Long Wares Poems
Long Wares Poems. Below are the most popular long Wares by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wares poems by poem length and keyword.
Some other times I thought
Where does life turns to us?
Is it nobles wearing Gold shoes?
Or the serfs in rag that's loose?
Some other times I thought
People whose life are lost
Doubted sin, innocent beings
Brutally maimed just in a blink
Some other times I thought
Life is a cause for curse
People can't live in their very best
So they rather hid sweats under wares
Some other times I thought
People that are in fear of lose
Love, lifes, virtues that are dearest to them
And in cares and tears wanting someones help
I thought, I think, still hopes
When would life have a thought?
Of many heart broken, lovelorn
Who once again still wishes joy.
David Wier OBE started out with a crowd of only five,
Watching him race in the fast track events very alive,
In the swift wheelchair races, as he is spinally injured,
From his birth, and could not use his legs anchored.
Disappointed with these Paralympics in Atlanta 1996,
Dignity did beckon him to ask people then to quickly fix,
This sheer ignorance about the worth of disabled folks,
So that the crowds then came, and disability was talks.
He’s a marathon racer and so won London six times,
He won two golds at the 2008 Beijing summertimes,
He won four golds at the 2012 Paralympics of flares,
Three for track, and one for the marathon that wares.
He succeeded in the Great North Runs with records,
And in the Great Manchester runs, like many Concords,
And has flown to Switzerland for the Oensingen run,
And to New York as well as to Portugal, Lisbon of sun.
Baroness Tanni-Gray Thompson inspired his long days,
The female wheelchair racer who won 16 medals, daze,
At the Paralympics, starting in Seoul in 1988 with speed,
She took the crowd to a very certain magic place indeed.
Twice he has won the British Wheelchair Sports Award,
He was disabled sports personality of the year, forward,
In 2006 as he was named, and in 2010 proud and tall,
He became part of the London Youth Games Fame Hall.
Wier has three kids, two with his present partner Emily,
A boy and two girls, and to Emily he’s not an anomaly,
Because he loves her very much, and who’s yet again,
Pregnant with baby, and so won’t being going to Rio ken.
Just down the road a piece from my home
A few steps away from Antler Lane
In a narrow street set back a bit
Where some old rickity old buildings still remain
There is an old Pawnbrokers shop with a sign above the front door
Hidden away quietly from the main part of Town
Behind the old Plaza Picture House now in disrepair
Which, is in very serious danger of falling down
It has a big bay fronted window
Which, is full of all sorts of things he has to sell
Which he has received from clients like Mrs O’Connell
Where she may have got them from no one can tell
Then there old Bert Blenkinsopp a Burglar of note
Who Pawns his swag as fast as he can
Old Percy does not ask too many questions
As Bert drives off in a hurry in his old battered van
He has a various assortment of people
Who call in from time to time with various things to pawn
Some are rich and famous names, to many to mention
Who have fallen on hard times and look forlorn
But Old Percy may be a bit of a rogue
But he has a heart of gold
He helps as many of the poor local souls
Who are living on hard times as they grow old
He gets various visits from the local Police
Who want to check if he has any stolen Property in his domain
But Percy is too smart for them, anything of a dubious nature
Is long gone down to the old flea market held in Powderhall Lane
The clientele know they can Pawn their wares safely
And always get decent price, a pound or two
With not too many awkward questions
But Percy always has a clue
As to where the items have come from
So he always stays one step ahead
Of the old local beat bobby
Well known a big fat Fred
Everyone goes about their daily lives
Just trying to survive
They all just hope and pray
That Old Percy will remain alive.
The streets fiercely stares
Adding to my misery and fears.
While the police brings the tears
Shooting with the gun and their stares.
In our world, things work in reverse
Drifting slowly and never clears
As office bandits drink to cheers
While documents go damn with smears.
We thank the head of state who cares
To see we rot without heirs
For with no dime and without affairs,
Our lives waste through the years.
Semi clad lasses walk, undaunted by stares
While the synagogue no longer prepares
The soul but steal the wares
Of the plebeians with little shares.
Robbers in broad daylight erect stairs
For they, living in their own spheres
Proudly put on airs
And gag in stupor on various beers
Just like a God forsaken sentry
Who in poverty would for money permit entry
And in lassitude gently await purgatory,
For 25frs, I would gladly sell my country
© Temajung Michael T.
I lived once upon the earth and now I live again
But in a different time and zone and by God ! what a change!
Mountains, valleys, rivers gone and not a blade of grass.
Instead I see concrete jungles and towers made of glass.
The farmers hand was put to plough and the artisan his trade.
Now everyone has a degree and you will never find a maid.
An evening time was dinner with wife and children, a usual scene.
Now I click a button and my family pops up on a screen.
I worked from morning to evening and then I came home to rest.
Now I work in a lousy BPO with not a place to nest.
The air was fresh and pure and clean and nature a blissful sight.
