Long Neverland Poems
Long Neverland Poems. Below are the most popular long Neverland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Neverland poems by poem length and keyword.
Are you following some ancient path
to a schizophrenic's neverland
are you trying to teach me
your sophisticated alphabet
did you just fly from someone's
dungeon dream
into the minaret of mine
are you dancing with fairies
or just a stumbling sky drunkard
maybe you're just an erotic dancer
flashing your neurotic wares for
jigging of forever nectar
whatever the case may be
I will forever cherish your
no touch lap
dances
Augenblicte
David J Walker
The flash frame scene
seemed to last
In a fevered forever
more than 50 years
beyond today's dawn
beyond a horizon that changes
without ever-changing places
and never aging faces
imprinted in vivid color
who says forever is never
and never-never happens
and never neverland
never lands
in the planned races and
planned spaces
faces extinction
the distinction is in
the same time frame
its twilight zone light
replaces convention
and might inoculate conviction
a golden sun sang low & slow
sad songs of convection
yesterdays reflection comes and goes
at night
and borrows against
tomorrows borrowed sunlight
A beautiful nightmare
Holding on to life or letting go.
All the phantoms dream of sleeping away the years.
They now know all that which I know;
I am a braindead dancer, nothing behind my ears.
People sing in groups of three or four,
Beneath the old oak tree; waiting on hidden doors.
Hanging behind them are memories.
Reminders of the shapes they used to be.
Times immortal hand still spins on a clock-face.
Taking their turn in their empty graves.
They have already gone beyond Neverland, to a beautiful place,
Where all is light, with bright blue skies,
Where children run in chase of butterflies.
In youthful good they have all lived well.
A Pleasantville life which remains unstained by sins aplenty.
They are just the chosen few; choices choose Heaven,
But where others may dwell, the hearts are empty.
They have no spirit, nor do they carry their souls;
For their afterlife has already been bought and sold.
They lived beneath the chosen word
And now their screams for salvation are never heard.
They sink into nightmares below the six feet of dirt.
A beautiful nightmare is just a story,
For the faithless people of murder and adultery.
We began as seeds and Great Oaks we became,
But one day the day will come when we all fade away.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Wishing I could have been just like you
Never growing up and never growing old
Flying to Never Land there you go
Facing dangers your spirit grows bold
Hurrying through the lands and all the seas
All your magical adventures there unfolds
Watching you I could touch all those trees
Great memories of you in my heart I still hold
Peter Pan the boy that never grows up
And for that I can't really blame you
Protecting all your dreams inside a cup
While Tinker pouted and saved your life too
Peter Pan there you are in Neverland
Never growing up, never growing old so you stay
Your catchy magic will never end that I know
As Tinkerbell spreads her magic powder all the way.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
November,14,2014
Sit down. Shut up. Be quiet.
I need no aide in my quest. I take no prisoners and I expect no help.
If a Prince Charming comes, I will kick him into Neverland.
Have sword and shield, will travel.
A pirate queen, a shooting star, a force to be heard, and revered.
I take no prisoners, and I expect no help.
What did I say?
Sit down. Shut up. Be quiet!
I was not kidding then, and I am not a changeable woman.
I can do this. I have done this. I will do it again, even if there is blood.
I have smeared myself onto lamp posts before, no biggie.
What did I just say?
Sheesh!
Men are so difficult to control these days.
I glare at him with my deadliest glare as he jumps up and patters
off into his man cave.
Husbands are so difficult when they decide to liberate themselves....
Patchwork Musings
Vying for order
This square
That corner
One's center
These squared-off life experiences
Know well jockeying for position
Is fraught with chance
Disappointment
Acceptance
The waking state knows
Nothing resolves naturally
No stitch in one's original design
Arrives at needle's focus point
Matching perfectly the original intent
Red threads
Clash with its attracted yellow
Black outs white
One's colors
Opting to make permanent
That square
Or the next
Find unraveling threads
But a question of time
Permanence better hung
On the wall of one's imagination
Still
We hope
Will our dream impressions
Be nestled beneath chin
Or atop restless feet
Where nightmare's fragilities
Thrash about
Disturbing tucked images
That lovingly comfort
Dream's Neverland
So long
This task of bringing together
The peach trees of youth
Nestling next to briar bushes of adolescence
Awaiting adulthood's gnarled disappointments
One's patchwork cover
Taken every night to bed
Merely wants the blanky of security
Insuring a safe slumber
Until tomorrow
Where more patches await
Michael
From another world, a childlike soul, supremely talented, painfully shy
Brother to Rebbie, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, La Toya, Marlon, Randy and Janet
Lover of all animals, the human race, the World
Who felt World pain, compassion, cruelty to animals and children
He feared his father, incredible fear of pain and fear of being murdered
Would like to have seen a united World, be a Great entertainer, to heal the Earth
Resident of Neverland in Santa Barbara, California for fifteen years
Jackson
14th January 2019
Competition: Writing Challenge 2, January 19, Bio
Sponsor: Dear Heart
2nd place
Surrender to the rhythm
under the world!
