Long Folk Poems
Long Folk Poems. Below are the most popular long Folk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folk poems by poem length and keyword.
To make fat "feel" solid, you need to engage in body recomposition: shedding subcutaneous fat while building muscle directly underneath it. This pushes the skin outward, tightening the area and replacing that "soft" or jiggy feeling with dense, firm muscle tissue
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A shadow was casted from the point of origin where the bird had bagan it's flight.
It grow larger and larger. A professor saw such and stood amazed at the size of the shadow this small bird had casted.
The sun had become redish said one person. Acting like a camera in reverse it casted back the light instead of being clear. While the bird flow straight a shadow would appear. We thought the day's of would have us nearer to Implomissium. Where the body uses more body fat to create energy. This causes folk to rapidly loss weight and gain muscle. Supermanitius is the term The Days of Jerod are upon us might we labor to be beautiful, gamosouis and healthy!
spoke the professor..Jor-El the days of Jor-el are upon us he corrected his slur!
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The Farm ©
Fields of mustard
sway in a light breeze
off the river
farm dogs return
dusted in yellow
the clapboard gray of
the farmhouse
weeps old memories
generations of pea farmers,
hunters, fishermen and cooks
heady fragrance of cooking food
saturate the senses as
the screen door slaps shut
the matriarch sings out
‘tea party!
and the city folk sit ‘round a table
laden with baked chicken that was
pecking out a meal in the yard that day
fried venison steak and mashed potato
green beans and corn hanging from the vine
just minutes ago
her biscuits and cornbread; the stuff
dreams are made of
Later they sit on the warped porch steps
listening as the geese honk their way in
to the seed rich fields and
their nightly respite
bats fly across the moon,
frogs call out their secrets,
a loon wails its loneliness
old stories are told
Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machetes
Musically inclined to listen intently
from this title, music is high in my list
always have enjoyed in all my years
so thrilling to me like when kissed
Someone said there's only two kinds
meaning good and bad and that's all
trust my taste has been on the good
the joy of music lifts your heart so tall
In my present times being retired
have ample time to listen real deep
a lover of classical so aids my therapy
helps calm nerves for words aren't cheap
A change in recent days to Gaelic
both Scottish and Irish are a real treat
such a magical lilt sounds in your ears
effecting you all over to follow your feet
In some musical spheres, it's independent
a whole class of its own is folk
I've grown to like it so very much
it speaks to the conscience as broke
So music is a large part of life
it stirs all of what's going on inside
makes one feel a deep longing within
the Lord tunes me to constantly abide
(A look at my musical tastes over the years and what inspires me today.)
We six sheep of Bethlehem be
Bogg, Whiff, Wheep, the triplets and me*
We all get fed and sleep in this shed
It's simple, but so are we!
O star of wonder, star so bright
Guiding strange folk here tonight
Unsuspecting sheep affecting
Oh, what a holy fright!
Who's these people? Oh Golly Gosh!
What's a'doing? Bish! Bash! Bosh!
There's a stranger in our manger,
Offsprung into our nosh!
O wondrous star, so satnav wise
Heaven guiding fat rich guys
Who needs peasants bringing presents?
Kings give the best surprise!
It's them shepherds - oh, what a pain!
Nosy types - a sheep's daily bane;
Off their backsides from the hillsides
Interfering again!
O wondrous star, O shiny thing
Even a sheepie can look at a king
Happy greetings, birthday bleatings
Who knew the sheep could sing?
O party star, O star so true;
Kings and shepherds having a do
Dancing clapping, no chance napping
What's a tired sheep to do?
Our bedroom's filled with brilliant light,
With people that we didn't invite
And something odder in our fodder;
Oh, for a Silent Night!
*Sheep can count but, as Eric Morecambe might have said, although they have the right numbers, they are not necessarily in the right order.
What do you get when the winds move the trees?
When your guard is down and the sun is setting?
When you are loving the world, especially the breeze.
Do you think of the woodsman
Who spared your life?
Do you think of your stepmother
Who made hell of your life?
Or do you relax in the comfort of the seven dwarves home?
Do you put your feet up and make soup from a bone?
Do you open up the cottage window, feeling love in the air?
Are you happy and carefree, Snow White with this beauty in the air?
Do you think of the woodsman
Who spared your life?
Do you think of your stepmother
Who made hell of your life?
Is your guard down, for a good reason, because of your soft heart?
Do you feel cherished and loved, thanks to the dwarfs, mining being their art?
Is your guard down, are you relaxing in your favorite chair?
When the witch comes prancing with her poison apple fair?
Do you think of the woodsman who spared your life?
Or do you think of your stepmother who made hell of your life?
Take caution Snow. Every person who appears regular is not always good.
Lock yourself away safe, baby, in the safety of the wind and the wood.
