Long Especially Poems
Long Especially Poems. Below are the most popular long Especially by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Especially poems by poem length and keyword.
Please do not define me by the house I’m living in.
You don’t know where I’m going; you don’t know where I’ve been.
Just because my house is not a mansion or chalet,
Doesn’t mean I can’t be just as happy where I stay.
The circumstances of our lives can change from time to time.
It seems to me that this time, a change will soon be mine.
I’m not sure I am ready to face this task again.
I’m longing for the days of youth and happy times back then.
No matter where I hang my hat, my heart is still the same.
Four walls alone won’t make a home when filled with doubt or shame.
A house is made of bricks or wood, but this I must confide…
A house is not a home unless true love resides inside.
A home should be a place that reaches out its arms to you,
Some rocking chairs on your front porch, where you enjoy the view.
As soon as you set foot inside the door you know you’re home,
Where Home Sweet Home is always best, no matter where you roam.
The welcome mat, it does just that…it makes you feel secure.
It doesn’t matter where you’re at, or if you’re rich or poor.
I think a home can know if you are feeling sad or blue,
And in its way, will do its best to take good care of you.
To me, there's nothing sadder than a house no one lives in.
No family to call its own, and empty rooms within.
Its windows are the eyes that blankly stare, as if to say,
“Won’t you come inside and take my loneliness away?”
The houses where I’ve lived before were happy ones, you see.
I loved each one in different ways and I know they loved me.
I left my mark on each of them in one way or another,
Especially the one I shared with Daddy and my Mother.
This home won’t be as nice as some I’ve lived in, in the past.
Financial strain can dwindle down a bank account so fast.
I have to do what’s right for me, and not for any other.
If you don’t like the place I live, I can’t go buy another.
I hope I won’t be judged by where I live, because you see
Your circumstances, too could change; you may live next to me.
Tornado Magnet, Trailer Trash…call me what you will.
The only thing that matters is the sweet relief I’ll feel.
Although it’s sad to leave this home, I never understood,
The heavy burden of my debt would soon be gone for good.
So if you want to tease me now, I’m sure you will agree,
This “almost” Trailer Trash is very soon to be debt-free!
I told my secret so dear to the babbling brook.
Across pebbles and stones my secret it took.
It held my secret for miles along its ebb and flow.
Once reaching a raging river, it let my secret go.
So, I whispered my secret into the grasses so high.
I heard them murmuring to each other “but why?”
I thought about my secret under a fluffy cloud.
And wondered what would happen if I told it aloud.
I thought about the repercussions, it made me cry.
I lay thinking about my secret looking up at the sky.
I decided not to divulge the secret that I will keep.
And even then, uncontrollably my eyes began to weep.
I decided to keep my truest secret, of the one I adore,
Else my treasured secret, won’t be a secret anymore.
Else my treasured secret, won’t be a secret anymore.
I’ll only tell it to the wind, as I have never done before.
The wind will carry my secret to its heights unknown
There by the wind my secret may be tossed and flown
Safely along roadways, then along a tree lined avenue.
Where no-one will ever be able to tell that secret flew
Trouble struck when dear wind took on a different form,
And passed my secret to the eye of a brewing storm.
Swirled about, flashed by lightning and by thunder struck,
Then graciously saved by a rainbow, bearing so much luck.
My secret became enhanced by colors in all kinds of hue.
Now there was absolutely nothing that I could possibly do.
So, I guess it’s the time, (I’m only guessing), it’s really true,
So, I will reveal my treasured secret to all, especially you.
So, I will reveal my treasured secret to all, especially you.
The nice thing about my secret is that it is very true.
There is something very special about this secret of mine.
I have kept it close to my heart safe, true and quite fine.
When it is time to let it be known then I shall let it slide.
I will shout from the rooftops, shout it far and most wide.
I will offer it to the universe and splendidly say it with pride.
The joy of revealing my secret will make me warm inside.
But wait, brook, pebbles, stones, grasses, river and the cloud,
The storm, rainbow, road, avenue and wind, all make a crowd..
Maybe I have told enough of my wonderful secret now.
I fear my secret is already out and quite well known somehow.
Maybe I should just let my secret known, when I write a book.
I told my secret so dear to the babbling brook.
