Long Leisure time Poems
Long Leisure time Poems. Below are the most popular long Leisure time by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leisure time poems by poem length and keyword.
You reap what you invested in your offspring.
You watch with awe as they spread their wings.
You have no one to tell you what to do.
Now the foot is in the other shoe.
God willing, you own your own home.
So no worries about any bank loan.
At work, you're at the top of your game.
But can think of retiring all the same.
Although the bones may creek a bit.
You can still boogie if you take a fit.
Leisure time is yours to spend.
As you reunite with your old friends.
Now that you know yourself inside out.
You're at peace with youself and those about.
Even alone, if you don't have a care,
the world's your oyster if you dare.
Gosh, on reflection, we're doing well.
I'm suddenly under old age's spell.
There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate now, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.
While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.
I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.
When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.
Shall we wax poetic?
I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’
Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE
Dracula would go on adventure
and loved to drink in local culture,
but he discovered, alas,
that strange food gave him gas,
not to mention one heck of an ulcer.
During a weekend in Cincinnati
he met some women who were quite chatty;
but their lewd and crude talking
was really quite shocking
and it simply drove him quite...batty.
In Bucharest, he became fascinated
by a vampire he later dated.
She was a Contessa
whose name was Vein-essa
and she liked her tea de-coffin-ated!
They would travel to museums and shows
and especially enjoy art nouveau;
but they most liked to spend
leisure time with a friend:
the vampire artist Vincent Vein Gogh.
August 25th, 2019 playing round of bouncy bouncy broke bed
Just before stroke o' midnight
slated date above zee wife,
i.e. the missus, aboot
same width and height
(quite an oompa loompa),
she presented quite
oh...somewhat garrulous,
hilarious, illustrious...sight,
what with her
swelled up Betelgeuse orange
flesh somewhat sunkist bright
strove to bounce this light
resting, loafing, humming
like mister kite,
who always takes nap before sleep
got unstrung with minor fright
when both of us suddenly heard "thud,"
and driver side regarding single bunk
slumped noticeably lower, which excite
meant elicited presenting reedsy challenge,
and strategizing avoid rolling on floor,
a humorous lock horned dilemma plight,
she analogous to human meteorite
precariously propped, positioned, perched
courtesy eldest daughter,
who gave ample pillows fortnight
prior to relocating to San Francisco,
California, a stellar future
"star student" sought to ignite
where struggling dirt poor
mama and papa squeezed, pinched
jinxed financially tight
scrambling to remain homeless
which dire circumstance... right,
would immediately curtail
ample leisure time to write.
Out of necessity, we could live
in 2009 Hyundai Sonata until cold
temperatures idle forced us to hold
each other, this despite
my tendency to twitch, a told
foregone conclusion spelling misery
especially if the snoring mold
did doughy wife additionally
prone to scold
and get snappy if unable to affix
CPAP contraption told
to attach to face when lying down
to alleviate sleep Apnea
a common malady bold
forthright primary care physician
stated excess weight major
contributing factor never foretold
back in the day when spouse
light as feather, and yet
contradictory cuz each fold
of adipose tissue
increases her cost when
measured against gold.
I’m on the inside looking out
as springtime slowly flutters by;
my leisure time is in a drought,
and leaving me to wonder why
I work so hard when end is nigh.
I’m on the inside looking out
as sunshine warms the April day,
and people strolling all about,
and in the park the children play
while in my office I must stay.
I’m on the inside looking out;
the work on desk is stacking high,
and leaving me to have some doubt,
and realize how time does fly
as days and years go marching by.
I’m on the inside looking out;
how much of me does life require?
It may be time that I break out;
it’s downtime that I now desire;
perhaps it’s time I should retire.
March 26, 2018
When I was a young boy,
The radio would blast in my ears…
I would cheerfully sing along to a new song…
Those memories come back to me like waves approaching me
I sang along with my mother by my side
She’s the driver and I’m on the passenger seat…
In other words, I called “shot-gun!” first
I prize these recollections and they make me beam so wide
Old memories spent with you are still there in my mind
You’ve painted me a picture of what you get out of life
Throwing out all strife…throwing out all strife
We welcome the sun…we welcome the son!
When I was spending happy days with you,
I didn’t know they could fade so soon
I didn’t know time would pass up by like morning to afternoon
Changes were made and I can’t change that
Where have you gone? Are you feeling OK?
Talk to me…I wonder about you every single day
But, all these years we’ve spent it on leisure time has come to hunt me down again like a predator,
finally getting its hands on its first victim
You sing so sweet, nightingale in the nightfall
I’ve memorized your face when you walk in the gloomy hall
Hear me as I call…hear me as I call…
You melt me like ice cream, left in the sun
When you remind me of the segments of my past,
I just want to tell you straight-out that I don’t care to hear about it
I’m sorry to act so harsh, but you’re looking back again
Don’t break my heart…it’s not my time to die
Yesterday…where have you gone?
Yesterday…you’re a long lost son…
Yesterday…you’re in the grave
Tomorrow… will be God’s Kingdom
Tomorrow…the day will be handsome
It’s sad to see you go…
While my family and I are spending good, leisure time
It’s tough to let you know
You’ve made me sad ‘cause you’ve changed big time
Might as well listen to music and shut out all sound
I was just a useless toy all along,
Stomped on on the ground…I’m gravity-bound
But, I won’t even try to sing this depressing song
Besides, it wasn’t arranged for one
But, nevertheless, I prayed to God with all of my heart
My leisure time was well-spent! Thank God my young heart didn't break apart!
