Long Pass up Poems
Long Pass up Poems. Below are the most popular long Pass up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pass up poems by poem length and keyword.
It is everybody's duty
To see all the hidden beauty
That shines bright if you just look
Everyone is a big open book
That is full of different chapters
Some have pain--others laughter
So please read someone before
You think they're a snooze and bore
Or ugly not worth your time
It would be a shameful crime
If you pass up a masterpiece
Because your eyes do not see
A best seller, you just judge
Take a moment--do not smudge
The pages of someone else
Putting them high on a shelf
You might be missing something great
Come on, do not hesistate
You could lose out on a friend
If you skip right to the end
Not learning what's at the start
Take my word--give it a shot
You are an old soul in a fast paced world,
as time goes on your wisdom unfurls.
Each line on your face marks experiences gleaned,
your knowledge helps navigate futures unseen.
Your memories are golden and held in your mind,
with simple conversation a treasure to find.
Your crown a straw hat, your throne an old chair,
the Kingdom you rule is the time that we share.
The stories you tell are hard to believe,
born in the good old days, in values conceived.
Your life is a legend in a young boy's eyes,
the memories live on long after you die.
Advice to the young, don't pass up the chance,
to spend time with someone whose years are advanced.
10/17/18
In my youth, I made
A bubble gum ball . . .
That over time just got bigger and bigger, usually.
It was sticky icky, just like me.
It splattered perfectly onto the wall . . .
The bubble gum wall!
That over time became a work of Art.
Always getting bigger, usually.
Also, a great filler for holes, I’m told.
It also sticks great on bark, and behold,
The bubble gum tree!
Every childhood should have one.
That tree on the walk to school,
Or in the park next to the playground,
Or next to the community pool.
So everyone can share.
But, if you left your ball at home,
Already passed the wall, missed the tree,
There was always that spot under your desk,
Or perhaps that forgotten tuck behind the ear.
Of course, the cute girl two rows up,
Blew the most wonderful, beautiful bubbles.
And when they’d pop, everyone in class knew.
She’d just smile with sticky all over her face.
I, and every other pubescent male, just wanted to pick it off.
No, lick it off would be more correct.
And chew her gum gum ‘til the end of time.
Though, she, and many of the girls, had their own, very own
Bubble gum box.
I prefer freshly wrapped store-bought gum.
All those artificial flavors and “natural” sugars,
They’re the best! Yum!
Mom always bought us Dental Gum.
She claimed it was good for our teeth.
Though, it’s practically impossible to blow bubbles.
But I was never one to pass up a freebee,
Especially when I was broke, which was most of the time.
In my youth,
I always had gum in my mouth.
And I never needed money to buy my own.
If my pockets were empty (which was most of the time) . . .
There was always the ball, the wall, the tree, or the desk.
A quick check behind the ear, just in case I forgot.
If it got stuck in my hair, then probably not.
I don’t have a box, that’s for girls.
I have something better. . .
A bubble gum world!
The 27 Club:
the strangest sort of pub.
Seems everything is cubes.
(except the ladies’ boobs)
Those lovely duck fat fries
are the exact same size.
The burgers are all square,
with centers nice and rare.
It’s rational to try
their 3.14 pie;
sliced in a perfect third,
the blueberry’s preferred.
The sassy gal with hips
brings twenty-seven chips.
I like to watch her make
a large vanilla shake
with cherries on the top.
Oh man, it’s hard to stop!
You’ll slurp her with a straw
and then you’ll slap your ma.
And you’d have to be daft
to pass up on their draft
with IPAs on tap:
no ordinary crap.
The cover is absurd
unless you know the word.
But speak up and be clear;
no twenty-somethings here.
----------
for the The 27 Club Poetry Contest
sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
written on 8/27/2022
It is everybody's duty
To see all the hidden beauty
That shines bright if you just look
Everyone is a big open book
That is full of different chapters
Some have pain--others laughter
So please read someone before
You thin they're a snooze and bore
Or ugly not worth your time
It would be a shameful crime
If you pass up a masterpiece
Because your eyes do not see
A best seller, you just judge
Take a moment--do not smudge
The pages of someone else
Putting them high on a shelf
You might be missing something great
Come on, do not hesistate
You could lose out on a friend
If you skip right to the end
Not learning what's at the start
Take my word--give it a shot
Some fellers like to sit around and sip bourbon on the rocks.