In regard to human's such abject abyss and absurdity, we can't help questioning: can human still be indulgent in the virulent vainglory having shaped their pretentious and dangerous preconception of a human-centered and human-dominated cosmos? can human waywardly go on with their ecologic vandalism having already triggered the macrocosmic nature's wrath and punishment? In fact, all their perverted precepts and practices have spoilt or to a large extent countervailed the hard-earned results of their positive efforts. ( e.g. vaccine development, treatment of the infected)
As can be seen more often than not: Overloaded hospital wards and overwrought medical workers are outflanked by waves of overwhelming epidemic peaks, and the process of vaccination popularization outpaced by the viruses' variation and proliferation. Indeed, human's arrogance, ignorance and particularly conscience absence have estranged them from one informative sense: The best remedy is the due respect for the macrocosmic nature that nurtures the entire universe and the due reverence for her sovereign system that really dominates every being and everything living or working inside her domain; The best vaccine is the virtue of taking all harmless lives kindly and taking kindly to the nature's heartfelt call for every bio-community member's benign ecofriendly behavior.
Having ironed out the aforesaid reasoning and arguments and having made clear our firm attitude and stance, we hereby urge Spanish, Dutch butchers and especially the Dane banes:
Stop your criminal and cruel cull without delay, do not engage any more in any activity that may bring us extinction, mass toll and physical or psychological harm, let us resume enjoying our old habitat safe and calm.
We also want to extend our exhortation to all of the human being: Make a thorough stock-taking of the circumstances of correlated infection-prone species and overall epidemic aspect before renouncing your previous evil ways and recommitting to building a livable eco-environment and lovable bio-community. Only after the strict imposition of precautionary disciplines upon your daily behavior, would there be a promising future of fine faith and fair fortune for every existent being under the sun, of course including yourselves; In the bargain, would come genuinely effective epidemic-controlling & prevention mechanisms for yourselves.
MY CRAZY CREATURES
This rhyme's about creatures of various sorts.
Creatures with fangs, hairy bellies and warts.
They cause lots of mischief all day long.
Mum always blames me but I’ve done nothing wrong.
These creatures are crazy. They’re not what you'd think.
Turn over the page. Find out more in a blink...
The first is Belcher. He really does stink.
He lives in the toilet and plays in the sink.
He likes to be naughty when nobody's in.
He cannot be found when you're searching for him.
Dad always moans when he sees all the stains.
I tell him it’s Belcher, “He’s done it again!”
Two thinks that she’s pretty, but really she’s not.
She has warts on her face and is covered in spots.
She has a big bottom and six hairy feet.
Her name is Ghastly. She’s really not sweet.
She steals mum’s lipstick and paints her mouth red.
She tries on her dresses, throwing clothes on the bed.
As soon as mum enters she’s so quick to flee.
I guess that’s why my mum always blames me.
Number three is so quiet but I know that he’s there.
He smudges my face and puts glue in my hair.
I call him Hush Monster as he follows me round,
Putting mud on my clothes without making a sound.
I aim for the paper but the pen marks my face.
Mum looks at me glumly, "You're such a disgrace."
I try to tell her that it just wasn't me.
"It was Hush monster, Mummy. Why can't you see?"
The worst of them all is a creature called Doom.
I'm always in trouble when he's in the room.
He often burps loudly when we're eating our food.
Mum frowns with disgust. "Now, don't be so rude!"
He cackles with laughter whilst spilling my drink.
"Be careful," shouts dad. "Don't you ever think?"
You may well wonder why he's never been caught.
Well…he's the size of a pea and he’s very well taught.
He rolls under the sofa after doing things bad,
And I look to my parents who seem really mad.
These crazy creatures I like the best.
I’m glad I could share them with you and the rest.
Belcher, Ghastly and a monster called Hush,
Then don't forget Doom. They all make me blush.
They live in my house and like to cause bother,
Driving everyone mad, especially my mother.
They’re experts in mischief. They get me in trouble.
Now I’ll tell you a secret that may burst your bubble.
Whilst these creatures are crazy it has to be said,
They don’t really exist, “They’re all in my head!”
(Continued from Bill's side 10“)
"Never mind that. I know you well enough to know you know what you’re doing.
Just stick with me and keep me informed especially on this one. I’ll give you as much
leeway as I can. I got a hunch this case is going to be rough in more ways than
one. Get me? I’ve been around a while. I didn’t come with this morning’s milk. The
Captain and I already been discussing this one with the Commissioner. This
vigilante thing is dangerous and already out of control.”
Bill still didn’t know where this was going but at least so far he hadn’t been
demoted to walking a beat. His hope and nerve was picking up. This Griggs guy
was tough and had a rep for no bull. “Yeah, that’s wha ….”
