Long Wright Poems
Long Wright Poems. Below are the most popular long Wright by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wright poems by poem length and keyword.
The British were coming.
As dawn's cold fingers
clawed the eastern sky,
men scurried to their stations,
all too aware of the rhythmic crump
of that ugly distant drumming.
The Threat was inching closer,
a scarlet thing with many spikes
shimmering in the first sun.
The Monster's great insistent heart
was felt in dreadful pulsing
through Concord's very earth.
On skeins of breeze
shrill snatches of the British pipes
came sighing like the ghosts
of those about to die.
It would begin soon.
The village men all mustered here
before their tavern,
whose weathered boards
they knew by heart.
The Thing that was now looming,
The Standing Army,
must not prevail.
Blood banging in their ears,
here beneath the sign of Wright,
the blacksmith and the baker knew
this was the day of days.
The hour had come
to stand and fight.
The danger from the east
would soon be here.
If life was to be sweet beyond today,
if this young promising land
was ever to grow straight and strong,
if America meant hope at all,
if force majeure was wrong,
then by this very afternoon
the Monster must be stopped.
At Emerson's command
the village fifes and drums struck up,
the skirmishers went out.
Today at Concord, men would die.
America's mettle would be tried.
Happy Birthday " Mr. G. "
by; Tom Wright
8/00
I vision an aging, gentle, man,
in recliner, set quite apart.
I oft wonder what you're doing,
and of the thoughts within your heart.
I conjure visions of you sitting each day,
alone with book in hand.
Reading long ago stories,
of the west, when still a pristine land.
I wonder if I quietly entered your room,
would you nod as if at sleep.
Would your journal still reflect,
the appointments you are to keep.
I wonder if any of your old friends,
ever feel inclined to write?
If you cross their minds, as mine,
on that occasional sleepless night.
I wonder if in your back yard beauty,
you ever wile away an hour?
If birds abound or squirrel's appear
among the neighborhood trees that tower?
I thank the Lord for providing you,
with that most precious commodity, health.
For the loved one you reside with,
and for her willingness to share love's wealth.
I guess I'm just full of wondering,
when I think of you, " Mr.G",
and though miles are many between us,
you are still very special to me.
So as your birthday comes and goes this year,
no better, I pray, could things possibly be.
We send all our love in this Birthday wish,
from the two of us, Ernestine and me.
Who Would Have Thought It!
Only Forty?
By: Tom Wright
9/98
Our lives are like and opened book,
from which we all read and learn.
We must always take a serious look,
before allowing It's pages to turn.
For as surely as each day will slip,
we'll become wiser along with age.
It seems our past is a blurry blip,
until we're turning our fortieth page.
As our body ages we may show wear,
like a book that the dog half ate.
We've lost teeth and some even hair,
with most all "Packin" extra weight.
Most past forty need glasses to see,
seems our arms have gotten shorter,
In a recliner, you'll be content to be,
though once considered a sporter.
My intent hasn't been to make you sad,
its just that I thought this was nifty.
And should you at forty think Its bad,
memory loss occurs around fifty.
At times in our past we were down,
with a feeling we couldn't keep pace.
God so gently removed our frown,
while placing us back in life's race.
Mental Toughness
Written: by Tom Wright
6/16/2018
Mental toughness drives tough old birds,
It sums up our lives with just two words.
An optimistic attitude is what we bring,
And motivates us beyond issues that ding;
Our glass is half full each minute of time,
We march lockstep to our own paradigm.
This defines who we are and who you see,
I happily say, tough old birds, includes me.
We never surrender but will fight to the end,
No matter what warning realities might send.
Believers view give up as being unusable words,
And no shows in vocabularies of Tough Old Birds;
Pugilist,
(Pick Your Arena Then Make Your Opponent Earn It)
Written: by Tom Wright
2/9/2018
At times in life I’ve exceeded my expectations,*
Often being driven by my earlier laid foundations;
Most competitions end only after one was bested,
I wouldn’t know my hearts contents- until tested.
