Long Folks Poems
Long Folks Poems. Below are the most popular long Folks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folks poems by poem length and keyword.
My son’s name is Dylan, was country raised
in the hills of Wyoming where cattle graze,
helped on the ranch, but never felt fulfilled,
hated his hometown as teens often will.
But he ‘did his time’ until graduation,
went to college clear across the nation,
said by the best companies he’d be employed,
that he’d die rather than be a cowboy.
Now obviously this didn’t please me,
but I waved it off, he was but nineteen,
he immersed into college as young folks do,
bought into all the leftist clap-trap to.
He though protesting would do the trick,
solve everything he found ‘problematic,’
started smoking weed, raved ’bout ‘the man,’
even griped to me that you can’t ‘own land.’
Wouldn’t celebrate Christmas when he came home,
kept spouting slogans that just make you groan,
I sent him to learn, but he just annoyed,
he’d be better off had he stayed a cowboy.
Then he graduated to the real world,
employers cared not for protesting churls,
only got hired by a coffee shop,
where he contracted the damn hipster rot.
Pretentious preening, loved the obscure,
wore the strange clothes to show he was ‘pure,’
disparaged most music, such a killjoy,
he though that was better than a cowboy?
Even that was not his greatest mistake,
Hipster progressed into full-blown snowflake!
If you didn’t conform you deserved hate,
which he wrote up in online click-bait.
Harassed advertisers to silence ‘bad’ views,
your freedom meant nothing, he knew ‘the truth,’
any awful tactic he would deploy,
hard to believe he’d ever been a cowboy.
But minds in their twenties often are blind,
and Dylan’s allies came for him in time,
he said a ‘wrong’ word, took out of context,
before he could speak up his career was wrecked.
With no options left, he traveled back here,
I put him to work riding with the steers,
his sadness was heavy, his pride devoid
at the thought of becoming a cowboy...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
When folks accuse or blame you,
just stay calm, keep quiet.
They run the world, it seems,
and there’s really no winning against their words.
So just keep going forward.
Give them the price they want.
Let go of whatever makes them mad.
Step back when you need to,
stay out of their sight and reach.
That’s the reality—if you’re open enough to see it—
ignore the noise,
heal the peace they once broke inside you.
Understand.
Forgive.
Move on.
They might think they own the world,
but you don’t have to stay connected.
Love yourself,
protect the peace inside,
and take care of your soul.
I
Seated in a bray were three friends,
On chair,pavement,aisle did they fill.
Merrying,hopping,sharing their advice,
Like the hopping daffodils does in the
hay.
But a languorous serendipity perchanc'd,
And the three in decisions advanc'd.
Sadness to the utmost flew,
Joy opposite in decision yet in the land
drew.
While strife beneath the earth dived,
Making the three friends in separation
thrived.
Life seem'd vague when they unity despised,
And they all did in love's isolation lay.
With no hope of boosted liveliness,
All were bethrot'd to weariness.
II
Then came a fearful bright dawn,
Strecth'd wide in the sky like unto a lawn.
Sadness pierc'd her eyes through the sun,
It seem'd natures plotted against her.
Then said she unto herself like unto a
'street dancer',
Bellowing deep towards the shadow
'mancer'.
"I'll arise and return to joy,
That we along with strife will by unity
coil".
Then she arose and edged to joy her way,
That if she be not in the land then she'll in
the bray.
From afar Joy point'd her gaze like unto a
gun,
With " Is that not sadness...?",laying in
mouth her.
Then she dashed into her arm with
her in her sight,
And both did all their predicaments
recite.
III
The Nightingale often mock'd strife,
"Plumpy belly,disgusting snout", in
Nightingale lies.
Her atmosphere scolded her heartily,
That she ev'n in her dreams dwelt wearily.
Then she too rethink to revisit aged folks,
To at least enchant logs of pending talks.
And if by help they can bail him out,
" If Joy won't,Sadness will";She thought.
