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.
...A child who’d never know a father
that had deserved him more than she could tell,
knowing that she must lie to her husband,
the truth of it would not end very well.
The moments when she should feel only joy,
she just felt despair she could not avoid.
The weight of it all pushed Whitney to drink,
she hid it well, since Jerry worked a lot,
the au pair did most care for the baby,
since inside Whitney was nagged by dark thoughts,
she’d see her youngest, and think of her loss,
then call the au pair, and hand the babe off.
This pattern went on for about a year,
all of her family noticed the grim mood,
Jerry did his best to cater to her,
but despite this Whitney didn’t improve,
when, despite her kids, everything seemed wrong,
when in her own life she didn’t belong.
It wasn’t suicide that claimed Whitney,
at least it was not the conscious sort,
it came when she’d exhausted her wine,
and without a thought, went out to the store,
far enough gone that she didn’t realize
that she had no business trying to drive.
Her car was found at the base of a bridge,
she gone so fast she’d burst through the guard rail,
the coroner said she’d died in impact,
when Jerry heard of the news he just wailed,
he may not have held the love of his wife,
but to him she’d been the love of his life.
JERRY
Jerry found himself in a trying place,
alone with three children, one of them young,
working full time to keep everyone fed,
without nannies he would get nothing done.
But even then, his children were depressed,
not understanding the whole of this mess.
He’d never been an emotional man,
but he tried his best to be there for them,
especially their one-year old baby,
who, of course, needed so much attention,
Jerry’s hair turned gray trying to keep up,
and he was still mourning for his lost love.
He managed to find some sort of balance,
some way to keep his kids going through this,
they were the only good this he had left,
the only reason he cared to persist,
alone he had little time for himself,
it did take a toll on his mental health.
He’d no time for dating, didn’t want to,
it still hurt too much to not see Whitney,
all his time was spent with his three children,
there was none left for fun or for hobbies,
Jerry felt himself a shell of a man,
everything was struggle, there was no more plan...
CONTINUES IN PART V.
Distorted
My face is distorted
Is my real face even showing?
I don't know if I'm experiencing my true feelings
My love is true is yours?
I demand you and you shut the door in my face repeatedly
We have many years together and yet we have nothing
Our children see the real you
The real person I have seen since day one
I can't believe you let your love for society get in the way of my innocents
How dare you?
I have to be everything to them and it's not fair to them
They will grow up knowing I was the only consistency in their wee lives
Where is the outline for me?
Do you hear my screams? What about the silent ones?
I go without so much because my wee little ones need more than I
What do you go without?
I look in the mirror at myself
Who is looking back at me?
Is this really me? Is this really my life?
I stood by you through so much
The things you did the things you said to me
You have hurt me like no other has and yet I'm still here are you?
Emotionally I'm not here, My heart stays here, But I can't figure out where my mind is
Or where it all belongs?
I'm so torn, so broken, so numb
I guess I'm just going to be distorted for the rest of my time with you
I promised I would love you through everything and I have but where is the outline?
I don't see the real me and haven't in a long time thanks to you
I don't even do my hobbies anymore I just sit and watch the world as I call life pass by
Why do you want our wee little innocents to see this? what would posses you to?
If I broke my promise would I be submitted to the pits for enternity?
I gained so much and yet I lost more much
You hurt me with life itself and nothing but fear
Can you honestly tell me what have you lost you entire life?
It feels like a band-aid that I just can't take off no matter how I rip it off
Do I wear a mask over me? Does anyone see the real me anymore?
I hurt so much with you but yet I loved you for so long
I can't accept your I'm sorry pity excuses anymore
Is my face nothing to you? Does it mean nothing to you?
My heart feels so much anger, depression, emotions of not being wanted
Do you or have you ever felt this way?
I don't know what to believe in anymore
I feel like paper and I'm being torn into a million pieces
Or what if you are putting me through a paper shredder?
Is the real me even showing?
I'm distorted
I hit the master switch
And all the lights and racks come on at once
The mood lights overhead, the rack equipment, flashing, glowing
Keyboards, amps, mixer, recorder, effects, EQ, sound mods, sequencers
Screens, laptop, pedals, playback system, and reference monitors ...
