Long Quin Poems
Long Quin Poems. Below are the most popular long Quin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quin poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s a holiday weekend, all of the ‘fellows’ have Monday off.
At lunch Wednesday, Lisa said, “We need a throw-down.”
So, we made some invites and started spreading word around.
“You know, we all work hard enough, we need to get down!”
We asked for RSVPs, and got 43, for the effort, a decent payoff.
My sister’s apartment has a balcony and plenty of space.
We spent Saturday shopping and rearranging the place.
Early Sunday, we hid all the breakables and decorated,
As people settled in, things took off - as we had anticipated.
I was surprised when I saw Quinn come in
I quietly turned to Lisa, mouthing, “Who invited him?”
The blush on her face, gave her instantly away,
“We couldn’t NOT invite him, we see him every day.”
More people were arriving, laughing and smiling, the party was thriving.
Everyone seemed to bring something, a bottle of Canadian goose,
a bucket of KFC, another of popeyes, some glowing aurora jungle juice,
taco dip and chips, a Boston Creme pie and a cake with purple icing.
When you feel right, you let the music ignite you,
the beat seems to drive you, the vibe helps excite you,
the bass starts to thump and, well, you’re only young once,
you forget all your cares, for a delirium that’s shared.
In this ocean of joy, I saw a sad and reserved boy.
It was Quinn, in the corner, slouching on the couch.
a model of insecurity, watching the party self consciously,
I looked at Lisa, rolled my eyes, and said, “Why ME?”
I maneuvered over and took Quinn gently by the shoulders,
“Come ON, Quinn, you’re among friends, so embrace the funk,
these GIRLS wanna dance, give ‘em a chance, you’re not a monk!”
I pulled him to his feet, and dragged him over to Monique.
“Quinn, Monique - Monique, Quinn - let the dancing begin!”
By the end of the night Quinn was doing all right.
He has a quirky, awkward style, reconciled by a nice smile,
he’d danced with every girl, leaving them a little beguiled.
“Do it Quin, DO IT!” A girl, at one point, had laughed.
“Oh,” he’d said, gyrating in his herky-jerkily away, “It’s being DONE!”
Who could have known our stuffy, Harvard Quinn could be fun?!
I set up my easel in the shade of my beach umbrella. Wanting to paint by the morning light, I dabbed my colors onto the palette...sea foam green, azure blue, titanium white, and ochre.
With wetted brush in hand,
I looked out, ready to begin.
But there upon the golden sand,
Ran my tomboy daughter, Quin.
An only child, Quin had long ago found ways to amuse herself. Since the age of three she'd insisted on brushing her own hair into a ponytail, Now, at seven, she hadn't yet gotten the hang of it, but fly-a-way hair becomes my little tomboy. I smiled when I realized how much like Quin I was as a child. I watched as she chased gulls and sandpipers, clapping her hands to keep them flying ahead of her running steps. A child of nature, she sees beauty in everything. She stopped and shielded her eyes against the rising sun with her hands. She watched the sandpipers land further up the beach then walked back to me.
"Mommy, do you think the birds
are afraid of me when I give chase?"
She waits to hear comforting words.
I smile, looking at her worried face.
"Quin, my darling, if you think they are afraid, find something else to do
that will not scare them away." She picked up her blue denim bag and skipped along the shore looking for starfish and sand dollars. I painted the scene I wanted to capture, but Quin became the focal point of my canvas. I used the green, blue, white, and ochre to paint what nature provided, but I used a shade called peony for the cheeks of my tomboy daughter.
sandpipers and gulls
quin still loves making them fly
with paint on canvas
Lin Lane ~ November 21st, 2015
I set up an easel in the shade of my beach umbrella. Wanting to paint by the morning light, I dabbed colors onto the palette...sea foam green, azure, titanium white, and ochre.
With wetted brush in hand,
I looked out, ready to begin.
But there upon the golden sand,
Ran my tomboy daughter, Quin.
An only child, Quin had long ago found ways to amuse herself. Since the age of three she'd insisted on brushing her own hair into a ponytail, Now, at seven, she hadn't yet gotten the hang of it, but fly-a-way hair becomes my little tomboy. I smiled when I realized how much like Quin I was as a child. I watched as she chased gulls and sandpipers, clapping her hands to keep them flying ahead of her running steps. A child of nature, she sees beauty in everything. She stopped and shielded her eyes against the rising sun with her hands. She watched the sandpipers land further up the beach then walked back to me.
"Mommy, do you think the birds
are afraid of me when I give chase?"
She waits to hear comforting words.
I smile, looking at her worried face.
"Quin, my darling, if you think they are afraid, find something else
to do that won't scare them away." She picked up her blue denim bag and skipped along the shore looking for starfish and sand dollars. I painted the scene I wanted to capture, but Quin became the focal point of my canvas. I used the green, blue, white, and ochre to paint what nature provided, but I used a shade called peony for the cheeks of my tomboy daughter.
sandpipers and gulls
Quin still loves making them fly
with paint on canvas
A Town I knew
He was born in a narrow-minded town where a Christian
the party was in power, and there were rules for acceptable
behavior by stern people who liked to tell others what
is right, of course, including a religious attitude
a Pakistani scholar who, due to a navigational error
came to our town, left quickly through the town
reminded him of a town, called Laura in his country
The leaders of our town, also interfered with how houses should look, white or pale yellow was allowed
A rebel painted his house red, which actually used to be
a traditional color on barns, the law fined him, said
the house represented a fire hazard.