That phrase describes products that
succeed through inherent quality,
solving real world problems
It worre a 45 minute leisure time,
the interludes one tempo to another
The inconsistency of proportion had to
be managed in order fo
r both tempos could have way.
the resolution of our discontent
stifled the progression which
had been natural and pleasant.
Until her centered need divided the concerns of
all who had interest in the project
it became easier for her to modulate
proves attempts to alter beliefs are
Both weak and unsuccessful
one who inspires might find there
the undue influencing to cover them
without knowing such is in accordance
Aquiver the excitement of being influential
is different from the shamefulness of
being looked at as someone
will to cast a spell on you to have you as?
The core components and music is
the actual performance in which style
or genre the song works best for
the audience and performer
the need to know why she
wished to brainwash him startlede
Not for the contest
No more do I despair
writing for contests with an off the wall theme
Those that want me to create a nightmare
from what was once a beautiful dream.
No more do I care
about Marvel characters who fight and kill
I'd rather spend my time writing silly limericks
for fun and honing a particular poetry skill
than worrying about meter and syllable tricks.
No more do I write
for contests where a sponsor forbids me to choose
how many spaces I indent each middle line
by someone who thinks they're a bard. No, I refuse
to write for a yobo whose rules constrict and confine.
No more contests
do I enter for judges who hold grudges and spite
or who offer friendship placements with a wink.
It's not fair to good poets who get N/A'd as a backbite
I've no more interest in participation with pen and ink
No longer care
to write for judges who give novel length instruction
Yes, rules should be followed, but not to such extreme.
It negates poetic license, serving as a poetic obstruction
making that contest sponsor, head of his or her regime.
No more writing
for those who prohibit adjectives and adverbs be used
or if the sponsor has never written in the specified form.
The power that some feel as a judge can be abused
while preaching about dos and don'ts from a platform.
Oh, spare me
from those who don't know the use of literary devices,
metaphors, proper grammar, and over doing alliteration.
To anyone who wants to enter contests, my advice is...
"Don't take a crown seriously. It will lead to abdication."
No more issues
to deal with sponsors who change their minds midway
through contests because no entries for the theme... bizarre,
and decide, without warning they have the right to say,
"I can do what I want." Who made them the contest czar?"
No blight is this
on judges who sincerely host, giving up their leisure time
to make PS a place where everyone can take an active part.
Those who appreciate good fun in free verse or with rhyme.
I applaud the fair-minded sponsors who have a good heart.
A few weeks ago, I decided to not enter PS contests any longer.
Once upon a time,
The Orange & Pink Dragon
Popped out of nowhere,
Blowing pink flames in all directions.
The Shapeless Robot walked down the street
With a blank expression on its robotic face.
He made a Snake Bird friend,
Since he didn't have a friend of his own;
Loneliness crept in on him & he wept despondently.
"I want a friend to sweep away these feelings of loneliness!"
Cried the Shapeless Robot hopelessly.
The Snake Bird felt empathy towards him & wiped his tears away by his serpent tongue.
The Non-stop Growing Vines twirled around them in all directions suddenly...
Vibes of discomfort crawled up and down the robot's back,
Electricity, originated from energy, zipping through him constantly...
Lizorse and the gangster red-head girl ghost named Gingah were playing chest with each other,
Exchanging love expressions flirtaciously...
They blew kisses at each other time and time again.
Bubbleman got bubbled up with benevolence when he felt an Angel Hand touch his shoulder;
At last, he witnessed miracles in disguise.
All of the characters hung out and listened to old school rap,
Partying and dancing like crazy monkeys at the jungle-like zoo during their leisure time.
The Incomplete Ship flew towards them,
Silence slipping though the merry atmosphere...
The palm tree, excluded from the rowdy group,
Acknowledges the Stripeful Fish happily.
"Don't worry..." said the palm tree sheepishly with content, "You can be my friend always and forever"
The End
A Solitary Stranger
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
To knit the finest webs of dreams, one of the most delicate kinds.
Gazing, out there, with brimming eyes he ponders
To catch a glimpse of the sun seeping through the windowpane
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
To knit the finest webs of dreams, one of the most delicate kinds.
Gazing, out there, with brimming eyes he ponders
To catch a glimpse of the sun seeping through the windowpane
The croons of his leisure time runs high through the seven seas,
As a hymn, rises to heaven and above, one, perhaps, eager to linger more…
Brushstrokes of canvas, dazzling horses of the clouds, in a resilient morn..
Open your eyes , and you will believe the happening world, in a fable, unborn.
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
Cotton candy dreams, where in production, are in muse, those dreams!
Those old aged clouds are all in a classic silence, piled up high,
Rain will be coming soon!
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
Cotton candy dreams, where in production, are in muse, those dreams!
Those old aged clouds are all in a classic silence, piled up high,
Rain will be coming soon!
Those croons are floating with the strongest rainfall , great news!
Where it drizzled through the lintel for yet , an hour more.
Rain-soaked an hour are chilling with gone hours, as ours,
A dead wet soul now, is he, posing in my mind!
Those croons are floating with the strongest rainfall , great news!
Where it drizzled through the lintel for yet , an hour more.
Rain-soaked an hour are chilling with gone hours, as ours,
A dead wet soul now, is he, posing in my mind!