Long Sixteen Poems
Long Sixteen Poems. Below are the most popular long Sixteen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sixteen poems by poem length and keyword.
We've all heard it said that time is money-
exchange for purchasing or hours worked.
What if it were the other way around
and time becomes the valued currency?
Then money equals time, a reversed gift.
This exchange would then offer us a choice
of what is valued at our stage of life.
How can we ever honor it with time?
I'd cash in half of all our lifetime savings
and purchase time- increasing senior years!
Extend our lives so that we surely can
longer watch our five great-grandkids grow.
Their ages range from one to only six.
So, at our current ages, that can't be.
If we could trade for fifteen years at least,
would see them turn sixteen to twenty-one!
Plus, receiving gifts of time rather than things
would grant us extra ways to spoil them
with our presence at future birthdays and
those main events that grow and form their lives!
With the other half of our money saved,
exchange it for the value of more time
to barter goods and services required
to help us live those extra fifteen years.
On Turning Sixteen
At sixteen seconds you cried
And so did I
At sixteen minutes
I held you and you held me
by the heart
At sixteen hours
We were heading home
and our family now
numbered four
At sixteen days
Our family was conflicted
Our little man now had a
problem; daddy had another
child in his life …
At sixteen weeks things
Were getting crazy
Long nights, loud nights
Son and daughter now
Starting to find companionship
Comforting.
At sixteen months
little sister stare,
her hero brother.
Steps becoming strong and sure
Beautiful golden-brown hair
The skin, the smile on waking,
Umber eyes
At sixteen years
Driver’s license
Self-assurance, doubt
Edge of womanhood
Brother and sister BFF
Fleeting childhood
Undying love
Happy Birthday
To Ceci from Dad on her 16th birthday (7/01). Much Love.
‘When did you last see me’?
It was a Tuesday
I changed your diaper.....I can still smell your poop.
‘And then’?
You at four, your little hand tugging me into love.
At six, finger-painting;
my garish face splashed onto blank paper,
eye’s googly-bright like crazy suns.
‘I don't remember that’.
You at ten years old
when I dragged you to school
after the bullying.
‘Yea, you scared everyone’.
The long treks we took over moors and rocks.
Dawn til dusk, each trying to out distance the other,
until I would relent, and you would shrug
as if you were not even tired.
‘I wasn’t’.
Your sixteen-year-old smirk as you lied to me
about everything.
Your seventeen-year-old drugged isolation.
You, graduating inside of a camera I held up
to cover my face.
Saw you last, of course, at the airport,
it was a Wednesday.
‘Maybe I and the grandchildren will get
to America soon’.
Make it soon kid,
I’m running out of shadows.
A goldfish has a memory of about three seconds
Very much like senior citizens I'd say
They're often seen aimlessly walking the streets
Wearing their dear wife's negligee
A sneeze has been recorded at travelling over
One hundred forty feet per second
Fast enough to knock a buzzard off a poop wagon
An amazing feat without question
During an average person's lifetime, one will eat
About sixty thousand pounds of food
That's the weight of about six full grown elephants
Embarrassing to be seen in the nude
In Tokyo, I'm told they sell toupees for your dog
Come on, that's just downright bizarre
Way back, “pants” was considered a bad word
That's one of the strangest facts by far
Only one person in two billion will live to be
One hundred and sixteen or older
Wonder if these geezers are still sexually active
Does the fire of passion still smoulder
The longest flight of a rooster ever recorded
Was about thirteen seconds they say
Chasing all the pretty hens around the barnyard
Clucking, “ride 'em cowboy, olé!”
Did you know Ramses Condoms were named
After the pharaoh Ramses the Second
This gentleman surely didn't use any such protection
For fathering 160, he's a legend
If you ever find yourself in a crocodile's jaws
Push your thumbs into its eyeballs
The croc will scream and immediately let go
Then run away before you get mauled
© Jack Ellison 2013
I adamantly will not do them unless it is a necessity.
My sister is cleaning her house out, for when she dies.
I scoff at this, telling her I have ten grandchildren.
They will love digging through all the debris, collecting stuff.
But do you want them to see the mess? She asks me.
Why not? I will be dead and burned. It is not what I want to do.
So, I am not doing it. I hardly do my taxes, because I do not want to.
Of course, prison for people like me does not sound great, so I do it.
I am not about to decorate my house for holidays any more.
I gave my daughters all of my decorations. I do not care if they keep them either.
All I care about is not doing what I don’t want to do.
I do not clean or cook or vacuum or make a bed.
I have not done laundry in sixteen years.
My biggest joy is to not do what I don’t want to do.
I adamantly and consistently care about that.
Porch is hilariously messy
Anyone else would be ashamed to live here. I am amused.
Vastly and proudly amused; it keeps away burglars, right?
And salesmen.
Green striped hose, red scooter, pink Barbie helmet,
Fluffy blanket, mean cat, selfish dog, dead mouse in two pieces.
Correction.
Headless dead mouse in two pieces.
Fluffy purple rug, desperately in need of a vacuum,
pile of catnip, sixteen pieces of lawn furniture, we never sit on.
