Long Girl Poems
Long Girl Poems. Below are the most popular long Girl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Girl poems by poem length and keyword.
Let me tell you a story....
of a little girl who didn't want to be a Princess!!!!
it happened a long time ago, in the life of an adorable girl of seven,
who lived in the busiest humming city, enormously crowded.
a gentle dreamy-eyed girl, who chose secret corners to read,
and play with her cherished dolls' house, which her father built.
as it happened..her father found a job..and it was an idyllic countryside,
excitedly she followed family, felt fortunate to be close to nature.
a fairyland of her dreams, a picturesque hamlet surrounded by lush fields,
lived in a cottage encircled by a gorgeous garden, bird-songs, and swings.
she went to the village-school, which was a mere walking distance,
carrying her backpack, water bottle, and books she needed.
her father was the powerful manager of the local textile mill,
where most of the villagers worked, and earned their living.
all the children glanced at her as if she were a Princess,
but this soft dainty lass craved to be purely one of them.
she noticed...those children were walking barefoot to school,
no backpack, no bottle of water, no shiny expensive clothes.
end of the day, she returned home, and declared to her caring parents,
"I don't need the backpack, bottle for water, or the stylish shoes...
starting from tomorrow, I am going to walk to school barefoot"
her parents were shocked, but didn't disagree with her at all.
from the following day, the warm friendly girl of seven,
felt totally comfortable and undoubtedly right, with her decision.
all children were frolicking with her, no more was she a distant Princess,
she was their delightful friend...sharing the same life they had in the village.
she still remembers those eyes which sparkled with wonder at the way they were accepted,
a lifelong memory was created, the gesture kindled a feeling of oneness.
April 16, 2022
For N - Form Narrative - New - Poetry Contest
Theme:Life
Sponsor: Constance La France
SECOND PLACE
The sex had been amazing. The women mysteries. The alarm a mood breaker. He awoke! Stared at the ceiling, counted the slats in the blinds, scratched himself, sat up on the edge of the bed. On the way to the bathroom he farted. No one complained. The seat was always up. No one complained. The memory of his erotic dream had faded. He ate another bowl of “Heart Healthy Honey Nut Cheerios”. They’re shaped like little hearts, a marketing ploy he figured. The dog looked at him. He wasn’t sure how he wound up with the dog. Maybe the kids gave it to him so he’d have a reason to go walking in the rain. They shared a simple life. They ate, slept, watched TV, and walked in the rain. He cleaned up after the dog, the dog waited outside the bathroom door for him. The cat was a mobile figurine that s**t indoors. The dog would watch him drink his coffee. The cat would ignore them both. The TV weather girl would keep him reflecting on that dream. He would shower later.
John G. Lawless
©4/26/2023
I let lust lead.
So when I speak on this,
I’m not guessing.
I’m not judging.
I know what it does.
It rips your heart.
Messes up your mind.
Twists how you see people
how you see yourself.
It cages you.
Makes you smile in public
but cry in secret.
Makes you feel too dirty for grace.
Too broken for mercy.
Too far for forgiveness.
And the worst part?
It makes you think God’s done with you.
And truth is — He should be.
But He’s not.
Because Jesus didn’t die for the cleaned-up version of you
He died for the broken one.
The ashamed one.
The addict.
The liar.
The boy with secrets.
The girl with regrets.
You can’t delete demons with a filter.
You can’t kill sin by willpower.
You can’t win this war by fighting flesh with flesh.
You need the Spirit.
You need God.
I tried everything.
Fasted. Blocked sites. Prayed.
Deleted apps. Made promises.
And still fell.
Until the Holy Spirit whispered:
"You don't get free by pretending you're not bound.
You get free by bringing it to the light."
So I did.
I confessed.
Not to impress.
But to survive.
To finally live.
And you know what?
God didn’t cancel me.
He covered me.
He didn’t shame me.
He saved me.
No lightning.
No thunder.
Just quiet conviction
and loud mercy.
Now, I don’t boast in my strength.
Because it wasn’t me.
It was always God.
Every time I said, “I can’t,”
He whispered, “I can.”
Every time I fell,
His grace picked me up again.
I still fight
but now I fight from victory, not for it.
I’m not perfect
but I’m free.
And I write this for you.
Yes, you.
If you’re stuck in ****,
trapped in shame,
thinking it’s too late
It’s not.
Jesus didn’t just die to save you from hell.
He died to save you from this.
This secret sin.
This silent prison.
This hidden addiction.
So bring it to Him.
Say it out loud.
Let the light in.
Because when you confess,
He doesn’t walk away
He walks in.
He breaks chains.
He still does.
And I am living proof.
So let the world hear this:
My little secret sin is now exposed
not to shame me,
but to free someone else.
Because if He did it for me,
He can do it for you.
Let the world hear.
Let the broken repent.
Let the captives run free.
Let the light shine in the darkest room.
This is not weakness.
This is freedom.
This is Jesus.
And He is still breaking chains.
