Long Monday Poems
Long Monday Poems. Below are the most popular long Monday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monday poems by poem length and keyword.
My favourite type of books are mysteries,
Not romance, comedy or biographical histories.
So when Rick Castle on my t.v. first appeared
His character to me was already endeared.
I am fixated with his personal appeal.
He is just drop-dead sexy and I truly feel
That Beckett is an idiot if she cannot see
That a perfect match for her he would be.
So faithfully each Monday night I tune in
To see if Beckett's heart he's managed to win,
And if by the end of the season she will realize
The affection for her that I see in his eyes.
The mysteries they solve together each and every week,
Interesting as they are, still aren't the shows peak.
For the peak is the chemistry between this pair
And I truly hope "Castle" will remain long on the air.
It was a howling kind of day
I felt it in my bones.
A wolf like yip would not wake it up
It was an azure Monday
Pure but not simple
She looked at me with her baby blues
A fresh start, a new day, a new week!
Enthusiasm coursed through me.
I felt renewed, refreshed.
A yowling day, one designed by the gods
Or goddess, in my case.
A warrior woman who sheared the rest of the days
Out of the way swiftly with her lance.
Scooping the heads of the other days into the sea
So we could begin anew
Wolf man and I howled into the day
Her face broke across the horizon in a wide smile
Sun light flooded the meadow.
Monday at last!
Hey! Here is a valentine for Mrs. Kay, our music teacher, we said.
Mom rolled her eyes; her cheeks sprung red.
You mean your classroom teacher, Miss McGraff, she would reply.
We did not like her in the least, a fact that we could not hide.
But Mrs. Kay is fun, she makes Monday good, we said.
We would not miss McGraff if she were to drop over dead.
This was not a thing to say to our persnickety mother.
But when we said this, it delighted our eager-to-be-liked brother.
He laughed so hard, he fell over, and let out a stream of gas.
Mom hollered at him, because we were in Sunday mass.
The people in the pew behind us began to laugh.
But not the lady on the end – it was Miss Meanie McGraff.
The Nest
I first saw the hen as she flew
Up to the raised bed in front of the school.
I thought it was odd she was there,
With so much activity at the entrance.
The second time I saw her,
I decided to see what she was up to.
Imagine my surprise when I found
A cleverly hidden nest containing ten eggs.
I questioned her choice of location,
But, what do I know about building a nest?
I watched closely from the window for a week.
But now, so did others.
The kids were bright, and nosey.
Soon, several knew the secret.
When I came to school on Monday,
I found the eggs had been thrown
About the drive and against the brick.
The efforts of the expectant hen and drake
Had been spoiled by someone.
I could almost understand if it had
Been a skunk or possum that
Needed the eggs for survival.
But to be wasted…was senseless!
If you know anything about school and kids,
You know that someone came to me with a name.
And that person gave me another name.
Soon, I had three kids in my office.
And a choice to make…
Should I break them like the eggs
They had strewn and spoiled?
Or, should I protect them and watch
Them grow as I would the duckling
Had they hatched?
And then, on cue, the pair flew down
From the nest and waddled away
From their loss.
I watched with the children,
And after a few moments,
Made an observation.
“They’re just like parents… walking away
From the spot where they lost their
Entire family…Every child…
Imagine how they must feel!”
Their eyes filled with tears.
They left my office with compassion,
And, a newly acquired appreciation of nature…
The nest was not a total loss.
Monday morning
woke up at eight, it was a splendid morning
cool before the day becomes serious and
demanding attention
belonging to the 1% of people born before
the second world war, I'm often awake
in the night before falling asleep again
my first thought was not profound, but
about coffee, I had to drink it black since
I had forgotten to buy milk
switched on the computer, reading the news
scanned an article about the lack of sleep that
only spoke to the middle classes
to those who sit in nice offices filling in
forms and are unspecified planners of
something they think is important
not about building workers, or about those
who begin their day at six, shift workers
were overlooked, ditto the army of cleaners
a psychologist from Leeds had a word in
he had nothing relevant to say other than
He had a doctoral degree in sleep
not to be undone, an article about X that
was tendentious with no understanding
how important is it for our future
Dismayed, I went back to bed thinking
how idiotic the world is, full on self
important people and their tiny world
Mondays were school days.
