Long Girlfriends Poems
Long Girlfriends Poems. Below are the most popular long Girlfriends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Girlfriends poems by poem length and keyword.
I have to fine tune
my ears to hear
exactly what you’re saying
please tell me
it’s my imagination
oh hell why don’t you
just pinch me to convince me…
Did you just whisper the words?
“l love you”?
err, its not the first of April is it?
I guess you’re not joking
because you’re not laughing,
silly me is turning your confession
into something amusing…
Thoughts are racing
through my mind,
Do I say I love you too?
Or do I just say me too?
Err I did not get the memo
on declaring one’s love
or I was absent from class on that day…
Someone please come to my rescue
better yet, let me go call a friend,
I’m sure one of my girlfriends
will know how to handle this situation
with more finesse
than what this novice ever could….
While grabbing my phone
I head for the door,
turning around half screaming
“Hold that thought, I’ll be right back!”
Disappearing into the bathroom
and closing the door behind me…
Form:
I met them once I landed in a place,
they called it haven, a soiree place.
Where people are nice,kind and cool.
Some are young, some are....never mind.
They're awesome people!
I first met this blonde lady,thought she's only twenty.
She did refused, said she's almost a mother to me.
I beg to disagree,'cos she's more than just a mom.
She's a bestfriend, she's wonderwoman.
She lives in Norway,Anne Lise Andresen was her name.
There goes a new avatar,who came to visit on my land.
She's wearring sunglasses,but can't hide the beauty from behind.
Then I found out lately, she doesn't just own a pretty face.
She is the sexiest and hottest momsie,rockin' up poetry.
She's a real poet master,SkAT A.,that's her name!
One day I sat down and read some poetries,
So delightful,inspiring, and awesome pieces.
I got struck to what I've found.
A Filipina who's writing with charms,
Her poems are incredibly great,
She's Nette Onclaud, the goddess poet!
I came to land another page, thought at first that's a cage.
Of a tigress with full of angst and strength.
I must admit, though I was afraid, I admire all the pieces she had made.
She left the table and threw the soup,and think tha'ts the last time I'll see her poem.
But with revenge she went back home, and send me greetings that I treasured.
With friendly comment I came to know, this tigress is tame and a sweet person.
Who is she?...the everbody's love and favorite, Poet Destroyer!
As time goes by, and my journey went long.
I had to passed in different stations.
I came to know so many beautiful people,
So kind and thoughtful, their arts are treasures.
There came to visit my poem one day,
Though full of greiving,they cheered me so well.
They are Mary Jo ,Eileen, F.J. ,Vie and Shadow.
The women who are pride of this site.
The pretty ladies who always been there to lift you high.
Above all these awesome experience,
Is to know the people from my own motherland.
My country fellas, so sweet,cool and nice.
They are the crystal flowers glisten brightly like a star.
They are Leonora, Maria Paz, Nikko and Carole...
My day became brighter, you light the path I walk.
Everytime your greetings knock on my door.
Allow me to do the honor to thank you guys.
And let you all know how thankful I am.
My dream has came true, because of this site.
Crypt and memories of the past
I feel like a corpse in a morgue, I am already that, a living dead
My crypt is so cold, dark, blind darkness everywhere, life after life
I got up, but the door was closed, this is my prison, found myself here the eternal life
Passed years, passed life, forgotten love, only illusion of my life, and illusory of the world, deceit
Child age, youth, parents, family, our house, sisters and brothers, girlfriends, workplaces, church, and my bicycle have not existed, it was all make-believe
Hmm, very bad this cemetery life, the smell of death, infinite demonic life, and eternal suffering became my class after death
Maybe this is Hell. Is this the Hell? Hmm, I don't know, it’s blind of mind, but not a human life, not a man's life, not a human being anymore
I want to leave this life, but I can’t this crypt is my jail, there is no light, just memories, and memories from the past run everywhere in my mind
Hmm, I can’t do anything, I am a prisoner of my past, when do I get out of here? I don’t know, no idea, time is cruel, my memories kill my life
subtitled: The Bolder Boys (rivals of The Golden Girls)
written for a word bank contest - twenty really weird ones
Two graying seniors with appalling chimera
bantering back and forth - mental meandering.
