Long Smaller Poems
Long Smaller Poems. Below are the most popular long Smaller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smaller poems by poem length and keyword.
Walking my Tiger home, if only I had known
in the small print of the sale there was a claws
in a nutshell it was leading to instructions about feeding
if I'd have known I would have stopped to think and paws.
Fur this big cat ain't no Vegan it eats food like Becca Teagan
in fact any living creature roaming free,
which fills me with disquiet since the Tiger's fussy diet
means the only thing at home he'll eat is me.
In retrospect, methinks I should have bought a Lynx
it's much smaller and so are what it will munch
if I'd thought about it sooner I could have got a Puma
since there's cattle up the road he'd have for lunch.
And what would have been much neater is an elegant young Cheetah
since they leave us human people well alone,
much much better than a Panther, that would not have been the anther
since all there'd be of me left is my bones.
So the motion I have carried is to go off and get married
and when the Tiger's ate and belched and had his fill
get re-wed to some more wives, they'll have short but happy lives
and they'll help me to keep down my feeding bill.
For contest 'Walking my tiger home', sponsor David Lindsay
“Time is of the essence”, we go through our lives believing it’s on our side, that everything that happens is part of our fate.
We waste so much time saying “il do it tomorrow”, until tomorrow becomes days, weeks, months, years and then it’s too late.
We spend too much of our time judging others mistakes in life, whilst all their glories fail to be seen.
All my wasted years, feeling small at the hands of another and another, if I could relive those years, it would never have been.
The pain iv endured and the constant heartache, time after time, after time and for what?.
To be used and abused by the people who wouldn’t even give you a second thought.
Iv wasted too much precious time on the wrong people, whilst my loved ones needed me the most.
Instead, all that was left of me was an empty shell, merely only the existence of a ghost.
All the times I ignored the calls from the only people who ever really understood and knew me.
I’d give anything to have that time back to talk to you, but your time is gone, and it can no longer be.
We encounter a lot of people, throughout this journey called life, some we happily let go of others leave a lasting impact, “the rare kind”.
Unfortunately, this world has too much emphasis on image, money, social status and competition. This is all that matters to the smaller mind.
For the job you spent years of your life, trying to gain acknowledgment and respect for the minimum pay.
You never realised how foolish u had been until your job was replaced within a day.
With all these wasted years, you think of all the things you should have done and all the things you should have said and didn’t get the chance to say.
So, you see, “Time really is of the essence”and none of us will ever know just how much, until we are faced with our final day.
Strike not the queen
Powerless is not how a woman Felt
When a man places his hands on her
Touch not negatively= hit/ strike her not
She's the weakest vessel and yet
Can any man give birth out of any of his orifices
That's a pain childbirth he cannot
Strike not Queen
Ever witness nor confess or contain
His hands bigger than hers his mouth bigger than hers
His chest bigger than hers and yet he will never confesses
A negative man that places his hands
On his queen Is not righteous
strike not the queen
She's Somebody's Daughter, Sister, Mother
It is no pride and overpowering a smaller vessel
The woman I confess it's no lesser
Her Grand Design she came out of man
And yet in turn man comes out of her
Keep your hands to yourself
Strike not the queen
There's no Pride in you who think you're powerful
And yet hitting/ touching Unholy mistreatment of a woman She's a queen keep your hands off her
Go to a gym that's where the punching bags are
So shall get you6 turmoil the pangs and the pains
You got no longer power here she endures in this so-called
Strike not the queen
Satan's world man should be denied should be embarrassed To comply to the negativities of the treatment of our Queens We should lift them up cover them treat them royally
For they are the best of yet for you are not a man
If you have to lay your hand on the queen they're not punching bags
strike not the queen
Remember this one thing God has hands too but it is with His mouth
It's the love of His son Jesus Christ who will speak unto you
Saving you so, He a loving God who forgives more than you ever know
Keep your hands to yourself
Strike not the queen
Turnaround repent put your hands together praise God
Open upthise fist reach high in the sky lift up Jesus
Thank God for a queen thank God for intervene
let's start embracing again
That's caress our Queens lift them up stop being mean
They came from God and us and let us keep them lifted up jointly together we embrace them in Jesus
You know what it means strike not your Queen
10/17/22
Written words by James Edward Lee (c)2022
You asked for no strings attached
So I pull at my lose threads
I feel as though I am about vomit
I don’t recognize who I am anymore and neither do you
But I keep pulling because
You asked for no stings attached
Each imperfection is another lose end for me to pull
…
I am smaller now I have shrunk down to half my size
Because you asked for no strings attached
Would you put me in your pocket and carry me around or would you put me in a box where I could never be found
Passing thoughts so I can ingore reality
The world moves on as I wind down as I pull the last thread I hear no sound
I see no light
I feel no joy
No pain no sorrow
Nothing but a shimmering light
I emerge from a tunnel with all new strings
Bound together by all that is me
I look inside the tunnel that I had left I see you pacing around what is left
A pile of thread that is no longer
Because you asked for no strings attached
He fills his syringe with poisoned words
pulling the letters one by one from his rusted spoon
They rise up through the needle in perfect order
"Disgusting" "failure" "worthless" "loser"
There in the cylinder they mix together
until they are a perfect black ink
Although he no longer sees the words
their meanings are not lost on him
As he injects them into his arm
he feels the blackness
Ink travels slowly up his arm towards his heart
At first he enjoys the burning sensation
as capital letters make way for the smaller ones
In the moment he's convinced they are lies
When they reach his heart
he becomes a true believer
By choosing to be less than he is
he occupies his excuses
The I can'ts and never coulds
The poor me's
All the reasons
he's not good enough
The words stack one on top of the other
until his heart is filled with empty
Empty promises
Empty dreams
Somehow this comforts him
He holds tightly to
It's not my fault
It's just the way it is
His is a waking dreamless slumber
only lies seem believable
So he injects another word
"Anger"
Then a question
"Why do others have all the luck?"
