Long Opportunity Poems
Long Opportunity Poems. Below are the most popular long Opportunity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opportunity poems by poem length and keyword.
A starving old man
Came upon a little pond
And though he wished for a lake
He was grateful for the opportunity he had stumbled upon
He sat himself down, on the browning grass
And fashioned a pole from stick and string
He determined to be happy
No matter WHAT the water would bring
It wasn't long when he got a bite
And brought the fish to face
"Stupid minnow!" he growled
And threw it back to its dwelling place
At that exact moment, he knew he erred
It could have been used for bait
He began to imagine his well-deserved feast
But opportunity was gone, and dinner was far too late
He fished for hours
The noon hour had come and gone
When up walk a beautiful lady
To whom he was instantly drawn
She got out her professional gear
And cast her line
As she caught fish after fish
She simply stated, "This pond is mine!"
She finished her task
Got up, and walk away, without a backward glance
He thought, "I'm hungry! But your ugly
Is worse than my dirty, old tattered pants.!"
Years later, when the old man was rich
He walked upon an Ocean beach
There SHE was with a child-like man
Clinging to her like a leech
She saw his peering look
The young man recognized disgust
He yelled out, "Old man, she only loves me for my skill."
She followed with, "He only longs for my bust"
The old man walked away, murmuring, "Stupid Lust!"
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-26-2018
Form:
My pocket like a onion
I eat onion a lot,
Cos I feel so good about it taste,
The flavour from my lips,
scare's men that gossip,
away from me,
My pocket like an onion,
I understand the benefit,
of an onion
It lower my headache,
Help relax my body temperature,
A white herb,
Yet when I slice the onion
Tears run down my eyes,
Like a man moaning his wife,
My pocket like an onion,
Like a jungle,
Like a ghetto,
Life is painted with a fight,
Where Struggling is ovious,
Like a do me, I do you,
Competiting for survival,
In a tiny line of opportunity,
My pocket like an onion
When it comes to money,
The space of the rich,
to the poor,
Is largely clear,
in the third world,
People always eager,
To do something,
But still found,
nothing to do,
My pocket like an onion
When I was a boy,
I was never worried,
about tommorow,
Cos! In my youth,
I never understood,
what the system is all about,
I never worked,
cos I was at school,
My parent provides,
all that it take,
Papa use to say! son,
one day you will be a man,
I love when he says that,
cos! it create a joy in me,
Doe I never understood,
the gravity behind his words,
Now am older,
Is time to be a man,
My pocket like an onion
I found my self working,
First job In Africa,
It like a play,
The wages,
was nothing to write home about,
working so hard,
For a common wage,
when I check my pocket,
Hmmmmmm........, is a word,
No comment,
My pocket like an onion
throwing out all in my pocket,
Yet nothing is found,
So bitter I grief,
Is a funny world right?
tears run down my eyes,
Like when I slice the onion,
Cos of an empty pocket,
After a hard day job,
My pocket like an onion,
situation like this still
Exist in the third world,
On a high scale,
Where empty pocket,
Provokes one to shade tears
like when u slice an onion,
What a past life experience,
My pocket like an onion!
Successive letters of the alphabet per line using A through S
Ann was born at a time when females lacked rights.
Both parents warned, her purity must be unphased.
Chastity, shame and sin were lectured day and night,
dictating a future marriage in accord with social mores.
Each day, since a teen, she prayed love to be as hoped.
Fraught, these feelings dimmed in society’s grim scope.
Girly and gangly at sixteen, her parents did chance
Hank, a farmer, as Ann’s best offered circumstance.
Ignorant all, there was not one thought of romance,
just opportunity to make Ann a legal, proper wife.
Knots grew in Ann’s heart and her fears were rife,
life's labels demanded she be Hank’s property for life.
Married life forced Ann to labor on Hank’s farm -
nasty blistered hands to atone for his lazy harm.
Oblivion was often sought by Hank through drinking,
pushing Ann to slave or see her survival sinking.
