Long Wends Poems
Long Wends Poems. Below are the most popular long Wends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wends poems by poem length and keyword.
God speaks in dreams, though man does not perceive.
In visions, as man slumbers, does He guide.
He opens ears. He terrifies. With weaves,
He wends a path to circumvent man's pride.
And thus, man's soul is spared from pit or sword.
As well, through pain and strife in bones, chastised
Till life loathes bread, sweet morsels no reward,
Flesh wasted, on the brink, death's end a prize.
Then, He steps in, declares to man the truth,
And, grace on grace, says, "I will ransom you,
Restore to you your days of vigor, youth."
Then does man pray to God with joy anew:
"Though I have sinned, perverted what was right,
You have redeemed, returned my life to light.”
(from Job 33)
Alas ample alliteration available?!
True (terrific) title: Trump's truckling tutored troopers...;
wily word wizard worried,
where world wide web wickedly wends.
Triumphantly tenaciously (try to) trample treacly
traffickers target timid testifiers traducing,
their traitorous tractable toxic troglodyte:
today transition toward
totalitarianism tidily trends.
Quasimoto (querulously) queries, quivers, quakes:
queasiness quotient quarantine quelled qualm;
qua quacking quaffing quota quips:
quicksand quits quagmire quashing:
quintessential quarrelsome;
quintillionth queued questioner.
Numbskull noodles notorious nonsense:
nincompoop netizen nimbly navigates;
nowadays nauseating news necessitates
nameless nervous negativistic nattering nabob;
Nome nomad nudges, numerates,
nurtures... narcolepsy.
Knowledgeable knave; kindhearted
keen, kooky kvetching king kibitzer;
kindles kickass kinskip (kaffeeklatsch);
kneading Keats kinfolk karma.
His highness, herewith hooligan;
helpmate hermit hamstrung Harmit Harms;
humiliating, harried, ho hum humorous hokum;
habitual half hearted hookers happily hollow;
hallelujah!
Exceptional exertion earnest endeavor exercising
especial expending energy excluding essential/
exact entities even everyday eminent eccentric
experienced exhaustion - epilogue.
If I were really rich, I would live in beautiful Bermuda,
Sipping rum swizzles and fishing for wily barracuda!
I'd buy a fancy sports car in which to cruise unbound,
And join the Mid-Ocean Club to play a daily golfing round!
I'd own a sailing yacht on which to entertain my friends,
Sailing 'neath moonlit skies as around the isle she wends!
I'd buy a splendid cottage on The Cut in Olde St George's town,
From there to savor dramatic sunsets watching olde Sol go down!
I'd dine on fish and chips at my favorite pub, The White Horse Inn,
Listening to quaint calypso music by the Talbot Brothers therein!
On balmy evenings I'd stroll Old Maids Lane and Shinbone Alley,
And watch the Gombey dancers gyrate as I leisurely dally!
If I were rich I would move there in a trice,
To loll on the pink sandy beaches of that island paradise!
Entry for Mystic Rose's "If You Were Rich Contest"
(11 November 2015)
How pleasant, now, to think of times gone by,
Of childhood, youth, of family, and friends.
How strange, at times, to see where mem'ry wends.
How swiftly, now, with age those mem'ries fly.
Like fireflies, some glow brightly, then they die,
While some's incessant glimmer never ends,
And some with which I have not made amends.
Still pleasant, though, to think of times gone by,
And even if the bad outweigh the good,
I wouldn't change one of them if I could.
Each mem'ry's worth its weight in precious gold,
A treasure trove that's mine alone to hold.
Such lovely thoughts that time cannot erase.
Each gilds and glorifies its time and place.
Law, English, business, and so on—
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS
(degrees from the home of “The Tribe,”
dross that just obsolesce).
I'll trill as “The Lithium-Laced Lyrist”—
as rhymes are my forté,
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
for poesy's my métier!
