Long Wales Poems
Long Wales Poems. Below are the most popular long Wales by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wales poems by poem length and keyword.
In June of 1886,
A German sailor tossed
A bottle with a message
Overboard, where it got lost.
The ship, en route to Indonesia,
Left from Cardiff, Wales,
The bottle an experiment
To track the currents’ trails.
A woman walking on the shore
This January glanced
Upon the sand and what she saw
Immediately entranced –
An old glass bottle poking through
A stark Australian beach;
She brought it home and found inside
A scroll that she could reach.
She dried it in the oven
And the message was revealed,
One hundred thirty-one long years
From when it first was sealed.
It merely told where it was from
And asked for its return,
So scientists could analyze
Its journey and could learn.
A message in a bottle
Has a singular mystique,
Like a hole cut in the fabric
Of the past, where we can peek.
Nationwide adverts are written so fine,
talking the talk of a walk that's sublime,
no mention of accounts that'll grow over time,
your attention's attained through these nursery rhymes.
In a nation that's narrow more tall than is wide,
steeped deep with history of sorrow and pride,
Brexiting the Brussels while all others are tied,
no mystery, clear misery sees the EU divide.
Ocktoberfest to bulls let loose in the street,
siestas of rest to the pasta they eat,
united by sport that increase your heartbeat,
war after war making Europe less sweet.
So you think of England or Scotland or Wales,
and those ancient made up patriotic tales.
Slaying the dragon or knights and round tables or William Wallace,
just give us the money that sits in your wallets.
Your heart knows it's home as you don't walk alone,
prone to mishaps from which friendships have grown,
but this is a commercial to be your monies new home,
yet with all of these words our policy's unknown.
We rhyme the rhyme and say anything,
but we do not say what we are selling,
we ramble on like with this poem,
la diddy da, I'm "scoffed" for a swim.
Nationwide adverts cost millions,
winning over 14 million opinions.
Nationwide since 1884,
but what we are selling,
we are not sure.
NATIONWIDE
I was a child, yes, even little old me,
curious and happy, my smile wild with glee.
But at the tender age of seven,
I learnt that family go to heaven.
My aunt, a distant, great, great one,
who I'm told baked Welsh cakes second to none,
passed on by in her sleep,
no sickness, no hospital stay or cardiac bleep.
Too young to mourn my mother said,
too far to go for distant dead.
To be honest, it wasn't until that time,
that I learnt about my family's line.
My grandad had two sisters see,
each as unique as one could be.
One died some time before my birth,
now sadly this aunt was laid in earth.
Yet, along came a parcel, a letter, a note,
'To Charlotte' , from 'Uncle Sam' it wrote.
The parcel, I opened, like any young child,
ripping at the packaging, like kid gone wild.
Inside was a teddy bear, my aunt had owned,
given at the same age as me, seven years old.
The letter was written in cursive, neat, aligned,
with a twenty pound note, how beyond kind?
It said 'use on something you will treasure,
please write me a letter, at your leisure'.
Who would have known that I'd do just that,
buying a fishing rod, a reel, tackle and hat.
And sooner than later we visited, on my request,
he greeted us, in wellies, lumberjack shirt and vest.
Such a marvellous man, such stories he told,
from sheep stealing dinners to finding lost gold.
A friendship of two, age didn't matter,
we were both unique, quirky, mad as a hatter.
Fast forward ten years, he is so gravely ill,
me at his beside, in the hospital on the hill.
I speak of stories, now tales of my own,
a distraction from his internal body groan.
I hug, I smile, bless him for his love,
and that next morning he was called above.
Through bereavement and loss, I gained a friend,
we remained close right until the end.
Love like that, so unique, and so raw,
changed my whole outlook down to the core.
My heart still skips, like I was seven,
when I reminisce about my uncle, now in heaven.
06.05.2021
Tender moment as a child contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Stephen used to have sprinter Richard Whitehead,
As a team member when he did play ice hockey,
Before he became a sonar sailor, the water to wed,
In disability sport, the key was his sporting degree.
He played for the under 18 Wales rugby union team,
Because he lives in Bridgend, from Ogmore Valley,
Then he contracted meningoccal septicaemia, deem,
‘Cos this amputated his legs to make everything ok.
His ice hockey team did well coming third in Turin,
And in Athens at the World’s his team got a bronze,
Then in Beijing they came sixth in that hot condition,
But was disappointed at London by penalty neons.