All with their own sets of colored LED's shining, flashing
Seems a silly thing, but my heart surges whenever I hit that switch
For that is IT to me ... there's nothing I do that brings me more satisfaction
Recording and producing music that I've written
Arranging and programming the drums and percussion
Layering the keyboard and guitar parts
Piano, electric piano, organ, strings, horns, synth sounds
Building the rhythm tracks around the melody and vocals I know are coming
And, ultimately, adding the vocals, the lead first
Then the background vocals, layering harmonies to support the lead
Often a solo section last, a guitar or sax or synth solo, but always after vocals
That's the frosting on the cake for me, to wind it together
When I'm satisfied with everything, individually, I do the final mix
This is the key, and the most delicate and precise part of the process
Very often I'll take days on the final mix alone, for it must be PERFECT!
It goes to the mastering boys at 'Bernie Grundman' when I'm done
That's an expensive process, so the least amount of clock they use, the better
If there are issues with my final mix, everything slows down
That raises costs, so I HAVE to be sure of the final mix.
That studio, and everything it holds, is my refuge
Yes, it's my work as well, but even if not, it would still take most of my time
That's why I consider it my hobby, too
I'd be doing it anyway regardless, and it's what I love the MOST
The whole creative process, from writing the song until it's off to mastering
THAT'S my joy, and those little lights are like Christmas for me
That studio is my heaven, and I feel better each time I'm there
No matter WHAT life brings my way, no matter how dark
I shed the clouds when I hit that switch and that equipment goes on
My joy, my hobby, my work, my life
There's little that compares.
Written and submitted on February 24, 2019
For the "Hobbies" Poetry Contest
Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, judge & Sponsor.
Sunday afternoon my grandmother decided to take me down with her to the memory lane.
She seemed excited like a child traveling first time on an aeroplane.
"Those were the days,
when everything was fresh and pure,
these artificial appetizers I can no longer endure."
My grandmother is seventy three,
talking about her childhood filled her with glee.
Then she told me they were five siblings,
the elders decided to not send the girls to school because what they will do by learning the table of two.
"This was the norm my dear,"
she tried to explain,
I disapproved and showed my disdain.
I know how much she loved studying .
If only she had got a chance.
Her happy memories made me go into a state of trance.
She spoke about her aunt who lost her husband when she was sixteen,
she was forced to wear white and if there was an auspicious event in the house she was never to be seen.
She spoke about all of this without any emotions,
while her talks ignited inside me an explosion.
How could I think those days were good,
when women were dependent on men for basic needs like food.
God forbid if your husband died,
you were a liability who always complied.
My grandmother told me about this one woman,
whose husband left her and her three kids to fend for themselves.
It was god's decision my grandmother told,
my thoughts I could no longer hold.
Grandma,
"It was never god's decision for those kids to have such a miserable life or that woman to strive hard to survive.
It was the decision of the society as a whole,
to cripple every women and break their soul.
No education,no hobbies only bearing kids was their duty,
if your husband is nice good luck or the biggest curse of your life will be your own beauty."
"God never told that widows were supposed to stay inside,
or to shave their head and to never walk outside at night."
She smiled at me and told me I was right,
she was glad that today girls are given opportunities and that my future looks bright.
Her talks made me rethink,
were the good old days really so good?
The time when women were denied basic rights,
women who waited and waited but were never rescued by the proverbial knight.
Date:19/10/21
Contest: Difference in Opinion poetry contest
Sponsor : Shreya LN
I met an old man in Atlantic City, in a library by the shore
Through the glass, the ocean shimmered, he couldn't ask for more
He said he'd been retired since his wife had passed away
His kids scattered across the land, it was hard to fill the day
He spoke about Dobbs Ferry library, there sunset paints the sky
From balconies he watches as the Hudson drifts on by
Outside the Hudson Highlands library, a castle on the height
Inside, portraits, paneled wood, and windows with golden light.
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
He explores the future and the past, the stories don't grow old
But me, I watch the TV sitcoms, letting time unfold
He liked the New Haven library, where the homeless sometimes sleep
The librarian wakes them gently, though it makes her heart weep
He's been to New York's grand palace, with lions at the gate
In Greenburgh a local sang Western songs, folks danced, it was great
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
Echoes of a world gone by, and peace to ease his mind
Myself, I watch old action movies, but suspense won't take a hold
Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I feel cold.