Now everything looks deathly dull and as if struck with blight.
People carried their wares to the market place to sell.
Now everybody moves around with a blackberry or cell.
Everything is done so fast and with the aim to cut the cost.
In the bargain I think we are only going to make a loss.
The stress is high and tempers fly.
Man is lonely,in his chair sits alone to cry.
Summer swimmers began to depart.
Waves were no longer calm but rumbled with unease.
Kiosks and bar dismantled their wares.
It made me sick to see all gone.
Where was my Cynthia whom I loved so much?
Disappeared without a trace or a good-bye.
She had forsaken me without a reason.
I packed my things and went back home.
Seattle began its blasted drizzle.
Autumn is back with a vengeance.
Leaves changed their greenish hues
into brown, russet, or golden themes,
a kaleidoscope of prismatic colours.
Trees turn bare only slippery grass remained.
I wandered round the wet streets,
I wondered where my Cynthia were.
I entered my favourite coffee shop.
And there she was smiling impishly.
She served me a latte and gave me a kiss.
Leaves flutter slowly to the ground,
a carpet strewn all over the paths
that zigzag through the lonely gardens
or long forgotten forest trails,
whilst fragrant flowers wilt and wither
Yet it was the birth of love.
So many things
Breezed by today;
So many flings
Bringing new say.
What will I learn
From this message?
What did I earn
In swift passage?
Joy and peace here
In simple zest
Brought me some cheer
To live the rest.
Strokes once easy
Now take more time;
Age feels queasy
In jerky chimes.
I write my stuff
With fond feelings;
Yes just enough
To prime thinking.
Words in my book
Feed easy wit;
I take a look
At rhymes that fit.
This journal takes
Some mindset shift;
I try to make
Each moment lift.
Too many cares
To juggle choice;
I string verse wares
By urgent poise.
I stop to cite
When feelings come;
Take time to write
As muse hurls sums.
In just a while
My day unwinds;
Deep sleep helps style
A state of mind.
Dawn strains to dusk,
Nothing can last;
Dust follows dust:
This too shall pass.
Here's to good cheer
As life happens;
Live love right here
As joy sharpens.
There is meaning
In finesse here;
In believing
Love floats and cheers.
Leon Enriquez
18 March 2015
Singapore
On the subway, oftentimes
Some people stroll through, singing,
Hoping folks will pay them
For the “joy” that they are bringing.
Sometimes writers hawk their wares,
Selling self-made books,
Sure they’d make some money if
We’d only take some looks.
Then there are the beggars,
Bragging that they’re not out stealing,
Thinking this admission makes them
Somewhat more appealing.
Today, though, I encountered
Something that was new to me –
A subway rider whistling
An annoying melody.
He seemed to whistle for himself.
He didn’t care who heard;
Then promptly he was finished
And he never said a word.
You never know what you may find
When riding on the train.
What drives me bonkers may for you
Sound like a sweet refrain.
Early morning awakening:
So many things, so much packing.
Sip morning tea with some odd snacks,
We feel hungry just as we pack.
We make ready for our leaving,
Check-out easy with car boot things.
We're off by ten now on the road,
Our eyes extend our visual load.
Today we speed to a fond target,
Catch seafood feeds: Sydney Fish Market.
Fresh seafood waits in fine array,
Here through these gates feast hungry ways.
So much delight in puzzling mix,
A feast of sights in hungry fix.
Select our meat of seafood fares,
Take our fond treats of precious wares.
Eat with gusto the fresh food gist,
Style our tempo with our hit list.
Add hot mocha for a warm drink,
Coffee fiesta here on the brink.
Catch the sea view down by the edge,
Seagulls in cue sense-surround ledge.
Food fare in shoppes that call to you,
We stare and stop to glimpse odd cues.
There is a feel beyond mere sight,
An ancient will lingers flair bright.
Buy food to eat on the home drive,
In a swift beat, a car of five.
Goodbye Sydney as we head out,
Canberra we track roundabout.
Three hours plus drive to Hamlet Place,
And we arrive as smiles greet space.
A happy trip for memory,
Where taste did grip pure chemistry.
Our routine chores come up to fit,
A simple lore of succinct wit!
Leon Enriquez
11 June 2018, Monday
Sydney Tour Day Three/
(13 June 2018, ACT)
MY MOTHER
See her laden and brimming with the sheaves
On a hilly furrowed plane shrouded by leaves
Her way homewards she plods and heaves.
See her joggles on the spinning wheel
A textile she winds out the cotton reel
And made many hue garbs with great skill.
See her broil as she stirs the broth in the tripod;
Day by day the market and stream she trod
And fetch fire woods and make fine wares of gourd.
See her sit on a stool, behind the moon wanes;
She enacts folklores of ancient reigns,
Of men and animals, plants and bizarre planes.
See her upon her breasts life’s incubi weigh
As all her offspring upon her tender bosom lay
She cossets them from womb to tomb till she’s grey.