Long By word of mouth Poems
Long By word of mouth Poems. Below are the most popular long By word of mouth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long By word of mouth poems by poem length and keyword.
7/20/19
"I'll be your Joker"
Still a registered voter
Signed up to be an organ donor
And finally became a car owner
I rarely use a controller
When it's time, I'll man up and buy a stroller
As well as panels that are solar
Near and far from areas that are polar
Doesn't matter if I ever get a Range Rover
Or Roadster
I'm barely ever sober
Always been a loner
And stoner
3 months away from another October
If you want to be my Harley Quinn, I'll be your "Joker"
Not no poser
Where are you Scully? This is agent Mulder
Anytime you want, I'll be your shoulder
To lean on
From here to way beyond
For eons
Where's my Marge? I am Homer
I'll be your rock over and over
Since I've gotten nobler
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I've seen it so much, I could compile a folder
Life's one giant rollercoaster
It's really revving my motor
All these women giving me a b***r
And then the cold shoulder
As if I am an ogre
I remain a soldier
Drinking high end coffee, no more Folgers
Getting wiser and older
Becoming bolder
As the world gets colder
I'm not feeling dolor
Just multi tasking, while a fire continues to smoulder
Maintaining my composure
Finding closure
Getting closer
To greatness instead of being mediocre
I enjoyed the work I did with several growers
As well as trapping some gophers
Occasionally I'll partake in poker
Even though I'm not the best hoaxer
Once or twice I used a fire stoker
When it came to Mary Jane, I was a doter
A fan of it's fragrance, it's not what I'd call an odor
I consume some products made by Clover
And am usually in places considered remoter
It's time I get a toaster and holster
I don't really need a Flame Thrower
Or to get my face on a most wanted poster
Suit yourself if you want to wear a boater
Or choker
Houses in continual foreclosure
Not always wise to go for the price that is lower
Someday my mind and body will be slower
And one day it'll all be over
10-4 over and out
And now you know, what i'm really about
Not just by word of mouth
As they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth
Regardless of if you had your doubts
By: Dalton Ogletree
I ran by this thing with haste, that malevolent beast as to school I went
Centered In a beautiful field i never played, because we all knew of the shallow graves.
We never saw them, no one dared to find them, and no one ever even looked
For the other children that were buried there, trust for a child is given by word of mouth.
The rumors grew, as the tulips did in the field that held That Old Red Barn.
A child’s fancy, the minds plaything sometimes given over to the rule of what it thinks must
be
Because Jennifer said it, it must be so; I don’t dare to find out the actual truth. I’m not that
brave
So I leave it alone, this beautiful thing, because the cover does not always tell the story
within.
If I had given it a second glance and not been so scared that I didn’t notice,
That just beyond the reaches of the trees at its circumference laid a house of golden hue
And in those walls, a grander story than even of that of “That Old Red Barn”
A family of two … now ancient to me spent their time growing corn and raising grain
That would one day come to the table I sat, nourishing me and giving me strength.
Letting me have the energy I need, to quickly run by “That Old Red Barn”
So that I could fly past this place that they built and in their hearts would always treasure
I don’t think that they knew of the fear it instilled all because of one child’s rants
But now that I know and am older now, I look out my front door and see what they mean
This Beautiful Field and “That Old Red Barn” once seemed a curious creature
Full of fear and malevolence, they were too old to invest the time to restore it to splendor
So I purchased from them all this vastness of pleasure, That Beautiful Field, and yes “That
Old Red Barn”
Written By: Ryland Joshua Matthews
Date: 11/13/2010
Star is star, only times when it hangs in the skies,
once it falls on the ground, it becomes nothing more
than a useless piece of stone. Is that why the stars commit themselves
to the flames in the dazzling sun when the shadows of darkness lift to dissipate rather than to become stone pieces on the ground
and tossed, kicked, and stamped by mindless passersby.
Although there will be no feeling of remorse whatsoever
held in the mind of stars that were sucked into the heart of a scorching sun,
to ones who took pleasure looking at the twinkling stars
in the darkened sky will feel an irresistible yearning
after the stars inconsiderately disappeared,
and so, becoming a piece of drifting cloud,
roams in the skies to find those lost stars.
Although there will be no grudge of any kind was in the stars’ mind
that vanished somewhere in the heart of a burning sun,
to those who delighted to converse with whispering constellations
in the darkness, will become water by the foot of that mountain
and flow in this ravine to that plain, while, wishing to fill the emptiness in heart with beautiful memorabilia as water carries, crushing into immovable rocks,
chased by the rolling stones.