As I am allergic to Shark, the cat, and my husband is too prissy
to be out here with a headless mouse.
Waterbowls, green with algae, look like typhoid fever soup.
Golf ball, bouncy ball, blow up ball, deflated ball, bowling ball,
ugly faded pink flowers probably full of wasp nests, garden shears,
one green garden glove, two empty Amazon boxes.
Hey, did they deliver something else yesterday?
I jump up and take a peek.
False alarm.
Last week’s dead mouse.
I had forgotten I put it in there.
I would have more to add, but I think you get the drift
and I want a nice warm bath….
There was a young man of sixteen that was full of life. Never afraid of anything or anyone. He Loved spending time with his family and playing video games with his friends.
One night while at a friend’s home, he called his mom and asked if he could play a little longer.
Mom argued, it was a school night, but he always had a way of winning her over.
His friends only lived a few houses up the street.
His mom said, it was fine, but to call her when he was done and on his way home, so she could be waiting for him.
As the young man walked and almost approaching the front of his home, he saw a truck approaching him. Thinking it was his dad, he walked over to greet him.
There in the front sit of the truck, sat two young men and a young woman.
As he neared, the driver pulled out a gun and fired, shooting him once in the abdomen.
At hearing the gun shot, mom and her brother ran outside to the street to see what was going on.
Shocked to find her son lying on the street. She ran and fell to her knees and held him tight on her lap while he gasped for air. She yelled out for anyone in the neighborhood, to please come and help.”
Afraid, no one came out of their homes.
Later, when the suspects were in police custody, the police asked the driver; why he had shot the young man?
His comment: “Just something to do.” was his reply.
9-1-2014
I was 63 when I started writing poetry. I was encouraged by a cousin older then I to write. She would have me read and critique her work on this poetry site. I did make my own birthday cards for my sons and would write my feelings, but I wouldn't consider them poems. This was my 3rd poem written inspired by the cruel death of my cousins son's murder.
The Throwback Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
University was intimidating at sixteen,
But I decided to take the plunge, and join anyway,
A passionate bookworm me, fond of reading and writing
Prepared to leap in an ocean of knowledge!
First few days were exciting, joyful, but unsettling,
Until I found the irresistible presence of an amazing teacher,
Who with his sense of humour and booming voice
Won hearts of many, in an instant, no wonder mine!
He taught us literature - Charles Lamb and Eliot,
He taught us Virginia Woolfe, the mysterious woman writer,
He introduced us to her unique writing style - stream of consciousness…
I was captivated and got immersed in the world of creativity!
Literature, both prose and poetry alike, was my passion,
Hours and hours passed I stayed completely hypnotized
Listening him recite, the most compelling lines,
As if those powerful lines belonged to him - he was the owner !
A tragedy struck in my third year, when
The professor was going on a leave, and mentioned surgery,
But the next day we were informed he was no more,
This incredible personality had left this earth for a heavenly abode!
That was the first time I encountered death very closely,
And was shattered...losing him was heartbreaking, an irreplaceable void,
I felt his absence for a very long time, even now I do,
He left a lasting impression on the way I find solace in literature!
Susan and I met in the fall of ’67,
two girls in English class
who recognized each other
before we even spoke~
the way some people do
when they share a tilt toward
uniqueness,
toward books that smell like rain,
toward movies that linger,
toward clothes that felt like
small rebellions.
Friendship was instant,
effortless,
as though we had been
walking toward each other
for years.
Then life,
with its wide and wandering hands,
pulled us apart.
Graduation scattered us
into different futures~
hers across an ocean,
mine across a state.
She raised a family in Germany;
I raised stories in Texas.
Decades passed
without our names touching.
But fate~
or whatever quiet force
keeps track of lost connections~
found us again
through the strange glow
of Facebook.
A click,
a message,
a memory rekindled,
and suddenly the years
were not a wall
but a bridge.
Now we write the old-fashioned way,
ink on paper,
postmarks traveling
from Germany to Texas
like small migrating birds.
Her handwriting arrives
with its familiar tilt,
and I feel sixteen again~
the girl in English class
who knew instantly
that Susan was someone
near and dear,
someone who would matter
even if time tried
to convince us otherwise.
Distance is only geography.
Friendship, once found,
remains luminous~
a long arc of time
that bends us gently
back to each other.
Born in nineteen forty four
We met when I was sweet sixteen
We found true love forevermore
My precious love ~ my soulmate
Spending our whole life together
With precious son ~ our only one
Then creeping like inclement weather
The Big C came it knew your name
You were so strong you were so brave
You fought just like a warrior
But in the end the evil stayed
It drained you and it claimed you
When on that day you went away
December two thousand and eight
My heart it almost broke in two
Life alone ~ no life without you
Born today St Patrick's Day
You will be seventy seven
And I am sure behind that door
They’ll be partying in heaven
I raise a glass of your favourite red
Chateauneuf du Pape
Thank you for your endless love
My darling
My soulmate
My sweetest chap
Written 17th March 2021
Happy Birthday to my dear husband Frank who left this world too soon...
Contest All Yours (Mar 17)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Contest Name A Poem to your spouse on his-her birthday.
Sponsor Funom Makama