Long Errors Poems
Long Errors Poems. Below are the most popular long Errors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Errors poems by poem length and keyword.
It was another River Sharks game as we've done before
Things pretty much the same in walking through the door
Just a very lite crowd as you could sit wherever you want
Place never really got loud except after the mascot's stunt
Yeah, we were regulars been there and we've all done that
We seen our share of errors as there my son and I had sat
When a foul ball came upon this day right to his very seat
As two twins made their way but then turning in sad defeat
Offering the two the ball, my son said, "here you can have it"
So cute and not that tall the little pair were shocked quiet a bit
Slowly taking it from his hand then running back to their seat
I just thought that it was grand in my son doing such a feat
Then over came an attendant saying they saw what he had done
In the message he had sent they did something special for my son
So when the next bat broke then that player had signed his name
This is the gift of which he spoke that made it such a special game
Now among all my memorabilia that broken bat shines!
In the twilight of thoughts, I wander,
A stream of consciousness, an open river,
Reflecting on the echoes of years, scattered and pondered,
In the labyrinth of time, where shadows linger.
We are always asked to understand,
To step into the shoes of others, their fate,
No matter how outdated, foolish, or grand,
To view their errors, their wasted life, with empathy.
With kindness, we look upon the elderly,
Their lives like manuscripts, faded by time,
But age is the sum of untold stories,
Of actions and choices that fill each page.
They have aged poorly, some might say,
Because they lived unfocused, blind,
Refusing to see, day after day,
Not their fault? Or perhaps mine?
I am asked to hide my truth, my viewpoint,
To shield them from their own despair,
To dance around fears, old and new,
In a world where honesty is rare.
Age is no crime, this we know,
But the shame of deliberately wasted lives,
Among so many, where hope does not grow,
Is a burden, a sorrow we silently bear.
In the mirror of time, I see their face,
A reflection of dreams, now cold and distant,
A life lived in shadows, devoid of grace,
A story of courage, never told.
Yet, in this twilight, a spark remains,
A glimmer of hope, in the embers of night,
That even in lives marked by stains,
There lies a chance, a ray of light.
For we all must face, the truth within,
The paths we’ve chosen, the roads we've walked,
In the end, it’s never too late to begin,
To seek, to find, the dreams we've stalked.
So, as I wander in this stream of thought,
I find solace in the lessons learned,
That every life, no matter how caught,
In shadows, can still be turned.
I remember that boy standing there in the outfield grass,
Waiting and watching so no ball would pass.
He was in right field, or was it center or left?
I only know he played each with its own kind of depth.
The emblazoned cap snug against his skull, shading his face from the sun.
The game was all that mattered, even if he was having fun.
The colorful jersey which he proudly wore, with a number on his back,
Showed that he was part of the team, so everyone could keep track.
He waited patiently for a ball to come, so he could make a play.
Sometimes he waited the entire game, sometimes for a whole day.
But he stood his ground like the ballplayer he wanted to be,
Taking his stance, just like the pros he would see.
He would rub his mitt, then gently hold it open over his knee,
When the ball came to him, he was sure to be ready.
Was he wearing sneakers, or proudly putting on his cleats,
He wore bluejeans at first, shedding them for a baggy uniform without pleats.
It was those early years in the outfield where he was taught,
That errors are made, and perfection was sought.
He realized that errors would be part of the game,
Not only in the outfield, but in life all the same.
I remember that boy at each little league game I see,
For in truth I clearly recall that boy...once it was me.
For Oil Painting #4
contest by: Eve Roper
written: 12/12/15
I’m sitting at my keyboard
Just ranting and abusing
Which my long suffering wife
No longer finds amusing.
I’m both dyslexic and dyspraxic
Which is why I swear and curse
Because for a creative person that
Combination couldn’t be worse.
To make matters harder I Have
a keyboard that judy can’t spell
And predictive text just
Can Make my life hell.
I bought a dictation programme,
Money very badly spent.
It just can’t cope with
My East Yorkshire accent.
So if my rambling is at time
More than usually absurd
Full of errors and typos
And the odd little non word
Please be a little forgiving
For what you are getting to see,
With all those helpers switched off
The unaided uncorrected real me.
Methinks I inadvertently got entangled
without deliberate intent, sans whirled
wide web, albeit courtesy of yours truly,
who (flattered upon at least one maybe
more'n one Prose.com subscriber click-
king regularly regarding posts this scribe
electronically broadcast) unwittingly, me
violated unspoken/unwritten breach of
considerable proportion, which singular
impetus arose spontaneously to transmit
(without said dude indulging crude, lewd,
nude... offensive faux pas), that hopefully
doth newt engender an unstoppable feud
(tantamount as if purely innocent motive
capital one offence) pseudo cryptic allusion
to female - only referenced her boat oxe
screen name took objection hinting at my
appreciation by acknowledging humorous
indirect linkedin pleasantries at appealing
to inquisitiveness about this generic garden
variety *****sapien, (he just learned how
to walk erect this morning), but much ado
about nothing, asper comedy of errors this
harmless by George run of the mill on the
floss imp pond durable bard, she (naturally
squared the circle, a laudatory feat), perhaps
concluded, aye tried iterating what appeared
as theorem (from unpublished recently disc
hovered "FAKE" testament, sans Matthew),
and of course no ambition arises to hire any
gumshoe - well worth his polyisobutylene in
chiclets will be pursued, but loose vicious
bloodhounds after this doggone muttering
ole coon holding him hostage within his oh
zone unnaturally square cage.
