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Long Holiday Poems | Long Holiday Poetry

Long Holiday Poems. These are the most popular long Holiday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Holiday poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Suzette Richards | Details |


It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.

screeching seagulls dive at sushi scraps on a plate - the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier). I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
moths dart between moon flowers - lunar eclipse
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time. The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat shut out the bitter world - a heart pounds
**************************************************************** *The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia. "bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers... "flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku. Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia

Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 2

That's my dad for you... getting his hands deep into the knitty-gritty, when most others would just back off a safe distance away saying, "No thanks! Maybe when Armageddon comes a'knocking we can talk religion, but right now I'm in the middle of favorite show so.... bye!". I have much respect for him in that sense... a hard working man as well as a man who never stops thinking... even when on the coattails of turning 60. Still in the fields of repairing roofs, fixing leaky pipes, (even building tree-houses for the overly eccentric clients that don't even have kids that would enjoy it). My siblings and I would unanimously agree that he's been in construction since the dawn of time. And in some ways that statement isn't so far off from the truth - depending of course on who's "time" you are referring too. In my heart and soul he will always be high in my book of Highly Admired People. But of course there will always be those personality traits I wish were apart of him. I can say this, in complete honesty, that I don't believe he ever once remembered my birthday. I don't hold it against him by any means. Truth be told he doesn't remember ANY holidays whatsoever (Fourth of July, Christmas, not even his own birthday, bless his soul). He's just not wired that way. To him a holiday is nothing more than a glorified day where telemarketers and business men take full advantage of. "Feel like your mother doesn't appreciate you enough? Well here's something that will change her mind, this coming mother's day. A brand new 24 carat diamond encrusted necklace that's guaranteed to dazzle those eyes. You can beam with pride when you hand it to her... I went to Jared, yes, indeed!". But in some ways I mourn his inability to become engrossed in a monotonous no-nothing conversation. We can't discuss movies, musicians or any upcoming local events. Sometimes I feel as though if the topic isn't of dire importance, he won't give it a second look. Sports won't hold his attention... doesn't everybody know the Superbowl is just a distraction from all the wars going on around us? Doesn't at times, we resemble Hitler hiding his bunker, drinking wine and eating gourmet delicacies of pate and caviar, while the rest of the world is battling it out? Perhaps he's a victim of too much truth and it consumes him... perhaps I just have a truth deficiency and just smile away, in ignorance, at some comedian on the TV, "I have no idea why I'm laughing, but I guess I'll sit awhile, and wait for this steeple of ours to come crashing down upon us." This proves just how much I take after my dad... might as well have a Walmart worthy button pinned to my shirt at all times, "HI! MY NAME IS TIM AND I'M A HOPELESS MELODRAMATIC... FREE SAMPLE?". Truth be told, I guess we both have elements of wisdom and elements of pessimism deeply ingrained into our thick skulls. It's one of the most difficult things in the world to explain the complexities (or in some cases, lack there of) of Garold Hicks. When my friends inquired, I'd cut it short saying, "Well he's different... not all that social I suppose." But I feel that is a great injustice to his personality, to sum it all up in pocket-sized sentence that takes barely more than a short exhale of breath, to let out. It's hard to end this ode of him, and still leave the reader with a clear sense of purpose, or any real sense of conclusion. I guess it's only fitting to end this piece, once and for all, with yet another my dad's witty zingers,

"I used to think I was in indecisive...

... but now I'm not so sure."

NOTE: I wanted to write a piece about my dad for ages, but couldn't find the words. He really is a strange person (and I don't mean to be insulting for I'm very much like him).

Long poem by Cynthia Alvez | Details |

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas

I wrote this poems some years ago when I was invited to be on a television program to read a Christmas poem to children as they gathered around me...I had not written a Christmas poem when the invitation was extended and wondered what to write as there were so many Christmas poems already...It was then I decided to write about the day before the night before Christmas...thus this poem which the children and listening audience enjoyed...

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas
It was December the 23rd
And Santa was packing his sleigh
Saying to his reindeer, "We've got
Lots of traveling to do today,
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I
Have lots of surprizes up my sleeve!"
The reindeer grumbled and were ill-at-ease,
Santa was worried and asked "
aren't you pleased?"
One reindeer who asked not to be identfied,
Stepped forward and replied,
"Christmas now is just a word!"
The other reindeer joined in,
"There is no peace on earth,
No good will between men!"
"No good will between people!" a liberated reindeer
Chirped in.
Santa was aghast and could not believe what he
Had just heard,
It startled him, it made him sad,
Why, Christmas was the time of year to make folks glad.
A time for celebration, for spreading good cheer,
A joyful, happy time of year!

