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.
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“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.”--------------------Rumi
listen not to the vagrant zephyr
seeking only sustenance of its kind
idol thinkers lolling in innocence
swayed by every whispering sigh
unaware – that secrets lie.
“We put the urn aboard ship.”---------------------------------------Sappho
Single struggling sapling
scented with the longings of leaving,
kissed by the roots of a family’s tree
adrift on a sea of doubt
holding true to its native soil.
“Wherever I am, the world comes to me.”-----------------------Mary Oliver
An ocean lapping at the shores of time’s fleeting gusts
enticing us to come aboard, sail her winds
dance the song of the gentle rains
shelter in her wooded arms and cliffs
wait as her horizon’s greet my welcome.
“the moon is a curving flower of gold.”---------------------------Sara Teasdale
grinning in the pilfered beauty of sunlight
stolen from beyond earth’s curving crust
hanging its crescent hook for lover’s
to ponder in the midst of loving’s lust
petals falling in the path of daybreaks rush.
“I like my body when it is with your”…memory-------------------e.e. cummings
tingling with the cold salt spray of
breakers overpowering the sand
softly kissing the edges ……frothily spent
bubbling beneath the screech of gulls
nestled into the arms of home
“the apparition of these faces in the crowd”-------------------------Ezra Pound
vague faces of unknown forebears
yellowing in time’s smoky rooms
stern faces seeking a future
young faces – now grown old
dancing on the branches of a tree.
“The tree is here, still, in pure stone” ----------------------------------Pablo Neruda
troubled roots strengthened by hardship
searching life’s invisible pathways
meeting pressure with practiced patience
offering shade, and presence
touching granite’s hardened heart.
John G. Lawless
7/24/2015
“Wherever I am, the world comes to me.” Mary Oliver
“the apparition of these faces in the crowd.” Ezra Pound
”I like my body when it is with your….” e.e. cummings
“The tree is here, still, in pure stone,” Pablo Neruda
“We put the urn aboard ship.” Sappho
“the moon is a curving flower of gold.” Sara Teasdale
“the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.” Rumi
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
Sophie Helen our cocker spaniel pooch
Loves nothing better than a tiny little smooch
She can hear the ham container the second it pops
Jumping to the top of the couch; her wiggle never stops
We laugh that she can hear a candy wrapper a mile down the road
She loves sugar, beef, and table scraps; she is such a funny toad!
Her best trick by far is running with her stuffed duck in her mouth.
She grabs him for courage, when things seem to turn south.
The duck is called “her baby” and we laugh about it a lot.
It is decrepit, falling apart, with a broken neck, surely distraught.
But it is her baby and she comes running inside
To get it in her mouth when other dogs would be looking to hide.
We see her run back out through her dog door so quickly.
The duck’s head is bobbing, it’s eyes glazed and thickly.
Sophie Helen is our guard dog. She barks strangers away.
Gets so angry at the delivery guys each and every single day.
Another trick she has is the trick to fall asleep everywhere.
On a rug, bare wood floor, bed, couch, or towel covered chair.
Her little dog tongue, lolling out of her mouth, showing pink.
She looks quite dead, but her snoring is loud and succinct.
We adore this little pup, she is our baby, tis true.
If you came to visit, she would be so barkingly angry with you.
Until you had been here two seconds, then she would be in your lap.
Cuddling up in sweet friendship, taking her sweet doggy nap.
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
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!
As a child I went surfing at Freshwater Beach in Sydney
Renowned for its great waves,
Swell waves for body surfing.
Beyond the breakers, furthest out, were the 'Heroes'
Old, leathery tanned surfers who waited hours and hours for 'the wave of the day'
They only caught a handful of the biggest waves every hour or two.
They spent hours lolling about beyond the break, waiting for the big one to leer up on the horizon
Too proud to catch the small stuff, the run of the mill waves not fit for 'heroes'
It was scary at first for a kid to venture that far out into the 'heroes' realm
They leered back throwing daggers and sighs with disapproving glances
But you could survive by giving them plenty of space, to avoid interfering with their rare big wave catch
The challenge was to 'show them up' by surfing down the waves they just missed,
Or staying on the wave for longer than they did.
To earn mere morsels or crumbs of reluctant respect.
They had a nasty way of ridding the blow-in boogie-boarders from their patch
They would duck down as flippered boogie-boarder passed overhead
But leave an arm and hand up
To grab the boogie boarder as it passed, dipping the nose in
Flipping the board and rider over in a somersault
This shooed the boogie-boarders away from
The 'Heroes' patch of sea just beyond the breakers.
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.
An old farmer,
bent forward,
even his shadow
has grown old.
Upon his shoulder
lies
a lonely afternoon.
Quite a lot of time
has been spent
around rice
and ash gourds.
If I could rub away
the marks of age
from the body
of this lifetime
with an eraser,
would rebirth
then glitter
in my hands?
On the sky
of the night school
I have stuck
a handwritten moon
with chewing gum.
I could not become
a teacher of mathematics,
nor could I become
milk
in the breast
of a teenage girl.
Now I catwalk
on the runway
of a black hole,
sit in a restaurant
and eat chow mein
with chopsticks,
go to the PlayStation
and destroy submarines
with a joystick.
With every step,
an intoxicating
love
echoes.
In the water
of the ploughed field
is reflected
the sky,
torn apart
by the deep blade
of the plough.
Beside melancholy
walks
what I am searching for,
but I do not know
what it is.
It remains
within my being,
a fever
drawn out
from apples
and pears.
That fever,
I act out.
At dusk,
young women,
filled with evening,
light fires
with twigs and straw
on their moist bodies.
Beside them
wanders
the cat of the night.
A frog lies dead
on the road.
There is no memorial
for it.
Beside one tree,
another tree.
Moonlight
rests upon their heads.
All the truths
of life
gather
in the lolling,
lush heads
of rice.
Now, come,
let us draw
a door
upon the body
of age,
and exchange hands
with
the Brahminy kite.
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.
Applauding an Acrostic Aria
Bopping to a Ballade Ballet and Blank verse Berceuse
Clapping to a Cinquain Cantata and Couplet Chorale
Dancing to a Dizain Duet
Exalting in Etheree Etudes and Elegy Ensembles
Frolicking to Free verse Folk songs and Footle Foxtrots
Galavanting to Ghazal Gavottes
Humming harmonies to a Haiku Hip Hop
Inhaling Italian sonnet Instrumentals
Jiving to a Jueje Jig
Keeping time to a Kyrielle Khaliji*
Lolling to a Limerick Lullaby
Marching to a Monorhyme Minuet
Napping to a Narrative Nocturne
Ovations for an Ottava Rima Overture and Ode Opera
Praising a Pantoum Polonaise
Quieting my quarters with a Quatrain Quadrille
Rollicking to Rondeau Rondos and Rhyme Royal Rhapsodies
Singing to Sonnet Sonatas and Sapphic Stanza Symphonies
Tapping toes to a Triolet Trio and a Tanka Tango
Unwinding to an Urban Sonnet Unison
Vocalizing a Villanelle Villanella
Whistling with a Waltz Wave Waltz
eXulting in Yaltos and Zikets
// Lines consist of a verb, a poetry form, and a musical form //
*Khaliji = modern contemporary music of Central and Eastern Arabia