Long How to Poems
Long How to Poems. Below are the most popular long How to by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long How to poems by poem length and keyword.
Late yesterday afternoon
I got lost in your moon
In your deep ocean.
My heart was drowning
I became a sick fan
Of your smile, my darling.
I was afraid to utter a word
I became speechless, oh! Lord
I love this amazing woman.
For ethical reasons, you ignored me
I now know how it feels to be a dummy
How it feels to be seriously in love.
I cried for the Almighty Being above
To stop the flow of this chemical
Which is destroying my poor soul.
I got lost in your ocean
I got lost in your moon
Late yesterday afternoon.
I know now how it feels to be a true fan
How to be discretely and seriously in love
With a woman who is as pretty as a Dove.
Copyright© August, 2014, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
There's a blind man on the corner
That keeps staring at me
As the dog that's sitting by his side
Keeps whispering in his ear
I know their talking about me
Cause the blind man keeps nodding his head
I'm not paranoid or anything
At least I don't think that I am
I keep straining hard to listen
But to many words do I miss
At this very moment
I wish I could read dog lips
As if this couldn't get any stranger
A bus pulls up to the curb
Out steps Wayne Newton
And before he utters a word
He pulls a cat out of his bag
With a sharp chill on the wind
The cat and the dog both hug
They appear to be the best of friends
As if this is not strange enough
The blind man drops the leash
The cat picks it up
As he and the dog skip off down the street
Where they're picked up for jay walking by the Chief of Police
Wayne Newton gave a concert
With the money we paid their bail
When it came time for their release
They were no longer in jail
All there was was a tunnel
With a blank note left behind
Cause everybody knows
Cats and dogs can't write
Last that I heard
They had a Villa in the South of France
Where they took in blind mice
And taught them all how to dance
Which started a new dance craze called
The "Blind Mice Dance Like They Got Ants In Their Pants" Dance
I swear this all really happened!
If you don't believe me you can ask my Armadillo,
but listen closely...cause he's a whisperer too.
She saw ahead of me,
She knew I'll traverse a sea,
She could read me like a book,
She understood my every look,
She always said that perception is the key.
She saw the treasure in my chamber,
She awakened me from my slumber,
She held my hand across the bridge,
She told me how to go up the ridge,
She prayed away the siege.
She said life has its days of gloom,
But steadfast hope will chauffeur bloom,
She aided me to stretch out my rope
as I ascended on hope,
She showed me how to enlarge my room.
She accompanied me on my sojourn,
She told me to see beyond the midnight region,
She told me to colour my day
as I walk through recalcitrant hay,
Anticipating light on the way.
She told me to advance on as she watched,
I climbed up, turned and looked,
She was gone,
Even now I still mourn,
When I'm trouble hooked,
I remember the insightful meals she cooked.
March 19, 2023.
Writing Challenge - "M" Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
She walks into a room
and the light recalibrates~
not brighter,
just more attentive,
as though it has found
something it has been trying
to illuminate for years.
People don’t know how to label her.
Some say albino,
some say freak,
some say different,
some say rare,
a few say nothing at all
because language feels too clumsy
for someone who seems drafted
from the margin of the visible.
Her skin is a quiet astonishment,
a pale that isn’t absence
but a kind of presence~
the way frost is present,
the way moonlight is present,
the way silence can be present
when it’s listening.
Children stare at her
with the frankness adults have forgotten.
They see the shimmer first,
the soft divergence,
the way her hair catches daylight
like a handful of spun glass.
She has learned to move gently
through the world,
not to hide,
but because brightness
is a delicate thing,
and she carries it everywhere.
When she smiles,
the moment feels slightly rearranged~
as if the ordinary has stepped aside
to make room
for whatever she is.
Not divine,
not deviant,
not anything the old words claim~
pale geometry,
luminous,
in the way a rare phenomenon is luminous,
in the way a deviation
can become its own kind of truth.
his mouth was wide open like a whispering heart
‘bring me sex drugs rock and roll back the years’
but prayers went unheard and the little blue pill
failed to arouse healing and he went flaccidly home
from the bawdy house at which he exhaled a curse
still passionate he grasped a manual on hot love
marvelled at positions that took courage and strength
suppleness of body and mind and stealthy resolve
a picture book of inspiration he centred his spine
reflecting on tantra and a magic carpet holding on
to the yoga mat in search of rejuvenation and flow
his mates mocked him when pure Philia took over
'too incestuous' he decreed for 'I can do this myself
I want Eros' but Freud recommended killing his Dad
and bonking his Mom in classical misrepresentation
of Storge under cover of analysis and moist dreams
his lips were parched and he longed for a lover
or at least some dark web site for illegitimate lust
searching for meaning his book case collapsed
and the bottom shelf reached to the top of the pile
how to treat haemorrhoids did not appeal to him
neither did the DIY guide to aphrodisiac verses
Nietzsche suggested that all religion was dead
only Karl Marx appealed to all communal desire
when he considered surrendering to his old age
abandon the vacant vacuum pump he had become
and accept that the highest form of amorous joy
was to bequeath his two rubber dolls to charity for
recycling of a karmic wheel and selfless nobility
he was pleased after a quick look in the dictionary
that such impartial transmission actually existed
and when he wiped irreverent seeds from his loins
became firm in the belief that Agape was for real
19th April 2021
Agape Poetry Contest
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
He floats and curves
And sways and swerves.
