Long Hobbies Poems
Long Hobbies Poems. Below are the most popular long Hobbies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hobbies poems by poem length and keyword.
Moonlight shines on the lake,
The gentle ripples make it shimmer
in the eyes like slivers of silver,
Dancing on the unstill water surface.
In the chilly, late Autumn evening,
The cold wind blows across
Welcoming the winter
With it, stabbing icy daggers.
A lone stranger on the deserted road
Walks with a forced stoop,
To prevent the onslaught
Of the unkind wind on his harrowed face.
A shadow darts across in the dark
In a blur, where did it come from
And where did it disappear?
Swift of legs, silent on toes, hunting its prey
The birds are settled high in their cosy nests
Unable to grapple with
the vagaries of nature,
The chicks are under the wings of their parent birds
The gloom of the day has passed into the night
making it appear dark and sinister,
The bats dart from their cave
Of hiding, to catch anything edible to survive.
A staccato bark followed by a whiny yelp
breaks the deafening silence
of the night, there is someone
who wishes to remain unheard, unseen
A plan pays off, the enthusiastic bark was the signal
For the stranger to strike
In a lightning move the gleaming
Edge of the machete homes onto the target
The head flies, blood gushes out, and a life is taken
One more infiltrator bites the dust
The dog, silent as ever
Is back with its master happily wagging its tail
The forensic and Anti-terrorism squads arrive
for a thorough check
confirming the dead intruder was a
terrorist with a suicide vest, AK-47, and cocaine
Salute the soldiers whose job
is the riskiest of all,
they risk everything
To ensure that we, the citizens, live in peace
To pursue our goals and hobbies, and write poetry.
72.
My Father
My Father, like the usual other
Wants to show he is a hardworker
I know his rags-to-money story
And money-to-rags tragedy
When I began to be world conscious
His presence I consider precious
When still a child I never sleep
When he's not yet home from work and trip
I even used to take a night bath
To welcome him back
And I'll smell good when he kisses me
Shaved beard, moustache – my cheeks make itchy
Yet, I was always excited ‘coz
There's always a pasalubong dose
Gatorade, Chokolait, other drinks
Canned Bear Brand – we chill and drink contest
After Sunday Mass in Five Wounds Church
He would buy me goto and Yakult
I missed too his ‘pinapaitan”
While in Las Piñas was the last one
When Angel and SM Southmall born
Jollibee was Sunday hour sojourn
What I only hate during weekends
I was tasked to pick his white hair strands
Once he told me tales of Dumarao
And when we're already here now
I felt a little bit of jealous
To my cousins whom he seemed so close
Worse, I was annoyed of his hobbies
Which for me, costly, can cause disease
I succeed not to follow his flaw
Thanks God who understands I forgo
Whatever bad things I have in me
Have done to others and/or Thee
It's not my father's fault anymore
So God please save him from dishonor
For I still love Tatay with all my heart!
-11/28/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
I write romantic poems and vignettes, these are leftover lines that were cut from them.
I ran a Perplexity search and all these lines are "No attribution found" - so they're mine!
Sweet talk glitters like fireworks but fades quickly
into regrets that linger like afterglow
Cupid never aims, he enjoys chaos.
Don’t mistake a boy's attention for affection.
Love writes poetry; heartbreak edits it.
Romance begins with laughter and verbs
and ends with self-interest and subjunctives.
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I collect romantic mistakes,”
In my youth, you’d know I was trying to get lucky
if I was wearing mascara.
Are guys worth the hours of makeup?
I’ll let you know in the morning.
I believe in love and latex.
Nothing interrupts a good fight like sex.
Desire is want without conscience.
When I’m sweet talked properly, like a poet,
I can forget that I’m cynical.
Flattery is incomplete foreplay.
Lust sneaks in like an opportunity
Romance is how we frame sex so it feels civilized.
Never confuse seduction with sincerity.
Pleasure is the first stage of regret.
Passion is mischief in poor lighting.
My mind usually outraces stimulations,
which can leave me alone at the finish.
.
.
Songs for this:
The usual things by Marshall Crenshaw
Paprika by Japanese Breakfast
Why not get caught up?
With the everyday chores, I fought,
especially household ones, I thought.
I have gotten old, and the effort came to naught.
Why not start the date scene since I’ve become a widow?
But the loss has made me a hippo.
I am set on my way in my interests and passions, ditto
mindset. I love my space, peace, and quiet, kiddo.
Why not learn to adapt?
Exploring new hobbies for the handicapped.
My phone, a piece of technology, was lost to a woman inapt.
Lost at what buttons to push. A joke—I’m trapped.
Why not seek rhythm and balance
or maintain personal interests of my talents?
With vertigo and a phobia of people, I’m always unbalanced.
I cannot even try to replace and hang a new valance.
Why not? I can go on
a list that goes on and on.
I yawn.
Ditto.
Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
02/10/2019
Hobbies contest
Hobbies can be magical
Making boring days so full
Of excitement, joy and fun
Starting when the morning sun
Wakes us up to start the day
That is when we get to play
Choosing one, two, even all
No hobbies too big or small
To complete-- its not a task
There's a question you may ask
What are some of my favorites
I won't have to think of it
The answer is really simple
Putting a smile and dimple
On my face-- I won't deny
My hobbies are fun to try
Here are just a few to know
That make my inner heart glow
Writing poems is number one
It is brain teasing and fun
Trying to rhyme words and phrases
To put on poetry pages
Creating my fan videos
To music and favorite shows
So others enjoy them too
Is my hobby number two
But the hobby I like most
Makes me feel really close
To friends, family, strangers too
It's something I'm proud to do
Being kind, caring and sweet
To the other folks I meet
Helping them to laugh and smile
Forgetting problems for a while
If I could see you just one more day,
I’d ask for a diary, and everything would be ok.
