Long Given name Poems
Long Given name Poems. Below are the most popular long Given name by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Given name poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was only ten years old, I yelled at my TV
For I could not believe the filth they played to kids like me
Right there upon my TV screen, a frog with skin of green
Was lusted after by a pig whose plans were quite obscene
That frog would always act like he was playing hard to get
But that there pig would have her way… it was a certain bet
Well, some years on I met that frog and frankly I saw red
I glared right at that dirty frog and this is what I said…
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
Amphibians ain’t meant to speak, but he’d been on TV
He stood there with an attitude and tried to make me see
I glared at him and said there’s nothing here to be discussed
A frog that sleeps with piggies is a frog I’ll never trust
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
See, I’d just seen my dentist and he told me you’d been in
He said he had to throw you out or land one on your chin
He wouldn’t see you then, nor would he polish up the gnashers
Of any frog whose teeth and breath smelled much like bacon rashers
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
That frog has really messed me up. My nightmares feature girls
They all have snouts, four trotters and a little tail that curls
My given name is Herman so my friends all call me Hermie
But in my nightmare all those pigs squeal, “Come to Mumma, Kermie!”
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
I only hope that, one day, on him, law enforcement calls
And at the gallows they will hang him by his bacon balls
Be sure that I shall be right there to watch him as he falls
And as they pull the lever, I’ll cry, “Up yours, Bacon Balls!”
20FabelSEVEN
Charlexes Fabels
Gardenor
A Mexican sweat is just a teepee with a fire made hotter and a rock placed where
you can pour the water on the hot rock to make some steam come up and they
add some pine to make a smell so sweet to tired alcoholic lidded eye eye did my
time cold TURKEY and never needed one. One man who works in landscaping
as the gardenor becomes too busy to notice the other man escaping on the
sidewalk it is the thief the gardenor is using both his hands in his effort for
release the other man in shadow land appearance coinciding with the worker
there just thinking while he is walking hands in pocket just holding on to nothing
as he sort of Saunders bye? Saunders
For over 60 years Saunders Manufacturing in Readfield, Maine has made top
quality Form Holders and Clipboards for millions of customers worldwide. Now
our new Portable Desktop line continues the tradition. Just a coincidence please
Gentile reader ewe must understand the non commercial usage of this poem
business. A Random act of kindness to your senses.
Charles (surname)
Charles is a given name for males, and has its origins in Common Germanic
where it originally was used to indicate a free man, but not one belonging to the
nobility.
While eye was typing this the contact email on the link opened up into a brand
new page and never made connected to the name? please people if you put the
actual name of your email address then we the customers can copy and then
past the thing and then you could have read my fable and had a much better day
oh Mr. and the Mrs. Saunders. The Gardenor may read this missive iff eye bother
to make the translation into Spanish for the bulk males of the working force is
Mexicans.
GARDINER: From the Danish for "garden keeper." A noble profession and a vivid
name. Relatives: Gardener, Gardenor, Gardner, Gardnard, Garden, Gar.
Namesakes: Erle Stanley Gardner, John Gardner. Eye am just a Charles
derivative a CHARLAX iff ewe will of some great import a relic not a derelict of
duty a lover never a fighter a want to be husband to the ewe oh ewe please smile
as ewe aer reading this one and be sure.
Jealousy is never meant to make us harm but only to make love come back so
strong to make the other one in love return a little stronger than she was before
the Jealousy.
Two Months
(Since you've been in Heaven)
By Franklin Price
03/18/2021
Dear Lord, today marks two months since my Barbara left this life
Since You, in love and kindness, took away her pain and strife
You waited 'til our daughter Dani, could be with us on that day
We held tightly to each other as you took Barb's soul away
Thank you Lord and Savior for the ultimate you gave
Your only son, upon the cross, for our sinful lives to save
Barb's with you up in Heaven for she believed that this is true
I'll join her when it's my time, for I do believe it too
Dani stayed with me 'til Sunday. The two of us, both laughed and cried.
We celebrated lives together, knowing Barb was by your side
Part of all our lives, is death. The ones left, then must progress
Dwelling on the dear departed, can make the left one's lives a mess
Alone and left with sorrow, thinking only, “woe is me”
I heard her voice from heaven, “It will be okay, you'll see”.
Facebook posts, and phone calls, E-mails, cards, more than a few.
The love was overwhelming, allowing life to start anew
God, you blessed me with my poetry to help me try to understand
Sent an old time friend to visit, to help me out and hold my hand
Last week I went to Florida to see my family and friends
All of them brought joy to me, For those I missed, I make amends.
