Long Ask out Poems
Long Ask out Poems. Below are the most popular long Ask out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ask out poems by poem length and keyword.
At the age of but ten, I didn't open a lemonade stand
I was afraid to ask my dad for permission
At the age of twenty, I was scared to ask out my honey
I couldn't face the thought of rejection
At the age of thirty, I didn't stay in the Holy Land
I lacked requisite faith in Israel's mission
At the age of forty, I didn't leave town upon divorcing
I didn't quite trust my intuition
At the age of fifty, I didn't start my own school
I didn't have the guts to follow my passion
At the age of sixty, I kept postponing health decisions
I put my trust in hopin' and wishin'
Then on the way to retirement I joined Poetry Soup
And thanks to my new friends' kind words of nutrition
I write poems like this--
Of my own free will and volition
What a recent shame it's been
Tears are falling once again
Eyes are red and really swollen
After all my faith was stolen
Someone I completely trusted
With a friendship has now busted
All my dreams that we could be
Like sisters in a family
Sharing good times and the bad
Thinking it is what we had
But your act of cruelty
Smashed apart the sisterly
Union I fought so hard for
Your actions are so hard core
It sucker punched me in the gut
Opening my eyes that were shut
When did you become unloyal
To the point you had to soil
All the years I tried my best
To be someone you can invest
All your happy and sad days
But you threw that all away
Stealing a guy you knew
I worked up the courage to
Finally ask out on a date
But you swooped in now its to late
I hope you burn in a hell fire
You're a crappy friend and liar
life’s a rush,
and i’m in the middle of it.
sixteen—
they call it the flower of youth,
but honestly, i just feel like
my roots pushing through stone,
small, stubborn,
aching for light
in a world too heavy.
the clock runs faster than me.
classes, books, exams,
every note i take feels like
a brick i’m laying
for some future house
i don’t even know the shape of.
my mind is hungry,
i feed it every day.
words, poems, philosophers,
all the questions nobody dares to ask out loud.
i’m trying to make myself
into something solid,
while still soft enough
to feel everything.
sometimes it’s beautiful
the thought that i’m blooming,
that every word i write
is a petal unfolding in silence.
sometimes it’s terrifying,
what if i bloom too late,
or bloom wrong,
or the world never even notices i grew?
and still, i run.
sometimes without knowing
where the finish line is.
but maybe that’s the point,
that life isn’t about the answers,
it’s about the rush,
the blooming,
the daring to grow
while time refuses to slow down.
and maybe, just maybe,
one day i’ll look back
and see that all along
i wasn’t just running—
i was becoming.
In recent days on a holiday
that we spent in the English Lakes
a day spent at Grange-over-Sands
this lovely little town is so great
It has an attraction all of its own
especially down at the duck pond
which is surrounded by many a bench
memories of a bench made me respond
In 1989 after being ill with chickenpox
I spend time there recovering for a week
before leaving home got a get-well card
from a young lady, I admired so to speak
I sat on that bench many a day
reading a get-well card to me
it was so nice that a lady did care
then I was in a quandary under the tree
The bench did indeed change my life
for I did ask that young lady to go out
amazingly she said yes, in time is my wife
sweet memories indeed there is no doubt
(That lady that I did ask out on that first date was Christine now my wife of 33 years.)
What a recent shame it's been
Tears are falling once again
Eyes are red and really swollen
After all my faith was stolen
Someone I completely trusted
With a friendship has now busted
All my dreams that we could be
Like sisters in a family
Sharing good times and the bad
Thinking it is what we had
But your act of cruelty
Smashed apart the sisterly
Union I fought so hard for
Your actions are so hard core
It sucker punched me in the gut
Opening my eyes that were shut
When did you become unloyal
To the point you had to soil
All the years I tried my best
To be someone you can invest
All your happy and sad days
But you threw that LL away
Stealing a guy you knew
I worked up the courage to
Finally ask out on a date
But you swooped in now its to late
I hope you burn in a hell fire
You're a crappy friend and liar
the crescent moon cradles her
as though she were a secret
the sky has waited all evening to tell.
