Long Just for fun Poems
Long Just for fun Poems. Below are the most popular long Just for fun by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Just for fun poems by poem length and keyword.
O God! Will you answer my prayers?
O Lord! Will you take away my tears?
O Divine! I am so worried about my fears
We pray, but don't know the meaning of our prayers
Of course, most of the world does pray
Not many of us know the meaning of what we say
We just fold our hands and close our eyes
And call out to the one who we think is above the skies
If we pray, but don't understand what we say
Then we don't pray, at best we bray!
It's time to stop and find out the truth
What is prayer? Get to the bottom of the root
Who is God and where is He?
Aren't our prayers for God meant to be?
If we don't know God, but still we pray
Then who is listening to what we say?
We pray because we have some desire
Or because of problems that consume us like fire
Isn't there a reason we go to God?
Or just for fun do we pray to our Lord?
Some people pray because they truly love God
There are others who pray out of fear of the Lord
A very few pray to express their thanks
They evolve in life's journey and cross to God's banks
Prayer has a purpose, to God we do talk
Some stop to listen, they don't just walk
Prayer that works is a two-way communication
A tool that leads to ultimate liberation
There are rituals and superstitions in every religion
They make us get confused and cloud our vision
We are so controlled by what our scriptures say
That we just blindly follow, day after day
Is prayer all about mumbling something to God?
Is it about praying, not knowing who is our Lord?
Unless we first know who God truly is
We may say many prayers, but the main point we miss
Therefore, in quest of God, we must go
We must ask questions until we ultimately know
God is not someone made of bone and skin
He is a Power that lives within
How do we know that God is a Power?
When will we stop praying at some religious tower?
If we must realize the truth about God
First know, who is the one that's praying to the Lord
Self-realization marks the beginning of our quest
It asks questions putting every belief to test
Then we realize that we are not ego, body, and mind
We are the Divine Soul, this truth we find
What is the Soul? Is it different in you and me?
The Soul is a Power, different it cannot be
It is one Power that gives life to everything on earth
It goes when we die and it comes at birth
Laying my head back, eyes closing,
reminiscing, the years falling away into decades ago
to the 1950s at my grandparents' grand home
for Christmas.
It was a gracious dining room.
Noontime sun streaming in.
Chair rail with deep red wallpaper, white trim.
Decorating the lace clothed "Big Table"
was a tallish 1870s porcelain Meissen fruit centerpiece
with lovers circling the stem.
Even the adults had to look around it.
Grandmother "Lil" and "Mister B"
were at their nouveau best.
All their progeny seated in good form
awaiting the traditional invocation by "Mister B".
Also seated were the ones that were to be
"seen but not heard" at our side table, the "Kids' Table."
Draped card tables for the dozen of us -
me, my brother and sisters and cousins.
Everyone all scrubbed in dresses and ties.
Mine was a clip on.
As expected, a milk glass got tipped. Spilt milk.
Besides that, we kids had great fun and
became friends again as we did each year.
The thing of it was, none of us liked
being at the "Kids' Table."
We felt lesser, unworthy, subtly so.
Even when I was ten, I knew there were
only two ways to get to the big one:
marriage or go in the army.
We all wondered what it was like to be adult.
After all, most of them smoked.
They all had drinks.
The women had figures, swishy swirls.
The men wore suits like they knew how.
At the "Big Table" they all talked like experts
about stuff we didn't understand
and they laughed loudly at Uncle Bob's jokes.
As the years moved on, things would change,
always do.
I saw virtually all my cousins
disassemble their lives too early -
marriages, divorces, addictions, lost jobs, left school -
beleaguered into inevitable submission.
My family miraculously unscathed.
But they're all gone now,
"Big Table" and little table too.
All that's left from the 50s
is my brother, sister and me.
For years, I was at the "Big Table" since my brood and I
took over the Christmas tradition.
The "Big Table" conversation was
superficial and posing was prevalent.
So one year, I put myself at the "Kids' Table." Just for fun.
