Long Peeked Poems
Long Peeked Poems. Below are the most popular long Peeked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peeked poems by poem length and keyword.
wouldn't it be nice
that if when i write about her
she was writing about me
wouldn't it be neat
that if i peeked at her
and she peeked back at me
wouldn't it be cute
that when i go to sleep
i would pray for her
and she would pray for me
wouldn't it be swell
if i had a friend to tell
that swore to me
that he wouldn't tell
the deepest secret
i've ever held
and just the same
if she had a friend
upon which she
could also depend
and tell her friend
her secret about me
how she secretly loved me
wouldn't it be sweet
if one day we meet
and found ourselves
together alone
wrapped in feelings
kept so long
won't our eye's
give us away
won't our trembling
keep our tongues at bay
would not blushing
show the condition
of our hearts
wouldn't our studder
not hide our content
of being in our presence
a royal being
a conjunction of the stars
meeting in the sky
the meeting of
soul mates
I came in a tattered old box,
the grand size of a man's shoe box.
I knew that I was unwanted,
around a big empty house I wandered.
On a drive in the country one day,
these people said I was cute and took me away.
But, the novelty of a kitten wore off quickly,
I ran and jumped and was just too wiggly.
So, they gave me to this girl who likes cats,
well, here I am sweet girl, congrats!
She opened the lid slowly and peeked inside,
I was so scared my meow was tongue-tied.
Hello beautiful, she said- but I was frozen,
my kitten spirit had been broken!
In the next days things were happening,
around her apartment I was galloping.
I had new toys, like squeaky mice and balls,
and I would come when I heard her calls.
There were pretty food dishes and a brush,
my fur she would tame whispering, hush-hush.
But, the sweetest was being on her lap,
purring, purring, purring during a sweet cat nap.
The best thing that ever happened to me,
is finding my forever home with this girl of glee!
She does not care that I am too fluffy,
that I have no manners and can be scruffy.
She cares little that I like to scratch things,
from a cat tree this kitty now clings and springs!
She says she adores me to pieces,
whispers that she loves my big blue peepers;
and I sure love this girl- to pieces and pieces.
___________________________
September 3, 2018
Poetry/Personification/'My Big Blue Peepers'
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1186-659-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FFI Blog Series 20 - Personification
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
shaped like a boat,
a sock peeked out,
down under the rim.
a baby bootie,
a boot camp scootie,
befuddled the face,
bright red,
of a pale blond —
a mother on the side.
could have been undies
lining the sailor cap!
waterlogged laughter.
sea of despair.
however... i showed her up,
dereliction of my polished shoes.
barely an adult,
sneakering to hide
in the head,
luckily placed as a guest
in the gatehouse
and not out on my rear guard
or thrown in the brigg
for my lack of attention to detail.
the blond carries her family in a seabag
— not allowed —
can’t find the other sock.
9/3/2020
All In A Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor - William Kekaula
scootie means child that is between the stages of crawling and walking. Here I’m using it as a baby’s sock.
sneakering is a play on words as I had absentmindedly put on my sneakers
it's 12 am and i cant breathe
my mind, flashing through images and moments and pockets of space and time
a restless energy
a redemptive ache
as i scream the name of a distant god
its 1 am and the silence is so loud
at the computer, i take my first deep breath
the world is quiet tonight
unlike my sweaty palms racing heart (i dialed your number, my hand slipped)
'why?' i reach a clammy hand out
feeling at an endless darkness
its 2 am and my brain is hammering against my skull
like a prisoner begging for release
again i reach
for a nonexistent hand
can i dial jesus? (i think id like his number on speed dial)
its 3 am and i dont know if i can make it until 4
i lay now, praying for the reprieve of sleep
my fingers reach up
clawing at my eyes
tugging at my hair
grasping at the small
cross gifted to me by
someone long lost
i stared at your number 'till 5 am
'till the sun peeked his head out
as if a reminder that life continues on (though i miss the stillness of night)
i miss your hand in mine
i cried out to any who'd listen
grasping at straws, brokering deals with the spiders on my wall
please come home
the pastor told me itd never happen
but i called your mum
and she said you still lived on in me
its 6 am now
and id like for you to stop living in me and just- just hold me
please?
I was …
awake …
in the crow’s nest
but doing all I could to not nod off
we had been through storms that day and
all the previous night
(such was the North Bering)
so not a soul had slept
‘til now …
all was quiet at ten bells
the moon was in first quarter
but as bright as any full …
it had just peeked above the east reach
bloodshot and misty
(like the dead gaze of a friend I’d
lost in battle)
and it painted the planks in blood
shining from their thin coat of
frozen arctic fog …
the decks were ghosted but for the first mate
and he didn’t wander much on
his watch, what with such
icy footing …
he stood statuesque by the helm
watching the aurora shift shape
and with the phosphorescent
wake snaking behind us
the scene made a breathtaking canvas
of color and movement
and I chuckled to myself, remembering
a comment the captain had made:
“Naught but black-on-black up the
mast on night duty, lad -
a sorry sea of oily emptiness!” …
well, I’d known of
better skippers, not a one
yet I could tell he’d
never spent much time as a scunner
because from where I perched
high atop the mainsail -
the swells ticking off my time,
there was so much more
yes, so VERY much …
more.
