Long Monthly Poems
Long Monthly Poems. Below are the most popular long Monthly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monthly poems by poem length and keyword.
FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
As the bitter Northern wind howled in the grey early morn,
Sat a young child half frozen, looking sad and forlorn,
He came from a rundown broken home, with 6 siblings,
Where there was little money, no hope and poor beginnings.
Rob always sat on the same flat rock in a nearby littered field,
Not dressed for the biting winter, and his body to shield,
Sat aimlessly, blankly gazing at coal trucks driving by,
Tears rolling down his grubby cheeks, he’d let out a heartfelt sigh!
His father drove trucks, would he come home, even late, tonight,
Would his mother be sober, kiss her husband; say all would be right,
Would there ever be enough food for a big family of nine,
Or would they forever stay hungry, sent shivers up his spine!
A young girl his age noticed this boy, whose name was Rob,
Dressed in a warm coat, gloves, ear muffs, but was no snob,
Lived in the suburbs, often saw Rob today, she brought him a coat,
A slab of chocolate, a warm scarf for his head, ears and throat!
Young Rob liked this young Missy, they began to meet every day,
Lizzy invited him home, met her parents, went there every Sunday,
Their friendship grew, and blossomed and they fell madly in love,
Rob studied, got a scholarship to Technical College, rewarded from above.
Lizzy’s father was the Mine Manager, and he liked this young man,
When finished his studies, made him foreman and gave him a van,
They got engaged in December, married in the spring of the following year,
Rob became a dad, loved his wife, who had pierced his heart with a spear!
They grew old together, as did Lizzy’s parents, who both got ill and died,
Rob became Mine Manager, this family had adopted him with such pride,
But he never forgot his own parents, and his oh so humble beginnings,
Always sent them a monthly sum, and for them always had feelings!
At 13 years of age, a pamphlet
Showed up in my home.
My mother bought it, not to be
The subject of a poem.
It was intended to explain
(A lecture would be worse)
The facts of menstruation,
Often called the “woman’s curse.”
Modess, a manufacturer
Of sanitary pads,
Produced the booklet; it cost
Just a quarter; they made scads.
The title always bothered me,
For what would be the need
To try to get young girls to like
A messy monthly bleed?
A novel I am reading
Brought this little pamphlet back.
A character is using it
For knowledge she does lack.
It’s rare to find a copy
So on Amazon they’re hiking it
To almost 90 bucks, another
Reason for not liking it.
Loret, our lovely lithe flutist called the rest of us to the woods
with her charming tune.
Melody called 'Song of the Women',
it was uplifting and cheery; a break from our daily work.
Where are mamas and grandmas?
A new one to the fairy forest asked.
We laughed.
The older crones no longer hear this kind of music,
so beaten down by daily drudgery.
We congregated in the woods,
admiring her handiwork, settling down to commune
The oldest, the youngest, the first born, the middle born;
we had youth in common.
We were all tired of being bossed around by our daddy’s wives,
some of us griped a bit.
My ma is so bossy, Delva said.
The rest of us agreed, but not aloud; we were afraid of her mother.
They will be looking for us soon, Christette whispered;
we knew this was the truth.
Cooking, cleaning, baking, slaving over loads of laundry,
we were all getting worn out.
Maybe we should have asked to go to war with the men,
Loret suggested. This made us laugh.
It was the first laugh of the first meeting
of the young female faerie society, but not the last.
We stayed out there for a full twenty minutes are so,
until guilt pulled us back inside
To help our mothers and grandmothers
do all of the jobs that needed repeated daily.
What drudgery we thought.
Not realizing we would never get over this thought.
We began meeting monthly,
pulled out of our houses by the lovely melody 'Song of the Women'.
We'd awakened to soon reaching.
for respite keeping PTSD at bay
while anxiety attacks bicker with
my Narcolespy my focus remains.
steadfast on Traumatic Brain injury
allowing my cognitive activity to bravely
send signals to stretch my legs and arms.
I can feel a traumatic headache approaching.
but so is the time for my monthly nerve blocks.
injections twelve shots in my head in all
granting me sheer relief for thirty days
after the stream of pain forget me nots
wears off my mind goes back to the injury.
bruising my brain sullen matter awakens me.
I am quite shattered within the fight flight.
mode hunkered down in hidden nooks of sanity.
racing thoughts I sit up on the bed now.
in the quiet calm of the night tall egrets
walk by my window alert a family of fox's.
nose's pointed at the moon snow birds I suppose.
here just for a season just like my thoughts.
I chant and wonder if my brain would someday.
stop no more data to be found in this!
desperate state I began to write again.
providing me a kind of self-medication
if you will effortlessly removing my mind
from negative thoughts a real treasure
emerge as my alter ego actually becomes.
my muse in this finite moment the stars all
line up just so twinkles sending signals sparks.
waves of chemicals balancing sheer survival
of my brain hence survival of the mind
Disappointed Devil - Hood Das Fume And Fret
'Curse darned demon
of that thar
underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
to a temporary problem
i.e. principally no money
and rising debt
not for a long time didst
I feel so distressed didst,
where no amount of
optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand
man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus
welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
this human machine
moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
of anguish, viz unlike as told
yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
lowering destitution,
asper dearth of monies
allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
with money for nothing
oppressive full (rick kitty)
full Nelson neck
i.e. near choke hold
rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
(all "talk" and no action),
following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)
actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
by the figurative tail,
where soul of mine
almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
to the Prada devil
(or similar facsimile thereof)
rational self didst scold
spewing idle "FAKE"
hollw we ning suicidal threats,
not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write
his last (nor first,
second, third...) will
and testament before death,
would hove found
me stiff and cold.
