Long Socials Poems
Long Socials Poems. Below are the most popular long Socials by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Socials poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s get this show on the road,
The car's still empty and we can't seem to load
Susie's applying makeup, Jake’s playing video games,
Mary’s scrolling her socials, where friends call her names.
I want to get to the airport, I want to be
clambering into an Impressionist painting of the sea
Ride the chestnut ponies, get back to something real,
My kids are in a rabbit hole, they forgot how life can feel.
(Chorus)
We're on an oven burner, like a doomed toad—
So let’s get out of here, get this show on the road,
We'll ride wild ponies, neighing by the sea.
We'll go back to living, we'll go back to free.
It helps sometimes to leave a comfort zone,
Children connected to the whole world, but to me they seem alone.
The old ways had their wisdom, and a simpler moral code,
Let’s flip this circus upside down; get this show back on the road.
I am a dreamer tell you interpretation
I am single looking for my broken ribs
I am lonely need a company
I am skinny feed some milk
I am a poet eat my writes
I am a student teach me studies
I am an introvert help my socials
I am a preacher see my congregation
I am a teacher show the classroom
I am a son I have a father
I am an amateur swimmer I need a swim pool
I am an author read my autobiography
I am Holy Spirit filled I speak in tongues
I am a Bible scholar ask memory verses
I am born again waiting for trumpet call
I am a Christian I believe in Jesus Christ
I am a prayer warrior give me your prayers
I am a Shepherd with forty eight sheep
I am God's messenger send me to God
I am a clay baked in the hands of the Potter
I am a heavenly spirit being am up with Jesus
I am a basket baller I need a Court
I am a leader see my followers
I am a barber give a clipper
I am a flutists play you a lovely melody
I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE.
3RD PLACE
Andrea Dietrich
5/11/2020
Barn dancing, taffy pulling, bobbing for apples
Enters the girl with the red cotton hose
Riding in a wagon pulled by horse of gray dapples
Prettiest girl, girl of his dreams, her smile was ample
Asking her for a dance he's so glad he chose
Barn dancing, taffy pulling, bobbing for apples
So much fun those community socials one can't grapple
At the notion, meeting new people where love can grow
Riding in wagon pulled by horse of gray dapples
Fun in the hay all the way as they rode as a couple
Now more fun inside the barn my she has cutest nose
Barn dancing, taffy pulling, bobbing for apples
Bobbing for apples showing her how to grapple
All the way down, show her how it goes
Riding in wagon pulled by horse of gray dapples
So much fun with the girl in red cotton hose
Some day after love with her grows their child goes
Barn dancing, taffy pulling, bobbing for apples
Riding in the wagon pulled by a horse of gray dapples
My father moved from one county to another one for his father to manage a new farm. There he met my mother at a social and she was wearing red cotton hose.
Fredo got me and the gang
A primeval chord inside me rang
We went together on patrol
On the territory rebels had stole.
We saw him then, once one of ours
He tried to hide; you could see him cower
We kicked him, pounded till he was dead
It was a hoot, the blood we shed.
Then I noticed a creature further back
She was a human who I don't attack.
She shed tears and wrote in a pad
She had just learned that we could be bad.
She had bottle-fed me when I was a child
But a chimp is always part of the wild.
Can't blame us for ganging up on a foe
Its in the DNA, its how the winds blow.
My remote relative looked at his socials online
He noticed a trend to call Mary a swine.
He unfriended her, Mary gave a sob
Something primeval in the call of the mob.
Between Chimp and Man about 8 million years
We're still too close, it appears.
Some say evolution is not correct.
But why such an irrational intellect?
There are so many things in life that give me so much pleasure,
Family, friends and fishing all of which I treasure.
But having my ice cream fix, ah, I'm the happiest guy on earth.
Never mind that such ecstasy adds to my ever-expanding girth!
My spouse closely monitors the types of foods that I consume,
Concerned that cholesterol will bring about my early doom!
So surreptitiously I sneak about for my ice cream ration,
Fearful of getting caught and causing untold consternation!
I fondly recall as a lad the ice cream socials that we had,
When friends and neighbors got together with my Mom and Dad.
Bringing their favorite ice creams to mix in hand-cranked freezers.
Ah! Such delectable concoctions prepared by those old geezers!
A hot fudge sundae is a treat that I really savor,
Or a thick shake made with real ice cream of any flavor,
And every chance that I get I sneak a luscious banana split.
Am I concerned about those calories? Not one little whit!
Some folks relish sherbet, but I think that is sissy stuff.
They can have my share of that, but of ice cream I can't get enough!
When I cease to function you can etch upon my stone this theme:
"Nothing could make his eyes gleam like a bowl of ice cream!"
