Long Guest Poems
Long Guest Poems. Below are the most popular long Guest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guest poems by poem length and keyword.
Nay, despite failing to make the grade,
this bluesy well red, duff mute
average white band hit,
hard knock school alumnus
jack of all trades master of none bumped along
pot hole cratered steep pitch
while riding the bus
bullies skewered kosher me all, cannibalized
carte blanche timid ego
brandishing exacto knife
threatening jugular, cuss
sing maniacally pulling out all stops
going headstrong for this doofuss
Embracing premonition making me mincemeat
vis a vis via, Atilla the Hun plus
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
after diet of worms
as hors d'oeuvre hug guess
if given a choice, would prefer Loch Ness
monster, or the whale that swallowed Jonah,
either t'would be a quite im press
heave feted feat, versus being poached,
roasted, skewered burnt alive
perhaps sautéed to feed additionally,
the Gothic (Jacks sin) five
the latter adorned with
Bandolier prototype, whence they would jive
to Vandals mess sigh ya,
these last yet another contra band
to play on command, or risk not being
he gee beegee bing a live
all thee above iterated blather spluttered
as punishment against revive
ving human sacrifice by pence hoove lee donning
a new jersey wordlessly trumpeting, and strive
ving assiduously as a one man lobbyist,
and aye willingly negotiate
to take more'n one wive
even though that would be big o' me decor,
thus a last minute reprieve given
without axing por favor
and black keys handed over
to Holy Roman Empire in hoar
rubble ruins (over the Weeknd), thus brutish nasty,
and short tempered surprisingly
(boot not prematurely) ejaculating bon jour
foo fighters actually (grand
aery an nah - did a three sixty)
feting me guest of hun or,
boosting self esteem, the first time
since being a kid in a candy store
which poetic digression
did make quite a dee tour,
and bringing detente amidst marauding
village people hoop reef furred war.
I walked into your house carrying ghosts.
Not the kind that rattle chains,
But the kind that whisper,
“You don’t deserve this.”
I had learned love as hurt,
As a silence,
As a door slammed in my face.
I thought family was a battlefield you never stopped bleeding on.
Then you opened your door.
And it wasn’t just wood and hinges.
It was warmth.
It was light spilling into places I didn’t know were dark.
You looked at me like I was not broken glass,
But a person.
Like I was not a burden,
But a guest.
Like I belonged.
You taught me things no one ever named.
That dinner could be laughter, and not a minefield.
That “How was your day?” could be a real question,
Not just a trap.
That hugs aren’t weapons.
That raised voices aren’t always danger.
That love doesn’t have to hurt.
You didn’t just give me a room.
You gave me a new definition of home.
Home isn’t walls.
It’s the sound of your voices in the morning.
It’s the way you remembered my favorite things,
It’s the silence after “We’re here for you” that felt like safety instead of threat.
And when the old ghosts whispered
“They’ll leave you too,”
You stayed.
You stayed through my panic.
Through my flinches.
Through my quiet apologies for things I didn’t do.
You stayed.
You didn’t just take me in.
You held up a mirror and showed me what love actually looks like.
And now,
When I think of family,
I don’t feel hurt.
I see open hands.
I see you.
So this is my thank you.
For every meal.
For every small kindness.
For teaching me my father’s actions were not my fault.
For showing me I am not hard to love.
For promising, without words,
That I am safe.
You gave me something
I didn’t know I’d ever have,
Not just shelter,
But roots.
Not just a house,
But a home.
And no poem I write,
No words i could say,
Could hold the weight of that gift.
But still,
I want you to know:
I carry your kindness like armor.
I carry your names like prayers.
I carry your home inside me where the ghosts can’t reach.
Thank you for staying.
Thank you for loving me whole.
Thank you for teaching me that family can mean healing.
Spring Garden
Magnolia Tree is best
at my garden gate
to welcome guest,
blooms first to rest.
Witch Hazel shrubs show
second spring bud to glow,
spray shiny golden flow
glistening in a row.
Daffodils deepest pleasure,
Splendid Spring’s treasure
Dismay grief eraser
Delight of my leisure.
Rhododendron vibrant
erects perches arrogant
red bunches brilliant
gay joyful jubilant
Tall Tulips and Muscars
Beneath lies green grass
Deep dense large mass
Garden looks gorgeous.
Just watch on a glance.
Beautiful, not by chance.
All around fragrance
Perfect set of romance.
03/15/17
Spring Time Contest by Alexis Y. Second Place
Best Rhyming Poem 3 Contest by John Hamilton
I stand outside your house of rhyme,
but will not enter in
it was to me, a welcome place
where love would always win
a place of sweet camaraderie,
a place of give and take
It was to me a haven that
I never would forsake
But now I stand here at the door
and know this will not be
the place that welcomed me and so
I turn away to flee
before the walls of sturdy words
is blurred from tear filled eyes
I take a look through window clear
that's curtained with the lies
I see inside a cheery glow,
there burns an ardent fire
Another muse now there resides
and she is your desire
My words have lost their warming touch
like stones they lie all dead
and yet one time, they were divine;
you worshiped them in bed
I turn my back and walk away
no more a welcomed guest
and though you ask of me to come
I'll silence your beheast
My heart will not indulge a tear;
no longer will I weep
Your house of rhyme will one day fall;
its rubble, I will sweep.
