Long Jingles Poems
Long Jingles Poems. Below are the most popular long Jingles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jingles poems by poem length and keyword.
Bo-Peep Cannot Sleep
Poor Little Bo-Peep can't drift off to sleep
Being far too excited to even count sheep
Can't wait can she, to wake up and see
The prezzies that Santa's left under the tree.
There's only a few more nights left to go
Till Santa arrives with a loud 'Ho! Ho! Ho!
Bo so hopes it snows, and should that be so
Her fleece get the chance to gambol in snow.
She closed her eyes as tightly as she could
As any small sleepy shepherdess should
Sheep still awake thought they’d have a party
So pranced o’er the meadow hale and hearty.
Then cross with her flock for disturbing her sleep
She snapped "that's no way to be treating Bo-Peep"
Those naughty sheep gave her a sorrowful bleat
She forgave them right there and sang lullabaa's sweet.
2nd December 2020
Jinxed by the J's except in Scrabble
Because playing a J alone is ten whole points.
I get out scrabble cheat
Jo, jeu, jin, jine, just
Jo is great. It can become
Joe, Joey, Joes,
Jeu is pretty much only able to be pluralized.
Jin can turn into jingle, jingles, jinx, jinxes, jinxed, and jinxer
Wait a second.
Not sure about jinxer
But the J like the Q and the Z instantly gives you ten points
just for using that tile alone which you cannot do.
The shortest J word they allow is Jo.
However, J is a prime tile.
I am looking up jingleheimerschimdt now.
For no real good reason since we can only get seven tile at a time.
I want to be ready however if the rules ever change.
You can never be too ready.
right?
SONG OF WIND
Wind chime hanging from tree in my garden
swings, sways, cheers on murmur of leaves,
joyfully jingles, rings, sings song of wind
raising resonance in rustle.
As if flute to play by breeze
blowing through cylindrical holes.
Classy brassy golden wind chime
with glittering glass crystals
hitting one another in intermittent rhythm
on thrust of whimsy gust
shines, sparkles, sends soft sound
trembles in stormy rain, gets sodden in luster,
rollicks, tinkles in sweet tone,
My precious treasure bringing blessing and pleasure:
Gift from my beloved father.
My muse gets mingled with music of wind chime.
Melody floating flaunting rendering rhapsody.
08/20/18
End August 2018 Standard Contest by Brian Strand
First Place
Snow White's Christmas Gifts
When Snow White awoke on Christmas morning
Seven pairs of eyes looked on adoring
Seven gifts there were placed beneath the tree
Each one lovingly wrapped exquisitely.
The seven dwarfs dearly loved Snow White so
All felt that they wanted to let her know
Doc gave a book titled "Take care of self"
He'd been most concerned lately for her health.
Grumpy got his face painted on a mug
So with each sip taken her heart would tug
Happy gave selfies he'd took of himself
To help her feel joyful inside herself.
Sleepy bought her a pretty alarm clock
So when he nods off she'd give him a knock
One with a chime of a nursery rhyme
It seemed a grand idea at the time.
Bashful was shy so it was no surprise
He'd written a poem just for her eyes
Sneezy cant shop when the weathers breezy
So he'd made her a badge saying "Squeeze Me."
Last one of all was the gift from Dopey
She couldn't help but just love his baloney
Composure cracked with his card saying that
"Love you to the moon and all the way back.”
Bless 'em all!
8th December 2020
Vacation amidst fun-filled holiday
Triumphantly spent along wondrous way
As Christmas friends bonded well
Marked with their fellowship yell:
“Rudolph, Frosty, Elf---for helping we stay!”
In their blest glow, together, gifts they share
Vibrantly exuding their gracious flair
Extending kindness with bliss
From their merry hearts’ abyss
Shouting: “Rudolph, Frosty, Elf brings God's care*!”
Singing their New Year jingles with delight
They inspire others against gloomy blight
Cheering to smite doubt and pout
Praying that in reaching-out
“We --- Rudolph, Frosty, Elf --- face freedom-flight.”
*Ephesians 4:32 And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.
January 6, 2025
3rd place, "Holiday Fun Limerick contest- Santa, Frosty, Rudolph or Elf - set of 3" Limerick Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 1/26/2025
Mister Joe, would-be muse,
jangles loose change in his pockets.
Each tiny clang sets forgotten cupboards humming.
Forgotten thoughts spring up, without asking.
Memories jog the journey while he's walking.
The kettle whistles before; the teacup understands.
Old riddles wash, rinse, tumble, and spin.
Rhymes peg themselves upon invisible lines.
