Long Dallies Poems
Long Dallies Poems. Below are the most popular long Dallies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dallies poems by poem length and keyword.
Rosey, had a rose of course
And Dan had Dandelions.
Sonny sought out Sunflowers
And Pete perfumed Petunias.
Maisey dreams of Daisys,
Cyrus clings to Iris.
Pops loves Poppys everywhere and
Viola vies for Violets.
Amy loves the Amaryllis
While Dolly dallies Dahlias.
Don’t miss Miss Chrysanthemum or
Aly’s awsome Alyssum.
James with Jasmine ran and
Percy picks the Jersey Lily.
Casey cares for Camelia and
Phyllis leaps through Lilies.
Angie’s all “Angelica” while
Bob boasts of Blossums.
Fiona’s Flora flies and
Abe craves more Azalea.
Beatrice bathes in Begonias and
Cassie crafts with Calia.
Goodness, 300 flowers or more!?
Oh distain, I’m out of names!
No more room for blooms
I’ll stop meddling, and “petal” on.
Time’s
Shadows creep and crawl across the essence of time.
Time echoes across and throughout my rhyme .
Life’s moments, lived on mountain tops, in valleys’.
Memories dance upon mirrored surfaces, never dallies
as the dance, ripples endlessly into the realms of eternity
where glimpses of, are but flakes of, what once was reality
Momories
Memories – not but a time machine
taking one back – the essence to glean
from that which a truth may be seen,
that living in and of the moment, was missed
and those experiences – goodbye is kissed
forevermore, only to be reminisced.
B. J. “A” 2
May 30th 2013
Seems lm in an ongoing fight with the devil,
He's constantly trying to drag me to his level.
He dallies in sin,
And tries to lure me in.
But that's hardly where I'm gonna settle.
He always picks his time to try and shine ,
When he thinks, I feel I'm losing my mind .
He flashes his trinkets ,
Cause he knows I'm probably thinking it.
But I got him fooled this time .
Old devil he never plays fair ,
I was troubled but he didn't care .
Yea he pretended to be my friend ,
Just to lure me in.
I got my bible so he wouldn't dare.
Cause giving in would be a helluva price
And I'm not looking forward to that sacrifice
But he stays on my trail
Hoping that I fail
Which puts me in the fight of my life
The mechanical bird covered with diamonds, sings only
waltzes until the insides give way, and the sound
of his craft is crowing. Whether or not
(my Ladies and Gentlemen, and the Emperor above all)
the mood is coquetry, gurgling as if their mouths held
sweet water, cheesemongers, chambermaids and courtiers,
lackeys and the Duchess, all try for a nightingale,
and the Chief Imperial Singer of the Bed Chamber.
The bird, wound up, wags its tail and sounds the same
tune (decided beforehand) times over, and the moment
of a thousand gold lamps, where the walls and the floor
are made of china is recompense for the title of "Cook."
Even the Emperor's heart is on the left side.
The writers of books insist the Black Art untrue,
but the kitchen maid waiting in the outside world
where the garden ends, finds the cow's bellow gracious,
and frogs croaking in the marsh are church bells.
She dallies for tickets to the court festival to see
the emperor dining, and the ZI-ZI-BI of the Music Master
charms the evil away though he fix on her the great
hollows of his eyes and jewels glare.
In the woods blue by the bay, a small grey bird among
branches believes all that is written, watching
maids and their men grow merry on tea, their forefingers
in the air as they dance.
"Though I live alone,
my song is not stone,
Neither rubies, diamonds, nor pearls,
And the world is a place.
There the actual grace
Will tolerate waltzes and whirls.
Where the loud drums sound,
Both upside and down,
The sword strikes, the gold banner flies,
But porcelin takes care,
I sing as I dare,
And tears are in the Emperor's eyes."
Form:
Besotted, beguiled, bewitched,
I walked outwitted and benumbed
into her web of love willingly.
She stared at me like
a black widow sizing up her prey.
What draws a moth
to flirt with the flame
or a nimblest fish
to bite the deceitful bait?
What lures a fawn
to step on the snare?
What heavenly bliss do
fools in love seek to attain?
As the moth
singes in the flame
and brings not its wings
to steer away
Nor the feisty fawn
set itself free
try as it may,
So does he
who’s smitten with love
to wiggle and thrash about
like the foolish fish
until his last breath!
He who dallies with a maiden
With rue his heart is soon laden,
Dabble not with this flame of love--
A firestorm from the heavens above.
Slip away, oh, slip away
at the first light of day!
~Form: 3 Freedom