Long Hopscotch Poems
Long Hopscotch Poems. Below are the most popular long Hopscotch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hopscotch poems by poem length and keyword.
Behind caution tape, I stand in the shade
watching a wrecking ball, tethered to sway
And soon with a gasp from the crowd standing by
A piece of the past is ready to die
I am seeing a lifetime, as it falls to the ground
the old tenement house, on Avery Street
For years it was home, to folks across town
Rarely do people now straddle it's shores
Where the root-buckled sidewalks lead up to the doors
And feet skipped over the cracks, with swift daily chores
All the chalked hopscotch lines have since washed away
along with laughter and the gold of the day
Summertime colors have withered and fled
Into bruised, battered bricks, of memories bled
Now, forsaken, this dethroned queen
With broken limbs and shattered eyes
of shards of glass, and broken lives
Still haunt the northwest wing
Thick layers of dust, cover the limpid leaves
of an old silk rose, within a vase
and reminds the gloom of dime store trips
when the passing lives, that used to be
were alive with simple certainty
A curtain, torn, hangs by a thread
and shivers, laced within the wind
A haven, built, of brick and clay
Defaced, disgraced, red-brick decay
Each story told, each life it held
Now crumbles with each stone, once laid
There were some who still remember, well
The ones who lived above the rim
By whom you could set the clock
By footsteps walked on wooden stairs
Who made this place a home
Now far away, the gossips say
"Their health had failed, such hell to pay
For now it seems to live each day
Someone has to tell them...
When to eat, when to dress and when to bathe"
People had watched them come and go
It was always with hand in hand...
Their music was heard between the cracks
Mozart, Bach, Glenn Miller bands
They had lived here forty years or more
Or so the legend goes....
No one really knows for sure, but know it was for years...
But now a flower in a vase
Is covered dust to dust
The lights turned off, no sigh, no trace...
with windows black, and lyrics lost
The wave that came, went back to sea
Like the hopes that fade away
Tomorrow's dreams have come and gone
to leave a winter's song
And is the only thing that holds the years
From waning into none....
___________________________________
Theres a girl that I passed by
And I wont stand idly by,
I cant let this one slip away.
Because time just falls still
You must not know how this feels.
Pinch me this all must be a dream.
For theres no way this is true,
A girl as perfect as you
Doesn’t simply come around.
So God give me a reason
To stop her from leaving,
Even if its just for a-while.
But if my words should come up short
I swear to God I wont abort.
I wont give up so easily.
So Allie lets say you gave me a chance
I’d lead you right by the hand,
So very far away from here.
We’d hopscotch among the stars;
Play dice with Pluto and Mars.
All you have to do is say you will.
Because girl were meant to be-
Why’s it so hard for you to see?
You better hurry girl, were running out of time.
Now Allie, Allie, Allie it seems you wont stay with me.
I knew this day would come, eventually.
Now all thats left for us to do is say goodbye.
But saying goodbyes to painful
I’d rather just walk away,
Turn my back on love and hope,
Then see your blue eyes pierce my soul.
I Guess The Truth Is Better Left Untold.
Every now and then, I hear the happy sound of laughter
when children visit next door
It's a sound that should ring,
it should be audible much more
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned in their rooms?
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned in their homes?
Where are all the children?
Self imprisoned with a myriad of screens?
it's Saturday afternoon and the town is eerily quiet
not a single human sound is coming to the fore
Not from the parks. the playgrounds, backyards or from the streets,
a total contrast, to the days of yore
Today a ghostly silence
as I visualise these scenes
In my heart I feel some sense of pain
as a message loudly screams
Where were all the children
in the days of yesteryear
you could hear them in the parks, backyards,
playgrounds and often on the street
There was cricket. hopscotch, billy carts and bikes,
soccer, basketball, these activities, now all seem obsolete
And as I put my thoughts on paper
and exercise my pen
Can we resurrect community,
will it rise again ?
Nestled quietly down a dappled, tree-lined street lies the quintessential country porch—a rustic wooden haven holding court over the neighborhood.
Its creaking boards and cushioned rocking chairs offer the perfect front-row seat to the timeless, chalk-drawn squares of a lively, chaotic game of hopscotch.
The porch itself feels like a living, breathing part of the neighborhood. Wrapped in faded white railings and framed by climbing ivy, it is anchored by a pair of well-worn rocking chairs that have witnessed decades of lazy summer afternoons.
A pitcher of iced tea sits catching the amber light, while the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint, sweet aroma of honeysuckle.
Down on the sun-baked asphalt, an enthusiastic crowd of kids is entirely absorbed in their game. The bright boxes are sketched out in neon blues, pinks, and yellows, providing a vibrant contrast to the soft, shifting shadows of the oak leaves above.
Cries of "One, two, skip!" echo up to the porch, alongside the rhythmic clack-hop-thump of a smooth quartz rock landing perfectly on square seven.
The porch serves as a quiet, protective audience to this joyful spectacle.
Neighbors might wave from the bottom of the steps, or perhaps an older grandfather leans against the rail, smiling as he watches the little ones spin and leap with untamed energy.
Every laugh and every stumble becomes a small, cherished memory for the house, turning the quiet street into a vibrant stage of childhood.
