Long 8th Poems
Long 8th Poems. Below are the most popular long 8th by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 8th poems by poem length and keyword.
A transgender Barbie! What? The bridge ladies are upset.
Their best friend is not proud Mary, my friend from Winterset.
Her daughter is transgender, and she is tickled as can be.
If you had a transgender in your family, you would feel differently.
The laughter gets so loud, it unnerves me more than just a bit.
I had one, said one mean looking broad, but my husband threw a fit.
We threw her out, and now she sleeps on someone else’s couch.
I wonder about this woman, whose empathy is apparently a slouch.
But isn’t she still your baby? Don’t you love her? I ask this crone just so.
She gives a maniacal laugh, I think it is a cover up for feelings of woe.
Why should she? Asks another witch from the table I am sitting at.
So I get up and run out, screaming, for their meanness is so phat!
"I saw some road kill on my way over," she said.
She had a horse laugh. "Just a dumb raccoon," she added.
I leapt over the sink and slapped her, hard.
Leaving my entire hand print on her cheek in pink.
Her prissy stuck-up lady face looked stunned.
She stood up, and ran off without any more incessant yapping.
My husband walked out of his man-cave just in time to
see her running flat out past the picture window, clutching her purse.
"Playing with the new neighbor?" He guessed.
I glared at him.
"The woman pushed her way in with a 'yoo hoo', She was not invited."
"She doesn't share your love for animals?" he guessed.
Oscar Opossum pushes open the cupboard doors under the sink, wanders out and chomps noisily from the dog bowl.
Sophie, our most spoiled cocker spaniel growls.
Reggie Raccoon runs over and slaps Sophie.
"Look what you are teaching them!"
My husband says to me, horrified.
"Reggie is a raccoon," I inform him. "She TAUGHT slapping to me!"
I doubt this nosy neighbor will be back,
Which is a perk because I truly and deeply
Like my woodland creatures much more than pushy humans.
The students dream to join the clubs with pride,
Where learning blooms and talents brightly shine,
They long for fields where sports and hopes collide,
To share their gifts and make the stars align.
They yearn to read the stories, bold and true,
Of campus life and voices breaking through.
But screens are bare, no words for them to see,
No online page to set their spirits free.
The ink is locked within the printed page,
A silent echo in a digital age.
Their hearts still hope for change to come their way,
For Casay fights to bring that brighter day.
So write, dear friends, let roots of thought extend,
And branches reach where dreams and truths ascend.
Let twigs of rhyme hold whispers soft and sweet,
While leaves of green make every verse complete.
And falling leaves upon the earth shall lie,
A noble sign that time and care pass by.
Though Casay fades, his dignity will stay,
In poems born to light the students’ way.
GLOVES and MITTENS
Boxers love mittens
to hit always, not seldom
as paws of kitten .
Only thumb enjoys freedom
to move or grip at random.
Rest fingers are stuck
to act as a joint mass.
Hand thinks a bad luck.
Mittens won’t suit for each class,
but just for boxing purpose.
Of what use are gloves
to fingers that understand
mittens to observe
only thumb- movement: That’s Grand !
Other fingers in one band.
01/ 16/ 23
Floral cow woke up one morning with flower seeds on her head.
They grew and sprouted, some turned pink, others red.
She enjoyed them ever so much, they gave her identity.
I think I like them more than you, she said to bumblebee.
Bumblebee laughed and said “oh, honey, no way!
Nobody likes a flower better than me at the start of the day”
Floral Cow took a few laps around the meadow swishing her tail.
The post man nearly fell off his bike delivering the morning mail.
What a beautiful cow! He said to Farmer Bill.
Do you mind if I follow her up that hill?
I could sell her to you, said the farmer. She is a sweetheart.
Pretty soon the mailman and the moo-er could not be apart.
An Innocent Childhood Memory
Enjoyed school vacation:
Trained playmates to take part in drama for a change.
Fine function.
Dynamic throw!
Taking friends as artists arranged
Stage-show.
Kids gay
nicely arranged
play.
Enjoyed school vacation
Taking friends as artists arranged
play.
08/25/20
Second Place
A Childhood Memory Contest' by Mohan Chutani
' All Yours (Mar 9 ) Contest by Brian Strand
This mission is so important, we cannot save you,
moon beam said with apology.
She was disappointed, hoping the story would be enough
to move a man like he.
Star Faerie felt badly, because she had promised to save
cupid boy and his mother.
You have to go as yourself, there can be no disguise,
moonbeam said. Go to my brother.
She told her story again to cosmic truth,
and he did something he rarely did.
He picked up the phone, and he told her to hold on to her faith,
and pick up the kid.
She heard not a whit of argument, so she did not know
whether to feel good or bad.
He’s coming, cosmic truth told her, Luna, our wonderful granddad.
Luna told her to think happy thoughts, and they
were off, going so much faster!
She held onto cupid boy, and they poured star beams out,
standing on the master.
When he got them to safety he praised her kindness and her empathy.
I will go home and get others, and you can start your own colony.
So Star Faerie’s faith in the stars, and the moon had
not only saved her that day,
It had saved thousands of others, who would have
been in asteroid’s terrible way.
Grandfather Luna has told the tale to his grands and his greats.
They love seeing star faerie and cupid boy in the sky,
every night at two minutes past eight.
Space is the place,
Patterns retrace memories,
Creating what you see,
You're already in eternity.
The entity just energy in formation,
Information translating a story you wrote.
Your throat the portal of your creation,
Throwing vibrations into the space you play in,
So you can feel sensations,
In many different dimensions.
An interaction of energy,
Eternally intertwined,
Internally designed to thrive,
I've been taught to survive,
Because I was always alive.
Driving through the multiverse,
Traversing each verse,
The universe is a playground to rehearse.
You can reverse the roles,
Flip the poles,
And the waves keep rolling,
Space keeps growing.
Knowing all is now,
Somehow I got lost in the cost,
And getting bossed around.
I found a better way,
Living in trust each day,
Staying calm letting it play out.
I have no doubt,
There's more about life to learn,
Burning through incarnations,
Turning the tides of creation,
Now rising in its vibration.
She was a magnificent brew master, few had her talent or skill.
She liked to stir in pieces of beasts and creatures with dill.
We could smell the cloves and sage when we opened the door.
Greetings! She said with a hoarse laugh. We welcome you four!
I had brought three friends, for I was scared out of my wits.
She was the kind of woman who tore dragons and lizards to bits.
Can you loan me a hand, dearie? She asked, getting into my face.
I ran away so fast, I left my friends flat, I was on a tight race.
My friend Igor screamed and tried to catch up with me.
He ended up tripping over a lace and falling on his right knee.
I’ll get that! Said the brew master. She picked him up in a huge scoop.
He was screaming like a banshee when I ran past the chicken coop.
Mother is ill
I don't have time now.
One thing kills me
In my day and dream
And in every moment
Where it 'll end?
The lovely dreams are dyeing ,
Hopes are scattered ,
Their behaviour looks like robots,
The humanity is in danger,
Air burst out with protest and slogans..
How much pain does
A heart can tolerate,?
My mother shouts on dream
Whoever is there come out.
This is a call,
An earnest request of ailing mother
But they say-
My mother shouts impertinent.
But I do believe
She is not in illusion.
She is a mother!
What to tell them.
I decided not to tell anything to anyone
But how can I control?
I told you secretly
Don't show your wickedness ,
Be honest
My mother is ill now.