Long Breaking up Poems
Long Breaking up Poems. Below are the most popular long Breaking up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Breaking up poems by poem length and keyword.
What is the meaning of this text?
You sent it last night after I'd gone to bed.
I read it this morning and now feel vexed
About when you sent it and what it said.
It would seem that you are breaking up with me,
Two months and three weeks after our first date.
You spun it as though you were setting me "free,"
Helping me avoid some unpleasant fate.
But I know that you know this is a lie,
I'd like to continue what we had begun.
It's you who wants to end it, but won't say why,
Did you meet someone else who was a bit more fun?
I'm left with questions, and you're nowhere near,
A coward's way to break up, it's abundantly clear.
By a gently flowing creek -
I saw a swallowtail flutter
About my head, as though meek -
And land softer than a feather.
He was large enough, I swear -
To sit in all of my hand.
He did not mind that I was there
Or that I was entranced.
Soon, a second butterfly
Distracted him by swooping down -
His mate, I surmised.
How fiercely they swirled around!
Then breaking up, they moored
To sup water from the red rock
Like two tasters of one accord
Complimenting the good stock.
They bathed in the glorious sun -
Posing candidly in a beam -
As if to show their dalliance
Off for the wide world to see
Then came a convenient wind;
The two undocked at bay -
And taking quick advantage -
They sailed playfully away.
Fin de Partie. End of party.
Fin. The end. The end.
Littered streets, for it was hearty;
First rapture to dead-end.
You were the first, the last, Cherie-
The drumbeat of my heart.
Now the sun's like a cherry,
And shadows will soon start!
Fin de partie. Now the party's done;
And fervor and joys just past.
The fun we had-second to none!
All knew it could not last.
Fin de partie. And the end of a dream-
Spilled wine glasses tell wild tales!
Colored lights still glitter and gleam,
Somehow sad when reason prevails.
Fin. Fin. The rare end, mon ami;
A rosy era has just died.
And never again are we carefree,
And no more starry-eyed.
Down by the river
In a valley very green
Live the nicest little people
That were ever, ever seen.
They have lots of little houses
All along the valley floor
With so many, many windows
And such tiny, tiny doors.
And if you’re very careful
And you creep up soft and slow
You might sometimes hear their laughter
When the sun is sinking low.
For these tiny, tiny people
Sleep all through the sun-long day
And soon as night approaches
They get up to sing and play.
Through the night with moon and stardust
Shining in the river’s face
They go dancing down the valley
Breaking up the mist like lace.
And if you’re very careful
In the morning soft and slow
You can sometimes find their jewels
On the grass-blades hanging low,
For the nicest little people
In the river valley green
Take the mist and dew and stardust
And their laughter all unseen
And they mix them all together
Just before the night is through
So that in the early sunshine
We enjoy their jewels too.
Ricky was a poor little fool
Chuck was heading back to school
Mark for his teen angel he did grieve
But Conway knew it was only make believe
Tell Laura I love her Ray did cry
And Jack said goodbye baby bye bye
Ritchie sang about Donna and Ooh my head
Rave on rave on Buddy said
All Don and Phil had to do was dream
Turning Fabian loose made the girls all scream
It's a shame Big Bad John had to die
Mary was telling everyone that's my guy
A runaway tore Del's love apart
Frankie said just ask your heart
Those poni tails were born too late
While Floyd was thinking about his last date
Tommy asked please Mister Sun
The Beach Boys were having fun fun fun
Maurice was pleading for us to stay
Jimmy was on the way to Bim Bom Bay
The Crystal's sang when they got kissed
Chubby wailed let's do the twist
Brother's felt like Cathy's Clown
There were three bells for Jimmy Brown
Leader of the pack didn't get too far
Connie went where the boys are
Someone told me about a teenage queen
And Johnny was crying for Maybelline
Del Vikings said come and go with me
Bobby took us beyond the sea
While Jerry Lee was shaking up
This Time Troy was breaking up
Bobby sang please love me forever
But Johnny said until the twelfth of never
So many songs touched us then
Susie Darlin' , I remember when.
Song title in every line. If you remember them all, you can remember just how
great those years were.
Breaking up the day into coffee and cabernet,
energy and relaxation, sunrise and sunset routines.
—by poet
Sunrise coffee, percolating,
poured into four seasons.
As soon as the mug’s drained,
brush pearly teeth, slide frothy floss,
Touch the sky where the sun should be;
the reach of xanthous rays.
Leftover steam from coffee-up -
blow on the sky; blue hue.
Cabernet in late afternoon;
cerise-cheers at sunset.
Dress down in seasonal pjs.
Brush pearls ‘til they sparkle.
Touch the sky where the moon should be -
the soothe of milky-white.
Remains a drop, dark berry -
the twilight sky infused.
