Long Poor Poems
Long Poor Poems. Below are the most popular long Poor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poor poems by poem length and keyword.
It's getting close to beddy-byes time
And as I think back on the day
It wasn't my best day ever but certainly not my worst
But however I classify it, good bad or somewhere in between
My worst day would surely be the absolute best day
For the suffering peoples all over the world
It's easy to forget how fortunate we all are
To wake in the morning and not have that overwhelming fear
Wondering if this will be my final day
With the senseless fighting going on all around us
We in the Canada can't imagine what it's like
To be living in fear every single day with no sign of peace
My heart goes out to all these poor souls
Our greatest fear is missing Saturday Night Hockey on TV
We don't realize what a privilege that is
The wars in all the other parts of the world
Are the furthest thing from our minds
I suggest we pause and thank our lucky stars
We live in a free, loving, peaceful country
Can't help thinking though... when will it be our turn!
© Jack Ellison 2014
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a sprightly squirrel named Shane,
From stealing candy canes he could not abstain.
From the porch, he did rapidly dart,
With a sweet tooth and not-so sugary heart.
These holiday treats are the best, his paws red-stained.
Shane stashed those canes in the stump of a mighty oak,
Making it the perfect sweet, secret, sugary cloak.
The children all sighed and cried,
For their treats he constantly did hide,
With a Grinch-like grin, Shane stood his ground and spoke,
These candies are mine, you kiddies understand?
Me share? No way—I have the best Christmas loot in all the land!
He continued stuffing his cheeks full and tight
With peppermint candy canes red and white,
But something happened for which he had no plan.
His sugary addiction made him quite plump,
So plump in fact he got stuck in the tree stump.
The reindeer were called to pry him loose
But his derriere was as big as a caboose.
We’ll come back when you have a smaller rump!
Alone in the stump, poor Shane felt like an idiotic chump
Christmas Eve, Santa dropped by, Son, you’ve got to take your lumps.
Wanting to help, he Googled the problem, and
He said with his voice quite clear and solemn,
There is no apparent solution so you best call Donald Trump.
Tuppence to my name
Tuppence after the bills are
Paid
Tuppence for A Thought
Tuppence was a lot of money
Back in the day
When we were young
Tuppence was a lot of money
For salad creams and strawberry bon bons ...
I got Tuppence to my name
The bank takes takes takes as it plays
Out its strategic takeover game...
Tuppence to my name
Tuppence after the bills are Paid
Tuppence for a thought
I'd be rich
If life was not a ....
Tuppence for A Thought
I'd be poor
If id become a whore
Tuppence for A Thought
Put it in the charity box
Hope blessed are thee
Put it in the charity box and it'll come back three fold , you'll see ...
Peter Penguin looked up to the sky
He had two wings, why couldn't he fly
He asked his dad but he didn't know
They lived on the ice it had always been so
Peter plodded on the ice it was so so chilly
If he could fly would he look really silly
He flapped his wings quickly but remained on the ice
We are not made to fly was his Grandad's advice
But you can fly through the water like a fish
Escape from a seal and not be his tasty dish
Peter is content and swims in the sea
In his dreams he can fly and he's really happy
Jan Allison
18th July 2014
Written for Animals Alive contest sponsored by Carol Eastman
~awarded 2nd place~
I wish I hadn’t told you
Or…covered the truth with lies
But you’d know the way I feel
Cause it’s written in my eyes
Or maybe you can hear it
When you’re standing close to me
The pounding of my poor heart
As it struggles to be free
I know you cannot fathom
How I could love you this way
You just smile and look amused
Thinking this is all child’s play
Perhaps I AM quite childish
Impulsive in all I do
But beware, I’m ALL woman…
A woman obsessed by you!
You believe it’s just a phase
This craze is not meant to last
If only you could know, dear
That I’m going downhill fast
I have no way to fight it
For my heart my will denies
My soul is so tormented
There are cracks in my disguise
Resolved, I keep my distance
For I know you are not brave
But your heart must surely know
Your presence is what I crave
To touch you is forbidden
To worship you is pure sin
Heaven help this poor woman
There is no way that I can win!
My friends live in the dark periphery of life
Hopeless guys
They were also born into this world, like us
Some of them are poor, some of them are rich
And some of us come from the middle class
We are the same. Everybody. – Something wrong to
Hopeless guys
The opportunities of life? Ways, events, or friends?
