Long Rings Poems
Long Rings Poems. Below are the most popular long Rings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rings poems by poem length and keyword.
Writers often wander far
amidst their words – weeds
as well can have beautiful
blossoms...sneezes and watery
eyes, can be a hazard with all
fond images, those prized and
common. Sometimes I wonder
what you saw in me, certainly
no exceptional rose nor orchid?
No Caruso! Maybe a croak or
two above a pond and its frogs:
Lord knows how many times
I have been awakened by my
own swamp echo. I guess, love
will always be somewhat of a
mystery – a bit outside all sound
and visions; somewhere, not quite
the core of a heart, and just
beyond the outer rings of a
mind. Planets apart, while
each of us affected by the
other's distance and dizzying
orbit –
Trumpet
The first thing this morning, Lord...
I need to do,
is to talk to you.
I have slept all night, safe.
I know the angels were there.
I know you, watched over me.
My eyes are open,
the sun is coming up,
and I can feel life... moving all around.
It is different from the dark.
The embrace of the rays,
a joyous event.
Life begins in the morning,
with God in the heavens,
looking down at us.
The emotions are greater
than the oceans,
The sea, is a mirror of blue.
Clouds dance and romance each other,
to entertain the King!
The birds already are singing,
and the flowers...
too if you but listen.
Be still,
the sound...
rings.
i guess it depends on the resonance the amplification
when i sang in the bedroom my father shrieked
put a sock in it and i remember reaching for
the pants drawer to find a pair, but i once did
turn away carol singers, but only after they'd
finished their warbling did i thank them and
slam it in their faces, i once called my
mother's friend, feigning to be the fire
brigade, and was aghast when she answered
i told her we were probing into fire alarms
the selling of them, if she was interested
at the school gates, she enumerated the
anecdote to my mother, who glared down
at me as i felt my face go ruby, but no matter
because i didn't succeed in selling a fire alarm
or selling anything, but my mother looked
perturbed when i waved and addressed the
postman, as he actually wasn't our postman
but his route took him to an aligned location
and it stopped just at our street, but no matter
because it would be the socialist workers party
at our door next, asking for subs and my dad
hit the roof, but amends was made when i
returned home without my mother's knowledge
surprised her as she began to weep behind the glass
our parents, all paths lead back to them
Oh dear, oh my,
You poor little magpie,
1 for sorrow is what is said,
And here you sit solo twitching your head,
For where is your sweetheart
Shouldn't you be together not apart
As the rhyme suggests
2 for joy is what comes next
Oh my, oh yes
A pair of magpies
that's whats best
Sitting together twitching your heads
Until 3 for a girl and 4 for a boy pop out their eggs,
In which case you'll need to build yourselves a pretty big nest.
Let's hope the remainder of the rhyme rings true
And your family will be blessed too
With precious metals that you'll find and fetch
5 for silver 6 for gold or so it's said to allege
the glistening so mesmerising so hypnotising
You must have it, To stash in your collection that's ever rising
Safely hidden in a location Mr magpie will not be disclosing or advertising.
Because 7 Is the secret he plans to continue hiding
Cancer, a six-letter word that doesn’t mean much to most people.
Then the word suddenly has more power than a shot to the chest.
You think, am I still breathing?
You go to the bathroom to try to pull yourself together, to share the pain with someone else.
As the phone rings, you think you can do this, then they answer and the tears start flowing and it’s hard to breathe.
The coldness of the hospital bathroom floor never grounded me so fast.
Breathing coming easier, reeling in my emotions.
Now to be strong for everyone. Brave talk, brave face but inside you are falling to pieces. Feeling numb, but the world is just pushing me along, like faking being strong will make me survive.
Sleep gone, living off so little anymore. Feeling numb as if the whole world is now only grey.
Medicine turning skin that was my warm comfort is now fading, always cold. Hair falling faster than snow in January. Eyelashes floating away with the touch of a light breeze.
How I wish the pain, hurt, and anxiety would be gone, my love. Day by day, I build a brick wall waiting for it to start crumbling, wondering how long it would last before breaking again.
Days, weeks, months, and years, it becomes easier to hear the news. To know you have to be strong for the one you love. The feeling to try not break in front of people, especially your love. You find yourself questioning, why me? But the truth is God was there all along with you, He didn’t abandon you after you heard those six letters. He held you when you cried in the chapel during multiple hospital stays.
After too long of a journey, healing comes and finds its place, the light at the end of the tunnel. Slowly stitching us back together from too long a rocky road.
How that six-letter word cut so deep, the scars left behind will always be present in our memories. You’ll hold your breath at every appointment you go to, waiting for the shoe to drop over and over again.
There once was a place that was very entertaining
That used chance as a form of gaming
Inside the hall that was run by a deck of cards
There were rings featuring talent who wanted to be stars
On these ring’s perimeter the hearts and diamonds looked for clubs
Filled with spades flirting with the jewels needing a little love
If everything is dealt in their way
Giving the tables a colorful display
Staying in health the lady danced with herself
Watching the cards hit the Black Jack felt
A King followed by a Queen were the player’s draw
Showing promise not a hand that would be a flaw
Seconds passed the next card came
And the two gamblers had no one to blame
When the King was joined by an ace
Player one had a smile on his face
To accompany the Queen the Jack
Made player two settle back
First player denied the option for another card
Before signaling the cocktail waitress working the bar
Choosing ‘no’ player two did say
Waiting for his moment to get the pay
The player calculated right
When the dealer showed sixteen in this one on one fight
As the top card on the deck was revealed
Player two started to squeal
“It’s a five and my two pictures took a dive.”
