Long Excels Poems

Long Excels Poems. Below are the most popular long Excels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Excels poems by poem length and keyword.


Society Cherished Child

When does a child become society’s child?
Some children are forced out of being children
Some are put back into children mode which is hard 
The fact that this happens is because of parents not thinking
The parents either separated, divorce, or worst case died
When a child is faced with this it is hardship it can’t recognize
When a child either lost or got separated from parents, why?
That’s when society takes the child and moves them
But at that moment of time the child does not understand
Children are forced to rely on their own thoughts and Idea
Which is very young and not as factual, but they still know
The child has to grow up fast, its just nature its protection
The growth of emotion excels beyond a child that has parents
The point that I am making is that the child needs the adult
The symbolic of guardian, safe, reliable, kind, lovable, informational
The problem I am going to explain is that it is not always there
Children that grow fast, has fifty, fifty chance of growing normal
But adults are to blame after taking this chance of mentoring
Sometimes the adult belief is that they are too young to know
But it’s not that, the problem is growth of emotion and idea
Without limitation that they can see in front of them
Children out grow their physical body in mentality
Parents is the key to limiting the emotional growth of a child
There is no doubt that fostering and adoption has been great
But this does not solve all the pain and sorrow that the child has
It is bottled in there soul, I do not know how to heal that yet
But in theory loving them and showing them gentleness 
Is what they need, but Society does not have room some times
Because of this children that has parents still have problem
It’s needs to be known that parents should even go to classes
To have a child is to have knowledge of the child expectations
Society gives lots to parents that need it, but they need education
If a person wants a child they should at least go to class 
Once or twice a year to see what motivates them to have the child
It is not always money; it is friendship, love, care, and the need
 Humanity is always looking to get closer to each other
This includes children who do not have parents, singled out 
Society is made of people and people who do not have a child
Well, they should be able to foster one or adopt.
Form: Narrative


Premium Member Do The Crime, Do The Time

8/4/2025

Countless individuals
have become self willed.
Seems each day that passes
innocent people are killed.

Shootings and stabbings
have become the norm.
To society’s prescript,
many loath to to conform.

Perpetrators all receive
what we call “due Process.”
So they’re given a lawyer
who excels at aggress.

Because oft times the penalty
doesn’t fit the crime.
Some are granted pardons
precluding doing their time.

Many times the perpetrators
upon return to the street.
Unwilling to seek a job
and with others compete.

They return to the same life
they failed to escape.
They were given second chances
to slash, shoot, loot and rape.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Lyric

Premium Member Someone's Someone

Let your words not hinder, but be a balm.
He is someone's significant other,
and as they kiss, may your conscience be calm.

He's long been a best friend to another,
tossing back and forth sports balls and wisecracks.
Though annoying, siblings love their brother.

This hardworking son helps Dad with wood stacks,
and excels in gym, his preferred subject,
trading with his peers for favorite snacks.

He's someone's someone, so show him respect,
giving honor to those who know him well.
Before speaking unkindly, please reflect

that waves trinkle to shores after they swell.
The ocean is full of stories to tell.

7/23/22
FIVE STANZA TERZA RIMA Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins

My Sexy Other Wife

By the time you read this 
You may think I’m insane
But I have to lay it out
So you can see it clear and plain

My wife, my true love, 
Her name is Jane
She is perfect in every way 
And just as insane

She has the qualities that 
Every man would desire
But to her I am the only one
That she wants to admire

You think J Lo’s figure is somewhat tasty?
And her main feature, to men would be her ass
But my Jane excels and makes J Lo look cheap
Jane’s ass and perky breast, Ooh Lord, they have class

She loves me like a miser loves money
She drips with sexuality, sweeter than honey
Oh this woman of mine almost broke my back
Six times I thought I was going to have a heart attack

So you may say get a life
But this is my tribute to my sexy wife
She is, everything to me 
She is the sister of Glen
My good, my best imaginary friend
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Believing

Believing
Miracle Man
5/26/2023

Start with doable goals and in faith believe,
for greatest knowledge we can ever achieve.
If rooted in choices from everyday living,
taking risks isn’t bad; most are forgiving.

One only excels when right conditions prevail,
so know your target and pay attention to detail.
If something isn’t working be bold and retry,
we’re relegated to failure when we cease to try.

