Long Lovetime Poems

Long Lovetime Poems. Below are the most popular long Lovetime by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lovetime poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Our Courtship

He worked at the local newspaper office.
I worked for his employer’s wife as a mother’s helper.
He had served his apprenticeship 
and was now a full fledged printer 
earning a magnificent sum of eight dollars a week.
My wages were three dollars per week. 

Mrs. Miller found reasons for sending 
me to the office frequently
and he was easy to talk to.
It wasn’t long before 
he asked me to go to a movie
and I readily agreed.
Movies tickets at our local theatre 
were twenty-five cents, usually.
The first movie we went to was called 
“The Housekeeper’s Daughter”
starring Joan Bennett.
I don’t remember a thing about the story.
The next week he called again 
and this time 
the movie he wanted to take me to was
“Gone With The Wind”.
I protested that it was too expensive.
This time he would have to spend
fifty cents each on tickets
and the movie was so long that
there was an intermission 
and I knew he would want
to buy refreshments, but
I didn’t take much persuading 
and we went all out for that
evening of entertainment.
This time I did remember the story.

From that evening forward ,
he was a daily caller at our home
and my mother did her best 
to keep him fed.

Most of our dates were merely 
a stroll down town and back
as we had no car.

We heard on the radio that
Major Bowe’s Amateur Hour
was coming to a bigger town 
about thirty miles away
and both of us decided we would like to
attend that function.
Money would be a problem
on our wages, so we decided 
to save up for it.
One of us bought a dime bank and 
we each put any spare dime we could, 
into the bank.
It held five dollars.
We managed to have
five dollars worth of dimes
by the time the big day arrived.
Dad lent us his car
and off we went.
I don’t know what the tickets cost
but we had enough to buy them
plus enough to
indulge in an ice-cream soda
at the big town soda fountain.

1940 was the year our story started.
In March of 1941
he left for Detroit, Michigan
where he had heard he could find work
at a decent wage.
He sent a telegram
that he’d found a job
at $50.00 a week.
He had a minister and marriage license.
I had never been away from home before
but I traveled to Detroit and
we were married in July of 1941.




Honorable Mention
.
Form: Narrative


Dilemma

I need you, but how can it be if you are two,
if I only had one rose, who would I give it to?
Caught in a triangle of affection, without a compass of direction,
I am walking lost
with a divine absence of clarity for this awkward question.
 Look into my eyes, and see the confusion that lies,
as the last thing I want to do
is to look into her soul and say to her my goodbyes.
To each iris a girl, with my heart in the middle, beating to figure out this riddle,
to the left is the longest and to the right
is the girl I’ve known, with the time passing just a little.
Just a little is the time it took, for my feelings to breathe the air of desire,
just a little is the distance, I take each day 
to gain the courage, to walk those saddened steps of truth inspired.
Show me a sign, as I am a person in both minds,
in a place where I am blessed, to have them calling me both mine.
Yet I am stuck with emotions pouring out, under the darkest and deepest of clouds,
bound to beauty in the form of two, that I unwillingly found.
The finest of lines splits what is difficult to choose, as I am reluctant to lose,
one or the other for each other
so I fuse both, with my time and attach, the simplicity of selection to a noose.

Not one to disappoint, I played the game till time came to reach a point,
and followed myself in body and spirit
to allow my inner child, to feel the gift of a blissful joint.
So the day came where the fires of perfection, outlined figures of both frames,
standing with the wind hauling in expectation
I met both but immediately sensed as though, each as was not the same.
Suddenly like a shot from cupid’s arrow, I stood knowing the answer of tomorrow,
for who shall be my girl, as it was her all along
simple complications just arose from forced emotions borrowed.

To be continued.

For more poetry goodness visit  www.checkmyflow.co.uk
Form: Rhyme

The Nana Hex

Every time I get happy
the Nana-Hex 
comes through.
A dog's canines 
change into chainsaws,
toothpicks turn into knives,
coral reefs diverge into dirty sponges,
a sandcastle into a mausoleum,
a soldier-ant burrows deeper
into my borrowed grave,
reveille trumpets tap 
a tip-toed timpani of
disenchanted malevolence;
all for the Nana-Song.