The night music of ages
Dance the Dance Macabre
Clubs deep bass seeps
Into Dark corners
as the lunar keeps the time!
Electric lights keep the rhythm
under the world…
Absent images in cathode
rayed tubes keep the thump and hum…
The feet move to the groove
The pulse of a heartbeat
in ascends in rhythm and rhyme
to a world beyond worlds…
Divine!
A never-were that never was a
Neverland…
Nevermore!
Keep in metronome march.
The ruthless ragged raging rhythm.
In the earth under the currents of life
dance the Divinities, the dance Macabre!
Of the world within, and the world without surrender to…
The rhythm and rage
of the metronomes grace!
The rhythm under the world…
Ok, (taking a breath) Christmas.
Finals are over, it’s the Noel Holiday and the very air-pressure feels different.
My lanky bf, Peter and I have a small, three-foot, plastic green tree which stands proudly, like a cliff-jumper, on a coffee-side-table. It’s wrapped with enough multicolor fairy-lights to illuminate Times Square. It glitters, otherworldly, like the Carina Nebulae - where angels live.
It may be deliberately derivative, but I espouse joy this holiday - and general fun in the season.
Call me privileged, call yourself the same, and declare it a blessing.
Earlier this week
all I wanted was sleep
but once freed of academic cares,
I curse sleep’s thievish minutes.
Now that I can look around - Paris is merry and bright.
The Champs-Élysées axis is lit-up like Neverland and it’s used as a social runway.
There are cocktail evenings at the Ritz, Plaza Athénée, Le Meurice, George V, Crillon and Cheval Blanc - not a single “party” to book into, but an ecosystem of palaces crawling with ‘winter magic’ - code for quiet, exclusive, ‘famous people in the building energy’ soirées.
How do you get into these private, no-tourist, DM pass-only events?
You don’t.
Oh, you might read about them if you follow the Paris nightlife Insta accounts (Silencio, Raspoutine, Castel, etc.)
But I’ll get in, because I have François for two weeks to coordinate all my ‘Christmas wishes’ (lucky him) and though he grouses from time to time, “Anais, I’m NOT a magician,” he’s never let us down.
It works like this, I’ll DM François what I want, “We’ll need 4 all-access-passes for tomorrow night’s ‘Last Winter Tour’ (arena show) and voilà, it’s done.
Now Peter won’t go out every night, he has his own holiday ravishments planned
- but isn’t that what mornings and afternoons are for?
.
.
A Christmas Playlist for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3
.
.
François, one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive-secretarial minions. He’s handsome, 28ish, a perfectly tailored, hipster with straight, blonde, fringe-hair and a Sorbonne Université DBA.
Peter came at half-past three,
Tapping sharply from an apple tree.
“Wendy, Michael, and John, too—
Come and fly; the stars want you.”
Out of the window, hand in hand,
The trio swept above the land.
Their mother's sobs fell away behind.
Another bedtime story she can't unwind.
In Neverland, the sky can't change.
The moon is weird, the sun is strange.
No one grows, and no one there cries—
Every ache for going home soon dies.
Boys and girls forget their names.
Their socks, friends and favorite games.
A mother’s hug, a father’s last song—
Memories dim when you stay too long.
Peter laughs and flies high in midair,
But something empty lingers there.
He doesn’t know what he has lost—
Never growing up, comes at a cost.
Wendy whispered, “We must go!".
"For I've lost my shadow.”
Peter waved and turned away—
Still chasing ghosts of yesterday.
So if you hear a tap-tap one night,
Find your window bathed in light,
Roll over, hide, and stay in bed—
Forget Neverland, sleep on instead.