Long Snoring Poems
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Its off to grandma's old fashion cottage we go;
past snow covered pine trees all in a row.
To her humble abode adorned in holiday charm,
And two grey horses inside the red painted barn.
Inside a crackling fire warming- nothing to compare.
With flickering flames dancing with flair,
Mesmerizing grandpa with a hypnotic spell.
And up the chimney smoke bid's farewell.
Grandma's cooking in her colorful blouse
the smell of baked bread drifts about the house,
And Grandpa snoring, asleep in his comfy old chair
in a plaid shirt and head with no hair.
Outside freshly fallen snow- a winter wonderland,
With frolicking young children mittens on hands
playing with vigor on freshly fallen snow
Their rosy red cheeks fully aglow.
Carolers singing along the snow covered street
each one adorned with a smile to greet
With sleigh bells jingling
and people joyously singing.
The aroma of roasted chestnuts swirls in the frosty air
On Maple street near the town square.
The White Chapel's steeple reaching toward the sky
A glorious symbol to the faithful eye.
Inside the tiny White Chapel with lights burn bright
a beacon to the world on this most glorious of nights.
Inside rich harmonious voices with glory to sing
As flying wild geese with the moon on their wings.
The parson adorned in modest vestment
As the choir sings- a worthy testament
Outside its silent, still and calm
Inside the congregation seeks the Savior's healing balm.
Cheerful hearts gratitude they bring
patiently waiting to celebrate the birth of their king.
For it came upon a mid night clear
as their voices raise for the Lord to hear.
Inside grandma's cottage on this snowy Christmas Eve
snuggled warmly asleep in their bed
waiting for Santa's with presents filled in his sled.
Billy, Tommy, Freddy and Steve
Next to the fireplace for Santa to find.
A glass of warm milk and cookies to dine.
Upstairs Sally and Sue unable to sleep
waiting for Santa to get a sneak peek.
Christmas Tree lights blink with a fury
the children wanting Santa to hurry
And mom and dad quietly sitting
Grandma in her rocker quietly knitting.
Decorated stockings hung with care from the fireplace
Sally’s and grandpa's adored with red and white lace
photos of grandchildren that grew up too fast
Grandmother's cottage with memories of Christmases past.
Bricks through windshields,
Darts through hanging pictures of me
And cracks in the photos, framed on the shelf
But they're not there physically
My trust makes a run for the hills
As the rumors start to spill
And I already turned the car around in my head
But my feet kept trekking forward instead
But it's not the steps I'm taking,
It's the cliff I'm headed towards
And it's not the drama-club romance I'm exaggerating,
It’s the other half of the book that you're not sharing
Between you and the everest I'm climbing towards,
The upward resistance leaves me floored
Between the green and the grave,
Remained the notebook paper I gave to you in which my heart was poured
This isn't a conversation,
It’s a notification
I’m surrendering to the serenity within the nicknames you call me
It’s a sickness I’m grappling with
I’m pausing in the realities I keep flowing in between
For dopamine and admittedly for attention
“Maybe from a hospital” she said
The skeletons are snoring in the closet,
My last chance suffocated in a locked garage
With carbon monoxide oozing from its edges
But I am the room I confine myself in
And why does it still feel cool to be doing this?
Like burning cash for a paper tube of toxic ash
My inner child's praying for an ounce of rebellion
But why do I still think this is an appealing part of me?
I've lost my shield to the sirens
They haunt me with an insidious passion
Come to me with a plan and say “we're doing it my way”
You have an empty mind bank with a hose for a throat full of words to spray
Run to the hills and see if I care
There's too many to die on
Where I can’t see you defending me over harm
This isn't what I wanted
And I can barely even feel you in my arms
How far am I from going back in time and holding your hand?
“Maybe from a hospital bed” she said
But I am the room I confine myself in
And so what if I have to do it in a gown?!
