Long Boring Poems
Long Boring Poems. Below are the most popular long Boring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boring poems by poem length and keyword.
It is hot warm even cold
Sometimes light or very bold
Going in circles, up or down
Quiet or loud noisy sounds
Happy sad or inbetween
A calm or unhappy scene
Tears of joy or even sorrow
It brings bright or dark tomorrow
Rising above or falling down
Emotions scattered all around
Slamming doors or open ones
Boring or a lot of fun
A welcome heart or closed up tight
Laughter or an awful fight
Going out or staying in
Losing or a great big win
Is it fake or very real
Will it break or try to steal
A piece of your heart as you
Do not see the silent clues
That love is about to be
Part of your future history
Never knowing how each day
Will be when it comes your way
So much alike on the inside, you would think we were twins,
Comparing us from the outside you would never be able to notice this,
We look completely different, we don't act the same,
We don't have the same hobbies, or play the same games,
Its certainly not boring, we learn off each other,
With a nod we get it, and understand one another,
When one wants to do his thing the other is engaged,
Because it's not about seeing just one way,
Loving the other without hesitation,
Being open in heart, they have the same destination,
What socially looks as if it doesn't fit,
Undermines the logic of the same size stiff,
The ones who seem to fear the change,
Who only want to see things their way.
With the incoming sounds of spring, a resurrection of life,
the chilliness flees. Quote _ by Poet
Ready for a new season, Spring birds
Shake off winter; embracing
The bonniest warmness weather,
Babies born, and color of nature's crowns.
Scarlet Tanagers chatter, flying round,
Feasting on caterpillar's slowness
And beetles boring away that are found;
whilst
Eternal sunlight reft through sturdy limbs
And myriad leaves of the mighty old oak;
Rapid rhythm clatter drum sounds
Of the Woodpecker on its breast shout.
A hum, a garden faintly woo a smile
At song sung by pretty red feather Robin dancing.
A sweet kiss, a seed, the male Cardinal
Feeds his blush pretty mate favor.
Yonder pond, tree boughs
Teasing the water's edge
Whilst
Little Mallard ducklings
Follow mamma to the bank.
Bluebird builds her nest
Right in the heart of the sprouting
Redbud flowering tree.
Camouflage in the red begonia
An orange breasted Oriole
With its sweet enchanting sound.
On the horizon the fire fades out,
Hush around in high perch, tiny roosting
Cold blue moon comes into sight.
The hand came forward to hold her wrist
While the other gave her breast a twist
The undressing slowly as he gawked
The deafening silence as neither one talked
She never gave permission to visit her tonight
He said he didn’t need it, she was his despite the fight.
Soon his hand grabbed at her thigh
And started up toward brown sky
With caverns underneath for exploring
Not a chance these caves would be boring.
He delved into the cave, flashlight in hand
Pushing and pulling against the soft sand
Which covered the floor of the cave he was in
He reached back slowly and grabbed her shin
When his search for gold was finally done
He left her as he found her, in the car, alone.
Written for a Creative Writing class in 1990, assignment: a court case given to us to reflect in a poem.
I am tired with the word what do you do for a living
A question whose answer will take you away from me
Because I am not productive enough
Yes I have not collected much stones recently
Like penguins do on an island
But they collect one or two just for fun
All you do is work, work
And yes you are the master of stones
Tomorrow you will be there
Another boring face
With the same attitude
Judging me why I have not collected
Much stones recently
I do the most boring job
On earth
And I am not changing my ways.
While I stretch
You frown
As i take a walk
You run
For what?
Where is it we are going?
There is nothing except for death
Waiting for us.
What will you say on your last day
What will you do with all those stones you gathered
Even dogs do not eat them
Don't you see the futility of existence
We are here to enjoy 2 hours
And then go back to where we came from.
It’s not that I am bald;
It’s just that I am follicly challenged.
It’s not that I am short;
It’s just that I am vertically challenged.
It’s not that I am fat;
It’s just that I am sveltely challenged.
It’s not that I am Caucasian;
It’s just that I am pigmentationly challenged.
It’s not that I am boring;
It’s just that I am gregariously challenged.
It’s not that I am clumsy;
It’s just that I am gracefully challenged.
It’s not that I am a racist;
It’s just that I am diversity acceptance challenged.
It’s not that I am a cheat;
It’s just that I am monogomistically challenged.
It’s not that I am lazy;
It’s just that I am motivationally challenged.
It’s not that I am being sarcastic;
It’s just that I am political correctedness challenged.
(NOTE: Please do not think I am all of those things…It is just a poem.)
Oh, hail the champions of the couch potato throne,
Whose true inspiration is laziness alone!
From the depths of sloth, great inventions arise,
A tribute to those who prefer their dreams to the skies.
The remote control, a marvel of our time,
No more adjusting; we’ve reached our prime!
With just a flick of the wrist, oh what a delight,
To change the channel without leaving our site.
