Long Little(a) Poems
Long Little(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Little(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Little(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
You continue to play the game and looking for someone to blame
You continue to play the game when everything around you is so lame
The days are sprinting by with a profound message from the anxious sky and frustration is circling around the fence, and the lion is running around in its den with blood twirling in its vicious eyes and aiming at the strangers as they walk by. You have moved the game from the street to penetrate my heartbeat; you have invaded my backyard privacy with grown men shouting from the bushes as I struggle to stay alive.
December has come and gone but you have left me standing alone on the dried up lawn, with empty guts and nothing substantial to fill my growling stomach. You said that January I should get ready but January has expired already and I am still here counting down the days when I will break through the iron gate. I cannot move left or right because of this endless sacrifice. I still cannot understand what you are trying to accomplish and how I should handle it. No one is talking to me and this sometime makes the days and nights completely unhappy. I don’t have a proper place to lay my head and if it wasn’t for my will power I’d be dead.
The peeping Toms are scattered throughout the town and they are watching me everywhere I turn. I thought that May would be the day, but nobody comes my way, you continue to revive the show when you know that destiny is getting ready to go. How much longer must I wait? The trees are still and the clouds are riding with the wind, yet there is no sign of when this pappy show will end.
I enjoy quiet moments in the early mornings but just before the break of day an intruder climb to the top of the slender coconut tree loaded with water coconut just to see what I was doing. And the Chinese business at the top of the hill with its humongous Satellites dish, big water tank and a little a tiny apparatus structure on top to see what is going on. They have taken up residence on top of the hill but the trees stand still listening. My eyes are getting weak and my body is running out of heat. Destiny is coming to a close and you must recuse yourself from the crown and end your age old romance with the coconut tree,
As the moonlight reflected on a lake
Whomever you choose to be or make,
Your mind and heart can have a choice,
Add my consent if fair according voice.
Ether happiness is just a state of mind
Like joyful clouds gather or go with wind,
All states of mind, may also reproduce
Themselves in physical forms or use.
Unknown station, future may belong to hoards
Ready to gather up and sharpen the swords.
Fear may becomes panic. Its rhymes get witness
As exhausted love may become possessiveness.
If we could only have a little a bit more time,
More money, more love, maybe a better rhyme
More known or unknown thing he did not have,
We’d be truly happy. All these make us behave.
Any sequoia will watch us from higher places.
Each repressed emotion in childhood lets traces.
Cycle of life: tangled branches of every wood.
Angry may bring kind of rebel like Robin-hood
Grief may become chronic deep depression,
Envy may become jealousy, even obsession.
Sorrow looks like a robin, but what else may be?
Or sing another song, or choose another tree!
Sweet and soothing, the night is settling by now.
Shadows loaded with sleep, dull, soft and slow,
Clouds over the earth like water ready to give up.
Playing : softly, slowly, joy of love grow up:
Feelings, like the steam carried over a precipice,
So, wishful thinking carried over prejudice,
Sneaking through the trees, moon runs to here.
White lights turn off, descend and may disappear.
The overtaken, discolored, pale moon`s childhood
A hidden rhythm presides and resolves this mood
Of tonalities loaded with the hope that does not fear
New dreams crawl to the heights to fresh air.
You need a measure, if want too much without be able
Rebound for men like the expensive wine on the table.
Serotonin beyond each ill that would corruption bring,
Over dose brings neuroses, or subjective suffering.
If the feelings` denominator can flood the cognitive,
Try keep smiling: in good transfer as dough can live
Resilient like the seasons`colors and scent of the leaves
Enjoy the joy of the others under the unknown eaves.
After our yacht was wrecked by the storm
I was washed up on a tropical island.
My two companions sadly had not made it
I found them both washed up and lifeless.
First priority was to bury the bodies
before they attracted unwanted attention.
With no tools I spotted a shallow cave perfect
putting them inside I covered the entrance with
loose rocks that had slide down the cliffs.
Near by another larger cave would serve as
shelter with a few palm leaves and dry grass.
There was even a hole in the roof that let out
the smoke from my fire made from sticks.
I found a stream near by so thirst no problem
collecting nuts and berries I noticed long frongs
that I wove into traps and placed them in both
the sea and stream. A parrot befriended me so
I had good company. The traps soon worked. Crabs
eels and lobsters caught inside a real feast.
With the flint I had earlier found I scaled
the cliffs and set a signal fire unlike down
on the beach the mosquititoes had a field day.
Yet I noticed they avoided a pungent plant
and rubbed it all over what a blessed relief
They soon left me alone. In time I fashioned
some rustic tools and built a hut near the fire.
Near by I spotted both wild pigs and horses
placing some feed I soon was able to touch
and eventually ride some of them making
both travel and hunting so much easier.
Apart from human company I had it all.
I tilled the ground and planted tubers I had
found, irrigation channels kept them moist.
