Long Lolling Poems
Long Lolling Poems. Below are the most popular long Lolling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lolling poems by poem length and keyword.
Of all the songs of seraph that endow
Timely blooms and shreds of Willow bough
Tangled and untangled the gilded strings of fall
And serenest sky up so high I heard a call-
Who? Helene blooms by the distant;
Rosemary
O' your crevice and blinks ruddy as berry
Your wanton tress and the light of dress
Bright and lucent the nightertale seems to caress
More fair and fairer that in amidst night of sky
While oft I stared you,my blind soul soar up so high
Twinkle,twinkle the jewellery of boundless æther
And orbed blossoms of heather,I see you slither
The theft of mine poor heart in busy hour
While of I was sniffing round your wallflower
Be lighter and be gentler to my weary heart
Thro' far and far you linger in this vapid art
Sprinkled from afar your's ray in earthly crust
Dwelt in gemmy nelumbo in midst of verdure,August
Part and impart your loveliness in dropping drips
Ah! winds it an aught from your carmine lips
Napping and wrapping beneath your shadow
So there the face of heaven; the firmamant meadow
Is now my faulty heart athrobs to revel with you
In chilly hour and lolling flower; sipping a wintry brew
MIDDLE EARTH
I see the gaping maw approaching
ivory white saliva covered teeth
slobbering over red gums
tongue lolling about
reaching for my face.
Knees!! Dammit!!! Knees!!
God are there some ugly knees
rippled, dimpled, dumpling shaped
sticking through the holes in new jeans
smiling at me.
Butts!! Posteriors!! Cheek-sets!!
Bumping and bouncing
a constant “cha-cha-cha”
rippling tide afloat in yoga pants
spandex containment
seeking release.
Table bottoms….gawd-a-mighty
therapy….yes!!…I’ll need therapy
Don’t let me touch that stuff!!!
Better yet….stop sticking whatever
under the tables.
I see crotches…grabbed
by men….not playing baseball
just …. just….damn….more therapy
and women in spray painted
“body clinging” fashion art.
I see other kids…in strollers
at the edge of shock
unprepared for what awaits them
around the corner
just down the block.
9/1/2015
submitted to – Through the eyes of a child – Poetry Contest
It’s a bright day and crystal clear sky,
There’s an open road and cool breeze,
And yet, I am driven into a quandary
beleaguered by a deep personal malaise...
My virtues overshadowed by some vice.
For me to ride out this rolling storm,
Do I use the reins or the spurs?
That I weave not a web of my own woes
It behooves me how not to die with guilt…
A guiltless mind yields not to sorrow.
I'm befuddled by a doubtful dilemma:
Is my fate a willful folly of mine
or a preordained wretched destiny?
Why redemption comes through crucifixion
and why salvation only by penance?
I wonder, must I banish my baneful whims
Lest, my much fostered hopes turn to ashes?
A flushed sun is lolling near the horizon
and the crimson sky turning drowsy gray
I must appease my innate quest for beauty
and find love to sweeten my sullen days,
But lost as I am in this doleful haze
with despair and belittled by doubt…
Pray, how do I find my way out?
~11/10/21
~Contest: "U" (Utterly)
~Sponsor: Constance La France
Hopeless cries maybe but from far away
I'm lolling in the lap of luxury
So why do I care if they eat but whey.
Desperate parents sighing all the day
Living a life of toil and drudgery
Hopeless cries maybe but from far away.
Poverty-stricken, none more poor than they
While I fun and feast, they eat shrubbery,
So why do I care if they eat but whey.
Kneeling down unto the Lord they did pray
Every breath unkind, a toilsome journey
Hopeless cries maybe but from far away.
It is the rule of our fate, none can sway
There is no escape, no recovery
So why do I care if they eat but whey.
While they subsist on handouts, sleep on hay
They but reap what they sow, in summery
Hopeless cries maybe but from far away
So why do I care if they eat but whey.
Contest: Say It Again
Sponsor: William Kekaula
A bright day and clear blue sky
An open road and cool breeze,
I am driven into a quandary
besets by a deep personal malaise...
My virtues overshadowed by some vice.
To ride out this rising storm,
the reins I use or the spurs?
So that I weave not the web of my woe
it behooves me how not to die with guilt,
for a guiltless mind yields not to sorrow.
Is it my willful folly
or my wretched destiny?
that redemption comes through crucifixion
and that salvation only by penance!
I'm perplexed with a doubtful dilemma.
I must banish baneful whims
lest all hopes turn to ashes.
The sun is lolling near the horizon
and the crimson sky turning drowsy gray,
I must sate my innate quest for beauty...
But lost I am in this maze,
How do I find my way out?
~09/30/18
~"Seven-Ten Form" contest
sponsor: Emile Pinet
From the wood where coyotes play
Blackie cat came on a summer’s day.
Called seemingly, to fill the place
where Rocky the cat lay dreaming.
A proud old tom who’d seen his end
Rocky had held it long at bay.
A Guardian was he of Mom you see,
but when he passed she’d stay.
And he’d not leave till he knew
she would not be alone…
He’d found ole Blackie for her
to give them both a happy home.
Blackie and he had many a day
of lolling in the grass and sun.
But Rocky’s porch he would not share
that was for Mom and he the only one.