clouds gather close,
puffed and pearled,
soft as breath against her cheeks.
two hot-air balloons rise slowly,
their lantern-lit bellies glowing
like patient wishes ascending.
she follows their drifting,
steady as small promises,
moving with the quiet certainty
of things that already know
where wonder first opens.
she dreams again~
not of anything rooted,
but of the hidden chambers
where night tucks away
its tender, unspoken stories.
she imagines the moon ajar,
a doorway into silver-stitched realms
where clouds rise like steps,
and every drifting balloon
carries a secret meant
only for her hands to open.
she dreams the sky is listening,
waiting for her to whisper
the first question she’s ever dared
to ask out loud.
she dreams of walking
across the moon’s bright curve,
barefoot and unafraid,
leaving small crescent footprints
that shimmer behind her
like a trail of soft astonishment.
she dreams of becoming the kind of girl
who can read the wind,
who can hear the hush inside a cloud’s slow turning,
who can follow a balloon all the way to its reason.
as she drifts deeper into the night’s gentle blue,
the moon smiles wider~
because it knows
she is dreaming herself
into someone braver
than she was yesterday~
someone who understands
that the sky is not above her but around her,
holding her,
carrying her,
teaching her how to rise.
I remember fish sticks for Friday night dinners
And having phones mounted on the wall
And when calling my parents to come pick me up
Hearing the operator ask, “Do you accept this call”
I remember cartoons on Saturday mornings
And TV shows in black and white
I remember staying outside all day to play
Until blanketed by the dark of night
I remember wearing high-tops – the Converse All-Star kind
And having to put on a tie for school
I remember that bottle spinning round and round
And when it stopped – what we would do
I remember my brother’s red Mustang
The first car I would learn to drive
I remember the angry end of my father’s belt
Having been caught in another lie
I remember ice-skating on St. Leonard’s pond
And on summer nights sneaking into the pool
I remember gagging on that cigar puff
Trying to pretend I was really cool
I remember playing baseball with right field out of play
Because we didn’t have enough for two full teams
I remember at camp doing a panty raid
And laughing at the girl's frantic screams
I remember tear drops forming in my eyes
The day my brother went away to college
I remember agonizing over asking her out
But not being equipped with the ask-out knowledge
I remember wearing the cap and gown
As “Pomp and Circumstances” they played
And, even though this happened a lifetime ago
I remember like it was yesterday
When will the punishment end?
I ask myself that question everyday.
I know it’s my fault.?
I know the pain I caused my family can never be undone.
No apology can rewind time.?
No amount of regret can erase the moment everything changed.
And I carry that with me always…
Some mornings it sits quietly on my chest.
Other days it feels like a weight—
So heavy…
I wonder if breathing is supposed to hurt this much.
I replay the memories…
The choices…
The words I wish could be unspoken.
Not because someone tells me to…
but because guilt has a way of becoming its own punishment.
And still…
there are questions that echo in my mind.
When will we move forward?
When will the silence between us soften?
When will the distance stop feeling like a wall I built?
And I have no clue how to break it down.
When will happiness return to our table?
When will laughter stop feeling like…
something I do not deserve.
When will my family love me again?
Or maybe the harder question—
Will they ever love me again?
I understand why things changed.
I understand why trust broke.
Some mistakes leave cracks?
that apologies alone can’t mend.
I know that.
But how long does a heart stay on trial,
for a moment in time you wish you could erase?
How long do you keep paying,
for a debt you know you can never fully repay?
I’m not asking anyone to forget what happened.
I’m only asking this—
At what point do we allow regret to become growth??
At what point do we allow pain to become healing?
At what point am I allowed to believe?I can be more?
More than the worst thing I’ve done.
Because I am trying.
Every day…
I am trying.
Trying to be better.
Trying to rebuild.
Trying to become someone my family might recognize again.
But some nights the question returns,
like a whisper in the dark.
When will we move forward?
When will love find its way back home?
And the one I’m almost afraid to ask out loud…
When…?
will the punishment end?