[Bridge]
The Detroit Public Library gave him a pleasant surprise
The city has seen better days, but that place deserves a prize
Built with Vermont marble, Italian trim, a building meant to last
In front a River of Knowledge Mosaic that connects us with the past
I felt a bit of sorrow, his hobby made me fret
I said, "In Atlantic City, there's excitement you can get"
"Come with me," I told him, "There's a place that we can go"
He smiled and said, "No thank you, son, I'd rather take it slow"
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
While I sit and watch the reruns, letting time pass by
He finds the temples of the past, a learning kind of high.
He said "I'll stay in these cathedrals of what we used to be
To each his own, before birds flown, on priorities we disagree"
He turned back to his book again, beneath the painted dome
And in that silent moment, I knew he'd found a home.
Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.
Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.
Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.
Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in the stream’s wet spray.
Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.
Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.
Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.
Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.
Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.
Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.
Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
bones.
Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.
Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.
Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.
Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.
Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering your
trick knee.
Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.
Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.
Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.
No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?
Not that folks out there are keeping score--
But I envision myself as something... more
However, the main obstacle getting in my way
Is predicting what could go wrong every day
Particularly because I tend to be strait-laced
No place around here is hiring me with haste
I didn't succeed in school to prep for a career
Now I lack proper income, year after year...
Even with 2 A.A.'s-- and scads more classes
Finding my niche has been slow as molasses
Now I found out that with just my library card
There's access to free courses which I regard
That should have been my entire college ed!
But they made me go, so I got debt instead
Sometimes I feel I do not belong in this city
But independence requires being more gritty
Yet since my goal is not merely to impress
I often long for simplicity, something... less
Imagining rising early-early to tend a small farm
Except I can't myself cause an animal any harm
I could gather hen eggs and learn to milk a cow
Would I be dedicated with my hand to the plow?
Fickle as I am, my indecisive discernment
Confuses me as where to be God's servant
Would I find purpose in the White Violet Center
Helping with crops and alpaca, being a mentor
Or am I destined to keep putting up with this mess
Stuck here in a trial of patience, & learning to bless
Being here for my mom later, in her elderly age
As she was here for me, from my earliest stage
I don't mind my role as a helpful "volunteer lady"
But I hope for job security, without turning shady
Perhaps my hobbies and art could be an online biz
Earning my bread without shoplifting as in Les Mis
Probably I missed my chance to be a cloistered nun
Now that I'm too old, & tried to have too much fun
It's just as well, since I need to take care of myself
Avoiding kidney stones doesn't contribute to my pelf
And in what climate could this Little Flower grow...
Do I really need all this sun, or could I endure snow
Have I been complaining literally this whole poem?
Guess that's what happens when I'm bored at home
Through it all, God has done great things for me
I'd like to offer more to show how He set me free
The Promise
She was silent, calm — never one for lies.
Always believing in true love,
Her idea of love was someone to rely on,
Someone who’d stand by her
Even when their views didn’t align.
Someone who might not always agree,
But for her sake, stood by her side,
Who’d talk through right and wrong,
And calm her fears when nights were long.
She didn’t want someone like herself —
She wanted someone different,
Someone worth changing for,
Someone willing to change for her.
A bond built over differences,
Shared hobbies, new dreams learned together.
She wanted to cover him
In the warmth of love,
To hold him close like a child,
Someone she could open up to.
Even if misunderstood,
She was ready to fight —
For them.
Someone who wouldn’t give up on their love,
Someone who’d fight for her —
That was all she needed.
She was willing to give everything —
Even her life.
Maybe it sounds like a line from a poem,
But she meant it,
Believed in love, trust, forgiveness,
And never holding grudges.
The Silence
But everything changed
When she realized her wish might never come true.
Maybe finding someone
Was never as simple as she dreamed.
The one she thought was the one —
Was not.
Or maybe he was — who knows? —
But he never gave her what she wished for.
Even when she tried,
Maybe because he never saw
How deeply she cared,
How much she fought to stay.
Now she’s lost belief
In something so precious.
