Long Once upon a time Poems
Long Once upon a time Poems. Below are the most popular long Once upon a time by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Once upon a time poems by poem length and keyword.
...as you politely said
please don't pay attention to the color of my skin.
but you keep shoving it in my face.
...you keep filleting yourself
, sewing your skin onto mine
it doesn't fit-never will
we're different.
but the same.
We came from the same seed
but have different experiences
I can never walk in your shoes
because once upon a time
you didn't have any.
For certain, you can never walk in mine.
But we do have more in common than not.
Our hurdles are of the mind now
and growing by the second.
There are many that wish to destroy us.
By dividing us.
The media is a nest of vampires
and should be treated as such.
They feed off of our blood.
They spotlight us at our worst and lowest, for the sake of ratings.
Nothing sells better than a race riot
or blue-on-black crime.
They need a change of heart or a stake to their old hollow hearts.
Or they'll quickly drain the pond of humanity.
A little porcupine in the midst of hungry pythons;
her quills are a danger to each attempted swallow;
trouble grows tall from the moment she existed;
And once upon a time, in six days a gang is conquered by her might.
She’s characterized by waters so low,
from the dead one to the Sea of Galilee.
She’s an open museum for religious sight seeing
with official mother tongues coming from her own conflicting world.
Her stamp against size zero maidens stood as the first;
she’s the main and king’s banquet hall
for same sex feasts in the entire middle east;
a trail blazer in the voice mail technology
and a breeding town for chess grand masters;
all sums up to the glorious inscription of her crown.
Even with her wonderful friendship with friends quite far
she’s still most hated by those very close.
There are visions roving inside my head
of a time and place where perhaps I once lived.
But how do I know of those worldly things
if I no longer exist? I must question if I ever did.
I am off kilter, as if I'm an invisible entity,
a salty speck of foam floating on a sapphire sea.
Should I feel dire despair, indifference, or jubilant joy
that I am not part of this place that's been laid to waste?
It's as if I'm surfing in shadows over what used to be
an amusement park, but the Ferris Wheel is broken,
and there's no spark of life anywhere to be found.
Only faded pamphlets lying on the ground, sun-bleached
remnants of the way life used to be, once upon a time.
I pity me for having been given this gloomy glimpse,
a vandalized view that no one could misconstrue.
I feel like Alice wandering through a frightening fantasy.
Desperately wanting to go back through the looking glass
and forget the devastation in which the world dwells.
If I ever had an inkling of what living in hell would be,
then in this chaotic clime, this dysfunctional dystopia,
I would seek to escape my existence and set myself free.
I feel the need for fresh air, but who would care
if I should have lived or died? No one cried tears for me.
What future fate have I discovered with thoughts
hovering? Tragic thoughts that haunt me like a cold stare.
What ill winds have swept the world away?
Cursed be!
How can anything exist is this sorrowful sepulcher?
I'd rather be a soulless specter without a home
then live among those in this lamenting land.
This is not Aldous Huxley's Brave New World.
It does no good to imagine a world without me.
Friendships made; children born; none of those would exist.
I can only envision these things. These things that I've given wing.
They roam inside my head, making me wonder if I had a beginning
or an end. I feel repercussions from having a discussion
with myself over the conceptual conundrum of my existence.
Would I have been happy, would I have made others happy,
or brought them grief like the thief who collects the dead?
It's a nightmare of reality, for I am sure it's not a daydream.
Greed played its Trump card and schemed to sit on the throne
in a kingdom I could never contentedly condone.
I've no desire to dally here a moment longer, and
since I don't exist, I am certain I will not be missed.
Once upon a time, not so long ago.
If only you knew, my spirit reflected
The greenery of nature and It's cooling
On that balmy day. You carefully laid me
Down beneath spilled cerulean and crimson sky
And moving clouds; a fervent morning sunlight
Sheltered under rustling, verdant umbrella
Of trees. On a sparse, herbaceous aroma,
Bed of grass. You cupped my head in your hand,
A small kiss you had laid on my forehead;
When we were together, you and I.
The comforting love of affection.
A perfect moment whilst the world breathed
And the clouds gathered to quench the storm.
A serenity I would love to see return,
But those fluttering autumnal color leaves
And spill crimson sky; also mourn for you and me.
10/23/2020
Battle Of Most Acclaimed 2020 Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Cave men were brilliant once upon a time
Women not so much as history tells us
Not good for hunting in the past
Here's why
The hunting of berries is a specialized science
Not just a simple sport
Females are too gentle to the touch
They use an index finger and thumb together
Pluck one berry at a time while at their task
With a measure of indifference
They refuse to use an ax
Cave men hunt the berries down in packs
Follow every leaf and vein they find
Are serious about the bush attacks
Masculine members of the tribe and supervisors
Make sure the fruit stays in their place
Don't lose their flavor
Or escape into the night before the catch
Men use large rocks and clubs behind their backs
Make the berries scream for mercy
Sneak up slowly to squish them dead
Spear them when they least expect it
Before they bring them back
Men and women were hunters gatherers way back when
Fruits and berries ruled the world
Umm Gawa! Berries very good
Poisoned ones
Not very friendly
Maybe cave men and women misunderstood
I used to be able to run full steam all day with little sleep
Now I can barely walk unless I have a little cat nap
because I still am a fitful sleeper at night, up and down
I once ran around my yard with my dogs
Now arthritis in my ankles has me ambling, slowly
I dream of walking fast, which I also did once upon a time
My vision used to be better than twenty-twenty
Now I cannot read books or magazines unless they are big print
or I keep a magnifying glass close by my easy chair
Sitting around watching TV was the last thing I would do
until ten years ago when I tore my meniscus
Now I spend a lot of time eating potato chips in front of the boob tube
I used to be clever and funny and fun
I do not feel that way anymore
I feel dumpy and frumpy
Do what you can while you are young
Fifty five is a lot younger than seventy-three.