I know you see me from up there,
from halfway up the steep and twisting lane.
In early half-light as you take your walk
I no doubt seem to loom as you descend,
appear to grow, to rise from earth,
my boxlike rectilinearity,
severe and unadorned geometry,
a silhouette against the solitary sodium source.
I once hosted fiery-throated hymns
from dedicated souls in Sunday best:
“Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus”,
“O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” –
voices rich and raised and resonant,
so filled with faith, so gorged with God.
My pitch-pine pews were polished
by coat and skirt and trouser twill.
Abandoned now, unloved, slab-still,
void and stark and desolate,
with quarry-tiled floor that would resound
with joy were anyone to walk upon it,
I present gaping emptiness, a thing felt,
a cave whose darkness, palpable,
is peopled by retreating echoes of my past,
like timorous ghosts far too afraid to speak.
But there is One I must not name –
though He might be known by
the four letters of the tetragrammaton –
who lodges in my roomy quarters,
cowers within my tight square corners,
seeking shadows when the sun stares in.
I hear Him breathing as
He sweats in His remorse, a thing smelt.
He hides from the accusing eyes of every nation,
the eyes that witness daily His forlorn creation.
(The chapel speaking here is in a small place in West Wales, UK)
(Translations: “Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus” = "Ride on Jesu, all victorious"; “O! Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur” = "O Jesu, let Thy spirit bless")
Joy Luv!
Joy love;
On July 14th afternoon,
at 1:14 p.m. a special delivery was made;
An angel came down from heaven;
God has released another one of his daughters
Lovejoy
Joy Of Love
Nathania Augustine
Sheerah
JoyLuv Williams
A new birth,
new granddaughter of James Edward Lee Sr.
And how is my demeanor;
Haven't been so proud I have yet to have seen her;
What is 8 lb 1 oz bundle of joy;
See who have left God and the Lord;
She not a Covid baby but a Christ child;
We thank you upfront God for what's your done;
One who was socializing with angels
And her grandmother spiritually sound
Fleshly, earthly bound birth;
on this Earth;
For what it's worth;
We thank God for her;
Her name patronymic;
Originated;
Of medieval England, Wales, France;
O' Italy also deriving Ole French;
With Germanic elements;
Ok! Girl will=desire;
Will and helm=helmet;
Last named of the family Williams;
Sister of oldest sister LeiNah;
Sister of middle child brother Carlin
Hallelujah!
Father Nathaniel Williams;
Mother Carshra Lee-
Grandfather James Edward Lee Sr.
Once again yet have I've seen her;
Hallelujah!
JoyLuv!!!
A dedicated verse;
We welcome this baby girl;
To this world this Earth;
Sunrise hello little one we welcome Nathania Augustine Sarah Lovejoy Williams;
Can't wait ta finally see ya;
She will come;
In the still comes;
Still I'm numb;
She's one of a billion;
So unfamiliar;
Dear mum,
in heaven
We thank you Lord God for my new granddaughter!
We welcome...
~
"Nathania Augustine Sheerah JoyLuv Williams"
~
-Blessed Happy birthday-
7/15/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
She was to be the one; we'd made serious plans.
She'd get her teaching degree; mine would be in biology.
Then we'd marry and live as happily as we could.
She'd take me to her beloved Wales.
To visit her people and her precious birthland.
To roam the land of red dragons and castles.
Where great clans engaged in passion and battle.
We'd stroll along the ocean and vast emerald hills.
Taste mysteries of life from the salty breeze and gull's shrill.
First, there was so much to do.
I went off to a 4-year school.
Time and distance have a way of crumbling relations.
Creeping up and down the dark side of imagination and temptation.
On spring break, I went home to visit my future bride-to-be.
Forgetting all about my bright red little pinkie,
(the victim of a few drinks and the dare of a tart).
My Welsh love took one look at the bright red toe.
Suddenly her love and faith in me had a little less glow.
Though I assured her the paint job was purely platonic.
That little red pinkie was the beginning of a relationship rotting.
Strange how our lives can pivot so violently.
On a drunken dare and a little red pinkie.