"I'll do some spot checking!" Santa said to Mrs. "C"...
"Christmas has lost its true meaning, this cannot be!"
"This is tragic!"
And with a little Santa magic, he transformed himself
Into a little child with a polka dot face,
This way he could represent every race...

He went caroling the world over and begged
Passers-by, "Please sing along!"
But no one would join him in song.
Santa was cold,
His coat was tattered and torn...
No one offered him shelter,
They looked upon him with scorn.

He stopped at several houses but no one
Would let him in...
Some shouted, "Come back again!"
They were busy decorating and wrapping 
Presents galore,
But no one would open their door.
Santa saw a family strolling hand in hand,
"What does Christmas mean to you?"
He asked stepping up to the man.
"Presents for one and all said he!
"Trees a glitter, houses in holiday dress!"
Said she.
"Toys!" said the little one, jumping with glee...
"If you are really good, Santa will bring you a color TV!"
"But he won't find your house on the other side
of the track,
You are poor and ugly with that polka dot face,
I know Santa won't find your place!"
They laughed and scoffed, 
"Why you are a disgrace!"

"Christmas means a brand new car!" said the next
Hurried gent,
The next lady said, "Christmas made me spend every cent!"
Poor Santa was really sad,
No one had said Merry Christmas,
"This is really bad."
He shook his head as he pondered, "Is Christmas really dead?"

No one mentioned the babe in the manger,
Or the wise men who traveled afar.
No one mentioned Mary or Joseph or the
Bright guiding star.
Santa slumped his shoulders
He head beack home,
His heart was heavy, he felt all alone.

The suddenly, bells chimed; it was Christmas eve.
A lone man appeared and took the little child Santa
By his tattered sleve.
"Come child," he said softly, "I'll share my meal with you,
It is not much but it should warm you through and through."
He wrapped his worn scarf around Santa's cold head
Santa thanked him...
"Merry Christmas!" the stranger said, "I am traveling to
Bethlehem" and he was gone again.

Marry Christmas!" said Santa ss the stranger disappeared
From sight..."Christmas lives!" he shouted,
"The reindeer were wrong and I was right!

Carrolers sang in the distance,
Deck The Halls!  Silent Night

Long poem by Kelly Crenshaw | Details |

I hope

I'm 51 today.
51 tomorrow, yay
Was 51 yesterday.
52 is months away,
And yes I'm thankful.
Although it's not my real birthday,
It kinda is in a certain way.
I'm still alive another day.
I had the notion to celebrate.
And be thankful.
Though it's not a holiday. 
Thanksgiving has come and gone away,
I'm just alive today.
For that I'm thankful.
Honestly, I am not just trying to make these lines rhyme,
Or reflect upon the deep sublime.
I'm just grateful today to be alive.
I mean really thankful.
I'm not trying to wow you with philosophy,
Or impress you with theology.
It matters not at all to me.
I just feel thankful.
So tonight I take a walk outside,
I look up into the endless sky and then I breathe.
I breathe in deep,
And I say thank you.
And maybe not just to Who you think, 
Man let's throw in the kitchen sink,
And include all who've touched my life, to whom I'm thankful.
Some of you I'm glad you're gone,
Frankly you stayed a bit too long
And some you the grave stole far too soon,
And yet I'm still thankful.
Today the living and the dead
You've both been right up inside my head, 
And synergized this verbal thread.
For that I'm thankful.
I close my eyes and think of Tim, named David right there toward the end. 
I always smile when I think of him,
And now I listen
I heard a siren going by,
I wonder who and wonder why,
Was it a wreck, did someone die?
Yet still I listen.
Neighbors dogs are going wild.
Was that the laughter of a child.
Seems like I can hear for miles.
Still I listen.
I hear the hi-way roar of cars.
Tho I have never heard the stars
Is there really life on Mars?
Shhh brain please shut up and listen!
The soft night whispers in my ears.
Pressing through my random fears,
I stand amazed at what I hear.
And now I wonder.
I open up my eyes and see as I feel this winter breeze
The silhouette of leafless trees.
I stand in wonder
Then I wonder about the first man to ever be,
Or the first time he looked up to see
The Milky Way the galaxies.
Did he wonder?
I wonder what he did
How he loved how he lived.
If he ever lost a friend?
Man oh man I wonder.
Was he the first to dig a grave?
How it sounded if he prayed?
How he fought?
How he played?
If that man could see us all today,
What would he say I wonder?
In ways was he a lot like me?
Did he sometimes fear what he could not see?
Did he create unseen walls 
Of unbelief?
I stand and wonder.
Did he ever hurt the ones he loved?
Did life convince him not to trust?
I wonder.
My great grandfather lived
My DNA is shared with him.
I wonder how we are the same,
And I don't even know his name.
Still I wonder.
Will my great grand kids know my name?
Will it even matter who's to say?
Will they look up in wonder?
Will they listen?
Will they be thankful?
Not much I can leave to them
That would matter too much in the end.
I suppose the primal hope in man
Is the hope I hope lives on in them
I hope they wonder. About the universe.
I hope they listen. To life's unspoken verse.
I hope they're thankful. Even in midst of deepest hurts. 
I hope they're thankful.
I hope they listen.
I hope they wonder.
And no matter what life hands them,
I hope they hope.