There were many missionaries around who went to Africa to educate the blacks, it was regarded as a high calling
doing God's work among the heathen
Little did they understand how racist they were seeking
implant a foreign God in a confused country
about what the missionaries called democracy.
Later, when a new political party came to power, white
a word of shame, we who had never seen a black person, except for the cook on a banana boat, so well-liked by the ladies, the captain had to go ashore to find him.
This brings us to the Jews, who had suffered cruelly and
and deserved a state of their own, anyone who tried to
disagree were called ant-Semitic
This was in stark contrast to the Jews we knew, who were viewed with suspicion as con artists
As for the Palestinians, weren't they Arabs going to Arabia, where they belonged
We know now that the Hebrews had weaponized the holocaust
at last, we see the ugly face of Israel
, a land they stole
from the Palestinians
Israel wants more, they need the Gaza Strip,
to construct
a big commercial harbor, and who knows, a canal all the way to Jerusalem
So, what's next for Palestine?
The Hamas, called terrorists today, like the late Begin of
Stern gang once was,
Tomorrow, Quin Sabe?
MARRIAGE GOALS
What a colossal list and express phenomenal;
I enlist the daily dose of making her laugh like Hyena,
And evoke unseasonal smile like Harley Quin,
Unleash all romantic poetic armoury on my Queen.
Just like King Solomon, I'll write her classical notes,
Breakfast in bed of nutty pancakes, Ricotta strawberry and oats.
Tease her, not in a rush, till she begins to blush,
And joy starts to torrentially gush...
compliment her till she turns pink
as we skate gleefully on ice rink.
Make love with her mind and soul,
Wise word impartation is the seed I'll sow
until her name changes to Wisdom.
Fulfill our conjugation and exercise marital freedom
Learn a lot from her like my loving mother,
And every potential discord we'll both murder!
As her Bride, I'll Groom her in the way of the Lord,
Fanatically imbibing & feeding positives from my taste bud,
monetise our skills and use all our God-given gifts,
resonate in unbridled sex like freaks in the creeks,
Producing bedroom evidences as we raise our kids, bringing up our seeds even more than I was raised.
And continually, Christ name will only be praised.
????
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhyme
Copyright©November2022
Scott was born premature, five weeks,
With his brain fused to his skull,
It was Crouzon syndrome, dysostosis,
And doctors operated to null.
He was a strong wee tike and survived,
Edinburgh born, 1st July 1990,
S14, SB14 and SM14 are his categories,
Which he embraces fully.
At the Royal Commonwealth Pool he trains,
Under Kris Gilchrist tough,
His breakthrough swim was in Manchester,
2011, British Champs rough.
The games at the London Aquatics Centre,
Saw him swim into fifth,
That was in 2012; now he’s won medals,
With an International cloth.
2014 and Eindhoven in the Netherlands,
Scott sealed the silver;
2015 Glasgow at the World Championships,
Scott won another silver.
In Portugal’s Funchal at the Europeans,
He loudly struck the gold,
And then in Rio in the 100m breaststroke,
A silver he did hold.
There once was a fiddler from Fartsie Oh Midler
who played in the park with a naturous tether
a one legged man
by a river of tan
with one gimpy leg that sat still as a peg, oh what a sin
He finished his gin then he sat with a grin
just as ready as old Dr. Quin;
In this grassy remote where the frogs like to gloat
they were never content when the rivers did bloat
one frog hid in rent
without a red cent
in a fiddle the size of a broom no bigger than, an over sized spoon;
There once was a clever who had an endeavor
to never reveal his God send
together they played from morning to noon
while jointly they made their amends.
January 19, 2023
Sponsor craig cornish
Contest Name The Fiddler and the Frog
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh1m3vCCGdA
Black Princess of the night chin strapped to her violin
she plays the notes from her memorable heart of blue
while the moon in her sorrow spills light upon the Quin,
she plays on, a Stradivarius interlude of thin soulful Adieu;
Arrivederci (goodbye)
Donna (woman)
Ingannato (deceived)
even the stars weep under her spell as her raven changelings
scatter like black ashes to the wind
Five seasons of partings five degrees of loss, still no light
bursts forth from a soot sky of ebon black
lamentations and moans
heaven groans
from the weight of her sorrow comes the eye of the storm
as she plays her last note of deep unrest .
Handsomest man under the Milky Way
Caught me drifting to display
Fashion with a line unique
Blues, Funk and Soul musique
Mannequins with big torsos
Ranges of clean custom clothes
Breathing colours-natural, bright
Resonating rhythm tight
Harmonising lulls repeat
Round a twin of ‘quin petite
Where you smirked and kissed my lips
Touching tenderly my hips
Alluring love becoming image
Destiny tomorrows vintage
Seizing such a fantasy
Artists work of mastery
Somewhere lost in silk and lace
My lover fell within the space
Transforming time to alter more
For my love I adore
Where silence beats the heart within
Louder in transitioning
Passion to evolve again
Dreaming in my art domain.
The uncule raven in din
In undying bueshing sin
Crying fortishly , crin
Try in the essence of quin
Roll scriptural to win sense
pray untotinaly naively
near in far winish your strength
now in here place your antogule
how in again rise your effluence
high in low morn for the lost soul
over in under mar your perch wide
quite in sound reloune secret nature
up in down find the clown
round in around place the frown
away in apart think of unrainishing heart
when invoking the troubled phood
time and give your true loves first kiss
coy and shy remart your silent cry
front in lonely revarnish it's heartful song