Long Hungry Poems
Long Hungry Poems. Below are the most popular long Hungry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hungry poems by poem length and keyword.
Golden are those with benevolent souls
Wonderful people, blissful in their roles
They've not passed exams, but offer their all
In favours they do, whatever the call.
The elderly lady, who's lame of limb
For the needy she brings groceries in
She's knocking on their doors day after day
For to check that her neighbours are ok.
She does not ask for any gratitude
Helping others brings her beatitude
All she could ask for is to be sure that
They're safe, joyful and cared for, that's a fact.
Golden oldies, that's including men too
To pay everyone their own rightful due
They’ve a gentle heart and a gentle hand
A hand to hold, a heart to understand.
A caring man close to my heart and home
Wouldn't wish anyone sat hungry alone
He cooked for two sweet dears on Christmas Day
Such deeds touch hearts in a delightful way.
Smiles, a helping hand or lending an ear
Gifts someone magic each day of the year.
Opinions will vary, that is plain to see.
Common ground should be our goal, I believe that is key.
When egos are high. that’s when respect gets lost.
Invariably there are lines that should never be crossed.
This world is a jungle with predators of each breed.
Eventually they’ll get hungry and then they will feed.
It’s the job of the strong to protect the weak.
Sometimes we must fight and not turn our cheek.
We all have opinions on how this country should be run.
There are many different ways of getting the job done.
Each coin has two sides, they are different but belong.
We need checks and balances to help keep us strong.
Many choose to share their thoughts with written word and rhyme.
Some may write about politics or maybe the end of time.
Always share the truth and make sure your facts have been checked.
When opinions get varied, give both sides due respect.
by the right of our walks strewed outside
we too when hiding ourselves in the regime of fire
with our intention and activities
with our standpoint
with our conduct and behaviour
or any instant rule or direction
or our deeds
that compel the rotation of the deodorant
thus after the eye-operation
the love between you and me is now
seeing more week-ends than before
to her knee has been submitted many caws
painted in water-colour
in every corner and every hole of the body
that pulls the rickshaw the wind enters
and in every root-cause of the sufferings
the ripple of annihilation of love
from the shop of dip-swimming now
you can also purchase soundlessness
to feel the spirit of chrysoberyl
now you need the work for 100 days
to gain the power you need to keep pace
with the graph of the terracotta
that may also be a long day of fasting
then on the back of that hungry conch-shell
a globe shouts
the other’s world puts its office-water
in the fountain of cactus the roaring of which
pours so many telephone-calls into the ears
then in our market the ear-bursting sound of the generator
then in our forest-land
the bullet-fight between maoist and the joint-force
then with the enlarging and waning of our moon
are the bright fortnight the dark fortnight and the leaves of wood-apple
I suppose one of the most awful parts
Of the annual American tradition
Like this
Is that from just after lunch
Those 19 2nd grade children
Must remain in school until the next morning
With their parents sitting on parking lot curbs
Just out of reach
Screaming
In the heat
Of afternoon through dinner time
And a typical softball game sunset
The insects
Chattering under the douse of stars
Until a sunrise paints the rows of houses
Pink
And the streetlights shut off and re-set their cycles
The children propped up in tiny chairs
Or sprawled on the floor
Crooked
Bent out of shape like tossed cabbage patch dolls
No longer hungry or thirsty or sleepy or cranky
Or scared
Pencil in hand comb in pocket ribbons in hair
Maybe even a first crush frozen on their face
A little handsome shirt
A beautiful skirt
Red sandals red tennis shoes red socks
No one can change their pose of holes
Until all the pictures and measurements are made
And taken and filed away
By vomiting uniformed strangers
And this takes an eternity that will never shorten
It always comes down to the janitors of society
With name tags stitched over their hearts
To keep the waste out of our sight
So we may live on without the real images
Boiled in our eyes
Spoiling our good time
Every one of us pulled the trigger
And ran
Ran for cover.
When Fall arrives in Munich, Germany,
Exciting times bring visitors from far and near,
With people dancing, singing, mugs of beer held high,
In halls or tents, saluting so rambunctiously, and
Loving our Oktoberfest with heartfelt cheer that
Lasts more than two weeks with much to see and do.
Parades, arcades, and rides, much like a carnival,
Aglow with dancers in bright Bavarian dress, and
Rides on quaint, old-fashioned pretty carousels,
Together with the varied puppet shows, are fun;
Yes, even shooting galleries to test one's aim.
Laughter and cold beer in mugs enjoyed by most;
If not one's taste, great wines are sold 'neath tents.
Kept close at hand, champagne, cocktails; also
Enjoyed are fresh-squeezed juices if one must abstain.
The delicious food consists of many tastes and treats:
Hearty eaters gather round wild ox roast on a spit, or
Enjoyed is chicken with potato dumplings, red cabbage;
Relished too are Bratwurst, spaetzle, and baked beans,
Ending with desserts like rich black forest cake, plump
Strudels filled with fruit and gingerbread creations.
No one goes hungry at this great Oktoberfest, and
Of many fests around the world, is rated one of best.
To dance and sing with spirits high and free
On meadow grounds in city center, brings joy to
Munich, where feasts were held since eighteen-ten.
Opening with carriages and floats of costumed scenes
Reveals the promises of drink, loud songs, and dance.
Resounding well into the festive night, we sing,
Oh, happy time for us! Let's toast to love and life, and
We will party like there's no tomorrow!
