Long Wee hours Poems
Long Wee hours Poems. Below are the most popular long Wee hours by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wee hours poems by poem length and keyword.
Peeping down through
the closed blind,
reflecting moon spy-tease
the created mind;
manipulating the running
of ebony-hued time,
trying to canvas a poem
with lines that rhyme.
Now if you knew how to rap,
this would be a snap
but it’s not so easy
in the wee hours, without a nap.
Yet, when you’ve survived
the trials of another day,
It’s not really that hard to scribe
what you need to say.
Here in the home of the brave
and the land of the free,
we have yet to cave
racism and abject bigotry.
While cold war debates
continue their drum major runs,
sacred lives remain victims of hate
and free-firing lawless guns.
No longer can we let the fearful minority
keep us in such dire calamity.
Like the ancestors dead and gone,
we too must fight against evil and wrong;
rising up and claiming our prized liberty.
Let us not leave coming generations
without worthiness and high hope.
Let us not insult our ancestral patrons
who fought and won the right to vote.
I'm up , I am awake
The night owl per se
Love thee - love thee not , that I ought to be
Up at night with the radio, tuned to 3:00 AM
Laugh a bit at that on the country station , if it should it be
It's 3:00 AM I'm really sorry, same ole song and dance
My friend, to appreciate the humor of the truth
Loving crochet, ready with the camera , I flash
Snapping that sunrise if it a beauty, each day
Look at the stars - the moon - predict the weather in a trance
Oh how I love my time and the muses to the music they dance
Treasured quality time - me - an insomniac
Who endeavored - that - loving to paint with hues
I capture the picture in my brain
I can choose my own hours - loving the graveyard shift
Working for myself writing , taking care of business
Even writing a song or book with music a spiritual lift
The list goes on , best hours of productivity
Love thee - love thee not! It's 3:00 AM ! Really
Where I ought to be? up in the wee hours of the night
And pondering this, pondering that
Singing a tune! Day by day , I'd rather be doing it my way
Yes I'm up - I'm awake at dawn
beauteous it then be the born new day
As they say " Now I lay me down to sleep"
Each eye as I achieve my REM
I dream each night of solitude
And " I wish I may, I wish I might"
Wishing upon my stars at night
I wake each eve loving the wee hours of the twilight
With the crescent moon I boast
At 3:00 AM I love the most
The music to my ears -and with my sight
Then with my senses - I see the light
I ponder, My spirits still lift
A night owl! It's a personal gift.
Began during wee hours
of December first
tooth house sand nineteen
steeply self immersed
within insomnia, hence
sudden creative cloud burst
fingers slower than
fleeting thoughts, I cursed
nonetheless stitched,
doctored and nursed
the following continued
hours later with pursed
lips seriously, silently, and soundly
trying to craft lame poem, the worst
among feeble efforts,
among countless attempts
showcasing, (no rhyme nor reason)
yours truly versed.
Found muss elf unable to easily doze
haint no lamentable hallucination
found me froze
imagination begets, births and
breeds nightmare, whereby
humongous cannibal grows
name of Hannibal finally
an end to existential woes,
cuz every academic endeavor
yielded nothing but zeros.
Loathe blatantly outright
to turn toward life of crime,
yet I realize benefits
such as flextime
plus one functions
as independent consultant
off hours studying sign
language to pantomime
in the event victim
of unfortunate circumstances
deaf mute, or simply to
enhance gig being sublime.
