Long Wear out Poems
Long Wear out Poems. Below are the most popular long Wear out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wear out poems by poem length and keyword.
My dream house no longer a mega mansion it needs to be
with ceilings so high in them clouds can be seen
No more acres of gardens with streams and ponds and fountains galore
no more glorious stories stacked to heaven floor by floor
Gold leaf decadence covering ceilings and trim
fifty bedrooms with en suites adjoining them
Kitchens massive and elaborate just for show
for a cooking kitchen behind each where meals would flow
Dinning halls and sitting areas a theater or two
elevators near every grand stairway never wear out a shoe
Rooms named for directions such as the east parlor
rooms so large to communicate it echos as you holler
Library with rare wood paneling three stories high
filled with rare books and manuscripts stack to the sky
Powder rooms and rest areas here and there
with hallways and galleries filled with art to stare
Porches and balconies terraces verandas all grandeur
outside is the inside all in gorgeous splendor
A stately foyer as big as a house
laundry rooms and craft rooms and a cat to catch a mouse
These are just a few things my dream house once used to be
but now that I am much older I get more practical with need
For now my dream house just needs to be cozy and clean
with a quiet area to write a poem or two for a feeling serene.
It happens mostly out of sight,
under cover of the world,
life ebbing away or is seized
by a claw or fang, suffering
in corners, enduring what fate
cruelly inflicts. Each night,
millions die, are torn, choked,
or swallowed whole
or simply wear out leaving
no trace or a word anywhere.
Yesterday,
I saw a solitary swan
up river from the bridge
slowly heading out from the bank
and into the channel
where tugboats turn ships
before sliding them
sideways into dock.
Mid river, it held up both wings
and began to flap and look
for speed and lift in the still air.
One wing seemed unable
to travel the full arc of its
flighted sweep and soon
gave out to leave the swan
floundering lopsided until
it gathered in its wounded wing
and settle it back slightly askew
into its cradle and then paddled
off into the past leaving
its wake to linger here for awhile
before it withers away
into the endless still of oblivion.
The ones we love, are the ones you shove,
Yet you think He is happy, the one above.
Probably He is not watching the game...
That will soon bring upon you, shame!
Or will spare you with the earthly death,
But you shall live to suffer while you breathe...
The ones you admire, will be burnt like Fheroes' desires,
To morn your faces with tears so hot of fires!
That in agony, thy peace will know condolences,
How sharp its thorns wear out sighs in sequences;
For love to live the humble royal craziness,
With which you neglected their moms and dads to unwieldiness.
The world you cherish, you shall pray it perish.
Rainbow of trouble, color their courage in fetish!
And cease its effectiveness cum due morrow,
That today will drag the past skipped sorrow;
Unto thy running feet to a one corner...
Feeding you from its karma like foreigner.
The running feet would retire to Niger Area,
Which you abandoned to mosquitoes causing malaria;
Thinking you can forever run the relay...
Traveling to fro the globe without delay-
Getting back from outside the house;
Cleaned of no raging mouse.
Their blood pressure is your hypertension,
You can not hide all day its tension.
Their stifled heartbeats are in your thoughts,
You shall continue to see as stars like astronauts.
Their shining stars have been mar,
You will never be clean of its scar.
Their own home you set on cry,
You will never know joy no matter the try.
Their parents you render childless,
Your wards calamity be bottomless.
Their ways you made bushy,
You will never know ways so cushy.
Live to drink the whole of little,
To mark Abels' blood on Cain not belittle.
AMEN!
Dear mind,
When do you rest?
For you up from morning to night
Even when I sleep you buzzing with thoughts
Please take a rest because if you keep up like this
You'll wear out while I've got lots in plan for us
Dear mind,
Why do you worry?
Or is it because things ain't working out
Or because there's lots to do and time is flying
But worry not because that's why God made day and night
So that we take a break at some point
Dear mind,
Why do you frate?
For you all scribbled up
You worked up so much that you can't progress
For you stuck up trying to untangle your thoughts
In deep the night that you shed tears while talking to yourself
Dear mind,
Why do you look troubled?
Or is it the storms that have rocked you
Have stirred your emotions now you a mess
For even when you happy you still feel sad
That's why you no longer take pictures cause you ever frowning
Dear mind,
When do you recharge?
For I feel you working overtime
And when the time I really need you,
you zoned out in your own things
Please come back to me, let's work this out together
The PO£T
The world treats you
as you present yourself.
And you, Africa,
have walked too long in chains—
chains not of iron,
but of the mind.
Everywhere you go,
you are mistreated,
because you have allowed leaders
to kneel on your behalf.
You open your doors wide
to Europe,
while they bolt theirs against you.
Tell me—
why should a beggar
be respected by his thief?
It is you they need,
not the other way around.
Without your land,
without your oil,
without your gold,
Europe would choke in poverty.
France is already falling,
her empire of lies crumbling,
because Africa is learning
to close the tap.
And still they whisper—
“You are inferior.
You are less.”
But the lie is cracking.
Biology does not bow.
History does not lie.
The first kings were African.
The first queens were African.
And the first empires
were carved from your soil.
Rise, Africa!
Close the doors to those
who mock and plunder you.
Make it as hard for them
to step on your land
as it is for you to touch theirs.
Create your own markets,
feed your own children,
trade with your own brothers and sisters.
Do not forget Solomon’s warning:
“Do not visit your neighbor too often,
lest you wear out your welcome.”
Let the thief starve,
let the beggar beg.
You are not weak.
You are not voiceless.