I have more friends than I deserve. Time was through before I knew
I love you, though I did not see you. I know there's more than just a few.
God, I want to thank you for everything you've given me
For touching hands, down here on Earth, for my friends and family.
You safely brought a new life, to my down trod mourning scene
A Great grandchild to celebrate, and his given name is Dean
We're going out to see him when Barbara's birthday comes around
On the twenty-third of April, we will hear his first hand sound
You read right, I'm saying we, Barb is always in my heart
She'll see Dean through my own eyes, though she's seen him from the start
I know that she was looking down when he took a breath and cried
From Heaven she was watching, for she would not be denied
Although I'm still in mourning, it's with a forward facing smile
I know that's what Barb wants for me, for a frown's just not my style.
By Kevin Robey
February 14, 2013
Wind flows through our hair, with front lines waiting on
Waiting for sirens to sound that fighting song
With knuckles turned white, our eyes shining bright
There’s no question in choosing fight over flight
The air is slightly crisp, cold and untamed
Armed with fuzzy weapons that bear a given name
With shaky nerves, sweat dropping from every pore
We’ll Bleed till the end, regardless the final score
A thought of comfort for you and I
That soul mates never, truly die
It’s about time I reached to hold your hand
‘Cause this could be our perfect and final stand
Fading to white, the moment stops in time
We look down from walls we had to climb
You with your heart, me with my soul
Gave us the heat to survive the cold
As the world returns to focus, I look around
At our sides, no soldiers to be found
No sirens to sound, no cavalry to lead
To think all along, it was just you and me
The coming army, demons shrouded in dark
With scarring blades that have left their mark
We are damaged, but far from defeat
Between us two, we can’t be beat.
I turn to you, and hold you tight
One last time, face the world to fight
We see the demons, this time unfazed
We charge ahead, with our weapons raised
Revenge is ours, as our strikes ring true
Bruised and broken, we make it through
We lower our weapons, hearts no longer fake
We slayed the demons, Lying in the wake
Suddenly, a sobering clarity ensues
The bittersweet truth, I’ve finally construed
Without being there, you made me strong
You were my battle cry; my fighting song
I stand alone, and so do you
There’s space between us, now visibly true
You were not here, I was not there
Even apart, know I’ll always care
Our paths may be separate, but we’ll journey together
We’ll find shelter from this tortured weather
One day soon, I’ll see you my friend
I don’t know what you’ll call me then
The battle is over; the war is far from lost
I know we’ll survive, no matter the cost
This isn’t the end, but we’ve made it this far
One day the wheels, may even fall off my car
You’ll look over while I’m kicking my door
Remembering what was said of that final score
With our walls down, hearts out of their cages
The story unfinished, we write the next few pages
Ain't Barbie
By Franklin Price
02/24/2022
Barbara Ione Popovits was your given, maiden name.
Trim and slim in stature, a little wild, not ever tame
You were beautiful to look upon, independent, brave and free
Ain't Barbie was your moniker. You were not a doll to me.
I asked you if you'd marry me; change your given name to Price.
I felt we shared a common bond. You said “yes, that would be nice”
Your intelligence superior. Your love for me was true and pure.
You were my partner through thick and thin, through red roses and manure
You never ever wavered. If you did, you never told
Your personality, for me, was opinionated; bold.
When you chose to speak your mind, howl at the moon and bay,
You were correct, most all the time, “I may be wrong”, you'd often say.
You were very good at managing, as we moved from tide to tide
To manage, not my forte. I went along just for the ride.
When we retired, fifteen years ago, you said, “It's now your turn,
I'll keep the books, as always, but the food is yours to burn”.
We shared the cleaning of the house, and the washing of the clothes
I mowed the grass, you kept the plants, when it came time for us to doze,
We went to bed together, went to sleep, sometimes we'd perk
We could sleep late in the mornings, did not have to go to work.
We had moved to North Carolina. It was only you and I
The hustle bustle left behind us. We never ever questioned why.
We had some friends who joined us, but who stayed for just awhile.
Wasn't quite what they expected. So they left us with a smile.
We continued on with living; still enjoyed our company.
Were looking forward to our old age; as this year broke, was not to be.
For two years we fought your cancer, while the covid kept us home
Could not see our friends and family. Could not ride around or roam.
On January eighteenth, with the first snow falling fast
The good Lord came and took you. Your pain, in life, was gone at last.