So sick, ashamed, tuke-deh-blaim guilty
And tired of your sarcastic comments that tease me on purpose
Really not an accidental thing in the first place
Crazy talk I do on a daily basis
Aggravated beyond reason and logic and behind-closed-pupils emotions
So afraid to change my mind about breaking up with you and making the mistake of going back together with you
Totally an incomplete work of art from the start...I adored you, Seth Art from the heart...but I'm torn apart - we are opposite isles at Walmart
I claimed and nurtured caring, affectionate sayings and lines of endless blessings and miracles that ended up being cursed and obstacles
Clever, but a deceiver...looks are awfully appealing, but what's in the inside are a billion books...left unread and left for dead instead...left on the literature bed, molding and rusting in pangs of dread that piles up in my head like debt overhead
Chillin like a villain with a tranquil mindset for a change
Oh my word, I will forgive the words you uttered and will utter ASAP
Mesmerized by your love that is for naught
Messed-up in the head mentally and emotionally...happiness and joy, like weeds that were once delight dandelions, distraughtly rot and remotely fought...a frenzied, fired-up fraught as an aftershock of oblivion's ignorance
Elegance turn to hideous results, unless you turn that around by mere coincidence altogether, which will most likely not happen, knowing you very rebellious and an uncompromising, headstrong head that is robust - but, break, it must
Never flawless and willing it all away...these thunder and rain bolts
Truly, you better not shoot me down or I'll bite the bullet and rip up that gown of galore glory and gracious glamor displayed dazzlingly, non-drastically projected on screens of hope strings that won't snap off by the single snip of the sensuous, shapeless scissors
Sanity's lines come into play the moment the insanity lies on the paper and not on my scraggly soul again...refrain from pouring your vermillion drizzle upon us and naturally, slip inside the same bumpy, rowdy bus with us for a time...there's no need to hide, subside, cuss or fuss
Full moon brownies are breaking up adjectives
in the fairy land of poetry
Mushroom elves ignore their efforts.
They have nouns to chop up
Leprechauns toss some lively verbs
Owl rolls her eyes,
Although this is just the usual evening
At the fairy land of poetry
Colloquialisms? What? Why? Queen Faerie asks.
Her consorts do not know, but they have heard of them.
So now they want them.
She scoffs at their crazy notion.
Where are the prepositions? the Queen demands.
What kind of castle would it be without them?
Over the rafters, under the eaves, and in the water?
Moat faerie laughs because she has hidden the prepositions.
Maybe she really loves me maybe not
Maybe I could like her maybe I ought not
Maybe she is a passing fancy maybe she's for real
Maybe I should fold now maybe I should deal
When young you date a lot
find someone you like somewhat
If she left you it's no big deal
but the way she kisses such a thrill
Dating for a while and your glad
your eye catches another makes her sad
Breaking up and you feel bad
now you miss her and what you had
See she found someone new
don't know why your feeling blue
How does she keep a hold on you
jealous you screwed up dude
Maybe she still loves me maybe not
Maybe I still like her maybe a lot
Maybe I will forget her maybe with time
Maybe she thinks of me maybe sometimes...
_____________
Poet’s Note: One of the last strong-holds of joint-family system, India, is breaking up. Old-parents, all-alone in lonely homes, have become a common sight. This poem depicts the fate of one such lonely mother.
______________
Two sons, one far across the continents,
His visits rarer than of a Blue Moon—
With some gifts to garnish his rustled guilt,
To cover up for time seldom given.
Another next-door close, and too far still,
Cared for money more than his old mother,
Parents he felt a needless burden were,
And incongruent with spirit of time,
He’s keen to sell her memory-filled house,
And place her in care of an old age home.
Both did well know what their mother wanted:
The one— far-off— hoped, she’d appreciate
That he can’t be home more often than now,
Both felt, their compulsions made immense sense.
Their visits dried like a helpless river
Handicapped by dams, much irrigated,
Her own concerns remained confined to her,
And left to fend for her fate long fated,
She aged fast trying to wipe own tears.
Age is no child of time, but faulting years.
Time was, not in a far off horizon
When children piled on mother’s ample bed,
Evening sun sliding through slotted windows,
She a rare focal point of their young life—
Childish cares, complaints, concerns, bed-time tales,
But that seemed like ancient time too far gone,
No use she thought hankering for spent time,
Now reduced to fragile vague memories!
Soon an old age home was lined up for her,
Her neighbours shaking incredulous heads.
It was of little practical use still,
For, no one had the time to intervene.
She was even taken there for a feel,
Perhaps to make the future shock less mean;
An old inmate showed her expensive shawl
Her son had sent, which, as a parcel came,
A telegram-like note and that was all;
Her wrinkled fingers on shawl, but what shame!
As she tried hard her hurt feelings to hide,
Best gift is time, she seemed to say as cried.
Time once was, richer her fabric of life,
Of late if life were rife, it was with strife! ________________________________________
Happenings | 08.03.2017 |