Never to balk.
The red-tail Hawk.
---
She's grounded in search
Of worms, on the lurch.
Her head always bobbin'
The red red Robin.
---
His voice ne'er the same
A song fit for fame.
His tune is his word.
Melodic Mockingbird.
---
She jumps and darts
The leaves she parts.
Her brood she must tend
Oh Carolina Wren.
---
His plumage so bright
Color red just right.
Claiming his ward 'n all
Possessive Cardinal.
---
Each oh so different
Their shape, color, song,
Teach us a lesson...
How to just get along.
mama’s pies were the best around
her crust was flaky and sugary
no one could bake a pie like she
she never baked a pie
she always baked three or four
I guess she only knew how to make lots of crust
there was enough left to sugar and cinnamon
for my sister and brother and I
she baked that on a cookie sheet and it was delicious!
her lemon meringue was a delicacy about which I still salivate
hot rhubarb pie with a tangy zesty zing, oh, my,
she could bake a terrific pie!
her pudding pies were enormously successful
she dolloped whipped cream on those.
I have not had a good pie since she left this earth.
Looking forward to more of mom’s pies in heaven
one of these days
I have searched hard and long to find a Christmas song, I have searched in the depth of the sea to find a rhythm that was compatible with thee.
I know your taste and the kind of rhythm that will make you move your waist; the rhythm is new and will make your dream come through.
There are many rhythms out there, rhythm that was created with a fork and a spear and the juke box used to be the epiphany of hope. The children used to crowd that shop and use all the money that they have got to play that special music in the jukebox.
Sometimes it sends my heart racing and increased my Adrenalin; it stirs up a familiar heat, it is the passion that is hard to find and it is that passion that makes love so divine I am searching for that rhythm for you.
I have listened to many Christmas tune composing of lyrics that will make everybody move, lyrics that send them dancing in the street and set fire to their lazy feet.
You have got to learn how to wave your hand to the Christmas song that was created with a hammer and a pan, it is the sound of the eighteen century and the Duke of York knows all about it.
Sometimes I have itchy ear and the sound sends missiles crashing in the air, it is the cross between two ages and the classical beat baked in modern vibes’ that rips up the charts and send some people wondering in th dark, it is the sounds that is new and embodied the prefect melody for me and you.
My Christmas song is embedded in my heart, my Christmas song has been there from the start, the myocardium is concealing it and the atrium and ventricles are releasing it.
The Sopranos and mezzo-soprano are in place and the alto will complete the musical phase but the bass is still running all over the place, the tenor is obscure and sooner or later it will go straight out the door.
I have that harmony in my head and the tenor and the baritone are already dead, I have the musical beat for the December Christmas treat. Come and join the group and sing this original Christmas song with me.
Thank you for holding my hand when the path was rocky
Thank you for showing me the way when I got lost
Thank you for being there when I needed you the most
Thank you for the encouragement and always being my motivation
Thank you for taking care of me when I was sick
Thank you for correcting me whenever I did wrong
Thank you for lighting the path when it was too dark to see
Thank you for lending me your shoulder to cry on
Thank you for being the strength that I need when times are hard
Thank you for teaching me how to love and care
Thank you for teaching me right from wrong
Thank you for always showing me how to keep my head up
Thank you for being the backbone that I needed in order to stand firm
Thank you for teaching me to never give up and chase my dreams
Thank you for teaching me about respect and honor
Thank you for turning me into the man that I have become
Mama I love you, I appreciate you and I will always be grateful
All human lives matter.
They met in street rallies,
fighting for justice and change.
All pain and glory they shared,
handcuffed to the same chain,
whipped with the same police spray,
facing the same hanging judge,
taking the same heroic plea:
Not guilty. We stand against
greed, racism, war, and inequality.
We stand for humanity, one earth,
one identity.
But they were sent to separate jails,
did not diminish their love's scale.
Then they decided to get married
and finally got what they need
a night together, the warden's courtesy
which could have lasted for eternity.
But he was tortured and quietly buried;
she was unaware and constantly worried,
had a child she raised with her in prison,
taught him how to keep his composition.
The government fell and rebels got them freed;
both were super happy indeed, yet sad
when they learned of evil deed.
My love I swear to never forget
all that our sweet love beget.
Rest in peace my hero, my love,
my everlasting dove.