Long poem by Leonora Galinta | Details |

Got Milk - In Her Battle

I used to receive regular phone calls so gladly from her
I could feel all her excitements and when she’s so eager
Telling me about her and how bright the sun in her day
And all her surprises and experiences while I’m away.

Until such a day came which terrified and shook my nerve
A voice on the other end had seemed can no longer serve
I knew she was right there, trying to reach me out here
All I heard were sobs and I couldn’t imagine her profuse tear.

It took a little while before she’d finally composed herself
In a quivering voice, she told me that she’s at the ridge of a cliff
I asked her why and she said so sadly that she has a breast cancer
I was shocked but still quite skeptical of what I’ve heard from her.

She relayed the diagnoses from her doctors and gynecologists
She  got a lump, a sign of dreadful cancer on her left breast
Hiding the echoes of my tears, I tried to give her comfort
Feeling horrified but I tried to control myself with an effort.

It didn’t take so long before she has undergone an operation
Her left breast was taken off like a total fiasco on her own
She felt all the darkness which she never had in her life
I tried to light her mind, despite hectic work I was on her side

Once in a while, her close friends and co-workers took my place
When I went back to work, they helped and assisted on her needs
We kept her mother uninformed because she has heart trouble
But not with other relatives so they’ll know our situation together

After several months of thorough medications and chemotherapy
She has improved her situation also with her faith in the Almighty
Amenable on pieces of advice and religiously took her medicines
In her battle are also exercises, herbals, juices and other nutritious aids

Now, she’s almost recovered although her cure will take five years
I admire her courage, strength and perseverance -  all at her gear
The traits and practices she’d exhibited are also for me to emulate 
( She has considered me as her younger sister since we’re still young)
To prevent any health problems that come or knock on my gate.

Nov. 11,2012
Leonora Galinta

Note: A dedication to my loving cousin and a friend, (2nd-3rd degree cousin) who is still under recovery of breast  cancer. She visits her doctors regularly also to monitor her right breast .  Thanks  to the  princess’ hospital (for cancer patients) that at least had enlighten her financial burden. Although we’re in the same country, we live far away from each other but she’s always with me in my prayers.  I can only be with her this time only on our longer holidays (school break). Ialso lovingly dedicate this poem to all victims of breast cancer. There is always a miracle in healing.

First Place
Contest: Femme Fatale- (pink ribbon)
Judged: 12/2/2012
Sponsor: Poet PD

Long poem by Daniel McGraw | Details |

Secrets - A Confidential Story

   What are you hiding? We all have a little secret we keep from the world. Do you want to 
know my secret? When we hide our secrets, they turn our souls into ashes. Ashes are what 
monsters are made of.

   It was a chilly day, in late October. I was just walking down main street, returning home 
from school. I walked past a few houses, and realized, that when I came to 120 Main Street, 
an old woman, was sitting out on her front yard. I kept on walking past her, but she would 
not take her eyes off me. “Good evening, ma’am” I kindly said to her. She did not reply.

   Finally, I was home. I opened the front door of my house, and when I entered, there were 
my parents sitting on the sofa. I walked in the living room, while they just sat there and 
stared at me. “Come in, Michael”, they said to me. I was confused. Was something wrong? 
Did someone die? No. “Have a seat”, my mother said. My father, just sat there, looking at 
me as if I had committed murder.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. And surely, as I had a seat, a police officer entered the room, 
and has a seat in front of the three of us.

   “Michael, do you know a child at school by the name of Simon?”, the Officer 
asked. “Maybe, why?”, I said. He just stared at me. “Well, there was a murder at school, and 
a boy named Simon was the victim.” I was horrified. I knew what was happening. “What? 
You think I had something to do with this?” I asked confusedly. There was silence. Of course 
they thought I did it. I got up off the chair, and headed for the door. My parents started after 
me, but the officer stopped them. Of course I knew who Simon was. He was my best friend. 
Why would they think I would kill my best friend?