I am eleven.
I am naked.
I am screaming.
I am kneeling in the shower
and every time I shriek:
"I feel like dancing today or
look, I can tie my shoelaces or
my bruises have healed or,
my neck is not scarlet like
the underskin of
Grandma's fingernails" -
it plays again, it reprises -
like a Bizet refrain 
scraping pitchforks
against agate slabs, 
shaving fresh flesh.
All for the resurrection of...!
All for the redemption of...!
the Nana-Hex.

Now, I am fifteen.
I don't talk. I fail to eat.
I scratch poetry and snivel.
My front teeth 
are chipped and broken
like the high-browed brim 
of Nana's low-ball snifter.
I picture four undertakers
from my windowsill.
Three of them are for me -
the fourth filthy fist, 
clutching a scratched
chromed rung, 
is for her.

Throwing confetti 
from a guarded train
as she selfishly vacated me,
Dr. Zhivago evasive and...wait! 
"look I've made my bed, dear Nana.
I lost another tooth, I received
an A+ in geometry.
No. I'm not part of one's family circus,
I'm not a crippled duckling
in a shooting gallery anymore."
Mom, Momma - I...
I can't catch her confetti, Mother.
I can't, poor Momma - but...

when her swastikad locomotive 
bleeds into the
frozen chambers 
of Auschwitz's 
omnipresent shower heads,
and my stifled tears choke 
your starved larynx
like a rabid cat 
untangling balls
of matted string; then...

and only then -

dear God, 
please tell Grandma Nana -
I've formidably said: 

hello.
© John Heck  Create an image from this poem.

"the Life of Man"

In the caccoon of two lovers embrace and ecstasy a minute wounderous bliss of 
evolution 
begins......sometimes unbeknowing by the sheer feasting of pleasure in unison.
Nevertheless what was once a tiny seed implanted in the fertile garden of nature now 
takes 
on 
new form;as it grasps out ,clinging at the air shrieking,wiggling,stretching as it 
makes its 
presence known to its new world very audibly and triumphantly.

As  time spirals quickly foward  trials,victories,failures and successes beats upon his 
spirit 
like an African drummer in  a low  melodic monotonous tune signifying the right of  
passage 
from boy-hood to man-hood. " Bum-ba-ba Bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum it 
goes 
ever so louder as it progresses through life's journey.
Steps always moving foward,bound by its audious beat he goes.........but wait......an 
unforeseen circumstance or bump in the road causes him to stumble and lose his 
steps;
He frantically tries to recover, maintains his course and the rythum of life's beat one 
again.

Then one day as he is basking in the sunlight of the day,enjoying the fruits of his 
works ,he is 
summoned  by his maker to cease from laboring and making merry to take his eternal 
rest.
Thus he brings the mourners about the streets,wailing,wearing dark gloomy garments.
Faces of anguish and disbelief fills pews as they pour out their souls in despair as 
like one 
who is without hope as he lies motionless berfore them. 
He appears comfortable and at peace facing upward like one who has settled in for 
the night 
upon his bed. He is asked many questions but gives no reply...many gestures are 
made 
towards him, he gives no response.close shouting is made near his head but he pays 
it no 
mind........for he does not have to answer now, because his time for questioning has 
ended.
Form: Narrative

Midnight Fixed

Along the corridor
A creaking floor
Candle lights glow
Winds outside
Whispering corners
The moon is low
Silently along
I tip toe...

My eyes in the door
Your back to the wall
A shadowy twin
Stretched long and thin
The fire behind you
A crackling roar
Winds howl outside
Crashing waves to shore
I'm watching you...
My eyes in the door...

My shadowy twin
In Love I Am
You have no beginning
You have no end
A constant loop
Through time again
And again

My shadowy twin
With fire behind you
And winds moving in
You have no beginning
You have no end
A constant loop
Through time again

You have no end
A constant loop
With~In~Love~I~Am...

I'm near to you
Just out of sight
Just beyond your flames
In the candle light...
Midnight,
Fixed to Midnight.

I watch you from here
I'm facing you now
Can you see me Love
In-between the sound
Can you feel me near
Waves crash to shore
Winds howl outside...
I've come to know more...