Scoring a tree I kept vague track of time
as first one year passed then another with
no sightings. At long last I saw a sail and
lit my fire. The yatch headed my way I was
saved. With mixed feeling I left the island.
To return there with all I needed, which was
little, a yatch so I could come and go at
will. A few chickens, a calf, cat and a dog.
Some strong tools to till and sow the land.
Lastly a good fishing rod and a feather matress
here I would wile away my remaining days.
Much to do
Yes it's true
Sit in chair
Look and stare.
Illness strain
Constant drain
What a mess
Hornet nest.
Clutter here
Clutter there.
Just start small
I won't fall
Choose one thing
It won't sting
Do it quick
That's the trick.
Stay on task
Make it last.
Hydrate too
Good it's true.
On all day
Music play.
Pick up house
Vacuum couch
Remove the trash
Do it fast.
Clean the loo
Lots to do.
Do some wash
Be the boss.
Organize
It is wise.
Simplify
Give a try.
Get it done
Make it fun.
Give away
Take today.
When not use
Time to lose.
Pack-rat style
Looking vile.
Remove dust
Mold and must.
Freshen air
Sweep all stair.
I will see
Will feel free.
Rooms get neat
Doldrums beat.
Attitude
Changes mood.
Do not quit
Or even sit.
Do not shirk
Pride in work
Till all done
I"ll have won.
If I heed
All I need.
Keep it nice
Don't think twice.
Do it now
Then take bow.
Give myself
All the help.
Take my time
Do not whine.
No more mess
Do my best.
Look around
No dark cloud
Darkness gone
Didn't take long
Cleared the mess
Removed stress.
Keep it up
Won't erupt.
Peace and joy
Stop annoy.
Time to rest
Done my best.
It's now home
No more alone.
Being clean
No longer dream.
Little a day
Make it stay.
Easy, see?
Just for me
Routine set
Don't forget.
Set aside
Please abide.
Tips today
Clean will stay.
Show my son
It can be done.
He will do
His own too.
We're a team
Got to clean.
Need to share
Make it fair.
Time is now
This is how.
Soon I'll see
More from me.
Fight thru pain
Much to gain.
No more run
Must get done.
Have my plan
Time to stand.
Lead the way
Start today.
Once upon a time when I was just but a little a boy
My grandmother of illustrious memory – told me many a story
A lot of them funny but some scary
But her favourite tale which I am about to retell
Its effect on me, i suppose should not tell
The one about the young man who refused to marry
Preferring to become an ascetic to the displeasure of his family
For they were inclined to believe – that all those who breathe in air
Surely must leave an heir!
His refusal to marry – pained them all
And many a plan were hatched to sway his mind – but to no avail
Confounded they approached the village sage to explain this mystery
Who cautioned the young man would soon have a case of dysentery
Serious enough to require hospitalization – but one that won’t send him to the cemetery
And as soon as the illness is past, he would surely marry
With this wisdom the family went home rejoicing and merry
Voices high and throaty marveling at this new found posterity
By and by the young man was struck down with dysentery
And no sooner had he recovered he married the village beauty
Much to the amusement of his family who knew all that had happened to the boy
This story my grandmother would recite
Countless times to us little boys long into the night
Toss and turn, turn and toss all night long but our little minds could not fathom
What the young man’s decision to marry had to do with dysentery!
And when I told my fellows at school this story
Don’t know am sure, whether it was under the mulberry or at the refectory
They all agreed that my grandmothers wisdom
Which she had tossed to me sitting at her mahogany was nothing but baloney
When I recounted this to her, she smiled complacently
Aware this curios case of beauty and dysentery I would cherish for eternity.
Cross-legged he sits upon the ground
Playing a fiddle that makes no sound.
With a broken bow in his frozen grip
No note from his hand will ever slip.
He sits amidst the flowers in bloom-
The air redolent with their sweet perfume,
But he’s immobile indeed throughout the day
And so never sends forth a musical lay.
Yet I swear I heard as I was falling asleep
At the end of a day I had no wish to keep,
When my mind was weary and my thoughts were dim,
I’m sure I heard music coming from him.
He fiddled in notes that were joyful and witty;
Soon I was caught up in his musical ditty.
As the crickets kept time with his light airy tune
The flowers all danced beneath the full moon.
And I, for my part, as I lay in my bed
With his music swirling in my dream covered head,
I danced with the flowers each in their turn
Humming a song I never did learn.
Then after a while he changed what he played
As he eased into a soft serenade,
And the crickets, and flowers, and I myself too,
Found rest in the notes his music spoke through.
And so I dreamt throughout the night
Then greeted the dawn with strange delight,
And the troubles that had gone to bed with me
Now no longer have the same urgency.
If you called me strange I would have to approve,
For I certainly agree that a statue can’t move,
But I noticed this morning down the garden lane
As the sun slowly crept toward my window pane
That the frog and his fiddle, though in the same place,
Has a wry little a smile upon his face,
And with his fiddle resting on his knee-
I do believe he winked at me!
