Long Man of few words Poems
Long Man of few words Poems. Below are the most popular long Man of few words by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Man of few words poems by poem length and keyword.
A man of few words, my father taught by example.
The best thing he showed me
was to set my standards high
and to be my own judge -
always modest never defiant or arrogant.
If something needed doing
I should do it without expecting praise -
self-satisfaction being the ultimate goal.
He taught me to set my sights high
and to be my own boss
no matter the circumstances –
to be fiercely independent
not count on anyone.
I learned to go about my business and be self-sufficient.
I did not do well in teams – like a bull in a china shop
I had my objectives and went at them as a loner.
I never saw it exactly that way
but I did get good at it to a fault.
One day, it was a rude awakening when
it dawned on me how I was doing things for people
and they were consistently ungrateful.
I knew the problem couldn’t completely be with them
My so-called modesty had become self-fulfilling servitude.
It finally registered that if people didn’t have to ask,
they didn’t have to say ‘thanks’.
And that never mattered to me until
I realized that they were in fact not thankful
And THAT was a whole different ball game.
I literally spent days if not weeks
stubbornly trying to unlearn and reprogram myself.
Tried to get it through my skull that
if people ASK for something,
or at least ADMIT they would appreciate something,
that’s when they might actually appreciate it
How cheap can people be -
what a warped world we live in.
For me, it was a hard lesson in human nature -
I was actually an enabler encouraging people
to take me for granted.
People really do like games
even the ones who say they hate them.
Admittedly it was late in life I learned this lesson
And I admit I often still choose to do things
without getting people to actually ask.
But at least I’m cognizant of my ways.
And admittedly when I do pause
and play the ‘asking’ game, it does pay off.
But I’m so unbelievably stubborn I don’t always
want to pay the price for their gratitude
so to this day, if I feel something needs to be done
I’ll just get it done.
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Posted on April 25, 2018
When you lay your trust on people
There's never a guarantee of peace
In ur heart
When you Relay on the fact that you know them
You'll always be disappointed
Never try to discover their insight or love from their hearts
Where it is impossible to be found
Dangerous love
Is you forcing
Yourself in other people's heart
You just have to live your life
And let things happen out of your control
If you always want to be involved
In your life you are inviting opinions
Get them until
You run out choice
Then you start doing things with
Force
That is not exerted though
But you created it
When it acts
You will think it's conscientious.
But no live your life
To satisfy god and yourself
And stop being concerned
In your life you will see progress
It's wise to be quite
Even though to others it's natural
To be a man of few words
It allows wisdom and knowledge
To settle in your brain
Sometimes it takes motivation
To attain that
And sadness sometimes from disappointment
It's takes failure
Or tears sometimes to reach that level
Because sober so
It's difficult
To talk less than you know
If there's some one who inspires
You to be like that know
It's a chance
Grasp it
Find a reason to have it
Make it a habit
It will move you out of people and world
And introduce you to yourself
And make your life be your concern
You will stay away from disappointment
Plz don't only listen to enjoy the sound
Of words made by this poem
Pay attention to it's content
Suicide in most time's
It's because is love
It doesn't hv to be for someone
Love for something
Others kill themselves
For things
Others for deserted trust
It's true trust comes from
Love
Love comes from heart
If someone does something to trust
He or she Destroys life
Because that rough touch
Can shake your world
Causing thoughtsquake
You become scared
Until you don't think straight
In your life see end
Until death
Pulls u over
Better give your life to God
To be saved from that
Your trust lay it to God
If you want to love too much love him
Started off a beautiful night
all dressed up and off to dance
laughing talking drinking wine
wearing my favorite pink pants.
Im not sure when it hit me
but i suddenly felt alone
beautiful people everywhere
everyone in their zone.
i was yearning for conversation
or some sort of sense of home
nobody cared to talk for real
i felt the need to roam
with nowhere else to go
drunk to the point of falling
i became very introspective
my heart felt sad and calling.
usually my nights out with friends
ended in bliss
happy happy happy
everyone a kiss.
tough times had been brewing
my mind just could not breathe
dancing and drinking
Didn't do it for me so i leave.
Got home and tears were falling
feeling insecure and lost
looking in the mirror
i saw a girl with such exhaust.
looking at my phone
with no inhibitions
i dialed a friend
who understood my sad conditions.
i looked a mess and felt the same
yet didn't care that night
usually id make sure i was
done and up and feeling right.
I listened to my heart
and took a chance and called.
I thought he'd be working
but he answered and i bawled.
it was foggy after that
not sure exactly what i said.
but as quickly as I hung up
He was out front like my bed.
