Long Grovel Poems
Long Grovel Poems. Below are the most popular long Grovel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grovel poems by poem length and keyword.
On the south-western side of the old mission school,
near the corner of First Street, where blackberries grew
a field claimed by youngsters was crosshatched with tracks.
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with fox-tails
and the children's bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of tall weeds and dry grass.
It wasn't too far from the patched wire fence
that hemmed the backyard of my Grandmother's house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would spread with the tumbleweeds, now tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weather vane like a merry-go round
would spin like a top that might never stop
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in this poem
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________
Something in your eyes
I can't make out what it is
Had a little Sun
Is it the rain drops
A blue skies
The spelling of your name
Add a little Stardust
Kiss again and again
The reason you cry a while
Birds from Heaven
Has taken your love goodbye arrear
A tear in the sky shed in sorrow
Let the Rain Fall miss you bring back the joys of yesterday's Tomorrow daunting on the rays of the sun blessing you Giving you another try at a little happiness
Oh, yes you're heaven blessed
Give a little love to that special guy
Add sea filled love of Hope field ship back home from nigh
Oceans which waters fell bulb flooding all in around
Unknown something by your smile tell me I am the one
Who made up of Trap by the wall of pain
As crystals of sparkling Beauty to your I held
My worldly shame
Had a little Stardust the reason you cry
A tear in your eye shed just sorrow
A white burst from Heaven has taken your love goodbye
A tear in the sky shed as sorrow leaves on branches turn
So gold and green bringing back joyful tomorrow's
Where you stand is a girl all alone
Whispering birds in a tree swing and Croons
Sounds so meaningful some may never know
Telling the world that you're my man that's how much
She had love you so somewhere Waters falls
A tear in your eyes shed your sorrow
How much she adores only she knows
You had a little Stardust the reason you cry
White burst from Heaven this has taken your love goodbye
A tear in the sky the spelling of your name
And that special magic kiss that's in you leave me so amazed Less emotions oh hold me love me with but one less reframe
Darling all I can do is cry something in your heart not the same
There must be a beating inside for me
Inside just vibrating making it impossible for you to see
I'm the man to death do us part
Yet still had a little Stardust the reason you cry
So heaven has taken your love goodbye
A tear in the sky shed in Sorrows
That special magic kiss that's in you leave me
With but one less emotion to beg and grovel
The desires please me with one less option
Because darling all I can do is cry while I'm being cautioned
Magical
A tear in your eyes shed your sorrow
8/7/74
Written words by James Edward Lee 1974, 2020
I hate robocalls!
Inxs of recorded messages
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.
I turn off damn ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!
VII
There never was an army quite like Xerxes’.
Hyrcanians, Medes, Egyptians, Syrians, Scyths –
soon, Greece would grovel at its tender mercies –
a fate more gruesome than the grimmest myths.
It drank whole rivers dry. Took three days with
the crossing of the bridge. Then came a scare:
as Persian lava swamped its xenolith,
the portents were not good. A pregnant mare
gave birth to healthy offspring. But it was a hare.
VIII
A blundering boxer trying to swat a fly,
the Persian force could lunge, but could not kill:
it lost all credit at Thermopylae.
The Greeks, hard pressed, were in the battle still.
To win a war, you break the other’s will,
and this was not occurring. Could the key
be naval warfare? So, for good or ill,
Salamis earned its place in history.
The fleets would clash there. Whose would be the victory?
IX
A tyrant’s strength is his Achilles’ Heel.
His habit of command, of being obeyed,
occludes capacity to see and feel.
To trap them at their moorings seemed a raid
assured to smash the Greeks. Their fleet once flayed,
they could not go on fighting. They must lose.
But Persia’s pride, colossal numbers, made
disaster certain. Tangled, cramped, confused,
the sharks became the bait. For Xerxes, dreadful news.
X
“My bridge. Is it still standing?” Xerxes asked.
Oh, in that question, what a universe!
The pampered prince who - up to now - had basked
in sunshine felt a clutch of fear, and worse:
the tide of fortune, swinging to reverse,
began to drain him of all certainty.
The bridge was now his lifeline, and his curse,
his last hope and his vulnerability.
Persepolis lay far away, fenced off by sea.
XI
So, despots kneel before their own adventures,
become the playthings of their crazy schemes,
contract with Fate, creating wild debentures,
condemn themselves by sure-to-crumble dreams.
