Long Enjoys Poems
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02/10/2026
Fog as thick as Joe Pye's bed straw
While daffodils bloom in awe
While rain drips from plants' and house's eaves
Rain chills as does the breeze
Still, cold morn as the sun rises
Sunny day even though wind compromises
Star magnolia blooms against gold sun
Cold crisp day when all is said and done
Robins, blue-birds feed in front yard
Confused geese won't get in formation's scarred
Needed pouring rain, all of nature enjoys
Sweet aroma of banana bread doesn't annoy
The sun rose golden to clear against a horizon blue
As the sun set magenta was cast against blue for you
The sun rises to warm a very cold day
It sets mostly covered by clouds of gray
02/17/2026
Put your hands up those who want more sillies
Counted six thousand, one hundred and forty
Seems like a bunch of you still like to giggle
Be assured, more's coming up shortly
First one, how does one make holy water?
That's easy, you boil the hell out of it
That's really quite funny and extremely clever
A copyright I've got in my mitts
They say nobody's perfect, well I'm a nobody
So it follows I must be perfect
If four out of five suffer from diarrhea
Must mean one person enjoys it's effects
A computer once actually beat me at chess
But it's no match for me at kick boxing
Beat the poop out of that annoying computer
Other laptops thought it was shocking
I say no to alcohol, but it just doesn't listen
That's the silliest thing I've ever heard
Whenever I talk quietly to a Bloody Caesar
It answers, “you are totally absurd!”
Whad'ya call a boomerang that won't come back
I guess I'd just call it a stick
What do you give a woman who has it all
Your phone number of course, Mr. Slick
Have you watched the video of a joyfull child, a boy running with just stumps for
Feet.' Waving what is left of his arms in joy
A child of war ravaged Palastine a real place in the middle east, where beach sand allows his actions,
cushioning the shock! as
He enjoys the days treats, the gifts of war and rumours of, in a place where vultures truly
Roost and also soar, where real-estate exponents would build luxury penthouses at that same shore.' And there will no doubt be buyers, avid for any spoils? Supporters of human averice wallowing
In each advance? Of conflict with its supperating now full blown boils.' God bless the boy, i don't know his name.' Lord
His example puts me to abject shame..'
I am against this, and indeed all wars and
The human buzzards, that gather, to rip at any spoils.'
On a bitterly cold Winter’s Eve, on
my way to a birthday party,
I passed a group of people singing
in aid of charity,
Their music was great, and the fire
invitingly warm, so I stopped for
a while,
Then I popped a donation and waved
them goodbye,
With only about a few feet from my
destination, I thought I heard a
whining sound, or maybe it was
more like a child's cry.
Anxiously, my eyes darted round
and round,
Then I saw a broken box on the
ground,
Luckily, the street lights were
working, and there it was, a coat
of wet black hair, trembling with
half-closed eyes not more than a
few months old,
My heart sank, then it whispered,
you can’t leave it there,
So I inched closer and noticed it
was almost frozen but a cute little
dear.
Now matured in strength and height,
he enjoys walking with me in the
cool morning air,
In his company, I feel at ease, and
his presence fills my heart with
cheer,
Be it night or day, rain or shine,
through the woods we roam,
His playful spirit and lovely sparkling
eyes could melt a heart made of
stone.
His wagging tail has a rhythmic beat,
He makes me breathless and keeps
me on my feet,
He jumps and leaps with joy,
As he plays with a piece of wood, a
newfound toy,
With eyes of untold wisdom, he’s an
attentive listener in whom I confide,
In my trials and triumphs, he has
been a comfort by my side.
So here’s to a once nameless,
abandoned pup, Fluke, my cherished
companion and a rare treasure,
May our friendship continue with
many more days of joyful
adventures.
By zyrool
Moon isn't different; same do sun.
But we all for peace get the streets shun.
Weather caress us so well.
Should earth not be healed; won't all wish hell?
The pleasure taken indoor is off beast mode,
More than necessity could brace, all calm abode.
Its insane how the crueler widens each moment.
Yes! The news becomes abhorrent.
Each day becomes long in bed;
Couldn't pray of daily bread,
All we thought of is manna from heaven.
Fell truly, though all was distributed amongst seven.
And has day passes, cocks cease to crow...
Only couples continue to plough,
Not even farmers that could heal the land.
Plants lacking sunlight shall live to wither,
In the face of Corona plants, farmers become weary to withstand
The peace streets enjoys lonely as weather slithers.
The dying seeds await their falls...
Farmers aren't scared to grace the silent night*
It seems courtesy colors their calls.
With the burn, they become more delight
Despite all the risks that abounds.
We pray for all farmers' souls gone to rest---
May courage from others be not divest,
That all retires to their compounds.
Truly, our night gowns are wet in tears...
In it we continually pray "everyone's life be repaired."
All roads become pleasing...