Be it mirage or dreams from another era -
they diminish the other's philandering.
Fanfaronade - from high school boys I would expect
now it re-appears in quite perceptible measures
from our retired magistrate whom I quite suspect
of erroneous accounts of addled pleasures.
While his cohort, an erratic ex-engineer
relates with brazen gibberish his tete a tetes.
At one time more clear and swift of eye and ear,
on blogs they ordain to publish communiqués.
I have found no diffidence which they jeopardize
making harmless though delectable advances,
Noted but honest attempts to digitize
their forte, their skill in dubious romances.
I offered an honorarium of great size
for the first one who would divest his florid page
of any contentious items - to sanitize. .
Gaga girlfriends grin and gush. They're cute at this age.
September 18, 2021
7 men upped and left and then where never seen again
Nobody in the factory had a clue as to where and when
Jack's, cup of tea was still warm, stood on the table top
Nothing unusual here, he often left to go to a local shop
He was always back, with butty in hand in time to drink
But, the tap was left running, in the work's kitchen sink
Eric, had left his machine box, half full of nuts and bolts
A picture still left hung up of the wife, and his small tots
Tom work's supervisor his car parked could still be seen
As their bags left in their normal disarray in the canteen
Rest room checked; to see if they were in playing cards
When it was out back, as to check the work's backyards
Davvy's push bike, was still propped up against the wall
Yet, as to the others leaving, not one of them can recall
Wives and parents were called, see if they'd gone home
But, after all inquires of them, nothing was to be known
Management; no choice, we need to lock up for the day
Can't be bothered; about 7 guys, that have gone astray
Next morning came, at the gates, none of them arrived
Even the work's guard dog was left sat a little surprised
Eric always brought him a treat, now was none the wise
Had his best friend; somehow left, under some disguise
Then the police being called, no clues, could be gleaned
Whereas looking up above, had a third party intervened
Some say they dropped the lottery, so all left in a hurry
That; I may add left the wives and girlfriends in a flurry
But, fact is, it's been a year, still they're yet to be found
7 disappearing men, who it seems have gone to ground
Outside you just see the marquis,
it’s ancient lights all glittery,
amidst a city past it’s prime,
hallmark of a more genteel time.
This was a movie palace once,
now mostly stage, theatric fun,
larger than Broadway’s hallowed grounds,
though it’s the only stage around.
Old New York has dozens of plays,
here just one means a special day,
the touring shows, when they come here
will always make the locals cheer.
The women like the musicals,
and a date night that’s eventful,
the men don’t get it, but they come
for ‘rewards’ from girlfriends when done.
That’s why I’m sitting in this seat,
enrapt woman right next to me,
the singing makes me roll my eyes,
but more often than not I find
that even if the play does bore
the theater itself is much more:
Gold chandelier perched up above,
casts light on painted gods of love
who frolic on ceiling plaster,
with eyes of cut alabaster,
above the stage, an ancient scene,
fawns and satyrs, a Grecian dream,
and gilt patterns around the sides,
just beyond where the curtain slides,
marble pillasters flank the stage,
frame the pit where orchestras play,
fancy seats with curving armrests,
splendid cushions in velvet dressed,
there’s opera boxes up above,
but I just do not make enough.
In pressed white shirts and vests ornate
the ushers stand ready and wait,
a pipe organ warmed up the crowd,
harmonic tones of richest sound.
It seems something from days long gone,
shines light on where the world’s gone wrong,
No post-modern black box so stark,
No building thrown up without heart,
But something built up to proclaim
that beauty should never be tamed,
even if Broadway makes me groan,
this building is art cut from stone.
Of course, I don’t say this to her,
she wants theater, not architecture,
but it’s what I appreciate
when dragged out on just such a date.
The history of the world
has been divided into two
eras known as BC which stands
for 'Before Christ' and AD which
stands for 'Anno Domini', a Latin
term which means 'Year of our Lord'.
