Long A friend Poems
Long A friend Poems. Below are the most popular long A friend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long A friend poems by poem length and keyword.
Poor Cecil is gone the lion King is no more
Wally the killer found his life a boor
Poor Cecil he lured with a tasty treat
For the chance to kill him to make his heart beat
Wally decide his walls were quiet bare
He fancied seeing a lion king hung there
He thought himself as perhaps Robin Hood
To shoot a Lion with an arrow is surely good
But Wally the killer has no brains we fear
Because he posted his picture on face book look here
He bragged ‘look at me, look what I am’
I killed a King wow what a man.
Poor Cecil we hope his death is not the end
Instead of hunting lions, let’s make them a friend
Put Wally in the jungle with lions on the run
Let us sharpen their teeth and see if he finds it fun.
A poor lion cannot use a bow or a gun
He hunts by his instincts not just for fun
For food to survive it’s what lions do
Oh Wally you fool you’re right in the poo
Where’s Wally some ask others don’t care?
The moron smiling, the one with no hair
Let’s hope you think on Wally, but many won’t forgive
For the death of a king, you should have let live.
© GG 31/07/2015
A dedication to my creative writing mentor Tom Foolery
The measuring cup was shattered
and lying all over the floor
It was an old pal,
for making tea of mine, through many days of many rainy seasons
It was never an easy feeling to register
you need help in your mirror, after all these days
Something is quite in-situ there, thinking that I am in need of it again for evermore.
I let her go,
an old pal is waiting for the floor to clean the space with neatness to go on.
As they sue an misunderstood brain, for vandalizing the face that is to be carved on the stone
I gifted her the soul
and I saw her blue eyed in pain, as a bottle cringes in pain, in a blindfolded loss
I simply reminded her,
it is okay to be imperfect, just let us float in, and you shall find my truth. Within.
Where I stayed and stayed and stayed for too long,
in the mere wish of a friend, for a life to be true, in thick and thin.
2021 was a good mourning...
but 2022 was so and so...
and 2023 is here marching in, once again!
Is it too late to catch up the show?
I stared outside the window, hoping to see you open the gate
Hoping that I'd hear the door swing open
And hear your voice fill the air
Then finally feel at home
But you found a different home
I'm glad for you
It's hard to accept that you're no where here now
I'm glad for you
But I wish you hadn't left so soon
I waited 'til midnight for the phone to ring
Staring at the phone screen
Hoping it lights up and it's your name
Or that your smile lights up the room as you once did
It's hard for my heart to keep up with you leaving
Your presence was always my greatest present
You're gone
And I hope you're happy where you are
And I hope that when you think of me
And you see all I've become
Your face lights up as bright as the sun
Sending empathy to where it is needed.
Tears rolling down,
Words best left unsaid.
Lie to the world,
Let them just forget.
I’m just a poor boy,
Never had a hope to succeed,
Without my dignity.
Eyes filling up, smoke get in my eyes.
Spoken enough about all my hard times.
I have got to listen to what the people say.
I have got to hear those games those people play.
Never a truth spoken aloud;
I cry the tears of a clown.
Words left unsaid, they only get in my way.
Thoughts never heard, heart only ever betrays.
Why me? Why Lord?
What did I never see?
I already know what I did never say…
You are standing alone on the outside.
Let me be a friend, arm around you with pride.
Let me see you happy again.
I will absorb all of your pain, so you can smile today.
Let me take away all your anxiety.
Let me remove all of your apathy.
Sing love out loud and become free.
I am a sponge; wipe away those tears with me.
Take my coat, hands around your cup.
Oh so cold, let me bring you sunshine.
I am older now, so let me lift you up.
You are new, I am your friend, take my seat; it’s fine.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
There is a gentleman that I am acquainted with.
He grins, but it is not seen in his eyes
He chuckles, but it is only a lovely lie
He speaks but conceals something inside
He sings, but his quiet screams are audible
He draws but has no one to console him
He writes, yet it never alleviates his life's sorrow
He adores, yet his thighs are scarred.
He survives, but all he wants is death
He merely absorbs the ache, which is excruciatingly bitter
And I take a step back from the mirror
3TH PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 25, 2022
Near Death Experience Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
You are a poet but only just
a bit of you hidden in many ways
pouring out of your pores when you least expect it
Diary substance, song writer’s notebook
You pen your golden words with happy delusion
Living your secret madness, keeping it hidden
Feelings creeping and peeping beyond the veil
Cautiously oozing out sometimes,
flinging themselves onto the notebook today
Cautious soul self protects her heart.
A poet? Maybe. But we keep it to ourselves. Right?
A word player? Perhaps. Substance in many directions
A brother, a mother, a sister, or a friend, maybe one can be trusted
Welcomed by a few glimpse of the many facets
or your poetic self, which is unknown to most
I vividly remember my childhood days,
we had a small garden,
in which we grew flowering plants,
butterflies would sit on them.
