Long Hopefully Poems
Long Hopefully Poems. Below are the most popular long Hopefully by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hopefully poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived for Christmas.
Each year he would place cookies under the tree for Santa Claus.
One special year he woke up to find an empty plate and a bright
gold shiny button from Santas red suit. His mom said, " Son,
you better put that in a safe place. Next year you can place it
on the plate again, hopefully he will take it back."
Each Christmas Eve the boy shined up the button and place it
on a plate aside the cookies. Years went by and the button stayed
on the plate but the cookies were eaten every time. Puzzled, the boy
couldn't figure out why Santa would not retrieve it. The boy grew up
and became an old man. Before he died, he had a lucid dream of Santa.
He asked Santa why he never took back his shiny gold button.
Santa replied with a smile, "I gave you the button to keep the dream alive inside of you " I don't need to worry about the button, Mrs. Santa, always keeps extra buttons in her sewing box. " Then he laughed so hard he popped another button. In the morning a Rubious light shone from his night light and there on his night table lo and behold, right before his eyes lay another shiny gold button, just like the one before.
Dec 3, 2022
Chubby cream grubby against white ice
Hungry somewhat clumsy polar bear heist
Hopefully loping over to an asylum of seals
Tusked beasts bound to become tasty meals
Damp nose oscillates, catch tongue anticipates
Hook claws extend, jagging his cumbersome gait
Ungainly angle rotates blundering bear ballerina
Jaws roar frustrated, mishap sadly signals dinner
Jolly bodied, barrel stocky well insulated brood
Swivel protruding chests to avoid being food
Fear pulls polar threat away, phew! - Relax
Pack pacify, raft drifts after cold cracks
Snowy blows his nose with hankie huge paws
Lucky that chubby has arms strong as oars
Iceberg dips, whiskers twitch while wishing
Imminent swim success - in frigid fishing
8th March 2023
Written for Contest: Cracked
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Nathan played pro-rugby for the Glasgow Warriors,
Until he was seventeen when he had a motorbike crash,
Which broke thirty bones in has body, medical superiors,
Said he may die, but he battled and is paralysed brash.
He took up wheelchair basketball and played successfully,
For the Lothian Phoenix club, and now he daily practices,
Archery at Edinburgh Uni in their sporting facility, hopefully,
To win at Rio, because he’s got credentials and analysis.
He took home a silver medal at the games in Fazza, Dubai,
At the International Para Championship, and then following,
He achieved second place, and silver, also in 2016, bligh,
At the European Para Championship in France, his aiming.
Where do all the Pooh sticks go, you lovingly selected,
dropped in the water, on their way? Then ran across the bridge
to witness how they fared, alone, without your guiding hand.
All now slither, out of sight, eager in the rippling stream;
dashing, tumbling, burbling to experiences; wondrous and new.
Wonderlust will end too soon for some; a moss-grown boulder,
old, cantankerous, will add some budding sticks to others
whose passage it has stalled among the rotting vegetation.
Others careen carefree past, carried aimless by the stream,
just going with the flow, attracting others in their wake.
A peppy school of sticks along with twigs and leaves, some trash,
washing wastefully along wherever water takes them.
Some will find their place; a home for butterfly, bug, or toad,
adding to a beaver's dam or a poke-stick for a child.
A purpose ascertained; a voyage happily at close.
Sticks don't always have a choice; it's where the river takes them.
But hopefully, a few will reach the sea; their journey's end,
and wash up happily, retired, on sun-soaked Spanish shores.
Let me tell you a sad story, a true story . . .
Maybe some of my facts are not exactly right on,
maybe some of my dates are off, but the story is true.
In another time under the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi
Party, millions deemed undesirable were murdered, including children.
Imprisoned in Nazi concentration camps and extermination camps or were
shot or hanged. The first extermination of prisoners took place in the
month of September, 1941. Those not killed in gas chambers died
of starvation, forced labour, disease, self-inflicted death, and medical
experiments. Prisoners were forced to staff the gas chambers, After they
were dead the bodies were burned in ovens or tossed into pits like garbage.
They had stripped them of their clothes, stripped them of all dignity.
Piles of shoes, clothing, eyeglasses, suitcases even baby things taken.
Today these things are in museums to honor forever the millions of dead.
Hundreds of Germans staffed the camps but only 12% have been convicted
of war crimes. Auschwitz was liberated on January 27, 1945 but most of
the population had been evacuated and sent on a death march. All this,
was in another time. Hopefully the world has learned from this horrific
time in history. Black and white pictures of unimaginable scenes are
witness of what happened during the years, 1933 to 1945. But, the scenes
leave me weeping and weeping for those who suffered in the Holocaust.