Yes, milk got tipped.
But oh, the wonderment and hope. A meal that truly was
food for the soul.
Now that I'm old and looking back,
with a quiet smile, mulling it,
I kinda liked the "Kids' Table" better.
Colored pencil illustration by G.Gaul
A girl was walking through the night
Afraid and all alone
She sunk for moments of respite
Upon a blackened stone.
What flakes were these that sparkled bright
And flurried in the breeze?
What specks of gold did grace the night
And rest upon the trees?
Up from her perch she stumbled on
Into the silent black
But 'twas in vain, the specks were gone
So then she foundered back.
She found the stone on which she set
All laid with dust around
The stars of heav'n the earth had met
And blanketed the ground.
The stardust, now a handbreadth thick
Had melted from the sky
She saw a once sedate old crick
With flames now floated by.
She gathered stardust in her hand
And held it by her face
It hovered there, in ways unspanned
Held up by empty space.
Her face did glint with motes of gold
Her wavy hair did gleam
The stroke of twelve the townclock tolled,
Around her shone a beam:
She looked to see its molten source,
The sun had joined them too;
In place of burnished bronze its force
Was emanating blue.
With both her hands she caught the sun
And held him firmly there
She shook him gently just for fun
And threw him in the air;
"Oh, Sun, how come you left the sky
To be a little ball?
Wherefore from glory did you fly
And now art pale and small?"
Then said the sun, " The stars had left
They had a merry time
And all alone I felt bereft
So moved to sweeter clime;
Said he, "It was so cold and still
Without my fellow stars,
All scattered 'round upon this hill
As far away as Mars;
So here I came to be a ball
Of bright electric blue
My starry kin with wit appall
And have a chat with you."
"Oh, Sun, you do not understand!
The day is black as night
Now who will fill this darkened land
With rays of warmth and light?
"And what of you?" she asked the dust
That sparkled at her feet.
"Back to the sky I think you must
Your twinkling forms repeat."
"Now truth we see," quoth ev'ry star
In one according rhyme,
"Back to the sky we'll roam afar
Until the end of time."
Then said the sun, "Oh, now I see,
I thought that I was trite
So back the way I was I'll be
To shed abroad my light."
Then off they rushed in waves of flame
Their rightful place to gain;
No man can e'er the heavens tame,
That surely isn't plain.
Whene'ere alone in dark of night
That girl recalls her friends:
And now I think the time is right
So here my story ends.
~Written December 25th 2012
Little Heidel clapped her hands
As she heard the marching bands
Monkeys came who were leading
With their funny tails beating
Colorful and cheerful drums
Ratta-tat and Rummy-tums
Next up came some marching tunes
clarinets played by baboons
Elephants marched next in line
Blowing horns, they did just fine
Heidel watched in joy at those
Now came cats, bells on their toes!
Heidel's papa jumped for joy
Up next came a little boy
Playing fiddle joyfully
Heidel laughed for she could see
Brother Petra winked an eye
As the marching band passed by
Heidel's dream was so much fun
But her nap was finally done
Wiping way' sleep from her eyes
What she did next was no surprise!
Opening her pink toy box
Found her monkeys made from socks
Happy laughter followed soon
Heidel found her toy baboon
Stuffed elephants, a toy cat
She made them march,
just like that
Heidel's papa came to see
Petra's fiddle joined with glee
Everybody shared a smile
Their joy lasted quite awhile
Heidel's toys were oh so grand
Such a happy marching band!
Heidel made her dream come true
Now her story's told to you!
Just for fun!
Dedicated to Grammy's sweet angels
My children and grandkids
Make your dreams come true!
