Long Could Poems
Long Could Poems. Below are the most popular long Could by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Could poems by poem length and keyword.
The fairytale was over
I know I broke your heart
I thought I was doing the right thing
By keeping us apart
I had been dying inside for years
Regretting the choice I made in vain
Longing to hold you once again
To take away all the pain
I thought I had put it all behind me
When I found somebody new
But that was doomed to fail
In the back of my mind was you
I moved across the country
To escape the ghost of you
I was able to let go
And start a life anew
I’ve had a few relationships
That just weren’t meant to be
Not because of them
My misery was all because of me
I thought I had moved past it all
One man had touched my soul
I had learned how to smile again
I had finally felt whole
The happiness didn’t last for long
But not because I couldn’t be open
Cancer took him away from me
Leaving me empty and broken
For seven more years I’ve wallowed
In pain and misery
The sorrow overwhelming
For what could never be
One day on a whim
I saw your name online
I reached out to say I’m sorry
To the one I left behind
You told me you still wanted me
You really led me on
I should have known you were playing me
Then once again you were gone
That was a turning point for me
To stand up after being knocked down
There’s been an awakening
And I’m finally coming around
I won’t give up on love
I deserve to be happy
I will keep searching for the man
Who’s truly right for me
It seems I did something good
To warrant your sweet, sweet smile
I just did what I should,
Nothing sort of an extra mile
It seems I did something good
To warrant your sweet, sweet smile
I just did what I could,
Just enough for a while
Your smile, your sweet, sweet smile!
Which I had not noticed before
Slowly, my memories do compile
Like the times you were entering the door
With something to make me smile
With something to make me cry no more.
Your smile, your sweet, sweet smile!
That smile of doting lore,
That said I did good, now in endless mile
Oh Mom..Encased in frame, no more, no more..
2-21-18
Form:
On a tour across the Scottish highland moor,
one summer noon I stopped by a grand Victorian house.
Curious, I entered silently through the half-closed door,
in the semi-dark room a pile of antiques I could only see .
In the creepy silence before I could say “anybody in”,
the creaking wooden door closed sharply behind me.
Alarmed to the core, I pressed the panic button within,
for with the door closed the way out I couldn’t find.
As I shivered with the eerie feeling of being trapped,
saw a faint figure approach through the hazy hallway,
as if floating in thin air he came in the sinister room,
I saw his scalded face before he turned it away.
As he came near I wailed petrified, “please open the door”,
he didn’t move nor did he utter a single word,
but how he softly opened the heavy door I didn’t know.
I rushed out in a breath outside in the sunlight flood.
In nearby village I queried about the man of that house,
nobody saw hint of life in the haunted house of the dead,
for in the outhouse the fire that took a long time to dowse,
the lone caretaker was burnt to death some two years back.
October 13, 2021
Contest : Ghost Lace
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
On our walk the morning as we made the turn
down a tree filled lane
we were greeted in the silence by a tender…misty rain.
We could feel a slight coolness brush agains our face…
and yet
so delicate were her droplets that we did not get wet.
So light…so mild was that touch of rain
we barely could perceive her
so gentle even the most fragile flowers
had to lift their petals to receive her.
I looked up to try and glimpse the mist
floating against the backdrop of the dawn
but as quickly as she started…that misty rain was gone
And once again I had to smile
as I thanked the rain for the simplicity of her greeting
reminding me to enjoy both life and beauty…
for both of them are fleeting.
"I'm a poet. I know it. Hope I don't blow it"
Do you want to commit what many poets consider a mortal sin?
Do what I just did. Commit an act of plagiarism.
The above first verse isn't mine. It's Mr Zimmerman's,
more otherwise commonly known as Bob Dylan.
I personally don't find plagiarism a mortal sin.
If one plagiarized my work I think I'd thank them,
even if they happened to profit multi billions.
My children could reach thousands or perhaps maybe even millions.
I'd see it as they sharing with the world All My Children.
Some of my children could motivate others to stop smoking or drinking.
or a better approach toward raising and teaching their children.
Some of my children may make otherwise sad people laugh.
My children may cause some who read them to dismiss vile thoughts of wrath.
None of my children encourage plagiarism. It's wrong and everyone knows it.
Spiritual Perspectives would never allow me to to so because I Am A True Poet.
Besides, stealing somebody else's work often leaves both parties in a world of hurt.
I similarly as much with the majority of mine,
are a most noble, honest, and most respectful kind
and I'm proud to say that just like all of they too, I Am A Poet.
***********************************************************************
(Tagged by Carolyn Devonshire and now I'm tagging Simone Segal)
Your assignment Simone is to write a poem ending with I Am A Poet, afterwould you
tag some one else to do the same. C'mon Simone, join the fun. Are ya chicken?
BAR BUK BUK BUK BARRR! - That's supposed to be my chicken sound.
Friendly Blooms
"Flowers we gather along life's highway,
are friends kept in memoirs floral bouquet.”
