Long Besides Poems
Long Besides Poems. Below are the most popular long Besides by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Besides poems by poem length and keyword.
So many ways to seek the light.
Besides having to always be right.
Finding ways to mend the fences.
Instead of rearing up defenses.
Just when you think you're in the clear.
And your ship is going just where you steer.
You run aground and end up beached.
And all the angst won't be beseeched.
The entity's outside ourselves that hit us from behind.
Laughing crassly at your pain and insulting your mind.
Leave's you asking, just what makes, a body act that way.
As you respond in kind and just end up regretting what you say.
So staying grounded in your soul and wanting only peace.
Is a nice thought, but in the end the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
So when the air begins to clear and calmer minds prevail.
Hopefully you've come to find, your sweet soul's not for sale.
Sagely senile pipe-smoking sensuous Sal.
She was the matriarch of her coven, quite a gal.
But wait, a newcomer said. Isn’t she just an owl?
This caused a riot, many educated Wiccans yelled foul!
They chased the Newbie off, smacking her with a towel.
She was screeching and screaming with half of a jowl.
You see in this coven; the matriarch is always an owl.
Besides no one dares double-cross sagely senile sensuous Sal.
She knows when the trees will sap, and the wind will howl.
She is wise beyond the wisest of any weird human gal.
Her witch hat is a tiny clue that she is more than a mere fowl.
If you come by, be prepared to please pipe-smoking Sal.
No one tells me anything
For fear I think
Of my brittle nature to the
cold heart truth being exposed
As obviously better than I
they know me
And what fickle nature consumes
my soft underbelly and wafer thin skin
How I take every little setback to heart
And that I simply can not rest knowing
someone i love
May rest just as uneasy as I now do
knowing what we both know
And no amount of pretending the
problem does not exist
Will make the problem or this
sinking feeling subside or go away
Maybe that's why no one chooses
to tell me anything at all
Because although I may wish I can
not solve other people's problems
Fact of the matter is in reality
I can barely solve my own
And will probably only end up making
the problem ten times worse anyway
And besides that i am supposed to
be the fun one
Uncle Just Play Court Jester
Who tells cheesy stupid childish
jokes in order to make light
of just incase any dire grave situation
should occur
Honey we had some hard times
Baby I mean some lean times
So sugar on this holiday all I can offer you
Is my heart packaged, wrapped and address to you
But Baby
Don't open my heart till Christmas
Don't love me tell then
Because I don't have anything to give you
Except all the love I have within
Now now baby I better go
No fair standing beneath the mistletoe
I can't kiss you now
But on Christmas Wow Oh Wow!
Santa Claus we won't need
To put presents under the tree
Because if we wait you'll see
Jingle jangle woo woo wee wee
Now I've been a good boy
I know you've been good too
So just wait till Christmas
And we can cross us off our wish list
So Sweetie
Don't open my heart till Christmas
Don't love me till then
Because I don't have anything to give you
Except all the love I have within
Oops that mistletoe
Santa will never know
Besides we always did presents on Christmas eve
Ho Ho Ho
Very Merry Christmas
Today
I heard them say that things were now much better.
That place, which I had founded by God's Grace
And into which my soul was poured
Now has new staff, directors and another board.
It's changed from early years
So when I come to chat, I sign a visit book
And reception sometimes gives a sideways look
To wonder 'who is he?'
All that work, the self's esteem, confined to
Annals on the shelf. It's come, it's gone
And all is now a 'once has been'.
My prime of life is slipping well behind,
A runner slowing in his race and then
Another pack begins to lap and overtake
With faster pace than mine, now fading
Eyes now counting every shortened stride,
Still bright, though, still lifted to the finish line.
Will it be a race well run?
Too late to start from blocks again.
Besides who wants the blows, the knocks
The daily strain. For those who run
Their life race well the finish is a passing line
Another Starter's gun, a new race just begun
And so this final turn upon the track
Though slow, holds promise of a head
Held high, and joyful shouts when passing by:
'Well done! Well done! a race well run!
Now come and place your hand in Mine'
When we were kids no one got paid to go to summer school.
The A plus kids did not vie to get their applications in first.
They did not go.
Times have changed.
The A and B students are the first ones to sign up.
Some C’s get cajoled into summer school by their parents.
Other C’s stand their ground, refusing to go. They are in charge.
The D and F students are required to go.
Their parents do not make them.
Mandatory needs nothing to them.
A result of hating school themselves and not learning that word.
Besides, school has no value.
