Long Slightly Poems
Long Slightly Poems. Below are the most popular long Slightly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slightly poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, precious little creature, mine,
The joy you suffuse my life with is immeasurable!
I pray I convey to you in affection
And inclusion in all my comings-and-goings,
Just how dear you are to this human fool,
For I love you as I love my life -
The life I would give to save you.
Your warm, fuzzy smile is my sun each morn,
And your mischief is my compass ...
We find our way through the days together,
And your soft paws around my arm
Wend me to sleep every eve.
But oh, how my heart grieves so for you!
Oh, how the salty drops have traced my cheek for your sake!
To watch you each day at the screen door,
Or the window sill in winter,
Cracked ever-so-slightly for the air,
So your senses can ply the breeze for all its stories -
All the tales of birds and creatures, huntable,
That you will never chase ...
The butterfly games you will never play ...
The deep grasses that will never brush your whiskers ...
The textures that will never press your pads ...
The trees you will never climb ...
And the adventures that will unfold only in your dreams.
It is a torture that I can never know,
Yet my soul yearns to set your yearnings free,
And my heart aches for the passions and instincts I MUST deny you.
The dangers are too many, my dear little one -
Coyotes, foxes, disease, and a busy street,
All far too formiddable adversaries,
And I am forced, for the sake of your extended life,
To confine you to the world of a house cat,
And it sickens my spirit so,
As I know it crushes yours.
I pray you can forgive me, little one,
And that somehow, in the sincerity of my love for you,
You come to realize that it is JUST that love for you
That binds my wrists ...
That my love for you and your safety
Outweighs your freedom.
Can you tell, little one, by the way I look in your eyes?
Can you tell by the tenderness of my touch?
Can you tell by the way my voice softens
Every time I speak to you?
Oh, how I pray you can,
For I am so heartily sorry, little one,
And I love you so ...
Forgive me.
I pull down from the shelf
The beautiful box of treasures
Ornately carved
Warm, yet well worn
To the gentle touch of my fingers
There is no rush
As I sit in this cosy spot
The sunlight of memory
Like a shaft of enlightenment
Beams onto my cheeks
There is a brass clasp
That silently releases the lid
Inset with filigree, blue and gold
My favourite colours
In my favourite pattern
The hinges release the air inside
Like a happy sigh
A hug of acceptance
As a valued friend visits
After life has carved out years of absence
My eyes closed, I reach inside..
I find the sound of laughter
Forest light streaming through the trees
Jewels of picnics and Spring days
Friends I have loved and lost
I find endless Christmases
Warm Summer gifts of love
Painted pictures from children
Smiles from unexpected messages
Or kind words that linger
I find weddings and food and dancing
Music and poetry and photographs, old and new
I remember the holding of many hands
Small, soft, pretty, all different
Some tired and wrinkly (my favourites)
I find emotions that I thought I had lost
All gathered in this precious box.
Placed carefully,
Never broken
Always perfect and personal
I am slightly overwhelmed
(it happens sometimes)
For now, the tears can stay outside
As I close the lid, replace the clasp
Until the next time
This is a slightly revised repost but which was formerly deleted.)
I climbed the high mountain,
breathed in the harsh high air,
really relished the beauty
of the valley where you lived.
And all because it was a custom
to present a perfumed edelweiss
to you whom I loved
in those days gone by.
But you would have none of it,
rejected me out of hand.
I felt dejected and frustrated
but then remembered the old legend
how a damsel princess of old
the beauty of the vale,
remained nubile unattached,
for none deserved her hand.
Thus to her death she remained single
and all the men who loved her, wept.
They buried her high upon a mountain
and covered her grave with roses red.
But as spring came upon her grave
grew lovely white flowers whose scent
embellished the mountain tops,
and everyone agreed that
the flower should be a remembrance
of their love that remained a dream.
A flower all called edelweiss,
a memorial for eternity.
Bags all packed and ready to go?
I wish that were the case.
Tossed some clean clothes in the trunk,
With some things I can’t replace.
Won’t take time to be ready to go.
I don’t wanna see her face.
Leaving behind lots of junk;
Getting out of her space.
There’s some good stuff that you should find
At Saturday’s yard sale.
Cowboy boots, mechanics’ tools--
Nothing fancy or upscale.
You can have the gal I left behind.
You’ll get her better than wholesale.
Watch out, she plays dirty pool,
And puts her men through Hell.
Things with my gal were getting cold.
It’s time for some upgrades.
Nothing there was working right--
Need a new gal ready-made.
I want a gal that’s better than gold,
Without charades or masquerades.
Saint by day, sinner by night,
That’s easy to persuade.
(chorus)
I’ll miss my worn-in cowboy hat
And slightly worn-out clothes.
I’ll miss my rig and lariat
With the yellow Texas rose.
Counting all the things that I gave up,
You could naturally infer—
Though I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
I definitely won’t miss her.
Yes, I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
But certainly not her.
