Long Rollicking Poems
Long Rollicking Poems. Below are the most popular long Rollicking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rollicking poems by poem length and keyword.
The old stream doesn’t burble
like it used to in Spring’s past -
rambunctious in youth wild it ran
racing the sun and chasing the moon
splashing leaping and tumbling
over, down and around rocks in its shallow channel -
giving it rollicking laughter
The old stream doesn’t play with sunlight
like it used to in Summer’s past -
when unending yellow dahlia days gentled its flow
allowing for reflections and explorations around each bend
and for savoring saffron skies and plum-shaded shadows
that seemingly stretched on forever -
giving it invincibility
Autumn saw a change in the old stream
under a herald of goldenrod fireworks
waters waned becoming tired and tamed
its banks and shoaly bed littered with Fall’s golds and reds;
a once lilting voice grew quieter
as nocturnal rhythms trespassed towards winter’s solstice
and under the cover of darkness
a cool moon stole the stream’s slow dance with the sun -
giving it vulnerability
The old stream remembered not the goldenrod days
nor the purpose of its earthly path -
Winter charged in on his frosty horse robust with rime
and laid his icy hands upon the sleepy stream -
draining its dreams of a pulse beneath a frozen facade..
but from below the stilled surface a silver current flowed free
… giving the stream eternity.
Susan Ashley
April 12, 1019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*Rime: frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in clouds or fog.*
There is a tension of expectation in the air
I adjust my skirt and straighten my hair
Will the other poets be let down when meeting me
I wonder how true my impressions of them will be
In one corner the rhyming poets have gathered
And arranged themselves in alphabetical order.
The nature poets stand near a faux waterfall
Where ferns and orchids adorn a rock wall.
The rollicking laughter exposes the comics
As opposed to the quieter, even, iambics.
Then right in the center a crowd so familiar
Across the room their identities - clearer
A face for the names I have learned over time
At last we are meeting, our lives to align
Andrea,Connie and Kathryn from PFT
Gals that have always encouraged me
Anna-Lise, Line, Debbie and Eve
Constance, Carol, Monteray and Shadow.
Their poems reflect where their hearts are at
If your name isn't here it is etched in my heart.
Then the guys appear- such good looking gents
Who always take time for careful comments.
Paul, Richard, Laurie, Tom, Vijay and Teppo.
Who I'm blessed to befriend
All talented poets whose work I commend.
As we mingle with others we haven't met yet.
There's Drake arranging an open- mike set
Carrie,Kim, Seren, Debbie - Sara,and Joyce
Finally now I'll be hearing their voices.
Brian, Dr Ram, Devnath, Tom, Pandita and others
The numbers of names seems too numerous to cover.
Some with only a fleeting encounter
Craig, Catie, Chris A and Ruben O
It's mostly through blogs their characters show.
Suddenly morning blooms on the hill
I awake from the dream with the sun on my sill
Perhaps it will never come to pass
Meeting the Soupers in one place enmasse.
STRAND SELECT X,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 2/22/2020
First Place
Elation wanes upon graying skies and a chill pierces the bronzed flesh. Pondering the thrills of rollicking ocean waves,
I catch the scent of a warm wood fire burning in the distance.
A pitchfork toss of compost upon the plucked ground; next spring’s planting will be well-planned through the chilly months. I sit by the fire sipping hot cocoa and sketching out each planting plot, in colors of newly sprouted seeds among spring greens.
A flash of ocean spray, ignites my memory and I recall the dolphin’s alongside the boat; silvery-grey chatterboxes,
trying hard to impress the eyes of two-leggeds.
The fading summer lends way to the bite of Mr. Frost.
It’s time to finish stocking the wood pile;
I’m thinking, a big pot of chili for dinner.
I am finding that as I become creakier and so much older,
That I tend to keep peering back over my shoulder,
At the feckless and carefree youth I left so long ago,
Especially the happy times spent romping in the snow!
In yesteryear, I eagerly anticipated snow sans the worry,
For frozen pipes and icy roads with every wintry flurry.
It was my Pa's problem to deal with such mundane things,
Resulting from the howling blizzards that Old Man Winter brings!
A day wasn't complete without a rollicking snowball fight,
Or speeding downhill on my Flexible Flyer in headlong flight!
What sport to slide on frozen "cricks" using my boots for skates,
And falling on my rump trying to do fancy figure eights!
How pleasant it was after a rousing romp in the snow,
To gather 'round the parlor stove with faces all aglow,
Sipping cider with backs to the stove to warm your stern.
Oh! For the untroubled days of youth I shall ever yearn!
Now that I'm in the autumn of my life I have greater reason,
For having cast aside that childlike awe of the winter season!
For it is I who now must shovel snow and abide the cold,
As I hover nigh the fire and watch the winter storms unfold!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Miss Muffet was a girl of thirteen, filled with youth's beauty and charm;
And a love of vibrant life zealous, like eager, vivid thunder of blue alarm.
She was a fine student, pert and popular; like the primrose popularity;
Or stars appearing at the designated hour, sparkling like crystal clarity.
Mary Muffet lived in a small town, with loving parents and her siblings,
Who sympathized with her fear of spiders; like colorful, fall misgivings.
Friends flanked their white picket fence, in fall days of glamour, striking;
And wove fanciful tales with flourish, like flowering genesis, so enticing!
Far off family ofttimes visited Fernglen, with its farms, rich with future;
For fishing and other rollicking fun, staying on 'til varicolored, fall rumor.
They lived in the house of quaint beauty, like charming red, berry sun;
Fondly gazing on pearly moon twice daily, the ritual begun on day one.
