Long Boyish Poems
Long Boyish Poems. Below are the most popular long Boyish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boyish poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time, in a land far away,
There was a prince with a Kitty Cat
(Or so the stories portray)
Who would often say, "Meow,"
Which is how kitty cats say,
"There's a forest growing in the living room!"
Now princes in magical kingdoms know
How to speak many languages
Frazil, German, Arabic, and Cat, so
It should be no surprise that our hero knew
That to a cat, a tree in the house is a forest, although...
It'd been forever since seeing a tree such as this!
"Meow!"-- "I know!" our hero exclaims,
"It's a Christmas tree! And soon presents will be
Arranged around it's base with our names!"
"Meow?" The plaintive query our kitty asks,
"How will you eat those awful fruits? It's a shame..
They're shiny and pretty, but they break easily!"
Kitty Cat went on, batting as he spoke,
"With so many trees to grow inside, this one has been infected
With lights that shine many-coloured without smoke,"
Though others in the room only heard "Meow meow," as expected.
"The candy canes-- they're peppermint!-- but the rest do not poke,"
Said the prince, "They are memories of Christmases past."
"MEOW!" said Kitty Cat, but the prince heard... this:
"Look what I can do! I can climb and hide!"
And clawing his way up the tree, Kitty Cat found bliss!
"Here it's warm, inside smells nice! I think I like
This forest inside!" Meowing on, no thought remiss,
Kitty Cat found his way to purr, knocking down baubles all along.
"Get down here," the prince did demand
"You're breaking the ornaments!" --"Meow?"
"Yes now! We worked very hard to decorate, make it stand
Straight. To light its branches with hope and love!"
And Kitty Cat obeyed the prince's command,
He came down, in wonderment, he looked as prince's boyish face.
In apology, Kitty Cat did purr,
Rubbing on his boy's leg and showing love
The way only cats know how, by gifting him fur.
And the prince smiled, for love and hope
Are all Kitty Cat knew. He lived here, near the conifer,
But only in the now, and never aware of what was or would be.
Batting softly, exploring this tree inside
Kitty Cat was lost in wonder, with the prince's presence.
"Look," said the prince, "Outside there's SNOW to ride!"
"Come on, Kitty Cat!" And grabbing his sled, outside he fled,
And Kitty Cat's meow behind the prince cried,
"But that's the sky-sand that turns to WET!"
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
Did Cupid get it wrong with his arrow when he took a shot at me? Could he see that I was a saddened girl dreaming of someone to love me?
Was he up there just sitting upon his cloud, looking down, and seeing me, or could he hear my cries that I no longer wished to be lonely?
He claims that he is the God of desire all about passionate love, but I guess the joke was on me when he shot you too with his arrow from up above
He speaks of the erotic passion of love, affection, attraction, and desire, and all of these things we did have between us back then no one could put out our fire
They say he is the son of Venus the most beautiful goddess of all, so you would think he knew more about love then he apparently did, at least that is my call
Some people call him Amor, another name for love, and I thought that is what he placed us in but apparently mine wasn’t enough
Some say he looks like a Cherub with a face so sweet, and I trusted in him when he brought you to me
But what Cupid brought to me was no God, no lover to take away the sadness I carried within, he brought to me a demon with wings but not the kind that were placed upon him
Cupid’s bow and arrow are a source of power, but he doesn’t wield it very well, because he sent me the uttermost darkness that resides in the flames of Hell
Cupid’s arrow cursed me when I looked upon your face, I couldn’t see the devil only the angel disguised in his place
You controlled me with your desire for me as I for you, but now looking back I believe it was the poison of the arrow that hid our bitter truths
Cupid likes to claim that “Love Conquers All” well he needs to come down off of his cloud and tell me that I’m wrong
Love in my case doesn’t conquer anything, not when you’re up against the devil himself because the devil he plays to cheat
Cupid is winged because as they say lovers are flighty, I know that devils are, they are just cleverer about hiding those wings when they come making their call
They say Cupid is boyish because love is irrational but then again men they are too, and devils well they’re the worst of all wrapped up in beauty while they defile you
So, Cupid you can have your arrow back and I can tell you where it should go, next time instead of hitting the devil in the heart with it please aim just a little more low.
Inside a grotto scooped out by a wealthy earl for his seated pleasure,
There sat a bard amidst the edelweiss strung 'round the hole of leisure.
Fallen droplets of acidic water pitter-pattered in echoes across the cave,
Slowly weathering away its leaky limestone layers as would a mason's lathe.
The bard, whose unimportant name shall be dismissed, strung away at his lyre,
Tickling its strings with unclipped fingertips which pick up songs from every wire.