I think I’ve a cycle
a monthly mindful
when I will write more
mind will rhyme pour
with ease and a flex
I see readied text
a pick and or mix
choice with index
pen down at pace
ideas not too waste
on my hand my face
capture to place
and given within
is rhythm too win
tight writes begin
like church bells ring
and I really go
fly smooth with flow
overthinking loads
then damaging rows
long winded
loose hinges
from great rhyme fringe
to cringington cringes
however one poem will prevail
do well
and I’ll buzz and I’ll rush
forgetting rubbish writes of sludge
seek a new write
a rhyme alike
set too the standard
but my mind now hampered
nothing happens
complete silence
I can’t see or sense words
the brain of a bird
rhythm wants to occur
but just goes nurr burr turr
I have a time of the month for rhyming
when I tampax it and catch a flow for writing
the seeds bringing to life rhyme
bleeding pen strings pictures your mind
"Steamboat is a-comin' 'round the bend!"
My! Oh my! The wonders it might portend,
As it stopped by sleepy towns along the Missisip',
Dodgin' stumps and wayward rafts on its monthly New Awlins trip!
Its arrival was heralded by the town drunk who had nothin' else to do,
And the denizens who didn't flock to the wharf were very, very few!
The steamboat 'General Custer' was indeed a spectacular sight,
With fancy-topped stacks and palatial pilot house painted red and white!
The pilot rang the big brass bell, then folks began a frenzied rush.
The first mate let fly some dirty words - 'twould make a teamster blush!
He had ten minutes to lade his cargo and didn't suffer fools gladly.
Passengers scrambled on and off the boat fightin' each other madly!
There was a colorful parade of characters disembarkin' from the boat:
There came a preacher man clutchin' his Bible wearin' a black frock coat;
A soiled dove slithered ashore much to the delight of the local swains;
Followed by a shifty-eyed gamblin' dude with intent to swell his gains!
Drays, carts, horses and men vied for space to unload their freight,
Fightin' and cussin' and the mate hollerin', "Hustle! Hustle! It's a-gittin' late!"
The pilot rang the big brass bell and the steamboat was on its way agin'.
Til next boat, the drunkard is on the skids agin' guzzlin' his jug o' gin!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
There I stood at heavens pearly gates
Waiting for God to decide my fate
I was still a child, though very sick
Hoping my passing would be quick.
Then an angel suddenly appeared
Took my hand and said “not yet dear”
“Hold on tight and I’ll fly you home”
In a flash I was back in bed alone.
Home for me was a hospital ward
Where the illness had to take it’s course
Though it was a long painful ordeal
I got well, but the pain I had was surreal.
The hurt was daily, monthly and yearly
Told I was too young for hip surgery
My compensating knee wore out too
So one operation became two.
Forty years passed before the first op
Two years later, the second op I got
I must have had a miracle man
For both surgeries went to plan.
Bless all medics who take care of us
Every one is a gift from above.
We’ve known each other forty years,
Or close, to be exact
And somehow, our core group of six
Has mostly stayed intact.
Since the start, our monthly dinners
Kept us in each other’s loops
And then we switched to daytimes
For the rallying of troops.
We talked of kids and grandkids,
Trip and politics and books,
But lately, we’ve had no idea
How everybody looks.
For it’s been many moons since we’ve
Been able to connect,
As Covid’s kept us far apart,
Just like you would expect.
A few of us have spoken but
We finally agreed
To FaceTime so we could catch up
To see where it would lead.
Despite some glitches, there we were,
Six faces on a screen,
The only way, pandemic-wise,
That we could all convene.
Though far from perfect, it’s a way
To virtually feel
That forty-year connection,
Both remote and very real.
Eavesdropping
A good man is hard to find
Said my Nana,
That was the day I saw tears in her eyes
As she nervously stuff the monthly tithe in the envelope
And headed to church that Sunday morning
Before, screaming at my granddad for hours
I guess she was mad as hell at the old fool
That was the same day when I found out that my hero my grandpa
Was having an affair with the widower Estelline Beckley
“Ellie you’re the only woman for me said my Granddad”
However, my Nana wasn’t haven’t any of that
So she slammed the door in Granddad face
I remember being scared, and confused,
About this family feud
So, I hid under the table, and prayed to God
for the screaming and shouting to stop
For several weeks all my Nana did was pray and prayed
And all Granddad done was burn her pots and pans
Boiling water and making coffee.
Nana told the neighbors, that those harlots with a trail
For a rear end, could cause a man to climb,
a mountain without his proper gears
That statement still baffles me until this day.
Until many years later when I met my mother half sister
the spit and image of my mother.
however, she had the very spirit and expression of my Granddad
so much for eave dropping and family affairs