Long Beds Poems
Long Beds Poems. Below are the most popular long Beds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beds poems by poem length and keyword.
When at a festive dance we met
In gold were those dear moments set.
We synchronised so sweetly
Without any gaucherie.
The hours like fleeting seconds sped
Our present to our future wed
But that reverie did sadly melt
The way that Eden itself did wilt..
Trepidation on Boots' corner grew
To meet you on our first rendezvous.
Glistening was the pavement wet
As the seconds just like hours crept
Were butterflies afflicting you
As your bus near the city drew?
Our first meeting had been heart-true
Could our first date idly fall through?
No,it blossomed,bloomed and it grew.
Auguries fair were in the air
Glittering prizes ours to share.
Your aunt the perfect match us deemed
And so to all around it seemed
But beware the tree of knowledge.
We eventually split
Although still one in spirit.
Yet one glimmer of hope remained
A letter from Calella came
But answer there was not
The die was cast
The spell it broke.
From that blank day until now
That omission our sorrow
Our beds were with other loves made
And" Of it make the best,"we prayed.
Would our union have been heaven sent?
But those golden moments refulgent
Forever enshrined in memory
At least.
An epitaph must now be written
For harsh Death has my sweet Rose smitten
My golden girl was taken today
Eternity but a breath away.
Although I greatly loved socializing, I really enjoyed being alone,
Like ebony evenings of magic, with no ringing of the telephone.
Since my young childhood, I had been, an introverted extrovert,
Like one with eyes to azure skies, for solitary sun's extra burst!
I loved my work as a museum tour guide, as blossoms love rain,
And offish Mars loves twirling alone, in the red days of his fame.
Yet, in leisure hours I was often alone, like a full, alienated moon,
Or stunning, vibrant rainbows, that won't be amassing very soon.
Friends oft invited me to parties, and sometimes I would accept,
As sun is seen coaxing roses, from the beds where winter's slept.
I lived in the house of quiet starlight, each of them roving alone,
Like solitary, jade grasshoppers, when green grass is overgrown.
My nearest neighbor was my best friend, and we were like family,
Ofttimes together, laughing steadily, in the days of golden vanity.
Pleasant summer was in high spirits, with a whistling in the trees,
And a continuous, merry humming, from hives of the honeybees.
One day, I labored in my garden, while marigold blooms sang sun;
And I saw a lone woodpecker tapping, getting his own work done.
It was not the first time I'd seen one, and they were always solo,
Like a total eclipse of the glorious sun, making of him a no-show.
Then I saw a pink hummingbird, flying backward, and upside down,
Reveling in aloof, open air dining, out on the quaint sunshiny town.
This brought to mind adorable koalas, living out serene lives alone,
Like a dramatic, lone shooting star, heading out to zones unknown.
Later I saw a pretty emerald butterfly, more solitary than the birds,
They live and usually migrate alone, past the city's outlying suburbs.
Then there is reclusive, giant panda, active at night and by twilight,
When hued skies remember and review, the golden day's highlights.
Thinking of complex nature's solo acts, I did gain valuable insights,
For being alone is only natural, circumstances defining what's right.
I am no longer feeling guilty, but am accepting myself just as I am.
As the sun accepts taking over, when heavy storms are on the lam.
I still laugh it up at joyous parties, like fireworks and confetti stars,
Yet, I require long intervals of silence, like silky nights of no chaos!
It never was the Meissen that she threw
but dinner plates, of which we had so few
our dad would have a scar upon his head
and breakfast plate was just a slice of bread
The kitchen knife was brandished now and then
to emphasize who was the Mother Hen;
and we? We justly cowered in our beds;
threw our meagre covers ‘oer our heads.
She wore a mini skirt and beehive hair
when she was sure my father was not there
then took us visiting our “uncle Stan”
When asked, we had just visited our gran.
A Babycham and brandy was her thing
that was, without, or with, her wedding ring
and all the men in all the bars, they knew,
and told, they simply had to form a queue.
And yet, when knees were scraped and hugs required
it was from mother they were most desired
The distance that our father held from her
meant any love for him, was just a blur.
It was quite a party at the old Spooks house,
to a spooktactular Samba they bobbed and bounced.
with skeletons banging their big ox-bone drums,
and the pumpkins all sang as the witches hummed.
Black cats did dine on tuna eyeball stew;
wicked Wilma brought her green bat-wing brew.
In the attic was held a wondrous broom race
and out back was a terrifying zombie maze.
Pirates and scarecrows arrived well dressed;
judges couldn’t decide whose costume was best.
Pumpkin ghouls climbed and played in the trees;
giant spiders spun silk and swung there with ease.
Greedy young goblins stuffed pockets with snacks
as children came by trick-or-treating with sacks.
The ghosts did a tango beneath a bright moon
and everyone knew it would all end too soon.
Just as the moon bid them all nighty-nite,
the sun it ascended giving vampires a fright.
Home they all flew to their dark coffin beds
‘cause you know, sunlight’s fatal to the undead.
Then the party disbanded with bellies all full
as among eerie nimbus pranced Taurus the bull.
Wilma flew off to the Witches Head nebula;
a scarecrow hitched a ride on the broom of Bella.
As little Spooks bedded down for the day,
hungry skeletons finished off the pumpkin flambé.