That cost me the sextant of my destiny,
The Atlantic Ocean and a castle by the sea.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
”Rego’s threescore encore tour”
(one of me oldest/best mates has just turned sexy/sixty and is celebrating in Ronda in Espagna)
Did you hear..“Wow the Rego’s Sexy”
So tasty.. like Iberico jamon
Come on ..don’t be hasty.. cloth ears
Before it goes to his head
His peers said “the Ego’s.. Now Sixty”
As those he holds dear all ponder
The wonder of those hero years
Having a ball..let’s say cheers
To a Brummie (with a touch of svelte Celt) not a Scallie
Rich voice of Villa on the pitch
Of course Redditch does bewitch
But he gets that wanderlust itch
Marky couldn’t be much fonder
Of a wee wander..then dilly dally
Won’t keep tally …go dullally
Rally down a hammy tapas alley
Fawns about those prawns over yonder
With your ladies..shindig grin adorns the big daddy
No whammy…just so bloody jammy..lucky plucky Paddy
Clearly can still be a really silly billy
But don’t let it fester..won’t pester
Fiesta to siesta…the jester of Ronda
He denies its lies...this guy’s got a prize wil*y
Sixty years young…still well hung
Between his thighs..behind his flies
He does surmise..the size of an anaconda
Famous for an old bridge over a ruddy ridge
Flocks in the tourist mist..tall tales
But what a shock..never ever fails
To be now.. somehow beer a clock
My sneaky cheeky buddy..
Lovely locks…you “silver fox”
Anyhow have a corking trip…run amok..
Let rip….aficianado bravado…wind in your sails
Blissed yesteryear gist..bucket list scale
And we’re not talking about the stale
Fuddy duddy.. austere que*r valley
That in comparison pales…& hails from Wales (Rhondda)
p.s does tickle me that.. already in a ickle bit of a pickle.. you drain another jar in Spain …no shame..a thirst you can’t tame…that ha ha…not being fickle..R-onda (red honda) is also my car’s name …
Grandma's Pets
My granda went away to sea
For many months on end
He'd travel on a fishing boat
With his brother and a friend
He used to write home regularly
And tell some quite tall tales
About being in a far-away place
When he was actually in Wales
Once they actually went to Africa
He wrote he was bringing Gran a pet
When he came home with a small cage
He'd brought her a marmoset
He opened up the cage
And up the curtains it did run
The curtains tore, granda laughed,
Grandma didn't think it fun
She said it had to go
So to the pet shop Granda went
He returned without the Monkey
And to ‘Coventry’ he was sent
Granda apologised and said
that he would compensate
Next day he bought Gran Tip,a cat
Bimbo, the budgie, feared its fate
He'd run up and down his ladder
And his cuttlefish he would gnaw
He took one look at Tip and thought
'I've not seen you before'
One day he pecked his bell so hard
The clapper fell out onto the floor
No matter how much he pecked it
That bell would ring no more
Bimbo, I’d known since a little girl
He lived to a good age
I still remember that fateful day
I found him lifeless in his cage
Tip lived till he was seven
Many kittens he would father
Mrs Thomas would bang on the door
And get in a right lather
“Your Tip's been paying visits
To my precious tabby Pip.
If you don't keep him in
I'll see to it he has ‘the snip'”
After Tip came Ruff the dog
A cairn terrier with his papers
We would laugh so many times
At his little doggie capers
There were two unbuttered teacakes
Sitting on a plate
Mum went to fetch the butter
She came back to an empty plate
Ruff was looking sheepish
Crumbs all around his chin
The cute expression on his furry face
I could swear it was a grin
We lost Ruff when he was eight
Poison in his canned dog food
If that had happened now
The manufacturer we'd have sued
Grandma put her foot down
And told Granda “No more pets”
She missed them all
Well most of them
But not the marmoset
From this moment, I will pen off
at the bottom of my last melody;
it’s better to pour more tears
than murmuring on past tense!
A strong need drew me close to you,
throwing away my chance with others;
and your kind and sweet talk coloured every bit of my dreams,
taking me to the azure skies
that a lover could ever be,
For days we came to know each other,
then, time and again we screamed in passion
promising each other hearts of love
in the beddings of Wales,
Only yesterday we saw this beautiful sunset,
but now I guess it’s an ugly sunrise
and it hurts more when you keep silent,
giving me impressions you no more share our common gold,
Ô promise breaker,
Ô heart breaker, you look like that fortune teller
I just realize that when I needed your actions more than words;
you pause me with such a silence,
forgetting the beautiful days we shared together,
From this moment, I will pen off
with the sadness of a broken heart,
breaking down to fill up the sheets of my last melody,
I will pen off, with the pain I have never felt,
with the disease I will never cure,
trying not to remember you were part of my existence,
hoping your memory will disappear in an instant!