Long Regular Poems
Long Regular Poems. Below are the most popular long Regular by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regular poems by poem length and keyword.
I have this friend, a regular
gallivanter who frequents thrift stores.
He was always searching
with compass and intuition.
He had a North Star
for a heart, a beacon
I can follow on dark,
dull nights, when boredom
and redundancy permeate
the air like a warm mist.
When that mist comes
to rest, like Sandburg’s cat,
rubbing up against my legs
tangling my limbs in melancholy,
he comes like a swift breeze,
blowing away the fog
with a thrift store, ten-dollar trash can
and a little league baseball bat.
With a sly smile and firm
swing, metal reverberates
in the air and my skin
dances a merry foxtrot.
My hand grips the grainy
wood, I swing hard,
laughing in the clear night air.
It all started with two kids
Getting it for what they did
Scripted it as taking it one step further from the flirty pass
A teen camper and his lass
All of a sudden rich Cunningham was making box office cash
In the original serving there was bacon
And a campground for the taken
One by one these social working types
Had to put up a fight
And when they suddenly disappeared
Movie audiences felt the fear
Watching casting talents get a start
Donating clothing and time for the part
Joining the filmmaking entourage a Broadway star
Probably a regular at a great white way bar
Her character lurked in the dark
Off camera setting the mark
A vengeful Mother
Attacking a group in the company of others
Claiming her boy drowned
While no counselors were around
And Friday the 13th was his birthday
Written dialogue did say
It has been said
She lost her head
No one knows where the Father lies
Wondering if he hears the young boy’s cries
In this major studio driven franchise
There has been many telling’s since the first
About Crystal Lake recreation area that was cursed
Sitting by the camp fire
Listening intently not getting tired
A story were a Mother is scorned
And a legend was born
This is no pond
Where Waldon was calm
Forty years ago Friday the 13th was shown
Cabin dwellers in the woods all alone
Do not worry
If Mommy and Jason are buried
One signature and in hurry
A new spin
Told over backpacking style dining ware tin
Will keep this story going
Like a crew passing time while doing the rowing
It is all right
To create this setting to give everyone a fright
Using a Mother’s guilt
And her son who in death has an indestructible built
Mommy’s ghost is out there
Haunting ready to scare
It could all be in one’s mind
Especially if it fits the proper slasher running time
Corruption
I like winter evenings in Portugal
lit wood fire
my wife prepares the evening meal
On my way home one evening
a police officer stopped me
something about my headlight
I thought of offering him a bribe
but had no idea how to go about it
Police officers are not well-paid
and Christmas was coming up
I'm not a regular Don Corleone
The officer looked disappointed
the traffic fine is sent by post
I told my wife about this episode
the hairdresser in the village
had told her the officer shaves
his pubic hairs fortnightly
I don't think this has got anything
to do with the fine
"The Auditing"
We are all numbers
aren’t we? continually,
we are audited daily,
we audit each other
regularly
but we aren't regular
we are the noun
that rhymes with
britches
too big
for political
correctness
you could burn us
like a word that
rhymes with stitches
but do that,
you're not born,
you're non-existent
caught up
in the net
God's apron shelling
green peas
a small war waiting
for the lucky pot
like
judgement waiting
the torrid asizes
can't live
can't live without
counting beans
like eggs
in a basket
your first bedroom
the noun that
rhymes
with room
we, the fairer,
are never just
numbers on a page
to be
flipped
casually
you sit there
counting birds
sitting on a wire
ovens for baking
blackbirds baked
in a pie,
the pie
eventually cracks
canals
split wide open
blackbirds
now are flying ... out
we think about
it all
believe you me
we remember
the first number
and last number
on call
how many years
together
how many years
apart
how many hours
until tomorrow
how many seconds
until we part
it is amazing
what can and can’t
buy life and love
inconsequentially
like art
We are all numbers
every book
has its pages
One book
has its numbers
and even then,
we aren’t long enough
to entertain the concept
of what is and what is not
large or
small
revelation
...
the auditing,
like a black ball
drops
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing.