It was never an edge my opponent might boast,
Or style points awarded for striking first or most.
The prime indication of how a contest would end,
Was the determined effort I was willing to expend.
It’s often been the presence of Jesus in my corner,
That has turned the tide against some evil scorner.
But to fully appreciate the taste of victory’s seat,
I first had to know the agony coming from defeat.
* New Years Day 2017
In any conflict (health or otherwise)
Unless you fight as if there’s no tomorrow,
There well may not be one.
Tom
Has God Made You My Judge?
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
God hasn’t ordained any mortal,
To judge previous activity of another;
Whether it be parent or close friend,
A sister, child, or perhaps a brother;
For we all have made lamentable choices,
That we’re helpless to cause undone.
But we don’t need incessant reminding,
Once God has forgiven each one,
He places these matters behind His back,
Never to be called back any more.
What family sometimes doesn’t realize,
Reminding us isn’t their assigned chore.
While reminding others of former transgressions
Our own lay hidden in the periphery,
Undetected by man, while under God’s spotlight
Tom
No one ever changes their mind.
People are changed by events that occur in their life time.
"Did ya hear bout them Wright brothers?" said the rural backwoodsman.
"They says theys gonna build themselves a flying machine."
"That'll never happen", said his companion,
"If god wanted man to fly he'd have given him wings."
At that moment overhead flew the very first airplane,
as both stared in disbelief at what they were seeing.
"I have changed my mind! Me too!" they both exclaimed.
They didn't change their minds, neither one of them.
Both of them were changed by their first flying machine event.
"I have changed my mind," is a phrase often misinterpreted.
A more proper response would be, "I stand corrected."
Help Your Self,
Doesn't Mean to Mine
Written: by Tom Wright
2/7/2019
Some think we run a taxi service,
Others think that we're a bank.
A few, I'm sure are quick to say,
Tom's an eighty year old crank.
Some are always needing things,
To satisfy a want or yearn.
They always use the term borrow,
But most times forget to return.
One has told me “because you're old,
Perhaps you don't recall.”
I was quick to tell this person,
I thought he a lot of gall.
It isn't that I've become uncaring,
Or have a heart that now is stone.
But Tom no longer has time for this,
And just hankers to be left alone.
In My Silence
By: Tom Wright
6/19/00
Oft times, alone, in morning silence I sit,
Thinking of life and from whence I'm brought.
Cognizant of but one fact, that when God is in it,
No thought of mine is deemed a simple thought.
Silent visions, in time lapse photography are seen,
quickly forming, and flying by as birds.
Or appearing as a seed parting soil as an emerging bean,
my silent thoughts, exploding into simple words.
No words of eloquence, to pray a fancy prayer,
that God above might be impressed.
For God seeks the simple words of praise I air,
for this life of mine that He has richly blessed.
A Forest A Capella
By: Tom Wright
11/15/98
Along the forest floor I creep,
not Wishing to disturb inhabitants living there.
Treading on pine needles ankle deep,
as if nature had placed a carpet,
so I wouldn't disturb It's sleep.
The forest, having long been asleep,
appearing drowsy, begins now to wake
and from somewhere into the deep.
A chorus of Coyotes, yapping in song,
before denning up to sleep.
Have I given them cause for fear?
Are they telling me perhaps I don't belong,
having sensed that I am near?
Or another of natures marvelous ways,
of making music for my ear.
My occasional snapping of a twig
has alerted a Fox Squirrel somewhere near.
Perhaps in a nearby Oak so big.
It's chattering, as if at odds, over acorns
being devoured by Blue Jays or a grunting pig.
With snow flakes now floating from the sky
my eyes are directed overhead
and though not seen by eye,
I hear sounds of passing Geese,
as further south they fly.
An occasional hissing and as I turn to see,
somewhat apprehensive, but with no fears.
There, walking the trunk of a fallen tree,
one large Bobcat singing his part,
like others, A Capella, just for me.