Quote - poet’s own.
Daffodil, tranquil queen of the bower
Shining as the sun after a shower
Merrily dancing the days blues away
Blowing her trumpet in the nicest way.
Daisy, told me did he love me or not
I cannot recall the answer I got
Still wearing her white/gold heart on a chain
One touch and she's back here with me again.
Forget-me-not, my exquisite flower
Who could charm my days for hour after hour
Wild child with those beguiling eyes so blue
Such fun to be had on nights out with you.
Iris, fragrant you bloom - life you adorn
Velvety soft as the day you were born
Together we've both shared wishes and dreams
Scenarios of tangled webs we'd weave.
Lily, how we laughed till we were giddy
Girls out on the town acting so silly
We shared many splendid times in the past
Say the word and we'll head for second blast.
Peony, voluptuously charming
Dimpled smiles so sweet and quite enchanting
Wherever you went to, men's heads would turn
Yet you always remained quite unperturbed.
Poppy, you'll always remain my hero
Remembered for courageous bravado
Now you've come to the close of life's story
Bloom within heaven's palace of glory.
11th March 2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
***+***
Strolling through the museum today I saw a fancy mirror on the wall.
'Twas framed with baroque gilt and standing nearly nine feet tall.
A card attached revealed that is was over eight score years eld.
I sat on a nearby bench to muse upon past images it might have beheld.
In my reverie I pictured many scenarios, letting my mind roam.
Could it have graced the entry hall of a fine Victorian home,
Reflecting a gracious young lady clad in fancy ribbon and lace,
Sadly parting, seeing her soldier off to war with a final embrace?
Perchance it was displayed in the ballroom of a grand hotel,
Reflecting the graceful dancing of many a beautiful belle!
Could it have been owned by a colonel of cavalry on the frontier,
Where he preened himself practicing to appear militarily severe?
Perhaps it hung on the wall of a raucous Cripple Creek saloon,
Capturing images of high-stepping dancer and drunken buffoon!
Maybe it saw a reflection of the sheriff coming through the door,
To quell a gunfight, leaving desperadoes sprawled upon the floor!
I sensed a profusion of ghostly images peering back at me,
Each an icon with a tale that will be etched for all eternity.
Reflections of exciting and glorious days now long gone by,
Evoking precious memories, perhaps a tear and many a doleful sigh!
Entry for Craig Cornish's "Mirror Mirror" Contest
The Krama path of step by step progression
Also goes by the name of kundalini ascension
The path if there is any path being emptiness
As we slowly erase ferality from consciousness
Desires & fears & attachments & ego craving
All that is transient and as illusions oscillating
Thus making space within for magnetic synergy
Drawing in osmotically divine life pulse energy
Stilling not stillness we let stillness still our being
Transmuting consciousness to bliss enlivening
Now the manner of the energy path may be any
It could be sudden & turbid or gentle & sedentary
What matters most is we rest all vicarious knowing
For what unfolds in reality is amazingly scintillating
In any case thoughts are imaginary & delusional
In silence & stillness we cognise the divine miracle
Our orientation shifts to innocence simply flowing
There being no finality to each enablement glowing
As on date this traveller does affirm with certainty
That explosive ecstatic bliss reignites in continuity
Within
07-August-2020
Toadstools shouldn’t tower so;
A blade of grass be taller than I.
One raindrop shouldn’t get me soaked;
A ladybug look me in the eye.
Something seems amiss, I say;
This really is an awful surprise -
Either I’ve woken in a land of giants,
Or shrunken one hundredth of my size.
If it were a dream I’m in,
I wouldn’t have felt that pinch.
It seems to me a mile today,
Yesterday was just an inch.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have yelled at Mom
And screamed I wanted to live someplace else;
Perhaps that tantrum I threw last night
Shrunk me down smaller than an elf.
What can I do to regain my size
And have normalcy return?
I would say, I am sorry and hug my Mom
If my family I could rejoin.
Being bad really makes you small;
In many more ways than just one.
I have learned this lesson for myself -
Behaving is much more fun.
Who am I
If not an entity which
Science keeps trying to explain
And mysticism keeps trying to elevate?
Who am I
If not a mystery inhabiting a human body
When
Luck could have allowed me
To be a butterfly, a bee or even a worm?
Who am I
Trying to pen down a verse
Hoping to give myself an explanation
About my own essence
When no one else in this world
And no other power, claiming to be as potent
As the mystery which shrouds us all
Can do such?
Why,
Who am I
If not a mixture of molecules
Going where the wind blows me
And where the tides take me
So that someday
When I shall cease to be that
I shall look back and understand, then,
About which I was but
Which I could never explain?
I am music in a symphony,
I am light amidst this blurry world
I am love when faced with hatred
I am poetry in a book
I am prayers in a place of worship
I am kindness in a selfish world
I am unexplainable
To myself!
Who am I then?
Who am I?
If you do know
Please open up my eyes
And let me see that which I am!
9th January 2022