Long Leggy Poems
Long Leggy Poems. Below are the most popular long Leggy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leggy poems by poem length and keyword.
Has it come to this?
Seeds that were ordain to blossom and harvest,
however years have brought up darkness
Constant reminders of the past misgivings,
instead of moving on with faith and hope
We find ourselves, on a downward slope
Who can be the hardest and push the farthest
Those misgivings
never seems to stay sealed in a box and forgiven
Those ordain seeds have grown leggy, weak, and disease
Why does that noxious dust stir?
Looking back at fragments of our lives
Chiseled away from our solid foundation
Pieces of our diamond tossed into the garbage
Ripping us to shreds away from where we were
I am tired of fighting.
I sink to my knees, bow my head
Swells of tears flow hot and fast
Soul settling heavy
With each whispered breath constantly spewing
I want it to cease!
I’m starving for tender dreams and harmony
I surrender to the footprints in the sand
To be rescued in His peace
10/12/2016
Well, we met on this site
Quite late Friday night
She was gorgeous from what I could see
Her photo looked fine
So I sent her mine
It was clear that she quite fancied me
Then her profile I read, and
Here’s what it said
“I am slim, I am leggy and fair”
I was sorely impressed
So I thought it was best
I invited her out then and there
Now, the place for the meet
Was a pub on our street
Next evening about seven thirty
I had a hot shower
And smelled like a flower
Don’t want her to think that I’m dirty
It was nearing the time
I’d washed off the grime
I dressed and I’d made me some grub
But my heart skipped a beat
And I just couldn’t eat
So I takes myself of to the pub
Well I had one or two
You know, as you do
To build up my nerve for the date
With one eye on the door
And then just a few more
I was praying she wouldn’t be late
I was checking the clock
When I got quite a shock
She was there right in front of my eyes
Well I tried not to stare
At her head with no hair
At her chest or her gigantic thighs
Then she said “Hello mate,
I am here for that date
I’m Doris and you must Fred ?”
Well, I looks in her eyes, and
I quickly replies
“I’m his twin, my poor brother is dead”
Well, I leapt from my seat
I was up on my feet
I’d got outside
As quick as a wink
After such a big shock
I ran round the block
And had me another stiff drink
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling
those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the sea and sun
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
my mind in wonder -
ivory pearls, like roots,
surrender to the soil of wafting sea
my pinwheel irises whirl
swoosh in waters?
climb vainglorious bark?
play with the suns?
the artist tempts me with his brush
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
8/17/2021
I watched as she dropped down
that full six-foot wingspan graced the air around
that slipped in quiet, somehow silenced in the cold gray steel
and suddenly again, she was here, looking for another meal.
The great blue neck stretched up while below her leggy feet
slowly stepped as she walked toward the pond indiscrete.
Her visit came too often
and my heart could no longer be softened
for her hunger and her need
had well depleted most of my fish and their seed.
Still, she stepped methodic around the edge
eyeing close the waters for some movement along the ledge
slowly I rose as she stepped closer in to look some more
but with caution, she scanned my figure in the door.
Reluctant and defiant she stood beneath the net
as I yelled admonishment at her brazen gaze met
she was defiant and stood her ground
until thru the door raced my little doxie hound.
Then with an elongated step, she flew away
leave it to my dog to save the day.
Longshanks drainpipe and whistle through the day.
pterodactyls got it easy in this wide-open sky,
they glide too far up to be real anymore.
The beady-eyed slinkers that wriggle under our plodding boots,
they also avoid the earthshaking heaviness of light sleepers.
Beyond the curtains, a plastic pelican
has got its bill and belly stuck on a satellite dish,
now we can only receive small-minded thoughts in a soup bowl.
Strong winds are disrupting sleep patterns,
static pictures can only take baby steps or crawly shuffles.
Leggy winds go out to play in front of green screens,
illusions, made to promote the good-looking and perky.
Today I Will Not Kill
A tiny insect
slowly crosses my kitchen counter...
easy prey--
No, today I will not kill!
fast if necessary
till I feel some cleansing.
Water OK!
This I know
to be replenished--
though insects do
seem endless at times
everywhere
a potential dot to move,
and I am so immaculate
when it comes
to living-premises--
No, today I will not kill!
I will restore my humanity
by behaving less human;
I will transcend myself
by sparing leggy specks
for new
Divinely inspired instincts--
though I do hate those
foraging things,
and how they multiply
when one does not eradicate quickly--
leaving tracks
across the clean snow of my icing,
expecting light
through a tunnel of straw
only to see phosphorous eyes
glaring back at me
mocking me--
No, today I will not kill!
I will call my wife.
He wore a leather bomber jacket and a redskin hat and would engage with people where ever he was at. He wore two hearing aids that often whistled like a kettle and as he aged out in our three homes he did settle. A world war II vet he served in the navy and once out he married and they had three babies. Dad had been a lawyer and eventually became a judge. He was not a snooty person and seldom held a grudge. Dad was always most particular about where he chose to eat, only frequenting four star restaurants with the more elite.
At church his voice would bellow as he sang out every hymn. Most days he'd burst into a song if he felt the whim. Dad had an Irish temper but wasn't easily provoked, in order to get it simmering it had to be stoked.
Even in his older years he was still a flirt and would turn his attention to a pretty face or leggy skirt. Dad had a strong work ethic and worked til age 75 and would probably still be working now if he was alive.
At age 81 as he lay counting sheep, my dad gently slipped away, dying peacefully in his sleep. HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL THOSE GREAT FATHERS OUT THERE
What i love
About Christmas time
Is a leggy bird
And a vintage wine
With succulent breasts
And a figure so tanned
When i wash my hands
She'll soon be manned
She's the type of bird
Who leaves me well fed
With a glass of wine
I'm ready for bed
But this little bird
Can sure last longer
For she double serves
And my hungry heart grows fonder
At my table she sits
In anticipation
As my hands delight
She has my admiration
This delicious bird on Christmas Day
Is natures Turkey, a delight I'll say
And just before we sit down to eat
We are incredibly thank full, for such a treat
My entry for Donna Golden's contest " Turkey Tribute "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-2.php
The Dark
If I were a color, I think I would be pink.
It is soft and sweet, the smell, the kindest treat.
Perhaps not…
If I were an animal, I think I would be a giraffe.
They are tall, and calm and leggy.
I am not…
If I were a plant, that may be the winner…,
A green; tree, a twig, a bush, a windward spinner?
Too much money gambled!
Dreaming in the park,
talking to a friend that is not there.
They went home to heaven yesterday.
I wish they would stay.
But…(whispered) they can not.
Everyone has a phone,
It is in their right hand,
While their soul is in their left?
How do they dare to stare,
straight into, the very face of death…
Sucked out of their insides, from the outside,
to a place that is not really “real” at all.
Trapped, unable to get back…
Scream out into the dark, (ever so silent crying instead…)
You are not alone, you are not.
Empathy, kindness, and faith,
honor, pride, and tradition.
Pray.
Each day playing with a girl with hairdresser allure
I live in a blond poem of air, near the timid azure:
Counting the legs walking in the park of my spring,
I tell you sweet nothing, to exclaim: how interesting!
So, I play with the days laughing of me, in the rye:
Leggy girls drawing a shining horizon of their thigh.
In my cradle of wishful thinking, the fugitive Albertine
Escaped from Proust, still smiles in the same scene.
In which, I really am the catcher of each invented joy.
So, I play with the sun running the long clouds convoy.
And you keep your hand on my shoulder and smile,
Like only a sunny day knows: at distance of a mile,
Far away from the young tempest jumping the rope.
Some days borrowed the perfume of Miss Hope...