Long Spiff Poems
Long Spiff Poems. Below are the most popular long Spiff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spiff poems by poem length and keyword.
I wake in darkness lazily and loll around in bed,
Just sifting through the rhymes that prance around inside my head.
The dawn cracks open like an egg’s prize plop into a bowl;
I scramble up to start my day and now I’m on a roll.
What joy to delve into whatever book I might be reading.
I’m coddled in the covers, all the comfort I am needing.
Two chapters down, my sunny side is ready for the day.
I head to my computer, see which comments came my way.
When that is over, easy – time for juice and getting dressed;
Three minutes later – out the door – an early walk is best.
My breakfast waits when I return and, too, The New York Times;
Hard-boiled reporters nail the news of politics and crimes.
With coffee down, I shower and spiff up, for all is well;
The morning is behind me, like the remnants of a shell.
Ilene Bauer
August 8, 2012
For Francine Roberts' "A Couplet Morning" contest
Alluring beauty and soul-lifting smile on her face; Glittering natural hair coiled inside her golden kente scarf.
Her perfectly shaped legs in her stunning faded blue jeans. She’s beauty defined!
carefully moulded nose on a wonderfully formed face ,her beauty Tops all!
Her presence is a scene worth taking a glimpse and a beauty that needs to be seen by all eyes.
The burst of her blooming giggling and spasmodic laughter mutes all boredom , spiff up my day and permeates my soul.
Beauty is motivation,She’s inspiration,
She’s a blessing; Endowed with beauty like no other , inspired by a God above all others and motivated in his words for always.
Beauty is here with me; Iaughing at my jokes,
Wearing my cloths, reading my poems,
arguing with me, and walking by my side invading my horizon with her sacchariferous fragrance.
Beauty is a blessing ; the perfect definition of a virtuous woman described in the Good Book.
Beauty is euphoria, She’s is my only other self,
An answer to a prayer from up above.
Now beauty stole my name ! No worries cause her heart belongs to me ;wielded on the walls of mine.
Beauty never fades as she grows old, she’s just seals it in her heart and expresses it in deeds.
I Wake up every day knowing beauty lives on; and she, will forever hold a special place in the organ that pumps my blood.
Down the faithful brick stones he goes with his favorite monkey Spiff
through the alley where twilight glints soon turn from pinkish to gold
beneath a yawning sun. Bringing forth a new day, Tee Hee the nonpareil of his industry is an enigma to the passing crowds. An unravelled mystery that shows up at the break of dawn, and plays until the torches of a liquid day pour into lunchtime. Then the chink chink of coins arrive. At the drop of a hat they both perform, for the sake of a handful of coins.
music is the haven of Kings
an organ grinder's swing
and a monkey's right wing
A little orphan girl comes around with a small calico blue pie
that she found in the dumpster both broken and mushed to the pulp.
She sits herself down and with eyes round as frying pans she watches
as the monkey brings the hat to his nose to chase away her woes
Thrown like a star into a vast sleep
she opens her eyes to take a peek
Gazing at tranquility she falls in deep
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he plays on, as if it were his song
"Roly poly, roly poly, holy poly poly" he sings on
All the street clowns disappear, and as time stands still,
a young beating heart listens,
for the sound of a cranking pipe organ, while a savvy monkey
who knows his worth, quietly rakes in a small fortune.
Visit a place where you’ve not been before
And the first thing you face is the sturdy front door.
Of fiberglass, oak, tempered glass, even steel,
The entryway should have a certain appeal.
My country home door, though, was streaky with rust.
The paint was all puckered, the cracks filled with dust.
The glass in the windows no longer got clean;
My husband was tired of changing the screen.
So I finally gave in and we got a new door,
A portal to spiff up the entry décor.
It isn’t embellished, just simple and plain
But it’s neat, a condition I hope to maintain.
When visitors come, they may notice or not
For most likely, the old one was one they forgot
But I’ll welcome them all with the door opened wide
And embrace every one that I usher inside.
In the middle of the night
When I can’t get back to sleep
All these grandiose ideas
In my wired brain do creep.
I will clean out all my closets.
I will rearrange each drawer.
I will freshen up the furniture
And spiff up the décor.
I will organize my poetry
To fit into a book
And the children’s tale I’ve started
Will get more than just a look.
I will sit and read the travel guides
I’ve purchased for a trip.
I will self-impose some discipline
And really crack the whip
In the morning, though, reality
Comes crashing with a thwack.
The enthusiasm 2 a.m.
Inspires won’t come back.
Detailing leaves of golden spiff
I lean up close to take a whiff
of turmeric colored leaves sublime
and skies of ruby reds sweet wine
Engaged upon the breeze my touch
awaits the pinnacle's non such;
Sharing space with a painters brush
I sketch a new horizon's rush
on a canvass virgin without blotch
envisioned scenes of yellow scotch
while up above the skylark soars
on sweet November's wing adore
Inhaling salt and sea I breathe
the very things of me that seethe
embroiled in art to hearts content
I hear falls bitter sweet lament
she doesn't want to touch the snow,
nor lose her natural bronzing glow.
November 26, 2020
Lay November Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Eight syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
The pictures on my walls have not
Been changed for many years.
I’m stuck with what I have
Or that’s the way that it appears.
My furniture is old as well;
Things rarely get replaced.
I like the way it looks because
It’s all done to my taste.
My husband wants to chuck it all,
To spiff and modernize,
But I can’t see the end result
That’s there before his eyes.
It’s hard for us to compromise
For I’m averse to change
So upgrades don’t excite me
Which, to many, must sound strange.
I wish that I could bend a bit
And be a little bold
By bringing in a few new things
To mingle with the old.