Someone who cares
Takes a silver spoon
Fills it up with better words
Feeds him nourishing words
Smart, tenacious, kind and happy
He starts with small sips
one letter at a time
in front of him a golden bowl
filled to the brim with phrases
"You are Lovable"
"Anything is possible"
"Your opinion is important"
At first he is convinced they are lies
Until they reach his gut
Until he becomes a true believer
Taking everything to heart
Satiating his empty
Now he can see beyond what he thought was impossible
His actions speak louder then words
His life is not a wasted gift
From this day forward
He's living his life to the fullest!
Inspired by Jai Bankson's poem "The Habit" check it out!
All of a sudden (upon
immediately arising refreshed,
whar these lovely
bones did not ache
getting shut eye lasting
amply time for
fatigue to brake,
long enough for tear ducts
to generate sandy granule
size piece smaller
than a Jimmie
sprinkled atop piece of cake
an inexplicable fanciful
notion gripped me
to circumnavigate the globe
(then during or after
write a poem or journaled)
possibly like Sir Francis Drake
who lived (circa?1540 –
28 January 1596)
alight to adventure found
yours truly though
no longer tired
i.e. once adequately
rested and awake,
(despite sleeping respite
did reckon asthma
second daily nap
no...no...no...,this not "FAKE)"
ah ran to the community room,
cuz sigh did hanker for coffee,
sans one of the (perky,
finely grounded, Earthy)
residents, who faintly resembled
a (Lake Woebegone)
Minnesotan from Land o Lake
did brew, filter, and invoke love
said coffee she did make,
tubby extra sure boundless energy
would keep me alert for:
long day's journey into night
and while walking briskly
(this took about a bajillion
orbitz round the sun,
cuz ah...unfairly small feet
for this opaque
grown man hoop ping to partake
of sipping a hot cup of Joe,
(despite the outside temperature
feeling like a bajillion degrees -
courtesy of global warming)
mouth (analogous to
the dog of Pavlov)
started to salivate
for desperate caffeinated
thirst to slake
after a couple swallows...
ah (no idea why butta)
Zarathustra channeled
thru me didst spake.
Heat, in the shade, with a drink and a parade - of graduates, blue and gold. An army sent out to take on the world. Proud. Politics takes over as the principal wields the pulpit. The valedictorian - smart and charming.
In the P.M., as the sun slowly dips, clouds cosset the next batch. Less formal and a smaller set of graduates, dressed in black and gold. At first glance less attractive in comparison to the morning glow. But this student body has heart.
The salutatorian blesses God, as her speech ends. The valedictorian tells us (them) to drive kind whether we walk or are masked in our cars. And the principal is student-centered. Oh what a wonderful man to have in charge.
Puffed chest. Proud of both graduates. Whether an individual in glorious and flowery fold or the everyday crowd, may God bless their souls. May they use all the intelligence, wisdom, charm and grace to bless the human race.
O my soul. My heart beats.
7/18/2020
Far below,
a solitary,
white cockatoo
is flying along the valley floor.
It seems lost, separated
from its flock.
It turns
this way and that
as if following some
scrambled map printed
on its brain. It is so small
and insignificant
set against the immensity
of these mountains.
I can just make out
the ragged notes of its cry
carried through
the deep hush walled
along its way. I hear
alarm and fear woven
into its constant call.
Now, it is getting further away.
I try to hold the sound's
thin tapering thread
by cupping my ear,
but now there is only
the whisperings
of nearby trees.
Its stark, white,
flapping form
is growing smaller
and fainter as it tacks
into the darkening reaches
of the afternoon.
A tiny, blurred speck
hesitates, flickers briefly,
then is gone.
I stand for a while
as shadows thicken
and fill with cold,
my eyes transfixed
on the point of its going,
letting it go
to fly with almost all
of my life.
“Everything I Never Said”
They called me quiet,
as if silence were a gift
as if it meant I had nothing to say.
But my silence
was never empty.
It was crowded
with unsent messages,
unfinished thoughts,
and feelings
that grew too loud
for a voice I never used.
I learned to hold words
at the edge of my tongue,
to swallow them whole
before they could exist.
Because the world
only listens to noise
and I was never loud enough
to be heard.
So I became smaller,
quieter,
easier to ignore
while inside,
I carried entire storms
that never found the sky.
No one saw
how my smiles trembled,
how my laughter arrived
a moment too late
like even my happiness
needed permission
to be real.
And maybe
I was afraid
afraid that if I spoke,
I would spill too much,
feel too much,
become too much.
So I stayed silent.
Not because I had nothing to say,
but because
I had everything.
Fallacious wars
The war in Ukraine disturbs me greatly
Russia invaded and invasion is as we know illegal
with few exceptions like when NATO attacked
Serbia, Bombed Belgrade hit the Chinese embassy and laughed about it.
Not to forget the invasion of Iraq and Syria and other smaller forgettable wars where the people got what they deserved.
But that's the way it is, two fractions can't be telling the truth at the same time and when they try to it is called propaganda.
Russia today will not tolerate NATO troops which
are The US, foreign legion, a war machine looking
for a war where peace might intrude.
The problem in the western hemisphere is simply due to our greed, wanting the minerals other countries have and scheming how to destroy these
places in the name of the political system we erroneously call democracy.
As we know, all wars a wrong, but some wars are
are wronger than others.