That we may find the cure,
Even the ones we tag impure now retreating,
To ease our fears so pure.
If not of faith, should we have forgotten our fountain?
If not by grace, none should have answered --- the origin rejected long on mountain.
Pastors flee; all retires to their comfort,
Imams skip the usual advert of God's stalwart.
Is He no longer He who has done great in the past?
Or was it our faith becoming so aghast?
O God almighty, be thou forever receive honor.
We kowtow as a hopeless goner,
Let thy favour lights our grace,
And turn around the world's case.
Though weary hearts rarely render praises!
As if our fights were not fractious enough,
Look, children have picked up the cue from us
And unless we call truce for peace and love,
Things might blow off the roof what with all fuss,
She complained once, nudged by the lost out sense.
Relax, I said, a conflict has its use,
So has this friction if confined to fence,
Only, it’s a double-edged sword to choose.
Life, what an opus if fights forge out friends!
Thank friction, a caveman found out the fire,
Stop all chafing, wheels would go out of hands,
It can lift humdrum life a tad higher,
It’s friction that dull edges get vetted,
Without, bonds of ties get not well-knotted.
If friction does within fixed fulcrum lay,
But not, were it to rub in a wrong way.
__________________________________
Sonnet | 01.01.2026 |conflict/friction, family, marriage
Note: This sonnet should have ended by the fourteenth line, but for the fact that every wife enjoys her birth right to have a last word, and here she insisted on adding her own couplet.
Wordlessly I rise to answer a long-ago call.
I admire the rainbow but I say nothing at all.
But I notice.
The exhausted frown that she tried to hide.
All the painful truths that she openly denies.
I notice.
The songs that she plays on the radio and sings to on a summer day.
The laughter of the people around us while we dance and play.
I notice.
The wind blowing through her hair while she stares into the night sky.
The sound of the river rapids close to her feet while she enjoys a pie.
I notice.
Whenever their lilting voice falters; whenever they dare to speak aloud.
Their courage on the stage where they dared to sing in front of a crowd.
I notice.
The friends who tell him they care for him but don't actually show it.
The family that comforts and consoles him in those required moments.
I notice.
The cobblestones along the streets, light posts, trees and gardens.
All the chirping birds and fluttering butterflies near the closest fens.
I notice.
It doesn't matter if I am actually here
nor there -- even if it feels like I'm everywhere.
I will always notice.
The month of fasting has come
The month of contemplation has come
Has come the holy month to the followers of Muhammad SWA
Home quarantine is going on
Isolation system is going on
Going on the festival - stay home; corona must be gone
NCoV-19 enjoying the social distancing all around world
Residual homes are now self made jail zone
To save the future lives from infectious doom
Wherever you go for the virus world is now jail horizon
Satan enjoys all eleven months according to Mohammedan tone
Heard that God imprisons the Satan for good praying in this month
But how wonderfully the believers are in lockdown on earth
By God's verdict now the virus is the independent Satan
Socalled believers are living in the penance of undone
24.04.2020 (Chattogram City)
In the heart of the evergreen state where mountains touch the sky
You’ll find the PNW Poetry Guy under Mt. Rainier’s watchful eye
With the South Sound’s rain-soaked landscape boasting tall fir trees
The PNW Poetry Guy’s verses are penned in the cool misty breeze
From Seattle's shimmering skyline to Tacoma’s tide-flats
The PNW Poetry Guy honors his roots wearing many hats
Observer, consumer, and admirer of the beauty mountains to sea
The PNW Poetry Guy inspired by an Emerald City spirit so free
Mossy paths winding through sprawling foothills in the Cascades
The PNW Poetry Guy enjoys the forest-covered steep hiking trail grades
Through the Puget Sound whispers to Ocean Shore’s rhythmic songs
The PNW Poetry Guy writes among scents of coffeeshops, fish grease and bongs
City Center, Montlake and SODO are special places energizing Seattleite’s hearts
The PNW Poetry Guy at the stadiums and arenas as our teams do their parts
Sure, we have problems but through diversity and inclusion they are addressed
The PNW Poetry Guy is proud to be born and raised in the majestic Northwest
A child as grows enjoys rainbow of joys,
Many a marvel in a wondrous world,
Joys mingling with toys getting bouncy buoys,
A world of birds and butterflies unfurled.
As comes his youth that changes only toys,
Rewards of life so naïve staying no more--
Boys chasing girls, and girls giggly at boys,
And soon mid-age knocks at a blissful door,
Clay pots as if in kiln get to ripen,
Realities reel out nigh hard and keen,
The joys of old times no more enliven,
Time knocks, nudges him to kneel, look within,
In hope he grows old, fulfilled life to find,
But grows blasé, bliss of ere left way behind.
___________________________
Sonnet | 08.09.2014 | life, reflection, childhood, youth, joys, old age
Note: As one grows old he tends to reflect on his past