Long Daydreamed Poems
Long Daydreamed Poems. Below are the most popular long Daydreamed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Daydreamed poems by poem length and keyword.
Jealousy overcomes me like
an anaconda suffocating my prideful puffed penguin chest
and the thought of your hand running across the skin of someone else is grievous
So uncomfortable, I feel a wave of something wearisome, and it's left a skunky sour taste in my
mouth,
nauseas at the fact that you could look that way.... at someone ELSE
A wave of irritability floods over me like a tsunami of self doubt, I take my aggression out on
myself
curse obscenities to numb the guilt of my defeat in all interpersonal relationship realms
I know that I will never measure up to the standards of perfection, that I have daydreamed up
I feel like a child reaching up to the cookie counter, but I can never manage to reach that
perfection shelf
It sat on Miss Ruth's desk, a sphere of intrigue and wonder.
'Twas a globe that in my reveries I'd gaze at and ponder.
It depicted marvelous vistas that seductively beckoned me,
And lit a fire in my youthful soul for places I yearned to see!
How my free spirit longed to escape her penetrating eyes,
And sail upon the foamy seas or soar thro' pristine skies,
To mysterious far-away lands of which I could only dream.
The globe hypnotized me as it basked in the sunlight's beam.
Ah! To scale the heights of Mount Fuji in beautiful Japan,
Or travel the rugged Khyber Pass in mysterious Pakistan.
To glide past ancient, majestic castles on the River Rhine,
Or visit holy places where Jesus walked would truly be devine!
I daydreamed about a safari to the nation of Mozambique;
I pined to see Mount Pelee Volcano on the Isle of Martinique.
The Egyptian Pyramids along the River Nile I must also see,
And Holland's windmills, tulips and its famed Zuider Zee!
What exotic places Casablanca, Istanbul and Athens must be!
And I want to see the lovely islands of the Caribbean Sea.
With glazed eyes I'd fantasize about world-wide expeditions,
'Til she'd wake me from my trance with scorching admonitions!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Never had my own child name; I was a pair. An identical, three pounds each.
Deemed cute, and we knew it. Dancing and prancing; dressing alike. Yuk!
Sundays were spent at church and grandmas. I was outside. My twin was in.
My husband found me at six. Claimed he would marry me. I hated him.
Teachers despised me. I despised them too, no secret. Strong feelings.
School, a prison where I cartooned and daydreamed, hating it.
Married young, best time of my life. Three babies. Better times.
Unforeseen artist, poet, word player, came into my own in my fifties.
Now live my created reality in the country among faeries, butterflies and flowers.
Cartooning, daydreaming and still at school. Saving haters one at a time.
Written 9-28-2019
Contest: Story of my Life in 10 lines
Sponsor: Silent One
Roasted my back hanging over eaves on a scalding rooftop.
Painted, drove, had sex.
Slowly replaced my blood with a hitest mixture
Of caffeine and ephedrine.
Painted, drove, daydreamed about sex.
Watched the sun burn up the grass from bluedust skies.
Painted, drove, bought girlie mags & read about sex.
Missed the kids, yet was often vexed by their demands when home.
Painted, drove, sucked beers in the dead of night
By the wordprocessor - & wrote about sex.
Learned how to watch girls from the rearview mirrors.
Painted, drove, had friends over & talked about sex.
Bought a house, indentured myself to the year 2020.
Painted, drove, had some more sex.
Lesson One: The path to success is long and thorny.
Lesson Two: Stress and stimulants make me horny.
Resolution: Next year, in matters pertaining to screwing,
My motto will be: "Less thinking, More doing."
Dim Sum Dong sat at the WEF subversion of free Countries event at Davos, Switzerland and daydreamed about prostitutes home in China and the
organ harvesting and concentration -re-education
camps and thought, these things like re-education
do take concentration,
"the more you know...star/rainbow".
Speaking of idiots,
he began to think about his Godchild,
Guiseppe John Wang Chung, or
"Gus Ferenski" for short.
A mixture of his father's names,
a 49 year old Thai Ladyboy named Jack Thomas
and Chuck Shroomer. It was Dim Sum Dongs responsibility to see that the beast, I mean Gus,
was raised in the traditions of-
Country betray-ment and all of the juices and trappings, heretoforthenafterenceforth.
