Long Lazy Poems
Long Lazy Poems. Below are the most popular long Lazy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lazy poems by poem length and keyword.
Everything is calm
Only silence going on
Getting caught up on speed
With a quick read
In the Sunday news
Not much to lose
Staring out in a placid lake
Still visual it does make
Glistening like a crystal
Opening the front page tension due to a missile
Getting caught when someone blew the whistle
Reporters did inquire
Diffusing the issue on the wire
Out in the tranquil water
Kids playing with a camcorder
Fooling around with jet skies
Using technology as a transportation tease
During the outing that is play
Children having fun in their own way
Nothing to worry about
Enjoying life without a pout
Youthful action is what it takes
Creating thoughtful challenging little wakes
There is a fisherman on a river
Relaxing while catching dinner
Immaturity maturity glides by
In a boat teenagers cheerful enthusiastic cry
Giving the angler a few waves
Waking him up from a sleepy grave
Sunbathers needing the glowing shine
On the beach in a line
Surfers holding on to a survival tool
Staying safe feeling blue
Being all wet while looking cool
Off in the distance
Vacation business having no resistance
Setting sail
Passengers writing postcard tales
Starting a commotion
In the port docked ocean
Setting off on an excursion
A floating luxury hotel is the escaping diversion
Motorize engines propelling a swirling ring
Circulating many natural things
All the way down to the sandy floor
Sending a current message to the shore
As well as those onboard
Looking to encounter a sizable score
Lazy
Hazy
Summer days are here
A good reason to pop open a peaceful Corona beer
bees buzzing along
butterflies fluttering by
humming birds sipping the sweet nectar
from the abundance of fragrant flowers
as I sit on my porch
on a warm summer day
young boys playing catch
little girls jumping rope
older girls turning double dutch
skate boarders whizzing pass
bikers cycling down the street
as I sit on my porch
on a warm summer day
shooting skelly tops
playing marbles
pick-up sticks and jacks
hopscotch on the sidewalk
roller skating down the driveway
touch football on front lawns
as I sit on my porch
on a warm summer day
folks old and young frolicking
in the cool water of the sprinkler
neighbors tending to their gardens
and shrubbery
kids selling homemade lemonade
from a homemade stand on the corner
stick ball in the city streets
red light, green light, one, two, three
Miss Mary Mack, pitty pat
one giant step, may I
Simon says
remembering the lazy, hazy days
of my youth
as I sit on my porch
on a warm summer day
Winding brooklets fill narrow streams
into rivers of my childish dreams
Amidst the field of seeding grass,carefree
Lush clover scents the nectar seeking bee
Lazy days meld into one,
summer siestas just begun;
Busy bees morn 'til late,
honeycombs proliferate.
Speckled starlings sing with delight
as July swarms in nuptial flight.
Swallows circle in storm clouds low,
a foraging airshow ,to and fro
Gardens parasol bedecked,
where picknicing wasps wander unchecked.
Tidelines explored on a rockpool beach,
driftwood ,stranded,bleached.
Hammock sleeping 'neath a halo'ed sun,
a signal of September rain to come.
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
It has been there for ages,
perhaps older than anybody alive.
Radiating dignified peace, it stands
enveloping everything under it in a cocoon
of soothing shade. A patient listener whom I
consider my companion. On lazy noon, I'd weave
uncharted territories on paper to bury in parched trunk.
With numerous thoughts I couldn't share with others,
I had bubbles of exuberant stories to be narrated. It
swayed lush green branches and dropped a few leaves in
appreciation. A young thinker humming to serene tunes
of cooing wind on starry nights would teleport me to
a sphere of leaves sparkling with coloured dreams.
Over the years, the pile of buried pages from my
memories, fears, experiences, years simmered
into the roots of that old tree. It stayed
patient witnessing my journey, shedding
agony with withered leaves in autumn,
buried under layers of winter snow,
reborn every spring.
From crumbles of
my old struggles,
figments of my
journey, drops
of patience
nurtured it
to my essence.
The tree now
lives as my
legend, hope
rising from
legacy of
showers
that drench spirit
in soaring ecstasy. The
leaves fly afar, spreading
through blue rivulets, blooming
orchards and sing of a lonely tree
that grew in a barren land with courage,
turning struggles into elixir for leaves,
a newfound freedom for memories to live on.
August 30, 2020
All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The facets of love.
I love you, and your face loves itself
for its perfect nose, green eyes and rosy lips
your fragrance has a narcissistic allure.
The way you walk, the pavements adore you
Rain shies away not to make your hair wet.
I love you, and your face loves itself.
When you cross the street horn bleats
by themselves, white cars turn pink
your fragrance has a narcissistic allure.
The sun doesn’t burn your skin makes
it golden glows in the dark
till one day the mirror tells of a wrinkle
you know years are ganging on you
your enemy is time, wait in the wings
The furrows settle on your forehead
I love you but your face doesn’t love itself
Car horns do not blare anymore
Get off the road, you lazy old woman.
Your fragrance of youth has lost its allure.
