Long Old(a) Poems
Long Old(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Old(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
I got my nickname in first grade
My memory of this will never fade
I'm 6 years old a whole world to see
mom says there's kids to play with me
I wonder if my friends will be there
Maybe they will save me a chair
I'm there now sitting in a school room
My friends aren't there I think I'm doomed
I'm sitting by a girl in the front row
She smiled at me, why? I don't know
Then I felt it start, to my surprise
that funny feeling you get deep inside
You feel like a balloon about to burst
not now, please, let me put it in reverse
The harder I tried, the worse it gets
Think they will mind if I release it
If I let it go slow so they won't hear
Maybe, they won't smell it or shed a tear
It's to late, must let it go, it's just not fair
A loud long blast is coming from my chair
I closed my eye hoping nobody heard
then came that smell, it's like rotten curd
I open my eyes willing to face my fears
I see their holding their noses and in tears
Teacher asked me, Steve do you need to leave
The kids snicker, as they shout Stinky Steve
pooping contest :-) ((Don't Ask to go to the bathroom!))
entry 5-16-2012
Should I write in rhyming words
are you babies I should coo
and speak of love and little boats
of Dr. Zeus’s zoo.
Should I compose a sonnet sweet
while prayerful folk are weeping
for war has come and killed their own
while their lulled hearts were dreaming?
Should I rave of man’s downfall
and never raise a hand
or shall I write of community
the unity of man.
Hand young and old, a tool to clone
a key to all this babble
an eye to see, a mind to grasp
let them lose the rattle.
For mind is bound to fortune
and blood is bound to pain
governments like sorcerer’s
will fall once it’s seen plain.
Take up the quill, and reach out
observe, recall, rescind
and the power you’ve given others
will be yours in the end.
In far away desolate valley of the Himalayan hills grand,
I was driving fast on the soggy road around the wetland.
The car got stuck in the sticky mud, I couldn’t take it out,
I was in for awful trouble in the wilderness, I had no doubt.
Luckily, I spotted a dilapidated manor house not very far,
for help before nightfall I could hurriedly walk up there.
Its door I knocked, a pale man took me into a room stale
that greeted me with smoke of the dim lantern to inhale.
His curled lips quivered, he faintly said, ”you’re hungry”,
and disappeared into the dark, closed the door swiftly.
He didn’t return for long, I explored, saw a streak of light
in a room where I found him stone still, sitting upright.
He held caressing a human skeleton, I was horrified to see.
He saw me, said, “this friend is too old, a new one you’ll be”.
Cold sweat rolled down my spine, I shivered to the frozen core,
ran out of the haunted house into wild through the back door.
I cradled his head in my arms and sang him a lullaby,
cradling the m o m e n t,
cherishing every second more,
then, when it was time . . .
I placed him in his f o r e v e r coffin bed.
An odd bed for a little baby boy,
his little head lay on a b l u e as the sky pillow,
he wore his new blue booties,
an ivory christening gown,
and beside him a b l u e teddy bear,
someone had placed there.
As I stood in the funeral home,
I felt so a l o n e and hallow,
although many people surrounded me,
I was l o s t in thoughts . . .
thinking of that empty baby room at home,
there would be no babyhood,
where, I would pamper, coddle and feed him,
no childhood fun, no youth or adulthood,
no ripe old a g e for this boy.
No days or years to cherish him,
no beginning, just this sad end,
so, on the day of his funeral . . .
I sang him a l u l l a b y to last forever,
and I handed him over to the Lord,
I whispered, Lord, cradle my boy in your arms,
until in your time, I can once more.
The cars followed the hearse in a long line,
through the ornate cemetery gate,
and down the w i n d i n g roads with BENDING trees,
even the birds in the cemetery,
stopped their s o n g . . .
until at last, we reached the place of tears,
standing there cradled by family l o v e ,
all that could be heard, drifting,
was the lullaby, I sang . . .
_____________________
June 29, 2016
Free Verse(lost love)
Submitted to the contest, Your Best Free Verse Love Poem,
sponsor, John Hamilton
Seventh Place
_______________________
Submitted to the contest, Free Verse About Love,
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
_______________________
Submitted to the contest, Free Verse,
sponsor, ?
NA
Fate met with life on a crossroad,
they saw me looking both ways,
hesitant to take any merging path;
fear overcame me, numbing my senses,
and frozen like Alaskan ice, I stood there.
Fate asked life to put dreams on hold,
but she protested with an astute reply,
" He's old, a huge debt you owe him! "
I waited while they battled with words;
a rushing thought invaded me , " Go! "
And I started running, not listening to them;
I realized that fate is what we make of it.
I remembered the card reader who suggested
I wore a talisman for good luck, I ignored her.
If in defeat I mourn, or in triumph I cheer...
the voice that I heeded was a good omen.
I have lived longer than any true or untrue friend;
at their tombstones I stand and grieve their loss,
perhaps The Higher Power added years to this life
to recompense me for my patience and long wait.
I once saw an old man with hair
the color of snow and in his hand,
He held two circulates of gold.