The brits most popular surname
Is varying each year
In 50s popular was Jones
Our time it is Patel
Nguen will soon take over Alabama
New Jersey represents Odessa Mama
Adolf exaggerating slightly bit
But humor this implies you learn Ivrit
Ivrit is Hebrew transliteration
All this the studies serves the healthying the NATION
System and Nature balance demands
If we attacked by ANT the servers
SO they are tasked
What do we task them with
Preservation of cultures important
Diasporas, gardens,
INDEPENDENCE at least
Teaches us dropping black white BIPOLAR
And solve problem
BUMPING OUR CYBER FIST
If you felt joyful
Your LIMIT would be met
The cyber is more clever
Do and
TAKE PART in OUR INIT
I think my problem is that to me love hasn't a definition
Love is a moment, a future, a scene
There is not one condition
Love isn't even always a human being
The door with white cracked paint squeaking
Door handle cold to the touch
Splintered wood floors creaking
A simple farmhouse yet there isn't much
Placing a new leather bible up on the fireplace
Next to the jar of wilted petals
Carefully placed on my grandmother's lace
Memories that don't sting like nettles
A slightly scratched record mumbles "Burn, Burn, Burn" by Zach Bryan
A candle burned down to the end of the wick dances back
Smoke graceful, looks like an angel flying
Staining the white ceiling, distracting from each little crack
My love comes back, boots wet from the morning grass
Still smelling like smoke and hay
Pouring whiskey into his favorite glass
A swinging bench lingering each morning we pray
Homemade bread in the oven, the scent weighing down this tiny home
The "just because" flowers catching morning sun
Hand made towels hanging on each handle, each carefully sewn
This house carries the scent of every loved one
The dog catching butterflies right outside these doors
Like how I hopefully caught loves eye
The grass as green as mine, whiskey warm as yours
A touch that doesn't send shivers down my spine, I don't have to ask why
Swing dancing in the rain
Laughing in the living room
Frolicking in the sun with this energy you just can't drain
Smelling the field of irises in full bloom
Love is the simple things
The things that just are beautiful without having to try
Love isn't something that stab and stings
It should hold you when you cry
Love is not desiring more than what already is
Love is what God gave us, it is everything we have seen
These lives are ours and we are his
First John, chapter four verse nineteen
An alternate track is via Illinois River (from
Chicago), to Mississippi, up the Ohio, and then
through the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway
(combination of a series of rivers and lakes
and canals), to Mobile Bay and the Gulf.
Commercial tug-and-barge traffic on these waterways is heavy.
Pleasure boats can also enter or exit Great Lakes
by way of the Erie Canal and Hudson River in New York.
The Erie Canal connects to Great Lakes at
east end of Lake Erie (at Buffalo, New York) and
south side of Lake Ontario (at Oswego, New York).
Statistics:
The Great Lakes contain 21% of the world’s fresh surface water:
5,472 cubic miles (22,810 km3), or 6.0×1015 U.S.
gallons (2.3×1016 liters). This is enough water
to cover the 48 contiguous U.S. states to a uniform depth
of 9.5 feet (2.9 m).
Although the lakes contain
a large percentage of world's fresh water,
the Great Lakes supply only a small portion of
U.S. drinking water on a national basis (roughly 4.2%).
Winter 2009–10 was somewhat mild, the precipitation
was below normal for Great Lakes Basin.
Mean lake levels are thought to be slightly below or
at their levels of 2009. An ice jam in February 2010
dropped the level in Lake St. Clair. Since jelly roll more 'in jam
was removed the level has come back to its average.
As of March 2010, the lakes were at the level, or slightly
below, where they were in March 2009.
The combined surface area of the lakes is approximately
94,250 square miles (244,100 km2)—nearly
the same size as the United Kingdom, and larger
than U.S. states of New York, New Jersey, Connecticut,
Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Vermont, and New
Hampshire combined.The Great Lakes coast measures
approximately 10,500 miles (16,900 km);
however, the length of a coastline is impossible to measure
exactly and is not a well-defined.
"Strawberry Kisses"
temptation
covert operatives
brush contact 99
coquettish Smart near misses
flirtatious crispness
in the velvet time sliding
softly persuasive
dead dropping
hungry ghosting gumshoes hubristic
dangling dripping words delicious
on tongue twisters
birdwatching the blowback
poiesis ripe
for swallows and ravens
chasing bell ringing
black buried au courant bluebirds out
better than late
Merry Christmas
lips for speaking
freshly plucked
smiles
succulent kisses
cool spooning
for the slightly touched
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
I have a cupid, all my own, he’s not the best around
I would have chucked him long ago … but he’s the only one I’ve found
His wings look like two dusters that have hung around too long
The feathers have no luster and the way they flap’s … just wrong
His actions are too stilted and his apathy seems vast
His bow is slightly wilted and his arrows are … half-fast
In many years of wishing that one missile might strike home
I had a premonition I would spend my life … alone
But then one day (as if on cue) an arrow slipped his bow
By accident it stuck in you above the left elbow
Well, that was all I needed I no longer was afraid
For my prospects now exceeded every prayer I ever made
I grasped the moment promptly just in case it slipped away
As my future fait accompli stood before me on that day
Now my Cupid keeps a quiver though his shafts are all but spent
Still I’m glad he could deliver even if by accident
And I won’t complain too loudly for the grief he put me through
I’ll just smile and thank him proudly for the wonderment … of you
The heat on the street more than I can take
hem hiked high above my bony knees
spread slightly apart so I can breathe
I sit in the stifling air on a stony stoop
there’s no relief from the panting
my face stained with sweat and bad luck
the heave of my heavy breaths work
against the sticky cling of my spandex dress
my ribs confined by the constrict of fabric
or maybe it’s the feeling of my shrinking skin
—yes it’s hard to breathe
I lick a salty trickle falling on my lips
teary eyes swollen from the violence of a trick
a john who didn’t see the beauty beyond
vivid blue and red against white skin—
my body like the American flag for Christ’s sake!
but in the back-alley filth nobody’s patriotic
scabs and bruises distract from needle tracks
people only see what’s on the surface
afraid to see a trembling girl
hidden beneath the grime of shame
and the crime of syringes and burnt spoons —
I’m afraid too — to see the girl in the mirror
a veiled child jailed behind the glass
no I only see the next knot tied around a pulse
I avoid myself— the addict in the mirror
my dope sick eyes haunted decades older
oh older than nineteen years of beaten misery
hollow dope sick eyes once long ago large
lustrous like black pearls
until found by furious fists