I like to escape to where I can manifest things
And in a heartbeat, I could conjure a blinding linoleum floor
With breath in the form of beeping sounds
You couldn't even wait until I drifted away
You couldn’t even wait until I drifted away
YOU COULDN'T EVEN WAIT UNTIL I DRIFTED AWAY
AND NOTHING I COULD’VE SAID WOULD’VE MADE YOU STAY
But you couldn’t even wait until I drifted away…
when another (anointed as lady lucky)
resident renter bequeathed her bed
prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse
slept on the floor like dogs dead
tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves,
especially when tummies got well fed
and grudging adjustment per lying supine upon the carpet
did upon arising found aches and pains from head
to toes, yet financial shortcomings disallowed this Jed
eye wannabe to defer attending domestic chores,
cuz ma whole body felt like a Led
Zeppelin, and matter of fact oft times,
thy body electric,
though lacked no evidence of disease NED
for short, I near felt a need to relearn basic motor skills,
gingerly, and eagerly reached for
performance enhancing drug i.e. PED
which coded identification
exemplified the a rich color of red
this (and other) prescription medication
(about a half dozen total found me to sleep akin to a Ted
dee bear, many instances of snoring
thine wife claimed emanated –
probably no more than when we wed
if memory serves me correctly
twenty plus years a husband aye attest
and find peace of body, mind and spirit
most exuberant and best
cherished, when hen pecking wife (yup, this husband
got pecking, pock, puck size marks
to vouchsafe his sworn statement)
some visible on my slightly flabby and hairless chest
and if traced with a ball point pen,
the shape loosely resembles mount Everest
with evidence of what appears to be erosion,
but actually evidence of wifely cannibalism –
viz zit on par as with an unwanted guest
which at first found this pop (sic) hull
averse to share the same firm mattress lest
she arise like a flesh eating zombie
during the wee hours of the morning and taking nest
ling to another level, whereby teeth
and scratch marks sure testament asper a pest
stiff ferrous mate, this husband would sooner bid adieu,
letting fate guide terrestrial quest
that might incorporate undergoing
the electric kool aid acid test
perhaps buffeting this corporeal essence north west
or maybe the unforeseen sojourn
would spirit thyself to a distant alien nation
one where each day of soundness of mental, physical
and spiritual growth will be reason enough
to celebrate with élan and zest.
Autumn leaves and melancholy
The city park an Oasis for a lovers stroll
As the cold nights invade the city lights
Park benches, the hotels for the homeless
A vagrant inebriated man, withered
Drunk and destitute, no home to go
He lies listless, snoring on the park bench
Ragged clothes and a tattered life
Wake UP Wake UP
Shoved by the Police in the dead of night
You must move on old man
Or we shall issue you a court summons
Ah but where shall I go? he boldly demands
This is of no concern of ours old drunk
You must vacate this park now
We have no time for old drunk fools
The old man asks, and who pray tell are you?
I am the police, and your nightmare, if you don’t vacate now
Oh Police? Not officers of the peace? Here to serve and protect?
And who pray tell are you serving and protecting tonight?
Do not talk back old man
Worse things than a summons may befall upon you
Now move on you stinky drunk
As the story goes, the old man moved on, drunk and broken
The next day, no better for the wear
The old man rose, to begin another beggar’s day
Voices inside tormented him
Wounds from long ago
Today, he proclaimed time to collect his just rewards
His teeth ached, his belly hurt
He bought a gun, from the toy store
All he could afford
Off he went to the City Bank
Time for a withdrawal
Hand me all your cash he demanded
The teller whispered
Old man we all know you
You can not think to get away?
Why you barely stumbled your way in here
I doubt you can make it to your getaway bus?
- concern and compassion in her voice
He replied all proud
None the less hand me your cash
My plan is sound, you pretty lass
Fear not I mean no harm to you sweetie
At the door, those very same Police
Yelled drop your weapon
And so he did
As they pushed him violently to the ground
Sitting in the back seat, he smiled
Finally justice will be served
The Officer scolded him
You drunk, you will be locked away now you scum
40 years before, the irony of life was to be painted
The old drunk saved the life of a fellow soldier
Who had a son, whom became a police officer
Irony is the sadness that shall sink many a heavy heart
Now the old man, with 10 years in prison
Finally his country paid his dues
This old war vet, got his 3 square meals
His teeth all fixed and healthcare for an ailing heart
God bless those who truly serve and protect
It was late in the afternoon, it must of been about an hour that I had arrived
As I took the first step into the facility already I felt my body overwhelmed by chills
I stripped to the nude, and I felt as if the scene had touched me all over, their sight belittled me
I stood wearing nothing, eyes set their sight upon me, for they saw a criminal with no heart
They made me dress in orange
Full jump suit and feather-light slippers
I was escorted to my cell
Upon arrival I met my cell mate, Peter
The walls seemed to take life and spoke
Words of death I came to understand, and I feared for my mind
Insane I was going, for I began to hear voices of sorrow and broken hearts
