Long Guessing Poems
Long Guessing Poems. Below are the most popular long Guessing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guessing poems by poem length and keyword.
She is colder than
Most with emotions.
With her it's just going
Through the motions.
Her womanly ways and
Perfect figure.
No hesitation when she
Pulls the trigger.
Her tan skin and
Dark eyes.
BEWARE! A word
To the wise.
Her full lips,
Her long fingernails.
She is 100%
Bone-a-fide female.
You smile when you
See her look.
You're guessing, she is
A closed book.
Her radiant smile sets
You at ease.
The way she moves,
With expertise.
She is at her weakest
In the morning.
She never prepares when
She hears the warning.
No matter what,
A smile on her face.
It's like she has
Fallen from grace.
You can envy her
Lack of attention.
Easy going, calm,
No sign of tension.
No emotions show
In her eyes.
No hint of confusion,
Or look of surprise.
She is not stuck-up
Doesn't brag or boast.
Be careful,
She is colder than most.
Turbo1904 ?
The emotions overwhelm,
the tears flow.
The thought of a loss,
the sound of a breaking heart.
The pain is yours to bear,
feeling at fault when it wasn't yours.
Second guessing the future
questioning the love you had,
What it real?
Where do you go from here?
How do you cope with your pain?
The thoughts you have are normal,
understandable.
But also know,
you can be accepted as you are,
with all the flaws and defects.
Looking beyond the outer appearance,
seeing the inside,
where it truly matters.
That you can love and
you can be loved in return.
That you were created perfect,
and pleasing to the One who created you.
_ _ _ _
She asked for all the vowels. People always do. But hymn is the hardest hangman word. It was lovely though, she drew the last leg of her stick figure with a smile on her face. She squeezed my hand like she always does and said, “You’re so good at games. I can never get yours right! Guess mine now!”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I tried R first–no luck. S–she drew an oblong head on a stick body. T–the first arm comes out. I go for the vowel–O
_ _ O _ _ _ O _
“I love you?”
“I love you too!” She laughed. “I’m making tea, do you want some? You’re so good at games.”
As she walks her lithe, barefoot steps to the kettle I rethink my strategy.
_ _ _ _ _
If she keeps guessing vowels, there’s no way she can’t guess Audio.
The fall of sixty-three, I envisioned myself
"Miss Sorghum" of our Hancock County Fair.
I aced the talent phase on piano
but needed practice crossing a makeshift stage in heels.
Destiny roared, that fatal afternoon,
my clever escort list'ning for the judge's voice,
grabbed my hand for our debut.
I stumbled and felt my gown unzip.
Throwing his jacket 'round my waist and shoulders,
I escaped with my prince
to a storage room and a most peculiar plight -
Ladder against the wall, a toddler up five steps.
Revealing my gaping rear, I reached for chubby legs
Outstretched across the rungs, I screamed.
Twisting, turning, he came headlong down my back
as mom returned to see my escort catch the lad.
Guessing her son had torn my dress triggered her frown
but the full story sparked a smile upon her face.
And even now, ladders move me to laughter
as I recall - the fall my zipper broke.
-----------------------------------------------------------
May 1, 2019
original written September 2013
edited on May 1, 2019 to remove the rhyme and meter, cut to 20 lines.
Probably not literally free verse; but definitely unrhymed now.
You might enjoy the original version, The Fall My Zipper Broke at
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_fall_my_zipper_broke_505070
contest: Craig Cornish, Smile at the Foot of a Ladder
I neither care nor bother about perfection
On all their faces I actually see otherwise
On strange machines I have found myself
Bolts and nuts intertwined in mazes
Detailed guide too long to comprehend
I posses little education to even recite
So we go on trying, guessing and fondling
Hoping the cure will come somehow
Amidst breached procedures and advice
Get the car moving: most essential task
Those unusual sounds I’ve learnt to ignore
Wish it away and it exists no more
Of course, they all must be wary of me or learn
Yet they foolishly follow even when I warn
I know choices are limited and you must come again
I pray you don’t imagine my ability to guess
When you do guess, what can you do?
After all, I am king even when we all blind
Nobody trained me; nobody checks me
I am not different from the president to the councilor
Riding on the crest of power in mediocrity
Years of guessing cannot make perfection
Where excellence belongs only to thieves
Equipped with sophisticated tools not in the books
Dismantling and reassembling chaotically
Translating cries as sounds of excitement
As failed, bungled machines drive governance
Alas I am in stiff context with my Oga at the top
These politicians ridicule my feats
I should vehemently cry for them that trust me
I worry even when I know they should
At least I am better than the men in the corridor
I still posses the capacity to think and trouble
My competitors are better than I can ever be
If I ever find you at the end of everything,
I don’t think I’d ask for time to be kind to us
I’d ask for one more moment where the noise falls away
and it’s just your name sitting softly in my mouth.
like a voice the world didn’t deserve to hear clearly,
like something gentle learning how to exist in a loud place.
I don’t know if I believe in perfect love.
I’ve seen too many versions of it break mid-sentence.
But I believe in choosing someone anyway
even when certainty refuses to stay still.
And I choose you.
Not as a story that behaves,
not as a feeling that never changes shape
but as you are, in your becoming, in your doubt, in your fire, in your quiet.
I will learn the way your silences speak.
I will stop confusing distance with absence.
I will stop running from the moments where love asks to be understood instead of just felt.
And if I ever fail you,
I hope I don’t become someone who leaves you guessing.
