Long Chatty Poems
Long Chatty Poems. Below are the most popular long Chatty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chatty poems by poem length and keyword.
Is it still life? Her Quest for Identity.
Tis' stilled life
This still life
Distilled wife
Still - That's life
Mime wife.
"Playing dumb while acting the role."
The unspoken influence of mothers on their daughters.
My mother in her work environment, and my mother at home were two completely "different" personalities. At work, I saw her happy and bubbly, extrovert, chatty, friends with many.
At home she was subdued, walked on eggshells, kept us quiet while my father was at home. I understood: better to keep quiet, than be beaten. I'm breaking my silence, not hers. :))
Aqua Marine: 4th April 2025.
I believe- and there will be many who disagree, and
my belief is this- when we are born a soul is given to us
that first cry announces it, we are here
and from that moment two exist
the soul grows with us and stays with us
until we die in this realm of Earth
in that last dying gasp, the soul leaves the body
and the body becomes nothing but an empty shell
we grieve over that body where once dwelled a soul
the soul travels up and exists in another realm we cannot understand
the baby soul is talking but the baby only responses to needs
the little child starts to hear the inner talking
that talking just gets louder and louder as we age
my soul is very chatty . . . .
is it a female voice? a male voice? I really cannot tell
but inside me is a voice called soul, alive and well
the soul wants to make a difference, to leave an imprint
to say loudly, I was here . . . .
to turn it off- I meditate and think of nothingness
it keeps trying to invade my tranquility
but I push it away, be quiet for a moment, please
my soul is conscious all the time, yes, even in dreams
it is telling me things all day long
when I am sad, so is my soul
when I weep, it weeps too
when I am heartbroken, my soul is broken
when I am happy, it sings within me
my life has been a tangled garden
and my soul has many scars
my soul watches when I write giving me the words I need
it loves to meander forests and pick wildflowers
oh- it can be very bossy too, do this, don't do that
I don't know what to do.......
at times I must quiet the internal chatter
but it finds a way, always it finds a way to let me know
you are not alone in this journey called life
and I know when my last gasp comes and my beloved weep
my soul will leave this Earthly body, and
will live for all eternity but in another realm we do not understand
many will not agree with me, and will protest strongly
but this is- what I believe
__________________________
May 12, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/My Soul
Copyright Protected, ID 16-789-068-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
“Let’s go!” Penney urged, leading the charge through the newfound exit. They raced through a short hallway that led to a room filled with oversized playing cards and whimsical drawings that seemed to come to life. Brightly colored flowers swayed as they passed, drawing laughter through their anxiety and step-farts.
“Incredible!” Gus gasped as various cards spun in the air; some were even singing in harmony. “What’s the riddle we have to solve here?”
Suddenly, a chatty card with a top hat bounced towards them, wearing a cheeky grin. “To escape, dear friends, here lies your test: Solve my riddle, and you’ll be blessed...by a sadist", it whisper-trailed.”
“What’s the riddle?” Penney asked, kneeling to meet the card’s animated gaze.
The card puffed out its chest and spoke: “In a million colors, I shine so bright. I mark the end of day and the beginning of night. What am I?”
Penney’s mind raced—could it be…? “A sunset!” she shouted.
With a delighted twirl, the card exclaimed, “Correct! Now hurry, for Michael draws near, and the time to escape is quite clear, foe the hunt is *****!”
The walls began to tremble with an excited energy, and a door at the far end swung wide, revealing bright light. “Go, go!” Gus urged, nearly dragging Penney toward the opening.
As they burst through the exit, laughter followed them, a juxtaposition to the looming threat of Michael. What greeted them was a hallway of mirrors, each reflecting a distorted version of themselves—heightened excitement, fear, and a sprinkle of madness sparkling in their eyes.
“We can use the mirrors!” Penney said, repurposing the chaos. “Let’s confuse him!”
They darted in and out of reflections, giggling like children as they prepared for Michael’s eventual entry. With cleverness and agility, they utilized the mirrors to multiply their images, creating illusions that might just be their ultimate escape plan.
I fly like a blue bird inside
Just at the sound of your words
You say you want to take care of me
But what does that mean I ask
And what do I have to do
Would I be enough to hold you
Captive in heart despite miles apart
I long for love too but true
I am like a rose who wears thorns
I want you close despite scorn
As I push away all suitors
I come to you in my mind
I explore all the possibilities
And long for you to be near me
Is this the happily ever after start
You are dear to me and inspire fear
At the same time as you are kind
And warm chatty and happy
Will you come to me if I go to you
Perhaps I will stop dreaming and just
Live love life…with you.