I've tip toed
Along the corridor
To be your Shadow
Just beyond the Door.

Deep within Heart
The travel is long
Just beyond Fire
To hear Your song.

Midnight fixed
in the Moonlight
We Care... to know more
Waves crash to shore
Winds howl outside.
Eyes in the corridor...

Reality breaking
Lightening flashes
Spiraling wind
And thunder crashes
From center our eyes
Creation flies
My TIC
Your TOC
Our roll
Their clock
And thunder crashes
Lightening flashes
A spiraling wind

You have no beginning...
I have no end.
A constant loop
Through time again

Midnight fixed,
To Midnight.
A spiraling wind
Sounds of thunder
Through time again

And again,
I have no beginning.
You have no end.
© Izzy Gumbo  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Ballad


Premium Member Start Courting Again

There comes a time in every marriage, 
when a certain junction is reached. 
When you or your spouse will start to think, 
that your love has reached it's peak. 

When times like this come around, 
do something other than you have been. 
Forget the NOW and the rut  your in 
and just start courting again. 

A gentle touch for no reason at all, will start you on your way. 
A spontaneous dance with no music, anytime of the day. 
A trip just for ice cream as a midnight treat, 
don't forget that all important massage for the feet. 

During a marriage you are bound 
to fall in and out of love time and again. 
The true art of staying married, is that you don't fall 
out of love at the same time in the end. 

If you can recognize this when it occurs, 
you can get past this little crisis and then, 
take the steps needed to bring back the love, 
once you start courting again. 

A kiss when you pass in the hall, 
or a hot passionate telephone call. 
Streak through the house buck nekkid together, 
Skinny dip in any weather. 
Feed each other red ripe strawberries, 
any thing silly you did when first married. 

You may think I'm crazy or I've lost my mind. 
But just put away those fears, 
this has worked for my Husband and I, 
for the past thirty five plus years. 

It doesn't have to cost lots of money. 
In fact it's better when free. 
I bet when you first married, you were as broke, 
as any new couple would be. 

Take these words of advice to heart 
And have fun when your with her or him. 
Just keep it spontaneous and silly, 
when you start courting again.



For Amy Green's contest
Choose One, Have Fun
My choice:  Marriage
Placement: 5th place
Form: Rhyme

June 18th

I wake up at 7:30 sharp, to
The static of my alarm clock
No discernable noise except for
My own voice whispering, "Today
is The Day."
I could crawl back into bed and pretend
Not to have heard; I could instead pretend
To fall back into my dreams. That way, 
I can at least ignore the truth for another hour 
Or more.
At some point, but not now, I will have to wake and 
Tell you that I don't love you anymore, and hang 
Up to the sound of you hating me. And what a shame,
Because you just
Couldn't wait to see me. At last, your Little Lottie will
Prove to be the traitor you never thought she'd be.
I hear the sound of morning, it sounds like daybreak mourning
For the
Promises I made that I can't bear to keep. I regret the day I ever 
Said I swore never to leave. I toss and turn until finally, there's no 
Doubt that I am awake. I tiptoe through my day as if on eggshells,
Flinching
When you call. I close my bedroom door, throw my pillow on the floor
Take a seat, and learn firsthand the language of goodbye. I stumble
Through my speech, hear you begging me. You don't understand
How I could
Even go through with such a thing. At your house, it must be World War III
But for the first time all day, I feel myself breathe. The weight of you just rolls
Straight off of me, and for the first time in weeks, I can fall fast asleep. And though
Your world
Just falls apart, I become eerily whole, as if I never needed you, not once, not at all. 
No offense, but I'm just so relieved, because as of today, June 18th, I find 
That I'll survive completely fine
Like fire burning sturdy wood, I won't
Waste your time or mine

Papa's Poem

Where are you?
I can’t find you, I cant see you.
I call out your name and come to find you.