Copyright © September 5, 2024 Gregory Richard Barden
Your baby lies in intensive care, the sky light lets the sun shine in .
Your angel looks down with a pensive stare and tries to fight her tears.
The doctor checks your mum's results and it's not the news you crave.
Your angel peeked and then starts to weep ; its not good news for her fave.
Your soldier son has gone to war, extensive injury's his queen's reward
Your angel's tears are as real as war, and her tears are getting too much for her to take.
You live for years and the life pains are real, and so are your angel's tears,
And then its time to meet your weeping angel at heavens pearly gates
comp entry 02052015
Like a seedling reaching for
the sun's warm rays,
Each of you helped me to find
my poetic way.
I peeked out, apprehensively.
Yet you danced and shouted,
"Hurray, hurray! Come, with us
and pen your way!"
I still am growing word by word,
Sometimes words flow, other
times, so incredibly slow.
So many times, I desired to stop.
My pen covered and wet with salty
teardrops.
I had to grow here and accept
some poet friends abandon you.
But new ones constantly pop up!
God has seen to it that through
your love, I shan't give up!
I have received the most loving
soupmails from those who see
my potential.
Raising my thoughts to things,
celestial.
Those have spurred me on to
reach that zenith...
I once thought was unachievable,
thank you.
And may your poetic works be
more than just dreamable!
With my love and respect,
~Panagiota Romios~
September 18, 2019
~Cinderella Memories~
Young, self-confident, all debutantes
At the top of the golden,spiral,staircase.
And, oh my, she, was in a Cinderella mood!
The white full length strapless gown,
Satin buttoned gloves to her elbow,
And her partner, in his tuxedo, handsomely dressed,
Made her humble, yet proud and so very blessed!
They descended the spiral stairs to begin the Viennese waltz.
Gowns of debutantes were swishing,shining floors.
Sounding so much like fluttering butterfly wings.
Their satin shoes like rosebuds,so beautifully peeked.
Hair done to perfection, each of us with a crown
Of fragrant carnations, coifed hair. on shoulders,down.
Then, for each debutante, comes that auspicious moment.
When they enter the center of the ballroom floor, with their father!
Fathers dressed in tails to present each proudly, to society...
Their most precious daughters, a second of visual poetry.
Each debutante, so lovely, makes a full bow to the floor
With long stemmed roses, not an easy task at all!
The father in tails, so proud of the daughter. he has raised,
Is indeed granted, the audience's cheers and highest praise!
Let the full orchestra continue, the Viennese music play on.
A Cinderella evening for a father's one and only daughter.
With rows of zirconia on her wrist, she giggles with soft laughter,
Oh…what memorable bliss!
What a most heavenly evening to cherish and remember
Whose memories brightly shine, in the chill of September.
For his daughter, an everlasting memory of his charity.
Monies we raised that night, sent to war torn countries.
My Father you see, did not only think of “we!”
He was committed to the well being of humanity.
Dedicated to my late Father, Edward.
With love and everlasting gratitude.
You gave so much to so many, without question.
A true humanitarian,I follow your directions!
An example to follow!
Panagiota xx
11/14/2024
When I was very young, Dorothea a Nun walked in. A holy lady, a gift of God was she. Scared by her habit, I ran and hid under the table. As I peeked under the long table cloth, I watched Dorothea walk around. Being so young I did not know she was a Nun, I just thought she was scary. I wish I had talked to Dorothea, at the party that day. If we had talked then I could say, I had talked with a holy lady. As I got older I learned what I missed at the party, I missed a gift of God on that special day.
Date Written 5/17/2020
And Then I Opened That Door
My thoughts stir memories of that oak door
just down the hall upstairs, the second floor.
I gently opened it and peeked inside—
my beating heart filled up with hope and pride.
I stepped inside so slowly and aware
what I beheld—a gift beyond compare—
emotions swelled and tears filled up my eyes—
such joyous feeling I could not disguise.
So round and soft—oh what a lovely sight!
This vision filled my heart with pure delight!
Perfection, beauty, miracle in one—
my first grand-babe into my life had come.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Any Couple You Wish II
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 05/13/2016
~NA~
Contest: …And Then I Opened That Door
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 06/25/2015
My first grandchild, a grandson, born January 30, 1990...