I prefer to sit around admiring my collection of old clocks.
At last count I reckon they number about seventy-five or so.
Much to the chagrin of my spouse, the number continues to grow!
I just can't pass up a bargain at the local antique store.
I suppose I'm like that old horse heading for the barn door.
When I spot a lonely beauty displayed there by its self,
I feel sorry for it and take it home to display on a shelf!
My den looks like a museum with clocks of every pedigree.
There are wall, mantel and cuckoo clocks staring back at me!
Even a grandfather clock stands against the far wall,
Made of solid oak and rising nearly seven feet tall!
Nigh on forty years ago my interest in antique clocks began.
Some are from from Germany, England and a few from Japan.
Do they all chime and clang at once you may rightly ask?
No - to keep them all wound would be an onerous task!
The chimes, bongs and cuckoos the old clocks emit,
Would surely drive one insane, I would readily admit!
'Twould be lonely around here, though, sans those friendly faces,
And their graceful, sweeping hands and ornate wooden cases!
Entry for Julie Leigh Rodeheaver's "Hobbies" Contest
(21 February 2019)
Wings cut, flesh torn, eyes burned and blind
Heart so weary borne upon a life, some say, unkind.
Time will come and go, knowledge gained or lost;
Rivers change their flow; summers die in frost
All that’s proud and full of fury in each person’s story
Sunk beneath the fathoms of depressions veil.
We humans sought to reawaken, but did fail.
I will write a word or two about a pear that clings
Frosty morning air anew, as summer wanes.
When autumn sings I shall turn the other cheek,
Jot some mental notes and such then turn to sneak a peek,
Were it not for noise, I would not glance back
Nor halt to hear the frantic fray; to enter then this play.
Character cast, twice remove; something by each side to prove.
Lyrically lay with lantern lit, composing each and all of it
In metaphoric style; lost of wit, but never wile;
I fracture to repeat, upturned sockets sweet.
Sumptuous undertaking of loved and all beloved;
Splendor in the Eye for taking all whom I may meet.
Hoping to move and by them all be moved.
No trouble here, noble poets burning.
Turn back to the fires you're tending.
And all that you’re unlearning.
Pass up the gauntlet to those returning
No more yearning; no more ending.
Satisfied to write the wilting flowers praise;
Documenting endlessly, natures endless days.
Casual observer thus inclined
To take up simple pen - of simple mind;
Talk of flowers and butterflies flying
Then maybe the flutter of wings
Will drown the sound of dying
Each voice sings..
When I was a young boy,
The radio would blast in my ears…
I would cheerfully sing along to a new song…
Those memories come back to me like waves approaching me
I sang along with my mother by my side
She’s the driver and I’m on the passenger seat…
In other words, I called “shot-gun!” first
I prize these recollections and they make me beam so wide
Old memories spent with you are still there in my mind
You’ve painted me a picture of what you get out of life
Throwing out all strife…throwing out all strife
We welcome the sun…we welcome the son!
When I was spending happy days with you,
I didn’t know they could fade so soon
I didn’t know time would pass up by like morning to afternoon
Changes were made and I can’t change that
Where have you gone? Are you feeling OK?
Talk to me…I wonder about you every single day
But, all these years we’ve spent it on leisure time has come to hunt me down again like a predator,
finally getting its hands on its first victim
You sing so sweet, nightingale in the nightfall
I’ve memorized your face when you walk in the gloomy hall
Hear me as I call…hear me as I call…
You melt me like ice cream, left in the sun
When you remind me of the segments of my past,
I just want to tell you straight-out that I don’t care to hear about it
I’m sorry to act so harsh, but you’re looking back again
Don’t break my heart…it’s not my time to die
Yesterday…where have you gone?
