Long Few Poems
Long Few Poems. Below are the most popular long Few by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Few poems by poem length and keyword.
If you need someone
I also needed one.
I felt then! Now you feel more of what I did.
Opt for me - like your coffee in the morning(7am)
Give a price while am princely priceless
your attention got an auction I can only make assumptions
Yeah, it's a long shot(9:27am)
We just met probably not at the junction
We might not stop there after a long walk(9:59am)
Since you like long talks.
You're right we are just new folks
Nothing else like the utensils on the plate, just forks
At the Basecamp here in Brussels
It's gonna be live on rocks.
On 0'clock we thick and ding-dong(12:00pm)
Yeah your eyes cant get off mine still tick-tocking
I kept on muttering the monosyllables "she()hot"
..............................Woke up and and like a bird "she()gone"
Does anyone really believe that the
outcome of an election hinges on a debate?
Are not the lines of beliefs drawn sufficient
enough to enable everyone to be completely awake?
If there are any, where are the grey areas?
If there are any, where are the barriers?
Are not the plans and visions of the future
already well established b9 Iy each party?
Is it not the time for the vote of the majority?
Is it not time to walk the walk and lessen the talk?
Should not our lives and our future be guided by principles and
Not by whimsical pole numbers, mere words, and social media?
Is it not time for cowards and kittens to either
remain hidden, or enter the prayer closets and
come out boldly, roaring like lions and tigers?
Is it not time ...?
I was in my garden the other day,
watching the squirrels running at play.
Chasing each other seemed such a lark,
running up the Oak tree as held on to its bark.
Birds were chirping their songs of glee,
although I never understood the melody.
But sing they did from tree to tree,
there sat I, like it was meant for me.
I looked over at the flower patch,
something fluttering my eye did catch.
It was only a small white butterfly,
I watched its dance...then it flew by.
A chipmunk came out of its hole to bask in the sun,
just for a few moments and then it was done.
He scolded me that I'd been rude,
not leaving any peanuts for his daily food.
I reached in my bag and tossed him a few,
A Blue jay saw them and down he flew.
Now the chipmunk chirped at the jay,
but to no avail, he was there to stay.
The jay finally left with a large peanut in its beak,
Leaving behind only scattered bits the chipmunk could seek.
He checked each shell the jay left behind,
Until he found a few morsels he could take in kind.
Then to his hole again he ran,
his gatherings that day were far from grand.
While my few minutes in the garden were brief,
they've stuck to me like a book pressing a leaf.
The sights, the sounds, even the scents I recall,
vivid in my memory...one and all.
For there in my garden I had nothing to say,
except, "Thank you Lord, for this beautiful day".
It's so good to stop and reflect
fills one with peace and calm
puts everything in right perspective
without it life can be such a sham
But so often it's hard to find time
life is so full of pressure and pace
everything moves so fast and quick
the minutes fly away without trace
It's so important to stop life
get off to find real reflection
stand back and take deep breath
look to make correct life selection
Make it a regular real discipline
spending time to do some mind tuning
reflect on your life's goal personally
shape your inner bush to real pruning
Allow these young spring buds
to shoot forth into lovely flower
so summer shows it's full blossom
all because of that reflective hour
on a sultry day when there was nothing else to accomplish,
roaming around listlessly in my parents' house, stumbled at a little diary from my teenage years!
with a pretty picture of a rose bouquet on the cover!
my best friend, I thought I couldn't live without, but disappeared later in my life, got the diary for me -
located it among her father's office-materials,
and determined - it was a nice present for a book-worm girl whose only passion was papers!
although she was so thoughtful, it was a really tiny diary, I thought - not enough space to cover all my gripping thoughts!
my head was bursting with ideas - from appeasing my over-scrupulous math teacher’s tantrums, to secret plans of rendezvous with friends,
and mostly about the boys around us, some of whom were a bit silly,
but paid a lot of attention to me!
question was - who did I like? they seemed unpretentious, were they really?
was not sure myself. one day decided on one,
and he biked away at an accelerated speed at my sight!
was I not pretty? was I not charming?
was I bossy to frighten them? was my voice not alluring?
at last I did decide not to bother about them too much!
but get on with my literary life!
the diary was my precious friend, as close as a friend could be,
I confided, poured my soul, everything in her - from my deep-down secrets, little happinesses, my innocent pleasures,
to the intense sadnesses I felt sometimes.
it was not the passionate diary of a brave young girl hiding in the secret basement of a building,
hiding from the cruelest regime in the world,
it was candid expressions of a sensitive, shy, demure, emotional teenager,
the only outlet of her true feelings about the intriguing world.
how much I admired the pretty dresses my friends wore, and wished I had a few!
how much I admired spending time in our patio at the magnificent dawn when nobody was up, to see what I was up to,
how much I wished I were an author, and wrote novels like Jane Austen.
how much I wished I lived in Shakespeare's time, and be one of his maidens -
Miranda, and Opehelia, and Juliet, and Rosalind -
who emerged in my wildest dreams when I was in a dreamland!
the dreams which I wished, would never end,
but for sure they ended eventually!
A Diary - a few pages bound together - was me!
