Long Slid Poems
Long Slid Poems. Below are the most popular long Slid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slid poems by poem length and keyword.
The words that slid across my lips
to linger on your ear
though well rehearsed
I feared the worst -
THESE ones you wouldn't hear
The same I love yous spilled from me
as I stood beside your bed
and as I cried
through half-closed eyes
you seemed to nod your head
A man of vast intelligence
and stimulating verse
you pardoned my
"simplicity"
preserving my self-worth
So splendid was your character
persuasion couldn't mar
Integrity was still to me
your greatest gift by far
A father of great sacrifice,
a husband kind and true
as mom recalled
she showed us all
how much she cared for you
The hands that toiled
on through the years
and never knew a rest
until your heart
refused its part
and followed you in death
You're not forgotten, daddy
your legacy remains:
To your adoration;
inspiration
I dedicate the same
My favorite cousin named Marge
is almost as big as a barge.
So one would assume,
not knowing the groom,
the guy would most likely be large.
But he was a small man named Tim
“As thin as a broom” describes him.
While Marge would guffaw,
Tim would watch her with awe
and just smile for he was so prim!
When the preacher addressed him and said,
“You may now kiss the bride,” Tim turned red,
for their lips could not meet.
With high heels on her feet,
Marge stood towering over his head.
She leaned down while Tim stood on his toes,
but for being in such a strange pose,
Marge then came toppling down
crushing Tim neath her gown
while the whole church erupted in “Ohhhhh’s.”
All was well, and thereafter, we ate;
then we planned next to dance until late.
But none could foresee
the small tragedy
that had us all leaving by eight!
Marge had tossed off her heels for a glide
on the dance floor, but when they both tried
to dance, Tim got snagged
by that dang gown and dragged
as his bride was beginning to slide. . .
Now shoeless, poor Marge could not stop.
Toward a table with candles on top,
they slid, and the groom
then set fire to the room
by landing with a belly flop.
Poor Tim by the candles got lit,
and we were all having a fit,
for the fire got spread fast
till the Best Man at last
got us all wet extinguishing it!
Inspired by the title of the movie: My Big Fat Greek Wedding
& : Joann Grisetti's "My Cousin's Wedding" Poetry contest
7/27/16
Who am I to kid?
Live
Don't fib
At times I sinned
All I did
Could not be forgived
Near and far from waters with squid
And other life having fins
A shot straight to the ribs
Burnt a bridge
Because my heart was colder than a fridge
And I was tired of people being glib
While out in the fringe
Never once touched a syringe
Because it is something I forbid
Always grew up kind of off the grid
Amid
A ridge
To be truthful I became unhinged
And started to daily binge
Which didn't help any kin
Or my chances of being able to win
No you weren't in my skin
And have no idea of where I've been
As the planet continues to spin
I don't know where to really begin
Which is why I'll continue to swim
And hit the gym
Before I slid
Back to the crib
I followed through on a whim
In the wind
Then heard the sound of a violin
After all it was no longer grim
By: Dalton Ogletree
The lake shaped rain puddle, hue of a wet cave wall
that drips limestone, distorts the captive sunlight.
The Sun becomes a gold-tiatian rose that floats.
The ripples are spiders crawling.
Daddy-Long-Legs. Like the ones crossing her bathroom wall, this morning, or threading their webs,while she showered.
The pond next to her Uncle's house buoys a blanche skin-colored raft whose cracks sift the wind, tickling her body.
And at Dawn, is an ornament on silent, still water.
The puddle mirrors a rain cloud moving and swelling '
til it bursts.Drops pucker the surface of the puddle,
that is beginning to rush to a drain.
Her mocha skin has pock marks.
She rubbed her forehead and chin with thick cloud-colored ointment, years ago. Her cheeks are RED roses.
The puddle, after the clouds have slid away,
un-bandaging a heavy blue sky, glistens like her scarred face after running in the storm. Like the wet newly paved streets,
near Home.
Students Shaky Sing-A-Long
***A bolted school bus amidst bobbing heads rolls downhill...
Fictitious dank bathroom basin bailing;
a mother's kiss and general list spelled.
That rickety school bus horn toots, trailing;
wide-eyed, groomed hair, texts deftly being held.
Screeched wheels, a slid-back hatch exposed wider;
scrambled soles win middle-bus-seating.
Too raw being back-of-the-bus rider;
skilled to be by kids up front eating.
The why's of school bus seatbeltless renown,
At curves, we skim, hands intently about;
all bumps we drift upwards plus swiftly down--
and stops, reeling forwards midst racked arms out.