Unhappy with mere wealth, they seek extremes
which bring no comfort: sick ambitions bloat
and fester. Most familiar of themes,
Great Xerxes’ boasts grew more and more remote,
until the day his restless minions cut his throat.
7/21/22
Can't always be a fair bout
Got to air it out
Very little I've cared about
There's no need for prayers or doubts
You say I am, yet to me you sound delirious
I can't take you serious
One of many things that makes me furious
There's no better time to be imperious
Still remaining curious
About the mysterious
Finding the answer through luck or hard work and experience
There's no need to grovel
Occasionally god-awful
My impact minor or colossal
Learned it first-hand or through a novel
Breakfast of coffee and a Belgian waffle
The job done with a hose and nozzle
Still looking for love, while digging for fossils
People often acting hostile
Having tunnel vision like seeing through goggles
No time for drama, only money, got to hit the throttle
The last thing I need to do is sip out bottles
Fought for there to be new growth
Often I cut it too close
Even though you'd hope
That I would croak
We could both
End it on a good note
Among so many good folks
So many enlightening books wrote
Yet too often they say it 'looks gross'
Judging by the cover
Breaking down each other
Including our own brothers
The cycle continues on with no buffer
Think of your mother
Why cause one another
Or yourself to suffer
Did my best to keep my slate clean
Learned a ton since I was eighteen
No need to sit and daydream
Very far from make-believe
it if they tease
Lady we make a great team
So it may seem
Hey Queen
Would you like to go out for coffee or a BBQ with baked beans?
If not, how about relaxing and enjoying a faint breeze
In order to get it, it'll take cheese
Continuing to gain speed
I'd pick you daisies
Dig deep getting scraped knees
In order for us to both break free
You'll always be more than a main squeeze
I'd sacrifice myself so that we all can attain peace
This is way beyond a campaign speech
We grew up different even if we were on the same street
It occurred quickly or for more than eight weeks
Quit trying to always make a scene
If you just want to hate and cheat
Then please take a seat
Serve you justice for being a snake and creep
This all having nothing to do with a datasheet
America is freedom,
a lighthouse upon the sea,
showing there’s another way
then the storms of tyranny.
America is liberty,
written right into the laws,
it’s those who worship power
that people call out as flawed.
America is hard work,
stretching limits of what we do,
incentivized self-interest
builds things that we never new.
America is family,
bonds of love to last all time,
building a place where they can
live without actors malign.
America is knowledge,
the place where people say,”Hell yes!
Who the heck says it can't done?
Until it is we won’t rest!”
America is tempered strength,
we may be nice but we’re not weak,
live and let live, but if you don’t
we will make your future bleak.
America is striving
to be better than before,
slavery, discrimination
were once here but are no more.
America is forgiveness
to the misguided once war ends,
we once despised the Japanese,
now they are beloved friends.
America means we’re equal
in our opportunities,
none can guarantee outcomes,
it’s for us the day to seize.
America is history,
a proud past of lessons true,
that tell the tale of freedom,
what to do and not to do.
America is rule of law,
the secret of real success,
when you protect folk’s property,
they feel free to do their best.
America is moral trade,
nothing compelled, nothing forced,
both sides have to see benefits
or one will head for the door.
America is majesty,
a multitude of grand landscapes,
desert, forest, prairie, peaks,
beauty that makes the jaw gape.
America assimilates,
wants the best of all who come,
recognizes tribalism
is self-destructive and dumb.
America is open faith,
no matter what faith you prefer,
and setting off a worship space
that the state cannot disturb.
America is free speech,
free assemble, votes, and guns,
because when these things go away,
you can’t live as a real human.
America is greatness,
the best mankind has yet achieved,
where you can live your truest life,
and not grovel on your knees.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
The Jester tumbled in
with his fancy footwork
into the castle's great hall,
raising his arms, waving to all.
He's dressed from head to toe
in humorous multi-coloured attire
and red pointed shoes.
Tied around his painted clown face,
a funny pointed red ball hat with silver bells,
ringing as he pranced.
In his hand a square bird that doesn't eat
and all it does is tweet, tweet, tweets.
His fans stand up clapping their hands,
yelling with loud cheers;
a bunch of local yokels full of ale and beer.