Now wasn't that
a dainty dish
to set before a king?"
I thought it was you, remember me?
The one with the face you refused to see
The one with the frown that made you smile
Yes it's been a good long while
I remember so many days, you beat on me in so many ways
Your fists and feet had their regular spots
Where the bruises lived, you'd kick and punch non stop
Remember when we lost track?
So, so many years back
You'd never thought of me since that parting day
When I set out into the wild to find a way
For you the target simply changed
You found someone else to satisfy your ways
For me the violence never really stopped
Rage and torment , then my anger popped
I've been here a while and got to know
The way things happen down below
But down here I am a King and you're a pawn
Welcome to hell
The darkness sings and cries
The air is filled with death
The words you hear are all lies
We'll meet again and it will be sooner than you know
I've been looking forward to this and having my go.
2025.08.23
A very good afternoon to everyone.
We are here for this event
In a library, "Poetry slam".
It was the first time for me,
I never heard of it and had no idea,
That this has happened for years.
We were here with different interest,
Some loved poems, others might not be the same
Some was curious, others were serious.
This was the poem to be entered.
I did nothing like that at the end.
There it went. First time for me to attend
Was not what I expected.
I heard ten poems read, one really worthed the trip.
The two winners of the day will represent the State.
I find this event help psychologically,
A food for thought, which everyone forgot,
Because they were preoccupied with lives' materials,
Day in day out, chasing all the essentials
Busy making their life more comfortable.
I knew many people who have had tough life,
Compared to many of us from all walk of life.
Some have little income with regular expenses.
No hope for themself, lot of expected by others.
No rights go with their responsibities.
No benefits but plenty liabilities.
They did not work, but they were busy.
Constantly on the move to find food on their plate,
To have a shelter in a safe place.
They wake up early and stay up till late.
Living is tough but tougher for those
Who were born without previllage.
How about to those who have disabilities.
They did not have handicap to every things.
Their inabilities might come suddenly,
They were not used to it, but had to accept it.
They struggled to over come,
What meant to be naturally and easily done
But not any more and not like before.
These people with disability,
Travelled on public transports free.
Subjected to many ruthless people's bully
First Annual Poetry Soup Convention shall be held on June 21st at Stonehenge
For Nina’s convenience and to entice Jan, Melani, Brandy, Heidi and Anne-Lise.
M.L., Rhona, Brian, Joseph, and Emile will build the fire, and bring magic.
Jennifer, Michelle, Aditi, Carolyn, Lu and Panagiota will laugh into the night.
Victor, Demetrios, Andrew, Gershon and Chris will build their own cabins.
Mahtab, Brenda and Jim will help construct them, but will refuse any credit.
Directors Line, Eve, Connie, P.S, Ann and Irene will be assigning bunk mates.
Sarah, Sherry and Anisha will create food using M.L.’s epulaeryus for recipes.
Andrea, Gregory, and Kim will be teaching "how to win" poetry workshops.
Peter, Vera and Freddie will bringing along cockatoos to entertain us at night.
Tom will be down the hill re-enacting war stories with a bunch of the fellows.
Maureen will be teaching senyrus. Beata will be holding Bible sessions.
Nette will be coordinating with Susan, Robert, and Teppo to recreate the moon.
Sandra and Maurice will be sneaking onto computers to do their own thing.
Jack and James will arrive without James’ special pal, who is at Mar-a-Largo.
Bobby and Wren will make banners. Everyone will be hugging Line for the idea.
Constance, Sherry and M.L. will bring their cats, who will go from lap to lap.
Charles and Carol will be rich by the end of the night from their cut of the money from Chantelle and Tania's workshops. Arturo will be Grand Marshall.
Winged Warrior, Pixie Dust and Silent One will reveal they have regular names.
We will have so much fun, we will have to do it again next year in Kansas City.
Where Caren can put up all the tents. She does not sleep anyway.