Mediocrity had once been the nemesis to the boyish bard in his recent youth,
But now, after endless nights of practice, his expertise needed little proof.
He grew bored, however, with the memorized music that his body hummed,
From hypnotic and melodic languid limbs, which on their own had strummed.
Seated that evening on the edge of the grotto's bank,
He put down his lyre as both his eyes into the water sank.
"I am but twenty-six years-old and I've already come to master," he pined,
"Trading tales told inside of tunes; what more on Earth for me is there to dine?
Have I drunk the goblet dry in but a gulp?
Have I swallowed the savory pie in but a bite?
And have I been denied, in gluttony, the right to dessert?
Please, oh motherly moon, dearest Selene,
What more is there for my life to mean?"
During his pouting pitiful preponderances of apathetic patheticism,
A scattered image on his own reflection distracted him from his pessimism.
An eidolon of Endymion appeared before the startled bard,
And he held within phantasmal hands a deck of playing cards.
"My name is Endymion and I once walked awoken in Earthen woods,
Until I fell in love with Hera before her husband banished me for good.
I succumbed to an endless and dreamless slumber, but I can now see,
You fear you already lived your life and will be put to rest like me.
Yet life is but a game of Pitch, there are highs and lows and jacks and game,
Which is scored in not one hand but rounds whose cards will never be the same.
You've played your hand well in an entertaining trade, as you have felt,
So now its time to shuffle the deck and play with cards that've yet been dealt."
With that the ghost of Endymion drifted back into his eternal sleep,
And the bard in the grotto grinned and eagerly forgot why he did just weep.
Eyes as blue as the cloudless sky,
Hair as dark as a starless night,
Jaw as sharp as a shining blade,
And face as smooth as the wet sand on the beach
With a voice as warm as the sun
On a hot summer's day
All of these aspects of Mr-Blue-Eyed-Monster
Are great,
But those are nothing more than his outer image
Have you ever seen the boyish grin
That formed when he was happy?
Or the way his eyes would sparkle
When he spoke of something he loved?
How about the way he stutters when he's nervous
And blushes when he's said something dumb
Or just plain shy?
You've never cared for his insecurities
You only pointed them out.
You've never seen him tremble at the sound of thunder,
Or cry when Dobby died.
You've never seen him bite his lip
When he's afraid he's upset you
Or how he fiddled with his hands when he asked you out
You've never heard him fumble over words
Or trip more times than you could count
Because he's simply too nervous for the first date
You've never seen how his eyes shine
Under the fireworks at midnight
On New Year's Day
You wouldn't know that he asks for permission
Every time he wants a kiss
Or how he carries mistletoe
Every single Christmas
So that he won't need to ask for a kiss that day.
How he wears mismatched socks
Because he always loses the other one to a pair
Or how he promises to never lose you the way he loses them
-Because he's too damn cheesy.
You've never heard him complain about
The expectations he has to reach or
How he's worried for his marks
You've never seen how
He messes up he's hair
And mutters incoherently
In foreign languages,
Worried that he'll disappoint everyone
Yet again
You've never heard how he laughs
At his own little jokes
And calls them brilliant
Even though they're lame
All you've cared about was
Hot-Blue-Eyed-Boy
And whether he's good in bed
You haven't considered that he's keeping that
For his special someone
Because all you see
Is another good looking boy
So you automatically think that he must be like other boys.
Well, he's not.
You haven't considered that
There's more to him than
His voice like the sun,
And eyes like the sky
He's not just another boy.
No two people are the same
- Or so the Blue-Eyed-Monster has taught me.
Dope boundary rope tropes…fans hopes..Ollie copes..thick skin…will find the strength within…ignores the din…as Pope unleashes that boyish grin..
Can hear Freddie and David…ddddd..Under Pressure…well..hard to measure the pleasure of the Pope’s treasure…papacy legacy pride..stops the slide..trumps the prodigy..got a ton to shun outgun..dumps the Bethell puns..rested and bested..still in at stumps.. after Stokes plumps for tried and tested..
Nasty ploys from the seedier media boys…that gambit or slight..of weedier..needier skittish rabbit in the floodlight habit..but such poise..delights despite the noise.. fights the red hot slingshot Jasprit highlights...that iconic.. chronic.. metronomic…never laconic..halcyon harbinger..joy bringer..humdinger swinger gunslinger....
Who’s got a clue what to do…where it will land…understand what the Bumrah brand’s got planned…should be banned…can’t watch it from the hand..love watching it from the stand..tames games…fanned flames…big names castles manned..but the sparkle of another debacle shames and blames…panned and canned..