My crayon box dreams, I've held in my heart
From when I was young to now when I'm old
The ones I recall all do hold their part
Memories of life begin to unfold
Hopscotch in colors of chalk on pavements
Back when I played with the kids on my square
Making hand faces at night in our tents
To play late out at night without any care
One, two, three spud- is a game that we played
And so was hide-n-seek, and playing ball
And there were games that my friends and I made
Those were the games that I loved most of all
So long I've lived and so hard it all seems
I've held in my heart...my crayon box dreams
Pitter patter, drip, drop, it’s not an April shower
Drip, drop, drip, drop raining hour after long hour
Suddenly the sun streaks through, javelins of sunlight
Then back to pitter, patter, and rain throughout the night.
In and out of doorways, trying to stay dry
Thunder crashing the Queens dead, the country seems to sigh
Edward the happy monarch will rule with fun from now on
Rain, rain, it never stops crying for the Old Queen is gone.
The sun breaks through the London grey, it sparkles on a tree leaf
Drops still dripping slowly, displaying all their grief.
Happy times are coming, skipping down the London streets
Children playing hopscotch, while the bobbies are on the beat.
A blossom opens a leaf unfurls, breathes the rain drops in
The first sup of clean water in these london streets so grim.
Pitter, patter, feel the rain - dodging in and out of doorways
Trying to keep dry in the summer rain as one does always.
The ringing of the bells, Big Ben strikes the hour
A begging hand from a pile of rags huddled in the shower.
The old queen is dead and gone, but wanders through her city
Looking left and right, she shakes her head in certain pity
Through London town she wanders where dirt and grime abound
She’s searching for she does not know - until it she has found
The thunder crashes the rain pours then drips slowly to an end
The queen is dead long live the King she prays his ways he’ll mend.
©~GG~ 2012
Entry for Tracie's Anything goes competition This is a Poem I have just done for a Magazine about when Queen Victoria died.
A POND’S-EYE MORNING VIEW
Right of the center
of the cosmic stage,
the rising sun disrobes
its horizon and announces
the arrival of another bright day.
Wading towards a pond,
a family of cute ducks,
Stretch and wiggle
their yawning wings.
The chloroplast bodies
of fueling algae around the pond,
capture the shining rays of the sun;
energizing the multi-life community:-
In the pond’s park of lily pads
and varied shapes of rocks,
aroused young frogs hopscotch
from one landing to another
Barking and running the pond’s banks,
a swaggering beagle chases a thirsty squirrel
back up the trunk of its tall sage resident-tree:-
Up on the street atop the pond’s hill,
car horns blast as rushing drivers
pass by—chatting on cell phones—
using front windshield mirrors,
getting their faces ready for the day:-
Thus, our morning view,
as my dog and I continue
our ramble around the pond :-
My Darling Arabella
So much I have to tell her
Of times gone by when life was sweet
When no one felt the need to Tweet
We packed a picnic ready to eat
And walked for miles, oh such a treat
Back then when life was simple
When life was oh so sweet
Playing hopscotch on the pavement
Roller skating down the hill
But sometimes when we went too fast
Bang! Crash! We had a spill
But we jumped up really quickly
No time to sit and weep
Back then when life was simple
When life was oh so sweet
Playing outside in fresh clean air
I yearn for those innocent days
We didn’t need Phones or Selfies
Just being with friends, having fun, acting plays
Talking and laughing, our life was complete
In those tranquil days life was simple
When life was oh so sweet
I often think of the books that I read
At the end of the day when I lay in my bed
The Famous Five, Heidi, memories I kept
Inside my head - as I dreamt, whilst I slept
No blue lights to keep me awake half the night
No TV or Tablet and no need to Tweet
Just dreaming about the fun with my pals
Oh those halcyon days life was simple and sweet
written for my darling granddaughter
Contest Strand Choice S
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st Place
All together, let us do the chicken splash,
Seeing how pink-orange sun never lasts.
Don't fight it, red stars are coming soon;
Like the ducks, let dive in stormy lagoon!
Through maroon monsoon, we all dance,
splashing and laughing, in silver romance.
Steel blue skies, cluck cluck. Run amuck!
If still seeking that rainbow, best of luck.
Hopscotch through puddles, sepia splash.
We let go for once, under lightning's flash,
very blue and true, suddenly electrifying!
Shake like a chicken, with droplets flying.
Dance purple raindrops and muddy water,
All is not perfection, and all is not order.
Dance for wild abandon and hollering fun,
Dance before mauve midnight, dark ruin.
Raindrops splash like burgers spitting grease on grills
furtive relief from simmering heat
from the daily twirl of white dust
Clouds part in snippets, rain battered
soon stilled
by reserve
Blow torch hot summer reigns
to make talons of flowerbeds
to parch trees to brown sorrow
Yet as dusk drifts in, children in clusters
hopscotch
embracing the burnished glow of pavement
Joy that fills the margins of neighborhood streets
hot, like tunnels of love
Harvested hope that humid air will sift through
and vanish
in a neon light cool
Summer's ledger of appeals
an optimist's ease
Feeling a rush of relief
restorative
when the August wind sighs
like a bully out of breath
Poem composed: July 30, 2020
Second Chance Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand