Long Babbles Poems
Long Babbles Poems. Below are the most popular long Babbles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Babbles poems by poem length and keyword.
I am searching, searching for the key to my heart,
In the times of redemption, it will bequeath treasures of my heart.
I asked the mighty eagle, have you seen the key?
He hovered over the prairies and cliffs, finally hanged his head over the top of the tree,
I asked the black birds chirping on the tree limbs,
The swarm looked all over the field, and flew back to the tree called home.
I asked the stray deer, he stared at me,
While I admired his beauty, he galloped over to the river bank.
I asked the pair of parrots, ignoring me they watched the peacock dance before the rain,
Nearby cuckoo bird echoed in the sweet tune, look within yourself.
I asked the lover, waiting for his arrival on the banks of river,
There was the sparkle in her eyes, maybe he has the key to her heart.
I asked the surfer, riding the mighty ocean waves,
The ups and downs of life are like riding the waves, the key is in the feelings itself.
Tired I come home, my one-year old granddaughter gives me a hug,
I ask her, she babbles, and I wonder, have not I found it already at hand?
Bombshell
You’re „all in all“
My heart talks about
You’re all it babbles about
The words themselves
Will not appear right
Which alone can’t describe
How I love you, my Sweetheart
If you believe perfection
Simply isn’t real
Kiss your love in the rain
Many things in this space
Can wash away pain
But none of them compare
To kiss in the rain
The downpour calls
For two lovers
Deeply slammed
Into each other
Joyfully fused
By the flood’s lips
By the wilding
Rainfall’s hot kiss
And if you wanna know
How much I miss you
Try to catch raindrops
The captured ones
Are your lack signallizers
The missed droplets
My absence’s markers
Gravity bind me to you
Your omnipresent aura
The loud beat of my heart
Sparkling starlights
In the twinkling moonlight
The liberating force of
Oxidizing splendor
Taking me out
Of my sorrow
I would be lost
My princess,
Without you
With my spirit and my whole body
You’re nobody else, honey
Who holds to my heart the key
You have gripped captured my soul
With a ferocity reserved for a castaway
Of a shipwreck clinging to a raft
In the middle of an endless ocean
If my soul was a raft
It’s your hold keeping me afloat
Your squeeze would keep
Above water my soul
Don’t ever let it go
I envelop you with
Passion of heartbeats
Covering you with
My tender feelings
My love sheath won’t
Mess with this
No other love
Can penetrate in
Your love runs
Through my vessels
Down to my palpitating
Heart shell
Mirroring your fiercely
Blazing flame
Your love give me
Something I need
Your warmth give me
Something to feel
Your heart give me
Something what’s real
In our earthly appetites our love is now one
To hear your heartbeat next to mine always
Oh yes—a sweet beautiful rose of paradise
You came to me by the river my bonnie lass
While branches of birds whistled tunes of love
Drifting on a summer breeze warmly whispering
Moaning as gentle thoughts murmur your name
Carried on a majestic breath of warm luscious air
With echoing babbles from a most precious maiden
Memories with one dream holding a forget-me-not
Unveiling so fair your impression left on my heart
Dancing on every pulse beat sweetly sings a siren
I watch the sun as it fades into the deep blue sea
We both sail upon one warm beauty breeze of sighs
While behind these eyes the truth forever is dawning
One flower nods in a rainbow array far beyond compare
While you who drink from love’s very chalice so true
A magical and enchanting blessing holding no disguise
You’re the breath of my life and existence my love
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (July 21, 2015) (Free Verse)
Every morning at a quarter to six, I can hear my he him trotting down the hallway to the bed where I lay, shriveled up under my weighted blanket, so fat and un-tall.
There’s a part of me that should feel sorry for my little Cowboy husband Joe, but the other part is as angry as Sophie Dog, who snarls and snaps when she hears him in the hall.
“Time to get up!” he says in a sing-songy way, being a nice guy, who truly, only ever wanted to be a child, outside, who could laugh and play like a kid with honey bun food.
“Son of a mule’s *******,” I say, in the kindest cowboy-kind of way, knowing he’s going to feed Shark next, and he’d better tip toe as I am in that kind of I-HATE-EVERYBODY-KIND-of-Mood.
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
“I saw that the baby opossum on the porch was out of food again, so I banged on the window, and he ran off with that little hop-skip he has,” Joe babbles on. “After he left, I took some cat food out. He’s eating it now.” Joe is wearing his best hat, and boots, but I don’t give them no mind.
Son of a horse’s behind, does he always have to yap like a coy dog? I think as I try to get a growling Sophie dog’s butt off of the covers I’m trying to put back over my head, so I can have some peace and QUIET; “Get OUT OF HERE!” I yell, I’m 11 minutes behind!”
