I pray, evoke the light that is glowing
Pouring wonder from a heart, gently flowing
As moments fade, I welcome the coming year
time for exciting dreams to be brought to life
snow brushes my breath, washing away my fear
vowing, as I reflect, there’s an end to strife
come what may, hope will silence my every tear
sweet dreams so thick, you can’t cut them with a knife
this is the time my heart races and decides
Whatever comes, love brings wisdom who provides
One day when I was lost through time, I wandered past where I had been.
I recognized the hour was tossed, and tears there flowed, they, once again.
A hand redeemed another lost, though had I once counted the cost.
The time well spent or so thought I, fleeting joys, with temptations nigh.
Droning over taking nearly, eyes are dimming droll and dreary.
Lucid once, then, now hazy, sane at times, or even crazy.
The past is gone, the futures blurry, running fast life's in a hurry...
Much like mice we all do scurry, help me quick oh do I worry...
I take a breath and then awake, deep the gasp I stare then brake.
I wandered past where I had been, vowing never to go again...
Don't let me lost again there be, for I will fail again you see...
Don't let me lose another hand for I will lose my grasp...
So this is it. It’s finally here.
Your last school day has come
No more morning drop offs
No more rushed school run.
No more sandwiches to pack
No more sports kit to acquire
No frantic searching for the socks
Hiding somewhere in the dryer
No more crazes to embrace
No whirring fidget spinners
No scoubidos or scooters
No more school hot dinners
No more earnest pleas for help
Or passionate persuasions
To help with your maths homework
And solve quadratic equations !
A vista stretches far behind
When you were very young
And had to have your hair combed flat
But never in a bun !
Mum was taking all the flack
When your bottom lip would wobble
Armed with just a hairbrush
And a Clare’s, Pink Princess, bobble
Selling cakes and muffins
When cake stall day came round
Besieged by hungry children
At the home time bells shrill sound
Scrubbing out car carpets
With some enzyme killing spray
And vowing I would NEVER
Take you back to “Shakeaway”
No more sunny sports days
Then a picnic under trees
Nor helping at school discos
When the heat hit 80 degrees !
No more frantic walks to school
No chatting at the gate
No more nudge to hurry up
So we didn’t sign in late
No more uniform to buy
No September feet to measure
No school concerts to attend
And glow with pride and pleasure
No more avid watching
For the slightest trace of snow
Yearning for a snow day
Tuned to local radio
No more parents evenings
Time to sort out all the debts
To remember all those good times
and never have regrets.
We will treasure all these moments
Hold them close within our heart
There are other seas for you to sail
So soon you must depart.
These memories are so precious
These moments are so rare
So wherever life’s path takes you
If you need us - we’ll be there.
I am with three old friends,
we are at the Royal Albert Hall,
a place we have been to once or twice.
The venue is exotic and plush
the way all dreams should be.
All of us are grey beards,
we are wearing tuxedoes,
our white dress shirts tailored
to conceal comfortable bellies.
I know these guys,
one has led a dangerous life, one a sad life,
one trod a footloose way.
There are no others in this vast auditorium.
An elderly Brahms and full orchestra
are busting through his monumental
second piano concerto.
Occasionally my friends look at me,
smile and shrug, It's a recognition
that we have been through all this music before,
played every note in fact.
When the music ends
the stocky, cigar-stained hand of Brahms
gestures us to join him.
We stand and bow respectfully,
but decline.
Outside this great hall
we agree
that just one of us would be quite enough,
two then fold inwards
vowing to never be parted,
and certainly, we have no wish
to outlive each other.
The ancient Romans named the first month in their Julian calendar January, in honor of Janus, their God of doors and gates, his month was thought to be the door to the new year. And for over two thousand years hence, the world has celebrated each birth of a new year upon the first day of January. It's a time of joyous anticipation, hoping for better times ahead contemplating a brand-new fresh start. And so, on its eve, people party to forget the past year and make short-lived resolutions for the new year coming, vowing to improve their lives in little ways. In the northern hemisphere January comes draped in a soft shall of fluffy white snow, while in the southern hemisphere, She dons a leafy gown of emerald green. Her arrival is counted down to the second, with grandiose pageantry and unrestrained revelry. And mothers compete to have their babies born upon the stroke of midnight as crowds all around the world count down, for it is considered an honor to be born precisely at the start of the new year. All babies born in the month of January share birthstones of fiery garnets, and birth-flowers of sweet carnations, symbolizing both constancy and beauty. January bids December adieu with a song of Auld Lang Syne.