Cleaning is tedious or so one did claim,
So they invented the vacuum, and we’re forever in their fame!
No more scrubbing and toiling on hands and knees,
Just let that machine do the work, if you please!
Ah, walking, who wants to do that, I say?
It’s tiresome and boring, let’s drive instead, hooray!
With vehicles zooming, we speed past the grind,
Why take a stroll when you can leave all that behind?
And farming, oh farming, what a back-breaking chore,
One bright soul thought, “Let’s mechanize more!”
With tractors and harvesters, the fields are now neat,
All hail the lazy who made our meals sweet!
So here’s to our sweet lazy folk, we salute you,
Your capacity for finding ways to do nothing is true!
With fantastic bliss, you redefine hard work,
Living is hard enough; let’s not go berserk!
Work smart, not harder, is the motto we cheer,
Why sweat and toil when the solution is clear?
With AI to assist, the future is bright,
Let’s embrace our laziness; it’s our shining light!
Laziness, dear friends, is no longer a jest,
It’s a celebration of comfort, and we’re truly blessed.
The bulk of our science, our knowledge, our creed,
Born of the need to make life easy indeed.
So let’s raise a toast to all those who conspire,
To find the easiest way, lifting our hearts ever higher.
Impressive achievements from the effort of none,
In the heroics of laziness, we’ve already won!
Scared Mary,
Unprepared Mary,
Incomprehensible yet strangely legible,
Outside of the box in isolation Mary.
New Mary,
Old Mary,
Realities are a kaleidoscope,
Always big vision and big picture seeing Mary.
Spontaneous Mary,
Boring Mary,
Gifted the role of everything and nothing,
Multidimensional experience Mary.
Cyclical Mary,
Unpredictable Mary,
Goggles ethereal with physical on the side,
So strange and unable to be normal Mary.
Selfless Mary,
Selfish Mary,
Fiercely loving and Protective to a fault,
Contradictory and human at best Mary.
Celibate Mary,
Desperate Mary,
A Biological Divine combination,
Big impact but small blip in wider space Mary.
The time seems to wander, languishing here and there, jealous of the wind.
Sometimes it flies, to almost find it's end, even when you have barely started.
The terrible ones, they seem to standstill, so you can live them for a lifetime.
The boring ones, are not appreciated, yet can be missed on those wild rides.
The day listens, to no man or woman, it knows well what to surprise us with.
There are a few, in everyone's life, that will be remembered, that have no equal.
When all the luck, works its magic, to lift the spirits high, and love comes to call.
There are days when, we fly too close to the sun, that melts wings made of wax.
Some are breathtaking, when death is standing near, but it's just not your time.
The guardian angels, swoop low to carry away that day, that took a piece of you.
Every single day, we should live as our last, for each is the gift of a jealous god.
There are the nights, that follow the day, when the gods dream, of being a man.
And all of the days, when misfortune arrives, and you cry the whole night away.
Then comes that one day, you won't survive, when you pray for just one more.
And all that's left, is to drift off and relive the ones, you wished would never end!
I saw a look of hurt so primordial, the dust teared and cleared
Every wrinkle, every agony,
Every twinkle in his eye hopelessly wrought by words
He struggled with a bag of old books,
His white hair scraggly, his breathing heavy
I, with sorrow wrenching from my soul,
Sought his own, in a sad smile that he so feverishly caught
Moments passed, as the older man disappeared,
But I sat there, ready to speak to him if he should return
For such a catch in the eye
Cannot soon dim and die with chance
He returned swiftly,
“Excuse me, will you be here long?”
I said, “Sure. What is it?”
He looked into my eyes and smiled,
“Would you mind watching my books for just a bit?
My clarinet is in the building, I need to go fetch it from a friend.”
“Sure,” Said I. “No problem.”
He thanked me, setting the bag down near me
And walked with confidence to the building,
To retrieve his instrument
I pondered his life, the pain in his eyes,
And for a moment wondered how it might compare to mine
This old man, struggling with a massive bag of books,
An even greater weight pressing upon his practiced brain
A brain filled with the pure notes of a mechanism that soars
He returned almost joyously, thanking me once again,
Relaying to me his previous sufferings,
Unkind, uncouth words,
In his mind, sure and inerasable
“Have you ever been treated so ill you wished to die?
Have you ever felt that little?
Felt so powerless, and failing?
Surely I must be boring you. . .”
When his countenance calmed and I reassured him,
Offering my sympathetic ear,
And many a sensitive nod,
He asked my name before leaving forever
“Ah…do you know the song ‘Laura’?”
He hummed the tune and I beamed, nodding,
Remembering the haunting melody
It was as if he was anticipating that nod,
That he knew I recognized such a strange, haunting tune
By his happy, alighted smile
So when he went on his way,
With his heavy bag of books,
And his clarinet tucked safely in his black box,
Our pains sauntered on to less fortunate fellows