Is my awareness limited by my bad habits?
Within the absence of engine sounds I find time to sigh
I should be searching for the cultivators of my net dreams
Instead I’m buying paper for the books I plan to write
What the heck? It could be my awareness is limited
I feel echo chills from out of all the walls
The gradual sacrifice of my solo man
I’m nailed to my nickels and dimes
I make all of my skillful errors
while pounding on Sunday keyboards
Anonymously meeting in interstellar coffee shops
limits defining my unlimited choices
So I play Louis Armstrong
pondering the reason for words
These words borrowed from his titles
I feel the echo chills pounding like rain
This requires no sacrifice
I’m paying for nothing
I removed his Debit card from the table
It could be one more of those bad habits!
I was inspired to write this piece after reading some of “Sand Blown’s” poems. I found the title names to be intriguing so I used them to knit this piece together. Please join me in welcoming a talented new poet.
Wrapping your loving arms around
somebody whom you love with passion....
is an expression of affection,
and no one expects a reward!
Only God gives love freely...
to demonstrate how intense is kindness;
and we ought to give it kindly,
not shying away from mindfulness!
Giving more than you have to someone
who needs comforting words...
is surely an expression of affection,
and deeper understanding without recompense!
Our struggles may cause us to worry,
leaving behind unpleasant reminders...
that we never learn from errors
and continue to act improperly?
Smiling widely and honestly
is the truest expression of affection,
welcomed as the most genuine intention;
why can't we all love sincerely?
This life is none than a short jeourney,
fulfilling what's called destiny;
lives are glorified by their deeds,
but also destroyed by insidious influences!
Coming to the rescue of your closest friends,
who seem troubled by hardships or pain,
helps them find hope when they only had tears;
stand by them with that expression of affection!
Argh... dog dam mutt
(boot exhausted tending Milan Collie)
If only father time could... but
yea right Matthew Scott cut
your losses, accompanied
with sinking feeling in gut
ready to vent off steam
start fire next time and burn
(billy me I merrily Joel King),
down house i.e. mancave hut...,
in tot, while yours truly emulates
one among many talking heads
with tongue doth jut
out mouth making nasty facial feature
at reflection nut
tin much else
except, perhaps try to put
gear into overdrive any
remembered magmatic
lava lee fragments
to pull this mad man
out of figurative rut
nothing gainsaid verbally taunting self
with expletive epithet
more colorful than tut...tut... tut.
Chalk permanent heart wrenching
pinteresting kindling horrifying
devastating loss regarding
opus magnus extremely cross
at yours truly, nope no ace
in the hole, hence best bet to
down bottle of tranquilizers
with swig flask of booze to brace
transcending after life netherland,
where angels plucking harps
magically can exorcise
Manhattan goose stepping
quite pheasant hunched mountebank
Norte worthy dame
giving bankable chase
courtesy cloistered chaste
siren of Titan (on the
order of Mrs. Doubtfire)
hoop fully abducts me than
willingly, meticulously,
and compliantly doth erase
every vestige of writings.
Thoroughly cooked duck, dogged
dully dilly dallying gent
realized errors of
his ways, where bent
crooked right hand pinky the chief
hankering provocateur leant
admission (for one adult) cogent
tam o shanter donning Brit with scent
tum mental affectation unable to console
yours truly, who feeble
effort non poetic event
merely hoped to muster
even lame to assuage
smoldering ire, wherever
sense and sensibility went.
Gifts, Talents, Abilities and Great Potential
...they are given to us so that we may be a giver also.
Isn't it great that God does not give ALL them to one individual.
It would causes one to rage in pride feeling that he or she did it on their own.
In God's infinite wisdom He knew that our finite mind could not hold it all. However, we MUST be open beyond our limited mind so that we maybe able to expand father beyond our understanding.
As a rope is entwine together,
makes it stronger and able to carry a heavier load.
As balloon is inflated, it allowed expansion to grow,
progressing to maturity.
The term that one may use it that;
"I am a self make man (or woman)."
Are you? Let's wait and see, time will tell.
As Christmas season approaches and the New Year is in sight,
let us ALL give Thanks to a living God who sent His only begotten Son so that we ALL may face the challenge of 2025.
If you find any errors in this message,
please find it as a time in my limited finite understanding
of the Gift, Talent, Ability and Great Potential He has place within my reach.
2024.4.24
Ever since you installed on my phone,
All those fantastic Firmware,
After explaining about privacy issues.
I thought it was a wonderful idea
And you did it with good intentions
To protect me from all those spywares' infection.
But did you know, when you decided to end our friendship,
You left me struggling how to use them.
Most of the Apps you installed
Had started to have errors and troubles.
Every where I went, people shoke their head,
Stated your Apps were too far advanced.
Some even made several attempts,
At the end, they gave up on helping me,
I did not know what to do.
Someone suggested deleting all your Apps,
Getting back to the normal Google.
After a while, I decided to keep all your Apps,
Let people slowly introducing the spyware back.
Although you walked away from me,
But you actually left behind
A huge empty hole in me,
Many strange and weird Apps
Like Amaze, Conversations, Newpipe,
MPV, F-Droid, Open Camera and TEdit
And lot of Apps to drain my phone's batteries.
People also made comments,
I have been brain washed by your terrible privacy idea.
BB, why did you do this to me?