I hope I become someone who returns
again, and again,
until returning feels like instinct, not apology.
you are not a metaphor I use to sound poetic.
you are the reason language slows down when I try to describe what stays.
So if I ever stand beside you where endings are supposed to mean something,
I won’t promise forever like it’s easy to say.
I’ll promise presence.
I’ll promise effort.
I’ll promise you won’t have to wonder where I went
when love becomes difficult to hold.
And if love ever feels like the world is ending again
I’ll still want you there.
not because everything is perfect,
but because even in collapse…
you are where I choose to remain.
Appleby is my destination.
My SatNav shows me the shortest route,
just ten miles is its estimation,
consulting the map I wouldn't dispute.
Black text on yellow, I spot a sign:
THE ROAD AHEAD IS CLOSED FOR 3 DAYS
LOCAL ACCESS ONLY – now that's a bind.
The DIVERSION signed will cause me delays.
Should I chance it and hope I'll get through.
I'm guessing the work hasn't begun
though maybe the sign will prove to be true;
or perhaps the work's already been done.
Ahead I proceed to see how this plays
but round a bend I come to halt.
the pole they're planting overhead sways.
Struggling to turn having been brought up short
I reverse on this single track road
back to a gate where I sink in the mud.
Deep inside I feel something implode
my hasty choice has been rudely snubbed.
Once Ive completed a six point turn,
the car with mud and dung is splattered.
So back to that junction I return,
my trust in the signage now shattered.
Grudgingly I follow the arrow
then squeezing past a car that's obese
on a road that is far too narrow.
I'm in danger of breaching the peace
as the wing mirror catches and breaks.
Arriving at the top of a brow
I'm confronted by a sign that makes
no sense, leaving me perplexed as to how
to read DIVERSION ENDS. Where next to go?
– Appleby beckons but I'm feeling lost.
As I notice the fuel's running low
so I mutter at the extra cost.
And the insurance with an excess clause,
means the mirror won't be worth a claim.
At last I reach a junction and pause –
Appleby's sign points back whence I came.
I turn to the left and after a mile
left once more to approach the Fair.
Finding somewhere to park takes a while,
with last year a fine I need to beware.
A man flags me down. Is he a farmer?
No. “Can you give me a lift to the Fair?”
Into my hand he presses a fiver
my mood now brightened, I this with you share.
God will hear you even when your quiet.
At least you know he'll hear the truth.
Because most of the time he's not going to buy it.
Better you should just yank out every last tooth.
That double edged sword of kindness and contempt.
Can leave you bleeding when your not sure what they meant.
A glare of a stare, you just not sure if they care.
Leaves you wanting to ask but you just don't dare.
There's mystery behind a mask of unspoken lies.
It's his story, should you ask, he's sure to defy.
The answer is eternal and not of this earth.
Tomorrow never comes, and that's about what it's worth.
Unknown secrets beyond the realm that we live in today.
Where honest silence can't be heard no matter what you say.
A hidden void when your annoyed that keeps them guessing.
Smoke and mirrors and hidden fears, is it all just window dressing?
but there is more of us.
Pull out ever Tick
Four letters
..nickname of royal prince
….P…..E…..then something ….O
Doh the clue
America seriously I wish we could help
but we have our own Loonies to deal with
What rhymes with finesse
Every lioness
I think I would have been a great God
……well above average
I mean you say you can’t see him
2000 odd years ago all he could burn was a bush
Look at him know
And his son hasn’t left the house since
well we did put nails in him
Does a Jesus wig get made with criss cross hairs
We should start a trend
Guessing which sexual law
By which actor
While the director took a back handed
I would give dogs 10 lives
Ha cats you only have 9
One more word dog and it’s going to single
Dig gits they make me s………..
for at least a mile
What if there is nothing left to fix
My stare can look like a glare
But trust me I might be a wear/where/wer
wolf over there
Watch I ensnare
Arming every bear
Watch the flare
Bboy in the air
Only lacking
the ability
to
care.
We are sitting at a table at the café by the station,
We are watching people passing,
We are guessing destinations.
We are waiting for our order,
Chatting mother with a daughter.
And we're talking of the old man
As he's waiting at the crossing.
We are wondering his journey
Of the route he may be taking -
A corduroy curiosity in his thin brown coat,
Plastic bags that carry string and other things of note.
Then all of a sudden, he is wandering our direction,
Charming and addressing us as “Ladies”,
Pretending he is thinking we are sisters,
Indulging him, we're happy to be listeners.
He has a sunny disposition,
Though he is saying of his vision
That his eyes are getting cloudy -
He must go see an optician.
And he's telling us his stories of his Sunday-ing allotments,
Hearing of his winning, echoes of past glories.
Cultivating prizes for the growing and the showing of his champions -
Centurion onions, parsnips gladiator,
Okra, bhut bhindi, coriander.
Then purposefully he's pulling from his pocket, from his wallet
A worn photo of a young man looking back at us.
His is sharing how they wanted for their boy they named Ishaan,
A boy, with his head in the clouds -
To be reaching for the stars and the sun.
Without pausing he is telling us scholarship was won.
Astrophysics he was studying.
Careering off to NASA, space systems engineering.
But Ishaan is soon returning
From the Californian dreaming -
Yearning to be grounded in the rhythms of the seasons.
Coming back to his roots.
Following the passing of his mother and reconnecting with his father
In the routines that are gardening.
Working quiet soils, where seeds are just beginning
As the world keeps on spinning.
To stand still awhile.
Then he is leaving, he is gone.
And in silence we are finishing our coffees and paying for our bill.
Feeling we have travelled,
Though, we were only sitting still.