She shut herself away,
Closed off from the world,
Stopped speaking to everyone.
She longed for him,
Wished to hear his voice again —
To have him back,
More than anything.
And then, after long months,
A question haunts her mind:
Is he really the one?
Will he ever give up something for me?
Genuinely, willingly — not out of anger?
Were those moments I thought special — special to him too?
Was it really love?
Should she give up?
But how can she give up on someone
She loves so deeply?
Someone she cares for more than the world itself?
Knowing he may never come back,
How long will she wait?
Maybe forever.
She remains —
A lonely soul,
Waiting for her love to return.
So you don’t care
About your marriage?
Don’t care about your children?
Don’t care how you hurt them?
How your oblivious to your actions
That’ve caused a chain reaction.
You don’t care of quality time
With those you love?
You don’t care about trying new things?
You don’t care about the tension in the air?
So thick you need a pizza cutter to slice it.
You got your brain stuck in the past
Stuck on endless loop thinking it’s the 50s
Your mind’s in black and white
While the world outside is full of color.
You’re a “Yes Man” that’ll say yes
To anything your told
You only like to hear
What you want to hear go through your ears
Too full of wax to process the truth.
Your a doormat
Letting people walk over you
To please them to keep everyone happy
But you bring disgust and anger.
You go off every day
For god knows who knows
Leaving a colossal hole
In your home.
The only thing you bring home
Is misery and despair
Isolating yourself
From the family you made.
Sleeping and eating like a bear
Ghosting your loved ones
Only when they need something
You open up for business
But you don’t open up
The emotional department.
Where were you
When your wife needed support?
Where were you
When your children needed comfort?
Where were you
When we planned family activities?
Where were you
To take an interest in your children’s hobbies?
Where was the shoulder to cry on?
Where was the ear to lean onto troubles?
Where were you when she needed you?
Where were you when your children cried for help?
Where was their hero?
Where was their Batman
To come to their rescue?
Nowhere to be seen
He has forsaken his own Gotham City.
He’s the villain of his family
Bailing in their time of need
Crocodile tears to deceive
Faking it until he makes it.
Lazing about in his coffin
Like the corpse that he is
Brain stuck in loop
Self over family
Selfishness over selfless
Sociopathy over empathy.
Where exactly were you, father?
Where were you when I needed you?
Where were you when I needed a shoulder to cry on?
Where were you when I truly needed help?
Where are you?
Such joy I feel as I awaken, a brand new day ahead
My soul so full of expectation leaping from my bed
For today I am pursuing, my greatest love my hobby
With Grandma’s brooch pinned on my coat
I wave goodbye my spirits high, to folks I pass
outside at last, I exit through the lobby
As I hop and I skip trying hard not to slip
So full of elation I arrive at the station
Sitting back in my seat whilst resting my feet
Let the train take the strain, hope for sunshine not rain
Such historical grandeur can be seen in our city
Plus the noise and the grime, inevitable such a pity
We cross a London bridge spanning old Father Thames
Dreaming of the fun to come whilst seeking hidden gems
A feeling of euphoria is making me quite dizzy
Embarking at Victoria, my goodness it’s so busy
With my ticket in my hand as I stroll along the Strand
A trip to the theatre, well there’s really nothing better
My anticipation rising, well it isn’t so surprising
As I enter the theatre an usher guides me to my seat
I am soaking up the auras of the souls long gone before us
And relaxing in my comfy pew await this special treat
The drapes are looking sumptuous, rich and velvet, long and red
As I wait for them to part to see the magic that’s ahead
The excitement it is palpable sends shivers down my spine
When the curtains draw back slowly and the spotlight starts to shine
The show begins, transporting me way back into the past
When the music plays much louder, my heart it beats so fast
But finally the end is nigh, my spirit is still on a high
So buoyant and emotional and sad I have to say goodbye
Returning to the stage the Thespians bowing one by one
The audience cheering loudly for the fine work they have done
As slowly I begin to leave this famous London theatre
Wishing I could visit weekly, as my soul would feel much better
For my hobby and my passion is becoming my addiction, so for this
my Doctor should prescribe a weekly ticket on prescription
Written 28th January 2019
Hobbies Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
6th place
Contest Brian's Select 3
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place