The bats all fluttered to their bat boxes, high
as grandpa Spook waved saying, “Next year, black tie!”
Pleasantville
God sends cookies every day
The kind that have a crunch with walnuts
From the center of the universe
Buildings topple without sin in Pleasantville
They have their reasons
To rise up again to house clean thoughts
Long walks create tranquility produced at will
Everyone enjoys paying rent, making beds
Singing Beatles songs peppered with color
Not all things are black and white
Mornings share their structure with pretty birds of prey
In accordance with local ordinances of course
Making houses starts by removing fire
As unpleasant as they may seem
Pleasantville is still a swell place for mom and pop
Drinking tea on porches held up by the community
Perfect and lovely are the only words allowed
This is not just another cookie kind of town
*Menacing Laugh*
He’ll never know!!
I’ll hide the cleaning buckets under the sink,
the chemicals in there too.
He won’t know when I clean the walls,
then baseboards when I’m through.
The board games in a tote,
high in the closet they stay.
The puzzles, the crafts, the kids’ toys
put away neatly before end of day.
He’ll never know!!
All the sneaky things I do.
Cleaning the fridge,
under the stove,
beneath our beds too.
The oven.
The mirrors.
The photos around.
The slew!
He’ll never know.
Haha!!
He’ll never know how I crouch and bend
and break my back
to vacuum stairs, the foyer, the bedrooms,
the rack.
He’ll never know
as I twiddle my fingers,
looking for more ways to confuse his day.
What else can I do?
The brushes.
The hair ties.
The clips and hair grease I put away.
Where I keep the cleaning rags,
the body rags,
reusable trash bags too.
I’m so sneaky!
I make sure he will never find
where most things are.
What’s it to you?!
Where is the lint roller?
He’ll never know.
Where is the extra cords?
In the garage is where they go,
will he look?
Me, you, and every other wife, know…
We are petty thieves in our homes.
Like Robin Hood, if you will.
We take from where it is
and put it only where it belongs.
It’s how we get our thrill!
He will never know!
I am the villain in our home!
Clearing clutter and messes alike.
Keeping emotional currents at bay yet in sight.
He will never know!
The range of all I do.
Haha!!
What’s it to you?!
A Wives Tale. ??
give not me the flowers, the fragrance
give not me the flying birds poetic canvas
give not me the shining palette of the rising sun
give not me the eloping dusk of chirping birds
give not me the warmth kisses on the eve light
give not me the rosy beds on the moonlit night
I wanted you, your breaths, your nerves, your hearts in me
I wanted your presence not only in happiness but also in sorrow
I wanted you in the scorching summer as well as flowery spring
I wanted you in the withering pale yellow leaves as well as sprouting plants
I wanted your words in my words like the holy verse of God
I wanted your companionship like the rose and its aroma
but now for the sake of good life you left me alone
for the sake of good earning and surviving you've gone
for the sake of ephemeral happiness you are in difficulties doom
no, I no need your happiness, no need your heaven
no need your Eden garden, no need you smiling sun and moon
no need the peaceful flying pigeons, no need to live for good life
I need you, yes, I need you very much
I need your presence in my heart every single moment
17.09.2020 Chattogram
Heaven splayed a sun so unassailable that it scorched the earth.
Even the creek beds, dried with crackled skin, plead for rain.
Lost are the sounds of now silent frogs and swishless fish
Left behind, Spring satisfies its wanderlust across hemispheres.
Opportune Summer disburses its virulent heat.
Solstice day exposes long hours and hot temperatures
Under a sweltering Sun consulate for communal celebration.
Many praise the shift in seasons while others
Mind the rituals of fertility, vestral life, and bountiful harvest.
Either way, I greet Summer with outstretched arms
Reaching for transcendent heights unknown to Spring.
The earth gave up its secrets,
you were gone with the morning's dew,
covering all that thirsted for a sip.
The soil turned into a softness,
dark, warm and tightly contained,
a drop of dew's left on your lovely lips.
When the moon shines tonight,
I will walk beneath its light,
determined by my quest.
Lovely are the stems,
clutched beneath my fist,
white lilies for your chest.
A drink is what they crave,
the sun spoils it all,
a tree provides some shade.
I visit you often,
waiting for the day,
when my beds made with a spade.
No one could ever know,
the depth of love that grows,
beneath the darkness of night.
Shadows fall each day,
behind my broken heart,
as I wait for the next moonlight.
In black I cry,
the moon lights my way,
my steps are weary at best.
My tears quench a thirst,
for the lovely lilies I have picked,
to lay upon your chest.
~Roses~
(Dove's Cooing)
Red roses
a tribute
to loved ones
roses have
very long
history
legend says
that Eve gave
A kiss to
a white rose
in Garden
of Eden.
Cupid bled
on roses
'cause lost love
instead, then
another says
Cleo strew
room with red
roses to
seduce Mark
Anthony
with perfume
and her woes
The wealthy
Romans lay
on beds of
roses too,
these are a
few of the
legends I
share with you
roses are
beautiful
a nice way
to express
affection
for someone
you care and
love profess
so, give them
roses and
will make them
smile if sad,
roses are
magical
make eyes glow
and hearts glad.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyrigth@2012
October.5.2015
The "Dove's Cooing" is a poetry style created by Patricia Simpson.