Quite aware impossible
mission to succeed,
in the capacity writer,
hence quick income accrued
cash on demand guaranteed
apprenticeship provided with
on the job training indeed
course donned incognito
trumpeting, essentially greed
aware potential billionaires
minted he/she doth only need
venture capitalist to recognize
lucrative opportunity keyed
nsync with song that tops
the charts invariably lead
singer plus natural born
prodigy polymath, prolifically breed
ding all Forbes thirty under thirty
helping to buzzfeed
one after another cottage industry
flourishing analogous
to hardy ganja weed
allowing, enabling, and
providing ample time to read...
tea leaves predicting prodigious fortunes.
drop by drop it's dripping away
time elapses like a rolling tide
fast, strong and sudden
it will shove you on left or right
above or down under
only the tide knows where
above all
only God knows where
where is right or wrong
which one is better or worse
and He knows sure which is the best for us
faith...
enduring selfless faith
surrendering to Him
all fears, anxieties and tears
all that there is..
to His words that I cling..
in the wee hours that am alone
only to Him I utter the words
sometimes I can't anymore even
say the words
just the tears rolling on my cheeks
that will tell
how am I feeling inside
my insides are bursting
my thoughts are breaking
all i have are pleas
pleas that I hope soon it will be heard
soon it will be answered
I do not want to question
I do not want to even doubt
I do not even want to blame
I do not even want to curse
All I do is to hold on
Hang on.. hang on..
so tired, so tired..
long enduring nights where no one I can talk but Him
yet each day I wake up
still.. still I stand up..
resume like nothing really bothers me
I smile the brightest smile they say
but my eyes can not hide
so many longings inside
I am trying to understand
but it seems understanding isn't enough
patience... much patience...
and really strength...
strength to hang on
strength to carry on
strength to keep fighting
but through it all
this prevails
I still love you my God
and will still be here
Thanking you
for what you have done
and to what You will still do
For I am forever Yours
And all of these comes from You
I am nothing without You.
(C) Olive ELoisa
1:33am
May 23, 2014
I slowly wipe the sweat away from my face and take a deep breath before I enter the space. There were just too many things around me that my heart could not see; it wasn’t the clutter that I fear but it was the blatant truth that you were not there.
I have formulated the perfect picture of you walking around without socks and shoes and every time I hear the dog barks, I look at the clock and listen for the sound of the old lark and leave my heart open to make a brand-new start but the place I want to be is robbing me of my energy.
I sow a seed in the ground, then pack my suitcase and leave the town without script or purse. The wind moves deftly over me and lodge in the center of the sea, and it takes me to where I want to be. But where do we go from here, when you have pulled out all the “gears” and brought in the great “demon” from the sea to disturb my peace and tranquility. There is a great rush on this side so come with me and lets us take the next ride. Everywhere is crowded, so follow my lead and I will satisfy your needs.
The morning creeps up silently like a snake hibernating in his skin and all of a sudden my spirit starts to grin, I could hear the rooster crowing and the humming bird singing in the wee hours of the morning, and as the day begins to light , the burden in my heart became lighter.
Something around me had gone away, and the path was open for me to see what was obstructing me. I could hear a distant song, and I beckon the morning to sing along. But the morning stood naked in front of me and strangles my dignity. It took me to the edge of the sea and shows me the vast landscape that surrounds me. That’s where you ought to be; let life smile with you and the universe will accompany you.
Let’s sing in the open space and connect with the abundance of the human race, the clutter is moving away from you, and the ambiance of life will give its energy back to you. I have a special pair shoe waiting for you and nature will tell you what to do.
Please help, to dry my sweat for I am grasping for breath.
When I was a kid I could not wait for New Years Eve to come each year. I could stay up watching the television and eating snacks until the wee hours. I dreamed of the day, I would be twenty-one. The night I could get all dressed up.
New dress, new hair do and nails all done. That special guy to be on my arm. A night to remember filled with joy. It would not matter if the weather was cold for my heart would be warm. Many New Year Dreams have come and gone. I still stay up watching the television and eating snacks until the wee hours. Now, I am all bundled up under my blanket.
Staying warm and safe at home brings me joy as I ring in the New Year.
Where did all of my many New Year Dreams go? My New Year Dreams Grew Up and I grew old.