<3
Common Sense
Common sense putting dents in ya system,
Upon Zen, forgotten Presidents and Christians,
Yeah I dismiss them, I’m a contender, defender of my realm,
Surrender ya pretender, center of reality? Fallibly conceptualized,
Here ya find my rhymes, a society offender, wanted dead or alive,
The Five O, Oh no, fed by the rendering of greed to survive,
Sore eyes because I can’t deny this life, Never baptized into Christian Lies,
But I gotta be truthful, unfruitful untruthful powerful ties arise,
A man made image in the sky? The garment is the disguise,
This worlds plan is damaged in an age as time perceived flies by,
I thrive like a Pharaoh, said to bleed the same blood, go hide,
I’m designing this rhyme, its time, the tide is coming in,
Spinning in sin as ya spin, just a pinch and now ya spun,
This writing is just for fun! I’m the Sun, and here’s what I’ve done,
Run run yo, all yall and all you hoes, from these flows, you can’t see,
You need be seen, obscene scenes of the future to come and be,
Dreams of the unseen, glistening beings seeing nothing collectively,
Seems no one has been effectively feeling this negativity,
Paranormal activity activated, dealing fear or revealing,
Your normal state of mind concealing what it means to have feelings,
I’m dealing out light within the spectrum of human beings,
Beings being beings but not seeing or hearing the language of the world,
Our consciousness continues to be hurled, jumbled thoughts as we tumble,
Stupid and killing all the bumble bees, confess we are a mess, can’t be handled,
Am I just a word vandal? Well rooted, prevailing pleasing with ease and increased,
Knowledge as I stand still, wounded human code decoded into unwanted stimuli,
Artistically using art and its rules, founded and announced beautifully,
But can’t you let me be, I need to see sanity within this world of fools,
Foolishness is proclaimed by the foolish, dishing wool over the eyes with distracting tools,
Infinity to nil, instilling skills to rebuild what’s lacking, so hear the drill,
You need to head uphill and fulfill ya purpose before ya mind is killed,
Distilled information into common sense well spent and surviving,
Exercise well emphasized advice, otherwise you will never be spiritually wise.
Quincy Mac
date written: 4.12.2015
“Do you like yabbies?” Barry asked. I replied “Are you sick!
I’d just like to ask you; now is the Pope a Catholic?” …
So we headed off across the ranges, where Barry’s cousin Ray,
had a dam that’s full of them on a property near Yea.
There’s no sophisticated fishing gear that we needed to get.
Just a stocking, string, piece of meat; plus a wobbly old scoop net.
The dam was quite a big one with tussocks growing ‘round the rim.
Within an hour I had scooped a bucket filled up to the brim.
We knocked off to have some lunch and to have a beer or two.
but in that hour we sat down we knocked down quite a few.
When I resumed my ‘yabbying’, my head’s spinning like a top,
and then I saw a frightening sight that made me quickly stop.
A big brown snake was sunning, between me and the dam.
The beer had made me brave enough to give this bloke a slam.
I picked up an old dry limb and gave it one tremendous whack;
it squirmed and twisted in death thro’s; then lay dead upon its back.
Barry claimed I was a hero when he’d seen what I had done,
not many tackle brown snakes; they slide faster than we run.
“Is that so” I said to him, and was sobering ‘quick smart’,
watching Barry in his stupor pick up the snake and play his part.
He opened up the mouth and then he got out his pocket knife.
Put the blade behind a needle fang, “Here’s what takes your life”.
Then said “I ought to skin him; it’s prob’ly worth a ‘pretty pound”.
Then just for fun he grabbed the tail and swung it ‘round and ‘round.
“Be careful mate!” I turned and ran; making sure, I’m out of the way.
“What’s the matter?” Barry laughed. “This mongrel’s had its day.
I‘ll show you something else” and held the snake behind the neck,
then put its head into his mouth; then he gave it’s nose a ‘peck’.
Barry seen that I was nervous; that he held me in his palm.
He watched me flinch and shiver when he wrapped it ‘round his arm.
“Ah that’s enough” he grinned, but I reckon he’d been rash,
then he swung it high into the air. We watched it fall and splash.
Barry laughed, “That’s ‘gunna’ give the yabbies quite a feed”.
Then something happened in the water that Barry didn’t need.