As thephilosopher readies for his p soup anniversary
Remembering he found this place last Christmas Day
Surely the best gift he did receive
Now for some holiday fun, DON”T LEAVE
Denise Narayadu I can't end the line with her name
To mispronounce it with a bad rhyme would be a shame
Her writing has very much intrigued me
In her poems often it's myself that I see
Of Anne Lise Andressen what can I toast
She's in a contest of which Debbi G is the host
Of who Santa Clause is her knowledge has a lack
If she asked I could easily have told her it's Jack
I mean look at Jack, white beard, hair a jolly feller
If my put my original line here, I'd be locked in a cellar
Any American could mistake Canada for the north pole
It's cold, I've never been there and at times there's a lot of snow
Jack Ellison in his Santa role this time of year
Oh from the straight and narrow often does he veer
Constant approval from the p soup ladies, I know he smiles
If I was Santa his naughty list would stretch for miles
Andrea D secretly a hater of the Villanelle
That’s atrocious what’s my basis you say
She hosted a contest and a thousand forms she will allow
BUT a max of 12 lines leaves me saying CHINGADO
PD, the SWEETEST poet destroyer she told me
A philosopher asks how sweet a destroyer can be
The poet in me reads her work with much confusion
The imagery addicting but my understanding a delusion
Becca Lucas the girl who lost her muse
If she had schizophrenia she may have several to lose
However several other problems this would pose
If one of them was mean I may be a victim of her prose
FJ Thomas gave me the wonderful gift of the Fibonacci
She might deserve a song but my muse isn’t Liberace
She wrote the Art of Being Broken, a deep piece but not long
Did some guy really leave a comment quoting a poison song
And finally I will close with Richard Lamoureux
If you haven’t seen his clerihew read it TODAY
Quiet humorous, he pokes fun with affection
His first clerihew was a work of perfection
Yes on a few new names Wayland did call
Unfortunately he still hasn’t got to them all
Some he intentionally won’t mention
It’s Christmas Eve and he seeks no dissention
THE DUMB BLONDE
Our dumb blonde leader is a total buffoon
Living in cloud cuckoo land in his cocoon
His party's starved our N. H. S.
Now the country is in a mess
Thinks the flu virus will be over real soon...
OUR CRACKPOT GOVERNMENT
They wanted to create herd immunity
Run covid - 19 through our community
Now that's a war crime
They should all do time
Par for the course, they'd all get impunity...
(ON A LIGHTER Note)
TIMMMY MCGEE
There was an old man called Timmy McGee
Every day he'd drink a gallon of tea
One night forgot to do
His business on the loo
He woke up floating next morning in pee...
HAPPY BUCK
There was an old man known as Happy Buck
Loved loud music but he ran out of luck
Had earphones in each ear
Poor old Buck didn't hear
Approaching sound of a thirty ton truck...
JED THE KEEPER
At the zoo a big cat keeper called Jed
Instead of meat tried to give them stale bread
They roared in defiance
Poor Jed lost his balance
One saw his chance and bit off his head...
BILLY GILL
The dumb outlaws led by Billy Joe Gill
Bank and train robbery they had no skill
They tried to leave town
But they were tracked down
Now they all lie in a plot on Boot Hill...
Written 2nd April 2020.
He is "half a bubble off of centre"
More than "A few bricks short of a load"
He is not a Prince worth kissing
He is more of an ugly toad.
Some think he is "Rock Solid"
A veritable "Mountain of a man"
Instead he's a snake Replacing a ladder
Nothing but a "flash in the pan"
You'll have to "hit the nail on the head"
For "he's not the sharpest tack in the box"
If you don't want this jerk to catch you
I recommend "pulling up your socks
If you think I was "born yesterday"
Or "I've got nothing to lose"
Instead of "Drinking the koolaide"
You musta been guzzlin the booze
For I am "the man of your dreams"
Look my way I'm "Love at first sight"
Forget that other "good for nuttin" fella
I'll "rock your world" "forever, a day and a night!"
She didn't walk the way the world expected
None could guess what storm she had weathered
She moved and moved and never stopped
And her every footstep was strong and bold.
With a body that has carved its own battles
Adversity could not shake her firmness
She carried none of its sting and bitterness
But joyfully shared only smiles and sweetness.
While we speak of limits and constraints
She spoke of immense possibilities
Always exploring her potentialities
And lived them as graceful entities.
She refused any act of sympathy
And spurned faint token of empathy
All the time stood firmly saying no to pity
Predictably preferred the ground of dignity.
Legacy of self-dependency and dignity she sowed.
In her life journey all along, she has proved
That Power and strength are not measured
in strides but in the grit and spirit imbued.
Some must walk into the light alone.
They travel not with the followers of this or that.
They are believers for they have chosen to believe.
If asked, those few might say:
that it matters not what we believe in
just as long as we believe in something,
something good, something worth a faithful devotion.
Zealots condemn, and to persuade
is to coerce. The few are not disciples,
they accept and argue not
over the sacred works of the dead or living.
Wisdom is not sealed only in one book
nor any scripture the last word.
The few who listen to the Word
know that it is they who speak
and they who answer.