Moment I woke up, I would run to them,
to see how many flowers had bloomed
Oh! The exquisite beauty of colourful butterflies sitting on them,
it would give me immense joy.
I would often gently caress them,
smell them, even hug them.
Oh! How much I loved them.
Every time I made a mistake and my parents scolded me,
I would run to them for solace.
It was done accidently, it was done not knowingly,
I would lament to them.
All my joy and happiness,
they would be the first one to hear,
I would share my victories with them,
show them my prizes.
Oh! I did love them.
Butterflies were no longer scared me,
they knew I would not harm them,
They would keep sitting their, while I talked to them,
Their beautiful colour and design was a marvel of nature,
They were the most exquisite of God's creations.
They were a friend of flowers,
so where they of me,
How much I loved to watch them fluttering joyfully.
I would weave stories with my dolls, flowers and butterflies,
I would spend hours playing with them.
When I joined guitar class I would play to them,
they would dance to my tunes,
I would be really amazed then.
They were my best friends forever,
Who would listen patiently,
as i rambled my joys and sorrows...
I felt I could feel their emotions,
As if they could feel my emotions,
They were either happy or sympathizing with me.
One day father brought the news,
we were leaving that house for good.
I was beside myself with sorrow.
What about my flower plants?
Who would take care of them?
I can't leave them to die!
They were my best friends!
My soulmates!
Mother tried to console me,
they would soon get another girl,
who would love them the way you did.
"Don't worry dear,
God takes care of everyone here"
With a heavy heart I bade them goodbye,
I sang my last song to them,
with tears in eyes I left them.
I would oft remember them,
Over the years they were forgotten...
Now I tell my children stories about them,
They were wonderful memories,
Memories that still bring joy and happiness to me,
Memories that can never be forgotten.
Date: 7/27/2020
The Divine Gift
We can, with a certain degree of accuracy, gauge one's intellectual quotient level through an assortment of tests at any given age of their educated life, and subsequent years, either professionally and or leisurely.
When asked, what would be the quotient level of my soul, that can be easily ascertained by somebody professionally engaged in the field of psychology or one's country pastor or similar bound vocation, if they'd be one.
Whenever I am asked of myself, bears a challenge from the get-go as it borders on conceit.
To say, for instance, I am a loving person is untrue for it begs interpretation, liken to 'agape', beyond whereto, it becomes dependent upon others to ascertain the measure of its worth, albeit, does not stop there for therein, lies on variables as no two or more opinions, are ever the same.
How long does that person know me, or, how close of a relationship is that person to me, as a family member or as a friend?
Going back to conceit, or rather I say, that I bear to venture the thought that I leave quotient of my soul to the interests of others to judge.
Humble am I, nay, for that too is subjective.
Nevertheless, begs the question, what is the quotient of my soul?
I do not think of my soul to be higher than others, nor do I think of my soul to be lesser than others.
I would like to think less on the subject of my soul is the best answer, methinks.
I believe the soul is a divine gift, that shines for others to see, and that providence keeps not in my mind, but as the spirit within my heart.
2019 May 29
*2nd Place*
Soul IQ
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke
You go to a party smoke a
Little grass.
Have a go at mushrooms,
Cocaine and hash.
A friend says hey do a line
Of some speed.
This is it, satisfaction
Guaranteed.
.
Let me tell you how it's
Going to be.
I know because it happened
To me.
It consumes your soul,
You’re a slave.
Teetering between here and
The grave.
You’re a mess you're seen
As a disgrace.
You’re a victim of
Addiction's Waste.
You do lines and then
Into the vein.
Now you’re a rider on the
Long black train.
Your habit gets expensive
I'm sure you're told.
It costs more than diamonds
And gold.
You will swindle anyone for
A few bucks.
This is how it goes,
Your life sucks.
It takes time to see the
Monkey has grown.
No one is around,
Your on your own.
You have to have a plan
Of attack.
It's the only way to get
The gorilla off your back.
You’re a wreck
Your stomach is in a knot.
Nothing to lose you give
It a shot.
Emotional, physical and
Mental pain.
These things make it hard
To abstain.
There is hope as it's
Foretold.
You feel the sun no more
Of the cold.
You will be OK, follow
Your heart.
Admitting there is a problem
It is a good start.
Turbo1904?
A Dawn – Come Too Late
For we sometimes catch death – unaware
in our haste to live life on the edge
shout the dead words – who will care
if I fail to honor life’s pledge
bypass death on my way to the ledge.
For they feel not what I feel
entrusting my fate to the wind
touching a moment surreal
reaching to touch death’s – dead end
embracing his cape as a friend.
So do these moments encroach
sweeping across the pains face
evil’s attempt to quick poach
those who succumb to such fate
in the darkness – a dawn – come too late.
8/29/2015 - posted 8/29/2015
John G. Lawless
Trashed @2 contest -- sponsor -- Broken Wings