Long Fine Poems
Long Fine Poems. Below are the most popular long Fine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fine poems by poem length and keyword.
My dear old wombat friend is near.
He says to me, don’t worry.
You’ll look back another time
when you can find it funny.
Go to extremes? It’s not for us.
We like our days quite peaceful.
‘Most every day, do it this way
and we will have a life full -
of Proper Days, done in our way -
ones that we can cherish.
And when we want, can also add
a little bit of relish.
Charging around? Race here and there?
That is not our style.
Did the race feel right to you?
Sit here for a while.
My guess is that, what we both need,
has been here all along.
WE know deep down in our hearts
what it is makes us strong.
Dramatic changes aren’t for us.
We’d rather ponder time.
Then you’ll get it in your soul
that we are going fine.
She sits and reads, or chatters on the phone
voice lilting, dancing, chirping like a bird,
he sits in the same room with her, alone
and stares at her, his thoughts all go unheard.
He vowed to sacrifice, the day they wed,
have and to hold for better or for worse,
beguiling promises that he was fed
curdled like sour milk into a curse.
Silence between them like a washing line,
passion dried in the wind then put away,
to all around them everything is fine
soiled love can be hung out another day.
When nothing is the bond, then nothing ties
hollow relationships, false smiles and lies
(not for contest, it's a rough draft I finally got round to finishing)
*Inspired by the Photo
The road but lonely, takes me to a new special place
Lavender skies, with pink cloud reminders of peace
That I may release some things, to shed this tired face
As miles leave behind the fight for conflict to cease
There is not a soul in sight in the empty space ahead
Beyond the piles of frozen snowbanks I pass by
Only troubled thoughts remain from where I fled
Across the miles, beneath the wide promising sky
The snow has touched the trees decorated so fine
The air I breathe is fresh as all the newborn dreams
The middle of the road I travel, is divided by a line
Where the destination I seek, is not as far as it seems
Heidi Sands
2/20/19
For twenty-five long years they loved each other
Good friends of mine, like sister and brother
We've double-dated so many a time
And we helped each other to reach the hills we'd climb
We laughed, we cried and shared our emotions
And gave to each other our life-long devotions
Then, I heard they were getting divorced
And just like that a relationship lost
I'm sure when I say that they both have been hurt
By the words that they've said in anger they'd blurt
But I can't stop my feeling of hurting for them...and me too
For the loss of this fine couple that my wife and I knew
I feel kind of empty in my soul and my heart
Hoping for the best, for them both...a new start
Perhaps, one day they will get back together
By chance that they don't- I'll still love them both...forever
O' bloody one
First born
A dedicated child of God
At the actual time of birth your name predestined
Your namecreated and my English creative writing class in 1970
Your name 8 years old
As The Story Goes...
This is a dedication a song 42 on this day of May coolness reigned has it Misty Rain rushing to the hospital to carry and my spouse to await the first born child by cesarean section while I'm waiting in the hallway they didn't allow visual of the birth at that time it was May of 1978 and I was feeling fine so great they brought her out to me ever so bloody in a pearl White Towel first thing I said was she all right she began to cry this was the first born child ofJames Edward Lee and Carmen Lee Lee a little after 10 something in the morning when I was in high school often they dreamed of marriage a like a little girl I dreamt to be married and have children into my amazingness. My God has heaven bless. At that time you were our cure all
Blessed Happy birthday Carshra
This is Carshra Day
CARSHRA PRINCIE MAE- ANNIE BELL LEE
Pronounced "CAR- shear-a"
Named after my 3 female cousins, my wife, my wife's mother and my mother
The Kitten
In canine halls of wisdom, where dogs do reside,
A furry little menace, has decided to abide,
A kitten, small and sassy, with eyes so bright,
A ball of fluff and trouble, that's always in sight.
She pounces on my tail, with a playful little mew,
I'm like "Hey, what's the deal?" but she just looks at me "mew",
She's a tiny little dictator, with claws so sharp and fine,
I'm just a dog, trying to survive, this feline crime.
She steals my toys, and runs off with glee,
I'm like "Hey, those are mine!" but she just gives me a spree,
She's a little furry thief, with a heart so pure and light,
I'm just a dog, trying to keep up, with this kitten's flight.
We play and we romp, in a ridiculous display,
I'm a dog, and she's a kitten, in a silly little way,
She's a tiny little partner, in crime and in fun,
I'm just a dog, trying to keep up, with this kitten's game, everyone!