You are the storm
that will break the chains
of mental slavery.
And when you stand tall—
the world will bow.
O Lasgidi , city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
In your belly called street, lays lifestyles of hustlers
No Man's land your pseudonym, Eko your first name,
Lasgidi a middle, greetings to you , your last name .....?
O Lasgid! fountain of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
potholes eaten on You, like a Baldhead
The coal tied road, trunk A. B. C
Yellow is the vultures vest
Their shoes an athlete choice
Fit to run to peg their wings
On the innocent souls;
The bus conductor they perch on
drivers they beak on
Tribals mark they tattoo on vehicles
A logo, a sign , a stamp for the" Owo boys!"
Malnutrition their dietary, yet belly is full
Empty in it, wears attitudes bulging tummy.
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
And the vultures in yellow, they run the potholes
Up down up down just for their belly sake pay up dues
with whips held in their hands like ancient masquerades
Yellow is the vultures, garages it perches
O Lagidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Please shed off your yellow vultures. Away them
They put more potholes in mind of drives, motor boys
To drink water, they gulp Alcohol, marijuana their diet
Eyes beaming red like crimson teeth decayed age 39
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Wear out your yellow vultures
A perfect pseudonym abgearoo!
And their motor; "owo boys da"?
For ,drivers and motor boys in the
Potholes their dough falls, thus
marathon struggles continual
O Lasgidi commercial pride of the nation
Where is the government, where is the law? hiding
Like candlelight underneath a bushel its glows
But for men its blurred, waiting folks, worn out, verdict
Must sing loud, like a gong its should sound goom
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Mother to no idle man
I hail thee
Agbearoo! :roadside transportation tax collectors
6/4/2020
Happy National Poetry Month, Poetry Soup...
Poetry should not be considered a luxury
Only to be enjoyed by the privileged few…
The cultural and cerebral elite.
Poetry need not be weighed down
By deeply ponderous metaphysical messages
To be worth one's time to read it.
But why do we many who are not privileged enough
To belong to the aforementioned categories need poetry?
We need poetry to tell us about things
Like joy and beauty,
And passion and love,
And wonder and wisdom,
And creativity and truth.
In other words…
Everything that gives life merit
And makes the living it
And the telling about it all worthwhile.
Most things in life are ephemeral, at best.
All things, in time…
Monoliths and monarchs,
Pyramids and politics,
Religions and reliquaries,
Baseless bigotries and, yes, even books…
Wear out, corrode,
Rot and decay,
And eventually turn to dust
And are erased from memory.
Poets, too, after passing through, will pass away,
But the spirit they infuse
In the verses they create and leave behind
Becomes, somehow, infused
With the metered,
Albeit chaotically cadenced spirit
Of the poetry of the universe,
And becomes, therefore, eternal,
And indestructible.
They are two peas in a pod....this pair having fun
I can't help but smile, as I sit on the steps
by the old front porch, watching them romp
on the cool green grass, in the warm winter sun
This sunny little boy, with the gold in his hair
And his funny best friend, wagging a tail here and there
Their spirits are one, it is hard to divide them,
And their souls seem half child, half canine, combining...
Running the length of the yard as they play,
Jumping the jumps as if one and the same
Dancing the dance as they wear out their game....
Shaking my head, I must ponder the bond
It's no wonder instead ...., as they're both gifts from God
Squeals of child laughter, as loud as he can
A wag of a tail, like a circular fan...
If the child could wag and his dog could holler
They would gladly trade places, I'll bet you a dollar
Two of a kind, with spirits to spare
That can cause one to laugh or pull out your hair !
From my perch by the porch, I'm watching them play
Love is so simple, at the end of the day
Filled by these moments, these small gifts from God
Love is so simple, as two peas in a pod
Here is a sample, just watch it unwind...
Just as God made them...they are two of a kind........
-------------------------------------------------------
To be generous without greed
is the commitment I'm making;
satisfaction comes from rendering
one happy, not repaying the deed!
The quest for truth is for the bold to ensure,
and certainly not too imprudent to follow;
one must show persisting fortitude and allow
patience not to wear out but to continue
to strive until certainty is that solemn promise
uttered sweetly contemplating a brighter sunrise!
In all my envisioned glory, all I wished in care-free youth was
the idyllic tranquility of landscapes broken by a running stream,
skies radiating with light and magnificently dressed in blue;
who wouldn't listen to the starlings serenading to their mates?
See me observing aromatic roses gleaming with sunrise' dew,
see me picking daisies for mom to make those hazel eyes gleam!
To be generous without greed seem such unrealistic words
spoken by a visionary mind awoken in mid-sleep by an echo of terror...
to adapt a diverse creed and restore the faith violated by selfish Lords
who kept all the gold and gave none to the vagrant beggar!
Fingertips.
Look at your fingertips they are unique you know
Something we don’t think of, and yet them we grow.
That little pattern in a swirl on the end
Is your own work of art that God on you penned
How amazing it is a tip of one of your fingers
It can bring joy and feel pain, and both may linger.
It can be sensuous, moving in little circles decreasing
To make you cry out, in joy and releasing
It can be warm as you like, as warm as toast
But so cold in the winter, like shaking hands with a ghost
It is sensitive to a degree oh so refined
Tracing round lips so gentle, so fine.
That little swirl on the end of your finger, each line,
You alone are the owner, and you can say it is mine.
Don’t treat them rough and they will last you forever
They won’t wear out with time, as things you think more clever
There is another special thing your fingerprint can do
And that is that they can identify you.