We turned to walk back to our strings - Barry’s face turned ashen grey.
It took a while reviving him when the brown snake swam away.
Thing's and the time's are a changing
and moving at such a tumultuous
and fluid rate
The blinking rapid eye movement
can barely keep up pace with it
at all
Unfortunately like everything in life
sometimes progress also has a dark
downside to it as well
We only later find out to our detriment
and cost when we eventually catch up
And then we have to begin and find
ourselves picking the bones out of it
and the long and hard process
Of righting our many wrongs which
when once done and set in stone
Take far more time to fix than they
did to create
For every cause also has and comes
dually precipitated by its counter butterfly
effect
And that in part will not so much as be
a simple ripple or a tremor
But be much more like akin to a tsunami
tidal wave of biblical proportions
The likes of which will make the age
old tale we we're taught in school
about
Noah and his Ark seem like mere
child's play just a man in a boat
caught out cold in a precipitous
rain storm
What is far more relevant truth be
told to me is he like us was given fair
warning but listened and heeded to
the advice given
Whereas what we tend to do is rather
just tut and mutter under our breath
Would have could have should have
what if only and but , but , but
I was a fish I would now be happily riding
and surfing the crest of this wave
Until this here wave eventually begins
to ebb and tapers out and huts the
shore and someone shouts dry land ahoy
Then I wish to be a fish no longer and
be returned to my once former self
So I can walk once again upon dry land
As if nothing has changed at all straight
right back to my old life of catching butterflies
just for fun and my own entertainment
Back to feigning progress isn't anything
but regressions well disguised in
actuality that is enabling us to do less
and less each passing day
Because we are so busy we barely have
a single second left to save a second more
Doing barely what exactly less than nothing
at all apart from spending more quality
time tapping touchscreen keys
On our new best friend what used to
be nothing more than just a phone
That we now can't seem to leave alone
for or constantly check for longer than
a matter of second's not minutes
Niap Niap
Niap niap, sometimes things are hard, even when written in plain sight.
Some people read backwards just for fun; for some, it’s all from sight, even when it’s not your eyes.
Sometimes it’s just the brain. Being called dumb doesn’t create any fame.
You and me — we are just not the same.
Niap niap, finding it hard to move, never even getting in any sort of groove.
Fear of falling asleep due to the pain when I wake.
When will this niap leave, for heaven’s sake?
Everyone’s different; we’re not all the same.
Some people can deal with all their pain.
Some are over it, and some just can’t compete
When the niap hits you and makes your soul incomplete.
There’s not much to do but try and sleep.
Recurring issues — it’s always a circle.
This life is a struggle; it’s not always purple.
Round and round the circle we go.
When will it stop? Our brains don’t know.
Left and right — is it all a show?
Why does it make me feel so slow?
Niap niap, just one deviation from left or right,
Just one deviation to give me a good night.
It’s always a circle.
Just remember: this life is a struggle; it’s not always purple.
Delusion, delusion — is it all in our head?
Am I reading this right, or am I just seeing red?
I don’t understand why the blur makes me cry.
Left, right, right to left — I just do not know why.
Brain is backwards; the struggle is real.
How can I keep showing that it’s not a big deal?
Body failing every night — I know I must look like a sorry sight.
I feel for my wife to see me at night,
But she’s such an angel, sent here to fight.
Without her and the kids, the demons would win,
But with them by my side, I’ll happily take it on the chin.
Recurring issues — it’s always a circle.
This life is a struggle; it’s not always purple.
Round and round the circle we go.
When will it stop? Our brains don’t know.
Left and right — is it all a show?
Niap niap, just one deviation from left or right,
Just one deviation to give me a good night.
It’s always a circle.
Just remember: this life is a struggle; it’s not always purple.
Niap niap, the struggle is real.
Remember, reading backwards isn’t a big deal.