You might as well know it now.
Valentine's Day 2021
Yours truly not necessarily
romantic fellow at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
maybe accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Once upon a time I
bouncing up and down
analogous to yoyo
rode proud on his high horse whoa
considered himself, albeit kiddingly
as pure as the driven though
fell prey to basic proto
human barking animal propensity
desire under the Elm you know
all to well that biological urge
goading species to reproduce
when consummated minus
utilization of prophylactics
to aid and abet begetting embryo
unborn or unhatched offspring
in process of development,
particularly human offspring during
period from approximately
second to eighth week after fertilization
(subsequently termed a fetus).
Back in the day
gathering rosebuds while I may
thy pure motive to lay
me down with barenaked lady
futile (yet Prince Valiant) attempt
to placate seething hormonal secretion
surging testosterone seemingly went away
(I strongly suspect absent libinal longing
courtesy side effect half dozen medications)
bodes ill with spouse
marriage doth severely fray.
Forever More
As I remember my past reading the pages before me
Emotions from a time long ago forgotten
Flood back through my veins, through my heart.
Was I always this afraid of the unknown
Of what I was capable of even then
I made my bed, and lay in it now.
To live, to survive, channel my energy
Once upon a time I was someone else
Now I have changed again, adapted.
Change can be good, if you embrace it’s power
To make a difference, if not with actions
Listen to my words dance off the pages.
When my emotions course, so do my thoughts
My thoughts bounce around till it’s time
To etch my words forever more.
To Love A Poet:
Once upon a time I fell in love
But it was different because I fell for a poet
So, the fall was more of a jump out an airplane
Scared for my life putting up all my walls as I fall through the air
And she would just spray paint my fears into something beautiful
To skin your knee for a poet is to bruise your heart
But in a good way
Because you see poetry different when you love within the poem still being written
You notice things you would never open your eyes for
You try things not because you want to, but you want to have that moment with her
You want to see her smile that smile that is tattooed to your slumber
That smile that blooms because you were there
And you begin to love something you wouldn't give a second thought to because of her
And then it hurts knowing the possibility of it all leaving
Pain bruises when she is upset
The eyes of my heart are watery because she is a poet
Which means she is not ready to settle down
Her butterfly wings still have more adventures to write about
I know I'm just a poem in her book
But it's a damn good poem
So, I don't care that the ending was not how I would leave the period
Because to love a poet is to live
To love a poet is to be able to defy gravity
To love a poet is to have a moment you'll never forget
p.s. thank you for helping me write my own poems...
Unorthodox nonestablismentarian epitome
Describes celibate bent aegis.
Mein kampf illustrates gravitas.
Underdog muted lest intimidation
think bully brandishing fist in my face
threatening to buzzfeed me
a brassy knuckle sandwich.
While breezily reading Judy Bloom,
(whose material geared
toward young adult)
book titled Blubber - published in 1974,
(which year found yours truly - me
undergoing amazing transition
classified as puberty)
bemoaned childhood's end - id est mine
interestingly enough romanticized boyhood
livingsocial within Lake Woebegone
(way before Garrison Keillor
named said fictitious town),
purely swiftly tailored
harried styled fabrication,
although that first decade
found torturous growing up years
more so courtesy
self exclusion from reindeer games,
thus during lunch or recess
(two most favorite classes)
bullies turned me into minced meat
taunted and teased
a severely socially withdrawn boy,
who never shared emotional agony,
he internalized verbal slings and arrows
eventually physically succumbed
from brickbats indiscriminately
lobbed at painfully shy
once upon a time happy go lucky lad,
(with a button nose),
when he whiled away days of his life
as the world turned
first at Lantern Lane
for about a half dozen plus years,
then at 324 Level Road
for approximately
one third of present existence
unbeknownst to him
that psychologically dark shadows
lurked within the outer limits
of the twilight zone
haunting corporeal essence
attached to those lovely bones,
now saddled with excess adipose tissue,
especially around belly of the beast
housing hunger artist
starving for knowledge,
and peopling his overactive imagination
with exemplary protagonists
blithely thwarting incendiary threats,
cuz of natural born defense against
gunning character assassination
courtesy fearsome imbeciles
hell bent on nasty, short and brutish fiends,
who did their collective bidding
vis-à-vis cut throat leviathan,
who overshadowed and locked in
propensity to live free and clear
analogous to unfettered noble savage
cannibalizing yours truly (me) as fancy feast.
Soul asylum salvation sought
as if survivor of mental health challenges
akin to foreigner trying
to sidestep gingerly self annihilation.