Long Laid Poems
Long Laid Poems. Below are the most popular long Laid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laid poems by poem length and keyword.
Old-fashioned men are rare, they are few and far between
They treat you like you’re a princess or a beauty queen
Open doors for you and make sure you are fine
Listen to your every word, oh how simply divine
Take you out for dinner and don’t expect to get ‘paid’
Happy with a peck on the cheek not always getting laid
They get to know someone, inner thoughts they reveal
The simple things in life to them mean a great deal
If you find a man like this be prepared to fight
Others will want him too; hold on with all your might
He simply is romantic, has such an alluring charm
If you find this man hang on tightly to his arm
Jan Allison
6th June 2014
Word Problem:
What is the political
and economic
and moral difference
between a -1 communist concentration camp
and a +1 capitalist detention camp?
Hint:
Probably the same Christian taxpayer difference
between
-0 (emptiness):
SUBTRACT empowering hope
for a healthy democracy,
Red and Yellow
Black and White
they are precious
in His sight
and
+0 (fullness):
ADD disempowering despair
of stealthy stupid kleptocracy,
pitching Red against Yellow
Black against White
liberal SkyBlue anthropocentric dreams
against conservational EarthGreen realities
Economically unsafe
and politically unhealthy
MotherEarth
laid to waste,
dark stark global disrepair.
Capitalist detention camp distinctions
without communist concentration camp differences
DeGenerative World Problem UnSolution:
a +1 v -1 Total-itarian risk.
ReGenerative Word Problem ReSolution:
a Win/Win +0 and -0 CoBinary
Making Earth Great Again
healthy democratic CoIntelligent
ecological-economic opportunity.
The mice are out, it is a wonderful night
The waxing moon is in a laid back mood
Mice pass through the grass out of sight
About “em there's a mysterious attitude
The mice are out tonight
There’s no dilly dallying, they have plans
Skipping up, and over the dry stone wall
Down the alley, and jumping empty cans
Being sure, as to miss the tomcats brawl
The mice are out tonight
The cobble stones glisten as they spring
Into someone’s, un-suspecting backyard
Up the drain pipe, and at last they are in
The cat’s away tonight there is no guard
The mice are out tonight
Now a feast of a lifetime is for the taking
All settle in a circle, they have their prize
Mrs. Crumble, has been doing her baking
So much pie that befits their hungry eyes
The mice are out tonight
With bellies full, they a take a timely nap
Backpacks ready, for their journey home
With one eye open, watching for that cat
It would not do to have their cover blown
The mice are out tonight
Once awake, no time wasted, home to go
With more caution shown when bellies full
As down the drain pipe, to the yard below
Onwards, there’s no time to stop and mull
The mice are out tonight
In the shadows of the night they kept low
Where the waxing moon sees, and smiles
The mice feel safe under his fatherly glow
As the mice, now have their food supplies
The mice are out tonight . . .
Timely, a rapid germ enters a rich soil,
Grows into a plantlet all green to admire.
Enraged thorns obstruct its growing tall.
Old it will grow, no matter the prickles.
Shade reduces it into an undesirable tree
That raises and pushes up the sun to see.
Visibly, the skin’s hurt to develop scars,
No matter the shade, it will see the sun.
Its cicatrized body revives endurance,
For herbs and water, it needs to heal,
And rejuvenated old skin shed to sparkle.
Its stamina, the cicatrices will entice.
But shed sap, stripes it left in mind.
Mud and sunlight, I walked in keenly
To watch leaves dying off branches.
Still, the blood built the leaves’ hope.
Yellowish, silently they fade on land.
Finally, nasty winds blow’em away,
Break and make’m carpet for beasts.
Over that muddle, they laid soundless
To fertilize the soil for new flora to emerge
Amongst tall’n green foliage to admire
The courage to quake angry axes ready to chop
Leads resistant germ to grow despite the soil.
Such is the life of a courageous and hopeful man.
Poem by Mugisho N. Theophile
Laid in a ragged carpet,
a corner of the street
awash with vivid colour,
a vision bittersweet.
Between the sagging flowers,
ribbons and cellophane,
a portrait and a smiling bear
whose face belies the pain.
With passing days the blossoms wilt
the colours fade, they die,
raindrops run down the frame and glass
the silent portrait cries.
The world still turns, people walk past,
flowers will soon be gone,
rainbow of sorrow washed away
and life will carry on.
But my bouquet shall never fade
for it never lay there,
a posy that no hand had made,
this corsage made of prayers.
Sent skyward like a new bride's gift
beyond the stars above,
tied with ribbons that cannot fray
such is the strength of love.
More streets may fill with flowers as
more sorrow surely comes,
but my bouquet will still shine on
like a thousand setting suns.
The thought of you taking lives....
Your very existence angers me, angers us...
Causing people to lose their jobs,
So unfair and unjust.
I can't stand you.