You are still here, inside me, in my loving memory
When God decides, that I should join you, that is the place that I will be.
Until then I'll keep on keeping on, do my best to make you proud
Spread your love for me to others, helping someone in the crowd.
I thought for a long time
to try and do something right
(in your eyes)
I've taken the blows
and the comparatives
of every beauty you know
You love me, you loathe me,
I'm evil and detestable
You take me to my depth,
then, deny I've ever been
(there in the shadows of destruction)
(where one must sometimes fight to see the light)
I've been under bondage, n'er a day passes
that I do not try
Yet you splattered the truth and it helped me
for all the time living and giving,
never drawing a breath for today;
reflections of the past
Today my God Given name is special
For maybe I am not what I seem
Beneath this shell, redemptions plea
Seven years and months I've thought of how I could say
what it is that I need to say
Once the weight of humanity sat upon me,
every part of me cared and in my depth,
darkness and despair shadowed me, moving about
It doesn't matter the cost,
the dead are not living, but it's the lost
Lost was I, so cold to the Lord and I told you so
You were nice to me and cared
I loved you
Far be it to me now to brush back the tears streaming
at all cost, freedom is what I want
free to believe that I can be redeemed
Somewhere in days ago
was the writer that was the big joke
the one whose feelings meant the least
This monster
something evil
Your woe
A Wo-Man
Trust me not, for I do not love you anymore
Lest I shall die a horrible death
Seven years and months to say what I needed to say
You gave me brushed pink and yellow pastels of love
and brushing another tear back,
where the darkness's of all your lusts and loathing resides
Do not trust me, for I do not, could not love you any longer
Stars at night tell me I am right
they synchronize their twinkling with fallen hopes gone by
still it is beautiful
a light none the less
Where struggling through our nightmares we found dreams, awakening this
dawn
Do not trust me, I am deceit, I am your fear, I am the worst for you truthfully
I am your woe, man
Your woe
Now go
For John Rhinem aka Johnny
link, John Rhine M John Rhinemiller Rachel st cross, tristen temple
poetrysoup.com Jeremy Street Christopher Marcum whoopi goldburg
BENEATH THE OLE’ SYCAMO’ TREE
In an unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree lays a remnant of a people whose existence is noted only by weather beaten fragments of splintered wood.
Beyond anyone’s watchful care – beneath the over grown decayed debris are the souls of those whose epitaph is scripted by the symbolism of life over on the other side.
A ‘no’ named people who once stood feeble before those who detested them for the sole reason of the color of their skin- beckoned by anything other than who they were created to be.
A dark-skinned people whose lives were valued less than that old hunting dog licking his colored masters’ wounds.
Valued as nothing more than ole’ rags- now rest in the presence of an omnipotent Almighty God their existence is no mystery.
Their strength of powerful legacies has been written and seeds of purpose have been sown to give voice of the silence grounded in Him.
Powerful witnesses throughout the night who have taken hold to their beliefs and have never looked back can still be heard.
The battle cries of their existence can no longer be seen yet, whips across their scarred bloody backs are evidence of forced attendance.
I’ll go to that unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree and shake hands with the elders gone on before.
Sit down and feast with the aged mothers exchange songs as our souls look back in wonder how they made it over.
Hug on the young ones whose lives were ruled and unjustly taken by a beastly, barbaric people who feared who they could become.
Reference each one by given names replacing those weather-beaten fragments of splintered wood with the dignity of acknowledgement.
I’d address you by the God given name birth had given you instead of the ones replaced during your painful arrivals.
My back powerful from the strength of those legacies left to me are strong enough to bear witness of what once was.
In an unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree lays a remnant of a people….
