Long Ordinary Poems
Long Ordinary Poems. Below are the most popular long Ordinary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ordinary poems by poem length and keyword.
The lashes
The looks
The love
And the lies
The green paper key
That unlocks your thighs
The game that you run
Every damn day
Is the only thing you know to catch your prey
You swallow and suck
The life you lead
All for a little of that lovely greed
An hour or two
To rent your soul
For another unknown
To drill your hole
A twisted disaster
Is what you are
Beauty and ass
Only go so far
The extraction of money
And sticky seed
Is all you really need
To feed your greed
The nights grow long
As you attend that schlong
Sucking that dollar
From that fleshy bong
Of all this
I can truly say
That I hope you’ll wake up one day
And run away
To a better life
That you need so bad
Cause watching you die slowly
Makes me sad
Eric (and sometimes not)
The youth or adolescence of today coming
from all walks of life will be the future generation.
You are all born with talents, gifts and some knowledge.
Some show these talents, gifts in early and late childhood
and early or maybe even middle adolescence.
However, there are times when these talents and gifts
are not developed for varied reasons, like growing in a
dysfunctional family, poverty, tragedy, loss, peer pressure,
parental control, abusive environment, negative influences,
medical conditions and other circumstances or issues.
No matter what, you are the driver of your life.
Do not be a pedestrian, a mediocre, an ordinary.
Take an extra step by giving your all in everything
you do, you say, you touch to be extra ordinary.
Give your all wholeheartedly, to yourself, your family,
your school work, your work, your friends, your hobbies.
Have faith and believe in you for you have the potential
within you by taking responsibility to know and build
your character and develop your talents and gifts.
Take the extra steps to be resourceful, knowledgeable
in what you do and you will develop passion within you.
When you have a conviction to give your all,
you bring out the best in you and giving your all,
believing in you, being passionate in what you do
will make you confident; give you courage, determination,
unfaltering spirit; find your inner strength and inner drive.
Think, thank and appreciate the people who would
influence, encourage and inspire you and always
show your gratitude for what you have by being kind.
12/12/20 Your Advice To The Youth Poetry Edward Ibeh
Love is this: two solitudes that meet, protect, and greet each other.
In the labyrinth of my thoughts, where memories weave like delicate threads,
I imagine two lonely stars, floating in the infinite cosmos,
Each a beacon of light, a solitary flame in the darkness,
And yet, drawn by an unseen force, they find each other.
Their meeting is not a collision, but a gentle convergence,
A dance of orbits, a celestial waltz,
Where their solitudes, once isolated and cold,
Begin to warm in the shared glow of their light.
In this sacred union, they do not lose themselves,
But rather, they become more of what they are,
Two solitudes that meet, protect, and greet each other,
Their love a delicate balance, a harmony of distinct yet intertwined souls.
I see them, these two stars, their light mingling, yet distinct,
Creating a constellation of hope in the night sky,
Each a guardian of the other's solitude,
Each a sanctuary in the vastness of space.
Their love is not a consuming fire, but a gentle flame,
A beacon that guides them through the darkness,
A lighthouse in the stormy seas of existence,
Offering refuge, offering warmth, offering light.
In the quiet moments, when the world fades into the background,
Their solitudes speak in silent whispers,
Each word a promise, each touch a vow,
To protect, to cherish, to greet each other in the tender embrace of love.
And so they dance, these two solitary stars,
Their light a testament to the beauty of love,
A love that does not demand, but gives,
A love that does not consume, but nurtures.
For in the end, love is this: two solitudes that meet,
Two souls that find each other in the vast expanse,
Protecting, greeting, and becoming more together,
In a dance of light and shadow, of solitude and union,
A love that transcends the ordinary, touching the realm of the divine.
A few years back, I worked at JCPenney
I normally stayed in the stockrooms
But sometimes, they’d have me out on the sales floor
It was summertime
Hot, busy and loud
One day, a woman, maybe in her mid-sixties, approached me
She was shopping alone
Shaky when she spoke, but she was kind
She asked for help finding her bra size
I guided a silky white bra over her shirt
Just so she could feel the fit
And in that moment
I felt something ache inside me
An emptiness in my chest
When she walked away, I cried
Because for a brief second
It felt like I was helping my mother
Like I was the daughter doing something small but intimate
But that’s a version of my life I’ll never know
I won’t get to have those ordinary, beautiful moments
I won’t get to watch my mom grow old
She is frozen in time
And I’m left imagining the things we’ll never do
Memory obeys laws we haven't written yet:
conservation of moments, entropy of joy,
the way certain scenes remain in perfect focus
while entire years blur into approximation.
Like light, it bends around massive objects
grief strong enough to warp the space around it,
so that walking through a doorway twenty years later
you emerge in a state that no longer exists.
Forgetting is not subtraction but transformation,
a change of state from solid to liquid to gas,
the way ice becomes water becomes vapour
still present, just harder to hold.
Scientists say nothing is truly lost,
only converted into different forms of energy.
So perhaps the birthday I can't quite remember,
the name that hovers at the edge of retrieval,
have simply changed frequency, moved beyond
the narrow band my brain can tune into,
still broadcasting somewhere in the spectrum,
still real, just inaccessible.
