Long Arthur Poems
Long Arthur Poems. Below are the most popular long Arthur by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arthur poems by poem length and keyword.
(My list is in no particular order of importance. All these poets are equally humorous for me!)
Jan is one great funny lady writing here at Soup.
Just beware; sometimes she finds humor in our poop!
Ilene Bauer uses humor very down to earth.
I imagine her a woman wise and filled with mirth.
For a long time, I’ve been friends with English bloke, Jack Horne.
To poetry succinct and clever I swear Jack was born!
Maurice (last name of Rigler) is another clever gent.
Well versed in grooks and cleirhews, he’s quite intelligent.
Maruice Yvonne, who writes free verse of which I’m very fond,
is also great with humor (and his real name is Armand!)
On the Soup’s Best Humor list are Skat and sis, PD.
Their funny bone they both are keeping in the family!
Hailing from Australia is a bloke named Lindsay Laurie.
Telling funny stories with an accent brings him glory!
Viv Wigley wrote a tale so funny I could almost cry.
It’s a rap about him crushing on a butterfly!
Arthur Vaso also is a funny brilliant guy.
With tongue in cheek and poking fun, Arthur’s flying high.
A lover of the limerick is Jerden (first name Roy).
And with this form we all can hope he's been a naughty boy!
Finally, my friend Tim Ryerson’s a funny man.
Of him and many other funny poets I’m a fan!
Written Dec. 12, 2015 for the Who are Those Funny Poets Contest of Judy Konos
(there are many other humorous writers but these are the ones that stood out for me as I attempted a top ten list! Others I have mentioned as favorites for humor can be seen at this link to my poem called “Five Funny Limerick Guys“): http://www.limerickpoemsandpoets.com/poems/humorous_limerick_poems
The sun was setting, as it usually does
The town a ghost town, the main street all but silenced
The wind blowing leaves and dreams to and fro
The tension in the air was palpable
The few souls about all peering out shuttered windows
When in from the west, came a storm
Her name was Serena Storm,
They shivered in her wake, the poetess of dead lovers
Then over to the east side, riding in slow and steady
The grim reaper or so it seemed, hollowed eyes
Dead soul and dark mind, his side arm at the ready
The greatest duel in history, right here
In the town of Nowhere
The setting sun reflected of her dark long coat
The last tear drop, falling to its death in the dust
She stared ahead, face blank
Daring, with a glare, shoot me, shoot me, try
He dismounted his horse, called Heartless Soul
His eyes slits, staring down the curvaceous storm pacing untoward
His hand inside his coat, slowly pulling out a mickey
He belted down a shot or three,
In the town of nowhere
They both paced, hands at their side
Closer and closer, the saloon keeper
Not quite sure his bottle would be paid in full
Then as quickly at the sun set……
Vaso drew first.
The finest long black quill one ever saw
His other hand dropped his bottle
Magically a writing pad appeared
Serena drew second, pen at her side
The color of blood, and for good reason
She too tablet in hand, putting ink to paper
As they both furiously wrote
In the town of Nowhere
Hearts were murdered
The meaning of life was hanged not long after
Love was beheaded
The main street a river of blood
A storm of tears washing away crimson desires
An empty vassal, Vaso’s insides already dead
Dropping his pen, he pulled out his sword of mourning
The duel to end, as he lopped off his own head
She dropped paper and pen to the ground
She faced down the grim reaper, and it’s he who is dead
The only one to know, his name was Arthur
King of the dark, ruler of lost dreams
In the town of Nowhere
The poetic duel of the century
Both won and lost
Long ago
(Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the greatest of Victorian
poets, formed a very close relationship with
Arthur Hallam and frequently visited the Hallam
home in Wimpole Street. After Hallam's sudden
death, Tennyson frequently returned to the house,
and stood weeping in the street.)
Tears, Idle Tears
When two young men are close – are more than friends,
perhaps? – as Tennyson and Hallam were,
and with one’s sudden death, the friendship ends,
what may we (faced with morbid grief) infer?
That Arthur bore the promise of the age
is well attested. But was taken young.
Is sorrow something simply to assuage,
or are there deeper wellsprings? Alfred clung
unhealthily to his. The morning rain
would lash him as he stood there, hat in hand,
in front of sixty-seven, drenched in pain
he neither could discharge nor understand:
abandoned lover, feverish and thin,
with salty raindrops dripping from his chin.
“Forgiveness is a funny thing.
It warms the heart and cools
the sting,”
Author: William Arthur Ward
Walking can really help daily stress.
Prayer and meditation, do I bless!
Writing poetry that fills you with pride.
Puts a lift in your step, this I do abide.
Reading a comment, makes your soul fly.
Fear not being ignored, they do come by.
Simply stated, above all, just be pure you.
You’re God’s creation, and no one is like you!
5/3/2024
Rest my friend truly you deserve some peace
Life sometimes hard but you always did maintain
Your friends carry a memory of you that won't cease
A peculiar fellow quickly your anger could increase
How adamantly you would continue to explain
Rest my friend you deserve to get some peace
Your passion for life could never decrease
Even after suffering so much agony and pain
Your friends carry a memory ofyou that won't cease
From every lecture I could take away a piece
Always knowing there was something to gain
Rest my friend trulyyou deserve some peace
I continue on now still searching for my crease
We have a friendship that death cannot contain
Yes I'll carry a memory of you that won't cease
Truly our friendship never faltered in the least
Even now I can still hear you complain and complain
Rest now my friend truly you deserve some peace
Your friends carry a memory of you that won't cease
R. I. P. ARTHUR GLOVER
As a boy Charles fished on the Thames riverside
He had a songbird, a dog, but life took a slide
His father got him a dead-end job in a Scottish town
It became a vortex bringing him down.
