Long Fancying Poems
Long Fancying Poems. Below are the most popular long Fancying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fancying poems by poem length and keyword.
It could have been me
I am white, privileged, Christian, educated and wealthy
I am married with children, young, fit and healthy
But what if I was born into a different family
Pushed down by the weight of different social gravity
It could have been me born as a black child
Ripped and jibed for the colour of my skin
Sticking for safety with the brothers of my kin
With my head on the ground under the knee
That could have been you or it could have been me
It could have been me born with something not ‘normal’
Where the genetics go wrong and I am born with a ‘barrier’
Or my parents do drugs, or drink I become the carrier
With my hands driving wheels or holding a stick
Whilst being called names like ‘stupid’ and ‘thick’
It could have been me not fancying girls
Being teased in the street for holding hands with a boy
With names thrown my way for others to enjoy
Looking for help when I’m attacked in the street
Because of where I might go and who I might meet
It could have been me immigrating for work
Escaping the life of my country’s condition
Finding it hard to make a family decision
Living off wages that don’t match the hour
As the English men laugh I worry and cower
It could have been me born as a different religion
Being taught different ways to believe and behave
Being shown different ways to do right and be saved
If I don’t know I’m wrong how can I change?
You persecute and discriminate thinking I’m strange
It could have been me with no money for dinner
Pursuing the means to make the ends meet
Whilst trying to buy the right shoes for my feet
Not having the right phone or the right hair
Seeing the others thinking how is this fair?
Should I discriminate? Should I be mean?
Thinking about all the bad stuff I’ve seen
It could have been me who drew a raw deal
Perhaps we should think more about how others might feel.
My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Without faith is anything true?
Does the heart truly feel?
Does the mind know what is real?
Does the soul express its joy…
Through laughter and enthusiasm?
Without faith is there any grace?
Does the spirt trust hope?
Do feelings abide in the promise?
Does anyone even have a dream…
Fancying the courage to believe?
Without faith is there any trust?
Does the heart only imagine love?
Does the mind discover wonders?
Does the soul consider God…
The One who inspires us to believe?
Faith is more than a feeling
It is alive, and it is just like breathing
Without faith, there can be no reasoning
The heart, mind and soul must agree…
Faith is the answer, the bond between…
His gift of grace and mercy
The light of prayer and praise
The beauty of giving every need…
To the One who loves so much more…
Than our hearts and souls can fathom.
Faith gives us the chance to partake
In the One who brought us salvation
Released us from prisons of our own making
Destroyed the reign of satan
And taught us about love that is eternal
With faith… we have a path to true joy
Hope that moves mountains…
Grace that surrounds us…
With His love and His promises….
His everlasting spirit and peace
He is the One I believe in
With faith that He stirred inside
Where His Holy Spirit now abides!
I thought lets go fishing
fancying a fish pie
or maybe fish and chips
that would do the trick
I set off, rod and bucket
full of worms in my hands
found a good spot to fish
by the rocks on the beach
Patiently I waited for a bite
then my rod dipped and bucked
soon I had four nice whoppers
flapping around in my bucket
Needing to answer call of nature
I slipped in between the trees
alas when I returned I found
one happy pelican looking full
An empty bucket he'd scoffed the lot
I sighed as I chucked a stone
it missed him by a country mile
no fish for supper I had no more worms
written 06/17/2013
contest Gone Fishing
sponsor Caleb Smith
I stay close to home these days,
my roaming needs seeming to
expire with age, finding more
of what I need in the Silence
of packing; of course, this
worn-out body is far too cumbersome
to even contemplate wanting – like
frayed clothing, now best for rags;
like empty cans for the recyclable:
I wonder how Earth will handle
my re-purposing?~as for my poetry,
will my works know future lips? Be
Whispered and sung, inspiring others
fancying fireside light and chat, within
the warmth of flickering, yet mysterious
shadows? Or will my words, unceremoniously
settle like bird droppings on tombstones,
surrounded by laurels of weeds, a forgotten
chapter? That settles it, I will opt for cremation!
Leaving tombstones and graves for
most politicians, TV Evangelists, and
Movie-stars, needing their world
monuments where the Devil will
easily find them for substantive
reunions....
in the distance it sounds like a monster truck at a drag race
people on adventures, traveling north and south
seeking the wonders and highlights of kansas city
as i sit on my old-fashioned porch
listening to a noisy muffler, safe at home
watching frenzied squirrels chase themselves around trees
the vehicle is heading south, down Interstate 635
people frantically trying to have a rip-roaring time
my english cream heads up the driveway, seeking new things
i bask in the sun like a over-fed lioness
fancying my cushy striped lawn chair
listening to the frantic highway sounds
appreciative it is them, and not me.
It's funny the simple pleasures recounted in life
all manner of wonders reminisced I'll miss most..
though list grows shorter with each passing day
thoughts align in proper time as desires sway
storm bent trees, sunsets, a child's laughter,
and chicken salad on toast.
To be true others may find want of finer things.
fancying first class flight or latest in 'lectric cars,
refined tastes in Nanterre brioche or imported caviars
yet never replace good company a heart brings.
As winter closes, and spring finds its way home,
eternally grateful for all new pleasures won
give thanks warm day's return in rising and setting sun
yet alone, to bygone days my thoughts may roam.
Yeah, there'll always be chicken salad and sunsets..
perhaps a slice of keylime pie or two.
When I look back to a wonderful past,
what I'll miss most
is you.
Standing next to a fire hydrant
Alone
Sitting on a park bench
Bothered by you
rather I be alone
Looking into a broken mirror
Cliche'
People bore me. That they do.
I'm a person so I am also quite
the
Drag
Silly vagrants honking horns, fancying party favors
Yuck
Find me eyed on my lap,
Glued to boring my old shelf
back
Together
All are you completely wrong about us
I am so about this.
Watching look that faces have right now.
Right now is when?
Tomorrow is yesterday while present in today.
Tomorrow
And Yesterday
Definitely Today
So, so lame
as you mock me my case I rest.
but I have too much to declare.
June 8, 2017
Contest: The Bleaker the Better
Sponsor: Julia Ward
The circus has come to town
Washington D.C., its prime playground
Congress on the brink of a nervous breakdown
Screaming at President Trump to step down
Donald J. Trump stands center stage
Tweeting and texting with fistic rage
A bull in a china shop, inciting p.c. outrage
While fancying himself a genius-sage
To the left of Trump is former V.P., Joseph Biden
Verbal gaffes all exposed he can't hide in
'Mr. Excitement' can't bring the voters' tide in
He's sure experience alone will help him glide in
Far to Biden's left rants Elizabeth Warren
Her attacks on business, for an ox to gore on
To break up Google and Amazon she'll go to war on
To hell with $100k employee salaries ~ the moron
Our circus is surely a sight for sore eyes to see
And for an encore, we're bringing back Hilary!
My wife's found out I'm a transvestite,
she's not very happy at all.
She thinks that it's new. but between me and you
for years I've been having a ball.
She says that it's all got to finish,
Or somebody's going to get hurt.
She wears the trousers in our house,
but she won't let me wear a skirt
It's not that I'm fancying fellas.
The thought never enters my head.
I just like the feel of that silk and chenile,
preferably something in red.
But I'm sure she's trying to change me
she's dragging my name through the dirt.
She wears the trousers in our house
and she won't let me wear a skirt.
She claims that I'm some sort of pervert
she says that it's some kind of kink
and if I don't stop she'll divorce me
and boy will she kick up a stink.
For now she's turned nasty towards me
her comments are cutting and curt
Yes - she wears the trousers in our house
and she won't let me wear a skirt.