Long Woman Poems
Long Woman Poems. Below are the most popular long Woman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woman poems by poem length and keyword.
April 4, 2083 and april 4, 2094 a
woman took sixty nine pounds of
raw gold ore to
be processed. both times
she was asked were did she get the gold.
she smiled and said my father
bought raw gold from
a retailer for
many many years.
her favorite aunts birthday was
April 4, so everytime easter rolled around on that day
she'd find a goldsmith who would process the gold for her.
she revealed some pieces of the works she commissioned
and told some stories about people who bought
the original works that these pieces were copies of
the original. She said her father wanted to
secure a future for her. December 1, 2094 she
24 million dollars at auction.
she said quarts from the east coast,
topez from texas and Arizona, and
mmagnifect amethese from
canada were
jewels inside the pieces.
some had stories from native americans,
and sold the entire collection for
$24 Million Dollars.
Some pieces had histories that belonged to
slaves and slave masters, some had histories that
belonged to Native americans,
some had adorable stories of love and marriage
but others had stories said to come from pirates' treasure
and heathen pagan worship.
She said she was a world famous Violen Player for
the Telosa city Orcheastra. We found her
to be a lovely and beautiful woman.
O man of God come unto the Lord God
O sinner man come unto the Lord God
Oh, woman oh, man
Commit your way
unto the Lord
This is what you're created for
To worship, to praise to trust in Him always
O sinful world let us close the door
What are we here for
We are, we were created to praise Him
The Lord of Lord and Kings of Kings
This is what we were created for
To worship and praise Him we are created to praise the Lord
Oh, world commit thy way unto the Lord,
trust in Him and He shall bring it to pass
Oh, sinful world trust in the Lord and He shall bring it to pass
Oh, world commit thy way unto the Lord,
trust in Him and He shall bring it to pass
Oh, sinful world trust in the Lord and He shall bring it to pass
inspired by Psalms 37:5
7/16/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
Mary
Mary Eliza Mahoney
birth in 1845 an American black child of former slaves daughter of Mary Jane and Charles Mahoney
at 18 showed interest in healing Humanity
in 1863 and the New England hospital for women and children headed
into the healthcare industry
has a younger sister named Ellen also wanted to become a nurse
but alas she didn't graduate
Mary train long days 16 hours
students then earn $1 to $4 an hour
Mary graduated 1879 as a registered nurse
alongside with three other colleagues as the first black woman nurse in the United States of America
2/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2021©
Sunruse: May 7th 1845 Dorchester Massachusetts
Sunset: January 4th 1926 Boston Massachusetts
Nationality: American
Alma mater: New England Hospital for Women and Children
Alistar Brandt led his men up the trail,
the sun high, the sky clear of rain or hail,
across long slopes, beneath mountains rocky,
vultures soaring between the ragged peaks,
behind him rode five members of his gang,
rough-hewn men who the law would love to hang,
but today they looked for a man of old,
who was farming these lands, they had been told.
They came across a cabin on a knoll,
a barn nearby, the spot they had been told,
corral nearby held half a dozen pigs,
nearby grew potatoes you’d have to dig,
between, a well, where a big man did work,
drawing buttons of water from the earth,
his clothes weathered, but his frame just as large
upon which Alistair knew there were scars.
It was their man, named Dan Smith to the world,
was strong enough to lift a steer and hurl,
he’d rode with them until three years ago
when he’d got caught, sentenced to prison’s woes.
He once had called himself Dan the Deadly,
but all had joked, called him Dan the Dummy,
not much for brains, which any man could see,
Alistair doubted he could even read.
His sluggish thoughts had led him into jail,
missed a signal to flee back to the trail,
just stood a fought a posse on his own,
lost to numbers (Though he’d broken some bones!)
But that was why they wanted him today,
to swing big firsts if things should go astray,
and Alistar saw as the big man turned
that on his face the same dumb look was burned.
For a moment Dan just looked on blankly,
then said, “Al, did you come here seeking me?”
Alistair said, “Didn’t come for the view,
and we got a job that might interest you.”
Dan waved his big hand. “Don’t do that no more.
Got a farm and woman I can’t ignore.”
Alistair frowned. “Just hear me out them choose,
this could mean eight thousand dollars for you.
See Red Joe Hayes got himself shot last month,
the one who knocked off that army wagon.
I know ’cause his pard Bill rides with us now,
says Red hid that payroll up near the clouds.
Up in the high country, just north of here,
but others are looking too, it appears.
