Long Skip Poems
Long Skip Poems. Below are the most popular long Skip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skip poems by poem length and keyword.
I will abide till eventide
Hoping once more you’ll come
I'll sing a song and skip along
The wind my steps to guide
I’ll wink at stars and kiss the moon
Pretending it's your face
I’ll lift my eyes to heaven’s grace
And hope your coming’s soon
I’ll wonder here, I’ll wonder there
Make all of nature sing
I’ll scatter glitter from my wing
For you, I've much to spare
I’ll let my hair cascade and flow
Let the breeze carry the scent
I’ll bask in moonbeams much content
You’re coming, that I know
I will abide till eventide
For soon t’will be that time
When into loving arms I’ll climb
And in your heart reside
Eileen Manassian Ghali
It's something that's always there.
Can't shake it off, follows you... everywhere.
Something doesn't go right... down and out.
In the end... Hope... things will turn about.
Hope is the soul's beacon on a dark night.
The keep striking... until the spark starts the light.
Hope is dreaming the dream... never wanting to wake.
Hope is blowing out the candles, on the cake.
Hope is about getting back up... to try again (and again).
Hope will always be there... through thick and thin.
Hope is like time... clock-work and always marching on.
It's a surprise... to make an appearance right before dawn.
Can't be measured by no tool or chart.
Achieved... skip the beat of a heart.
Hope is the shadow, even on a cloud day.
An unspoken promise.... never... to be taken away.
The house and barn have surrendered,
burrowing under the loose dirt of the sun.
Echoes run from house to barn, from barn to house,
a ritornello hurried along on the skirts of the wind.
Dust muffles yet imprints step and skip,
a written ergot that still keeps a voice
in the stillness. Laughter
trembles rafters, the faintest sound
stirs up bygone quotes and responses.
In the ruined barn, decay finds its language,
children still run here.
A transmission has leached from puttering feet;
it rattles the bones of embalmed mice.
A soundtrack of texture
running from barn to house – from house to barn.
But Today Is Not That Day
Kevin Davis 2025
The day may soon come when I cannot walk unaided,
when I need help tying my shoes.
The day may soon come when I can’t pull on my socks,
or even slip my pants on by myself.
The day may soon come when I can’t shop on my own,
or sit in a restaurant and order for myself.
The day may soon come when I need help preparing food,
washing dishes or folding clothes.
The day may soon come when I forget my wife’s birthday,
our anniversary, or even Christmas morning.
But today is not that day.
I can wander through my house, and I’ve got slip-on shoes that wait for me.
But today is not that day.
I can skip the socks if I choose and still pull on my pants one leg at a time.
But today is not that day.
I can shop with an electric cart— my own, tucked neatly in the trunk of my car.
But today is not that day.
I can make a sandwich, load the dishwasher and do most things that need doing.
But today is not that day.
I still remember the dates that matter— appointments, birthdays, refills, and love.
So, until that day comes,
I will live this life wide open. I will greet each morning with a smile.
So, until that day comes,
I will be me—myself, my soul— and live the best I know how.
So, until that day comes,
I’ll love nature, life, and my wife, and let tomorrow take care of itself.
One day
Good day
Young girl
Sweet girl
Who dream
Not scream
To be
And see
Herself
Not shelf
Fulfilled
Not chilled
Tumble
Not fall
Jump high
Aim high
Gyrate
And skate
To learn
Not spurn
Toe loop
Not hoop
Flip jump
Loop jump
To flip
And skip
Upright
Spin right
Then edge
Not wedge
Half turn
Not burn
Biellmann
Spin wan
Lutz jump
Not hump
Lay back
Not sack
Spiral
Tidal
Axel
So well
Twizzle
Dazzle
Camel
Not swell
Salchow
And show
Quick toes
Strong toes
Brave heart
One heart
Skating
Swirling
With pride
Not hide
A dream
That stream
And seen
On screen
Skater
Blazer
Bow...
Wow!