I have chosen to divide my
small world into two eras
as well, known as BB and AB.
I was born nearly 22 years BB
and have lived some 51 years AB.
BB, BEFORE BARBARA, there were some childhood
sweethearts. There were teenage crushes and a
few heartbreaks. For a brief period, I retired
from romantic pursuits. That is until Barbara
came along. Her smiling face and sweet voice
pricked me in the heart and quickly brought
me out of retirement, turning my whole world
upside down.
Yes, BB there must have been 10 or more
girlfriends, but none arrested and captured me.
None engendered a ring nor came close to the
words 'I do' or 'I don't'. But Barbara and I said
'I do'. Since Barbara, there has been no AB,
AFTER BARBARA. We have shared more than 50
Valentines, and yes, she's still the one.
012523PSCtest, For Love's Sake. Regina McIntosh
5P
Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword
They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill
The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise
Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate
With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak
Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice
We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt
It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows
But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests
Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains
For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole
Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand
With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still
Blood fills the wide divide
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March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed
Christmas Beloved
Fluffy white snow lay upon the ground all around, crystal shiny flakes on chilly air fall without a sound.
Ruby red berries share branches with dark emerald leaves, among branches, fences and hedges showing off fine feathered robins.
By the heat of an open fireplace, chilled hands and feet brought back to life. In the glow of crackling logs, cups of chocolate warm the weary soul.
Children play safe, parents to music dance through the night the look of love burn bright in loving eyes.
Jack frost glides his skates across village ponds and land locked lakes, streams and rivers where people fish and gather in summertime like picnic spots now empty waiting for summer to return.
Mistletoe hung invitingly, socks red and white wait for the time when gleefully surprises big and small fill them up or under the Christmas tree.
When morning comes church bells ring, sounds of joy ring out loud across the land. Husbands to wife, girlfriends to partners mums and dads to the children they hold dear merry Christmas to you, mine and our beloved.
By
Patrick D
Opps! must be dead,
looks like the pearly gates,
Rough guy levitates towards me,
think I know his face,
St Peter, I need some help
trying to get into this place,
I’ll let you enter kiddo,
but my identity you mistake,
I’m Lemmy from Motorhead,
and these are rocknroll gates.
What! where the hell am I,
bet my drink got laced,
Musical heaven my friend,
come on let’s get spaced,
Sure thing, have you got
any weed, also love a pint,
Hey that’s my middle name,
I’ve just rolled a hardcore joint,
Guess who’s on tonight,
Jimi Hendrix tops the bill,
His new girlfriends, a foxy lady,
he’s even covering my overkill,
Hows Bon Scott, haven’t
heard from him in a while,
Drinking vodka in the bar,
hitting highway to hell in style,
I’d love to see Cobane,
that guy could really write a song,
Yeah still in rehab, his will is good,
be out before too long,
This is some kickass place,
when was it conjured up,
Jagger came up with the idea,
wanted his own club,
No way! he’s definitely alive,
I seen the stones last year,
afraid overdosed on brown sugar,
Devil had sympathy, let him reappear,
Wow this black cannabis stuff,
is really kicking in,
Can we go see a show,
but please not that infernal din,
Oh ignore him, Conway Twitty,
turning this place into a zoo,
Just hangs around the gates,
heaven banned him too,
Mercury, Bowie, George michael
did they make the cut,
I’ll let you in on a secret
we don’t see them very much,
Well Freddie didn’t settle,
said he wanted to break free,
Ziggy’s here ok, all time low,
after splitting from gene genie
And for George, lost his faith,
normally stays around the loo,
Watch out for Jim Morrison,
lighting fires, gets roadhouse blues
Wow I’m wasted Lemmy,
how come your not allowed on stage,
What! oh the straight jacket,
don’t get me into a rage,
That nasty war stuff I collected,
got me sent to hell,
My noisy music drove satan crazy,
left me here for a spell,
Well nice meeting you Lemmy,
I’m off to see the show,
God was never on your side,
better off down below.
By
David Kavanagh.