Long Lazed Poems
Long Lazed Poems. Below are the most popular long Lazed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lazed poems by poem length and keyword.
He pulled up to the Triple "T" Ranch in a shiny Cadillac.
In his trailer was an Arabian steed with the finest tack.
He wore Tony Lama alligator boots and Calvin Klein jeans,
And a stylish Stetson hat - he looked like a man of means!
He strode to the corral where grizzled cowpokes lazed.
They chortled at the greenhorn, each of them amazed!
"Where's the boss?" he asked, "I'm seeking a position!"
"Over yonder" said they. (The boss eyed him with great suspicion!)
The boss sauntered over to see what the hullabaloo was all about.
"I'll handle this! You fellers git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized up the lad saying, "Son, I ain't impressed with them fancy labels!
But you're hired! Here's a shovel! Ya kin start by muckin' out them stables!"
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Green Humor Rhymes" Contest
Leopold was the most comfortable tom cat in the world of soul,
So relaxed, that others often begged him to know,
What can we do to be as cool and awesome as you?
They came to watch him slumber in his leopard shoe.
It was a stiletto with a curvy curve to die for.
Leopold lazed right down, and soon was in full snore.
One small kitten asked a question and was quickly escorted out.
Her mother was prissy about it, leaving with a tiny pout.
The rest of the observers watched, in awe, at this relaxed cat.
He was as confident as Top Dog, Garfield, and Baby King Louie Fat.
Slumbering away, as the gawkers watched him from this dismal alley.
We should move him to a safer space one said. She was removed from the galley.
Leopold opened one eye and told them lessons he would give.
For he knew how to relax, slumber, nap, be sloth like and live.
Some paid him up front, others went on a payment plan.
Your first step is to find a leopard shoe he said. He truly was the man!
She'd spent the day on the beach, all alone,
as skies of morning peach turned amber gold.
Silence broken by cries of gulls, echoing her own
as waves were curling; over the ocean they rolled.
She lazed in a hammock strung beneath palm trees,
trying to erase from memory the words he spoke.
His voice drifted on the wind of a warm summer breeze.
Utterances about the promises he'd made then broke.
She read a little, did too much thinking, mostly slept.
It was exhausting to do nothing and yet feel so jaded,
unless of course she counted the hours she'd wept.
A shadow fell across her face when sunlight faded.
Circling above on a sun shiny day
The raven twirls within his dreams
Of horrors soon to be inflicted
Soaring in the skies
The Preacher reads from the holy book
Collections duly collected on chanted psalms
The raven above with a sinister smile
He knew god’s plate was not full enough
Dark clouds from the east flew with the wind
Under the ravens command
As lightening struck the village steeple
Fire and brimstone, hell on earth
Humans who once lived by their daily bread
Became the bread of crows
Telegraph poles free to weep the news
As the crows feasted on the burnt flesh of our sins
The ravens’ heart pleased to share his torment
Amongst the brethren of feathered dark angels
The greed of humans shall be ridden of this earth
Crooned the raven under the spotlight of the devils moon
All were dead, the children too
All but one lone poet, so it seemed
Arms outstretched, clasping at pen and ink
Dying, dying to tell this black tale
Now, in tranquility, lies the village graveyard
Somber, quiet, flowers cover the horrors
Of that unholy day, of the ravens sins
His laughter echoes, echoes the pain
It is said, in the heat of summer nights
Crows sing and dance
As they feast on the remains
Of us, all of us, poets and all
Beside the village in the swamp
On that a very somber twisted day
An alligator lazed upon the shores
She, the only witness, to this feathered fiendish crime
In stealth she watched, scales of justice
A billion years of Gods creation
She slithered towards the stench of death
Teeth primed for an easy meal
A baby, oh so small, shivering in a fog of illusions
Looked into the eyes of the raven above
She saw that hell may very well come from above, not below
She resigned her baby cries to eternity, momma dead and gone
The alligator, teeth sharpened by natures instinct
Darted forth, and jaws stretched, swallows the baby whole
Slithering back towards the swamps shadows
The raven provided this nights’ meals gratuit
She spit out the baby, and licked her cheeks
Providing both substance and loving warmth
Hell may live above
Mercy and compassion may come from the swamp
High in the sky
The Raven
Lost this little one
The Butterfly smiled
IMAGINE THIS
When I was young,in summer sun
the excitement of life,just begun,
hours seemed like days, and days
by brooklets,still,we lazed;
When I was young,in poverty
simple pleasures were had ,for free
improvisation was our key,
for sport,fishing or climbing tree;
books and radio were for me,
putting a face to voice and place
the birth of creativity.
Frugal times,spent so close to home
sans shopping malls and telephone
IN FELLOWSHIP
Come take my hand & walk with me
an English country scene we'll see,
down green lanes and over stiles,
we'll walk, and walk, for miles;
Come take my side and stroll awhile,
in Spring meadows with clover lush,
primrose,buttercup and cowslip,
then through blubell woodlands,trip;
Take my arm,and with me ramble
over hill and downland we'll wander
the bridleway ,hedged with bramble,
to an inn for lunch.we'll amble.
Homely victuals,sure to please
conversing long,we'll take our ease.
LOVE’S SWEET DREAM
Memories on the wall and in the hall,
yesterday's dreams faded recollections
what I was and we were now are
no more,reside in photographs
and lie in drawers with country walks
for miles and children's smiles;
Landscapes of broken hearts are
now still life,of everyday joys, when
girl met boy,what-might-have-been ;
or a if only,we had yet no other way
or could have been We had no
manual with love's sweet dream.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
Massive heads dipping low to the ground,
teeth cropping every last blade of grass,
shaggy beasts that don’t hurry for anything,
the giants have no need to move fast.