The Hill of Howth During Horse Show Week 1972
June 16 is Bloomsday when in a world defying time
which stately fat Buck Mulligan starts off with a swim
and Stephen Daedalus feigns teaching and plays with his
senses on the sand and Leopold Bloom goes to Paddy’s fun-
eral at Glasnevin, eats a gorgonzola sandwich, drinks a burgun-
dy, and bu-bu-belches gloriously before Gerty McDowell puts on
a show on a shore and in the afternoon Blazes Boylan gigs gigs gigs
to Molly Bloom to picnic on Plumtree’s potted meat and other comes-
tibles but she the eternal female gets the last words of flowing memory
and desire and yes Leopold may find a new fatherhood which Stephen
more snot than son may still sneer at because it’s already another day
and that’s what you do to time in fiction unleashing again memories
of what books do to readers I wonder, Ron, what’ll you be reading
this year but thinking I’ll skip the cheese and quaff Guinness or
sip bourbon instead but still I will be remembering the Hill of
Howth was magic in the soft evening air of the horse show
when Sally and I rode up there for drinks and a night’s
cup of talkin’ with Charly Stefan and his lovely wife.
Light a candle
Take a deep cleansing breath
Get ready for the ritual
To free your soul
Whatever is troubling you
Pour your heart out
On a strip of paper
Don’t skip a word
Spill it out
Hold nothing back
Fold your troubles
As many times over
As you possibly can
And say goodbye
Like you mean it
With sincere intent
Offer your sacrifice
To the open flame
Watch it 'disintegrate'
Into ashes
As you let go 'for good'
Let trust build
Feel your heart
Make room to welcome
Something better
Be grateful
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on April 4, 2018 for contest CHANGING THE MIND'S DIAPER sponsored by JOHN LAWLESS - RANKED 4TH
Poet, the Alchemist of prose
magician, conjurer, word flows
vivid imagery, life sublime
illuminating minds through time
a poet’s imagination
Sweetly words lie in hallowed rows
casting and themes, a story grows
or rhyme and skip along a page
Poet, the Alchemist.
Perhaps a poet’s holy grail
write one poem that might entail
philosophy, enlightenment
that would be an accomplishment
non-fiction, not a fairy tale
Poet, the Alchemist.
Entered in NA rerun-2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
5th Place with thanks
Entered in "Rondeau Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Written 25/07/2019
Honourable Mention thank you
She wants words?
Romantic words to squeeze out a smile from her heart,
And diagnose the functioning of her left ventricle?
How about we nail her to her own cross?
Ropes secured,tight and stronger than her teeth;
We'll tie round her limbs like a frog made ready for an experiment;
We will need a blindfold to send her into a dark moment,
Where,her mind can skip a bit to worlds unknown and afar;
A burning bush without smoke she will see-
A replay of the Exodus Moses' scene;
But then,the drumming within those flames and the chanting and rejoicing;
And the cry of cows and goats under slaughter,
More like that of her mother while Olliver's head got stuck in between her legs;
And finally,the smell of blood! Fresh,human blood dripping from her head,
Like a drill had been made into her skull like a water pump;
The shower with blood,a dressing for sacrifice!
And the taste of fresh human blood,
Disgusting that the same flows within her!
Still trapped in the worlds unknown and afar,
She screams and screams,
Mummy,mummy,mummy!
But her mother did not travel with her;
Her chest gets stuffed up like a congested nose in a cold;
And the pounding of her heart alerts the universe she's in danger
For it shakes the ground like an earthquake,
And before we sink into the earth with her in our hands,
Loose like untethered goats,we set her free from the terrific prank!
To go out and testify,
That romance isn't the only marker for diagnosing heart failure,
But also four letters used to make one word,
FEAR,
The theme around which nightmares form,
The major weakness of man, devil's tool!
Marsh yellow marigold, purple water iris,
and salmon water spider lilies grow
against the edge of the large pond
filled with cool spring water,
fed from underneath the earth.
Beneath the welcoming cool shade
and dapple-gray shadows of a tall black willow
I stand embracing peaceful comfort.
I close my eyes and inhale the sweet fresh air.
I Bend down, pick up the perfect stone;
with a steady aim, I throw it.
In impact the stone makes a splash,
a resounding plunk.
I watch it skip across the pond's surface making
glimmering ripples.
Observing the ripples;
an album of daydreams opens up about the past.
Moments of clarity and purpose, of secrets,
pain and healing, bringing alive hope,
and love that entered my heart.
In hand, I held a pebble of my life that could
have so easily been thrown away.
3/21/2022