Long Spoil Poems
Long Spoil Poems. Below are the most popular long Spoil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spoil poems by poem length and keyword.
The cottage was no more than a shack,
But it kinda took me back,
To that place, I grew up and spent me days,
Livin and learnin, its all sort of a haze.
We was poor, but always had enough to eat.
Me dad was hard, and oh, me mum was sweet.
A good combination to raise a lad,
An I was mostly always happy with what I had.
Fishin and explorin just my ol dawg an me,
A good life, as it all come back to my memory.
For a kid not havin much, there's a thing to be said,
He appreciates what he's got, an makes do instead.
Most don't crave more that what they've got.
Ya see, poor kids don't really find they need a lot,
A pole for fishin, a log on which to sit,
A stick to throw the dawg, a few friends close knit.
To keep fit, for fun an exercise a creek to swim in,
But things all change when he grows to notice women.
Then its time to move to the big smoke.
Women aint all that interested in a poor bloke.
They like to be romanced and as you probably know,
That requires a good job to earn a fair bit of dough.
It was time I said farewell, I was off to the city,
Got a job and tried my luck findin a lass very pretty.
Now with the misses an our four kids, life's good.
I try hard not to spoil em, even though I could.
I am a happy bloke, take everything in my stride,
But I kinda look back on that little shack, with pride.
Sponsor Brian Strand
Contest Name A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE NO 1200
March 2023
He's never around when his wife
needs him and climbing the staircase
leading to the separate bedroom,
he falls and makes a boom;
he didn't expect to get caught,
Susy wakes up screaming a lot.
Lover of wild women,
don't you ever think about
your faithful woman who waits
by the window and cries
a river of tears and showing a frown,
she truly wishes you would hold her
on the coldest night
and end her despair!
Lover of wild women,
you have a beautiful family
and a wife who loves you madly;
oh, give up your adventures for their happiness...
nothing is worth holding on to if it's no win!
Make them your priority and you won't be sorry!
Affairs outside of marriage don't last,
a blind date with a stranger is a mistake;
women who chase after married men
can't find those single guys who'll spoil them...
be wise and turn around, go back home:
they wait for you, they need you there!
Lover of wild women,
don't shrug your shoulders
and think only of your pleasures
while your family gets ignored anyhow.
Can this go on forever? Somehow
it'll cause a sharp pain in your chest,
somehow it'll bleed while you're alone;
can those women give you any comfort?
The admiration of the little town is filled with goose pimples dancing in the ground, the wheat is mingling with the tares and bullets are flying in the air. The wind is swirling in the ground, and it is sweeping a toxic energy everywhere and it is wrapping its tail around the garden palm and the center of the eye is penetrating the apple tree. It is skipping from branch to branch spreading a message that nobody wants to hear but it has certainly cleared the air, but it leaves the town in much despair. They have to wear a brand new shoe, and will have to learn how to talk anew.
The eye keeps moving around the town, and the minstrel is dancing like a clown. The vigil has broken out in the street shouting messages that are very deep. The feeling is so profound that it thrust the people to the ground and send on the run, some hiding in holes other hiding in caves and others are crying but it is too late.
I have done all that I can do, but their stomach keeps growing and their voices keeps bellowing. I waited for my turn but I can just feel my spirit and my Adrenalin running a hundred degree way beyond my tolerance limit but suddenly the rain began to fall, and it brought everyone underneath the forbidden tent.
We have all gathered underneath the tent reminiscing the dead. Enemies and friend, those that attacked me, and those that cursed me gather together to shelter from the rain beside me. I can feel their conscience burning and fear of the unknown flaring. We docked on boarded stalls up stalls in dilapidated backyard right outside the commercial bank parking lot. The rain is coming down and everyone is walking around with a frown hoping that the rain would not spoil their Friday evening shopping and fried chicken jamboree. And here I am trapped in the middle of it. With my laptop computer elevated on a cardboard box with the wooden box laughing on top.
The admiral is cleaning up the town, and the message is just sinking in the ground, and the people are getting ready to move in. The game is moving from their head, and reality is showing up into their bed. The days and nights are getting shorter, and the admiral has finally got the job done and I could safely leave the town.
The calendar is no longer a friend, its messages are clumsy
numbers working with the clock to drift her from men’s fantasy
that’s all she thinks of, life’s self acclaimed orphan
with a lonely heart, she curses every evening and bellows
everything romantic is now a sent agent of her torture
a kissing couple, the obsidian of her own eruption
others in her league, happily live beyond this need
matrimony is just one viola-type in the pancy garden of life
she values their strength coming from whom are her spoil-sports
but a dwelling is without walls, if not blessed with marital affection
age is marking her as late, for the time to reproduce
“I need a man” she screams it, this vacuum is inflatable
the edges of her circle come closer and are almost in contact
it’s time for the right person to be her hero and unbend her lines.
Four seasons fill a year’s fullness of time
and fills the core of human shell and gourd -
in that season of youth’s Spring balm its prime
will reap the honied hive of years endured.
And golden Summer so brightly spangled
from whence its firstfruits cling the swollen vine,
lest it not plucked lays withered and tangled
only to fall a spoil buried in time.