Moraceae. This fig cultivar and The Tuxedo store owner are the same.
The owner of the tuxedo store kept hovering over me when i was browsing,
so I asked him to leave me alone. He said, “Fine, suit yourself.”
He asked to seek an understanding due to a womans want of attention.
NebHSHIN ASKED cLABSHISTER TO MARRY. Only in question he did so.
Those if's and's and but's that fine tuning required. He only wished
to gain the understanding that was unspoken. But Abshister WAS more
whorish then diplomatic. She refused any understanding thinking her
ways were best for all: but folk always questioned her as she seemed less
likely to what to know why he wished these things. Fig harvest time had
been approaching. Doing this time of year it was tradition for the males
to ask the females to help store the figs for winer. The root cellars would
have a smell that inspired a romantic conversation.
The scent is unquiet to love that it's fragrance is neutral enough
to be understood. It lends a supple, sexy feeling a scent
to be adorn. Endlessly wearable. Nebhishin, told the woman
she refuses to converse of us together, yet she wished to share time
with me, so I bought her here might these wonderful figs make her
at least mention us together as something Optional. Thus after
conversation and agreement, when those quirks are hammered out
there we can either dissolve our relationship or make it official. It's were the
reference to figs comes into play.Ficus nota, these trees which were chosen to be felled would
now become the wood for the instruments that would either be played at her official engagement party, or the night were he seeks another!
I'm sick at home
With very little to do
So I put on the T.V.
To see what's new.
Judge Mathis is on
Followed by Judge Joe,
Then the lovely Judge Marilyn,
She's my favourite, you know.
Other people's troubles
Are so often funny.
The silly things they sue for
To get a little money.
Afternoon television
Is really a joke.
It's judge shows or soaps
Or those Jerry Springer folk.
So after Mathis and Joe
And Marilyn. who's great,
There's the hunky Judge Alex
And then it's a date
With the Queen of them all,
That would be Judge Judy.
She'll rip them to shrieds
If they act at all moody.
After a week of being sick
There's one thing I know,
If I need to sue someone
It won't be on a show.
I went to the store to buy some juice
And a red bull I needed a boost
Walked in to get introduced
To family members standing in groups
don't they understand there is no excuse
That is borderline child abuse
Come on people get a clue
It doesn't take the whole damn crew
I should beat the living crap out of you
Damn I need a minute maybe two
Doesn't matter if they are black and white
People are dying left and right
I want to be able to get home tonight
without having to start a fight
by telling people to see the light
It seems like there's no end in sight
It's making me sick I have no appetite
I'm starting to choke losing hope While trying to cope with watching all the old folk start to croak that definitely ain't no joke
The warnings are just a click away
Sit down and reed them and do it today
Pay attention or there's a price to pay
Stay home and find some games to play
Something dark is headed your way
Come on people sit home on your butts
It really does suck when you feel like you're stuck
Maybe we could just back the truck up
And pray to God for a little luck
It will be awhile that were stuck in a rut
If you need ideas while your home
Now remember you are not alone
Just look down at your cell phone
Or I can give you a tip
It's your choice Go ahead and pick
Turn on some music now move your hips
To sing along just move your lips
And memorize all the latest hits
And no that is not as good as it gets
You can always build a fort out of some sticks
Or teach your dog some awesome tricks
Maybe go out and mow the lawn
It is definitely getting way too long
Damn I just got a call from my mom
She tells me I need to be strong
And try to be calm
The virus just killed my brother Tom
Who was stationed in Guam now he's gone
That was like a time bomb In a situation thats all wrong I'm starting to not like this song so I quit and you can go to screwit.com
Her dreadlocks were familiar as was her patchouli smell
I recognized her folk music, understood it rather well
She brought back the seventies in the sweetest way
I was thrilled to stumble upon this guitarist today
She gave me a glance, and I saw gold in her eyes.
Something ethereal about her did not give me any surprise.
I thought of the youth who tried to change the world back then.
Her music was soulful and soft, a truly wonderful win.
I invited her to supper and learned her life story of course.
She had grown up in the country with six cows and a horse.
Her story was my own, but sadder by quite a little bit.
I hugged her good-bye, knowing she would not have a fit.
Upon this Pennine peak
in stretch of wilderness,
where ground is silver grey
of moorland millstone grit,
a glistening piece stands out.
I take close look and see
small flake of shiny brown.
Curious, I pick it up.
This stone is not from here
and shows the hand of man.
A thumb size crafted piece;
one edge neatly saw-toothed.
It is my first flint find.
A hunter's blade I hold.
It is a hide scraper
from ancient butchering.
Once used by Stone Age man.
I felt it in my hand.
A peculiar feeling.
Now something primal stirs
deep in my spirit core.
I feel strange connection
with folk of ancient world.