I stumbled out bottle in hand
Jumped into his truck
he looked at me didn't say a word
and then i felt some luck.
He helped me into his house
and put me in the shower
he stayed in there while I bathed
Feeling so empowered.
hair all wet makeup gone
I stepped out into his towel
he wrapped me in dried me off
but wasn't on the prowl.
He held me close and looked at me
Eye to Eye and said
"This is when your the most beautiful"
Then carried me to bed.
A man of few words
but when he spoke i listened.
And that night as he told me that
my whole body started to glisten.
That comment has stayed with me
like no other I've ever heard
Whenever I feel sad or down
I image the night it occurred.
Father’s Day 2020
Father’s Day this year, unexpectedly has me in tears.
Not sure why,
Where did the time go, 2.5 years ago we said goodbye.
I can’t watch the news it gives me chest pain,
Dad, what I’d give to talk to you again.
Topics we talked about in the 70’s,
Seems like long ago, we’ve made some strides.
Sometimes Dad the lies and hate are more than I can abide.
My father was a man of few words,
Unless he really thought you were listening, he was being heard.
People often underestimated his wisdom,
He was a workin’ man, no college degree.
Lessons he taught me over a cup of coffee,
Working his land, no boss man, accomplishments to him that he was free.
In 30 seconds, he would watch and listen,
He could size you up.
Were you honest? Were you fair?
Did you live your bible teaching, or were you full of hot air?
He’d say, don’t waste your breath arguing,
Most folks love the sound of their own voice.
You know right from wrong, often right is the longer, harder choice.
I left the country, went off to school
Dad would remind me- don’t let that book learnin’ go to your head,
You learned some things about the world, that’s well and good,
But never forget where you started, the hands that worked,
The long hours, the welding burns, the hogs and cattle that pulled you out of the red.
Don’t expect anything to be given to you,
Everything in this life worth having is earned.
Dad thanks for telling me to get up, every time I fell,
For all the lessons learned.
So many father’s day I’d ask- what gift did you want?
You’d always say – come visit me.
I didn’t get it then, I do now.
What I’d give to fish with you one more time,
Under the shade of those oak trees
I’m waiting for one of ‘those calls’
That involves a dear friend,
May not have seen him since last fall,
But ‘E-N-D’ still spells end.
He is in good hands,
Or so they all say,
Tagged name in a band,
In case it’s needed the next day.
Near departed souls of land,
Maybe someone else’s mate,
Who may need a new patch,
Prior to knock on the gate.
Or possibly sent toward the pitch?
So time stays dead still,
Words echo through my room,
Shaking from lack of pill,
Least there is no more rat boom.
We fill our soul while we sit,
Wash our salts and quench,
Food never fills this deep pit,
We all are players in the ****.
A bell signals’ message of news,
To earth our personal fears,
A few words would induce spew,
Others would bring cheers.
The mighty power of words,
Delivers more that deep shock,
Nervously, I write some blurbs,
My emotions kept in stock.
It is still a beautiful day,
Blue skies and clouds in sky,
It is what some people may say,
A fantastic day to die.
If there is ever such time,
Place or ideal situation,
Life’s passage of rhyme,
Sends tingles of sensation.
Last night when she called,
There was panic in her voice,
Obviously she had balled,
As if there was one choice.
Hey, that’s what they do,
The white coats and nurses,
“Here is the honest truth,
As you fill our purses”.
That’s our worse fear,
But I have done what I can,
For my friend torn in pieces,
He always knew who I am.
A man of few words,
I just sit still on this hill,
I know death will persist,
I write when my mind is still,
I bleed daily to exist.
(c)2016 PJ Bayliss
(woman)"Just cause I didn't smile at you
Just cause I didn't wave
I'll not wear feelings on my sleeve
That's no way to behave.
But it could be, that I like you
Maybe like you quite a lot
You won't know because you've given up
My heart is tied in knots.
I'll tell you what you need to do
Come over to my house
Knock on the door, 'no violins'
You're a fiddler, not a Strauss.
And if I do not answer
It's because I'm mad at you
You've made me lose my temper
Something I swore not to do.
Now listen up, tomorrow
Come back and try again
Knock, cordially, about three times
But I won't let you in.
That's when you firmly clear your throat
And in your sternest voice
Demand I open up the door
Don't give me any choice.
I'm feeling pretty flustered now
Still we've got to iron this out
Okay, now where did I leave off?"
(man)' I guess I'm in the house.'
"Oh yes, that's right, I've let you in
Don't act surprised to see
My hair is done, my face made up
The hem above my knee.