The loftier the goal, the greater the price tag,
Losing your focus is like raising a white flag.
We’re assured of failing when effort is lacking,
So focus is vital if you think you’re slacking.

Focusing on goals helps make them forthcoming,
Believing is mile one on the road to becoming.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Sonnet


sheep

Sheep

I have read and published some of my old poems 
when the world was mint fresh and I believed in the lady in the lake, I saw her swim a moonlit night
know I know she is not there, but a product of my 
feverish mind
Sheep, they are dumb, think the pastor is a friend and
his dog means well and even smells like an ewe but its
fur is useless and full of ticks, can't eat grass to feed 
itself forever pestering the pastor wanting to show off
when barking at the flock 
The sheep and the landscape are equally old seen in
paintings of rustic art, which the pastor's wife excels at
and tries to sell on Sunday after church, which the other 
pastor, the one who looks after human flock who think 
he is nice but hates them. 
Sheep no nothing of democracy, or security they prefer to be fenced in and only get nervous for a second when one of them is called to serve humans' need for meat as they can't count if there were 500 of them or 499 and they grazing go on and on.
How lonely I have become among the olive trees 
since my dog died, I buried her in dark soil but dug her up, she is a skeleton in a black plastic liner in the back seat of the car, it stops me from feeling lonely when 
visiting the local whore.
The road I drive on my way to the bar has been asphalted, flowers, by the roadside wilt covered in asphalt spray by careless workmen who inhale warm asphalt when not smoking self-rolled cigarettes 
and waiting for the day to end
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Guess Who

Guess Who, 
One Clue,
Old As Dirt, 
Sometimes Curt.
Tom’s Opinion
1/13/2021

She preaches forgiveness and promotes divisiveness, 
and isn’t plagued In her purpose by indecisiveness.

She’s had years of practice at spewing false claims,
A partisan politician who excels in fanning flames.

Any articles of impeachment she’s not apt to table,
and disagreeing with her, gets some west coast label.

It’s said when she gets mad she can throw a hissyfit,
and even if somethings good she still wouldn’t like it.

If found on her bad side she’s not slow to lambaste,
and like Churchill “she never lets a crisis go to waste.”

She’s like a bulldog in a hay barn taking a breather,
she won’t eat the hay and won’t let others eat it either.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Poetrysoup Poets Limerick Collection

Paula Goldsmith, you will know when I say
Always encourages us in her way
She's good for a lift
Poetry is her gift
“So have a blessed day writing away!”

Tom Woody the Poet guru
Who will never, ever lie to you
Even if it hurts
He's candid and curt
We all need a friend this true

Silent One's a talented guy
His poetry worthy to buy
He has much to write
Which is ironic-a mite
Cause If truly silent we’d cry!

Susan Ashley has a golden pen
If enters a contest she'll win
But she is so humble
So no need to grumble
She gives you a chance in the end

Do you know Beatrix Macabre?
Writes in light from a candelabra 
Much smarter than most
Friends with witches and ghosts
Maybe bloody cryptic, chupacabra!

Crystol Woods is a bit unsmart
Though she excels at art 
A three syllable word
That she's never heard
Causes her brain to fly apart

Arlo Parker, not much to relate
Short, thoughtful poems he does create
They don't take up much room
So we must assume
He has no need to compensate!

David Crandall is the sweetest man
Salt of the earth and a good friend
Talented and kind
Thoughtful, creative mind
And he uses words I can understand!

PoetrySoup has all kinds
Artistic and logical minds
When put all together
And we all endeavor 
Talent isn't hard to find
Form: Limerick

Premium Member The Fallacies In the Lives of Disableds

The fallacies in the lives of disabled’s

A torrential downpour of tears, profusely flowed
upon seeing / hearing what a blind, autistic boy showed

of a world, we know not, beneath the surface lies,
behind the sightlessness of these worldly eyes

A world beyond any possible comprehension.
A world to which we offer our compassion.

What a universe, within, for us to see
as they put themselves on display, set free

all that lies within their physical disability,
to give us glimpses of their hidden ability.

Every so often, one excels, shows what is inside,
where so many others live, and from us hide.

B. J. “ A ” 2
September 21st 2016
Form: Rhyme

Perfect Magus

Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop, 
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop. 

And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells 
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing. 

He needs no fumbling eye to behold 
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.

His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.

Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.
Form: Rhyme

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