Yosemite’s Ephemeral Autumn Falls
Bald giants of swift water smoothed pale granite
Mark deep clefts for tumbling summer snowmelt
Rush released from frozen streams once frostbit
Silver swells - Ribbon Falls in pure ice melt -
Ephemeral streams slowed beneath Orion’s belt.
Thin tulle mist from autumn’s gossamer Bridal Veil
Flutters, bathing stony arms embrace of Royal Arch,
Quaking Aspen in Alder Creek covers Misty Trails
Witness near the Staircase wildflowers parched -
Golden leaves on steep slopes from the western larch.
Sheer barren faces only seep crystalline tears
As rivers flow to shallow autumnal rivulets
And Fire Falls wait for wintery floods to reappear
When somber quartz welcomes new Cascades reset
Catching torrent tides, flashing in a fiery sunset.
Wild Cat eyes the Sentinel in thirsting, dried up rills
That thinly coat plutonic rock in a glacial train
Only a trickle floats lazy scarlet sent over these hills
No tumbling drops tickle Waterwheel to turn with rain
While Snow Creek laments in narrow runnels refrain.
No gushing rivers plunge in roaring thunder veils
Nor scramble down Yosemite’s plainly marbled face
Scant silvered dews spill over on Nevada’s trails
For soon the breathing winter storms many falls erase
Till joyful spring redeems autumn in this magic place.
A tribute to the magnificence of Yosemite during autumn.
Dragonfly lands atop the stick that stands in gently flowing stream.
Bubble trains and dried leaf boats blow
and briefly strand before they slip between the stepping stones
then skip beyond, where quieter waters flow.
Speckled trout, dappled thrice, with sunshine spots,
just seen through mirror shimmered waters
swim between the Crowfoot’s tangled shocks
waving to and fro to follow as the current’s go,
white-adorned with flower pearls
set bright in green and flowing locks.
Somewhere far, wood pigeon’s throaty coo,
three longer, one double follow through,
floats high along soft summer’s breeze,
while flagging briefly, one by one, willow’s silver bellied leaves
turn and turn to signal with the sun that all is as it should be.
All is peace, and all is lazy summer’s eaze.
It’s not that I am bald;
It’s just that I am follicly challenged.
It’s not that I am short;
It’s just that I am vertically challenged.
It’s not that I am fat;
It’s just that I am sveltely challenged.
It’s not that I am Caucasian;
It’s just that I am pigmentationly challenged.
It’s not that I am boring;
It’s just that I am gregariously challenged.
It’s not that I am clumsy;
It’s just that I am gracefully challenged.
It’s not that I am a racist;
It’s just that I am diversity acceptance challenged.
It’s not that I am a cheat;
It’s just that I am monogomistically challenged.
It’s not that I am lazy;
It’s just that I am motivationally challenged.
It’s not that I am being sarcastic;
It’s just that I am political correctedness challenged.
(NOTE: Please do not think I am all of those things…It is just a poem.)
Cozy comfort he finds residing in his narrow world
Never veering from neighborhood he well knows,
Keeping to his familiar corners of adamant beliefs
Roaming within limits of truth he chooses to see.
His paths have been paved for his own two feet,
Restless he feels when strangers trespass his street
For long ago he decided who fits his myopic sight
Guarded by perimeters of his sacred boundaries.
He won't attempt to understand differing insights,
Never having been part of a scholarly discussion;
For he can't comprehend things new and unknown,
Afraid that new knowledge may pollute his mind.
When a tourist pays a beggar on a main city-street
He rushes to take a picture of beggar's empty mug,
Directing him to smile broadly on hungry stomach
So he can exhibit to his world, proof of lazy people.
Saddened he feels seeing a child cling to mother’s gut
As she lays dead amid ruins of a hapless war-zone.
He looks away mourning, seeing such dreadful scenes
But that would be the extent of his generous streak.
March 11, 2018
Placed first in contest 540 by Brian Strand
To say I'm excited about going to college is like saying Godzilla is big - you don't get the complete picture - you don't see the buildings crumbling and civilians running for their lives. Leaving for college is one of those foundational moments in life...
My mind’s been racing, I’ve felt a disquieting anxiety and I realized what I’m experiencing is a new kind of sadness - a “delta” strain new in my experience.
In less than a week I‘m off to college and I can’t help knowing that things will never be the same. I’ll step out of this house or we’ll hug at the airport and somewhere in there - I’ll cross a line.
Will my childhood be over or is it my adolescence? I’m not sure.
Oh, God, should I hand in my key??
I can hardly let my mind linger on the subject of leaving - it’s as sensitive as a tooth - it’s radioactive.
The most fleeting or off-handed reference to leaving and my heart hammers, my throat clumps and the room transforms into a thrill ride that starts to slowly spin until the floor drops a bit like an elevator. 30 seconds of focusing on leaving and I’m a muckle of tears.
I’m mindlessly, Flamin' Doritos excited about college (the going to) but like a sacrifice, or a coin - there’s a cold, flip-side, almost death-like sadness (about leaving) happening too.
So far, I think I’ve masked the sadness, with the cat’s lazy poise and razzle-dazzle and I’m sure this feeling of loss is some sort of pre-home-sickness that will pass. Until then, I'm stoically trying to wear a big-girl skirt here.