Long Out loud Poems
Long Out loud Poems. Below are the most popular long Out loud by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Out loud poems by poem length and keyword.
Give the gift of yourself this holiday season
No other present is half so pleasing
Get out of the house, take a walk with your spouse
Play chess with your kid, the way grandpa did
Build a snowman from snow or a sandman from sand
Drive through the mountains, it's adventure land
Play a simple card game, having fun is the aim
Stack the logs in the fireplace, then light the flame
At wedding and anniversary pics, let all take a good look
Enjoy reading out loud from an old storybook
This holiday season, please don't spend your last dime
Give the gift of yourself, and have a great time
Julian and Joan were married, just as glitter is joined to crystal sun.
Julian was a famous violinist, like redbirds making music, in season.
Joan had a variety of elegant shoes. Of them, she was rightly proud.
Like seagulls of lakes and sky, whom liberty makes scream out loud!
The Halls were very busy people, like smoky shadows, ever moving;
And mornings were most hectic, like windblown petals, disapproving.
Flowering ferns graced their country house, when old friends came;
For a face-to-face is much finer, than wondering what love became.
Farmers went to frolicsome fairs, when firecracker family popped in;
Like fad future in a fascinator, carrying memories of way back when.
The Halls lived in the house of colors, like the kaleidoscope, spinning.
Days were entranced by hues and beauty, like a rainbow reminiscing.
Sabotaged shasta daisies bowed, while gilded, silver raindrops jingled,
On the street of jade, turning seasons, of red Mars and stars, mingled.
Neighbors noted navy blue skies, when a nuanced sun, sank in rubies;
While they'd enjoy a nightly snack, or watch the never-ending movie.
'Skeleton glass warriors' guarded the greenhouse, of a fragrant June;
As 'Biltmore's ballgown' plants were admired, beneath the new moon.
'Turquoise green cockscomb' plants strutted, in nature's pretty vanity;
And 'rainbow pampas grass' showed after storm, delighting humanity!
One particolored, exceptionally hectic sunrise, the Halls were in a tizzy.
Joan had lost a favorite shoe, and Julian's bow was missing. Such a pity!
They couldn't find the items! Julian left for rehearsals, very frustrated.
Joan left for her boutique. Yet, gold sun'd soon return, when motivated.
After they both had gone, the first butterscotch rays, indeed, appeared;
And their talking rooster had much to say, like hues, after mist cleared!
'Cock a doodle doo!
My dame has lost her shoe,
My master lost his fiddling stick;
And doesn't know what to do
And doesn't know what to do.'
THE HAUNTED HOUSE
While on a tour across the Scottish highland moor
one summer noon I stopped by a Victorian house.
Curious, I entered through the half-closed door,
a dark room filled with antiques I could browse.
In the eerie air before I could call out loud, “anybody in”
the creaking wooden door closed sharply behind me.
In the alarmed mind I pressed the panic button within,
for with all the doors closed the way out I couldn’t see.
I shivered with the creepy feeling of being trapped,
saw a shadowy figure appear in the murky hallway,
as if striding in air into the sinister room he stepped.
Saw his scalded fiery face before he turned it away.
Scared I wailed, “I’m sorry I entered”, as he came near,
“please help, open the door for me, out I should go”.
He looked at me, a single word I didn’t hear him utter.
He walked silently to the door in a floating stride slow.
How he opened so softly the heavy door I couldn’t see,
I rushed out in a breath to the open in flood of sunlight.
Before I could turn back quickly the door closed on me,
I couldn’t say “thank you”, the man was out of sight.
In nearby village I queried about the man and the house,
I’m told if anyone lived in the haunted house they’d know.
In the outhouse fire that took them a long time to dowse
the lone caretaker was burnt to death some two years ago.