Doff your hat…scoff..from the off…Test cricket doesn’t get harder than that…time we beckoned..back when Goochie opined…Essex accent whined..reckoned like facing the World’s test best one end.. and tother Ilford second eleven..
It was a story of small standing tall demanding another dance at the Bumrah ball as the diddy men zen of Ollie and Ben gave us a chance and dodged.. not bodged by the Jasprit lance
Even the boom boom cherry riff couldn’t biff the Pontiff of who we are so fond…no what if..made merry with his tintin strawberry blonde quiff in this tiff did respond..
Golly gosh the another level devil..tabloid tosh of him getting Bethell bish bash boshed…losing the race.. will never forget Ollie’s jolly face…gleaming…day dreaming yet screaming to those scheming and memeing…fury at the jury…beaming…the adored Pope ruled..his grace.. Dueled with the ultimate pace ace…an up yours…century scores…our faith restores ..Ollie.. rightly put out…brightly glowed..showed us what he’s all about..loud..proud shout to the crowd who know nowt…want him out…made it clear..peers cheers he holds dear..my best at your behest ..so sincere.. I deserve my Test place and rest my case..! Hear Hear..
June 01/1916
So it’s off to war!
By they were glad
Singing and whistling a tune every lad
With a swing of their arms
and a smile on their lips
And a shine in their eyes
For the gals in white slips
So it’s march down to the station
To board for the front
With a hiss and a whistle
And pull and a shunt
Then just one last look
At the girls with a tear in their eyes
We will be home for Christmas
So no need to cry
The Germans can’t shoot straight
Their bullets are rubber
So hold your tears girl
There is no need to blubber
At the front ONE MONTH LATER July 01-1916
Battle of the Somme
So we will dig our trenches
And sleep in the mud
The weather’s quite cold
And the food’s not that good
Sarge blows a whistle
And over we go
One at a time or all in a row
The noise is quite deafening
The bullets whiz by
A strange sort of noise hearing men die
Some they go quickly with not even a whimper
Some take all night caught in the moons
glimmer
Trapped in the wire, trod in the mud
Guts lay beside them leaking life’s blood.
Screams and cry’s
They cut through the cold night air
For a man to end his life this way just don’t seem fair
Please Don’t leave me alone
OH MOTHER PLEASE HELP ME!
I want to go home!
My tummy’s hurting
Please don’t leave me alone
So I lay in my trench, hands over my ears
The rain on my face hiding my tears
While somebody’s father somebody’s son
Somebody’s sweetheart
Who’s life’s just begun
Pleads for his mother to stop his pain
And hold him in her arms
Just once again
But she will never hear
Her boys last request
She will never again see his boyish zest
never to hold him in her arms again
Or ruffle his hair or soothe his pain
‘Whistle Whistle‘
Well there’s no time to day dream
And no time to dither
‘Cause the Sergeant is calling
And so through the mud we must slither
Over the top keep your head down
Try not to trod on those laying down
Past little Jimmy stuck on the fence
This bloody war don’t make any sense
I feel a slight tingle running down my spine
My legs are numb they don’t feel like mine
It’s all going dark now
I think I’ll just lay down here
Feel really tired but mam will soon be here
To tuck me in and ruffle my hair
And tell me a story about ‘Rabbit Brer’
Lights fading fast now
Time to sleep
Good night sweet Jesus
My soul pray you keep
There once was a girl,
Who's name I can't tell.
To spare her the pain,
I'll just call her Belle.
Belle was a beauty
And all the beasts could see,
She was everything in a girlfriend
That they wanted theirs to be.
Belle was so trusting,
Because she was never treated wrong,
But little did she know that
Her innocence wouldn't last long.
She had two friends,
Sasha and Trevor,
And a boyfriend that she thought
She'd love forever.
Her boyfriend, Sam,
And Trevor were friends.
So this fearsome foursome
Had fun to no end.
The youngest of the four
But the smartest, she thought.
But what a friend was
Was not what she was taught.
Trevor and Belle
Would hang out all day.
She would try to be like him
In her own boyish way.
You see, the Trevor I speak of
Was King of the Beasts
And everything he wanted
Was laid at his feet.
And, although curious,
Belle stayed true to Sam
And that made Trevor feel
That he was less of a man.
One day, in a summer
5 years ago,
Belle told me something
I needed to know.
She told me what happened
The day that she ran.
The day that will forever
Be burned in the sand.
She told me what happened
When she looked over her shoulder
And saw him walking towards her
As the room grew colder.
She told me her tears
Were no match to his power.