He got married young, soon nine kids to feed
His job barely paid; how could he get freed?
He illustrated books, still not enough
If you want to restart, in that situation its tough.
He ordered goods on loan, sold them for the bottle
Urge above reason, opened up full throttle.
He raided his kid's money box, he had little choice
The craving was too strong, it suppressed that moral voice.
One night he drank wood varnish, had no money for a drink
Such crazy self-damage drove him over the brink
Got delirium tremens, for months had to crawl
Doors closed behind him, he entered hell hall.
He ended up confined in a mental home.
Hallucinations crept in, much memory gone,
Was he a victim, or would you call it his sin?
Punished beyond justice, then epilepsy did him in.
For Charle's son Arthur, fate made amends
Arthur made his own path; could back out of dead ends
He created "Sherlock Holmes" a story that still has a hold
He wanted more fame for other books, but there he stuck gold.
Maybe Charles too could have made it, was not sealed for doom
Didn't have to have ethanol carve the letters on his tomb
But the craving is strong, drugs modify the brain
Sheer willpower can't take a man off the runaway train.
P.S. IT’S POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 5
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice;
Blessing peace be still;
Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S.
Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
•
• Chantelle Anne Cooke 128, 20, 36
• Charles Knowlton 176
• Charlie Smith 15, 86, 86
• Charlotte Puddifoot 225
• Choice Randell Melugin Jr 294, 424
• Chokri Omri 277
• Chrisdad Kojo Arthur 322
• Christopher Flaherty 302
• Christopher Grieves 203, 455
• Christopher Mwashinga 462
• Claire Thom 440
• Clive Blake 389
• Cole Banner 225
• Constance K. Wong 7
• Constance La France 240, 52, 84
• Craig Davids Cornish 115, 156, 216
• Crystal Toureene 400
• Curtis Johnson, Sr. 326
Dale Gregory Cozart 289, 5, 90
• Daniel John Berg 153
• Daniel Turner 17, 42, 76
• Dave Collins 390
• David A. McHattie 144
• David Allan Williams 103
• David Andrew McHattie 161
• David Drowley 235, 283, 405
"The only thing I am afraid of
is fear . . . " Arthur Wellesley, 1831
______________
Though young, I fly on wings of time-
Life a parenthesis sublime.
Haunted, I fear death,
taking my last breathe.
All fear death,
the last chime.
On the ragged edge of this life-
Will I be full of dread and strife?
Oh, daunting suspense!
Is Heaven immense?
When past tense,
gone from life.
Will my beloved be above?
Will I see my child and true love?
Are my pets waiting?
Oh, a thought aching,
that nothing,
is above!
_____________________
September 29, 2016
Verse/My Greatest Fear
Copyright Protected, ID 834437
Entered in the contest, Your Worst Fear,
Sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Second Place
No Greater Hero,
Struggling through the Great Depression
Growing up fatherless in the care of a loving aunt
Losing her husband, his weary mother could not cope
Working for the Civilian Conservation Corps
Trying to support his family
Attending school at night to provide a better life
Playing his sax and clarinet
Resounding notes of joy cast blessings
Filling our home with happiness many children never know
Loving eyes and deep, gentle voice
Drawing admiration from all who came to know him
Speaking softly, never in harsh tones
Accepting life’s challenges
Forgiving when his children seemed ungrateful
Nurturing, caring, standing by our sides
Picking us up when we fell
Offering support in every endeavor
Being the kind of father he never had
Teaching us to work hard and achieve
Reminding us that life offers no guarantees
Encouraging us to rebound from challenges as “come-back kids”
Gathering at his hospital bedside New Year’s Day 2009
Astonishing nurses with the depth of our love
Never leaving his side, three grown children rested hands upon his
Lingering six days in a coma, perhaps his soul already in heaven
Speaking to him, hoping he could hear
Wanting him to feel our love one last time
Siblings who rarely agreed
Concurring just this once
Feeling blessed by our father, the brightest star we see in heaven
Carolyn Devonshire
* Dedicated to my father, Arthur Schwarz, who died January 6, 2009
This poem, is Carolyn Devonshire.
one feels each word, not only in this wonderful dedication to her father,
but in every poem she writes,
her comments are warm and sincere,
and one can only be drawn to her understanding of the human race.
this is a wonderful contest. and i for one feel honoured to be a part of it.
harry horsman.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Hollow hand led shallow world your
grave you dug for me.
To keep in sleep.
When deep within your hole I live,
and breath.
Then die again once more each day, I am.
Must I see, the tearing yes, give in to pain,
that bore the best, too him, I am your grave,
lest I forget your life within my sun, it's blinded eye.
You must be his lifer and you her padded cell.
I see denial in us all, each living death can't sell.
If I see enough and how you made me feel,
each then and now your past you make again.
Now I can not touch your robe of black,
it's hem I always felt, such was it once my friend.
While beating others as a child, you knew I ran away.
Organizing pain of they whom were like I, now dead.
Even now in death, you know they have no name.
That white washed house in Florida knew but pain.
Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys
Wednesday, October 14, 2009