Then, someone calls his name in a chant,
“Jester, Jester, Jester!”
They all join in.
The Jester said,
“Stand up and place the outcome of the future in my hands.”
As the minstrel's play, “This Land is Ours.”
Poor fools didn't understand.
“Let's raise the mortal alarms,
and let me wear the crown.
I promise to build a great wall
and keep all the clowns out of town."
With all the charm he could muster
for a roaring storm,
he leaps making promises he never keeps.
He dances and prances
with a pinch and a grab to their tender form.
“Nobody but I, deserve the crown
because I’m the best.
I’ll make everyone grovel
down on their knees
and have them all kiss my royal gown.
If I can't cut the mustard
and spread my seed,
underneath a heap, take heed.
I'll fire anyone that stands in my way
and replace with my family and friends in royal seats,
to accomplish all off my promised feats.
Be warned, I am here to stay."
8/10/2017
Not for the contest
The average man, labours all his days,
striving to better his average ways..
Each new day brings toil and more,
bigger worries than the day before..
Bill,s to pay, work to do,
another day to battle through..
No tunnels end..no shining light,
just the curse of work to mar his plight..
Can the average man not get his share
of life,s sweet riches lying there...
No..duty stops the average man,
from plundering wealth wherever he can..
And so deny him of his right,
to live at ease both day and night..
But..work it is to have and hold,
to make him grey before he,s old..
Never a thought of quality here,
only illusions dangled near..
That tempt and fool and compensate,
and lure him to live at a hectic pace..
But..dear reader..this need,nt be so,
if the beam of common sense is allowed to glow..
An idea can open up a complete new dawn
and from it freedom will be born..
If it is money..that makes him the slave,
why should he grovel..or crave..
If he makes do..and he probably knows he can,
He will eventually become his own man,s man..
No more will he listen to outlandish tales,
of those whose words would fill a clippers sails
Never again his cap to dock,
never again ruled by a clock..
Never again to compete for,
for those crazy things that make life neat..
He has no need to follow the timid tribe,
and timidly accept a token bribe..
Average men are mighty indeed,
average men satisfy, many of their greed..
Average men should know..they,ve heard it all
they should,nt be fooled by the two faced call..
The average man,s life need,nt be grim,
he should strive to do things that help to enrich him..
The spirit of life will then ring out,
and the average man won,t be pushed about..
He,ll just stand back and look around..
And listen well..but not make a sound..
And laugh with glee..from deep within..
And bless the day he began to win..
It is then that he will rise from the barrel,s floor
and realise he,s not average any more..
(Victor Hugo fought against the dictator,
first on the barricades, then in scathing
poetry like this - "Souvenir de la nuit du 4".)
She took him to the hearth to warm him up,
not noticing his legs, already stiff.
Alas! Our mortal fires can't give back breath
to those who've felt the icy hand of Death.
She bent her head and took his little feet.
"And isn't this a thing to break your heart?"
she cried. "He wasn't even eight years old!
The teachers in that school thought well of him.
I tell you, Sir, if I should need a letter,
he'd write it for me. Are they terrorists?
Sweet Jesus! Are they killing children now?
I watched him play this morning, at the door.
This gentle little creature. I am old,
it would be nothing if I had to die.
So couldn't Monsieur Bonaparte shoot me,
instead?" She stopped. Her sobbing took control.
Emotions mastered once again, she said,
"What am I going to do, alone? Tell me.
He's all that I had left of his poor mother.
What did they kill him for? I wish someone
would walk in and explain it all to me.
Some shout for the Republic, that I know,
but not this little scrap of life. Not him!"
We stood there glumly, speechless, hats in hands,
helpless before this grief which couldn't be eased.
I'm sorry, Ma'am. You don't know politics.
But Monsieur Bonaparte is full of tricks.
A commoner like you, he feels that since
he has the name, he ought to be a prince.
He likes fine horses, servants, palaces,
and Sandras, Julies, Saras, Lucy's, Alices.
Of course, he'll save the Church, the Bank,
protect the Family, and folks of Rank.
But first, he needs Saint-Cloud's unblemished lawns,
where second-rates can come and grovel, fawn,
and flatter him. Such things just have to be.
That's why old women who can barely see
must sit up, weeping in the dark and cold,
to sew the winding-sheets of seven-year-olds.