Long Boys Poems
Long Boys Poems. Below are the most popular long Boys by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boys poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh! That anguishing moment! When I craved to cry,
And pour my tears, like monsoon rains, on some grass dry;
A bit away, hence, from the madding crowd, I went,
To soothe my grieving heart; give benevolent vent...
A hard hand hit my shoulder and commanding, said:
You're a man! Should not cry! Calm! Courage! Go ahead!
We, in our culture taunt, tease, torture girls, torment,
No shame? Showing off before strangers? You pretend!
Go! Wipe tears Apply talcum on your plastic face!
Lest those around judge you an empty broken vase!
Our girls, hence, tie pains like ghosts in their sari-knot,
Paint their faces with multi-color smiles, a lot.
Children! Gems! Never cry! If cry... Bad boys! Bad girls!
Satan is making home in you! His freedom whirls!
Why do angels crave things, like beggars full of greed?
Why, like dramatic artists - fussy tantrums breed?
God's watching like a hawk! Behave! Be virtuous!
Your movement should be angelic! Care! Courteous!
Yet, deaths, dangers, droughts, floods earthquakes for many years,
Have made us shed, like rain torrents, abundant tears;
All who gently hushed up feelings like shut memos,
Have melt into tears as though from lavas or snows;
Seeing harsh callous actions if we do not cry,
God's creating such rich tears has no purpose high.
Dogs cry. Horses cry. Birds, flies, and reptiles cry too,
Feelings, like dew-drops, fill and fall when we're in woe;
Sentiments secrete like wild streams within our hearts,
Full-fledged; flow like fluent falls; finely flits and flirts;
Stopping these, is, like building dams over rivers,
Wherein - water waves; caves; crashes; ripple-triggers...
Holding tears may be raw romantic! Dramatic!
Yet, its nature is to flow and fall full frantic.
Brain stressed; heartbeat skipped! Breath blocked! Body traumatized!
Muscles, nerves, and blood vessels stiff antagonized;
Nature has ways of venting pain and suffering,
Thwarting this is, just like her freedom plundering.
18 August 2021
This or That, Vol 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Good bye 2018
31 Dec 2018 1:11 Pm
Good bye 2018
A year of absurdity and obscene
I am glad to see you fade
Such evil memories were made
Corruption in our government so deep and dark
Evil forces tearing us apart
Making women men and men women
Making girls boys and boys girls and affeminant
Good is called bad and evil is called good
It is right that I am not God because, destroy it all I would
i slam is being cheered
while God is being smeared
Gods word is being perverted
and morals are being inverted
Holy Father have mercy on what rightousness remains
Help them hold out until Christ returns again
Protect those who would be saved
Strengthen those whos lives are grave
You gave us a repreave in 2016
Help us make it worth it all in 2019
This great big world is full of noise,
Emanating from both girls and boys;
Many are the varied voices,
Many are the varied choices;
All who trod upon earth’s terrain;
Who honestly view the fields and plains;
Anyone standing on First and Main;
Clearly must see the same; Things change!
All our wishing, all our crying,
All our efforts, all our trying,
Cannot reclaim our history past;
Alas! The time has come at last.
This the phrase of men with vision,
For else there’d be no television.
No jets, no planes, no autos, no trains,
Windows merely just glass and panes.
For in this realm, or earthly range,
The sounds of human discourse clang;
Against the powers they can’t explain;
Unable to except this fact. Things change!
I'm a cowboy some call me redneck, I'm a lover and a fighter, I try not to do no one wrong, I treat women like ladies, I drink whiskey and I get crazy, I still cry to sad country songs,
I'm a sucker for the highway, all roads go my way, my mom she's probably wondering where I'm off thunderin to now, me and my old beatup truck, with a small piece of luck, I can show you what it means to be free, sometimes it gets so damn lonely, the emptiness it turns into fear, I'll find a lady tonight, to hold me tight, and tell me everything will turn out just fine.
I don't care much for big cities, although women there sure are pretty, they've got Honky Tonks far and wide, give me small town city limits, where people know each other's business, I've got nothing to hide. my mom she's always preaching I need a wife in the kitchen, with kids running in and out of the door, I know I'm not ready for one woman steady, I'd leave her crying to go out with the boys, I don't know what it is inside me, that keeps me to drifting around. I've said time and again, I'm glad there's places I've never been, might be the reason I keep moving on.
I'm just a cowboy some call me redneck, I'm a lover and a fighter, I still cry to sad country songs.
I planned a trip to tropical island
accompanied by a group of close friends.
On way, one night we were compelled to spend
at rest house for a party that ran grand.
Sumptuous tasty food ! Each to relish.
Twelve guys with five young girls and seven boys :
Fountain of champagne with cheers ! Loud noise.
Whiskey, red wine, cocktail, mocktail : all finished.
Entertainment reached peak touching summit.
Against will, forced to drink lot turning tipsy.
Soon failed to open eyes , feeling drowsy.
Needed help to lie on bed , I admit.
As I woke up, my friends dragged me to shore.
When we arrived at island , I couldn't recollect.
Felt grateful to those who were to select
such a nice place to enchant and allure.
They told, how they carried me half sleepy.
All ridiculed me stating last night's event.
That's a part of clean fun and enjoyment.
Sea waves thrashed on beach ! Feeling so happy.
Wished to extend visit , staying alone,
for a longer period, few days more,
not only for scenic beauty but to explore
the tropical island turning each stone.
They left me on the solitary beach.
Slowly I was embowered with mist and fog.