Songs sunrise to sunset serenaded, on dappled, silent, Sowerby Street;
But, a scorching summer bled scarlet roses, at the red butterfly retreat.
Near neighbors stayed on a first name basis, in unending, plum seasons;
Of days and nights of green nature; like teal surf, which never weakens.
Summer's glory was in the tiny details, like prayer plants, giving praise;
When sun face orchids, wore sunny smiles, in colored fields of noon haze.
And jade baby toes plants were crawling, through hours of soon history;
In honey days of bicolored hibiscus, filled with heady scents of mystery.
Mary attended a church celebration one day, along with her whole family;
And food was served indoors and out, as pink robin sang of gold, happily.
Mary had such fun playing games! There was much laughter and talking.
Then Mary had a craving for cheese, so like shadows, inside went walking.
Once inside, 'Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider, who sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away.'
As Mary screamed and ran, causing a rumpus, she drew a lot of attention;
But, was suddenly embarrassed by her overreaction, like fall's suspension.
Little Miss Muffet was thence more mature, a natural result of getting older,
And fear of spiders was left behind, like summer blossoming, grown bolder.
Modern times and politics tend to leave me cold
So I close my eyes and fantasize about the days of old
I’d travel back to Nottingham to serve the common good
And join the ranks of Little John, Friar Tuck and Robin Hood
I would be dashing and daring with my sword raised in the air
Fighting kings and princes for the hand of my lady fair
Sometimes I’d be a pirate, rollicking fun and pleasure
Sailing with Long John Silver, looking for buried treasure
I’d travel back to Ancient Egypt in the hot desert sand
Aid the escape by Moses to find the Promised Land
In Ireland you might find me, hiding out in a little town
Helping my fellow countrymen rebel against the crown
Then I’d be a cowboy riding the bull in the rodeo
Or standing side by side with Sam Bowie in Old San Antonio
Oh to be in Philadelphia in seventeen seventy five
Declaring independence, bringing liberty alive
In seventeen eighty nine, with a heart that’s filled with zeal
I would help the proud French citizens in storming the Bastille
I’d be a rebel and a cowboy, a pirate and a king
A bandit and a movie star, I’d laugh and dance and sing.
Wee ditty about the loudly, proudly beating heart of our oh so pretty city.
No hustling..strolling along...to the rolling soundtrack..bustling throng
A musky busker hums, strums and sings their husky song...
Familiar faces..fayre made with care..displayed with flair to share..
Tip top one stop shop..rare.. hallowed not fallowed places.
Grab a seat...have a natter..nab a moreish treat..baffled by the seasonal snaffle raffle..
Becalming as disarming stallholders flatter with charming chatter..
No need to scatter whatever the weather..for once it doesn't matter.
Feast your eyes...on the fruit, veggies, flowers and pies...a treasure trove..
We loyally royally rove..Dunedin’s own homegrown orchard grove.
Hordes..maraud..applaud the smorgasbord hoard..
Toasts to our harbingers & hosts bucolic boasts...
Our locavore lair...after dawn duty on a Saturday morn..
There to share..our adored victual ritual..
Rootling & pootling...epicurean sights..sybaritic delights…
Pushing greedy needy…gourmands & gluttons’ buttons..
Fossicking..their weekly home from home outing..
Gastronomes roam.. pouting swag bags sprouting..
Never snooty....just rollicking & frolicking..
Touting this tutti fruity booty of beauty..
The Greatest Show on Earth - Two
Mr. Pik lived alone, across our street
All the kids knew him, dressed up so neat;
Mr. Pik loved the circus – every kind -
Each year, in our mailbox, tickets, we’d find;
Finally the night came and none too soon
Excitement growing by light of the moon
Girls dressed in dresses – shoes – patent leather
Boys in bow ties – no matter the weather.
Families scrunched in old station wagons
Sounding just like an asthmatic dragon;
First came the clowns with red funny noses
Squirting the crowd – water from fake, roses;
Next, the acrobats riding sleek horses,
Purples plumes on their heads – never off course;
Walkers on tightropes leaving us breathless –
Covered our eyes, watching never the less;
Finally the last act – our hearts would seize -
Daring young man on the flying trapeze;
A rollicking, boisterous evening of mirth
Mr. Pik’s gift – the greatest show on earth.
5-10-21
Contest: Rhyming Couplets
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
Every year our neighbor, Mr. Pik – a widower – would treat the neighborhood to a night at the circus.
This Fall the woods in West Virginia
will blast out loud with a blazing plethora
of audible colors
that will begin gently with a rustle
then build upon that painted whispering
into a vocalization of such intense tones
that will eventually POP
! -
raining down a bright leafage of glorious flight,
and blazing away an autumnal sound
of both glory and respite;
an interim death
that will rise up
after a winery slumber with the sweet
green songs of an awakening Spring.
Here in West Virginia where I do not live
or call that place my home,
but visit with a sensitive ear at this time of year,
while I watch the trees rollicking-out
their rainbow party-songs at the edge of loss.
Dedicated To a Cute Little Child Who Touched My Heart:
A cute little three-year-old I got to meet,
On a winter evening, two years back;
With his mom, to my house he breezed in,
A tiny face with almond eyes black.
The moment he got in, he did explore my house,
Rollicking and romping - mischievous plays begin;
His straight-faced funny questions to me,
And his sparkling smile my heart did win.
An evening well spent, joyous and memorable
As along with my son, he did play tireless;
This kid has a special place in my heart,
Though after he left, my house was a mess!
Date: 08/27/2021