The breeze flaps fresh ideas, hung out to dry.
"Finished the laundry, Mister Joe?"
The washing hangs bone-dry on the line.
He gathers the clothes, fluffs them loose.
Now the creases know exactly where to hide.
By dusk, his pockets have quietly grown heavier.
Loose change is dressed in freshly laundered clothes.
Every coin now sounds suspiciously like poems.
Next morning, he empties his pockets, onto the page.....
Sorting the jangles, line by line.
He wants to cast jangles and clangs,
into the minds of his readers, if they'll listen.
To show enough, but to leave enough unsaid.
He wants his words to fish where quiet memories sleep.
Each image leaves another mouth half wide open.
So the reader finds footprints before finding feet.
And a mirror quietly longing, to become a window.
The catch is prodded, puzzled - shaken and stirred.
Some readers smile; some simply stop and stare.
Each little clang becomes another hidden key.
Unlocking rooms he never knew were waiting there.
The poem, once written, quietly triggers,
jingles rattling in the readers' pockets.
Coming home with someone else's change.
For a poem is more than the bell a poet rings~
It is the echoes awakening in waiting bells.
The page is turned... the reader keeps on jingling.
The reader keeps on jingling.
The reader keeps on jingling.
FOLDED PAGES FILL BOXES AND BINS
FINGER PRINTS STAIN WHERE SPIT
WAS USED TO TURN THE PAGES
MY NOVEL SCREAMS OUT FOR
RESPITES FROM MY TEAK WOOD
DESK MEMORIES FADE BECOMING
DIM ABRUPTLY SHINING A LIGHT
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE DOOR A LEAF
FALLS WRITERS BLOCK HAS GONE HOME
FOR A SEASON I SUPPOSE AN YET
I'M NOT WILLING TO PUT PEN TO
PAPER I'M NOT WILLING TO WRITE
I'M NOT WILLING TO TYPE WHY I'M
NOT WILLING TO LISTEN TO MY MUSES
CHANTING FROM AFAR AS BANGLADESH
DANCES COLORFUL CHIMES GEMS JINGLES
AS THE ELEPHANT CALMNESS ABODE STANDING
THERE STAMPING HIS FEET THE DANCE OF
A LIFETIME UNFOLDS MY PAGES ARE FLOWN
AROUND MY ROOM AS LEAVES THIS BLUSTERY
FIND MINGLING WITH MY MINDS EYE LEAVING
A RED DOT ON MY FOREHEAD MY GREATEST
NOVEL FINALLY SAY'S THEE END
Without fiery passion,
there is no poetry – Oh,
there are jingles of sorts!
jingles of naughts –
Limericks so on, and on
and on – Rhymes two
three and four, or as many
more; but, for a lyric to
soar, or heavily sink to
depths fond hearts dip
and taste-tally together
explore...there must be
great passion, smothering
smoking, burning passion
or nothing at all:
passion above, passion below
as well as within – to the core
of earth-center while breaching
sky tall...or the poet's words,
the vehicles of his being
the reasons for his feeling
the scopes of his seeing
without such divine-juice
his soul-output sputters
and stalls – spent projectiles
from
conforming
passionless
balls –
Swinging on the colorful rainbow swing,
a cute angel preening its delicate wing;
Singing the mystical rhythms of Earth,
she listed the affluence of earth and it's worth.
Hues of the Earth is myriad;
From wildflowers to unknown bugs,
mixing up vivid colors for periods,
making the Earth retain its verve.
Aroma of the Earth is gripping;
Birds' jingles, just jaw dropping;
Uh, the butterflies, my alter-ego,
spreading joy where ever they go.
Rivers, mountains, forests, sky and sea;
There's so much on this earth to reap glee;
Alas, these humans fail to embrace things divine;
How I wish they could relish these before they wane;
April 22 2024
The drums awaken beneath my feet
My breath aligns with summer's heat
Each step repeats the sacred beat
Jingles answer earth to ground
They shimmer prayers with sound
I sew the story onto skin
Each cone an oath I carry in
Their silver tongues begin within
Ankles speak in moving light
Dresses know moving might
I follow rythm, new and old
From noises taught, a hand hold
It braids my hair, keeps me cold
Between strikes, answers reply
Pulse answers pulse; i fly
The floor becomes a lake of rain
My knees recall the coming pain
Each jingle breaks the falling chain
I dance healing into heart
For those who ache, I keep smart
The elders hum my hidden name
My steps return the gifted game
I wear the sound that says my fame
This dress of tin becomes home
Where bodies mend; spirits roam