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
Sophie and I get woked up three more times by him, and we chase him out each time, baring our teeth. It reminds me of my early days with my mother who used to be just this damned happy and annoying in the morning. She used to give us pancake rolls. Which means she used to jump on our bed and roll on us making us extra angry before we left for school.
The last time, the final time, the I mean it this time, he brings me my usual Chuck Wagon Caren is hungry as a giant Stegosaurus on speed breakfast. Five pounds of hash-browns, a three egg omelet with bacon, and it damn well better be the exact temp I like, he has learned the hard way Sophie and I are
Very particular about the temp of our bacon. He takes off his 10 gallon hat, sitting it on the bed, and says “anything else, my ladies?” Before we can speak, he magically produces my jalapeno peppers which we dump lavishly over our hash-browns. Yes, he is the perfect cowboy for this fool.
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
Morning glowed
in green ominous reflections
while slick grey shadowed skies hovered and storms loomed
forming a single stretch of hazy white all encompassed gloom;
the wind restless and unsettled
rose in chilled squalls
as the rain became a wild torrent blowing right and left
with pelting drops of rain drumming against the earth bereft
but in the distance
joyous and seductive
the reverie and song of birds repeats melodious in the chill
with whistles, warbles, babbles, chirps and trumpeted trills
each and every one
in serene contemplative catharsis
filled with song and awe inspiring ardent gratitude
of being alive in the world at large so easily subdued.
The wordsmith toils over hot metal fonts in wellsprings
Struggling like a blacksmith to hone and shape
thoughts and images into typeface words and poems.
To conjure up meanings from thoughts twisted, prodded,
cajoled and prised to render mindful hot gems of expression.
Squeezing letters from tubes onto a pallet,
the smithy shovels the alphabet mix into blobs of words and
babbles with peaks, on bench.
Words of many colors gleaned and arrayed for careful collation.
Shuffling through the verbal menagerie,
words are carefully selected
for their sound, voice, look and meaning.
Memorable and meaningful words,
that prompt feelings way beyond what the words just say,
Words that bind the fabric of emotional phrases in layer on layer,
and in the honey, binding the words together,
Words provoking deep blue feeling
when words read between the lines,
Words that reach out well beyond the intended,
to the unintended feelings and emotions in readers.
Word plays, games and devices crafted
to perfection by wordsmith magicians.
For the wordsmith loves words
with sheer, utter and blatant devotion.
The words themselves,
not just their power, magic and what they mean.
Like charms and spells,
such bewitched words only work
if the readers and hearers believe in them.
Such evocative words inspire
feelings and emotions in readers
primed to be receptive to their charms.
Musical evocative words,
that resonate and echo deep within.
Poets are wordsmiths, artists, musicians,
performers, sages and soothsayers,
driven by the love of words, to create masterpieces
in artful word craft:
It is the color of saying.
An odyssey through hurdles, yet a blessing it is to dwell on earth,
Aiming for destination beloved, chasing sweet dreams of mirth,
Through successes and failures, amid joys and woes, since birth,
Life can be hurricanes and storms, but living it justifies its worth.
Sometimes life beams with hope, sometimes despairs in throes,
Navigating peaks and troughs, undulating with highs and lows,
Yet, unyielding to reign of angst, life rejects doldrums of sorrow,
Aspiring boldly to sunny horizons, hosting endeavors of morrow.
Life, a realm of virtues divine, resounding endearment of love,
A benediction, an endowment, a gift from the heavens above;
Its paradigms and precepts reverberate from temple of soul,
Echoing sapience of enlightenment, teachings paramount toll.
On strength of sheer endurance, aspirations of dreamers soar,
Flexing willpower of ambitions, resolutely they bring to fore,
As life rewards strenuous efforts, striving for its worthy goal,
Fulfilling purpose of tomorrow, triumphs of achievers extol.
Life toddles, stumbles and falls, enduring as it learns to walk,
It stutters, it babbles thoughts, yet persists as it learns to talk,
Cognizant over time, sorting good from bad, right from wrong,
Obeying tenets of morals and values, guiding humanity lifelong.
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
There is no such thing as time
Only stacked moments and bundled thought
I live in a world hung in emptiness
Where sight is few and far between
It’s night, the brook babbles with no audience
The crickets chirp for the moon
I hear the tree frogs song
There is no such thing as time
I would guess it feels like wind
Or the speeding and slowing of heartbeats
Still I see nothing
My woe knows the worst, however
There is no reason to cry when I cannot see my fears
There is no such thing as time
Therefore no such thing as life
So if life does not begin, it never ends
and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her almond eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen
Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)