Written 3-8-2019
Contest: First Annual Poetry Soup Convention
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
A MOTHER
I often sit and daydream and
wonder what it would’ve been like
to grow up with a mother’s love
instead of fearing how hard she will bite.
I wonder what a day would seem
being small with a hurt little thumb
to have a mother to kiss your pain away
instead of being laughed at and told you’re dumb
What would it feel like to come home from school
to some homemade cookies or even a cake
maybe a smile and a kind word
instead of venom spit from a snake
I’d seen other mothers act like they do
with their kids on a regular day
No screaming or yelling or smashing glass
and those kids didn’t feel just in the way
So soon I left home much too young
with no real thought to life
I just had to escape the nightmare there
until maybe dad found a different wife.
That day did come but not soon enough
the damage had already been done
the brain reacts and does what it knows
in this situation no one has won
I never knew security, love or trust
it sounds sad but all wasn’t that bad
I switched on my cruise control for most of my life
and now there’s no memories to be had
That’s my fee for taking the easy way out
for not believing in the good
too afraid and too damaged to take a step out
and demand people treat me as I knew they should.
January 2018
Traditional Indian hair composition
of a girl gets attraction
being curly and long
and that's the criterion.
Inheriting my maternal gene
I was proud to have
this type and naturally
was granted to own beautiful hair.
Admired in my rural community
from very childhood boosting my vanity.
Finishing School got admission in City College.
Surprised to know that
most praise worthy modern style
is accepted when hair is straightened.
Being born and brought up in suburbs,
I neither have any idea about beauty parlour
nor could afford that much luxury.
My best friend Anya was habituated
to go for facial and new hair set up
at least once a month and every time
requested me to do once, just as a trial .
Yet I have never been tempted.
At last one day she offered a gift
for hair setting in parlour accompanying her.
But I took decision
not to get any obligation.
She assured, no question to oblige
It's her pleasure
Coz the parlour offers
her free gift for any friend
once a year,
as she is a regular customer.
This year she is choosing me.
I agreed : So a girl started to care my hair
After washing and drying she took one hour
to set my hair style -
After completion of setting hair
she held a mirror in front of me
making me totally upset.
I was stunned and shocked to see
my hairs are completely straightened !
I couldn't recognise myself .
I yelled in anger
' Why have you done this to me ?
My outstanding pride of curly hair
has been lost forever.
I never told you to do this.'
She apologized and said
'No modern girl likes curly hair.
It's her discretion to satisfy me.
But no cause of worry,
I will regain my natural hair composition
after a fortnight.
I was relieved after two weeks,
regaining my natural curly hair
in glaze and glare.
After that I never dared to visit a parlour.
I was past low with no clue which way to go.
Thanksgiving was approaching and I did not
know how to tell my son, with no show of woe,
that there would be no turkey for roasting.
I felt like an adult failure unworthy of a savior.
Never in my grown life had I known such strife.
My anxiety over money cut me like a knife.
On the morn I determined to tell my son,
an unexpected check came via the U.S. mail
and relief winds lifted my hopes into a sail.
Glee took me to my bank to make the deposit,
then straight to shopping for our food closet.
At the checkout, my world crashed and burned
because my emotions were again angst-turned.
Card Declined – cannot be, I must go see.
.
I could barely speak but did succeed to
ask the cashier to please watch my cart
while I drove for info my bank might depart.
I learned when your funds are a sad balance
banks are horribly strict and even callus.
I had little money so I could not have money
for five banking days. I landed inside a haze,
felt sore all over, cried more and walked in a daze.
With a heavy, dull heart, I drove back to my cart
so I could do right by my regular grocery store.
I wished to say sorry, explain why I was poor
and then return merchandise to its place.
The cashier listened with a smile on her face
and when she spoke, I was lifted by grace:
The woman who had stood behind me in line
had bought all in my cart and it was now mine.
I do not remember this stranger’s face,
but will lifelong be grateful for her kindness.
Her praiseful, selfless embrace secured my
authentic place back among the faithful.