His eyes touched me in a million ways
his desire the sum of all my days
he was rubbed velvet between fingers
in a blind women's world, a fantastic singer
truth be told I wanted him to touch
that part of me that hurt so much
he gently placed me on a bed of roses
then turned me over for a hundred poses
deflowering innocence he set a shy girl free
reaching to arousal like a tumbling bumblebee
his eyes danced in the firelight that night
as he seized me, all dressed in white
honeymoon lovers at the wake of brawn
flushed by the moon they loved, until dawn
Like every woman would hope and wait,
She so waits yet for someone true,
Beyond her prime but bears and stays,
Lone, thus keen to own a man so soon.
Soliloquising at every dusk,
That 31s deserves no lesser men
Than them that girls would rather husk;
“Blokes rugged and intelligent”.
Calm (as would the turtle be) at home,
She’s no different while away,
Works e’er like the dial on a phone,
While at night good gossip is her play.
On every date that held her hoping high
To bear a gent like in her fantasies,
A let down did never make her cry,
She was sure that one would please.
Neither loose nor the virago,
Nor responsive to careless men,
Pretty and true like the rainbow,
On the day it’s her turn to wed.
This is a story of a girl and her beau,
Where life would lead, they did not know.
They dated for several years,
There was laughter and some tears.
One day the boy asked the girl to be his wife,
He wanted her forever a part of his life.
Then a year later a baby was born,
On some days their nerves were torn.
This couple persevered
Most of their fears disappeared.
Neither parent was delusional
And their life continued as usual.
They had an announcement one winter’s day
That there would be another baby on the way.
Off to the hospital as the time came
The life they once knew would never be the same.
They had children’s laughter and noise
That comes from having 2 boys.
What once was three, is three no more.
Now say “Hello” to the Nash family of four!
©Kristy De La Keur Scoville
Shebra was a luxury he could ill afford.
Expensive tastes, and wanted designer clothes.
Her shoes cost him a week’s salary.
But he was tired of paying child support anyway.
She is a ho, one of his friends said.
You are jealous, he answered. She is a call girl.
You have to pay her right?
He refused to say.
Merry Christmas said his friend.
Ho Ho Ho he replied, trying to be funny.
Later regretting that he had bought into the tease.
That will be a hundred and fifty, she told him.
I didn’t even get a kiss, he argued.
Hookers don’t kiss, she said.
But you are a call girl, aren’t you? He asked.
Ho ho ho, she said, winking and holding out her hand.
Start
I fell asleep one winter night
Besides the fire burning bright
I wandered into the land of dreams
In which I saw an awful sight
I saw myself to be a man of means
Living in a mansion between the streams
Destined to live alone as an ugly giant
Despite the luxuries envied by the queens
Children fled as they perceived me a tyrant
Didn’t understand I was compassionate and pliant
I sought their company to love and play
Teach them virtues and not be defiant
A little girl walked up to me one day
Said she isn’t frightened of me anyway
Wanted to know why I give them fright
Shouting at them and not hear their say!
I thought about it in my dream that night
Came to the conclusion she was right
Our appearance to others matter most
What’s in the mind, are out of sight
Henceforth, I became an amiable host
Whoever visited me became my toast
I talked and frolicked as much as I could
I did not refrain from a little boast
My life changed and it became good
Happiness showed again as it should
I heard attentively what others had to say
I now perceived where I actually stood
Children played in my garden all day
Not afraid of me anymore and run away
The morning sun sent the heavenly blight
That ended my dream, awake I lay
End
About my girlfriend and her attitude
She has one of those screaming pretty
Halloween creepy stringy hair
And a thing in her head called an eye
One droops, hangs or even dangles
I can't say if there are two
It is difficult remembering birth dates
Math was never very meaningful
Who knows what's in that head
What else might be in there with her
In the house in the bottom basement
She dwells on bottles filled with alcohol
Sits there for hours to empty one and all
Guns and fireworks go off to raise the dead
She rolls around inspired by the floor
Liquid pleasure turns quickly into Frankenstein
At the sight of me now in her sights
Standing there in fear on landing stairs
With however many eyes she may possess
Swaying back and forth she aims and smiles
Mesmerized I call out in a ping-pong trance
She glares that special gaze in my direction
My girl means everything to me
Put down the guns my dearest if you please
I love a black woman
For she hails from my clan.
She can cook my meals,
She can speak my tongues,
She's drilled in my culture.
She'll pray through nights for me,
She'll always be there for me.
She bakes a cake and feed her toddlers first.
She erect a strong and make a lifelong nest.
She's economical and preserved.
She is the taste that gives the world fragnance.
But she's never my taste,
For she has never stop being fake.
Here is different weaver from a different tree:
A white woman is a white entity,
Full of grace and laced with fortune.
Speaks from her heart and makes you cry:
Makes you laugh always when you want your chin work.
Fragnance emanating from her body
revive dead muscles without doctor's prescription.
She's all that you want
For she cares for all you want.
She knows when your heart skips,
She knows how to fix the skipped heart.
Candidly, i love a black woman
But i want a white woman...
A white woman is my taste...
Who'll be my ........
Searching...
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