Something different. The suffering sensitive heart
cannot recognise the right way. Life is a glaze
Just a mask, all are different and sized for everyone
Hopeless guys
Hopeless guys, hopeless guys, it is possible to live
To live a new life? Together, possibility is potential
The era of life is changing, wait, hope is coming to your life
Have you hugged a llama today
Or a bunny or a kangaroo
You'll feel all squiggly and giggly inside
And a bit rumpity bumpity too
Not only will you feel all squiggly inside
But these guys will be wearing a grin
They sure like receiving those huggeroonies
You'll notice their tails start to spin
So if you spy a sad looking teddy
Or a kitten with eyes full of tears
Tell them you love 'em and hold 'em tight
You'll chase away all of their fears
Tonight when Mommy tucks you in
And gives you a big snuffily kiss
Remember the lonely animals out there
Blow them a kiss and don't miss
There's a moral here but haven't found it yet
Maybe it's hiding under a chair
By hugging llamas and other poor creatures
You'll skip down life's thoroughfare
Dangling from heaven above
Are tantalizing tentacles with sensitive
Nerve endings invisible to the eye
Reaching downward searching...
For someone worthy to telepathically
Connect with...
Whoever has a vivid imagination.
Whoever is open to the stars.
Whoever will just listen carefully
To that voice within.
Be it poets, artists, political leaders
Rich or poor, male or female
Young or old, black or white
Or any shade or species in between...
To anyone who has ears
Do you hear the voices in your head?
Do you hallucinate or dream?
Do you feel the suction cups tickling your brain?
Are you alive or dead? Wanted? Needed?
Do you scream into the void?
Lustfully lingering all lonely lost in a crowd?
Do you really wonder who
It is that is a little bit insane?
By you I really do mean me.
Am I describing an unstable mental state?
Is that person you? Perhaps, you also think it’s me?
Perhaps, it’s the world about that’s wobbling
Wonderfully...
Or not
So, I must confess
I do not feel so blessed
Contact’s been made, I feel the blade
At my throat and
Suddenly I hear the mess
Even though I’m deaf
I see the light
This life is just a test
Forget the rest...
Either aliens are real, or I’m deranged
Certainly, there’s a ganglia of synapses
Spinning the unimaginable
What's impossible, the unknowable
Downright spun the unexplained
It's inexcusable!
Maybe there're just demons
Knocking nonsense on our numbskulls
But more likely,
It's God grokking all of us ... home.
After Walter von der Vogelweide's poem to be translated as I sat upon a stone
My mind from worldly cares once lost
elbow on knee, hand to cheek, legs crossed,
i sat upon a seat of stone
thankful with thoughts to be alone.
and contemplate, now free from strife,
whate’er gives meaning to this life.
I saw, uplifted by strange wings
that life combines naught but three things
one so-called honour, one worldly wealth,
one given by God, soul-blessing health.
Honour and wealth in conflict toss
unless God's blessing heal their loss.
Thus violence roams from town to town
And men shed blood to own the crown.
As life's three parts ne'er share one space
Unfamed or poor Iet’s choose God's grace.
The Little Match Girl
She sits all alone
On the pavement so cold
Selling her matches
At just eight years old
The snowflakes fall
And cover her head
She's so hungry its days
Since she was properly fed
She holds out her wares
To each passer by
“Sir please by my matches”
Is her small plaintive cry
But many ignore her
This poor urchin there
They'll go home to their fires
They don't really care
But she can't go home
Till she's sold them all
Or her Cruel father
Will beat her and bawl
As she sits and shivers
A match she does light
For a small piece of warmth
On this cold new years night
With each match she strikes
She sees wondrous things
Like clowns and a circus
Princesses and Kings
But alas these are just pictures
Made up in her mind
As the light and warmth fades
No joy she can find
She is lost and alone
She starts to weep
As on the cold pavement
She lies down to sleep
On New Years morning
She's still lying there
Still stiff and cold
No more she'll know care
She died all alone
Frozen and cold
Her young life cut short
At just eight years old
Though her story is sad
It still happens today
Children still starving
And wasting away
Sleeping on pavements
Lost and alone
Crying and dying
As cold as stone
So just think of them
As you watch your TV
And maybe
The Little match girl you will see
Denis Briggs 2016