For circles of life ring the culling tree
when Autumn its rich shedding off has cast -
so begins the end, a fading glory
in the long shadows of lusting days past.
Winter too, when the cold hoary bark wets
and the pale mortal sun upon us sets.
Written: May 2011
Unceasingly there is evil and malice in this world,
Waiting for the perfect chance to betray and corrupt.
Even in golden days, when all dwell in happiness and light
Will there be denizens of the night and of deep dark places
Where light is shunned and hope goes to suffer a torturous demise.
But as long as evil broods and waits in contempt of all,
So will there be champions of good and pioneers of virtue,
Seeking out the cruel shadows of the night and besieging their foul strongholds.
For in the days of darkness when hope has failed all,
And dread lords stand tall and pool their might
To spoil the land with filth and decay,
So will stand bastions of valor who defend the helpless,
And maintain unflagging morals in the face of wrath and despair.
With trembling heart, as an attempt I made
To leap across, he woke up with a start,
The heavy sword fell with clattering clang;
A scream so terrifying made me jump,
I saw me leaping from my bed, sweating,
A crescent moon looked pale in morning light,
I looked a weary sleep-starved man at dawn,
And heard poor Maher Ali scream aloud,
As was his daily custom while he strode,
‘Stand back, stand back', he yelled winding his way.
Such abrupt was the end of my first night
That awaited a thousand more of fright!
…….
A yawning gulf grew wide between my nights,
A worn out and tired me going to work,
Cursing last bewitching night's weird dream,
Yet, all new nights came pledging new promise,
Though shackles of my work were far from sham,
The nightfall would catch me in eerie thrall,
To overwhelm me with its potent spell,
Intoxicating and overpowering,
When I’d get reborn as an unknown knight
Of a bygone era, playing my part
In ancient histories which scarce were writ,
My modern English coat and breeches tight
Stood far apart from my mind's fairy role;
In red velvet cap, pyjamas too loose,
An embroidered tight vest, flowing silk gown,
What varied-scented colorful display!
Musing o'er an elaborate toilet,
I'd sit on a high-cushioned velvet chair,
A hookah filled with rose water in place
Of a usual cigarette and proud face,
In eager anticipation to meet,
Who else? My first night's sorely missed nymphet,
Black beast, pet aversion and dark secret,
But for that spoil-sport eunuch's blocking feet!
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana,
divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Angels danced and played the harp, singing "Oh, Happy Day" when Lucifer was cast out of heaven. A cancer metastasizing there; a rotten apple threatening to spoil the rest. Unwelcome and deceitful; a toxic threat to the souls of the faithful entering the pearly gates. God angrily banished the malefic beast for eternity. Angels laughed at Lucifer knocking on heaven's door. They danced and rejoiced.
a fallen angel
once good, turned very corrupt
cast out of heaven
Angels Danced Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lu Loo
Dates written and submitted: 08/23/2019
Sighs of melting breaths
Soothe my inner qualms
Reminding me that I’m loved
By someone who holds the key
To my heart and my dreams
Sparkling stardust insights
Whisper through my spirit
Revealing the purity and peace
That comes from giving my hopes
To someone who knows who I am
Gentle clasps of a pleasing embrace
Tug at my feelings of tenderness
Thrusting me toward the kindness
Of one who gives without conditions
And lives in a way that enchants me
Sweet temptation tugs at my secret desire
Beckoning me to believe in the joy
That comes from sharing such yearning
For the joining of souls, two into one
With this ruby band comes a promise of more
With this ring, I do wed my eternal inspiration
For knowing good things that will forever enchant
Initiating life within my deepest beliefs and ideas
Warming my essence with a soft, nourishing caress
Leading me through the worries that might spoil
*Author’s Note: I am getting married on July 23, 2020 on my fiancé birthday. Since his birthstone is a ruby I decided to purchase a ruby wedding ring. While researching the ring, I discovered that a ruby wedding ring symbolizes a “Union of Souls” and I was definitely SOLD!!!
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (7) any theme any form Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
July 8, 2020
I did not think I was hungry until I wandered into Grandma land.
She had a stack of light fluffy homemade pancake a mile high.
Already stacked on my plate, oozing in warm tasty butter and syrup.
I started to beg off, but then I saw her crestfallen look.
I picked up my fork and took a tiny taste, which was not enough.
You added corn! I shrieked, delighted.
I had not had corn pancakes for years.
Grandma knew they were my favorite!
No one made corn pancakes like she did!
Just the top two, she told me. Wait until you get to the second layer.
Pancakes three and four were peanut butter pancakes.
She watched me devour them.
I was gobbling my food so fast, it looked like I was in a pie eating contest for a new car.
Grandma, you spoil me! I said.
She was smirking and happy and so was I.
This was the best day of my life so far, eating with my grandma,
hearing her stories.
I cannot look at a warm stack of pancakes without thinking of my grandma.
And how thrilled she was that she had gotten me to eat.
I had been worrying my mother, with my starvation diet at the time.
I was twelve, and thought I was “fat” when I was actually merely healthy.