Long Year around Poems
Long Year around Poems. Below are the most popular long Year around by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Year around poems by poem length and keyword.
You died today, three years ago. Which is when I wrote down this date with a brief note. Katrina died. Yeah, that was all I could fit inside, on the month and date in this small box with a space below your exit time. So it’s there. Centered, where I scribbled down inside, an end date for my sister, my first friend in this life. I can’t believe a calendar can remain so calm when all I do is document days when humans celebrate another year around the sun. Or a painful return to a paralyzing reminder of a human whose time stopped before today began. June, always an unwelcome with you. I have been seeing her in many different places, even showing up in my reflection. Must be because I have been trying not to face it. As it approached the day your spirit was lifted and your human body interrogated. It’s like every time this date jets back around I’m barely picking myself up from the last time I was in fetal position on the ground. Where’s the sweet spot for when this grief stops and I can look at a calendar without hearing tick-tock? I’m sure I’ve forgiven you and myself, so why is your death and absence still making me feel so unwell? Guess it goes back to the fact I love you forever and more, so this date will make my heart sore and my spirit mourn. I just wish I could hug you just once more. I’m just a human and even if I could take this pain away, I wouldn’t. It’s you. It’s a reminder I had you. Lived in the same womb after you, made memories after that with you, laughed with you, and cried with you, it’s the unfair reminder you were 1 and I was 2. Another three hundred and sixty-five without you. 2,3,4, need a one. Mom misses you with every last ounce of her, that she can. I look forward to starting back where it all began. See you when my dial ends.
Why must I listen to grinding metal sounds
shouting insults at my ancestors?
Where have the sweet pink peonies gone,
that came up every year around Grandmother's house?
I know the yellow roses you were so thrilled to give
me have changed-
Every time I pick up the telephone, all I hear
are freight trains, rushing through thunderstorms,
hoping to catch a break in the clouds.
Feelings, hurt so easily, or too many times,
don't bother me so much in the winter,
In the bitter
cold
In, the bitter cold...
At winter end
comes the time of lilac
pubescent shoots tipped light green
budding up and down each branch,
young growth stretching, flexing new muscles
ready and anxious to answer the call;
a gentle but large white sun
hangs low in the gray blued sky,
spring comes as it often does
every year around this time
softly waking earth
shaking loose the ice-cold winter drab
until all is new again
reborn to grow and blossom;
only time, weathered and season worn
anguishes to leave some mark;
this aging earth draws from creation itself
imagining its restart from memory
as humanity appears to remain
self-absorbed, hard-hearted and indulgent
until living in oblivion
returns to see taking in the time of lilacs,
natures bounty and beauty recharged.
More to a lake than lush poetic sight,
Cheerfully charming us all year around.
It is - over the lost soul’s angst, deep down -
Streaming soft tears through the veil of the night.
Lake’s sunset glows at its own tranquil pace
Beckoning artists to the willow’s shade.
Hiding murky, dark secret, heavy weighed,
Gravely chosen as the last resting base.
Lake’s diverse disposition, taunted twist -
Somber and Serene dare to interplay.
Yesterday’s troubling ripples go away -
Two become one in early morning mist.
March 14, 2023
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: Lake
In the land of the alligators, pelicans and manatees
Florida takes prisoners from up north and throws away their keys
Once there, they never want to escape back home
For they love the weather here, where they can always roam.
They turn old here, if they are not already there, but many are.
The crepe myrtles are blooming, wearing tiny dresses, with a star.
Retirees enjoy the warm weather year around here with pools not very far.
Even the rain here is gentle, it never beats hail or snow on your car.
Florida is a beauty, I would lie on her beaches for days in the sand.
Except I have heard the stories of the gators taking off a leg or a hand.
If it was not for those monsters, those dinosaur left over creatures,
I would move to Florida for her other sun shiny features.
My spouse and I own a comfortable home on a quiet street,
And we have roses, flowers and bountiful fruit trees replete.
I take great care to ensure that things are regular and complete.
That way, from neighbors I'll take no unwarranted heat!
I planted a holly bush a number of years ago,
And that dude just continues to spread and grow.
So every now and then I grab my shears and it I prune.
This must be done every year around the first of June.
It is nearly six feet high - I must stretch to reach the top,
So I use a step ladder to reach the highest twigs to lop.
In years past I've used the ladder and have had no trouble,
But today it slipped - I took a tumble in a bed of stubble!