   When I left the house, tears were flowing from my eyes. I was scared, and I was shocked. 
Who would want to kill Simon. He is a great kid, smart, nice, and jolly. I started walking back 
down main street, and as I passed by house number 120, the old lady continued to stare at 
me. I just kept on walking, and as I did, her eyes continued to follow. 

   Up ahead, was a Halloween store. Halloween was my favorite holiday. I could not resist it. 
The police were on my case, my parents were after me, what would you expect me to do, go 
to a lake, and kill myself. No. I am innocent.

   When I entered the store, an old man greeted me. He looked as if he were dead, but 
resurrected from the grave. It was weird, but what do I care? “May I help you ?” the old man 
said. “Nah, just chillin”, I said to him. He looked at me, smiled, and walked away.

Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

The Sugar Cube House

Love is a season
And holidays mark the seasons, like signs in the road
Reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home...

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down
It was long past midnight, Christmas eve
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me
It was if they were trying to fill our void with color
The block was filled with a hundred black windows
And the blackness somehow seemed more appropriate  
There was no Christmas tree in our house this year
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
                                                                            had taken all the strength he had...
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together...
It was Perry Como, I think....somehow I remember how he sang "Ava Maria"...

My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week
He had helped bring us a bit of least for awhile...
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly...

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed
I wasn't sleepy....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, 
                                 getting ready for the sun to shine on Christmas morning...

I started to head for bed, but noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box...
   The little box that kept the sugar cube house
It was one that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old... 
         Little sugar cubes stacked into walls and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Ladies' Home Journal....surrounding it with little trees, and 
people skating on a mirror for a pond, things we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store
Carefully packed away last year, on Mom's last Christmas....

Throughout the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the 
fireplace Mom would have done .

When the freckled morning moved into day...
I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket.
He held me and we cried together.
After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch 
from our old evergreen tree.
We decorated that bedraggled wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had
But it brought Christmas back to my family...

For Constance La France's contest "Your Saddest Christmas Ever"
Carrie Richards

Long poem by Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Details |

That is the name of my bottled water

Ok, I do not know if I should be telling you this,
It is somewhat embarrassing and you will probably laugh and hiss.

I went on holiday to the land of the free
Actually, it was America to the beaches of Miami 
Dam was it hot, I clearly remember the day
Yes, you guessed it; it was in the month of May.

I walked into a shop and asked for a bottle of sparkling water,
The man looked at me funny and questioningly at me daughter.
“Oh I forgot, you don’t speak English here,” I said
So I twanged me words and it registered in his head

I was hot, tired and burned to a crisp,
The man behind the counter had a bad stutter and a lisp
After five minutes hhhhhh he said, “Here’s a bottle of That is the name of my bottled 
I looked at man funny and questioningly at me daughter,
She giggled and said, “That’s the name of the drink.”
Then said, “I think?”

I was dying to use the loo
You know a number two
So I twanged to the man and he said “Ooo,” Then I said “Over there? Thank you”
I rushed in the loo, put the bottle on the floor near the toilet pan
Pulled down me shorts and sat down with a squeak clash and bang
I slipped off the seat and had a bottle half way wedged up me ass man.

Now let me tell you about that part of the body 
I was violated; it was an act of sodomy
The bottle was ribbed and too painful to pull out
So I pulled up me shorts and walked as if I had gout

Me daughter screamed “Dad?” “I didn’t know you were that way inclined.” 
Through gritted teeth I said “Shut it just cover me behind.”
She screamed again and said “I thought you bought it because you were thirsty?”
Like the Exocist my head spun round and I said “Not now, don’t start with me  

It was a long walk back to the hotel
I had to stop many a time and rested for a spell
The heat of the sun expanded the bottle
Which caused me to mimic a ducks waddle

Walking along in agonizing pain 
I heard some Porto Rican babes say “He walk like Juan Wayne” 
Almost at the hotel, it took me the best part of the day
Then it happen, crossing the road, a car almost hit me and I had to jump out of the 

Now the reason I fainted, and like a sack of potatoes I dropped
Was the shaking of the bottle and the cap that popped
I… woke in hospital laying on me tummy
With photographers taking pics thinking this was funny.
next to me was my dear loving daughter
In her hand, That is the name of my bottled water…

**To all Americans you do speak English :-) it's Lisa's fault**Copyright © 2011

**Debbie Guzzi Unmentionables contest**

Long poem by Michael Ellis | Details |

Hopscotch in Harlem 1948

EXCERPT (Approximately 30% of Poem)
                                  From Summertimes and Monday Mournings

Hopscotch in Harlem
Children play ten square
Jump Jump all stare

Bahhh Bahhh Black sheep
Have you any cares?
Yes Sir Yes sir
More than my share
I’ve added all my Blues up
And I have some to spare.

