Long Quite Poems
Long Quite Poems. Below are the most popular long Quite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quite poems by poem length and keyword.
“The park’s the bestest place I know.
I hope you’ll take me there today.”
Four-year-old Bud would get his way.
His Papa also likes to go
to watch the lively children play.
Bud rushed right to the carousel
and claimed “the horsey I like best.
He’s magic. He’s not like the rest!”
His Papa recollects quite well
his own fun fancies lived with zest.
Bud’s magic horsey comes alive,
not at the park; but many nights,
he takes him on fantastic flights.
Though Magic leaves when dawn arrives,
the daytime holds its own delights.
rhyme scheme: a b b a b c d d c d e f f e f
March 29, 2020, entered in Eve Roper's Picture Prompt Contest placed 3rd
December 3, 2021
entered in the "Z" Contest New or Old--Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his bit..
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his spade
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got pissed
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed.
The colours haven’t changed yet in the Autumn trees
Yet many have already lost their Summer leaves
Often in the past songbird’s chanting you would hear
But no birds are seen nor heard anywhere near this year
On the mountain top Winter has brought some early snow
To forest floors where wild pigs roam and poison mushrooms grow
This is a country place where people are loud and crude
Sometimes you can hear unwanted talk that strikes as very rude
I would never have chosen to live in this place here
But it was just the flow of life, a stroke of fate, destiny
For in this life of ours we live so hard and dear
Many things happen quite unexpectedly
To Hell with Party People
By Franklin Price
5/5/2016
To hell with all the people
Every woman, child and man
The establishment Republicans
Have ignored us all they can
In the primaries we have voted
For the one who's not with them
Who we want for president
Has the established party on a limb
Of course they do not want him
He never was their choice
What were we voters thinking
They're supposed to be our voice
They're standing on the outside
With the saw against the trunk
Won't be long 'til they are falling down
To the ground with all their bunk
They should see the large handwriting
Is on the wall to get them out
Our votes now should have told them
If there ever was a doubt
We selected them some time ago
They promised us a lot
In the end they were quite useless
Now what they caused is what they've got
Too long since smooth sapling skin
bent supple with the slightest breeze;
now stretched, fissured and furrowed -
bored, burned and bent -
sliced, scarred and carved, yet
I have lived wonderfully and fully.
Old limbs that once swung
a laughing child and sheltered
more than one forbidden kiss;
the only witness to many lonely tears
and, at least as many hopeful prayers.
Why pensive then, when so many
would desire my fate?
Perhaps those melancholy desires
for what was, when I stood not
quite as tall, when many
proud elders surrounded me,
wise and strong but now gone.
I will soon join them but
today a Robin tickles my brow -
a home for one more brood
and October will find one last shout
of crimson beauty ... I am still
proud.
Lawyer Oliver from New York City
Moved to country farm run down then pretty
Wife Liza, a city girl
Name the year-old pet pig Pearl,
Tossing dishes away, was quite bitty
4/4/2022
On A Lim Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Green Acres
Named for Oliver Wendell Holmes, he makes the rash decision to leave his successful law practice and pursue his lifelong dream of being a farmer, despite having no real-world knowledge or experience, as evidenced by him doing farm chores while wearing a three-piece suit
Lisa Douglas living with her father, the deposed King of Hungary. Pampered by her wealthy family, her skewed world view and domestic ignorance provide fertile ground for recurring gags.
Peering into your eyes
is like witnessing
a Carravagio master
for the first time,
not quite clear,
hazy,
the Narcissus halo
reflecting in those
twin pools of deep
azure moire silk,
falling
into their reach
one remains
secure for a while,
above it all,
assessing
your cloud strewn
sun dappled rivers,
oh the temptation
of it all,
to touch what
lies untouched
underneath
below that shining
calmly moving
surface
carrying thoughts
and feelings along,
it's high tide,
the fingers gently touching
teasing the no go zone
rippling a wake,
break the anticipation,
the thrill wet and electric,
the gently touching, shocked,
pull back again, momentarily,
played like a puppet on a string,
like a harp being strummed,
like a bow and arrow aimed,
the high tide's current -
its pull dark molasses,
strong and magnetic, yet
it's not Eventide -
the moment,
one senses,
will arrive,
to confront,
to dive in deep,
to meet you
within the emeralds,
to stroke you,
stir the waters
for longer than
the trip,
oh the temptation,
the dissipation
of a dissolving halo,
to breathe life
back into
your beckoning lips
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"fast falls the eventide..."
Winter brings cold and raw effect
making one fear from all obstruction
for my stammer blocks all my words
can't do a thing no matter it's instruction
Spring walks one up all so bright
the airs so fresh in midst of countryside
walking in the air so the reality seems
loved these steps all over far and wide
Summer means holidays hoping for sun
in Scotland, that's a thing often quite rare
but loved Switzerland in 90s sun and snow
so high in mountains grandeur, not a care
Autumn takes leaves from the trees
changing colours so they blossom again
lovely to look at being so amazing
like our lives needing to act as men
Addressing one's life through the seasons
shows all the cycles that's passed through
but still here having overcome them all
by God's grace, the hand turned my screw
(I have written this to show the journey of my human life interpreted into the 4 seasons.)
You walk in the woods, in the trees
You feel the live air, nature's breeze
The woods grow deeper and deeper in nature's all-encompassing stare
Branches sway, scrape and crack in the breeze around and overhead
You hear the soft sounds of nature generated by winds in the trees
The woodpecker drums at your senses, with an echo of clarity you can't quite believe
You stand still to listen and see
Swaying branches laden with leaves
Groans and cracks with bird song in the air
You seem to find yourself losing your cares
Further on there's a crack in the view
An ancient stone wall delineates woods from fields in front of you
Hills rise with colours of yellow and blue
Psithurism and fizma sounds and sights all around you
Nature's wind carving shapes and sounds right here and only for you
Truly beautiful this is to have found, nature's speaking and you hear the sound
I’m a man I’m a man
I once was Jan but now I’m Stan*
I strut around posing and drink some beer
Use the gent’s toilets, now that sure feels *****
I must stand up now when I use the loo
‘Shake hands with shorty’ now that’s quite a coup
I don’t shave my legs, it’s now my chin
Got a beer gut now when once I was thin
When I go to work I wear a suit not a dress
Am not really bothered if my hair is a mess
Causal jeans show my ‘builders bum’
When I turn round you see my overhanging tum
I go out with my mates on a Friday night
Dance like a muppet – that’s quite a sight
Age old chat up lines – what a bore
Eye up the ladies oh I want to score
I truly can't envisage what its like to be male
I hope you enjoyed my tongue in cheek tale!
Jan Allison
5th May 2014
*reference to Stan comes from my poem written with Darren Watson called 'Our first meeting in the Isle of Man'
I saw Richard had placed 6th in the recent 'women only contest' so thought I would chance it too with this poem that was written for Gender Bender Contest sponsored by Richard Lamoureaux ~ Awarded 5th Place by Richard~ ~awarded 6th place by Kelly Deschler in the 'men only contest '... thank you for being a good sport Kelly!