She feed them both, each to his own
and cared for both in kind.
Rocky’s plan, he was the man…
was to not leave her alone inside.
So, Rocky's sweet self sacrifice
of staying much too long
was blessed with painless passing
He died in Mommy’s arms.
Now everyday, ole Blackie comes
as Rocky told him too.
To keep his Mommy company
another Guardian true.
Still too frightened to come inside,
Mom’s sure he will one day.
And on that day they’d both be sure
that Blackie’d come to stay.
*Debbie Guzzi
A big-blue-eyed Ralphie Parker, coveting a Red Ryder Air Rifle,
So that he can defend himself against Scut Farkus, that would be a feat.
Beautiful Betty Boop lamp in the window with the fringe skirt, you know
That is probably going to cause car wrecks up and down the street.
The yelling and screaming of the wild next door neighbor children
and their tongue-lolling hound dogs, for no apparent good reason.
Christmas spirit, coming through loud and clear, in spite of the
hilarity of this show that I cannot wait to see each season.
It all adds humor and fun to 1983’s big hit, A Christmas Story.
Randy Parker stuffed into his red snow suit by a disheveled mommy,
and then saying he had to go, leaves me in hilarity glory!
“I’ve shot my eye out!” which should terrorize me as a parent,
keeps me laughing in my recliner in case that is not apparent.
Out of all the Christmas shows, Jean Shepherd’s is my favorite one.
Maybe because when it came out my children were this much fun.
Hands awaken! Speak out! Answer to sacred shouts,
subterranean whispering, to stars above rooftops—
thread sunlit branches with the chattering of a thousand leaves.
If fluxes and urgencies of confusion or death
should drawn you into your self-box, I say,
remember when one constructed self-prison fell away.
However you helped this forward,
do more of the same.
Be rain-hands, weeping, steeped in earth fragrance.
Be fingers in blossom, faces turning upward,
loves innumerable, rough-cut bedazzled—
unafraid to be splayed open.
Be pocketed hands, released to the welcoming wind—
multiplying there in mid-air,
riding the four directions.
Be hands of smoke and fire, descending and ascending like ragged bird-song—
effulgent, double-charged with surprise
and now even with mock surprises.
Start at the beginning, where you are.
Don’t be satiate with loll-lolling
recede wave’s tide, retreat back and back
into yourselves, until grown utterly intellectual and lumpish!
Now, you Human Being—you come awake also!
Sweep the furnishings from table. Upend the table lawlessly.
Bring the muscular, fleshy, feminine against the masculine and muscular.
Bring the masculine to the feminine. Bring friend to enemy,
estranged neighbor to the confidant. In a dance of pressing hands,
let subtle conversation play.
Ring all the tiny bells.
Stir the King and Queen of Remembrance.
In over-arching restraint, holding back one iota, so pure notes sound—
bring sunburst, sphere and harmony.
Make your entire body a listening board
forming therein—tender shape around which love
seed unfolds infinite spaces and then…
Spring awake! All to better dreaming
where hope and faith are undashed, not this dying.
O, hear me now! Hands, every which one of you,
with every human—never again sleep,
never abandon!
My how time drags when we ain't havin' fun,
And yet seems to fly like a child on the run,
Whene'er we're at play or just lolling about,
Seems like no time at all and our time has run out.
Seems when we have time and the day's bright and sunny,
Our coffers are bare and we ain't got no money,
And when we got money and we're feelin' fine,
We got too much work and we ain't got no time.
When we're at work or we're laid up in bed,
When we're sick and we're tired and our life's filled with dread,
Time seems to drag, each day lasts a year,
As we lay there and moan with our eyes filled with tears.
Would that it would slow, let the fun last awhile,
And speed up 'stead of drag when we can't find our smile;
But that's just the way life is my friend,
It's a mixture of fun and pain in the end.
"Life is an expedition to unknown territories. Adverse winds may veer round and the calm may be disrupted any time, but don't lose hope and pull on" ~ By Poet
Leaving the sheltered confines of the past
We embarked on an expedition, fresh and new,
With the present volume and its contents closed down
To open another and pore over its pages anew.
Everything was calm and still as we set out,
Except the pain of being cast loose from our anchorage
Over the swelling magnitude, we sailed past,
To alight into the novelties of another world.
On the bosom of a tranquil sea, with fleecy clouds above
We moved on to realms, fanciful and new,
And continued to sail over the lolling waters,
Gazing at the finny herds in undulating waves.
But sudden was the turn of wind and weather.
The waves rose to mountain heights.
Thunders bellowed over the wild waters.
And the sea into an aggressive fiend turned.
The billows lashed and crashed over the rocks.
All around was the booming sound of rushing waves.
Flashes of lightning left rents in engulfing gloom,
And the ship, adrift in the roaring currents.
At a point when it was about to drown
The tempest subsided; the sky turned clear.
What Providence has saved us from our peril?
We keep wondering now and ever!
Knowing that tempests will again strike,
And our vessel will be rocked hither and thither,
Now, with greater caution in every move,
With the riggings once more fastened tight,
And with the blue line of a cherished past,
Receding quickly away like a cloud in the horizon,
We continue our expedition, braving the waves,
And sail past to regions far and unknown!