I asked the man what the rings
were for.
One, He said, is for the Young
and the other for the Old.
With questioning eyes, I looked
upon and as He explained,
I heard logic's song.
An in conclusive reasoning, He said
and then a comforting smile,
He gave, as He continued to say.
(The Young) " The heavy bodies
descend by gravity and again the
gravity is quality; Whereby a heavy
descends is an impertinent circle and
teaches nothing.
Meaning: The Journey Onward.
(The Old) " A circle which touches
the curve and close to the point more
nearly coincides with the curve than
hence is called; Circe of curvation.
Meaning: Coming Into Full Circle.
An unofficial association of people, I said
but the smart set goes there.
It's simple my Dear, He said;
A plane curve generated by one point
moving at a constant distance from a
fixed point, (The Young & The Old).
As He calculated the circumference of the
circle, again He spoke.
Every part of which is equally distant from
a point within it, is called: The Center, The Soul.
He spoke in logic in which I had never heard spoken.
A conclusion of a form of argument between two
or more unproved statements that in the end, prove
each other as one.
Alpha, Omega, The beginning and the ending,
a circulate of gold. The Young and The Old.
In days of old, a king of Hope did reign,
With joyous heart, he welcomed a new gain.
He was expecting a child, a son to bless his days,
A future bright, a hope that never fades.
In his preparation, plans were set in place,
His kingdom joyous, smiles on every face.
But fate, unkind, upon him cast its shadow,
The wicked world stole his joy, a heavy blow.
His son, the light of his life, was taken,
Leaving the king utterly forsaken.
Devastated, lost, the king lost his way,
Identity shattered, no longer to sway.
Yet, like a phoenix, he rose from despair,
His heart still filled with love, he could not bear,
To see two young phoenix boys lost and crying,
Yearning for a father's undying love.
He gazed upon them with a father's heart,
Accepted, adopted, a brand new start.
He guided them with wisdom, love, and care,
A bond formed, a family, a love so rare.
Through trials and sorrows, they found their way,
Together they faced each new coming day.
The king, now whole, a father to these two,
A love so strong, forever it grew.
And in the depths of their hearts, they knew,
A new hope born, from sorrow once it flew.
For in the love of this king and his young,
A family's strength, a bond tightly strung.
A fetid fruit of tedious listless life
Ye seldom troubled at the dawn of time,
But under today’s skies ye prevail rife
And plague many poor souls in pink of prime.
If thy hoary hist’ry offers fair hint,
Ye look no old— a few young centuries,
But brisk ye now march as if life is sprint,
Look at thy boredom’s unfolding stories.
Not known so well by thy today’s ill name,
But men alone seem to be thy victims—
Men like stray clouds oblivious of their aim,
Ye plague them more who pursue pallid dreams.
As poet Kent had once so lamented:
Had Adam and Eve stayed put in heaven,
They’d have got bored sooner than ever had
On earth known as the land of thankless fun.
With scores of Twiddle-dos and Twiddle-dees,
And few things of core value to follow,
Tonight’s envy no more the next dawn sees,
Few things can hold on man’s mind till t’morrow.
Ye descend, and meaning of life gets lost,
In front of goal, one feels utterly strained,
Pursuit of life becomes when empty boast,
Man does, but never his dullness gets drained.
I have not so to do, no one to meet,
Nowhere to reach, no one for me awaits,
Such helplessness many a man may greet,
Time passes not, elapses all the dates.
When unfolding life’s wrapped in dark shadow,
Man’s very mien melts, stares like blank page,
Life’s meaning shifts from solid to shallow,
His soul has gone, his corpse seized in a cage.
____________________________________________
Ode | 05.03.2023 |
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no diminution in tiredness arose
gnome hatter how off tin ma dis bows
Zoe let his bot tee succumb,
via mental application
of autogenic phrases
and/or counting crows
cuz upon awakening,
aye immediately wanted ta doze,
thus this artful dodger hankered to expose
extreme cockamamy idea incumbent,
where corporeal essence gets froze
zen, the scientific procedure named
emergency preservation
and resuscitation (EPR)
more familiarly known
as suspended animation
pursuant under the appellation cryogenics,
where living tissue no longer grows
old, a wishful yearning
approximating immortality i sup hose,
yet this copacetic drowsy
generic human struggled in vain
trying with utmost effort to stay awake
Swiss to hobnob among urbane
feeling helpless (fearing
he might be narcoleptic),
nonetheless aye didst train
intent concentration
(and/or feeble exertion mustered)
to swat away worrisome thought
this hypochondriac,
could be afflicted with mononucleosis
since lassitude less likely sprung
from overcast and rain
knee skies, which type weather
generally energies me
to conjure a quatrain
sometimes complex versus
written straight away plain
panacea hit upon finally
to ward off sleepiness,
whereby literary endeavor
boosted by a strong brew
namely fair trade
manufactured coffee chew
zing among socially conscious entities,
and hoping to do
some dollop of positivity
without fanfare I eschew
to fulfill personal hue
man conscientious anonymous impact
that some benefit will en sue.