After all, those notions heaped up high with adding more
and more weights, collapses to the ground; then the time,
so told by word of mouth that it swallows everything,
comes and rakes up shattered pieces of notions
on the ground and lifts up high in the air
flapping its dark and huge wings. Accordingly,
darkness grows to bring another night…
As time goes by,
and when the skies deepened with darkness,
the stars that are lost and gone from the heart of those
who wanted to keep them forever,
return and twinkle as they were
in the skies that are much the same as last night.
In a world of darkness I try to drop diamonds in my rhymes
I hope you pick them up and use it to shine
I hope you take my gems and keep them in your mind
When I drop a diamond I hope you use it to shine
We don't always get the hand we want and sometimes it'd be quicker to fold
But you should play the hand, because everything that glitters ain't gold
You can take something ugly and turn it into something beautiful
Every sad story needs a hero to rise up and deliver the hope
We all go through hard times, no one said it would be easy
I was bullied and held hostage by depression, but it couldn't beat me
I've fell over before, and gained scars as the blood leaves me
Love is blind, so I understand why she said she shouldn't see me
That was her first impression from what she heard, not knew
If people go by word of mouth, they'll always think the worst of you
She got to know me and realised I was worth the chance
It may not have worked out, but it was her favourite dance
I enjoyed it too, and accepted that we just didn't work
My mind travels, often I think of the perfect rhymes for a different verse
Just like life sometimes makes us meet the right person at the wrong time
I've made mistakes, but I've got a courageous heart and strong mind
My heart shines so I don't need jewels
My mistakes teach me lessons so I don't need school
I think my words through and I write to inspire
The only ones who will understand are the ones with a fighting desire
In a world of darkness I try to drop diamonds in my rhymes
I hope you pick them up and use it to shine
I hope you take my gems and keep them in your mind
When I drop a diamond I hope you use it to shine
It happened by coincidence
that I stumbled upon this site,
and ever since I followed that light:
there was a desire to share my poetry with others.
This poet is a dreamer with a realistic vision,
not truly appreciated as other genre writers;
and it isn't money, or fame I am after, merely admirers...
it's an urge that must be expressed without pretension.
If my income depended on the craft of poetry writing,
I would surely starve as many have and still do today,
and in my spare time, I step into a fantasy world and write away;
I pick any subject that tackles my fancy...while many are sleeping.
Is this passion a need to fill a void into my righteous soul,
or something I was called to do by His supreme will?
Looking back to History, He chose prophets to deliver those messages
by word of mouth or sacred writings like those of Hosea and Moses....
am I also chosen by Him to convey His thoughts of sorrows and delights?
I reflect on this often and realize it is an awesome gift I should highly prize!
I have been immensely moved and inspired by the support and kindness
that this friendly community has offered me, welcoming me with open arms;
I have done the same, being thankful and appreciative of their mindfulness:
let's keep a lasting relationship...reading and praising each other poems!
Entered in Michael J. Falotico's contest,
" What brought you to Poetry Soup? "
Written by Andrew Crisci
SOMEHOW, ONE SUMMER, SOMEONE SOMEWHERE IN SOME WAY SUMMED IT UP
Somehow they work it out and get into bed
Somehow they’d both rather make love instead
Instead of fussing about things that matter not in the long run
Somehow they work it out and the fighting is done
No one really understands how they do what they do
It may simply be the dove and his lifetime mate as they coo
Everyone marvels at the magnanimous virtue of each
Until, once again, they start firing and both run into the breach
He did this to her and she did that to him as they bickered back and forth
And they both knew with surety that one should go south, the other one north
Give them enough time to consider their options at hand
And the next thing they’ll do will be something no one will understand
Doves mate for life or so I’ve been told by word of mouth
And neither lover really wanted to head north or south
But divisions and diverse dreams un-fulfilled had caused a rift
Yet they both remember each other’s embrace and how making love was granted as
a gift
They decided to part as no longer partners would be the prudent plan
A winsome woman woefully in love with a wandering man
Two years later they met accidentally by the shore as their toes sifted through the
sand
Lo and behold today they’re once again together and that’s another thing no one
can understand
© 2011...Phreepoetry ~free cee!~
Before I was born, the moment I died, night replaced day.
Verily my brothers and you my sisters, to Mary cried.
Strange is this world in which even I, try to hide.