She told me what made this beast
A coward.
She told me she screamed
And hollered and yelled
But her cries were soon muffled
By his lips, dry and pale.
She told me how she felt
The day that she was bruised.
Never in her life
Had she felt so used!
I asked her why she didn't fight
Or get tough like she does on the field.
She just said I'd never know the
Weakness that I would feel.
I couldn't help but to cry for her
As she blamed herself.
Belle had always wanted to be
The beauty on everyone's shelf.
"But not like that," she said to me,
"Not with one of my friends."
She let a tear roll down her face
As she spoke of her life's end.
Some may ask why'd she tell me;
"What made her come to you?"
I simply look at them and say,
"You don't know Belle like I do."
I know this story in great detail
And if you look real close you'll see
The tear I shed while writing this
Because...Belle is me.
Aah... how great the taste of water...
After lounging in bed until
late morning/early afternoon
we (the missus and I) felt restless
as garden variety buffoon
or think chrysalis itching
to escape encased within cocoon
nevertheless, she mustered hubby
long since retired dragoon
late morning/early after light
clothing he must post haste festoon
he protested against testing
comfort zone merely donning galloon
his self conscious morphology
declaimed repeating honeymoon
embarrassing circumstance,
when caricature artist accentuated
pitiful spindle shanks published
front page see national lampoon
most recent issue or possibly
toothpick legs ought be printed June
a boot six days hence excluding
counting Memorial Day 2020
whereby barenaked ladies
(spouse included) unwittingly ironically,
farcically, and comically forced
skinny dipping under full moon
after newly bride & groom
pledged troth unwittingly nudist beach
entered momentarily devoid
of swimmers, who suddenly at noon
witnessed madding crowd
momentarily oblivious to laughingstock,
one after another burst out guffawing
(at my expense) at picayune
sorry/lame excuse for male
adult *****sapiens peculiar physique
courtesy anorexia nervosa
(when thirteen years old), I caused ruin
permanently stunting psychological
and physical characteristics,
for better part of existence
(mein kampf) uttered lamentable tune.
Absolute zero self worth (the
big goose egg) matter of fact will
state being earnest and frank
going on walk thru Schwenksville
thought person in every
passing vehicle (quite brisk traffic) rill
lee mocked appearance when
espying long haired pencil neck
geek fortunately blessed with
few gray strands deliberately colored via quill
to ad some convincing heft
to boyish good looks, though mill
stone metaphor linkedin with
living little approaching over hill
soon petering into becoming old
and senile, nope never got fill
of teenage romance, I started
dating during early twenties
deterrents to integrate among
including sounding think duckbill
nasal honking, and even hot spell
temps spiking high eighties/
low nineties dressed head
to foot ready for big chill,
especially cuz dehydration less likely.
Way back when I was ten
I lived a life lived at that time only by children
My world consisted of my parents, of my books and of my imagination
Adulthood was something which would not happen to me; an unknown destination
Back then I did feel forced to cater to my duty
Yes, school and homework bordered the linings of my young city
A toil it was, to carry my heavy load everyday
A toil so disagreeable, for I was the one with whom none would play!
After school, I would sit and watch the cartoons
They made me dream, for me they were like the mysterious balloons
Those having the power to take me to places which existed not
Those having the power to make me dream of realms shined by many moons
Dreamed I back then of life made of the fantasy
Dreamed I of the Evil Witch and the Beautiful Fairy
Dreamed I of a world found beyond the rainbow
There, where children remain as they are, even at the coming of tomorrow
Sometimes I would sit and watch the rain
How sweet it did make me feel
Yes, rainy days turned me all gentle
Yes, the flowing water would have me ponder on what it takes to be human
Already was I was a loner
Loving never the company of another
Always chose I to keep to myself
Always chose I to bury my nose in those books found on my shelf
Lived I at that time in a loving family
Was I always the pampered doll
The one who filled up everyone's world
The one who would choose first, her share of candy
Of course, I played outside, in the gardens,
Of course, I tried to catch butterflies and birds
Of course, I had no smart phones, never heard of those even
Of course, I thought stars would fall to Earth; I would hide them in my little haven
I was a boyish gamine
I was the ugly duck, who dreamed of being the golden swan
Life on Earth did seem unfair
But my imagination was there to make it all fair
My heart did beat fast at those times
For those lads who never knew of my flames
Forbidden was love, though I knew that age did not matter
Still, I chose to hide and spy on them from my hidden tower
Life, way back at ten, was lovely
Still innocent, my life back then is what I now do cherish merrily!
Life, lived as a ten year old,
Seemed to be though, for me, a thing so, so hard!