Date 12/31/2019
A day like any other
Brighter than the norm, if anything
Enjoying it thoroughly, warm sun on my face
Left the car home for just that reason, walking
My life - a bit mundane by some standards, perhaps
But satisfying and comfortable, with interludes of joy ... pleasure
I suppose, in retrospect, that I had taken it for granted
Depending on the expected and routine to frame daily habit
Yes, I must admit that ... now
I had taken it ALL horribly for granted
Here in the "land of the free and the home of brave"
The United States - last bastion of dreams unrealized
For no sooner had I stepped onto the crosswalk at Mass Ave, when it ended
My average life, I mean ... more accurately, my freedom
Gone in an instant, when the world went to hell
My beloved country - the most grand and democratic in man's history
Had taken a dive into the yawning abyss, and liberty with it, overnight
A military coup, sparked initially by the crisis at the border
Had taken place in the wee hours, and sans any sort of warning ...
To anyone, and all those who were of professional, medical or IT ilk
Were summarily rounded up for "control processing and reintegration"
In a matter of moments I found myself in an armored vehicle
Handcuffs and ankle straps, along with about thirty others
All of us in stunned silence, except for the few tears and sobs, uncontrolled
Free one moment, captive the next, and life changed forever
Where we were headed, I knew not
But I'd soon find out ...
I could see through a slit in the rear door ...
And as we crossed the Mass Ave Bridge into Cambridge
A reflection off the River Charles lit the inside of the military transport
What would turn out to be the very last rays of sunlight ...
That I would ever see.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Freedom To Nothing To Something" Poetry Contest, Delilah Ventura, Judge & Sponsor.
In the wee hours of a cool autumn night,
They were roused from sleep by a loud knock.
They feared it would be some bandits,
Trying to get into the house pulling open the lock.
To their great surprise they found their own Jordan,
Who had been mysteriously missing since years.
No news of him to the deep chagrin of his dear ones,
Leaving all in great suspense and his parents, in tears
As a child he had been a stinker, no church, and no God.
Used to absent from class for many days, a truant.
He longed for freedom and didn’t like being confined.
He was lured by adventure and was never prudent.
Seeing him, his parents were so excited, but he was full of remorse.
He asked forgiveness for he had sinned against all and gone astray.
He was in a UFO wishing to soar away into the clouds.
Now he is a changed man who has stepped out of his zombie way.
* * * *
On the pulse of a new life, he now has the grace to look up,
Into the faces of his brethren, read their mind and their problem,
With a resolve to do whatever he can to ameliorate their pain,
He renders selfless service, helping many lives blossom!
I question myself
at this stage of life,
a lot of living behind me,
more than three scores and ten
and not as much ahead—I surmise.
A junction reached for pause
to take inventory,
no more forks in the road to worry about,
no more big decisions to be made.
Well, maybe just a few.
A time to count accomplishments.
What have I done with my life to date,
am I living on purpose with joy?
Married young, birthed two sons, worked for others,
gifted my time to some and fell in love maybe once,
traveled to far off lands because I was curious,
and boy, Oh boy, did I dance.
What can I share
to those who will follow in my footsteps
I’d like to reveal some stories.
It seems like I might have done quite a bit.
Scratching my head though; where to begin.
I don’t remember a thing
the events of so long ago
choose to be forgotten.
Yet the stories, yet the stories,
plead to be told.
Knocking at every portal
for entry—but who will tell them,
who will sit quietly
at the wee hours of dawn
watching the leaves sway –
at the urging of a gentle breeze.
Who will wait for the sun to rise
to bring in the day’s light…
and just purge on blank pages,
who will drag the stories
from the depths of my soul where
they have rested for so long?
Hmmm! I question myself.
“A brownie or broonie (Scots), also known as a brùnaidh or gruagach (Scottish Gaelic), is a household spirit or hobgoblin from Scottish folklore that is said to come out at night while the owners of the house are asleep and perform various chores and farming tasks.” ~ Wikipedia
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform”
So, sing the lively Brownies
in the mists of Scottish Lorne,
and to the mists of other townies,
traveling in wee hours of the morn,
lightening good people’s burdens
with unselfish, friendly deeds
in their kitchens and their gardens,
thinking of their neighbor’s needs.
Though in life, we get so very tired,
by wee Brownies, can we be inspired?