Eileen Manassian
She stood in front of the mirror, not liking what she sees
He watched from behind the door, seeing what he likes
She turned from side to side; hoping different angles would help her shape
He watched with excited eyes; each new angle shaping his hope
She rubbed lotion all over her body, to keep her young and smooth
His jeans were getting tighter, just begging to be removed
She touched the parts about which he fantasized, slowly closing her eyes
He had to let his growing manhood out, now grown to twice its size
She knew he was there
He knew that she knew
He really didn’t care
She watched as he grew
She made sure that he could see her, though she did not let him in
From the reflection in the mirror she saw him watching her watching him
He wished her hands were his and that his hands were hers
She applied more of the lotion letting out a pleasurable purr
They climaxed apart together; never acknowledging the other one
He went to the guest room shower, having finished what she begun
She stood in front of the mirror, thinking; perhaps it’s not so bad
As long as it does that to him, I guess I can still be glad
Psychological Pain — a quieter Fire —
That eats the Mind by Degrees —
No Smoke betrays its Occupation —
No Cry confirms the Breeze —
Psychical Pain — a subtler Guest —
It enters without a Door —
And rearranges all the Rooms
We thought were Safe before —
Old Age — the Keeper of the Keys —
Turns softly — one by one —
The Locks that held the Yesterdays
Till all their Work is done —
Untreated Grief — long disciplined —
Behind Compartment Walls —
Now hears the Mortar loosening —
Now feels the Plaster fall —
Each former Hour — released at once —
A Crowd without a Name —
The Child — the Wound — the Aftermath —
The Echo and the Flame —
The Mind — astonished by its Weight —
Bends under Memory —
As though the Past — mistook the Time
And claimed Eternity —
Yet even here — a strange Relief —
In Ruin — Truth appears —
For what collapses — also frees
The Heart — from silent Years —
And Pain — though absolute — may teach
What Stone could never say —
That Survival — is the bravest Art
The Soul performs — each Day--
Local favorite Brian Swinehart
Covington, Ohio's kind heart
does comedy at a cozy coffee shop
with Philippine food in the backdrop
The barista pours out the coffee
her daughter sits out the toffee
as Brian don's a smile
bringing people in for miles
His latest guest (Nicholas De Santo)
an Italian on a quest
from London he came
hoping we can remember his name
+Brian is a friend of mine that does comedy and I do the poetry every third Saturday of the month at our favorite coffee shop North Star coffee station in Piqua, Ohio. He is a traveling comedian that has lived in California and was a backup actor.
A poem of love, forgiveness, friendship and peace,
where we fill our laughter, without cease.
From a heart of purest intention,
a forgiving heart, with arms extension.
With a peace, that’s fills the soul, you see,
what love, forgiveness, and peace, does for you and me.
Friendships, relationships, kinships, all the same,
when love, forgiveness and peace, leaves no one to blame.
The laughter, the joy, oh what peace of mind,
when in the right relationships we find.
We are not meant for everyone, you see,
but a true friend with love, forgiveness in peace we be.
Growing, thriving together, as in life we go,
three things that causes relations to grow.
Love, forgiveness, and peace, even if your the guest,
put our best foot forward, then to be our best.
When eye was eating my serial this mourning
Aye red the hole rules four the contest
Eye sore it inn black and white
It was plane for all two sea
The sponsor said wee CAN make miss steaks
Butt too me this practise isn’t write,
Nun are aloud, they are usually band
Yule have guest its throne me off coarse
Ewe awl no wee kneed too right perfect poetry
How can wee expect two win
Hour poem mite bee bard
Weave always bean tolled Anne error can't bee maid
Sew is the fax I didn’t ewes my spell chequer a gambol…
May bee I knead a lessen how too rite inn the write tents two
Tell me strait, do my versus make any scents too ewe?
Who nose, my poem mite sale to a plaice at the top of the podium
Contest Don’t fight it ….write it!!!! – Sponsor John Lawless
08~13~15
Coming from nowhere
Going the same
The tracks in front
Pointing to
Tracks behind
The wind on the lake
Reminding
That I am still a guest
The snow on the ice
An invitation
Begging acceptance
New Hampshire Winters
Are white
In my memory
And frozen in their
Clarity
Even whiter
Dawns
Out of the stillness
A Moose crashes
Through the snow
Never acknowledging
My presence
His majesty
Confirming everything
That unfound I’ve lost
His spirit cries out
And with quiet respect
I follow him across
The frozen lake
Leaving tracks of memory
One final time
—never to be seen again
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)