Got alarmed on sudden howling of dogs.
Ran and ran to escape out of their reach.
Chased by dogs, tumbled, rolled and to slip !
Breathing heavy to run in hazy mist :
Had a great fall wrapping the thick bed sheet.
Woke up from the hang over and deep sleep.
The Orphan
At a time a young mother and her secrets knew,
that a infant boy in her life where counted days in few.
A priest helped her to put the child into an orphanage he knew,
a Saint Franciscan home with facilities for boys to learn and grow.
The little boy and his energy got quick the nickname Rumpelstiltskin,
stumping the ground and crying the anger to bitter tears on chin.
The school had a soccer team and the ball became his workout,
given his young years the challenges to control about.
He became the captain of the team and learning was easy picking,
his shores in kitchen duty kept another talent clock ticking.
At the age of 15 they put him into a chef apprentice,
giving his energy level room for the heat ascendants.
He felt that the alchemy of food is the element of his magic,
still playing soccer to keep in touch with that static.
The years went by from kitchen to kitchen in many lands,
hoping to take that good of knowledge into own business hands.
The temperature for the natural nourisher in perfect sense,
created underlying purposes not quiet applicable hence.
The spirit fire raised its procedure to be of service on a different plane,
and provided projection of people and philosophies the same.
Years in seclusion of studies turned the frustration into meanings,
giving the spiritual fire the poetic nourishing leaning.
Today his cauldron provides those foods for thoughts,
where past lives tragedies become the clarity of deep talks.
My grandparents lived on farms – both sides of my family.
My mother’s parents and my father’s parents.
Overalls and button down shirts with pockets
Work boots for grandpas
Except my single grandpa did get dressed up fancy
For Saturday night dancing with his girlfriend.
He smelled wonderful too, wore a lariat with a turquoise stone
Shined his shoes as if he was going to church
My maternal grandmother was the only one I knew.
She wore a navy dress with large white polka dots
When we had weddings or funerals, and low heel shoes
The rest of the time I remember her wearing aprons over dresses
My mother was the first woman I saw who wore pants.
She preferred them to dresses, and took to polyester in a big way.
Remember the pantsuits of the seventies? I swear she invented those.
Matching tunics with wide legged pants.
My father wore plaid shirts or camouflage jackets
Unless he was going to work; then he wore a dark suit.
He was a salesman with a skinny tie.
He always looked crisp and clean; mom used starch on his clothes.
My style was wide bell bottom blue jeans that we called hip huggers.
When I was younger, and tops that looked maternity in the seventies.
This was the real style which horrified me in 1974, as I had to wear these blousy tops two years in a row
because I had a baby at twenty and twenty-one.
My new style is comfort. I am sixty-eight. I wear tennis shoes.
Elastic waists, soft clothes that are not tight, I love feeling free.
My husband is the same way – comfort clothes, elastic waists.
We like eating tasty foods; no blue jeans for us now.
We have three children. They dress according to their lives.
One has six children, but she dresses fancy and so do they.
Another has no children, she’s a professional. She dresses in suits.
Third child alternates between casual and fancy; working mom of three.
Our grandchildren are eclectic fashion displayers also.
Super controlled grandchildren wear traditional clothing,
Approved by mom or they do not leave the house.
The ones who are wild like our middle daughter have pink and blue hair.
I see dresses that are too short - the same as I wore in middle school.
I see pants that are too tight on boys, like we saw in the eighties.
I see boots not as cute as Nancy Sinatras or or go-go-boots.
Masks are the new fashion statement for the younger generation sadly.
Good Old Boys
Written: By Miracle Man
6/17/2019
Our country is presently run by “good old boys,”
We’re inundated daily with incessant noise.
Their primary focus, is on accumulating wealth,
And spinning the media to keep matters stealth.
There’s only one remedy to rectify this matter,
Vote in term limits and watch “good old boys” scatter.
But change won’t happen for it requires them to fix,
They were born with the smarts, and see us as just hicks.
One thing is perplexing and definitely isn’t funny,
Is the way they choose to spend the tax payer’s money.
All the time, from lobbyist pockets, they’re busy gleaning,
Causing egotism to take on an entirely new meaning.
“What is morally wrong
Cannot be politically right”
William Gladstone
Last Fall, my church's Scouts and I went hiking.
A few miles north of Big Sur’s coast,
There is a forested park much to our liking.
Point Lobos is the nature preserve that I love most.
The beauty there is supernal, beyond description.
We chose our trails with maps and compasses,
And practiced local plant identification.
I pointed out Monterey Pines and Cypresses.
For a time we climbed a steep inclination.
We looked down into a cove, home of sea otters,
From a viewpoint near the old whalers’ station.
We climbed through a cleft worn down by waters.
That Saturday outing wasn’t a total disaster.
The boys passed tasks to advance in ranks.
Life doesn’t get much better for an old Scoutmaster.
Lastly, to the Great Spirit we all gave thanks.
For Goethe Stanzas contest
This tiny precious being
I hold in the palm of my hand
About to embark on life's journey
This delicate image of man
Created in his own likeness
This soft, pink bundle of joy
Makes even the toughest of men
Start acting like little boys
Can't imagine anything sweeter
Turns the coldest heart to mush
The sweetest sight imagined
Painted with a loving brush
With all the nasty everyday stuff
That's happening all around us
The birth of a gentle newborn babe
Sprinkles us with fairy dust
Hopefully, this magic continues
Through the years that lie beyond
With the birth of each new generation
A brighter new world will dawn