Long Margaret Poems
Long Margaret Poems. Below are the most popular long Margaret by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Margaret poems by poem length and keyword.
Goodnight Moon
a children's book by Margaret Wise Brown
the subject of my poem and my latest stamp purchase
was also a book that I read to my son
when he was little
not thirty-three, like he is now
forgive my forgetting the details
the book is no longer on my shelf
but in the story
it's bedtime for a little rabbit
who says goodnight
to everything in his small, cozy universe
of yellow, red, green, blue and white
including the moon
which he sees out his window
we all like to create
a benign, safe, friendly world
for our young ones
to grow up in
before they must encounter
a struggle to survive
prejudice, hatred, ill health, violence
lying, cheating, and the rest
I like to think that the better we can do
to create this world
for our babies and our youth
the better the real world will turn out
yet, I suppose, our children
must also learn how to be
smart, strong, and resilient
but today
on the week my son gets married
I like to imagine
that safe, kind world
of
Goodnight Moon
She writes like Maya
She sings like Aretha
She dreams like Coretta
She reads like Oprah
She speaks like Barbara
She plays like Serena
She rocks like Tina
She rolls like Donna
She entertains like Diana
She cures like Maria
She paints like Edmonia
She kicks like Mia
She runs like Wilma
She throws like Lisa
She boxes like Laila
She dances like Anna
She skates like Surya
She invents like Patricia
She revolts like Angela
She influences like Condoleezza
She paints like Edmonia
She smiles like Mona Lisa
She loves like a mother
She protects like a tiger
She prays like Mother Theresa
And she cooks like momma.
Dear readers, you can add more
A natural woman is never poor
Please, beloved friends, be kind
To come up with more in your mind
She tumbles like Simone
She philosophizes like Simone
She quilts like Betsy
She laughs like Whoopi
She jokes like Leslie
She sings like Marie
She speed skates like Maame
She flies like Mae
She exercises like Gabby
She educates like Mary
She fights like Dorothy
She explores like Stephanie
She sounds like Winnie
She creates like Margaret
She dares like Harriet
She runs like Marion
She entertains like Josephine
She legislates like Maxine
She sows like Catherine
She teaches like Gwendolyn
She lifts like Ernestine
She acts like Diahann
She reports like Diane
She speaks like Michelle
She is serious like Michelle
She is strong like Althea
She is talented like Augusta
She is defiant like Cicely
She is brave like Shirley
She is normal like Marilyn
She is fearless like Maxine
She is relaxed like Rosa
She is inquisitive like Barbara
She challenges like Phyllis
She swings like Chris
She plays like Alice
She is talented like Venus
She is pretty like a flower
And she is like our mother.
A natural woman is not perfect
She deserves honor and respect
She needs love everyday
From trouble, she never runs away
Please add more to this poem
And do not curse or blaspheme
She writes like Maya
She sings like Aretha
She dreams like Coretta
She reads like Oprah
She speaks like Barbara
She plays like Serena
She prays like Mother Theresa
And she cooks like our mama.
Copyright © August 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
“Other Worlds They have not Lived”
Writers, and poets, just like musicians
feel they have the pulse of things,
it’s an arrogance that declares
I know, so much more than you,
I know of such things,
so much better than you.
I have lived more of a life,
I have a deeper capacity to feel.
The reader watches
the dance, and thinks -
no, no you don’t
know better than I,
nor would you
ever want to.
There is a lightness
in the limerick
a joie de vivre
innocent,
macabre or satire,
but underneath
the undertow
there rises more
mysterious darker things
that lift you up towards
some luminocity, even if
one exists stagnant
in the in-between -
their words like lines cast,
make your heart swell
and like an ocean they
pull you back in.
You'd gladly drown
in their verbosity.
To write the story
one must live,
to write the story
one must read,
to read,
one must concede,
there are other worlds
one has never lived,
nor will ever live.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“While he writes,
I feel
as if he
is drawing me;
or not drawing me,
drawing on me--
drawing on my skin--
not with the pencil he is using,
but with an old-fashioned goose pen,
and not with the quill end
but with the feather end.
As if hundreds of butterflies
have settled all over my face,
and are softly opening
and closing their wings.
But underneath
that is another feeling,
a feeling of being
wide-eyed awake
and watchful.
It's like being
wakened suddenly
in the middle of the night,
by a hand over your face,
and you sit up
with your heart going fast,
and no one is there.
And underneath that
is another feeling still,
a feeling
like being torn open;
not like a body of flesh,
it is not painful as such,
but like a peach;
and not even torn open,
but ripe and splitting open
of its own accord.
And inside the peach
there's a stone.”
("Alias Grace"/Margaret Atwood)
Here’s to Margaret - the Linton lassie.
She hails from the lovely land down under.
She’s a sweetie, and I bet she’s classy,
since she pens her poems like a wonder.
I met awesome poets when I came here,
but none like Marge, for she is much like me.
She’s both a poetess and sonneteer
who writes in forms of classic poetry.
One day dear Margaret just disappeared.
I sent her notes, but she did not reply.
And then some time ago she reappeared
just to leave again! I’m not sure why.
Marge says she’s coming back, so I’ll not fret.
More sonneteers I‘ve happily since met!
For Cyndi MacMillan's "Missing Soupers - We Love You"
How do you measure love?