August 22, 2018
Contest : The Haunted House
Spnsored by : Dear Heart
I’ve picked it up a hundred times
yet dropped it just once more
So I give up, the blasted thing
can lay there on the floor
And stepping out onto the porch
I hit the ice and slipped
As I walked back into the house
I stubbed my toe and tripped
While dancing round in pain
I then collided with a table
For when it comes to graceful moves
I’m really quite unstable
Perhaps there is a simple way
to turn this all around
My clumsiness could work for me
each time I hit the ground
I could be a klutz for hire
stumbling for cash
I’ll charge my clients by the slip
the flip, the flop, the bash
If you need something dropped and broken
clearly I’m your man
If anyone can smash your stuff
this klutz for hire can
Perhaps you have a wall or door
that needs a good hard thump
Just be aware my going rate
is seven bucks per lump
I could knock your sister down
or trip into your aunt
Or I can make a great big mess
and kick your potted plant
And if your pets are underfoot
and adding to the drama
I’ll have to charge you extra
if I suffer blunt force trauma
There’s nothing quite as comical
and what a sight to see
as goldfish bouncing on the floor
It is my specialty
And when I fall I scream out loud
to add to the effect
I’ll see you get your money’s worth
when your whole house is wrecked
So call my number any time
My estimates are free
It’s 1-800-S T U-
M B L and E
© Mike Wise
1/30/19
if you saw me
the way i see myself
maybe you'd get it.
"count your calories,
read the nutrition panels,
diet,
exercise,"
i know.
believe me,
i know.
"it's for your health,"
turns into
a chase
after my...
after your
ideal weight for me.
but you say it's mine.
I'm afraid of dying
because i worry they won't even be able
to lift my casket.
body positivity
until you no longer fit
into any of the boxes
you were destined for,
not to mention the clothes.
foraging for a size at the end of
the clothes rack
because nothing near me will fit.
unable to read my poetry out loud,
because i can't speak without
obnoxiously frequent breaths.
I don't care anymore.
i tried
i really did.
but when a bite of rigatoni
turns into a fear of the scale,
i give up.
looks when i order my food,
if not at me,
then at the portion,
fit for a giant.
that's what i am to you,
isn't it?
no longer human,
but a puzzle you just can't fix,
a mishaped piece you need to cut down
to make it fit in its place.
fit.
what i'd do to look
feel
be
the embodiment of that word.
and by fit,
i mean thin,
and by thin,
i mean skin.
and bones.
nothing more.
I don't want to be anything more.
I'm cringing at the word body
because i know it's something
i will never like.
i never expected that response
from you too,
i suppose.
but i shouldn't be so surprised.
i saw the way you looked at me,
trying on
a hand-me-down
from someone five years my senior,
breaking the seams
as i struggle to fit an arm through.
i develop a fear of mirrors,
i deflect from the possibility of seeing
a reflect
of the error I've become.
breaking the binary of
skinny or fat,
I've become something worse,
not something in between...
just.
worse.
I don't want to live like this anymore,
but it's too much now
to change.
so maybe I'll give up,
and maybe you can rest.
We lived in the USA that was once free!
When church bells rang freely for you and me!
Where people were honored for work not color.
When character mattered, more than most!
Of your schooling, you could boast.
When God was still the center of our lives
Not rap singers, who gave us jive!
When people on welfare were not proud!
But those making our own money, made us shout
Out loud.
When men were men and women were women.
Can you remember, it was like heaven!
When free speech was still allowed.
You were not beaten by angry crowds.
When it was free to choose.
Not forced to be on one side or lose.
When being respected mattered the most!
Not sitting back, eating cinnamon toast.
When all your freedoms meant something?
Ah, yes we heard church bells sing!
February 14, 2022
Dedicated to Joan, my oldest friend with whom I jumped my way
to freedom in a free country.
Polly’s running--you might say galloping--
for a seat in the state senate.
She has definite ideas about what
this state needs--besides her, of course.
She practically glows with pride
when she shares her hopes for our future.
After each success, which she exaggerates, she declares,
"I'm just getting started!"
She criticizes predecessors for procrastinating in
dealing with pressing issues,
yet she’s sometimes late for meetings.
