Long Hall Poems
Long Hall Poems. Below are the most popular long Hall by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hall poems by poem length and keyword.
I walk through the house at night
Not being able to sleep
Walking down the hall on the right
Avoiding the boards that creek
I hover over my sleeping son
As he smiles and laughs through a dream
His face so peacefully quaint
Lit up by a visiting moonbeam
The dog joins me in the kitchen
Having heard the patter of my feet
She wags her tail in happiness
Hoping for a night time treat
I look at pictures of my wife
Hanging on the walls
Enjoying the memories
That each of them recalls
I walk in and out of every room
With no real purpose in mind
As if I am looking and searching
For sleepiness to find
I return to the master bedroom
And under the covers I do slide
Feeling the warmth of my wife
Sleeping by my side
I place my hand upon her back
And she let’s out a soft, pleasant moan
I am a happy man
In this castle, I call home
a house and it's dog
I had a cottage out in the sticks, the home
was built on a slant and had steps into every room
from the kitchen to the hall was
three steps down
Two steps down, the bathroom to the right,
was one step down
To the room where I wrote was
Also, two steps down, but my bedroom
was one step up
This is romantic when one is young, but
But with elderliness a burden
Then my dog died in a silly accident
But I woke up in the night and heard someone walking
to the door of my bedroom to see if I
Ok, when I switched on the light, I saw
her shadow disappears
I got up, called her name, hoping she
had not died, even though I saw
dead body, I didn't like my house anymore
I met a woman
I met a woman ot the cuddly kissing type
I sold my house and live in a big flat
Late at night, after a glass of wine and
There is silence. Bambi, my dog, still visits
to see if I'm ok.
Whenever I make a mistake my mind drifts to my little league coach back when I played the game…I’m sorry to say as the years have passed I have forgotten his name.
You see I loved the game of baseball…loved its glamour…it’s appeal…unfortunately my ability to play the game would never match my zeal.
If I missed a catch that somehow found its way to me…exiled in the right field clover…my coach would smile then patiently say, “Nice try, Jim….I think you need a do over”.
When I’d swing and miss…which unfortunately I did an exorbitant amount…coach gave me so many do overs I’m sure even he lost count.
Who would’ve thought my do overs would have given me a modicum of fame…but that’s precisely what happened as ‘Do Over’ became my name.
“Do Over, you’re up.”
“Do Over, nice try.”
“Do Over, throw me the ball.”
I’d even hear, “Hi Do Over.” In school…as I was walking down the hall.
On our jerseys, as a surprise, coach had our names emblazoned on the back…but when I looked at mine I was crestfallen…as I read Doover all in black.
How could this have happened…Coach said he hadn’t a clue…but, looking back, it seems appropriate my jersey was a do over too.
I put it on reluctantly…unable to think of an escape maneuver…and for the rest of my short-lived baseball career…my new nickname was Doover.
But I came to love that jersey…in it I found both glamour…and appeal…and I think I learned more from that jersey…than my time spent on the field.
I learned to view the world through imperfect but patient eyes…I learned everyone deserves a break…I learned to give people another chance…whenever they make mistakes.
Eventually my mom threw out my old jersey…years of wear and tear taking its toll…but I didn’t mind because by then…Doover was emblazoned on my soul.
Through teaching, marriage, fatherhood, friendships this Doover thread has spun…because we never know, when we fail, if the next do over is the One.
It’s funny how initially I thought Doover would lead to my demise…but in the end…it is Doover that saved me…
So…thanks coach…I may not remember your name…but I’ll never forget the name you gave me.
I've got a story, that needs to be told,
about my mean ole granny, she's pushing "83" years old.
She came at me trippin, it was a Tuesday night,
griping up a storm bout her broken, bedroom nightlite.
She claims I attempted to cause her to trip,
with ending up on floor, and a right broken hip.
She waddled down the hall, walker leading the way,
her hair was a wreck, misplaced comb I would say.
I calmly explained light stays constantly lit,
seven days and nights, my excuse, sounding legit.
Before I could say that the little bulb just blew,
she slowly bent down, and grabbed a brown velcro shoe.
Not quite for certain of her plan of attack,
shouldn't be worried, her eyesight, rather unfit.
I went to the kitchen, quickly opened the junk drawer,
located a pack of bulbs, I had purchased a week before.
Staying out of her way, her comments, and aim,
back to her room, the nightlite I had supposedly maimed.
I quickly replaced the old bulb with new,
the light flickered once, twice, then its radiance grew.