Pretend there's nothing baking
Though the smell does captivate
Fresh rolls; a well dressed fatted duck
And cause it's getting late
You may as well attempt
To hold my hand, but no
Those puckered lips you'll tuck right in
Or out the house you'll go.
Some other would be wooers
I've kicked right out the door
T'was one or two, no there were three
Pray don't be number four.
I've planned this well and all is set
We've made it up the hill
Now ask the fated question 'Sir'
((man) ' Will you...'
"Of couse, I will."
RETA PRUITT
September 4, 2016
They called him Billy—Old Billy they said,
A man of few words, who walked where none tread.
Eyes like the storm, with a soul full of scars,
He trusted no one, not the moon nor the stars.
Once he had laughter, once he had friends,
But betrayal, like poison, seeped in the end.
Lovers who lied, and brothers who stole,
Left empty echoes carved deep in his soul.
He became the shadow beneath the streetlamp,
A silent witness with a heart grown damp.
He spoke in silence, he smiled in pain,
Learned that love often walks with a chain.
“Friendship is business,” Old Billy would say,
“They smile in your face, then throw you away.”
He saw the masks that people wore,
And knew what their smiling eyes were for.
He vanished one dusk, with no goodbye,
No body was found, no time to cry.
All that remained was a coat in the cold,
And a letter of truth, written bold:
> “Dear loved one, love if you must,
But never, ever give your trust.
Let them speak, let them praise,
But guard your heart all your days.
The world wears masks, don’t play their game—
Live in silence, and walk without name.”
Now legends whisper through alley and hill,
Of the man they once called Old Billy still.
But no one knows where his footsteps fell,
For he vanished into silence—and wore it well.
THE SANDS OF TIME
We stop-- unquestioning the expertise of our Game ranger
focused--examining sand and road for tracks
Uncomprehending, we ponder waiting for clues he may disclose –the light of dawn
Finally- three words:”Do you see?”
A revelation for him
We try to discern—revealing imprints on a dusty road
Man of few words, he speaks again: “footprints...not animal...fresh, close and recent”
Bushmen behind a thicket of shrub
Authentic and unique-nomads in the Namib Desert
“A family... hunting” he enlightens us further
We sit warm in blankets and woollen scarves
They crouch, short in stature, hiding—naked and shy
Feeling uncomfortable, inappropriately wrong somehow..
Binoculars and camera’s enforce the contrast-awkwardly
Our arrogance, whilst they are natural –reticently
Our Ranger details informative dialogue—geographical lectures
Nomadic in their habitual housing, hunting skills faultless...
Every imprint in the sand tells its own story
Many not wanting their legends uncovered
Invasion – intrusive, identities discovered
We linger no longer—luxurious Game Lodge beckons
Enjoying a breakfast we had no need to hunt for
Copyright© April 2013—Kim van Breda
I am my father’s daughter —
quiet when it matters,
loud when it doesn’t,
loyal like a bruise that never fades.
He was a man of few words
and too many beers,
a homebody with calloused hands
who built his love from paychecks, plywood,
and patched fences.
He didn’t say much,
but he never let us go without.
We all worked with him —
held tools before toys,
learned to measure twice, cut once,
and use what we had
to make what we needed.
He handed me a hammer
like it was a promise.
Taught me how to build things
that wouldn’t fall apart.
And somehow,
that became a kind of love too.
He taught me the stillness of fishing —
how to listen for the pull,
how to wait without wanting too much.
He showed me rivers
the way some fathers show their daughters cathedrals.
And when I stand near water now,
he’s the first name that echoes back.
His anger could shake the walls,
but his lessons still hold:
Don’t waste. Don’t lie.
Always bait your own hook.
I used to sit
in the passenger seat of his silence,
learning how love doesn’t always speak,
but shows up every morning
with boots on
and something heavy in its hands.
Pain eats at me with a hunger that cannot be satisfied
Darkness not even the blind would know
Still I put on my mask for others to ease there pain
Have a seat welcome to the show
I battle the cravings
Still some how wanting that sweet taste of chaos and unrest
The feeling of watching bullets fly by
While you stand still without a bullet proof vest
I try with all my might to keep my demons locked away
Remaining calm and somewhat collected
My demons bring destruction while others just play
I'm a man of few words
I keep to myself
My past is put away
On an unreachable shelf
Most have no clue
Only stories that they've heard
Mainly things that have been made up
Or changed by adding a word.
Down deep though I feel some thing
Like the fuse never went out
A desire to show others who I was
The life I was about
Keep pushing
Remind me of how it felt
I might be the Ace and eight of spades
In the final hand your dealt
As for now I'll stay quiet
Seeing with my ears and watching with my eyes
For I might be the reaper
When the time comes for you to say goodbye