Quietly, she daily tended all crops and chores.
Unfit drunk, she often tripped him for floor decor.
Repulsed by his stank fueled breath and awful snorts,
She viewed murderous plots in her brain for sport.
This morning I woke up to a new world.
It was indeed an imaginary world.
It was a longed for, utopian world.
A world of dreams and not nightmares.
A world of neither red nor blue.
A possible but not probable world that's
Free of hate; but filled with love.
Free of conflicts and wars;
Filled with goodwill and peace.
Free of sickness, pain, or grief;
Free of homelessness and hunger;
Free of assaults, murders, or rape;
Free of welfare; filled with work;
Free of handouts, beggars, or poverty.
Free of greed; filled with opportunity.
It was neither communist nor capitalist.
It was neither regionalism nor globalism.
It was not a dictatorship nor religious state.
It was not a republic but a kingdom.
It was The Kingdom of God.
I really did like you Susan Fewster.
Even when I said, 'Well I don't like her!'
When you were absent from school that day
And your classmates made me aware
When they told me that you liked me and I blurted out,
'Well I don't like her!'
Please forgive me, I was childish,
I was shy and I really, really did care
My mouth may have blurted out those words,
But my heart said something else,
I was just embarrassed, young and stupid,
And I thought that's what
Boys were supposed to say
But I really did like you Susan Fewster
You were the modernist girl in 3B
But I was shocked and maybe a little amazed that day
When your friends said
That you actually liked me
Because there were so many other boys in the class
Good looking and full of swagger
And I sadly regret that day when I plunged teenage loves young dagger
And your 'friends' just couldn't wait to tell you
Those hurtful words I said
Each word hammering the anvil
And left ringing in my head
And after that day you tried to show,
Your dislike for me
But just before you left the school I had one last opportunity
To say the words, to put things right, but I just sat there silently,
Childishly believing that you might actually show some pity for me
And it's haunted me through the years as
I've thought about
Those cruel words I said
At such a tender age, killing love stone dead
So finally, here are the words that I truly always wanted to say,
That I really did like you Susan Fewster
You were the modernist girl in 3B
You were pretty, you were lovely
And I'm glad that you once had a moment for me.
Form:
Coloring when you're younger is letting each shade have it's alone time
They say elders deserve it
But I never had the opportunity to see your hair age to grey
You were a silver fox
Illusive with your presence, no matter how much of a present it would be for me
Doesn't anyone care about how I feel
I didn't ask to be here, yet I am, and everything is falling apart... And I have to pick up the pieces and make something beautiful
Whoever said horror was beautiful never had a cut deeper than the surface
I can't escape this horror story, and adults keep preaching about the honor they don't even hold on to
Your moral compass clearly was never fixed so stop trying to fix me
I'll do it myself just like everything else
I don't care if I take the long way
What's a little more pain with this depression
This is what I imagined your thoughts said after you heard me say: mom and dad are getting a divorce
I'm sorry to have multiplied the trend of men walking out of your life
Son, I'm sorry and I hope you don't keep your hands around the neck of a grudge
My son I love you, I'm sorry your picture of love now has a crack in it,
My everything, if you hate me and ignore everything else, please remember this: respect is earned not given
So, learn to give it even when it's not deserved
Because pain can learn to heal when patience reflects
Respect can't be bought so don't spend your money on brands expecting it to elevate your title
Your name holds a weight more valuable than gold, not even the world can hold
You, let nothing hold you back
Dad will always have your back
Respect those that hurt you, more than the love they didn't give
When you treat respect like the kindness everyone should receive you won't have to ask for it
Then you can paint your own future
Coloring when you're older is letting the paint sit at the grown folks table and mix conversation
p.s. no matter what our colors will always match...