“Just shut up and listen, Sgt. Lipton. The Captain doesn’t want any part of that
vigilante case. He wants a good record for an upcoming political agenda. That’s no
secret. He doesn’t want anything to do with this case because he’s afraid it won’t
get solved and his record will be stained with it.
You just stick to what you’re supposed to be doing and keep your ear to the
ground. From experience I know that vigilante.. if it’s just one,... isn’t going to work
out his issues in just one precinct. Keep in touch with what’s going on while you’re
on and off duty. If you got to check something out off the cuff, you are to ask me
first. Get it? Mums the word to the Captain. If he hears anything about our talk I’ll
deny every bit of it and you’ll be left holding the bag. Do you get my drift here Sgt.?
……… … .. …. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No sir, I just…uh …yes sir I mean ….I get your drift.”
“Good , I enjoyed our conversation…now haven’t you got someplace to go? It’s
knock off time. I believe your up for mounty duty tomorrow.”
“Yes, I believe I am. Is there anything else Lt Griggs?”
“Yes, close the door on your way out.” Bill took his hat up off his knee, stood up and
walked the three steps to the door when Lt Griggs said without looking up from his
paper work on his desk, “Bill…?
“Yes sir?”
“ Glad to have you back“, he said with a more relaxed tone, “Now get outa here.”
And he went back to his case file.
Bill smiled, went to his office, traded his ball cap in for his Stetson and left the
building mulling over what the Lt had and had not told him.
(to be cont on Richard Pickett poetry site)
My soul hates this type of love. It's literally my natural enemy. However, I am happy, truly, because I stay true to myself. At the same time, my anger is an acidic stream of fire more powerful than a billion PSI and roars at speeds greater than sound. I choose selfishness as my path in life. Love is never stronger than selfishness nor is selfishness stronger than love. Emotions don't have power alone, we give them power. Like swords, the wiser and more skillful one is at wielding them, the more rewards there are to reap. Selfishness is stronger than love in any and every way if a hint of fairness and integrity are added to it. Humans are not able to love one another, it's delusion at best. I always ask romantic couples why do they love their partner, they almost never know why. I personally believe that if love was real in humans, it should be a conscious decision, not an instinct because lust is instinct. Lust is selfishness, while love is selflessness. So many people delude themselves into thinking that they're in love with someone, when in reality, they're attracted to something that person has, physical or non-physical material. Logic is also more powerful than romantic love, which shatters the maze that countless get lost in. Though life is no straight path, logic and selfishness make life great if used wisely. Selflessness isn't foolish in and of itself, most use it incorrectly. No matter what, selfishness and logic are some of my strongest powers. These two strengths will get me farther in life than most who have a romantic partner, especially in freedom. There is no freedom in love, going rogue is the only option. I'm proud to be a maverick as I improve my own power and avoid seeking help from humans, face to face, as much as possible. I am stronger than romantic love, because, once again, I stay true to myself. Staying true to myself is the sword I use to cut down delusion and defend myself against other lies. No human on Earth is my ally nor my enemy, I'm someone who lives for fun and not for a purpose like a soldier. Life isn't meaningful nor meaningless, we give it meaning, though I find most of life to be worthless. My life, devoid of romantic love, will keep pressing on the more I dive into freedom and the blissful depths of wise selfishness. As such, I will keep fighting onward against my enemies, romantic love and other frauds like it.
...A child who’d never know a father
that had deserved him more than she could tell,
knowing that she must lie to her husband,
the truth of it would not end very well.
The moments when she should feel only joy,
she just felt despair she could not avoid.
The weight of it all pushed Whitney to drink,
she hid it well, since Jerry worked a lot,
the au pair did most care for the baby,
since inside Whitney was nagged by dark thoughts,
she’d see her youngest, and think of her loss,
then call the au pair, and hand the babe off.
This pattern went on for about a year,
all of her family noticed the grim mood,
Jerry did his best to cater to her,
but despite this Whitney didn’t improve,
when, despite her kids, everything seemed wrong,
when in her own life she didn’t belong.
It wasn’t suicide that claimed Whitney,
at least it was not the conscious sort,
it came when she’d exhausted her wine,
and without a thought, went out to the store,
far enough gone that she didn’t realize
that she had no business trying to drive.
Her car was found at the base of a bridge,
she gone so fast she’d burst through the guard rail,
the coroner said she’d died in impact,
when Jerry heard of the news he just wailed,
he may not have held the love of his wife,
but to him she’d been the love of his life.
