Long Worn Poems
Long Worn Poems. Below are the most popular long Worn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Worn poems by poem length and keyword.
“MY STUDENTS AND I”
In the cool dawn of each new day,
My heart swells with a joyful array,
As I greet the group of eager minds,
Who await, with vigour, new knowledge to find.
To lead a class with intent and care—
With listening ears and silent air,
—is the pride of a teacher true;
A gift that few are gifted to.
The modern students, with youthful brawn—
Break the teacher's heart, steeled and worn,
As they ignore the wisdom shared;
And dreams of excellence are impaired.
The teacher, with a heart of gold,
Gives all, the students to mould;
But the students, unkeen to embrace,
Leave the teacher's heart a lifeless place.
Silence!" I roared, fierce as a lion,
But as I did, a serene spirit shone,
—like a whisper of peace, calm and true,
And so, I held my voice, and my fury too.
With heart open, and words of gold,
I spoke to the restless students bold,
Seeking to reach within their souls,
—the wisdom and knowledge I wanted to unfold.
I uttered, with passion and truth—
"Face your studies, knowledge is youth,"
But the students, unmoved, replied—
"Money is the key, sir, with no lie."
In shock, I stood, as my lesson fell,
Like petals plucked from a broken bell,
And understanding then did strike,
—the source of their disinterest, now in sight.
I posed, with fervour in my voice,
A question of truth, to make them rejoice—
"Why do the wealthy seek knowledge so?
If money is all, as you all seem to know?"
Their gazes, they shifted, their minds perplexed,
As the truth I gave them, their views corrected,
And I held their attention, like a web,
—spun with words of truth, no longer led.
My voice, it soared, resounding strong—
"If knowledge you lack, you will go wrong,
For those with it will eat the fruit of your toil,
And leave you with nothing, but a bitter coil."
"Money can purchase certificates true,
But wisdom and learning, it cannot do,
And as for standard, it's knowledge's friend,
Together they stand, till the end."
My words, they did penetrate their souls,
The truth, like a light, began to unfold.
Her hands were small, wrinkled
Covered in brown age spots
Encouraging me to keep trying
Even when I was losing
Her hand’s nails needed trimming
She was nearly ninety
And I had to trim them
So fearful of cutting her
Her hands were worn, tattered
By the many years of work
She toiled like no one I know of
Constantly going, on and on
Her hands grasped mine
Feeling thin skinned and old
While at the same time they felt
Full of a love I’d always known
Her hands had done so much for me
Held me when I cried, spanked my behind
Bandaged a boo-boo and wisely
Comforted my sleepless night with a touch
Her hands were filled with purpose
She worked and tried and assured us
That when time would come to an end for her
She had a friend named Jesus she’d go to
Her hands lay crossed across her breast
That evening when I saw her in her casket
Awaiting the burial that would leave me feeling
Like I would be missing her until I'd go with her
Democracy is a hoax
And it was meant to be
As it is, a set of sad jokes
A cheerful old trickery
You are offered to favour one
From the faces chosen not by you
The work is already done
It’s preset, in case you won’t do
So it’s always a meritocracy
No demos reserved, but elite
Travestied as democracy
Telling you what you need
It’s a master and slave metonymy
As it was, but the good news is
The elite can’t stand mind autonomy
Much more than in previous years
That’s encouraging, cause it seems
The democracy plot gets worn out
Age reveals those repressive schemes
I could easily live without
The oldest living group
of chewing herbivorous insects
proudly carries 250 million years
of quiet evolution.
No soft muscle tissue
on these grasshopper legs,
they are bear
as clean-picked chicken bones
and hard
as the outer shell of some crustaceans.
Finned spikes line each shank
for gripping tightly golden strands
of summer wheat in blowing fields.
Armor plating, like kevlar vest, worn upon a body
that sits low between two high-rise knobby knees.
A sling-shot lying wait
to catapult away,
carried on an allied wind
with force to help escape
all dangerous predators.
A wind that has carried
grasshopper history for centuries
from field to field
across deserts and water,
through forests and plains.
Now that same ally wind
has betrayed them,
carrying them here
to a final destiny with me,
flattened in defeat
upon my windshield.
Bartered tears with your love adorn
Twin streams from pure, spring founts born
Sappy pores gushing with showers of contrition on christening morn
Exchanged with vows that o'er time were weathered and torn
Briny waves of doubt crested; fealties' banks shorn
Now bottled memories silted with salty tears forlorn
Eroding tear ducts inundated and with passing time worn
Brackish vapor distilled with rotting dreams; with nauseous fumes borne
Corroded promises mired in a dry bed of scorn
Cloaked in callous foliage spited with thistle and thorn
Meeting at the jaded fork; once vibrant streams solemnly mourn
Stagnant puddles awaiting reincarnation; at next season's fertile rains reborn
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
From the beginning our shaky love was fated.
We had met and I fell, but patiently waited,
a fact for which both of our families were glad.
Even though we spoke with words insinuated,
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I wonder if we were a curious dyad.
Was this acerbic love become hate belated?
Only God will decide if this is good or bad.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
Love faded rapidly after we had dated.
I wondered if I should remain calm or be mad,
I questioned guilty feelings that were created.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
You were time-worn, emotionally armor-clad.