Shouting at their profit clouds
I have been on the left all my life
Our leaders war in Vietnam inspired me
As a young man, facing conscription
Then Labor was elected and saved me from jail
Or killing people I did not know
For reasons unfathomable
To my young mind
I was too young to vote
But went to Labor
Or rather its left
And found the branch meetings boring
Uniformative and superficial
I went to protests
But the economics and law I was studying -
To change the world no less –
Consumed my life, my thoughts and my ideas
And led me to work in the tax office
Where I met my wife
Through a union meeting
And an action group
With revolutionary socialists in it
And found a new world
That explained the one we lived in
I became a revolutionary
And have been for over 40 years now
Fighting the enemy, their class and its hangers on
Our victory would not be long
But I was wrong, it is eternity
We remain unfree, all of us
We kick up little fuss
As a class or even as
Disconnected event protesters
I wait for the explosion, here and elsewhere
Because I care and am a socialist
Democratic and revolutionary
Where we become our parliament
For the people, not the one percent
My dream remains alive,
In my mind and that of some others
And occasional outbursts of strikes
And big protests
That upset their status quo
For a little while, too little a time
And I rhyme my way around
Another poem,
Just a person
Shouting at their profit clouds
Aloud,
Standing too alone
Until we all join together
Against them
Then we can be free
The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough.
One wanted to kill many Germans, the other to save many Jews.
The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried, unremarkable.
Each little death was very little, a little spittle in a big wind.
Fast forward to my friend's son's bar mitzvah or daughter's
coming of age ceremony. Food is abundant, the music frenetic,
the rabbi paid. Gifts generous but not obvious.
Wealth does not obviate death and we know it.
Here too we have natural leaders. Youth basketball coaches,
school principals and, again, interpreters of prayers. When
violence comes to the neighborhood they are who we'll first look to
for governance and guns. Unless have you read The Admirable
Crichton?
Boredom, boredom conflated with loneliness, may be a sign
of good luck. To live a good length or light year away from man's
bad breath, allergenic perfumes, sickening flatulence and shed hair.
But you are drawn back into the debate about perfection by your own
********.
While teaching at the old city jail I have learned this: only meditation
upon the periodic table can save your soul. From itself.
Imagining the world without the self will make you whole.
What else is there to say. Do less until one thing's done well.
After the war the brothers started a small trucking company
in the Bronx. Grateful for such peace, the accounting
was relaxing. They thought back to how they met their wives, naked
before the bombs and bullets. How they lost and found themselves in
what happened.
I wonder if the best way to describe us humans (yes, every other definition you can now expunge) is to simply say, for the record, every human is a sponge.
It makes perfect sense when you think about it…if you take the time to graph the composition of a human…water makes up over half.
Just look at how we learn…how we absorb new information into our brains…absorbed until each time we need it…we squeeze it out again.
Our souls absorb each days experiences…all our successes…all our scars…and each day what has been absorbed…changes who we are.
Yes, what is absorbed by our souls is what makes us who we are…and by our brains is what makes us smart…but, I believe, the ultimate proof that we are sponges can be found without our hearts.
It is through our hearts we absorb another person’s happiness and joy…where we absorb their sadness and their fears…and when we’re overflowing with either one…it is our heart that squeezes out our tears.
From the time when we are a little…a little girl…or little boy…it is through a hug we absorb directly…another person’s joy.
And I imagine there is no one who hasn’t felt…in their heart and soul and brain…when another person’s hug…has absorbed some of their pain.
So here’s to all the human sponges out there…
as we travel together on this orb….
may we never lose our softness
and our ability to absorb.
Joy and I make a cake for you
Ingredients we use just a few
100 ml oil, 300 g flour and I bet
Joy has a white mustache, yet!
300 g cherries –do not eat all:
Well, I said not alone, my soul.
Joy has earrings of cherries, yet!
We eat them. No trace of regret!
200 g Greek yogurt 10% fat
That is certainly not for the cat!
200 g sugar have a lot of fun
"Stranger, please take just one."
Aha! I know why Joy is so sweet.
10 g baking powder, just a bit!
4 eggs: now, I think one is done
The cherries battle's lost or won.
And humbled by this presence
1 tablespoon of vanilla essence
Peel a lemon: a kiss is the price
And little salt to listen Joy advice.
Who ever ate curry with custard
And a little a bit of mustard ?
Just a little as our daily faith
All is true the great God saith;
A good cake with kitchen mate
There was no need to separate
The eggs and beat them or pun
While making this ”pandispane”.
This is kind of civil disobedience:
We simply mix all the ingredients.
We put the sweet and sour cherries.
There are two kind of good fairies:
Let alone the mustard, even a bit -
Where daddy will probably sit.
Then, we are made with flour
Indeed, in less than an hour;
We tidy up, then eat.Come on!
All around, seems well done
But Kings of Disorder at home
Must clean before mother come.