With every breath and sigh
Cold winds blow by
Remembering winters past
Promises of friendship to last
I remember you
In everything I do
How do you measure love
Through what we have done
Memories of past
Stored forever last
Continuously remember you
In all that I do
Even in the snow
Windswept cold winds winnow
Steadfast weather of the past
Our promise of friendship to last
Incessantly remember you
In everything I do
How do you measure love
When time marches on with no ending
There was no future from the beginning
Just Connection I cannot lose
Eternally remembering
All because of you
Watching the birds take their feeding
Then hiding in their shelter of needing
Your covering was our affection
Then we lost all our direction
I lost my breath
And then I sigh
Promises foregone
There is no song
How do you measure love?
When there is none
Margaret Franceschini
2/17/14
The World's elite have made it their goal,
to get the population under control.
They hatched out a plan,
for their fellow man,
while they reproduce and live to be old.
A total population of 250-300 million people, a 95% decline from present levels, would be ideal. - Ted Turner - founder of CNN. (Age 80, 5 children)
In order to stabilize population, we must eliminate 350,000 people per day.
-Jacques Cousteau - explorer, conservationist. (Lived to be 87, 4 children)
If I were reincarnated I would wish to be returned to Earth as a killer virus to lower human population levels. - Prince Phillip - married the Queen of England.
(Age 97, 4 children)
Finally I had thought that at the time Roe was decided, there was concern about population growth in populations that we don't want to have too many of.
- Ruth Bader Ginsburg - Supreme Court Justice. (Age 86, 2 children)
The most merciful thing a large family can do to One of its infant members is to kill it. - Margaret Sanger - laid ground work for planned parenthood (Lived to be 86, 3 children)
I'm pro-choice, I'm for assisted suicide, I'm for regular suicide, I'm for whatever gets the freeway moving - that's what I'm for. It's too crowded, the planet is too crowded and we need to promote death. - Bill Maher - HBO personality. (Age 62 no children, thank God)
I've searched, roamed, dug down deep
Turned over so many stones...yet nothing
I could feel the NOTHING so deep
I was sure it was all I am
Like a scar that has no feeling
Yet contains all the feeling abused skin
could endure
hold and mend
My body had no more space for more
Yet....I held out...for a hope I could not name
Like a bad stumble over an unseen stone
I came into a place where she was
It wasn't eyes that saw, but deep calling to deep
No way I could approach to discover
I sat as close as I could and called her name
...........Margaret.......
"Stay away...you will get hurt"
Indeed, she was surrounded in what one would call
LIVE wires...all reaching out met with no one answering
Her sweet little calls
I spoke peace to her storm and the wires relaxed
"Nobody wants me"
I said with all I AM
"I WANT YOU"
She jumped on my lap into a full embrace
Her wires faded into my very being
I asked, "What do you desire?"
She answered in a tone that yielded to home
......YOU....YOU are all I have ever wanted
TRUTH
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-31-2026
Note: Margaret means Pearl; Trudy means All Truth
GOOD LITTLE GIRLS
DO AS THEY'RE TOLD
OBEY ALL THE LAWS
UNTIL THEY GROW OLD
BAD LITTLE GIRLS
DO AS THEY PLEASE
LET DOWN THEIR HAIR
AND RUN WITH THE BREEZE
THERE IS A DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN RIGHT AND WRONG
SO PAY ATTENTION
AS WE MOVE ALONG
GOOD LITTLE GIRLS
HAVE MADE SOME REALLY BAD CHOICES
WHEN THEY LISTEN TO ALL
THE POLITICAL VOICES
BAD LITTLE GIRLS
HAVE MADE REALLY GOOD CHOICES
THEY THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX
AND NOT ALL THE VOICES
THE NEW WORLD ORDER
WOULD HAVE YOU BELIEVE
NOTHING IS GOOD
UNLESS IT'S THEY WHO CONCEIVE
MARGARET THATCHER
WAS A BAD LITTLE GIRL
SHE THEN WENT ON
TO SHAKE THE WORLD
I REALLY DO LIKE
BAD LITTLE GIRLS
IT'S A JOY TO KNOW
THEY'RE ALL OVER THE WORLD
The Pink Joey or Dwarf Pink Kangaroo Paw
when cataloged made botanists quiver.
For it's a rare native Australian plant
first found along the Margaret River.
A clumping evergreen, it loves the sun
however, it’s content to stay quite small.
And unlike the larger Kangaroo Paw
it’s a perennial that don’t grow tall.
It bristles with copious strap-shaped leaves
flaunting flowers with downy-soft pink hairs.
And its subtle scent attracts butterflies
sipping on the nectar each blossom shares.
Its velvet blooms form small kangaroo paws
each a delightful down under treasure.
And displayed in their natural setting
they bring the observer so much pleasure.
(Quatrain)
She wore a tiffany hat with a bow and six big plumes of red and white,
it had an ultra wide asymmetrical brim that rolled up to one side.
When it came to dames like this I believe God ran out of humble stock !
She wore pompadour shoes, like she had nothing to lose
and rouge so red it made the cardinals have fainting spells !
Her hair was soaked in henna, elderberry & radish extract,
and I believe her dress was stitched in the boudoir of coco-channel!
She was a nouveau riche reveling in her new found fame
and everything in her life was right as rain until that fatal day,
when her hat expanded 10 x its size, growing past her shoulders
like a great big beast, of leavened yeast!
Her hat pins strained from the strain of those great big plumes,
moaning and groaning from her lithe walk and all that perfume !
Then First World War arrived and suddenly it was unpatriotic
to be concerned with one's appearance !
She was no Rockefeller and didn't own a rupee nor a heller,
so she became a steadfast loyal dame, like dear old Helen Keller .
What happened to that big old hat, with the plumes of red and white ?
She stewed it, brewed it, boiled it down then poured it in a flask,
and yes she drank it slowly,... just in case you thought to ask !
March 30/ 2025