When the attractive cocktail server emerged
Player two was ready to purge
“Can I get you something?” She asked with a smile.
“Something straight up, I am going to be here awhile,”
Player two replied returning to his seat encountering the luring aroma that was ever so sweet.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA ~ land of the free
May God continue to shine His light on thee
It's a glorious time to show pride in celebration
of independence fought for and won by our nation.
Where after the tragedy of wars, freedom rings
giving reason for voices raised to gladly sing
to pay honor to our flag of red, white and blue
Stars and stripes waving over me; over you.
It's been flying high for twenty-five decades
So, it's time to rejoice with patriotic parades
and the fireworks streaming in our spacious skies
are reflected in the respectful light of our eyes.
That would be a lot of candles on top of a cake,
each one burning, waiting for a wish to make
that America will prosper as it never has before
as the land of opportunity from shore to shore.
*Looking forward to a greater America when the
current presidency ends the embarrassment,
and new office holders return respect to our country.
There is a teacher I know. Someone who walks into the classroom like he’s stepped into a memory, quiet and worn, yet still showing up. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice carries more weight than volume. His words are deliberate, as if each one has been measured before release. There is something about the way he stands, hands folded like he’s holding something in. Something too personal, too heavy, too old to name. He looks at his students as if he sees all of them at once, past their jokes, past their laziness, into something deeper. No one notices the way he glances at the clock when the room grows too loud. No one notices how he lingers by the window, not for the view, but for the silence.
There is a teacher I know who stays late when the hallways are empty, surrounded by crumpled papers and untouched chairs. He grades quietly, with a patience that feels almost unreal. There’s a sadness in the way he moves, like someone trying to find meaning in the same lesson plan he’s used for years. He teaches with this kind of quiet hope, like maybe this time, someone will understand. He never says much about himself. He gives pieces away in passing comments, stories buried in metaphors, feelings folded into analysis. His eyes flicker when someone brings up loss. His mouth pauses before certain names. Most students don’t notice. They don’t care to. They laugh too loud, speak too quickly, and forget he is there once the bell rings. He becomes invisible the moment he stops speaking.
Eating ice cubes off the floor.
Feeling something on the shore.
As if there’s a vacation in my hand.
Like chunks of avocado in the sand.
Chewing on blobs and other plant-like things.
A voice as the doorbell rings.
Chuckling, and rumbling doorbell sounds.
There’s some sort of magic that abounds.
Chomping down on the floorboards.
Holding onto invisible cords.
Which are actually chunks of skin falling down.
And one falls on my head like a crown.
Eating ice cubes off the floor and the doorbell rings.
Like a vacuum cleaner that likes clear, icy things.
Dangling from overhead.
Are monsters pretending to be hanging houseplants instead.
Like a monstrous cube, or rolling ball.
It was me who took the fall.
With marbles growing and splintering too.
Chunks are blue.
Blobs, chunks, and things.
Chewing sounds and the doorbell rings.
Invisible vacation howling.
The crashing sounds of scowling.
There was an ice cube, fell to the ground.
Dissolved with a hissing sound.
No one believes at all.
Maybe I’ll grow more marbles next fall!
I sing a song of three.
There’s Larry, Curly, Moe;
the Ego and the Id
and the Super Ego.
Three Kings of the Orient
are known as three wise men.
Showing up at Christmas too
in song are three French hens.
Rock, paper, scissors -
three gestures with the hand;
tricycles; three-legged races -
things of kiddie land.
Three little kittens; three blind mice;
three were the billy goats gruff.
three bags of wool; three little pigs;
three bears for Goldilocks were more than enough.
Being three sheets to the wind
won’t be very good
if a 3-ring circus
becomes your neighborhood.
But three are the Amigos
and three the Muskateers.
Charlie had three Angels -
they were TV dears!
Huey, Dewey, Louie;
Kirk, Spock and McCoy;
Peter, Paul, and Mary
I sure did enjoy!
Three were Cream, ZZ Top,
Rush and Motorhead,
Diana Ross with her Supremes
(but not the Grateful Dead).
Three’s Company, but three’s a crowd!
Three strikes you’re out: a yard’s three feet.
Three-piece suits and Hanson Brothers.
Girls think those are sweet!
Ice cream Neapolitan
comes in flavors three.
So does three-cheese pizza
or a sandwich BLT.
Three-leaf clovers do abound
though luckier are four.
Yellow, red and blue when mixed
make three colors more.
Three things evil not to do
are to hear, to speak and see.
Holy is the number three
when it’s the Trinity.
Splendid are the trilogies
like Lord of the Rings.
Clearly you can see by now,
in threes there come good things.
Feb. 13, 2021
For the 3 Poetry Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Now for L Milton Hankins' YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2 Poetry Contest