Youth strums some ukelele from the back.
High schoolers commenced a sung melody,
immature head's turn, to a lull they lack;
savoring quite calm, grown in harmony.
We have reached midst raised spirits set to spark,
as choruses end, volumes collected;
concurring lives equipped to disembark,
ere consigned bell chimes--such is--expected.
A conducive school day has now begun...
while active minds, smartly stretched that wellspring.
School's demanding bus, stops, scored some rerun;
slid-door, as swimming brain cell's minds to sing.
~~ a ukelele freed from its case prepares to board...
2020 June 29
*1st Place*
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(2) any theme any form
~~Brian Strand
She is a story topper.
If your eye is quivering, hers has dropped out and slid under the couch.
If you think you are having a heart attack, she has had sixteen stints.
She is a story topper.
If you have broken your foot, she has broken her arm, leg, and neck.
If your refrigerator has black mold, two of her houses have burned to the ground.
She is a story topper.
If your man left you for another woman, hers left her for a horse.
If you got left at the altar, she got left in the middle of hell.
She is a story topper.
My husband knows better than to try to complain.
Because she is me.
In Favor of the Storm
The clouds are gathering in the distance..
They will be here soon.
The colors are important.
White, black, gray,
and mixtures of blue, gold and green.
The ocean has come to the sky.
It is full of water,
and the torment of the sea.
The fluffy softness disperses
in favor of sharp lines
and electric lights...
of all kinds.
The lightning flashes,
the thunder rolls,
and giants in the heavens
stomp, and romp about.
It is so loud now,
you can barely here a shout.
Small droplets,
large tears of rain,
balls of ice, the size of your fist fall,
and make all who are tall,
small.
The deluge continues,
until the crops have failed,
the mountains have slid down to the sea.
The people have changed,
and they are not the same anymore.
Some gather and cry,
while others look up at the sky... still.
The sun returns,
and with it...
a new hope of a new day,
comes with her.
Yet,
nothing
is
promised.
LIVING IN MUNICH GERMANY THOMAS MANN TOWN THE TOWN OF POETRY MARIENPLATZ TOY TOWN CHRISTMAS TOWN THE PLACE WHERE HUMMELS COME ALIVE WOODEN CLOG SOUNDS IN A DISTANCE UPON THE COBBLE STONE BRATS AND LARGE PRETZEL HANG BEER STEINS ARE SLID ACROSS LONG TABLES INSIDE ROWS OF TENTS OCKTOBER IS NEAR THE OKTOBER FEST APPROACHES THE CLOCK MAKERS GATHERED CARRYING NUTS BOLTS GOLD SPRINGS FOR THE COO COO CLOCKS THE WOOD CUTTERS SAWING TINY MILK MAIDS DANCES MATRYOSHKA DOLLS STACKED NEATLY WIENERWALD SNITZEL AND POMFRITTS GERMAN BLUEBERRY SKONES BECKON MY THOUGHTS CRAVING NAUGHT CALMLY I SLIP INTO MY LEADER HOSEN SIPPING A CRISP REISLING READING JOHN KEATS COMFORTED BY TIME THAT GOES BY
Black smoke rose in the Godless distance
Every eye widening like the morning sun
In all directions, the orange fangs glistened
the emerald spires melting down one by one-
They silently prayed their way to the water's edge
a stone rosary in the rapids, to a strip of salvation
from the other side the leviathan silently slid in
faith became the same for saints and for madmen-
The flames were upon them just before dusk
the nightmares awaited them in the frenzy of time
the flock hopped into shadows just beneath the froth
the desperation of many is the bounty for a few-
The stars played sax to the rhythm of screams
as the rapids slowly turned to petals of crimson
vipers cackled at the scene from the banks of indecision
upon a rock isle they clustered 'round the death of a dream-
The blue hills from the hazy horizon
undulated gently down the emerald gradient
of the rhythmic waves of the luring landscape
that carved the contours of the charming hamlet joyful
where my endearing home was once cradled,
nurturing me in the bounty of beguiling nature.
The fairy flotilla of the cotton clouds,
making seraphic celestial panorama, slid silently
upon the curved canvas of the sapphire sky,
where my childhood joy soared to great heights
with the colorful kites I loved to fly.
A gleaming stream of shining liquid pearls
flowed with flamboyant facade of silvery splendor,
bedecked our house with an ornate garland
of a lilting loop of embracing meander.
On its water I floated rainbow-tinged paper boats
that sailed with my mariner mind
to a distant dreamland of teenage fantasy.
The boats have disappeared with the ebb of time,
I live lonely with the reflections of childhood.