Or maybe forgetting is mercy in disguise
the mind's way of editing the rough cut,
removing the footage of ordinary happenings,
leaving only the scenes that mattered most.
But sometimes I wonder what's archived
in those deleted files: what casual afternoon,
what throwaway remark, what ordinary touch
might have been the thing worth keeping most.
oceanfront on christmas day
eating breakfast while watching the waves
the chill in the ocean air does not bother me
instead, it keeps me warm
there is not a soul in sight
james brown is hipping me to the signs of christmas
it even has my name in it, which i think is quite a hoot
for the first time in a long time, i am smiling as the sun sets over Charlie
i think i will take a walk on the beach
the decorations all hit different on island time
i only move fast to take it slow and it feels so ordinary
i become emotional as i see the pink and green vibe smiling at the dolphins with me
now i start to add to the salty waters of the specific pacific
then as the gentle wind takes a break i take a seat on the sand
nose running, but impervious to the frigidity,
i say Hello to My Favorite Queen and again tell Her 'Thank You'
We Wish Each Other A Merry Christmas and quietly enjoy the view
BEST......CHRISTMAS.......EVER (will never)
We don’t live an ordinary life, you and me,
But with a battle in ourselves every day.
It’s so unfair this burden we bare,
People will never understand the life we have.
We struggle to keep our emotions under control.
And not to get involved,
With others’ pain, we try to refrain,
But it drag us in like a magnet.
Their hurt hits us like fragments in our souls.
They are the seekers,
And we the keepers of their secrets we have to hold.
We listen and tried our best to give advice,
Sometimes their pain hurts us more than they realized.
You tried to block it out,
Not to hear the silent cries and shouts.
But unfortunately is not that easy,
For an empath to control their feelings.
Many times we cried in silence too,
Because this is not what we had choose.
It’s a gift that we received,
To help others in need.
Just Clouds
They seem just ordinary fill
for a background, a fuzzy white
or gray that doesn't grab the eye
and distract from the more deserving
stuff like trees, sweeping ocean views
and mountain lakes. Clouds lack
a clean line.
They seldom get prime billing
unless infused with anger and about
to burst, or wear the outrageous
colors of a rising or setting sun.
Many exclude them altogether
with a preference for a blue,
totally cloudless sky.
Frankly, total blue is boring to me.
Give me tufts of purest white
drifting soundlessly across
an otherwise featureless sky,
big bellied storm clouds, dark
and sagging with weight,
rumbling with thunder,
letting their load of water go.
And wrap me
in the soft, filtered light
of low, misty clouds that have learnt
how to weep, keep me safe
from the big towering giants
that grow with menace on a distant
horizon and bless me
with the unseen ones
that send down a gentle rain at night
to lull me off to sleep.
Tiffany's rare creation is
an awesome three stone ring,
which a lucky girl proudly wears
strolling down 59th Street;
and why was she so humbled
when her fiance proposed?
He wasn't the handsome Prince Charming
offering her a castle with chests full of treasures,
only a simple life of pleasures: promising
faithful love; and he didn't drive a Macerati
and owened a splendid villa in sunny Italy...
besides true kisses, happiness was a guarantee!
And she rubs it with a gentle cleanser daily,
to make it dazzle even more than gems;
oh, how beautiful is the three stone ring!
I waved at them them down Madison Avenue towards evening:
they hugged and smiled in a royal coach pulled by four white horses
that neighed loudly when pedestrains invaded their privacy!
A true princess she was indeed just by feel, not reality;
and it didn't matter how ordinary her life would be...
perhaps she was happy with the man of her dreams,
showing a gentleness not seen in men hiding deceits!
Yesterday I met them again in Central Park...
as they tried to get closer to an adorable lark!
Moonshot in the Spotlight Way gone jazz, tenor man, notes flying high like a moon shot, tearing the dusk apart and leaving a hole in the sky/
When you dug into his music, you didn’t listen with ears alone, you tunneled through color/ bright, brighter, brightest amber and emerald, electric blues and crimson sparks of colors that pulled you closer to Saint John Coltrane/
Man you felt his jazz pluse up and down your spine/ His horn shined in the club's spotlight, His body boppin' to the bands flo in time/ his every breath a comet, every note a constellation of peace and prayer/and the crowd moved as one, a living galaxy of listening to the way gone tenor mans lifes journey through his horn/
The drummers cymbals keep the groove and the bass player loosens the beat/ Man, It's the heavy gravity of the tenor man's sound that flips you on a hip trip/ The way gone jazz tenor man becomes a lighthouse in a sea of rhythm-N- Blues guiding souls through jazzy funky chords, and maybe even Bebop you can use/ In this night, the hole in the sky becomes a doorway, threshold where the ordinary jazz sheds its old clothes and becomes the new thing to behold/We step through, aligned with Trane's horn It's bright seam digging deeper to find that the way gone jazz tenor man's music wasn’t an escape from life but a ladder to something larger, braver, more true more real that will carry us home, closer to the divine, through sound. with jazz and Coltrane at the wheel for all time/