Sandra M. Haight
~NA~
Premiere Contest: Wild Acrostic
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 11/11/2016
Poetry Soup Premiere Contest winner
MOTHER'S DAY poetry contest sponsored by Benjamin Bartley, April 2025
Morning starts early, before it gets light
Opening cupboards, to see what’s in store
Teachable moments, with wrong versus right
Hope grabs the car keys, then heads through the door
Early bird children, are making their way
Ready to take on, another school week
So many hurdles, to climb day-by-day
Destiny journeys, down these terraced streets
Another story, of work’s imbalance
Young hungry children, get so tall, so fast
Confidence takes it's fences and chances
Armed with new shoes but, how long will they last?
Roses or chocolates, say life can be hard
Demanding much more, than words on a card.
The Fortress Within
The walls I built so no one could ever touch or wound me again,
grew perfect, straight, and cold, like winters carved from flint by frozen men,
stone upon stone I raised them with hands of terror and of sleepless guard,
a fortress with no gates, no windows, and no law within its yard.
Now I am safe at last — no spear can ever break me anymore,
no foreign word can split my chest and make it bleed down to the core,
but in the darkness between walls, where not a whisper finds its way,
I'm locked in with the architect of fear, who taught me how to build my grave.
He is the shadow that dictated every slab in silence grim,
the gentle executioner who whispered every soul hides sin,
I built a fortress against enemies — and stayed inside with him,
with the jailer from within, more hungry, crueler, and more faithful still.
My fortress is a basalt skull in which the echo kneels to pray,
every thought returns to me like a crippled bird that lost its way,
through the single crack there falls a yellow ray like a torch of old,
showing me my pallid face — a prisoner in my own rope's hold.
For so many years I took the armor for a second, newer skin,
I never saw the wall that stops the hail also stops the dew from coming in,
that the fortress which no longer lets the evil cross its floor,
no longer lets love catch its flame, nor light stretch out across the door.
So I begin to pull one stone away, then another, with nails worn through,
not to surrender to the storm, but to let back into my marrow's room
the sun unseen for far too long, the wind, and one warm reaching hand,
for better wounded in the world than king above a grave of sand.
Is there an artist inside each of us? Of this I have no doubt.
It’s just a matter of reaching down… and pulling that artist out….
“Mom…I have something to show you!” Christi said.
Her mom came right away
Christi handed her a piece of paper…”Look what I drew today!”
“Mrs. Smith said draw what we want so I drew a polar bear.”
Her mom intently studied the drawing…scanning it with care.
“Oh, Christi” Her mom said smiling. “I didn’t know how talented you were.
I can honestly say I’ve never seen a bear more beautiful than her.”
“Why she’s not just standing still…you have her moving too.
I love the way you’ve drawn her legs.
and how’d you make the water look so blue?”
“I’ve heard polar bears can be mean but you’ve made yours look nice.
and look how you used little bits of paper and made it look like ice!”
“I love the emotion in her face…why she looks hungry too
and look in the corner you signed you name just like artists do!!
“I can’t believe how beautiful this is…and you were its creator.”
and that picture found a cherished spot on their refrigerator.
Years went by…Christi grew up into a woman proud and tall
and visiting Mom one day she saw her picture framed upon the wall.
It immediately brought back a memory and with it a few tears
“Mom.” she said, “I can’t believe you’ve kept this all these years.”
“Of course I’ve kept it.” Mom smiled “Because I have no doubt…
the day you drew that polar bear
Is the day your artist first came out.”
Lassie, the golden retriever was
a beautiful dog with a rich, shaggy coat,
and two gorgeous brown eyes;
thirty long years have passed,
and that name still echoes with hurt:
remembering the fun times we had!
Deep into the back-woods, a kind of wilderness,
she would ran off and sometimes get lost;
I'd call her and she would answer with a bark...
Lassie found a strayed puppy who needed milk,
and right there she fed him with her motherly tenderness:
how cute was the hungry puppy suckling without haste!
Lassie, lovable, Lassie slip off the leash and run off to chase
after the timid and slender squirrels that love to climb
in the dogwood tree, which I planted four decades ago!
Lassie, adorable, Lassie lead me to the narrow and dusty lane,
where we both find a fragrant apple tree,very green but low...
to rest in its soothing shade as summer delights us with its sound!
Dogs have short lives, mine seems very long, and I immensely regret
to have taken you to the animal shelter by those dark rail-road tracks...
by whisking you away in a bright-yellow cab,
so that they could find you the nicest place to stay...
because the land-lady, with a German accent, stated," No pets allowed!"
And that happened when I moved to a small apartment in Ozone Park by mid-May!
Lassie, faithful and loving dog, your pictures proudly hang
on every wall, refusing to let that memory vanish from inside,
always cherishing the sweetness of you: my most loyal friend;
and I still can remember those younger days as dashing as sunlight!
Come, Lassie...let me snuggle you and make believe yesterday never came;
I would rather recall the happy past...than constantly linger on blame!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Joseph H Greed
I will whimper when others have more.
I am way too good, to work in any store.
What others have is most definitly mine.
Especially their gold, that sparkles and shines!
When very hungry, I refuse to not work
I just cry and say it is for other jerks.
A glass of bourbon in my hand.
In my leather Lazy Boy, I go off to Netflix Land.
Tonight, a statue, I will dismember.
I'm for peace and absolutely no school in September.
My qualifications are that I am illiterate.
But I have a big mouth, big muscles and against police,
man, I am belligerent!
After I protest with profanity tonight,
I'm coming back home to get high and very tight!
That's the only American way I know,
Sit on my duff, and let others make dough!
July 17,2020
11am PST