I saw an image-
of a women with children walking-
death was their journey's end
____________________________
Re-write from July 14, 2016
(Weeping Still)
A continuation of The World Above Me, a special collaberation between myself and my good friend Justin Connor
8/17/12
------------------------------------------------------------------
The shelter opens its door to the world above me
Never have I seen so much destruction
My eyes get used to the brightness,
An unwanted tear trickling down my cheek
But once they are accustomed to the light,
I want to close them again
I feel the urge to turn back
But they push me forward,
Whispering low, consoling words
I look around to see what humanity used to be
Before the devastation
And I marvel at what the old world used to be
But one question remains:
Why did people destroy their lives,
And end the world we used to know?
I walk my feet on the unknown terrain
Ruins. . .debris. . .the air placid and still
All around is rubbish
My mother whispers a prayer from behind
And then I wonder. . .
If God was ever here
As I look around I notice a book
Lying there, upon the ashy wreckage
I pick it up and read. . .
It details a nation’s fight for freedom
A large statue of a man is in the building I stand by
I stare at the brazen figure in awe
The features are crumbling but here it still stands
Watching over its obliterated land
I squeeze the book in my hand
His eyes show loyalty and courage
No sadness—not even a speck of fear
Looking more outwards I see a tall structure
And past that a building with a large dome
The architecture of the old world amazes me
What wonders men have done—could have done
If they hadn’t let each other come undone
In violence and death
Yet still I wonder how these incredible buildings
Could possibly remain after all that has happened
Like the buildings, we have survived
And hopefully, through lessons learned,
We can thrive
My father tells everyone to clear away the ruins
People even use old machines with cranes
The old world is gone
But from the ashes we can start anew
We were in the shelter for the good of humanity
And now, because of us,
There is hope
People go about their day to day lives
And get caught up in the routine.
They get in a zone, and they forget
That it's a blessing, just to be.
To be alive, and be aware.
To experience emotions, love, hate, and even fear.
To be a part of this cosmic scene.
To be a thinking human being.
In the stillness of morning when dawns light breaks.
A gift bestowed upon us with each breath we take.
To simply exist, to be, to feel.
The spectrum of life. So vivid and real.
In laughters echo, and in silent tears.
Through fleeting days, and endless years.
Each emotion, a brushstroke we command.
Painting our lives, beautiful and grand.
With every breath, another chance.
To shape our path, and circumstance.
Our dreams to chase, our fears to face.
To find our rythem, to find our place.
In loves embrace, or angers flair.
Our trials in life, the burdens we bear.
We hold the power, we hold the key.
Our lives become what we make them to be.
And when we die, and wake from this dream.
And we look back at all we experienced as a human being.
Hopefully we smile, and laugh out loud. As we look back on a life, of which we are proud.
My thoughts of you are like warm tapioca pudding
My memories of you are like chocolate bars unwrapped
My feelings for you are like cherry pie even in the sky
My hopes for you are like rivers flowing here and there
My dreams of you are like two dozen books to be read
My desires of you are like a dozen movies at one theatre
My wanting You is like a thick milk shake which requires
but could break a spoon with out even a raccoon and
My wishes for you are like warm pumpkin pie right out
of the oven with a glass of warm milk
Watching for you here and there like a lost bear
I hope and hope to see you again somewhere even
regardless of any stain or rain hopefully with out gloom
So that we can bloom and maybe wonder why we never
met before
It’s a peculiar thing to stop and think that we are all just chasing some invisible trophy to the end of our earthly human occupancy. Where completion of existence could be looked at as a loss or gain depending on who you’re asking. Racing to a finish line, with said golden cities on the other side, which later we find out doesn’t exist but it allowed us to cope with time. We are programmed from infancy to believe that we are not complete until we have X, Y and Z and then only then will we be happy and free. This is the grand illusion of a destination that creates a perpetual sense that we are always incomplete. It grows a notion that there is always gonna be something missing. We are so focused on the end that the present eludes us and this is the real death , when living while always trying to find something greater than this moment to access. Like the faith we conveniently forget, even after we are woken up day after day and our lungs gifted with breath. We are too blinded by the next step and too self-consumed to accept this is our fate. Running through life like its an emergency. Appreciate this time, not the minutes or days that are hopefully ahead or far behind. No rush just letting it flow smoothly in Its own way . No explanations, no justification needed as that is not a bridge but a cage to the deepest parts of your brain. It’s a peculiar thing when you stop and think there is not more to this life than the human eyes can see.
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing.
How happy she felt now that it was spring.
She smelled the bouquet of fragrant roses
She would marry him; offer her posies.
Up she climbed the stairs to their hiding place,
Her face shining, lovely so full of grace.
The sleuth would ruin such a lovely face,
He knew well, her divorce was fine as lace.
From here the city churches pierced the mist.
Viewing the scene; anger he couldn't resist.
He had done his job; got all evidence,
She had money; a place of residence.
It was time to get paid and enjoy life
He had no thought of making her his wife.
Took his fee, opened the door, and watched her stare.
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square.
He'd disappear, went to another town
Found other women, but avoid renown.
10 syllables per line, hopefully.