The walls caved in almost and I felt death's grasp on my back
The clock ticked and ticked, every second seemed to turn into hours
Locked up where no where to go I recalled all of my fair memories
When the sun once caressed my face, lips and dreams
An animal I had become for nothing mattered behind those bars
"Lights out" and my heart grew weak
Not knowing of how to react, I began to see death as an answer
For if I died I would not have to live as a caged animal
Dark, lights had been out for an hour and again my eyes betrayed me
I saw thousands of spirits walking the empty halls
A million snoring souls slept
It smelled like death was walking among the spirits of the deceased
An awful sight, and I was trapped in it for the next 15 years
It was now the next day and I stood inline for food
Color was all inside
Brown I am for that was my ticket to group
Called horrible things, same sex predators all savored to my soft face
It was shower time and I grew in very much fear
As 100 men walked in nude to shower
I fresh meat
I couldn't bare it, so I entered not
I met my cell mate again in the recreation room
And all was learned
I was to be jumped in
And if I lived I would be graduation day
The clocked ticked it was again 7:45pm
My heart was beating really slow now
The men came into my cell with chains and bats
Guards stood idly by to my screams of fear
I saw a bright light in all the blows I was taking
I was drowning in my own blood
An angels hand took me out of my body
The clock ticked 8pm, may I rest in peace
Skylights warn and warm where acorns drip. The slight angle of acidity in the air can be measured accurately with a ruler or the nib of a ball point pen. Ball point pens are not really balls or points for they are pens and pens are prints, paint, and form occasional prisms in a paper whorl of scribbled ink. Of every hue. Fine and finer. And details outlying the plans are interrupted by a sixteen ton coffee cup whose snores cause vibrations then the liquid seeps over the edges and lands upon the written words causing much smudge marks. Suited earwig headed man with round glasses is not amused. Most perturbed to be exact. All night he had spent revising and crossing the t's and dotting the I's. And now it was indeed a rather sad scrawl of blur. Oh dear. Picking up the pen he walked over to the papers and spoke loudly in order to wake the cup. The cup was startled. What had it done? "you were snoring" shouted the earwig head. "you have spilt liquid onto my work. MY work is thus destroyed." To which the coffee cup gave a nonchalant look and folded his arm handles. Great thought the man. But wait are not those pieces of building blocks left from the babies ball banquet. Great they are. I can make a little model of what I composed on print. He began work immediately. Five seconds of sleep. Wow. Always astonishing how a window cloth can gather a stronghold over smears. The model began to take shape. It would be ready for the board soon. Remarkable. The thick pieces of plastic were soon assembled into formation. Overseen by a paperweight swan which glided around the desk hissing at the cup. And later the widow spiders would wave, the whales would walk, the wallpaper would wink and all the grounds would begin singing operatic arias and clouded liquids would clear the residue of a fallen road kill of a suitcase. Suitcases can look quite messy of left at the side of a road. Especially when they are run over. Splattered. The nylon wire in the air is humming today but isnt in tune with the birds. Ha the sentinels are sweeping the little play tent. Ha ha the paleontologist is playing with a patented patterned platypus. Xxxxx multicolumns z z z z z with a twist of a dormant doorman dormouse standing at over three thousand feet in a stable. Ok then. Interplanetary. Z.
Form:
I knew him before they shackled him to chair
I contend, none knew him better than I
He's tall, charming, quite an elegant air
An athlete lissom, a kite in the sky
What happened you asked, what so deformed him
Crippled his independence, left him ill?
The doctors said osteo-arthritis
But a disease is never its own cause.
I will tell you how he told me, listen
There is a madness meaningless in us.
The happy night I went to sleep, we lay
Like children in each other's arms, snoring
The cockcrow and bird call woke the new day
Fresh air and old love, and life adoring
Shall we breakfast with family today
Or to some lake, picnic paired, wander free
A vehement no, a tone for the fray
I rose for the bathroom, shocked at lost glee.
I would return in silence, let her speak
The calf gets more milk just by being meek.
One step from hallway and into the room
I felt a sharp pain announcing my doom
A shadow from behind a door, a groan
My loins exploded in my head, nothing more.
How long was it, I cannot tell, a moan
Of pity, a kinder hand to restore
Consciousness again. The back crumbled then
Degenerated more and more with time
Things smelling salts and linament can't mend
He functioned well in intervening years
Running, swimming, the ardent athlete
A few interruptions, grimace and tears
For wasted life and love and great defeat
You do not start from bottom starting new
Again, but from a deeper hole of doubt
A deeper fear. It crippled him he knew
Not how, nor how deep the scar remain. Out
Now, you must go; leave the great spectacle
The man who prayed without miracle
And yet still believe this end serves some cause
Some greater purpose than himself. I pause
To reflect, then limped away, the sick loin
Begins in the old sickness of the mind.