He snapped out of his daydream screaming,
"I ain't no punk abeatch !",
only to find the traffickers at Davos
all staring at him, embarrassing snafu
or was it called ragu?
He forgot for a second while wondering
about the answer,
that everybody had their arms folded,
some with hands on their hips with one leg farther extended
out further out extended further than the
other leg wanting an explanation for his outburst, like you would find in a "Hamburger Helper" commercial,
But no one was saying "oh Mom", here.
He needed a distraction, fast! The only thing he could
think of was pointing to
a random victim bastard and yelling, "anti vaxxer!"
The crowd at Davos
bludgeoned the woman to death and everything
was as it ought to be, again,
taking their seats to listen to the next fellow traitor.
John Kerry...
Time was running out, Christmas Eve was drawing nigh.
The elves had worked day and night since early in July!
To meet Santa's toy-making schedule there must be no slack,
To ensure there were lots of goodies for Santa's toy sack!
Elfie was a mischievous but hard-working little sprite.
He was the littlest elf of all, alas, this added to his plight!
It seemed that the harder he worked and try as he might,
The hapless little fellow just could not do anything right!
For example, he put Jills in boxes labled 'Jacks in the Box',
And placed chirping chickadees in all the cuckoo clocks!
As he daydreamed he painted the fire trucks aquamarine,
And put wheels and wings on every toy submarine!
Talking dolls counted cadence, "Hup, two, three, four";
Toy soldiers cried, "I want my mama!" as they marched to war!
He placed Lincoln Logs in boxes labeled 'Tinker Toys'!
Oh! What a Christmas 'twould be for little girls and boys!
Santa mused, "It seems that every job I put him on he mars;
So I'll put him to work pulling levers making Christmas stars!"
He did so well Santa said, "Won't you come along with me,
And place a brilliant star atop every child's Christmas Tree?"
There’s a nadir of personal despair -
In feminine terms it’s - No hair, no flair!
My hairy genes caused me lifelong distress,
I longed for a look I didn’t possess.
I daydreamed of golden locks as a girl,
Blessed with neither a wave nor with a curl.
Straighter than hay mine hang in disarray,
Cradle to coffin - lifelong bad hair day.
And so pertaining my hapless hirsute
I was braided, I ironed in my pursuit.
Slept with hard rollers, a perm I did try,
And lots of hairspray, that’s how I went by.
In vanity’s name I bent backwards in vain
Since straight and straighter my old locks remain.
No quiescent coiffure is meant for me -
Distressing tresses are my destiny.
In my youth, sometimes walking down the street, I daydreamed,
fantasizing all the thrills fate had in store for me.
Reveries of romance became reality for such unbelievably short time
at last I tossed those foolish daydreams to the side!
What good were they? It seems to me, we’re dealt
fate’s hand, whatever it may be. Now as I grow older (wiser?)
I know where wishful thinking gets me. Old reveries have died.
I wonder now if it’s too late to wait again for fate to realize new dreams!
July 3, 2018 for Silent One's Eight Lines Of Fate, When You Wonder If It Is Too Late Poetry Contest
11/29/2023
She daydreamed of his body, so strong.
Now was that really so morally wrong?
A man with shining, ripped, physicality
And eyes as inviting, as the green, deep sea.
Recalling their splendid nights together.
Nights absent of any of innocent demeanor.
Unbridled passion, twas a magic hook.
All published one day in a poetry book!
Readers eager to relive vividly their heat?
Ah, their passions, one day shall surely meet!
BACK TO SCHOOL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In August, young Sam felt quite cool,
with a backpack, he headed to school.
He packed up some peanuts,
and a few silly musical cuts,
in his lunchbox then thought, “Aren’t I a jewel?!”
His classmates all chuckled and cheered,
as he whispered, “I’m ready, don’t fear!”
With a pencil in paw,
he scribbled with awe,
“Math’s nuts! Let’s eat lunch, I declare!”
The teacher, the scholarly Miss Owl, hooted,
“Pay attention, Sam, or to office you’ll be booted.”
But he daydreamed of the oak trees,
and the buzzing of sweet honeybees,
while plotting his next acorn loot.