Then she picked her way towards Joy
abode,
And for hours she in anxiety rode.
A mile ahead,her eyes sensed steadily,
All in each sight, the three again met
merrily.
And again in the bray were the
three;
But can these really be?
It is picnic day. The last full day of school
Until summer vacation. Our children have been waiting all year for it.
The teachers have been packing their rooms like mad, not leaving a pencil behind.
We all watched movies yesterday; today we get to go to the PARK!
Charge!
Hold on, folks.
It’s 5:19 a.m. and all I hear is thunder outside, and the wind.
We did not have an alternate plan. The park was “the it plan” for today.
It looks like that is not happening now. Hm.
Isn’t it weird how we still have this insane belief
That we are in charge?
I woke up and thought, wait, this isn’t
How WE planned it.
The grumble and
Rumble of God is
Everywhere; I can
See flashes of
Lightening.
We plan and
Who laughs?
Always.
You hear to many people now
look at success like it’s a crime,
that anyone who’s achieved it
only got it through acts malign.
That everyone who’s made it big
somehow must be an ‘oppressor,’
that it is all ‘exploitation,’
to dare rise above the lesser.
That’s there’s something wrong with winning,
it’s ‘evil,’ and makes folks feel bac,
I’ve even heard it called ‘fascist’
by ever-stupid undergrads.
To preserve everyone’s feelings,
to win power off jealousy,
we’ve demonized seeking success,
Llonized mediocracy.
But many who buy into this
have not realized all its effect,
and it does not take much to see
that people won’t like what comes next.
If success becomes demonized,
and brings criticism for all,
then people will stop seeking it,
this here is the start of the fall.
They’ll strop trying to do their best,
since doing so brings social pain,
by doing that it all declines,
what we have built goes down the drain.
Was it not the search for success
that built up our computer age?
Take that away and it stagnates,
what we have now is where we stay.
Was it not the search for success
that created high yield food crops?
Without that billions would have starved,
how many of us would be lost?
Does not success push the artist
to create what we’ve never seen?
To write the songs that move our lives,
the beauty that runs in our dreams?
Does not the mother seek success
when trying to raise the child?
If they did not seek such a thing
we’d all be brutish and vile...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
an ugly gray rock, so I kicked it along
amused by my memories, humming a song
it was jagged and rough - I gave it no mind
and punted it thrice, then left it behind …
I changed up my hum and walked on alone
not thinking it special, (it WAS just a stone)
yet the farther I got from where it had been
the more I considered that "plain" rock
again
something about its proportions or form
contrasted just slightly, was not quite the
norm
the way that it tumbled, or lay there, just SO
or maybe the way it had bounced off my
toe
whatever it was, I could not quite discern
but decided right then, it was worth a
return
so, I spun myself 'round, headed back to
that spot
still not sure of WHY - just a feeling I got
but when I returned, it had broken in two -
an incredible OPAL flamed red, green and
blue!
scant had I known just what "ugly" could
hold -
all the prismatic colors that smoldered,
untold!
well …
I couldn't help think that a lesson was there
of the plain folks we see, that we pass,
unaware
for they are more precious than any gray
stone
with such wonders inside - yet we leave
them alone
perhaps if we gave them a wink or a grin
we might find the bright of their beauty
WITHIN
the colors that light their charisma and
grace
the complexion of charms that don’t show
on a face
the places they’ve been or the roads they
have run
their moonlight romances and days in the
sun
the wealth of their spirit, their talents and
rage
they’ve a story to tell, if we’d just turn the
page
so, I keep in my pocket, a piece of that rock
to help me recall what I learned on that walk
not to take "plain" for granted, or push folks
aside
but instead, look for sparks of their fires …
deep INSIDE.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Overlooked Beauty" Poetry Contest, Jesse Rowe, Judge & Sponsor.