You consume my spirit with rage....
I wish you were an actual person,
I could tear apart in a steel cage.
We can't even clear our throats,
without someone jumping the gun....
Because of you being here, all around,
Life is miserable for everyone....
I hate you, Coronavirus.
I hate everything about you....
I hate that you're killing innocent people....
The though of you makes me sick....
One cough.... one sneeze....
And you're easy to catch.
Go away.... back to where you came from....
Go back to the depths of nowhere....
Go back to the lowest areas of nothingness.
You're not welcome here....
All you've done is strike people with fear.
Toilet paper out of stock,
employees laid off....
You're as annoying as a collector,
nagging for a debt to be paid off.
You've caused cancelled flights,
cancelled games, and everyone is irate....
Thanks to you being present,
WrestleMania had to relocate.
You make me sick....
Go away, Coronavirus....
Go away....
early 50's
don't mean maybe
here i come
slap the baby
hear me screaming
now i'm breathing
the proud parents
really beaming
mid december
it is chilly
named me mike
instead of billy
adolescence
before you know it
kind of shy
don't you blow it
moved away
because of dad
left behind
friends i had
teenage years
finally settled
florida
from seattle
culture shock
plus the weather
all i had
sonic sweaters
took no time
skin to leather
from the color
alabaster
here's the years
i discovered
full time friends
part time lovers
a few times
things got drastic
drank to much
acted spastic
laid around
worked on fattening
mom and dad
were not laughing
as they begged
on their knees
find a job
so you can leave
i joined in
the military
with no war
not too scary
found a girl
we got married
had some kids
now it's scary
lost my job
lost my dime
standing in
unemployment lines
found a job
things are fine
moving to
the prime of life
with the kids
still at home
things are moving
right along
from the left
to the right
that's the story
of my life
Breath-taking fish follow our footprints
into the booming sea.
A multicolored native child lives there
it walks upon the pushed-up swell,
bell-diving while standing
on the deep dark waves.
You may well dream of this
as the sun plays across your closed eyelids.
You may ask yourself
why the songs of the sea are always sad
even when the sailors fiddle and jig,
and why these images
are so tantalizingly inexplicable
like a saltlick on the moon.
It's the whales you see,
their peace roars, their size expands
even the very smallest places.
It is the alien giant squids of grace,
that does not belong anywhere
yet it floats in a balloon
of eternally penetrating silence.
For all dry-docked and new-laid minds
there's a pulsing birthing canal
still open and waiting,
find it inside a closed seashell of time
within the rippling molecules of tsunamis
where the native-born are spawned.
We are watching the surf roll in and out
and it is certainly not strange
to suffer a moment of absolute exile,
a real 'home sweet home' solitude
and a tidal homelessness.
One year, over the ocean, Santa veered off course
His reindeer were battling a hurricane force.
As the sleigh went spinning and spiraling around,
an island appeared far below on the ground,
dotted with palms on a white sandy beach.
Santa took heart that land was in reach.
Through starlight’s glow and the light of the moon
Santa touched down — not a moment too soon.
A lavish Luau on Lahaula mats was laid,
a sumptuous feast over which a Kahuna prayed
with fish on ti leaves, tropical fruits, and eggs-fu-yung
colorful flower leis were draped after being strung
Pearly shells glimmered on every waving palm
Ukuleles were strumming to songs sweet and calm
while dancers swayed ami with soft hula hands.
Santa had landed in a paradise found.
His beard was snow white, his boots shiny black
and he wore a red suit with a red elfin hat.
“I’m Father Christmas,” and - I’m surprised too
that we celebrate in much the same way as you
with peace and goodwill, and with eating and singing.
‘Mele Kalikimaka,’ is our song of greeting
As we celebrate Christmas— in island style.
On they kept strumming, and singing and drumming.
while Santa felt tempted to stay and join in.
But time was short as Christmas morning grew near.
He had sworn a duty to all he held dear.
He saw a bright star rising up in the East
The time had come - he must leave from this feast
So he readied his reindeer to take to the stars
This was the latest — he’d ever been — by far
to bring toys to children all over the world
curled up in bed in their little dreamworlds.
“Come Dasher, Come Dancer, Come Prancer and Vixen.
Come Comet, Come Cupid, Come Donner and Blitzen.”
We’ll find our way here some other midnight
“Mele Kalikimaka to ALL - and to ALL a Good Night.”
~Yes, I Know I Won't Be Here Forever~
Sometimes, I just don't realize,
How golden my minutes are.
I sit around and criticize,
Like a hapless drunk in a bar.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
The decades, as dreams, swiftly pass,
My irritability gets the best of me.
I complain too much and sass,
Surprised I am not banished to sea.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
I never seem to fully appreciate,
That each minute never is coming back.
Time to love and not to berate,
All the beauty God laid in my life's track.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
June, 19, 2020
Poem# 1254
6:30pm PST