Yesterday…you’re a long lost son…
Yesterday…you’re in the grave
Tomorrow… will be God’s Kingdom
Tomorrow…the day will be handsome
It’s sad to see you go…
While my family and I are spending good, leisure time
It’s tough to let you know
You’ve made me sad ‘cause you’ve changed big time
Might as well listen to music and shut out all sound
I was just a useless toy all along,
Stomped on on the ground…I’m gravity-bound
But, I won’t even try to sing this depressing song
Besides, it wasn’t arranged for one
But, nevertheless, I prayed to God with all of my heart
My leisure time was well-spent! Thank God my young heart didn't break apart!
Auntie
In her lofty ways, she was always
the best example of
the stars out-shining the moon.
Her ways of doing things always
correct and proper
she was a student of the Queen.
Place setting and
the china on the table all had to
be per the law.
And no PHD could outwit her with
her twelfth-grade education.
She though dignified and learned
always quoted un-biblical quotes
from other bibles.
"Cleanliness is next to Godliness ".
I would say well didn't
God make dirt too!?
Don't be asinine she would say-
Seemed as if the emphasis
would be on the "ass"
I would laugh... and when
she thought
I was not looking
she would laugh too.
Auntie could hardly
pass up a good humorous
exchange no matter how
ostentatious or outrageous.
Her well-groomed and well
manicured demeanor
was not just for Sundays.
She served her God faithfully
in words and in deeds every day.
I have never known her
to beg or borrow.
Never seen her complain as
"Arthur" took his toll on her knees.
She was faithful to the end
and though she had no
children of her own,
she was nurturer of all us
children whom were
blessed enough to be
corrected by her or to
eat a slice of her lemon
meringue pie.
Anytime I think of her
I remember the sweetest
music coming from
the piano that displayed
her mood with music-
Her piano voiced her
thoughts in pitch and
range; as she became
one with the keys and chords.
There was no room for "I can't"--
and no excuse not trying.
She finally gave up on me
playing the piano -
That ruler had taken
its toll on my knuckles
and even if you failed at any
attempt to do things as right
as she wanted:
After a hardy reprimanding
Auntie was sure to have my favorite
food and clean bed waiting for me.
I loved her so much that
every now and then
I must write about this amazing
Sister to my mother.
Her name...
Rosella Faye Graham Derrickson Myers ...
And yes, she would say her whole ''title"
if you were to ask her, her name.
Her spirit lives on...
In all the lives that she has touched.
...Now human cloning is always borderline,
but it this case all agreed to it, fast,
a chance to disprove a major religion,
what academic would pass up that?
A good many of them seemed rather glad,
but they all agreed to do this in secret,
they had to be sure, and were not there yet.
They took the DNA, and a donor egg,
in the artificial womb they both went,
a new machine the size of a van,
that, ironically, many thought heaven-sent,
since it had brought abortion to an end.
A device that had saved so many lives…
now used to disprove all religion’s ‘lies.’
About a year in the child looked like
a small boy, somewhere around six years old.
one day Pete looked in, and felt uncertain,
had for a while, if the truth be told,
and said to Tom, who by now felt quite bold,
“I know you are smart, have lots of degrees,
but have you really thought what this might unleash?”
“It will final show superstitious folk
that no deity will ever be real,”
said Tom as if talking to a child,
“And that with facts and reason they must deal,
and that the world does not care how they feel.”
Pete sighed and said, “How have you gone so far
without knowing people, what we really are?”
Tom just scowled at the janitor’s words,
then he snapped back,”Aren’t you on the clock?”
He didn’t say more, didn’t get him fired,
as a worker he was solid as a rock,
but like most men had a head like a block.
Tom refocused on the task before him,
another year passed, they prepared to go in.
Thanks to advances in technology,
growth in DNA they could accelerate,
which means in two years Tom’s people had grown
what took a normal person two decades,
though they could not, in this way, educate.
So what came out would be a large baby,
and not some living god, all people would see.
They were planning a big reveal next week,
but for Tom that just wasn’t soon enough,
he’d put so much effort in this project,
put in long hours, done the media stuff,
he wanted to see the results so much…
He went in late one night while Pete cleaned the room,
and boldly opened the Artificial Womb...
CONCLUDES IN PART III.