When I fell the branches parted like The Red Sea for me.
I landed on my posterior in all sorts of dubious debris.
Looking up briefly I saw the pristine Colorado sky,
And sent a plea upward saying, "Lord this ain't no way to die!"
I could see the headlines in tomorrow morning's paper:
"Man dies in clutches of holly bush due to careless caper!"
I learned a valuable lesson as a result of this exercise:
New methods for pruning that challenging shrub I must devise!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
On a hot summer day in the hills
I went underground searching for thrills
Fifty Eight degrees year around
In the darkness, enlightenment was found
Down here is where it all began
Unearthed bones of earlier man
A small stream is what's left of the ocean
Hands of time, run in slow motion
Crystalline icicle looking stalactites
Meet and greet, ever growing stalagmites
Multicolored water drips like rain
To formations of colors with no name
The albino blind salamander commands
Sun starved creatures on diamond dust sands
And drip stones silently grow
Resident bats freely come and go
Ever changing pillars support a vaulted ceiling
Convenient and aesthetically appealing
Father Time spins his potter's wheel
His masterpiece is patiently revealed
Occasionally Mother Earth gets jealous
Becomes a tad bit overzealous
Withholding minerals he needs
He chisels sandstone as he slowly breathes
I think to myself, how ironic
This old cave drinks a mineral tonic
In human vanity, it's time we fear
Hence the beauty of millions of years
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Autumn leaves an aftertaste that kisses cold.
Then transfuses startled green veins with gold.
A shivering whisper, slips through oak and elm.
As faded yellow disciples tumble from their realm.
As it hums through wheat; the heavy heads bend low.
To ripen while the last warm amber winds still blow.
A long-drawn-out sigh, draws summer from its reign,
Gold and red leaves tumbling down to an empty lane.
Thin mist curls upwards from the cooling ground,
Cold breath slips down, through cracks, without a sound.
Gasps rattle shutters, and worry the tiles and doors.
Sends dry leaves scurrying like mice around the floors.
Autumn breathes on apples till their red cheeks glow,
Then thumps them down one by one onto the ground below.
It finds the restless geese beneath the cloud.
And beckons them south, to join the gathering crowd.
At dusk its voice turns hoarse, as darkness grows.
Growing rasping and raw, with winter up its nose.
Then Autumn, now breathless, loosens one last leaf.
It spins to Earth, collapsing, in gold-flared relief.
These two have pretty hectic life all year around:
they walk and run, they jump and stomp, skitter and pound,
they never cry, squawk, whine or pout when we have fun
while bearing weight of a child or a man.
Our busy cheerful feet lead an artistic live,
invigorating us with their contagious vibe.
Once music’s on they hit the dance floor till they drop
in a slow fashion waltz or hoopla of hip hop.
We better pamper these two since they serve us right-
keep them clean and dandy and stretch them out at night.
Our busy feet deserve tender loving care
because we cannot do without this prancing pair!
April 10, 2021
"He was once said to be Inurbane
meaning he lacked sophistication
refinement and courtesy, he's got it now!"
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Written By: Bel Canto Leitmotif
To all ends are these our beginning
that it is neither frustrated or meant
deceive. Are strengths are in our togetherness
might tomorrow usher in the start and fix of
those things that need change.
That we shall not become our own enemy
to understand there dislike. And we shall not
sort to create factions. Upon the truths of gainstment
we can elaborate. There were we hAVE faulted to create peace
is there where such negotiations might began.
The idea of using conflict or "faulting" to create peace
is called disrupting false peace.
This concept posits that genuine and lasting
peace can only be achieved by confronting
and addressing underlying tensions,
rather than by suppressing.
historical context, modern centrist ideas, and the challenge
conservative figures. The concept of progression which is neither new
or unachievable. Expanding the opportunism to began work and than become
the working and middle class. Opportunism for the poor.
: that makes wealthier employers want to hire.
Championing policies that are realist and meaningful.
building to considerate of the future,
Creating new margins to expand growth for business large and small.
Being an advocate for both farmers and there consumers.
Financial and monetary balancing to intervene to address social and economic problems.
In those areas were decay and time has created a crumbled area of waste.
To be used as modern day farm areas. Using modern tech to produce the food
where low income, and abandoned and and depressed housing are. We can champion people
by growing fruits and vegetable year around to calm the shores of uncertainty.
The future starts now!
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published by the Banda Vernacular Inc.
Banda Music Co.