I understand now you would never be sated.
You bore the spirit of an unsettled nomad,
from the beginning our shaky love was fated.
Achingly romantic dreams I had created,
a basis for lifetime togetherness’ launchpad.
Alas, I have become confused and frustrated.
Tomorrow, in a renewed search for Galahad,
I will always wonder.
The great kilt.
“Och aye the noo”
TraIs the cat deid? –
Has the cat died? your trousers are a bit short
– like a flag flying at half mast
Liken my great grandfather did why don’t you put on a kilt
Oh yes, right now
My 16th century
Originating in the traditional
Scots bearing dress of men and boys
In the Scottish Highlands
Is a skirt-type garment with pleats at the rear?
Since the 19th century,
The kilt has become
Associated with the wider
Scottish and Gaelic cultures
A symbol of national pride and tradition
Those cultural heroes of the highlander
Yes! Even some made its way into our military units
And eventually a suited attire symbol of formality
The great kilt.
The first mention of kilts is in 1538
They were worn as full-length garments
Those Gaelic-speaking Scots Highlander men
Were the first to wear them?
The knee-length kilt that we see today
Didn't come around until the early 18th century
Those belted plaid or great kilt
Such a full-length garment
The great kilt
Whose upper half could be worn as a cloak?
Draped over the shoulder, yes even worn by soldiers
Being brought up over the head as a hood
Revealing in a distance a cloak of disability
Comes from the Scots word kilt meaning
Old Norse people donned them kjalta
Meaning lap, fold of a gathered skirt
Also a combat dress
This great kilt
Nonetheless, individual exceptions continued, and it is believed
The kilt was last widely worn in action at the Evacuation of Dunkirk
In May 1940 on D-Day, June 1944, Lord Lovat,
Commander of 1 Special Service Brigade,
This Great Kilt
Was accompanied by his personal pipers who wore a kilt
Played the bagpipes – while German bullets whizzed around him
This tradition has been continued
Within the Pipe Bands of the Republic of Ireland's Defense Forces
The Great Kilt, One of The Themes of Scotland
3/20/21-©2021
For Contest Theme of Scotland
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Spiritual Gem Inside Me 7/3/25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spiritual Gem Inside Me
A jewel breathes inside of me
In a chrysalis where a rose
Breaths the covenant
Promise born from the heart of perfection
Where intoxicating remnants of a garden
Linger
Whispering,
Beckoning me home
Through the sweet scent of grace
Humming lullabies
As my petals open
To leaves of reconciliation
My Hope waits in silence
With the promise to circumcise
My uncircumcised heart
With sacred oils
Running over my head,
Down my chin,
As I put on the mantle of mercy
Bathed in balm and incense
Enfolded in this troth
I, a child in waiting,
Readies to bloom
Like the lotus flower
Rising
From murky depths
Where I have planted my roots
Seeking
The alabaster bouquet of the Daystar
In floral facets of fragrance -
Goodwill and kindness
My gem,
My gift, this rose,
No hardened stone
A crystal still forming
Unlike wilted blooms
Refined
By the perfume of the Refiner
A prelude
To an unblemished jewel
Abiding
Among many
Worn in the victorious crown of glory.
Said the sacred green EcoFeminist
to the hard
and carnal red EgoPatriarch:
If one's only ego-weapon
is a hard erectile key
then every perennial trauma
will seem to be a locked
and toxic
traumatized
closed up tight
back and forth shut down
with all his might
anti-bright
Black Hole.
So it is
in monocultures,
where spirited nature
abhors a well-rooted YangWoke vacuum
As if pregnant enculturing wombs
were a personally disempowering
contradiction
of indigenously natured
panentheistic
naturally sacred inside
open hole systemic outside
root chakra Yintegrity
For resiliently optimizing
multiculturing cooperative
integrally copulating
co-impassioned
opening poles for otherwise
empty closed-out binomial hole
Metric bicameral systems
positive 1 through not negative 0
systemic yang/yin mediation
for wu-wei natural-ego inside
eco-spirited outside environments
AnthroSupremely
monotheistic privileged worship
through worn out right-hand jobs
nurturing compulsive 1's only tool
to relieve a LeftBrain dominant
verbal keynote loud overspeaker
So every not perennial
impulsive non-0 zone
win/lose deflowering problem
looks rationally Either/Or
and sounds Mine/Or-Thine
and yet smells potentially fertile
Refilling a locked-up integrity
integral womb
of polytheistic potential
compassionately awaiting princely One poles
fulfilling Holy win/win systemic Peace
with wellness Zero wholes
compassionately co-investing
zen souls.
I glanced at him on his knees, donning tears and a robe.
Wiping bullets and blood off the streets.
He slowly made his way toward the broken business zone.
A worn carpenter's belt in tow.
A soft light was around him.
The crowd began to grow.
He helped the last hatter board up his store.
A nail between his teeth.
Broken glass and bottle caps
played taps to a windy city beat.
He placed a few signs in the ground.
That said, vote for candidate faith, believe in the divine.
His time was up; it was time for him to go.
Once again, he was called back home.
As he left, he turned around and simply said.
"Love one another... greatly".