December counts down
January approaches
birth of a new year
(Haibun)
12/06/2019
December or January Haibun Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Fierce tempest slams its maddened jeer
while gush of flood crashes offshore ;
then to our village…loud winds roar
as piercing thunder grows severe:
Upon tide's crest pale mollusk floats
Adrift in waste, oaks droop away
That cabins old swish in the bay,
Rattling wooden docks and tugboats.
At last, end of hour’s pour departs --
glints the sunlight reigning morn’s climb
to lift day’s qualm and wake fresh lime,
of scented air easing men’s hearts.
In prayer , we ask Mother Earth
for weather tranquil like skies blue ,
vowing to tend nature, anew
till forests bloom, this life’s rebirth.
8/20/2019
'We would stand a better chance of survival
if we accommodated ourselves to this planet
and viewed it appreciatively...” E.B. White
-------------------
Writing Challenge 2, August 2019 –
Enclosed Rhyme Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
A cute single teen
Enjoys her toast and beans
A young man opens the door
Thier eyes meet over the floor
With cupids arrow in between
Like a movie love scene
They share a table to feast
Vowing every time they meet
To sit at the same place
Over the table, face to face
But a fire the following week
Closed the cafe indefinitely
They never again crossed paths
Years and years went by fast
Each married another spouse
With children and big house
Now aged and partners passed
Alone, and reminiscing the past
She tries the new cafe in town
He's sat there on his own
She asks if she could join him
Not knowing he's her old flame
Sharing stories from lives gone
And the love they once owned
Realising they are the one
The young love that had gone
Beans on toast tasted better
Now they're back together
The twist of this love song
They we're close all along
I searched for the whisper of love
Coloring my hopes in kindness and light
Expressions of joy raining down from above
Precious feelings to cheer the darkest night
Reminding hearts of a love story they can write
I wanted to feel the glorious inspirations
Found in the heart who feels love’s sweetness
Lingering grace with wonderous sensations
Filling my life with assurance and completeness
Amazing my spirit with its absolute discreetness
I yearned for the miracle that wound bring me
The promise of an affection that never suspected
Vowing to give my heart gentleness so it would agree
The value of this tenderness with whom I’m connected
Bringing adoration that is alive and is totally perfected
I hoped that I would be blessed with this devotion
That comes to those who listen to the sound of the heart
Who reminds them that real love is more than emotion
It comes from the spirit whose hope will never depart
The one who knows that this impression will never fall apart
I sought a love that would always be alive, forever
Giving from the spirit, with sincerity and expectation
That everything in life will be brighter and never
Allow the pains and worries of life to end the elation
That came to life when I finally found sweet salvation
She strumpets all into the nights until
around her head the build-up's like fetid, gross cheese;
her lewdness makes the earth and sun stand still:
Lord! What miracle it'd be were she just a tease!
Her grinning face I loathe and never miss;
to greet her with a large and phallic pecker
delights her—but I swear to God on this:
that I felt then the extreme need to deck her
at the knowledge of her one-hundred lovers!?
Deceived by her (that wily Lolita!),
I curse then forswear her and flee for cover
vowing henceforth to shun that Medusa.
So with luck and some serendipity,
I abscond her wiles with no STD!
A Bowl of Sadness
When I awoke he was gone, well,
not really gone but disappearing,
slowly, as the misty fog on the surface
of a mirror lake. His memory lingers
and sometimes returns, as does the
mist, but never stays. I missed him
less and less as time and loneliness
conspired to invent stories that could
be conjured up and smile about.
They failed and left me only the truth.
The truth, what truth is there in a
darkened room, a faded, fearful moment,
a never ending scar. What truth,
save the lie of truth denied, obscured,
hidden lest the truth destroy the true.
I grew to hate him, to despise his weakness,
his frailty, his fear, vowing never to be like
him. I built a calloused frame about myself,
banishing him to pained seclusion,
vowing never to depend on or befriend
any such as he. His wailing would awaken me
at times, rekindling the fear of darkened room,
and a moment ever fresh. At times I would
not shun him, would allow him rest upon
warm bed, grant him freedom from his
fear and avert my eyes from living’s
scar. Sometimes we sit together
and share a bowl of sadness.
John G. Lawless