I want to find you in the shed, 
making Linda’s sledge.
Whistling to yourself as you go along.
I want to find you in Hemsby,
Giving Lois coca cola and a mars bar for breakfast
Here is 50p to buy an ice cream you’d say
So make sure you spend a little, save a little,
You would remind the grandchildren while going up the Dunes from the bungalow.
I want to find you in Great Yarmouth with Nana,
Where the town never sleeps with the blue china dog.
I want to find you driving your Hillman Minx along Old Bedford Road taking the great 
grandchildren to the park for us to play on the red train and have an ice cream.
I want to find you in the flat listening to Nessum Dorma
Giving Julia and Jeremy a rough house
I want to find you in the Blackswan’s Garden
After being to Papa Chamberlaine’s allotment on a Sunday.
I want to find you doing you charity work sitting upstairs in McDonalds.
I want to find you at Diane and Grahame’s for your joint birthday with Julia.
With you being head of the family, watching everyone stop and talk,
Occasionally having a snooze but still having time to love them for them.
I want to find you one last time 
reminding us not to forget the great from Great Yarmouth
Or “When I was in the war...”
But I still can’t find you.

Then I realise I have found you
You are still here.
You’re hiding well but we know you are around.
We can’t see you but we can feel you always
So when we say you are not around anymore –
You are – in our hearts, head and our memories.


We miss you...
Form:

Qui

~ can I help you?

"... I'm looking for
a good fire..."

~ do you require
a crackle in one?

it dawned on
the DongKey
that a hotkee
was a tease
who pleased
a long time love ago
and she
"...loves a long time..."
but only when
time is right
you'll know

~ tugs a bow

what color of light
asked the merchant
giving his mule a stare
she wasn't quite sure
how his mullet
was to fair
near the kind
of fire that she
has to ware

his request was
... difficult
so she became
in sync to think
in the thick of it
a quick assault
on the fabric
he was in and
the assessment
returned as
determined

it had a rub
in his eyes real thin
is what she saw...

~ please do
come again
was all she could say

"... drop n' strip
my collars red!...."

she obliges ripe
and did where he lead
describing it right
yet not giving in
to his need...
~ I have much to do
I'll be back to you
in a while indeed

"...Rocinante!
it's time we leave!
the merchant is busy
with much to weave!"

his pride untied
she could see it
hair undone
with it's
color unfit
for that knight
nothing more
she could do
for in this
was a knot to be
a naughty time...
~ he'll come to see

"knygt erraunte"

she could hear
him say as he
and his donkey
made way...

"... green..."
she scribbles
for an order
of thread

one thousand one
for the embers bed...
he wants a girdle
the color of red...
and a rope to pull
his mule...
a tassel for his teir
by the time of Yule...

~ The Merchant
made a note of it here
shes ahead of the game
~ and he returns a year
© Izzy Gumbo  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

~ Picassos Cosmo ~

Stepping back....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From this once virginal canevas

Finally, at last, smiling to Myself

It is done...."Sempiternalis"

All of  My being, poured

Into it's seraphic setting ~

Seasons passing, as I meticulously 

Brushed, every infinite detail

Centurials it seemed; over and over

Covering; removing; replacing; redoing

Time and time again....

This, would be My lifes masterpiece!

My legacy...."Mi Personificasion" ~

For all, and all to see?

Finally, I draw the curtains

Las cortinas, to let the light shine

Upon the vesture of, such vibrant colours

"Vida"....All I had envisioned

That one day, it would all so be

Holding these beauties; the beauties ~

Of, all My dreams.... 

Mi amor; Mi esperanza; all, of Me!

It is complete; amazed, as I view it now

A rushing tide, deeply inside

This joyous splendour...."Magnificus"

I cannot wait to unveil it

Before, all of their precious eyes

Este regalo; this treasure

The essence of all, that I Am

"I Am"...."They Are" ~

Oh, how deeply they live, inside....

Mi razon; Mi inspiracion; all, of their lives!

Alive, and breathing

Breathing, the breath, of life ~

Reflecting; pondering; peering; beyond

This painting; beyonde el horizonte

Wondering, will they stand in awe?

Will they think of Me?

Shall they remember Me?

Mi amor, en la manana

En la luz del sol, of their lives? ~

Or, will time someday

A thief, come to claim....

....?Mi Creacion!....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

~ Picassos Cosmo ~
Form:

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