Hopscotch in Harlem
Feels like a HOLIDAY
Don’t touch the Hi-Fi
Cause BESSIE wants to play.

A BIRD in the band
Is worth two in the bush
Heaven’s big enough for everybody
But still folks just push

Hopscotch in Harlem
The war is almost over
Daddy lost his leg
At least he has a head on his shoulder

The Bomber won in the last round
With a swift uppercut jab
Harlem’s too far from heaven
So it’s best you take a CAB

And if you want to be on time
I guess that TRANE will work out fine
I guess that TRANE will work out fine.
                                       TENEMENT 103

“Mama why we got to live like this?
I’m sick of eatin’ beans an’ hominy grits.
Mama I’m sick of this sh-----“

“Shhhh watch yo’ mouth boy
You aint ol’ enough to fuss
I’m the only one in this house
Got a right to fuss.”

“Aint the Good Lo’d give you eyes boy
To see that yo Mama is busy?
Stop spinnin’ yo brother  around
You gonna make him DIZZIE

Harlem Sunsets
Children dreaming
Voiceless vignettes
       Harlems last gleaming
Broad stripes
And dim stars
Tears constantly streaming

The long hours of despair
Dreams dissolving in air
Gave proof through the night
That our Blues were still there

After all that dying
Those Blues were still there.

                                   HOPSCOTCH IN HARLEM

One two
Yo’ Daddy loves you
Three Four 
Mama loves you more

Five six
How’d you get in this fix
Even the Good Lord
Can’t clean up yo sh*%$
And when you’re behind
Is a good time to quit

Square number seven
Just getting started
Yo Mama went to heaven
Sad and broken hearted

Cussin’ an fussin’
Glad that she departed

Jump jump
Advance to number eight
Yo Daddy knockin’ on heaven’s gates
They wont let him in
Because he got there late
"I tol you they do ‘scriminate."

Yo’ Mama died from drinkin’ whiskey and wine
Go back two squares cause you stepped on the line

If you make it to square number nine
Than you’re really doing good

Jump Jump

God bless those who make it to ten
So lucky are them
This is how THEY play
Hopscotch in Harlem

                                                    M Ellis    Pulitzer Eyes

Long poem by Deborah Herber | Details |

Twas A Month Before Christmas

Twas a month before Christmas, when all through poetry soup
The poets were writing, their latest scoop.
Their hands flew, across the keyboard with care
Hoping to create, something they could share.

The writers were perched stubbornly in their chair
While visions of success left no time to spare.
And Michael writing, And Sharon scanning the site
Had just settled in for a long productive night.

When on my computer, I read such a poem
I sprang from my chair, and danced around home.
Up the stairs, I flew like a flash,
Forgot to open the door, and my nose I did smash.

The lights had been turned off, on the floor above
Leaving the stairway, dark like a glove.
Darn those kids, I screamed at the door
One of these days …I promised once more.

Back to the computer, so lively and quick
I knew if I didn’t hurry, the phone line would click.
More rapid than a river, the poetry members came
And they listed their poems followed by their name:

Now Robert! Now George!
Now Carrie and Laura!
On Christy! On Rhoda!
On Karen and Carol!
Now keep writing! Keep writing!
Keep writing all!

Outside the cold wind, blew with a rage, but I didn’t pay it no mind, 
trapped in my poets cage, The house shook, and the windows rattled, 
but it was only my dictionary I chose to battle.

And then in a twinkling, more poets came in. There was Mark and Sue 
with talents to win.  As I leaned back, and was stretching around, 
more poets and writers came with a bound.

They were all dressed in words, from their head to their foot
and their poems were not tarnished, with ashes and soot. 
A bundle of talent, they had flung on their back
And they sound like friends, with an talented knack.

Their words, how they twinkled! Their comments how merry!
Each poet was sweet, as sweet as a berry!
There were holiday poems written just so,
And poor old Deborah was still writing about snow.

The concentration of words, they held tight in gritted teeth
And the final draft, encircled their heads like a wreath.
They were a large group, that made you laugh and cry,
They inspired you to believe, you really could fly.

They verbalized no words, but went straight to their work
And filled out hearts with poems, that caused tears to jerk.
And entering their poems on the members page
And giving a nod, left their poetry cage.

They turned off their computers, with a satisfied whistle
And to bed they all ran, like the down of a thistle.
But I saw them write, ere they logged off line,


Long Poems