An old house proudly on top of a hill
Shutters open letting in the winter chill
A big wide bay window lets in the light
Bright Red Curtains can close out the night
Inside the window there is a seat so as to sit and stare
And gaze out at the view that’s available there
She sits there daily till the Postman passes
A stout young man who wears horned rimmed glasses
Who always waves and gives her a smile
As he wends his way for many a mile
She’s waiting for news of her true loves fate
The one that waved good bye at the Garden Gate
As he went off to war for King and country
Disappearing from view as he passed the old Plum Tree
To fight in a war so far very away
Will he ever return she thinks to herself every day
The thought of him having left her all alone makes her sad
Now she feels that she may lose everything they had
They are so much in love and now to be separated like this
All she has are memories of their last kiss
So that’s why she sits in her Window Seat
Looking so pretty in her dress so neat
Awaiting the words that will bring her joy
That he’s coming home to her and their little boy
Tommy is only five years old
And only knows what he has been told
That his daddy has gone off to war far away
But hopefully he will return some day
His mother Alice tries her best
To raise him right shield him from all the rest
Now she sits for today’s post
Until it arrives she does the most
To keep Tommy amused and off to school each day
And has done so each and every day
Suddenly she sees the postman approaching near
Suddenly her heart is filled with fear
Will he bring news of her love so dear
He hands her a letter marked confidential from the war department
And inside is news of her one true love that makes her feel content
Her one true love is coming home in a few days
The war is over he has survived the letter says
The postman realizes it must be good news at last
Now all her troubles may now be in the past
He has a wide smile and bids her goodbye
And travels on his merry way with a lasting sigh
Whistling a tune as he goes out of sight
Alice is back in her window seat the future looking bright
All well that ends well but she appreciates how lucky she is
They will be together again free to live in bliss
Widsith the Far-Traveler, Part II
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hrothulf and Hrothgar, uncle and nephew,
for a long time kept a careful peace together
after they had driven away the Vikings' kinsmen,
vanquished Ingeld's spear-hordes,
and hewed down at Heorot the host of the Heathobards.
Thus I have traveled among many foreign lands,
crossing the earth's breadth,
experiencing both goodness and wickedness,
cut off from my kinsfolk, far from my family.
Thus I can speak and sing these tidings in the mead-halls,
of how how I was received by the most excellent kings.
Many were magnanimous to me!
I was among the Huns and the glorious Ostrogoths,
among the Swedes, the Geats, and the South-Danes,
among the Vandals, the Wærnas, and the Vikings,
among the Gefthas, the Wends, and the Gefflas,
among the Angles, the Swabians, and the Ænenas,
among the Saxons, the Secgan, and the Swordsmen,
among the Hronas, the Danes, and the Heathoreams,
among the Thuringians and the Throndheims,
also among the Burgundians, where I received an arm-ring;
Guthhere gave me a gleaming gem in return for my song.
He was no gem-hoarding king, slow to give!
I was among the Franks, the Frisians, and the Frumtings,
among the Rugas, the Glomms, and the Romans.
I was likewise in Italy with Ælfwine,
who had, as I'd heard, commendable hands,
fast to reward fame-winning deeds,
a generous sharer of rings and torques,
the noble son of Eadwine.
I was among the Saracens and also the Serings,
among the Greeks, the Finns, and also with Caesar,
the ruler of wine-rich cities and formidable fortresses,
of riches and rings and Roman domains.
He also controlled the kingdom of Wales.
I was among the Scots, the Picts and the Scrid-Finns,
among the Leons and Bretons and Lombards,
among the heathens and heroes and Huns,
among the Israelites and Assyrians,
among the Hebrews and Jews and Egyptians,
among the Medes and Persians and Myrgings,
and with the Mofdings against the Myrgings,
among the Amothings and the East-Thuringians,
among the Eolas, the Ista and the Idumings.
Keywords/Tags: Widsith, Anglo-Saxon, translation, Old English, minstrel, travel, travels, traveler, poet, poetry, songs, music, earth, world, places, peace, war
During National Poetry Month each year,
grand festivals are held throughout this land.
Excitement increases when time is near.
Variety is key. No event will be bland.
heartfelt
greeting
starts the
meeting
time is
fleeting
MC’s
leading
schedule
heeding
poets
sharing
deep thoughts
baring
scrumptious
dinners
contest
winners
speakers
first-rate
wise words
they state
short breaks
workshops
soon the
fun stops
all’s done
fest ends
homeward
each wends
April
next year
poets’
good cheer
will be
spreading
we’ll be
heading
to a
grand fête
that’s a
long wait!
Said diaries, said Google and Bing:
Rejoice, today’s the day of spring,
But city was in doubt,
Paved roads, not a green sprout,
Soilless bare, it can show nothing.
The streets’ tarred or cemented lands
Much like the desert’s parched up sands,
No blade of grass peeped out,
Spring failed to show its clout,
Sun cane and went as ever wends.
The glazed glass windows were all shut,
All of Nature outside to cut,
City folks oft as are,
Nature was left too far,
No one had any a clue, but
When someone asked potted flowers:
O did ye hear the day’s rumours?
Flowers of paper made
Naught had heard nor yet said,
And quiet left Spring in reverse.
_______________________________
Happenings |26.01.2023| Rhyme, spring
Poet’s note: Two days back arrival of Spring (locally known as Vasanta Panchami) was announced by the Moon calendar. Spring, but there remained wintry chill. To make it worse there was an unseasonal shower and Sun hardly showed from behind clouds. Whispers were heard on Global Warming, that seasons have gone haywire, and all… Anyway, in cities seasons mean very little, and people come to know of them only because of calendars.