Mondays were rule days.
Mondays can be cruel days.
Sundays make me sing
but Mondays bring
open books,
a crooked look from the boss,
leaving crying children
with their first strangers.
The outlook for Monday
might be blue
or overly optimistic.
Moms love Mondays,
circling the day
with a fat red marker.
Moony-eyed Mondays,
for lovers
separated by the weekend.
Their love-mobile
yellow bus, reunites their lips.
Shy Mondays
hide behind rain clouds,
and binders and backpacks,
and inside lockers,
and behind thick glasses.
Fridays make you tingle.
Mondays are the starting line.
The race is on!
You step over the line
and yawn and sip
coffee with reluctance.
Your t-shirt speaks loudly,
“I don’t do Mondays!”
No one hears you.
7/30/2018
Tania Kitchin’s Contest
The phone call came on a Monday,
My wife had taken the day off,
I was working in the office
Dreaming about a round of golf.
For years we went about it naturally;
Then artificially we tired,
But pregnant we could not get;
My wife cried her poor eyes dry.
So we went down the adoption path,
Even though forty was in the rear view mirror;
The desire to nurture an infant
In my wife was never clearer.
The phone call came on a Monday;
We thought we’d have more time.
A baby boy was delivered that Sunday
In the last minute the mother made up her mind.
“Can you get on a plane to Chicago,
And pick up your baby boy?”
My wife nearly fainted at the sound of those words,
Overtaken with so much joy.
Nearly seven years have passed since then;
Our family grows stronger in every way.
Spencer was our special gift
When the phone call came on that day.
I once had a job where I worked away
So I had to commute travel from
Johannesburg to Kimberly
From Monday morning to till Friday
afternoon
Now Kimberly is approximately
400 plus kilometers from Johannesburg
And the only thing in between is 4 very
small 1 horse town's
Again all approximately 90 odd
kilometers apart
With nothing in between but scrub
and barren bush as far as the eye
can see
But once when driving on my way
this I seen
A 1 single solitary man simply just
a out walking along the roadside
seemingly without a care not
actively or outwardly despondent
And all it left me journeying forth
upon my way with this though as
the next town even for me in my car
was a fare old way away
Was where on earth did he come from
and where on earth was he going on
this baking hot summer's day
Because on foot as he was it wasn't
so much a case of minutes but hours
He had yet still to journey forth in
front of him never mind the hours
behind him that he had already taken
him
In order to get to the middle of
nowhere
Antique village
Houses around me are emptying the old, reaching the age of dying.
A timeworn man went missing on Monday, was found miles away,
the local constabulary drove him back home.
He had tried to flee, didn’t to where he had no money.
Behind closed doors in dark rooms, he tries to stave off the fated.
Sunlight unbearable reminds him of the sunrises he will not see.
When a car stops outside his house, he trembles in fear, is a hearse
coming for him?
Voices of children are like the scorn of his elderliness, he longs for peace
but fears death’s endless cruelty.
Posted by the blog Friends of Palestine
218.
My 34th Leaf
Got thee from tree trunk
Standing position
A flowering plant
Common on house yards
“Orchid” leaf it is!
Owned by choir member
Dulce Pirote
Maybe she's the one
Who planted it there
A new acquaintance
Fifth day of August
Year Twenty Thirteen
It is a Monday
Local holiday
It's our Town Fiesta
Clinging on tree trunk
On a small landscape
As we go outside
Front yard of the house
Near its entrance gate
Fiesta remembrance
Another rare chance
First time with church choir
A worthy memoir
Fun to be with them!
-08/05/2013
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection