Long Princesses Poems
Long Princesses Poems. Below are the most popular long Princesses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Princesses poems by poem length and keyword.
it is impossible not to hear the joy on the street
the super heroes, astronauts and princesses are shrieking with happiness
you can hear them as they hit the porch with their stomping feet
“Trick or Treat” is yelled to you from many directions
Mothers and fathers are standing on the sidewalk
One of them gives you a wave
I nod my head, then give the little hands their treat
Some people force a trick; not me
I understand the goal is to hit as many houses as possible
the luxury of being an innocent child is overlooked and misunderstood
I try to not take it for granted
Grateful they are giggling and dancing as they skip down the walk
Some said “thank you” others did not; I like them all.
Glad God has granted me another year to give out treats to these darlings
I’ve heard people say heroes are getting harder and harder to find
You may call me idealistic
But I find that message to be too gloomy, too dark and much too pessimistic.
I found my first heroes in Fairy Tales
I admired their courage, their integrity…their power…
They were the ones unafraid to face the dragons…to save the princesses in the tower.
My next heroes were sports figures…which made it a lot of fun
They passed for the winning touchdown, shot the winning basket
or scored the winning run.
Next, I found my heroes in the pages of books about history…
Their names were Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin and John F. Kennedy.
But when I learned more about my heroes…I was astounded by what I found
Abe couldn’t control his children, Ben abandoned his family
and Johnny fooled around.
One day I realized to find my heroes…I didn’t have to look very far…
My dad was a postal worker and my mom…a nurse in an ER.
These are the people who loved me…whose inspiration and guidance I sought
which, to me, was more important than if they slew any dragon or not.
I found my heroes didn’t have to save the entire world or make the winning score…
they could be a nurse and a postal worker who lived on the other side of my front door.
Yes, I’m proud to profess in the final stanzas of this now lengthy rhyme
The heroes I once went looking for…had been with me all the time.
To those who say heroes are harder to find…I say…not in my book
because the keys to finding heroes…is knowing where to look.
late November air,
crisp
pale with the steamy breath of borderless joy
for children who sit curbside
bundled in the bulk of layers softening cold
children (mitten heavy)
waiting
waiting
for a parade of mother goose, hand-stand clowns
fairy tale floats
and glitter princesses glassy
as if stars shivered into pieces
children, free of complications
their rosy palettes of cheeky faces
their laughter scribbled like graffiti on walls
unknowing of the bloody passion that shakes the walls
of peace
children,
resistant to the frost,
shift
with each marching band in praise of winter's pull
like pumped fists in the air
halting (briefly) endless clips of time
for children with vantage points to catch the reindeer tow
of Santa
with festive thoughts that scurry like mice in a maze
passing parade
holiday hardy
a glitzy show that snaps bare trees to attention
like watchers
to mimic the sassy steps of elves rotating
in a world crying, seeking magic
pitter-patter propelled
like children's kite-high wishing
In the tapestry of life, needles and threads of gold,
With each sewing motion, a dream takes hold.
Brave and bold,
Each stitch is controlled.
The dawn brings a sweet dew,
As the mist plays peekaboo.
A new day to weave our dreams,
Sipping tea at the café with the Queen.
Delicacies of macaroons and perfect bites,
Beckoning you under the soft, bright lights.
An array of desserts, a sweet tooth’s delight,
So many choices to entice.
The stitch of kindness takes hold,
Building a world of wonder, I am told.
Old worn hands and fingers,
Weaving a bonnet, the touch lingers,
Caressing the stitches as they unfold,
Creating beauty in threads of gold.
Hands intertwined as we say grace,
The tapestry of life is as fragile as lace.
From the day of our birth,
Our breath takes hold on this earth.
For every heartbeat, a dream takes hold,
Whimsical baby steps, one stitch at a time,
Create a magical world of lullabies and rhymes.
Where unicorns and mermaids lull little princesses to sleep,
Little boys chasing each other up the street,
Hero capes used as bed covers,
For sleepy children at sleepovers.
Legos scattered everywhere,
As we tiptoe up the stairs.
A stitch of promise as we take the leap.
Into a deep sleep.
To a world of magic, where fairies and elves
Are stitched in the fabrics of ourselves.
We danced violet nights into day,
And walked the sunny bay.
We dined champagne and caviar,
And drove far in your beautiful car!
Everyone noticed when we hit the scene,
Like actors on a movie screen.
Each hot party sent invitations.
Had friends in many nations.
I owned lots of lovely dresses;
Had the acquaintance of princesses!
Each day we made the society page.
Our lives were quite the rage.
A blur of operas, theaters, concerts;
We were socially witty, always pert.
Committed no little social crimes.
Trend setters, we graced The Times.
Day and evening, we painted the town!
Wearily, rosy sunsets went down.
No one will ever forget our names.
Such was our fame!
I warned you about Mother telling her stories.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
I warned you about the magic
of golem and djinn,
about lilac walks
and mysterious circuses.
Stranded mice,
abandoned mice,
runaway mice,
unexceptional princesses,
all fodder for the worst sort of daydreaming.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Sisters telling stories in bird language
as they browse bookstores in Paris
and tapestries of tales
told by women who are unicorns
invite all sorts of imaginings,
nothing practical,
all frivolous flights of fancy.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Leave Avalon to lie in the mist,
allow the city of chains
to fall into the abyss,
let wolf-women run
through Rome’s seven hills alone.
Close your ears to Mother’s stories,
cover your eyes so you aren’t ensnared
by the magic of gesture.
Let the story end,
leave the queen encased in crystal
and the flower-maiden weeping
in underground halls;
don’t send the children out
to peek under toadstool and
fern forests for wee wicked folk.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Tell them no,
you’ll not hear the hoofbeats
as the horseman stalks the village,
rabbits don’t wear watches,
mermaids don’t dance,
fillies don’t fly.
Tell the children no,
abandoned princesses don’t wear crowns of stars,
maids don’t marry monsters
in return for a single rose,
they don’t marry the north wind,
they don’t spin dynasties
on outlawed spinning wheels.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
See what comes of Mother’s stories:
the children run wild through the wood
seeking musical menageries,
they wade into seaside caves
singing for selkies.
They ask for tales told
by orphaned princesses
hiding in palace gardens
and songs sung by shieldmaidens.
They want stories
of women made of glass
and sagas sung by lionesses,
princesses who save miners’ sons
and princesses who save themselves.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
No good will come of Mother’s stories,
I said,
and now all is topsy-turvy
and the children have run off
to the goblin market.
Look away
Transmission overload;
Can’t seem to figure out my mind.
I’m feeling home alone in time,
Too late to find a bride.
I have slept a thousand years;
No princesses kiss to change my heart and wake me up.
I have shed a thousand tears;
I filled the room with my philosophical water-ducts.
I swam like a duck into the sky,
Living for all that is ahead.
Communication; translate lies to truth,
Misinterpret every word I have said.
Here, take my dictionary.
It’s all made up with empathy.
I wrote love on every page,
To say the word I never get to say.
I took another look at all the mistakes I have made,
But they are carved in stone. No memory I can erase.
Pick up another love, I’ll never write your name into my book.
You will be a forgotten one; or you will be the only one…trust.
Open heart did for me;
I let me feelings float away.
I write it down for you to see
And then I make sure you always look away.
You want an honest man;
The truth would tear your hope apart.
Inside my life,
There is only space for one heart.
Fill our heart with endless wonder.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Red sky
fades
inside ears
poised toward greening
non-violet ultra recommunions,
So, also
noncommunion ZeroZones
of red
against green,
So
also
red/green
non-violent mediation,
ego/ecotherapeutic,
So
also
red sky fades
inside green/blue
yintegral yang
speaking "green regained"
So too
Christian
green/red
sensed newborn
divine/humane
light/power
ancient eco-messianic solstice
fertile
non-violent celebrations;
So
also
red sky
light fades
inside ringing joyful ears
poised toward regreening
non-violet ultra
ecofeminist Earth
Green ReStoring Justice
In solidarity with
RedSky Sacred Rights
to worship
unprivileged
under-capitalized
everyday compassionate princes
and feminist princesses
of and for green/red
co-passioned
co-arising
co-gravitating
co-operative
eco-therapeutic
Red sky fading
refacing
non-violently communicating
healthy democratic
WholeEarth
GreenNatured/RedSpirited
Eco/Ego CoAligning Peace,
So
also
Red sky
fades
inside ears
poised toward greening
non-violet ultra recommunion
solstice redivining...
You were once a small child
With paper and crayon
Cacophony’s of colours
Scribbles so crazily drawn.
Then Mummies and Daddies
Crafted with circles and lines.
Soon squiggles of sunbursts
Your world produced in design.
Princes and princesses
Flashy flowers on the moon.
A glimpse of imagining
A child’s dreams in cartoon.
Illusions of spirals
Sophistication of style.
A mind in awakening
Creating art also tactile.
Definitions of shade
Pencil, paintbrush, and pen.
Astounding refinement
A babe leaving the den.
Inventions and visions
Digitising maps of the skies.
Discovering new vistas
Fresh frontiers as the prize.
Technology projects.
Scheming trips to the stars.
For you are the future,
That’s how special you are.
28th April 2016
Hieroglyphs and Holograms - Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anthony Slausen
words come to me in batches
for days they will include witches, goblins and jack-o-lanterns
like obsessions, they include spell books, brooms, bats and ghosts
in an abrupt about face
they change alliteratively into dogs doing daring deeds daily.
wild wildebeests wishing we were wayfaring wanderers.
prancing princesses providing presents proving professorships.
I do not control them, they are in charge of me.
today’s words were in my head before I got out of bed.
I heard the last two lines of a poem I had been creating in my sleep.
not unusual unfortunately.
What is unusual is if I remember them.
words can be playful, joyful, happy, friendly and kind.
this is when I am concentrating on poems for children
I do not think you can be too optimistic for them.
when they turn dark, gloomy and morose, I am shocked.
these are not my words, I think. Who am I channeling?
Poe? Coleridge? a serial killer?
words set the stage for my daily life.
their ambiance creates my mood.
I have no idea where they originate.
But they end up on a typed page.