Upside down, none but one has ever tried.
Unto you by word of mouth, by mine this your rule of law.
While twisted tounges predisposed did in the dark rearranged,
all that was read unto them, I never said.
I behind you, have always walked,
I have never run while ahead of me, walks your shadow.
Back to the place before you were born I could hear,
the very thoughts, that I to you spoke of.
I know where you hide them,
even unborn children know, birds without wings can not fly.
For all of your mental hospitals,
jails and your heavily garded prisons.
These will be your next heaven,
for all of you, my sons and daughters.
To regress and never while knowing, try to evolve.
Why it is that you place your mother and father
instead of yourself, in harms way.
Where I have gone ahead,
that you looking back can not follow?
Questions to the answers I spoke of to you,
and why, no one listened.
Now look at the children of mine, you have slaughtered.
Prophet's none,
numb with sleep where ahead of me, you placed them.
Religion to see over blind science,
here some but for one, would not be.
Afraid of the dark,
here all alone all of this to you, I once promised.
Is it autumn, when silence has come to a lonely lakeshore?
Throngs of reveling summer tourists are flocking here no more.
Is it autumn, the water's sitting still in the swimming pool?
The rowdy children have gone, unhappily, back to their school.
Is it autumn, when the blooming gladiolus have been lost?
Tonight, the garden's bounty will be bitten by our first frost.
Is it autumn, do golden cornstalks hang heavy with their yield?
The farmer has a scarecrow propped, out standing in his field.
Is it autumn, the pumpkins have no orange spattered 'round them?
Their deep green color is fading now, up near the browning stem.
Is it autumn, the farmer has left his apple orchards bare?
The spiced aroma of baking pies goes drifting on the air.
Is it autumn, when the gathering geese ready to fly south?
Two neighbors saw them yesterday, I have heard, by word of mouth.
Is it autumn, with dying leaves turning shades of rust and red?
The maple tree's timbers brave the wind as they begin to shed.
Is it autumn, with ever shrinking sunsets and chilly nights?
There comes a whiff of warm woodsmoke as the first fire alights.
Is it finally the day when autumn will at last arrive?
Twelve months ago was a long, long time to wait to feel alive!
Date - 8/26/2022
(15 syllables per line)
What We All Already Know
About our world, what we all know the best
Is directions are north, south, east and west
With one which is opposite of the other;
Like this one would God actually make another?
Suppose if God with all of His great powers
Had made some other world looking like ours
What would he make that were differences?
Without worrying about added expenses.
Making people who will pray every day
To me, would be an exact, perfect way
That can take a load off a person's mind
And pass salt, please try to be so kind.
That is what our world is comprised of
Someone who is looking or a lot of love
After searching in each nook and cranny
Ending up with feeling that is uncanny.
Maybe to other world our love left and went
Which is why God His only Son has sent
Who we are to believe in and truly treasure
Save us from sins that are beyond all measure.
When Christ died each case was closed
On ours, other world was super-imposed
And this time on nothing did God skimmish
Even sent His Son born without one blemish.
(Maybe skimmish should be skimpish.)
We still wonder why, how, where and what
God could have done with all of the glut
I heard a rumor mentioned by word of mouth
It all ended up somewhere in the south.
James Hideous Fastidious Horn
Aub
Aubrey Gordon Joseph Mc'Govern
by Don Johnson...
he was born in 1895 to a land so different then,
one of three boys born at Brenda station,
near to Hebel up the river near the water on a bend.
though just a child he told me of his life upon the land,
of strange things seen and space ships strange, with
coloured lights so grand.
how he and Walter and the boy had seen it flying past ,
but never went to look for it though it fell with a mighty blast.
he drove the coach for Cobb & co, held six horses by the rein,
these 3 Mc Govern's never married though,
so no Mc Govern's will remain.
he worked on Cubbie station as a station hand
their fences he did mend, delivered mail a sulky
mailman to the squatters he was friend.
no radio on the airwaves then, the news would come by him,
by word of mouth the bush telegraph, bare facts with no garnishing.
one time he was a shearers cook and cooked o'er an open fire.
he was on the rum, maybe seeing things, old Aub. he was no liar.
as he stooped to check the boiling pot he saw the Devil lunge at him.
so he flogged him off used his boiling spuds,
made a goodly campfire dim.
old Aubrey's gone where the old drovers go,
but i sure remember him.
as a story teller i did know,
when i was small and thin. …