‘Wana Hin Gle’ the Lakota call me,
‘Wana Hin Gle’ my given name
‘He Who Happens Now,’ the drum beat has found me,
reaching into this moment beyond glory and fame
As ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my spirit has wandered,
as ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my ancestors call
The questions dissolve, as The Great Mystery beckons,
the campfire eternal, the chanting enthralls
“‘Wana Hin Gle,”’ my Mother calls proudly,
“Your horse is now waiting, your shield fixed with bone
“Off into the prairie you must ride in the twilight,
the People will dance until their son returns home
“’Wana Hin Gle,’ you must now happen quickly,
the buffalo ravaged, starvation cries loud
“Your eyes to look upon the great Wakan Tanka,
whose absence has shamed us, who once were so proud
“As the great Tasunka Witko who traveled before you,
you must call for your horse to come out of the lake
“Great Mother River and Great Mountain Father,
to your will they entrust what The People forsake
“Your spirit must suffer, the babies still cry,
the cold through the tent flaps, all future in blight
“The hawk comes to guide you, as you pass through the darkness,
the drums of your fathers beat into the night
“You will ride to the top of the ‘Pass Of The Bears,’
ask the Grizzly, our brother, where the demon still hides
“Where it lives, you must kill it, for this time and always,
before it steals our last dream, keeping spirits alive
“The White Horse will take you from the lake to the mountain,
and the stallion will sprout wings with its hooves fiery hot
“You will trample this demon and burn him before you,
the smoke will then signal of what he is not
“‘Wana Hin Gle,’” my son; the time is for going,
your journey awaits, past-futures on hold
“The Medicine Woman is locked deep inside you,
your People die waiting—the young and the old”
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: February, 2011)
From My Novel: “Searching For Crazy Horse”
‘Wana Hin Gle’ the Lakota call me,
‘Wana Hin Gle’ my given name
‘He Who Happens Now,’ the drumbeat has found me,
reaching into this moment beyond glory and fame
As ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my spirit has wandered,
as ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my ancestors call
The questions dissolve, as The Great Mystery beckons,
the campfire eternal, the chanting enthralls
“‘Wana Hin Gle,”’ my Mother calls proudly,
your horse is now waiting, your shield fixed with bone
“Off into the prairie you must ride in the twilight,
the People will dance until their son returns home
“’Wana Hin Gle,’ you must now happen quickly,
the buffalo ravaged, starvation cries loud
“Your eyes to look upon the great Wakan Tanka,
whose absence has shamed us, who once were so proud
“As the great Tasunka Witko who traveled before you,
you must call for your horse to come out of the lake
“Great Mother River and Great Mountain Father,
to your will they entrust what The People forsake
“Your spirit must suffer, the babies still cry,
the cold through the tent flaps, all future in blight
“The hawk comes to guide you, as you pass through the darkness,
the drums of your fathers beat into the night
“You will ride to the top of the ‘Pass Of The Bears,’
ask the Grizzly, our brother, where the demon still hides
“Where it lives, you must kill it, for this time and always,
before it steals our last dream, keeping spirits alive
“The White Horse will take you from the lake to the mountain,
and the stallion will sprout wings with its hooves fiery hot
“You will trample this demon and burn him before you,
the smoke will then signal of what he is not
“‘Wana Hin Gle,’” my son; the time is for going,
your journey awaits, past-futures on hold
“The Medicine Woman is locked deep inside you,
your People die waiting—the young and the old”
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: February, 2011)
From My Novel: “Searching For Crazy Horse”
And On Love's Path May We Forever Trod
Once this soul beheld, - joy of morning dew
Dawn- its bright golden beams racing unto-
Verna glory within love's soft sighing heart,
Enrapturing language romance imparts,
Sight of flowering meadows, hill and dale,
Blessings of her gentle touch without fail,
As sky and sun announce the coming day
We together in Nature's beauty play.
Dare our hearts this soothing visage deny, -
As its colorful hues sets spirit's cry,
Entranced by passion's whispering breeze
Upon love's journey we trod with great ease.
I a former victim of loss-love's wrath,
She a sweet angel sent to cross my path,
Bow we both to what treasure Heaven sent
And pray to God this love never relents.
Once this soul beheld, - joy of morning dew
Dawn- its bright golden beams racing unto-
Verna* glory within love's soft sighing heart,
Enrapturing language romance imparts.
And on love's path may we forever trod.
While hand in hand, truly blessed by God.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-15-2021
Romanticism,
Dedicated to poetry's romanticism
and the enticing beauty that
women gift unto this too oft drab world.
1st. Note:
*Verna - Wiktionaryen.wiktionary.org › wiki › Verna
Coined in the 19th century, from Latin vernus (“spring-like”) or as a feminine of Vernon. Proper nounEdit. Verna. A female given name from Latin quotations ?.
2nd. Note:
I watched it snow today, we have now about 5 inches of white
cream splashed upon the ground. Looking out the window I
thought of my youth and to my mind came a snow angel.
And the truth, the beauty of life , love and womankind
sudden the first four verses came in a flash and I snatched
a pen to jot it down. That pen had a will a heart of its own
and within minutes this came to be. I reread it -made one
small change. I changed the word "sight" to the word "joy"
As in, - "joy of morning dew", in the first verse..