Their students will be NFL quarterbacks and stadium-filling singers.
Just like they were.
When life
seems all
hopeless
still don't
you loose
all
scope of
hope
for there's
this thing
dangling
in the air
Reach out
for God's
sturdy
rope.
For how
sure can
you be
that
death will
take you
to a
better fate
What if
you are
plunged
into a
plight
much
worse
where
there's no
turning
back at
any rate!
You too
haven't
been
infallible
and above
all
blame
that you
wish for a
perfect
rosy life
The
excuses
for suicide
are usually
so lame
better
enjoy your
share
even so in
strife.
Donot
friend,
plan to
commit
this act
just to
invoke
another's
pity and
regret
The pity
and regret
will
come and
go
besides it
soothes
no
decomposed
and a large
slice of
your life
may go
wasted.
Why rush for thy grave,
for greater gloom
Suicide's ain't a way out
fellow human friend
Pray a godless way not
send you unto this doom
You haven't right to bring
any life to its end.
And it's probable that all
those years
that you now wish to
recklessly discard in dust
have something bright
ahead, got to be a ray of
hope
Extinguish it not if in God
you trust!
After her mother died she watched her father begin to fade away.
He was always a quiet man, reserved, polite…soft spoken.
but now he hardly ever said a word…she could see his heart was broken.
When he did speak…it was only in whispers…he told her silence was his choice.
He did not want a sound…any sound…to muffle the memory of her voice.
When she asked him why he stopped his morning walks…he smiled,
“I am happy sitting here…thinking about her.”
“Besides,” he smiled, “my feet aren’t as trustworthy as they used to be…It seems they don’t know where to go without her.”
She stopped by every day to comfort him…the father she adored…but with each visit he seems a little sadder…a little older…he seemed to fade away a little more.
Until the day she came and found him in his favorite chair…his favorite place…he’d gone to be with her mother…and for the first time in a long time…he had a smile on his face.
“Goodbye, Daddy.” She said kissing his cheek…then laying her head inside his palm…”Have a safe trip…and when you get to Heaven…say Hi for me…to Mom.”
Then glancing down she smiled through her tears…as she whispered, “I’ll miss you Daddy…but I am happy knowing…even though it took a while…you’re feet know where they’re going.
The land around here looks like it belongs to the side of a lake,
it slopes downward gently, suggesting a meeting with water,
it front-yard-surfs on grass rippling winds,
it slowly sails under the puffy power of clouds.
but the water is in our bathtubs and sinks,
it is in our plumbing and it gurgles and clanks
when its alcohol content runs low.
Water is forced uphill by a secret pumping station
on the far shore of the State freeway.
When it rains we consider this a drowning,
none of us will swim, considering swimming
a prolongation of our ultimate dark night,
besides our above ground pools allow only space
for the whelping of baby seals, and we honor that.
There is of course, always ice for tinkling glasses.
If the rain persists, we are all drowned by evening
then we can only roll gently, and dare not trust
the floppiness of potted feet,
and so we tumble towards an imagined lake
one that waits for us
at the end of someone else’s drive.
However by morns early light
we are washed up on this tilting land again
and all is as dry as beached fish bones,
bones that are known to be reconstituted into pills
for the medication of occasional overbrightness.
Yesterday as the sun was rising on our walk…what should catch our eye….but one humongous…elongated white feather…stretching across the sky.
Our weatherman is quick to inform us…that it’s a cirrus cloud and in it we will find…crystals of ice which means…a cold front will not be far behind.
But when I see a feather in the sky…so tremendous…so long…so white…my mind thinks back to my childhood…and 1001 Arabian Nights.
A Middle Eastern myth?…you might be asking yourselves…Why…
because in this myth the Roc was a huge white bird of prey that prowled across the sky.
Who was large enough to pickup an elephant…from whose arrival even the sun would hide…who, if myths are to be believed, once took Sinbad, the sailor, for a ride.
Meteorologists today will no doubt find my thoughts revolting…but when I see a large feather in the sky…I like to think the Roc is molting.
Besides in a world where we come face to face with harsh realities time and time again…it’s fun to fantasize…to stir our imaginations a little every now and then.
Which is why when I see a feather stretched across the sky…I allow my imagination and reality play….is it the molted feather from one enormous bird…or is there a cold front on the way….
Before you scoff at my ambiguity…as most people and certainly all weathermen do…
let us take a minute and thoughtfully think this through…
A cold front on its way…
or the largest bird one could conceive…
knowing I live in Florida…
which myth should I believe?