A farmer's day brings both worries and joys
Every day he sets out to check his livestock ,Rex staying close to his heel. There they all are scattered throughout the field. His keen eye spots something amiss. A mother cow is slumped low on the grass ,her little calf no longer with her. Controlling his panic ,he examines the fence until he comes across a gap ,big enough for a calf to slip through but denying that opportunity to her. Looking over the fence, he spies the calf munching merrily in the next meadow. His snap of his fingers sends Rex racing through the gap to bring the calf safely home to be happily reunited with its relieved mother, and he then plugs the gap with boughs from a fallen tree.
A young calf missing
The worrying search ends well
Rex saving the day
I went on searching since the latest year of 19th century
A place where I can truly share my poetry
A consequence when one of my uncles had inspired me
Sharing his poems at US National Library of Poetry.
I went to a computer rental shop
I paid five hours a day searching, but it was all day’s mishap
The National Library of Poetry won’t accept my work
It required residents- perhaps, only citizens or migrants at work?
I kept going back and forth at the same computer place
Searching sites for my poems, hoping for grace
But only NLP of USA was at google search
To compensate my time, I printed all my uncle’s work.
Then my opportunity knocked on the 20th century
To go abroad, but just a land close to my country
At 2012, a photo of a praying boy and his dog inspired me
To create my first poem while I was away from my family.
Then followed another burning desire to search a poetry site
Gratefully, I’ve finally dug the greatest treasure and light
Poetry Soup was there, so clear, so big and so bright
The very first and only poetry place appearing in my sight.
I read many poets’ poems and they were all very good
I found poets were all friendly, so welcoming in every road
I tried to find my first written name-poem as my intro
Posted after 3 days along with the dog’s prayer and a few.
With the biggest inspiration coming from the best poetry soup
I’ve learned A-Z poems and from all talented poets of this group
It served as my greatest poetry school for 12 years
My best community and 2nd family- feeling all the love, no more tears.
Thank you so much Poetry Soup for accepting me
I’ve learned a lot, with more written poems of mine, I’m so happy
If there’s a graduation here, I beg and make the biggest plea
Let me repeat all your courses, may I stay here. Happy 19th anniversary!
She captures my lingering gaze when rising in epoch sight
to sit upon her regal throne... comes the bewitching night
Never appearing before my eyes as less than perfection
Each hour's passing, heightens the aura of her complexion
I do not fear her shadowed darkness as she hovers e'er long
In her honor, I compose poems, lyrical words as in a song
"She begins blooming at twilight, like sweet jasmine on a hill
Soothing my spiritual soul with warmth when the air is chill
She welcomes the nightingale's song, and the cry of a loon
Reveling in the golden light of Autumn's full harvest moon
Crickets chirp and fireflies glow the moment she appears
She's a black backdrop to showcase fireworks at New Years
To lovers, her beauty sparks the opportunity for romance
Tender kisses and sensual touches are all part of the dance
Some talk of a 'bewitching hour,' but the hands of a clock
do not govern the night until there's the crowing of a cock
Moonlight exposes nightfall, on a pitch canvas it will paint
with brushstrokes of starlight on an ebon sky until the faint
light of dawn awakens the sun, "Rise and dry morning dew.
The night's reign is over and patiently she waits for you."
I'd like to take this opportunity to express a full measure of sympathy
To the family of the late Mortimer Snurd, an amputee whose plight moved us
to gimpathy
And to his wife Anabelle Fofoofnik Snurd, whose wobbly gait triggered
our limpathy
--Not to mention his poor children, upon whom we showered our impathy.
Of course, there's the Snurd's loyal family mutt, Blurd, who gets all of
our Rin-tin-timpathy,
Yes, even their security guard, Slurd, who couldn't prevent four break-ins,
receives our wimpathy.
And as we part from you, O Snurds, here's a little song to demonstrate our
bim-bom-bimpathy:
Cheery-bim, Mortimer Snurd
Cheery-bom, Annabelle
Cheery-bim, Blurd
Cheery-bom, Slurd
Cheery-bim-bom-bim-bom-bim-bom
--How Absurd!