Now I'm not about to play DEVIL'S advocate I hasten to say,
But chances are you'll hear a DEVILISH expression most every day
The term "The Angel You Say" would better soothe my sensitive ear,
But even with utmost care, my ears can't screen everything they hear!
In attending the church socials, the utmost pleasure I find,
But I stand in fear and trembling with the good Lord in mind,
When I sneak a hunk of delectable DEVIL'S food cake,
Or eat too many DEVILLED eggs 'til my stomach doth ache!
As a youth I was a DEVILKIN as I traveled along the way.
My DEVIL-may-care DEVILMENT was exhibited most every day.
A caning with a DEVILWOOD twig ususally kept me humble,'
But occasionally into the DEVIL'S devious ways I would stumble!
In my youth fiery-eyed preachers scared the DEVIL out of me,
Ranting about eternal damnation vis-a-vis heavenly jubilee.
"The DEVIL made me do it" is really very suspect,
And is probably no excuse to qualify for Saint Peter's elect!
"Idle hands are the DEVIL'S workshop" so I have heard.
I suppose if we heeded that old saw, trouble could be deterred.
And if we curbed our dare-DEVIL race down life's treacherous road,
We'd have a smoother ride to that eternal and Heavenly Abode!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in Constance's "Bedevil" Contest - October 2010
Happy May Day, all you PS boys and girls...EVOE!
Squeeze a cherry and let it sit,
And don't forget to take out the pit.
Let it ferment,
At least a day as a rule,
To give it some zing
And a kick like a mule.
Do the same with the blackberry,
There on the vine,
Then fill full the flagons
With festival wine.
From cherry to berry
We'll ramble along,
Our cups full of hooch,
Our young hearts full of song.
Inside the tubs
The fruit still ferments.
Those juices have uses
To enhance our intents
To revel with Bacchus,
The god of the vine.
With each quaff of the vino
We erupt into rhyme.
Be it barley and hops,
Or cherry or berry,
Let flow freely the brew
Whilst we drink and make merry.
Tomorrow's regret
Is tonight's joyful song,
The flesh may be weak, boys,
But the spirits are strong.
Author's note: I'm just doing a bit of reminiscing with this one, dear readers, remembering all those Sunday afternoon "beer busts" and "ice cream socials" that added so much flavor to my university experience. Also suggested by a story on the local news some time ago about the theft of a great number of cherries off trees in a private backyard here. No evidence to suggest if they were destined for pies or, perhaps, spirits like Kirsch or Maraschino. A Wikipedia moment for those who don't know: Bacchus is the Greco-Roman (Dionysus to the Greeks) deity of the grape harvest, winemaking, and wine, and of ritual madness and ecstasy. He was a real party animal.
I plucked a nearly drowned bee
from the backyard birdbath –
I could not save her; she died
on a higher ledge where I
had carefully placed her...
she, fetching water
for her queen
and their hive – died as so many
other selfless workers often do,
for the greater good of a specie’s all….
Of course, most people, now
days, are far more singular
than that…
generally avoiding dangerous
service;
usually finding a way to let
others test the depth of waters
before they, themselves, take
the plunge, or venture toward
a precarious ledge;
I have yet to be stung
by a bee at the communal
watering hole, though swarms
have circled my bare hands and arms
while I dutifully attend the level
Sadly, I cannot say the same
for company meetings,
or even, church socials….
Why would I do this
What was in my head
My charmed life of bliss
Perhaps irreparably dead?
Yes I'm a fighter
A grifter of old,
I deserve a fate brighter
But on this I've been rolled.
Politics such a foul game
They claim I'm the one crooked,
But these hacks put me to shame
With actions deceitful and wicked.
Still you know what they say
When you're in the arena riding that bull,
Hold on tight and don't sway
The harder it bucks the stronger you pull.
Melania's not happy,
The kids out of sight,
While I may sometimes get snappy
It’s when I’m alone in the dead of the night.
Truth socials' my outlet
Where I vent and I rage
An invaluable asset
With my fans to engage.
For despite all my troubles
I'm still leading the pack
Supporting my struggles
They all have my back.
Biden is scheming
When the guy remembers at all,
In most polls I am far leading
Now he's praying I'll fall.
The media is gloating
With me as their lead,
In money they're floating
When Trump is their creed.
So maybe it's worth it
This journey of pain,
The path to outwit
And put these connivers to shame.
With me as your President
The US will be great
My abilities so undeniably evident
I’m clearly your best Head of State.
There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress
Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .
A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence
Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives
He never finished fixing that leak . . .
Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .
Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
-March 21, 2013-