By Mark Newman
We hear the engine whistle
The hissing of the steam
The hairs on our necks begin to bristle
As we meet the arrival of a dream
We didn't think we had a chance of winning
Entering just for fun I guess
but thanks to simple poem we are grinning
As we board the Orient express.
London to Paris, what a dream come true
I never dreamed the sparks would fly between us two
The fireman stokes the boiler; and releases a jet of steam
The guard collects our tickets and we begin our dream
Days and nights together on this magnificent train
Travel through beautiful places, seeing new terrain
Enthralled at the elegance and beauty of the carriage
Will our trip together end up with our marriage
Looking so handsome in your new dinner jacket
Glad you won this holiday; it must have cost a packet
The ambiance of the surroundings is utter bliss
We seal our relationship with a tender kiss
Holding hands so gently we share a vintage wine
Sitting in the Pullman coach you rest your head on mine
Velvet blue sky and shining stars start to cast their spell
The romantic seine has such stories to tell.
In Paris we visit the galleries of fine art
Holding your hand I realise you have captured my heart
We pass through the Arc De Triomphe and climb the Eiffel Tower
Now I surrender to your feminine power
Retire with me to the Napoleon suite
Sharing in the splendour of this romantic treat
Promise to be my Mam'selle Josephine
Or expose my heart to Madame Guillotine
You look so beautiful and smell divine
I kiss your lips, They taste of fine wine
We are lost in the flames of passions fire
As we quench the thirst of true loves desire
Our bodies rise and fall as we entwine
Oh I’m so glad that you are mine
All those feelings denied and for so long suppressed
Come to the fore aboard the Orient express.
Passion abates we are wrapped in each others arms
Darren wants more so I succumb to his great charms
Our fire ignites with desire and great passion
Hour upon hour – this man I can’t ration
Finally we reach the end of the line
Our love making session has been so divine
Arm in arm we head out of the carriage door
So hopelessly in love – who could ask for more
15th April 2014
Jan Allison and Darren Watson - 'JaDazzle'
Please also read my Blog about our collaboration
And there the story might have ended
But the bite on Suzanne's thumb
Throbbed and became distended,
'I must say, I feel a little rum',
she said and lay down on her bed,
but as she fell asleep a patch of fur
started growing on her tum.
She slept a light and fitful sleep
Full of strange hypnotic dreams
in which she leapt from branch to branch,
speaking in a stuttering chattering scream.
When she awoke she felt warm and cosy,
her bad dreams had all gone away,
The clear bright light of dawn was rosy,
She was looking forward to the day.
But looking in the mirror her face turned a whiter shade of pale,
for now, coming from her lower back was a thick and bushy tail!
Her two front teeth were now so large they stuck out prominently,
And somehow she was not quite in charge of an urge to act, well, more rodently!
Now instead of inspiring her yoga class
With her incredibly flexible poses,
These days Suzanne is sure to be found
In the park, (only partly obscured by the roses),
Listening intently with her pointy ears for the sound of a poor unwary fella,
that sits down to munch on a nutritious lunch
of sandwiches filled with nutella.
For Cyril had imparted a terrible curse,
He was a ware squirrel you see, man,
and what is worse, his thumb biting curse,
had passed on his populist schtick,
and now she's a big Daily Mail fan!
In her throat comes a lump
at the mention of Donald J Trump,
And austerity, well now she's all for it, ha!,
Let the poor rot in hell,
And the disabled as well,
Katy Hopkins she follows on Twitter,
She's the chair of her local EDL group,
Since she abandoned her candles and crystals,
At night she culls badgers, just for fun, with a whoop,
And owns shares in a frack site near Bristol.
Could this be the end for our white witchy friend?
Can the curse of the ware squirrel be broken?
Fear not dear reader, there's light round the bend,
these few verses are merely a token,
Soon in hushed tones by crusty old crones of a miracle will it be spoken,
how Suzanne the fair, once cursed by a ware
Squirrel was magically spared from this sorry affair
by our old Jedi mate Oby Wan of Conorbyn,
for it 'twas by him that she was awoken.