Her theme song—sung in response to
questions about her plans for bringing
her campaign promises to fruition—
is “I’m making progress and will
soon make an announcement.”
Her kids wonder why Mama’s always kissing
other people’s kids.
They can’t remember the last she
hugged or kissed them.
(During recess at school, kids talk about all sorts of things!
Adherence to moral principles is a must
in this challenging world
that cries out for honest leaders.
Polly’s strong on ethics
except when harmless little fibs are necessary--
during tax season, for example.
She’s being audited—again.
At town meetings, she regales the crowd
with little home-spun anecdotes,
sprinkling them liberally
throughout her campaign speeches.
Most attendees clap, laugh out loud, and cheer.
Those who really know her,
especially close family members,
emit forced chuckles and plaster on smiles.
I will vote for Polly
only if I’m being held at gunpoint OR
if her rival is Satan.
August 6, 2017, entered in Julia Ward's Polly in Politics Contest
Alexander Graham
Rang a Bell when he said
Mr. Watson, come here
In 1876
With no earthly idea
Of what was to come
How we live today
With cell phones up our butts
Wherever you turn
Someone's talking or texting
At every red light
While the green one is resting
And let's not forget
The in your ear bluetooth craze
People talking out loud to themselves
Like we all care what they say
Or out and about
At a table for four
Where each cell phone in hand
Is the only thing not ignored
It does make you wonder
What Alexander would do
If he saw his seed planted
Producing this rotten fruit
Perhaps then Alexander Graham
Would ring that Bell in history
And say Mr. Watson, come here
Help me destroy this thing!
I wrote about my timer,
Which is permanently stuck
And, after many years, at last
Emitted its last cluck.
That was two days ago; today
A package came for me.
I hadn’t ordered anything
And thought, “What could it be?”
A brand-new chicken timer
With a message from my son:
“I hope this works – it looks just like
Your now non-ticking one.”
I laughed out loud at such a gift,
So generous and sweet
And in response to what I wrote! –
An unexpected treat.
Of course, my husband had to add,
When seeing where this led,
“Your next poem should describe our car
And how it’s almost dead.”
The wire mesh gauntlet made an unusual whistling sound,
Before making contact with the old man’s face.
The power invested in the swing was evident by the distance,
He flew, which possessed a certain element of grace.
Blood splattered all over the jester, who mimicked the action,
Of the king’s beaten subject.
The clown laughed and rolled on the floor portraying the
Events with foolish special effects
The king rose to his feet and tightened his grip on the gauntlet;
It made a crunching raspy sound
Red faced he ordered “Take him away, beat him, then cut off his head.”
The guards lifted the old man, like a limp rag doll from the ground,
The king shouted “Not him the Clown you fools.”
They picked up the jester and dropped the old man with a thud of a sound
He called his trusty knights and made a decree, “Like this iron hand,”
“Scourge the curse from our land,”
“Kill every witch may it be woman, child or man”
Show no mercy until the curse is lifted to its end and from whence it began”
A year past and the curse was rife,
It exercised its power claiming a multitude of life.
The knights returned at the king’s request
“ Me Lard our efforts were extinguished, we tried our best”
“Your subjects await outside the walls,”
A great rebellion which cry, “Today the king shall fall.”
“The weak the strong, great and small,”
“Your merciless scourge in the land, for this it is your blood that they call.”
The king called for the old man a prophet,
And asked the origin of this curse.
“It has grown powerful throughout my land,”
“Now speak up old man least you die by my hand.”
The old man smiled a toothless grin,
“The curse is not out there.”
“It is here with in,”
“The curse is you my king, by your blood I swear.”
The crowd smashed the fortified doors,
and stood before the king,
“His blood is required,”
Their voices in unison did sing.
The Knights, heavily armoured stood before the crowd,
As one of them read the kings decree out loud.
An as he did so, the others circled the king,
And executed the decree, and its final sting.
They beat the king till every bone was broke,
Then cut off his head, the crowd cheered as they heard his head gasp and choke...