Near sixty thousand, and you’d get your share,
if you help us fight any fools up there.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Look into her eyes
See evil that tells only lies
See three lost souls
Strangled by a heart of coal
See her stares
As men watch with glares
Women watch with empathy
A woman deserving no sympathy
Women once picked the bear
As if any man would truly care
So isn't it ironically tough
Men will now pick the bear so rough
The truth is we all heard her
But only some see the truth in murder
But when she lost her way
Three children forever lost their day
Don't bother trying to lecture
I'm done with their lame conjecture
If it were my mom she'd be disowned
And if it was my wife divorced and left alone
Look into my eyes
And tell me when I'm saying lies
See the three lost souls
Strangled by a heart of coal
Mama,hush hush me to sleep,lullaby me to dream,take me to bed,kiss my
forehead,as you cover me with perfumed white linen sheets.mama,i
burnt my finger,i bruised my knee,but with a brush of your kiss,all
heals suddenly,mama's love miracle be.mama,tnks for the food,the baked
cannelloni,taste yummy and good,and on my birthday,some chocolate
cakes ,my beautiful sweet mama,bakes.mama,there is no one like mama
all over the world,mama is the most enchanting word.Mama,with your warm
blue eyes,your face full of smiles,you bless me,as from behind the
window,watching me go,you wave in goodbyes. mama,a woman so
faithful, in your believes,you taught me the beauty of God in all things,
in oceans,in skies,in flowers and green velvet leaves.Mama you taught
me to pray,to live day by day,to share with all others,to love my
ownself,your little girl born on the first of May.Mama,a dedicated
mother,a dedicated wife,for better ,for worse,in sickness,in health,
you're strong,you survive. Mama,there is no one like mama,
your heart full of compassion and love.My mother,my friend,a blessing,
God's greatest give from above,"Mama" ~the yellow rose in my garden. .
I love you mama.
I love the beauty of my land the curvy and simple bright looks, the sense of humour and the dignified morals of my Origin.
She is a true portrayal of a decent great beauty of the humble origin her dress style not by any fashionista .
When she smiles you will be swept off your brains oooh it's a heaven sent antidote that heals the soul. the great beauty of my mama land portrays no humility humble and soft is the tone of her voice.
Her name sounds like edible sweet African fruits that cure an ulcer. the tender moves of her walk style ain't natural as it's felt in every gent's heart.
Her tender lips and nose are the instruction of silence and the magnet attached to every eye oooh it moves multitudes.
Perhaps I would hesitate following my humble origin but am wearily helpless as this creature moves my heart beats.
Form:
Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A woodland walk, a quest for river-grapes, a mocking thrush, a wild rose or rock-living columbine, salve my worst wounds.”
SUFFERING SEASON
broken…
the sediment — a deposition seed,
of what meaning, this scrawl?
splinters splayed, suffering season
comforted by a columbine.
pressed into the carnivorous cranny
of melancholic chords, phantom phenom
appears from sunless shadows,
felicitous with numb heartstrings.
pretense of petals pierced,
potent poison’d creative mind.
woman in white, welded to hatchery,
sings wisdom and solitude —
shy flower cranes its head to listen.
rebirth croons in crannied space,
cramps of convalescence released.
a lonely boy. . . the florid dove lands
on two fingers, he’s mesmerized —
the apparition strokes his hair.
2/21/2020
Flower in the Crannied Wall Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Crows love an audience, not with people but with the gentle folk and others of their own kind .
and if their lucky it would be with jet her self.
My wife has taken to wearing heavy shoes upon my pleading because of the fondness the crows have for her skinny self ,
It doesn’t take a lot to make a crow laugh .
One just has to know what to say or do ,
My wife being such a weedy woman and I suspect part genetically related too the gentle folk anyway,
only has to turn sideways and appears to vanish from their noble view .
this has your average murder in stitches.
I’ll hear a fading squeal of delight as my thin woman is carried up aloft into the branches by and to preform for said murder .
I’m the one who has to rope up and retrieve my preforming wife every valiant time ,
if crows can shrug a dismissal ‘then that’s the very thing that greets me for my intrusion when I eventually reach the crown of that great oak
and then breathlessly exclaim “really “
So that is why
‘it’s always heavy shoes to be worn outside please (for her ),
as a way of deterring that ancient
Black feathered
Fan base abducting my thin wife ( Again).
He walked along the beach a man forlorn
Forgotten were his dreams, his heart was torn
The gentle waves spoke of the years gone by
And drew salt water down from saddened eye
He saw some driftwood lying on the shore
It sparked his interest and he longed for more
He touched it gently, to his great delight
Sandalwood he’d found: passion to ignite
The need to carve once more came to his mind
A joy he’d lost and could no longer find
He took it home, that battered piece of wood
With hopes to turn it into something good
A mane of hair took shape beneath his hands
Flowing waves of curly wooden strands
Round shoulders of the woman of his dreams
And breasts and waist of beauty carved supreme
Gracefully her form began to take on shape
When he was done he stood there mouth agape
She was a goddess made of his desire
A love for her consumed him like a fire
At night he wished upon a falling star
She’d come to life and chase his sorrows far
He looked at her before he fell asleep
And smiled for he’d forgotten how to weep
He felt a stirring there beside his bed
A presence seemed to hover near his head
He looked upon his statue now in flesh
Her body like a breeze was young and fresh
She pressed her lips so gently over his
“I need to tell you, love, listen to this
I was discarded, battered, wounded sore
I chose to be a part of life no more
You saw in me my hidden beauty fine
Your wish has reached the heart of the Divine
I stand before you, answer to your prayer
Sent to give you love and tend’rest care.”
She kissed his lips, and veiled him in her hair
His tears she wiped, this answer to his prayer
With him she lay, her breast his pillow sweet
The richest fare of sandalwood, his treat
What else transpires is curtained from our sight
Burning sandalwood…..scents the glowing night
Eileen Manassian Ghali