What could he not have done, the great lovers
He denied for honor, the high esteem
Of wealth and fickle praise, but love covers
More than faults in the mangling of the dream.
The scholar, the poet, the statesman too
Wears shackle invisible on the heart.
Love measures the height of what we may do
Yet men go all the way in, not in part.
See your great spectacle bound to a chair,
Crippled, defeated ... perhaps, something there
Strangely smiling, beyond the eyes of fear
He's tall, charming, quite an elegant air.
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
It was a Thursday afternoon,
and Katie was in school.
The teacher droned and droned and droned
about a number rule.
But math was not on Katie's mind.
She yawned and checked the time:
the minute hand showed half past two
and still had quite a climb.
"I wish," she thought, "the bell would ring:
this pace is far too slow.
If only I could speed things up,
if time would let me go!"
No sooner said, than it was done:
she heard the school bell's song.
The class released its prisoners
in one impatient throng.
As soon as Katie left the school,
she was at home — how strange!
It felt as if no time had passed,
which was a welcome change.
There was some action on T.V.
She settled in her chair.
The show was over in a flash:
Now, that seemed hardly fair!
At supper Katie licked her chops,
and loaded up her plate
but didn’t even get a taste:
too bad — she was too late!
And then she had no chance to play,
for it was half past ten.
She went to bed but barely slept
and had to rise again.
At school she was amazed to learn
that this day was the last
before the summer holidays.
The year was over fast!
So Katie thought of all she'd do
under the lazy sun
when winter came and put an end
to Katie's summer fun.
She got her skis and put them on,
but how far could she go
when sudden spring snuck up on her
and melted all the snow!
She never noticed when and how
she managed to grow tall.
She went to work and drove a car
but had no fun at all.
She hated calendars and clocks:
her carefree days had flown.
Poor Katie had no time to rest
with children' of her own.
She'd only changed their diapers once
before the wee ones walked,
and ran and read and went to school
and even rolled and rocked.
She knew that soon she would become
a grandma — old and grey,
so Katie screamed: "I'm still a kid!
I want to seize the day!"
But then she heard the teacher's voice:
"Your desk is not a bed.
Stop snoring, Kate, and listen up.
It's time to use your head.
I have a problem of a sort
that's tailor-made for you.
How much is left till three o'clock
if now it's half past two?"
I opened my heart
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven?
Our land is in FAMINE
Almost like that of the Israelites
I cried with millions
Wept for an ailing nation
Tubers of yam makes us yawn
Tomatoes puts us all in comatose
Bag of rice in crises
Garri soaking becomes a trend
I longed
I craved
For my Raven's miracle
I opened my heart again
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven
Raven miracle I seek
Elijah was treated to a royalty by Raven
Fetching him balance diet daily even in famine
He then drinks in a special brooks
Why not me God!!! I want my Raven miracle
Raven!!! Elijah's Raven
Raven !!! My own Raven
The creature with a shiny black feathers
Weird, mythical ...scary yet emit miracle
Smart, evil in disguise ... smells dark omen
Yet fetched Elijah three square meal
Largest in the crow family of birds
I opened again but not my heart
This time it is my mouth of hunger
Where lies my brook?
Where are thou my Raven?
Raven miracle I seek
My voice became stronger for Him to hear
He is my shepherd I shall not want
Even as young lions lack
And suffers hunger in anger
I shouted" I shall not want"
I receive by faith the word
And I started chewing
Pretending to be an Elijah
Behold, food was on my table
I found myself devouring chicken in full
On a table full of varieties of food to maw
But no one else was eating
They all looked hungry and fagged out
I got a disdainful eyeing...
I heard them hissing profusely
Yes, it was like that table prepared before David
The same table God prepared before his enemy
I got their message
They weren't my friends
But there was more to go round
Why become selfish ...greedy
I beckoned to them without uttering a word
They swamped on me ... on the food
Then, someone tapped me on a long chair
Those bed-bug infested chairs ...
" Brother Stephen... why are you snoring?
We are through with the service
Remember that fasting continues tomorrow
And bring along your Prophet offerings
The Lord be with you"
The white-bearded man bid me bye
My mouth was still ajar
Finding expression for my thought
Alayande Stephen T.
21st, August, 2016
A Story from the Sunday Service