The joy that other people possess
Is well within our reach
We're all made up of similar stuff
I'm sure you've heard this speech
Well my friends, in my experience
It's a true and a provable fact
The more you look on the bright side
The more positive people you attract
They observe your sunny disposition
Wish they could feel that way too
It really doesn't take a lot of effort
Positive thinking rubs off on you
Picture all that is right with the world
Of the things that you possess
Don't concentrate on all the negatives
That will only cause you stress
Happiness is quite an infectious thing
Belt out an old good times song
Sooner or later believe me, good folks
People will start singing along
It's really the power of positive thinking
Happy always wins in the end
It's a human thing, we're born to cackle
So chuckle yourself silly, my friends
Written By: D. Collins 6/12/20
There's nothing more knowledgeable than a Ghetto Boy.
One who grew up with no education, computer, or toys.
They have seen the bottom of the bottomless pit.
Where a good meal is rummaging through other folks sh _ _.
This can be seen up close, with your own two eyes.
Just count the numbers of how many have died.
Ghetto Boy, I understand, just how you might feel.
I'm here to show you love, and try to make you heal.
At six years old, no one should be scared of police.
But, no one has experienced what you have seen.
Ghetto Boy, this brother has tears in his eyes for you.
He'll put some pieces together to come to the rescue.
Colorado is renown fer the majestic Rockies a-reachin' fer the sky.
Now, 'tis better known fer sittin' 'round, smokin' pot and gittin' high!
Visitors used to come to see Pikes Peak and The Garden Of The Gods.
Nowadays, they seek out cannabis shops wherein to spend their wads!
Some fellers gave up plantin' corn and melons to grow marijuana,
To reap the profits sellin' maryjane to folks a-seekin' their nirvana!
Now, in lieu of the scent of pine, the odious odor of pot pervades the air.
Glassy-eyed dudes stroll about pollutin' the air without a worldly care!
I'm chagrined to travel out-of-state sportin' a Colorado license plate.
Makes me real 'proud' to be called a denizen of The Centennial State!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
It was quite a surprise to us
when monsters came out of the night,
the beasts and bad guys of legends
who for so long gave us a fright.
We thought they lived on movie screens,
pulpy books, and local folklore,
until they came to prey on us,
and we all learned that they were much more.
The panic, at first, was intense,
folks were dying, it seemed surreal,
vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghosts,
and other such beasties were real.
They were as bad as legend said,
but we soon figured out one truth,
the ways to kill them in legend
really worked—we knew what to do.
The werewolves were the easiest,
you just bought some silver-tip rounds,
given all this country’s hunters
it took two years to gun them down.
As for ghosts, if you do not know,
ectoplasm is diffuse matter,
floating in air, it is easy prey
for the common vacuum cleaner.
Then dump it into a furnace,
and watch the ghostie burn away,
old houses everywhere were safe,
no more hauntings came into play.
Vampires could blend in the best,
of the monsters they killed the most,
UV flashlights or smeared garlic
was all it took to make them toast.
The zombies, good lord, they were slow,
and not all that hard to destroy,
army snipers would take head shots,
and attack choppers were deployed.
They’d shoot down with their miniguns,
guaranteed they’d catch zombie head,
since the undead liked to cluster,
an easy target for sprayed lead.
We even had a kaiju-type
dragged its lumbering form onshore,
just as big as a skyscraper,
a three-hundred foot carnivore.
We fired antiship missiles,
half-dozen of them did the trick,
set up some coastal air patrols
to take care of the beasts right quick.
In retrospect, it all makes sense,
after all, we are humankind,
we’ve been waring since we could walk,
countless weapons came from our mind.
We’ve killed sabertooths and smallpox,
run down real threats without pity,
killed tens of thousands in battle,
even nuked two of our cities.
What’s a werewolf compared to that?
What threat’s a vampire these days?
Those beasts should be afraid of us,
since we always find ways to slay.
Maybe we need better monsters,
a challenge for our evolved state,
something that can inspire fear,
the kind we can appreciate—
CONCLUDES IN PART II.