She's a little furry friend, who's always by my side,
Together we get into trouble, and make our humans hide,
We're a dynamic duo, of mischief and mayhem too,
A dog and a kitten, a perfect pair, in a funny little crew.
So here's to the kitten, a furry little friend,
A tiny package, of trouble that never ends,
May her purrs be loud, and her whiskers be bright,
A shining star, of mischief, in the dark of night.
With every snuggle, and every playtime too,
Our bond grows stronger, in a friendship true,
A dog and a kitten, a perfect pair,
A tale of friendship, that's beyond compare.
The eyes cannot lie.
Some days it is harder to fake a smile.
Just leave me alone!
I’ll be fine in a little while,
But at this moment in life,
I cannot be ‘Oh you are nice!’
I’ve got to sacrifice this vessel, for time,
Is taken again; the pain is the same,
But the riverbank beauties are still so far away.
All I want is your empathy;
Please!
But you are not even looking in my direction.
I am a portrait of perfect imperfections
And the untold story of a man on his knees,
Clawing at life; it hits from 360 degrees
And every time, I ask myself why!!?
My subconscious tells me, this is your life.
I am no taker of another’s property,
But why, oh why, must I be me?
Let me be another broken creation;
One who doesn’t have to suffer this agony!
Love is on a permanent vacation.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
THE SMOKE CLOCK
I bought, as always, for two, two nights' worth of smoke,
it's eight thirty, and your chair breathes empty beside me,
you, who used to come early, never late, like rain
that knows by heart the window it's summoned to;
now it's turned two, and nothing of you remains
but ash of a name on the thin lip of evening.
Fine, I'll light them myself, one by one, like days,
it was never a problem to burn alone, except
this smoke has the shape of your shoulders when you cried
and won't rise, it settles on the rug like a dog
waiting for a master long gone through another gate,
and the ceiling lowers into my chest, heavy, like a lid.
I was the place you ran to when your own house caught fire,
my heart, a steady stove, never too cold, never too greedy,
my ears, two wells where you poured out all your rains,
and you entered me the way you board a train with no destination,
just to no longer be where the walls stood in judgment of you,
just to get far, far away, into a country with no eyes on you.
Our only fear was the descent, the return to bodies,
that ugly moment when the world put its weight back on,
so we took another turn, spun the carousel once more,
put off morning with one more blue breath ~
we believed ourselves healed because the pain had learned to stay quiet,
but silence isn't healing, it's only a wound grown well.
So are you better now? Have your scars bloomed without me?
Did you find a better road than the one we used to take,
one you don't have to pave with your own bones?
I hope so. I hope so hard that this hope hurts me
like a blessing spoken through clenched teeth,
I hope someone taught you to rise without crutches of smoke.
I'm not waiting for you anymore ~ I've gathered my hours off the table like cards,
I've blown out the candle that held your place at the window
and now I'm winding something else: a morning, a silence, a name,
I leave the key under the mat for the man I'll be tomorrow at dawn,
and if, after all, the knock at the door is yours, late, so late,
know that the place you used to run to has moved into me, for good.
The Flower I Water Too Much
They say too much water drowns the root of the flower you love —
I pour the whole sky into her smile, wrung from my veins, like an eclipse,
and the world dims itself shyly, a lantern begging for its own darkness,
when she smiles, time bends, and the pollen falls backward, toward the stem.
Her laughter is a swarm of bees made of sound, caught in a honeycomb of clouds,
the clouds lean in, gentle thieves, to steal a drop of its wild honey,
and carry it across a sky like a mute map, drawn only out of echoes,
while I stay below, a castaway on an island made of her memory.
Her dimples are bottomless wells, carved into her cheek by a careless angel,
the compasses of wandering hearts lose their north and drown inside them,
a glance becomes a root, a thought becomes the vine that binds you,
and my eyes, rudderless ships, choose gladly to be lost.
It's unfair how a thing so small holds all the tides of the world inside it,
how one fine curve of lips turns a moment into living, pulsing amber —
I drift psychedelic through her dream, smoke that's lost the way back to its body,
and every ordinary minute freezes into a silent, precious stone.
So if loving a flower too much turns my sap into the flood that drowns it,
what do I do with this admiration that blooms on its own, every time she smiles?
I let it burn in me like a star already dead, but still giving light,
or I drown in her, knowing every beautiful garden carries its drought within.