I perched myself against the corral fence,
holding my four-year-old son in my arms,
he gazed, en rapt, by the lumbering beasts,
but still clung to me, fearful of harm.
Under a shade tree standing tall nearby
lazed a massive and long-horned male,
stretched without a care, chewing its cud,
swishing aimlessly at flies with his tail.
The big bull stared straight at the two of us,
for his posture I saw he had no fear,
he was the only bison truly safe,
they used him to breed cows every year.
Nearby those cows sat down in the dirt,
no need to move about in the hot sun,
but gangly caves with tawnier coats
trotted ’round-and-’round seeking some fun.
They were not the nicest smelling of beasts,
their coats matted with old straw and dust,
but you can get away with being filthy
when you’re two thousand pounds and built tough.
There are some other meat animals here,
far out back six big elk took their stance,
they’re tasty too, but to all nearby towns
this has always been The Bison Ranch.
Seeing our fill, we walked up to the store,
which sold the meat, and western-themed toys,
got a straw cowboy hat for my little guy,
and for me? A huge chunk of strip-loin…
We are eating steak tonight!
Your love ,beauty of a sparkling stream
that flows down south, we first met
Where we sat holding our hands
While watched the ants in procession
And you asked me that silly question.....
how they know their mate when rest?
The creepers swinging in the zephyr
the love birds resting at a height in pairs
on a Sunday in spring I lazed in your lap
sitting under that huge mango tree
playing with a stray hair you found grey,
I promised never to be away, my love.
Those days when you were with me
moments shared, at your moms place
the distant green hills and noisy birds
I loved more than a million operas
since you were with me to hold and talk.
While those parrots pecking the berries
you pampered our love in your womb
I kissed you and whispered in your ear
let the sun be down fallen from it's root
you belong to me and mine alone
for in all those years of my search
found your heart hidden from the crowd
just that I would own my precious one.
But love, when did that stream dry ?
I am lonely dear, the snap killing me
I greyed more than you can count
Your fragrance I miss as my breath
will that spring be ours again now ?
As the vagaries of fate unknown
I live waiting for the berries to blossom.
Ode to the earthling addle the atom
Ode to the shrieking neutrino bloom
sing to the crack in the hole of the blandon
the wrestling angels are restless tonight.
God of the moon glow blow her away
Teet of the Titan milk fire-holes
Her radii squared by a too lovely dress
a peck for her rages a pickling cure
Her circle of cages the blinding alure
Out of her graces pop-over Job
Fling the new races and say nothing more
light seeping under the lazed ocean salts
The hammering seasons chained to their vaults
Dawns a last ocean's fratrical beat
bursting in ice melting in heat
now that the sun's last rite is retired
The Earth is a wind- is ice- is fire
and nothing more
and nothing more
and nothing more
and nothing more.
EARLY POEMS XIX
Bound
by Michael R. Burch
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.
Published as “Why Did I Go?” in my high school journal, The Lantern
130 Refuted
by Michael R. Burch
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ...
— Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
Seas that sparkle in the sun
without its light would have no beauty;
but the light within your eyes
is theirs alone; it owes no duty.
And that flame, not half as bright,
is meant for me, and brings delight.
Coral formed beneath the sea,
though scarlet-tendriled, cannot warm me;
while your lips, not half so red,
just touching mine, at once inflame me.
And the searing flames your lips arouse
fathomless oceans fail to douse.
Bright roses’ brief affairs, declared
when winter comes, will wither quickly.
Your cheeks, though paler when compared
with them?—more lasting, never prickly.
And your cheeks, so dear and warm,
far vaster treasures, need no thorns.
I believe I wrote this poem as a college freshman, age 18.
With my daughter, by a waterfall
by Michael R. Burch
By a fountain that slowly shed
its rainbows of water, I led
my youngest daughter.
And the rhythm of the waves
that casually lazed
made her sleepy as I rocked her.
By that fountain I finally felt
fulfillment of which I had dreamt
feeling May’s warm breezes pelt
petals upon me.
And I held her close in the crook of my arm
as she slept, breathing harmony.
By a river that brazenly rolled,
my daughter and I strolled
toward the setting sun,
and the cadence of the cold,
chattering waters that flowed
reminded us both of an ancient song,
so we sang it together as we walked along
?unsure of the words, but sure of our love?
as a waterfall sighed and the sun died above.
This poem was published by my college literary journal, Homespun, in 1977. I believe I wrote around age 18.
Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenilia, sun, red, lips, seas, light, flame, fire, oceans, roses, thorns, winter, cheeks, waterfall, daughter, rose, roses are red
Ataraxis
Of that, that lazed in the league composed,
faraway sights gifted reserve from activewear a euphuistic fence,
the settling dust of undisturbed light flickers an arrival.
Yon an ornate circular gate is a varied stone patterned garden,
and a sparsed generous scattering of diverse bonsai tree settings,
fronts a Sleeping Jade Buddha in misty Jasmine smokey vapors.
Beyond the Japanese Tea garden in its genteel wake,
rests a surreal koi filled pond and a Japanese lanterned pathway,
leads to enchanting bridged tea pavillions of seven in harmony.
A therapeutic spa in relaxed equanimity awaits guest,
to a soothing massage amidst aromatic candlelights and redolent sprayed oils from the Far East, as a koto plays, and a geisha nocturnes.
Pleasantries and sweet dispositions lay in its wake,
as a commensuration in the departure of an unfathomable regret,
sets the opening stages of a welcomed future dream.
2020 February 16
*3rd Place*
STRAND SELECT R,any form ,any theme
~~Brian Strand