Glory of tandoori story or Brit palette whet reformer korma
Vindaloo or sag aloo woo you or coo crazy about jalfrezi
Gets hazy as things mesh came fresh from Bangladesh
Can’t naysay Indian takeaways most days top performer
Made for Brit eccentric never ever looked a bit authentic
Teach explore each region with its own locavore legion
Preach mountain ranges to cities and fountains changes
Neighbourhoods vocally hooked homegrown locally cooked
See wee chatty seller with natty chapati smothered in gee
Poms popadoms covered with mango glow aplomb or roti
Lentil dahl elemental or experimental flurry of curry in a hurry
Ask a fella stellar biryani actually Indian or factually Pakistani
p.s Oh and no argy bargy about the Raj but do so love a bhaji
Leisurely walk around Lords non stop pop of champagne cork
Scorecard dork does chalk the first over from Will O’Rourke
Another flowering Kiwi tree who gets the ball to talk & fork
While towering style of Kyle with guile & wile gall fans gawk
Doff your hat to Matt who really is all that aficionados squawk
Smith another hawk with similar riff for this tiff swing will stalk
Serious talent apparent not transparent with delirious torque
Balk one last refrain from the reign of Kane the Kiwi bulwark
If it grips rips what pips seeing Glenn Phillips flips & fillips
Golden arm charm can disarm like when baby Joe in skips
With Kane masters and pastors of snips missing the slips
Nudges nurdles overcomes hurdles as fans lick their lips
Never ruffled by kerfuffles silky shuffles and wristy whips
Express bouncer nips & dips caress the ball off their hips
Finesse not largesse witness their prowess heavenly sips
Zach having been so cack defence so slack got the sack
No coming back picked from the pack Gay to have a crack
Not out of whack got the knack this season has got a stack
Trust plucky Ducky again gets lucky no vastly ghastly hack
Stokesy becomes like Wokesy bat & ball gets us off the rack
Dirty Harry not shirty silly willy nilly hill billy flirty is like smack
In Ashes dung Tongue among the flashes of changing tack
No Josh tosh stung with gung ho bolts flung stumps thwack
Tongue climbs a rung with pace he brung others made us yack
Golly after much flak jolly Ollie the wally again leads the attack
After scold behold in from the cold part of fold & in the black
Coz after Oz fires our tyres flat just old hat we need a new jack
If not too chatty no cheeky drag on sneaky f*g or fatty snack
Hopefully no folly he will be fit on the track give us bit we lack
No off his trolley verbal volley Ollie could be return of the Mac
Silly Billy had no fear, he drowned it in a case of beer.
Handy Andie so adept, kept so busy, she never slept.
Dirty Donna did what you wanna, she lived just down the street.
You didn't have to ask her twice, she was so nice and very sweet.
Hairy Larry all alone, made the women grimace and groan.
Very scary in his approach, girls would crush him like a roach.
Steady Betty, always ready with what ever it took.
Found a way to save the day, be it by hook or crook.
Stan the man does what he can no matter what it takes.
Always appalled by what has happened, then says for goodness sakes.
Gabby Abby giggles and talks with nary a concern.
I wonder if there'll ever be a time she'll ever learn.
Bob the slob wouldn't get a job, he did nothing all day.
He looked a mess, and yes I guess, there's nothing left to say.
Chatty Patty talked so much, she developed lock jaw.
You'd think that that would slow her down, but nah.
Dorky Doug had quite the mug, he looked a little askew.
When he'd greet you on the street, you didn't know what to do.
Nick the stick was very quick, always on the go.
He never walked, he always ran, the word slow, he didn't know.
Guilty Milty quite the guy. He never looked you in the eye.
If you caught him at his game, instead of shame, he'd rather die.
Ditzy Mitzy, not a clue, in her ear, you'd see clear through.
Sandy Sandy, on the beach, the young men she would beseech.
Their young minds she couldn't reach, but that's not what she tried to teach.
Loser Lenny always played, what it cost, he never weighed.
Didn't know when to walk away, should have left, but always stayed.
Pervy Peter made skin crawl, I'm guessing his was pretty small.
You felt like you'd catch a disease, even if he would just sneeze.
Surly Shirley, not too girly, and not very nice.
You can ask her once, a question, but don't ask her twice.
Bendy Wendy in the breeze, did everything down on her knees.
The young boys she'd always please, when they would leer up in the tree's.
Kent the gent, his kindness spent, decided it was time.
To let them know just what he meant, but still did it in rhyme.
Holy Holly, quite contrite, prayed sincerely every night.
Oh, good golly, how she yearned for things to be just right.
In the interest of keeping your interest, I think I'll stop it here.
Like Billy up in the first line, I think I'll have a beer. :)
Rumors
In the celestial coffee shop at Beetle juice street
where the usual crowed of chatty spirits meet
those fallen one’s at they latest rumors
while others flattering with giggle humors
oh firmament of caffeine and all other ine
every bodies foamy concubine
they said I will be coming around
sometime poetic sometimes loud
pushing buttons where are non
better take some sweet muffins for the run
chasing more hilarious firmaments that shine
then not everything needs to rhyme
but days will come and memories slap your face
let me hold you there by your tempting little lace
every rumor has its element of fact
the endorphin riddled body is not intact
o delicious soul senses
temptress of my dependence
bitter smell of roasting beans and chocolate
universe of mental apparate
do not led to temptation
hope I have in reservation
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
Since a child I have had a need to share, to
write conversations to an invisible audience; and
I can get quite wordy and chatty and rambling, I
have no problem sharing private thoughts. At times
my writing is flowery, pretty and picturesque, Oh
I can turn out a whimsical and joyful poem; and
sometimes my style is clear and ever so confident,
even informative, or just plain silly and foolish fun.
But, to be honest with you dear reader my strength,
is in mournful, lamenting and woeful sad writes;
writing of my fears, grief and heartbreak is healing,
it helps me, I hope others see they are not alone.
Oh, I can also turn out a sultry passionate poem,
full of lust and love, or just of gentle sweet feelings;
and I like to write of the past and my family lost, no
telling what I will write- my pen has all the power.
_________________________
April 6, 2016
Poetry/Verse/A Need To Share
Copyright Protected, ID 16-1111-552-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Early Feb 2019 Standard Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place