I went back to sit, where I was before,
with granny still ranting, barely pacing the floor.
I told her, her light seems to be fine,
that she could go back to bed at any time.
Slowly she dropped the brown velcro laced shoe,
continuing to cuss at me, like a mad trucker would do.
With a final curse word, and a slam of her door,
I sat silently, grinning, and thinking, "grannies' rage", I simply adore.
Sensing the shadow of your heat,
your warmth upon my skin,
thump of a heart that still beats,
reminding me that agony awaits within.
The ghost of your arms surround,
tears fall in endless streams,
for you are nowhere to be found,
I can only hold you in my dreams.
Endless days,
sleepless I lay.
Terrified to shut my eyes,
yet yearning to see your face,
for the images are just lies,
you're no longer a part of this time and space.
Your voice echoes down the hall,
my mind tormenting me more,
for if I look my heart will fall,
you're not here, so I ignore.
I'm slowly unraveling at the seams,
for I can only hold you in my dreams.
Larger than large, fostering the void,
Rippled iron for the walls, roof and door,
Above six-foot legs reaching up from the dirt,
To cradle the woollen greased floor,
With broken old memories in the years now at peace,
Years from the sheep shearing and men,
Years of disused hard immovable love,
Love from the chutes, race and pens,
This ghostly lit hall became an art hub,
Again a busy but with beautiful paint,
Where freedom can sit and relax with the past,
Where life can go to escape,
And walls are now coloured with exquisite art pop,
Everything here is a friend,
That greets folks each time they create art with a brush,
In the hundred year old shearing shed.
I was trying to help the birdie the diabolical cat lied
I saw my parakeet Poindexter, shivering by his side
Then why does he look frozen with fear? I asked the cat.
I think he saw something awful, he fibbed. Maybe a rat.
I never want to see you open his cage again I told the cat.
My voice was steely, I was angry with this liar, Matt.
I won’t he fibbed, but I did not believe him at all.
I gave him away to my Uncle, who set him down in his hall.
There are mice all over this place, he told Matt.
You can eat any dinner you can catch, he told my ex-cat.
Poindexter was saved, and Matt is not as happy as he could be.
The moral of this story is easy: Do not lie to me.
Scream out mom or mommy if you prefer
Dad or daddy is already longer than gone
Dragged between the walls by the creature
A hideous mechanical many armed thing
Breathing acid through razor sharp teeth
The slimy cold tongue licks the floors
Sensing out humans because it wants more
Mom or mommy can't help you now
She screams your name one last time
As you dial 911 on the rotary phone
Which takes forever for one rotation
This is not the stone ages for crying out loud
A digital or Iphone is required for survival
Monsters can not be placed on hold
The insidious one finishes off the last parent
A mechanical voice is sounding down the hall
“If you would like to make a call please hang up”
“Try your call again later”
A dial tone accompanies the next one devoured
Music to the ears of the skinless thing feeding
It is later than you think
Heard a song in the car today
'Bout girls that cheer and boys that play
They were their town's kings and queens
And everyone that knows them dreams
About those good ol' kids of fall
To me that don't seem right at all
I'm sure those folks are nice enough
But for most that just 'aint how it was
So how 'bout someone sings
A song for us
Maybe you were new to town
Felt lonely and got real down
Thought you couldn't be yourself
Was a bully to somebody else
Maybe you were pushed around
At home, at school, up and down
So you ran with a rebel crowd
That wore their misfit badges proud
Exchange students and mathletes
Stoners and band geeks
A different look, a different type
You do you, you'll do alright
So kids of summer, kids of fall
Queens and kings of the school hall
Won’t you add your voices to the chorus
We'll sing this song for all of us
June 28, 2018
CHRISTMAS TIME IS DIFFERENT
Christmas time is different, it now comes twice a year
More time for celebration, with family that is near
We’ve created another life style, in our golden years
Fitting in some southern seniors, as we’re shifting gears
We’ll gather in October, with our loved ones in the north
Then avoid the hustle and bustle, of travel back and forth
So we’ll be in Arizona, when Santa comes to call
Basking in the sunshine and dancing in the hall
We’ll be thinking of our family, freezing in the snow
Slippin’ and a slidin’, everywhere they go
We’ll check them out on facetime, to make sure nothing’s wrong
And join them in a chorus, of their favorite Christmas song
Tell us that you’ll miss us, but that won’t make us stay
We’ll see you in the springtime, not that far away
Or come to Arizona and we’ll show you why we’re here
You can join us in our happy hour and share our Christmas cheer