I’d ask you for a scribe at school, cool,
With whom nobody would fool.
He’d write it for me, when I’d dictate,
About life, religion, hobbies and the things that I did hate.
‘Cos I couldn’t keep one at home,
As my parents my computer used to roam.
And they would never have validated a diary for me objectively,
Without getting to read it, peering into my mind nosily.
It would’ve resolved all my problems dead,
Because I know that I did chat with the school doctor and the head.
About things not right at home, with my parents,
Which were sortable, if I’d been able to recollect what was said in all my appointments.
You could’ve ordered my parents not to interfere,
With my record of achievements about my fear.
2025.09.??
Another happy birthday.
It is normal to wish for something
On one own birthday.
It is always significant on that special day.
And it has been true to me any way.
I will be one year older, 21 plus for sure.
It has a double figure and if just one more of it,
It will associate with a symbol of devil.
I must focus on something positive,
Something that makes me happy,
Forget about the past, forget about every body.
Just me and my hobbies,
Piano, embroidery, travel, writing and music,
In fact, every week, I want to play one new piece.
Lately, one of them, I heard it on the radio,
I was young and did not even know its title.
It has been my favourite for decades,
Back in those days,
I played it on my guitar,
Somehow it was out of sound out of mind.
Now, it is time to play it on piano.
Its name was "Romantic De Amour".
Today, I treat myself with a big favour.
I have been doing it before.
Visiting St Pauls Look out, and Jubilee Points,
Maybe Diamond Bay later,
Even Bays of Island after.
Little inclining sand path,
They spread out 3km apart,
But the views of the continuous shore line.
Worth the efforts of doing it.
I come here every year, with or without any body.
All I pray for was a sunny and blue sky.
PS.
Once, JC asked about my birthday,
It is every day and it is today.
It will be fate if we meet again,
Leave along if we will be friends.
The woman of my life
who has inspired me to thrive
even in the tough times
when no one lies on your side.
She would deliver a number of scoldings
For my neverending tantrums
My face as a weeping philosopher
Would be called a Potato just for fun
but my egoistic self would take everything seriously
and I would sit in one corner and stay anonymously
Then she would come and give me a warm hug
a little bit of pricking of my chubby cheeks as well
My heart would melt in a second unknowingly
And my face would bear a smile glowingly
As I grew up, I could make out her troubles
The n-number of hobbies that she had to give up
By listening to our Judgemental society where prevailed
the old and annoying practice of suppressing ambitious women
I saw her helpless and even broken at times
but she concealed everything with a lot of fake smiles
Never did she wonder that I could read everything
coz' her eyes spoke more than she could mention anything
She didn't let her circumstances touch her inner strength
She emerged as a gallant woman, beauty with brain
She would speak back to people who were fastidious
and walk proudly carrying forward her actual purpose
While displaying all this she actually became a true inspiration
as she built the pillars of my upcoming character
She will always be my lucky charm and happy ball of sunshine
And that's how my dear mother is the special woman of my life
Pure coincidence that live sheep are exposed in a new atom test
I do not think so, as I am sure I am not exactly like most of the rest.
Pure conjecture brings me into my clever cagey charlatan ways
I am more myself than those sheep who were happily hidden in haze.
Don’t bother to insult me with facts, for my imagination is ablaze.
People parading proudly, pontificating pressure of Pilgrim’s progress pride.
From them my true nature knows to balloon up and take the wind on a ride.
Cannot catch me, for I am on my way to meadows where I can alone reside.
A lone wolf, pure and simple, bellowing my wolf like qualities to the moon.
Don’t ask me any questions. I have now befriended my psyche, a big beefy baboon.
Wait a second, hoping to hold me to your idea of purity for purity’s sake.
Do you understand that your dendrite highway is not at all my own take?
I ease past you, dancing like the dervish I am. I throw scarves in the lake.
I am eager to try some of the hobbies I have never gotten to see before.
So I dance down Diggery Lane, disguising myself as a dastardly diabolical deep dinosaur.
Wait a second, some logical being says, trying to get me to stop.
I throw back my head and give him a loud screech and a chop.
Pure in my quest to live my truth, and only mine, Mr. Cop.
Down Armory Avenue I prance, with a gait that is a jivy gyrate.
No one can dampen my spirit, I feel absolutely great.
But wait, someone an instigator says, not understanding me at all.
I rise up on my haunches and growl, making me appear real tall.
The guy looks startled when I start howling, exceedingly small.
When you are living your pure self, this is the trick.
Live each moment with abandon and gusto, be yourself slick.
I am Teres, she said.
I am her Clone, an identical being said.
I had heard of clones, but this was my first encounter with one.
I decided to get the clone alone, if possible.
I am a newspaper reporter, it is the kind of thing I do.
What is your name? I asked the clone. Clone, she said.
Do you like being a clone? I don’t know, she said. I will ask Teres.
Do you have any hobbies? I asked. “I don’t know,” she said. “Teres, do I have hobbies?”
“You like to draw and bicycle,” Teres answered.
“Does Clone have a name?” I asked Teres.
“Clone,” she replied.
I heard Teres say to another person, “First she’ll want a name, then my car keys.”
They both laughed.
“What do you like to eat?” I asked Clone.
“I am not sure,” Clone said.”Teres, what do I like to eat?”
Teres looked annoyed now. “Come here Clone. Stand next to me and be quiet the rest of the evening.”
Clone did what she was told.
People began steering clear of me.
They whispered, some pointed.
I had clearly fallen into a faux pas, which I often do.
I could feel their anger with me.
The next time I saw Teres Clone was no where in sight.
I wondered what had happened to Clone.
Feeling guilty, but without knowing why.