JERRY
Jerry found himself in a trying place,
alone with three children, one of them young,
working full time to keep everyone fed,
without nannies he would get nothing done.
But even then, his children were depressed,
not understanding the whole of this mess.
He’d never been an emotional man,
but he tried his best to be there for them,
especially their one-year old baby,
who, of course, needed so much attention,
Jerry’s hair turned gray trying to keep up,
and he was still mourning for his lost love.
He managed to find some sort of balance,
some way to keep his kids going through this,
they were the only good this he had left,
the only reason he cared to persist,
alone he had little time for himself,
it did take a toll on his mental health.
He’d no time for dating, didn’t want to,
it still hurt too much to not see Whitney,
all his time was spent with his three children,
there was none left for fun or for hobbies,
Jerry felt himself a shell of a man,
everything was struggle, there was no more plan...
CONTINUES IN PART V.
The year 2020 was a year of adjusting to new realities dealing with the pandemic. A pandemic that affected so many people in many ways. This year is one of hope that the lessons of yesterday will become our blessings today.
I am so grateful for my life which includes my loving wife and family. I have also been blessed with two dogs who greet me every day with wagging tails and sparkles in their eyes when I come home from work. They make me smile inside.
I became more aware and thankful for all the things that surround me because of the pandemic. This spring, the dandelions were the first flowers to stand out against the green grass, and I found them to be beautiful. My heart was a bit sad when had to mow the lawn.
The other colors this spring was truly amazing, especially the plants and flowers. There were animals that came to visit us, including raccoons, a mother deer, and her baby. It was special to witness a skunk and a cat eating side by side from the food dish left by my wife. Yes, we feed all of these animals.
Although we have a comfortable home, and a roof over our heads, and those creatures outdoors needed some help this year because of a drought. We installed a soaker hose on our fence dripping to the ground. It was a blessing to witness all the different birds and animals searching for water to quench their thirst.
We installed several hummingbird feeders and they are everywhere now. The hummingbirds have come to know us so well that they fly in front of our faces to chatter. We have a water trough for the animals outside the fence around our house with a few feeders.
The drought this year was so severe that the plants were so oh very thirsty. Thankfully, we are blessed with a well, allowing us to care for those things that needed our help.
Then autumn came, and there was an explosion of color. The leaves seemed to be extra brilliant this year. The tree leaves chattered in the autumn breeze that ending our drought with rain.
As Thanksgiving approaches, we experience moments when we feel overwhelmed by the blessings of our relationships, opportunities, and the beauty around us. We tend to express our feelings and share them during Thanksgiving, but we should always remember that this is not just about Thanksgiving day. We need to express these things everyday.
Edward J Ebbs - October 30, 2021
This is not a poem, this is a message for those who only come at my page to see flaws in my poem and in me, so they can make foul verbal comments. I'm not referring to my fellow poets here. I'm referring to my ill- minded compatriots.
Some even comment that its not me who makes my poems. But you can't really know or comprehend what it takes to be a poet and to make a poem if you're not a poet yourself. As Bob Dylan said, "don't criticize what you can't understand." It makes me smile to hear nonsense comments, like those saying that I copied works from other people when the poem is all about me or my situation, even containing personal details about me, especially those who comment that I plagiarize everything, including a short prose or a simple poem. You cannot apply your level of thinking or situation to that of the poet.
As you can see, every poem we make here are copyrighted the moment we make it, and many if not most of them are made for a specific competition under specific criteria set by the judges, so there's no way we just take poems from somewhere and place them here, especially if our intention is to place in the competition.
One thing that you should understand is that every poem is unique, because the condition under which it was written cannot be exactly duplicated in another time and another place. This means that except for competitions with open themes that may accept poems that were already written, poets write based on their feelings, emotion, state of body and mind, prevailing inspiration and other surrounding circumstances the time they write, which make them the only person who can explain the exact meaning of their poems. When one plagiarizes a work, he only copies the lyrics but not the essence of the work as when it was made by the writer, and definitely, the skill behind the making of the work cannot be plagiarized. That sets the difference between the person pretending and the real maker of the work. So there's no point in copying works from other people because there is no essence of self fulfilment in it.
Every poem here is open for everyone to see. If we'd be putting plagiarized works here everyday, we'd be slapped with countless charges. Besides, the admins of this site do not allow plagiarized works to be placed here. This is a site for lovers of poetry and not for haters.
December 23, 2023, PST, SPC
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form: