Long Stall Poems
Long Stall Poems. Below are the most popular long Stall by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stall poems by poem length and keyword.
"Love from the Heart of a King"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Do you “Remember the Time”
When I couldn’t get you out of my mind
You were just “Another Part of Me”
Not just like “Billie Jean” you see
And I never wanted to say “She’s Out of My Life”
Because only a “P.Y.T.” could become my wife
I wanted the ultimate “Thriller,” and you were so “Bad”
And I never felt like a “Stranger in Moscow,” I’m so glad
Don’t you remember when we met, “Dirty Diana” wanted to take me to the stall
But you, and only you, had what it took to make me get up “Off the Wall”
So there was “Blood on the Dance Floor,” but I did not care
All because you always said yes when I asked, “Will You Be There”
You never told me to “Beat It,” you never made me “Scream”
You never cared about “Black or White,” or demanded me to “Jam” while on your team
You only wanted the truth, that’s all you told me to ever do
You tried your best to “Heal the World,” but I just wanted to “Rock with You”
But, as you already know, “They Don’t Care About Us”
I guess it’s just “Human Nature,” there is nothing more to discuss
Just remember that “You Are Not Alone”
“The Way You Make Me Feel,” keeps me near the phone
Only that way can the “Smooth Criminal” feel superior
How do I know, I simply asked the “Man in the Mirror”
I walked along route 58
There was Mumbai dreams and Harbor Freight
A hippie guy sold sunglasses from a stall
One had a rosy tint, I paid 5 dollars, that was all.
There was a warning label with it, I threw it away
Who needs all the fine print, what could it possibly say?
I looked at the traffic, it was stop and go
I slipped into a side street, out of the flow
The noise of cars faded, as I walked up the hill
Then I saw a big house, I remember it still.
It was painted pale blue, the windows had white trim
Carved railings outside, bright lights within
There were children on the swing, and birds in the air
Their Grandma on the porch rocking on a chair
The lilacs were purple, the flowers dark red
A pony was grazing beside the garden shed.
I walked through nearby woods, got home very late.
That night I told my brothers about this path off 58:
I said, "you got to come; on me you can depend."
Next day they came with me, past the sign that said, "dead end."
I left my glasses home that day, they had a hippie vibe
The shape was like John Lennon's, not my brother's tribe.
My brothers are right wing, and I didn't want them to rebel,
To get them off the beaten track is always a hard sell.
The house was there alright, but the grass was wild and high
Boards were cracked, windows broken, I had to rub my eye.
I sheepishly looked back, they joked, I felt the sting.
Then I waded through the grass, found a broken swing.
I've worn my glasses since, my reality was augmented
Everything looked better, it made me seem demented
I became a radical and shouted world peace couldn't wait.
I marched for no more police, and an end to the state.
Everything looked so rosy, all we had to do was try
My brothers couldn't take it, couldn't understand why.
Many years later, I dropped the glasses in some grass
A football player ran over them trying to catch a pass
The rosy hue was gone, and I finally understood
Too much glamorizing detracts from what is good.
So now I wear bifocals, read the fine print in every dream
We must focus on what is, not on what might have been.
Harland had had enough
Twenty-three years of racing
Twelve years of giving children rides on his back.
Today his master said there would be no more rides.
They were giving him a good home. He fed him an apple.
Harland knew what kind of home it was.
He had heard about the "good home" from his cousins
Who went, and did not return in flesh form.
Only in spirit form. He nudged master for a second apple,
which he was also given.
The so-called good home was no home at all.
It entailed making room for the new horse who
had been led into the next stall secretly last night.
That poor young horse that had no idea how boring his life was
going to be for the next thirty five years or so.
Because he knew his owner was not wise enough to
pick up on it, Harland stuck his tongue out at all of them
before they led him out to the woods.
After the loud gun shot, he found himself in spirit form,
and was thrilled to see all of his cousins, brothers and sisters,
mom and dad by his side.
If he had known how wonderful the good home was, he
would have come a lot easier, and he would have never
stuck out his tongue. He began to race his cousins, flicking
up his tail, energetic, and proud, young again, and loving life!
Autumn Fire
About the time August loses ardor – melting into her – she awakens!
Unabashed is she, Autumn’s uncommon goddess, unfolding herself for all to see.
Thrilling to wind’s tempting tempo, she flutters, touching the twilight tangerine.
Unflaggingly, she undulates radiance through trees before their final undressing.
Moved by a mysterious melody, she meanders in meadows and in mists.
Nuances of feelings come to us when we hear its sometimes melancholy notes.
Filling with fall fever, she fuses sky with terrain, flashing flames of persimmon.
Infatuated with her own imagination, she has ignited the world in iridescence.
Red, russet, and gold enrich our world; we behold her ravishing array of artistry.
Exquisite is her passion as she enraptures us. Everlastingly may she reign!
A Quintain About a Fall Poem
A contest that I got N/A in had inspired me
to write a new acrostic, and I did not want to stall.
Personifying autumn, I used some imagery
to portray the splendid beauty of fiery fall.
Of my last month’s poems, I felt it was the best one of them all.
Poem #1: N/A poem in the Autumn Fire Contest posted & judged 10/27/16
Reposted 11/18/16 for Broken Wing's Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please - 3 (NA's from September, October, November 2016 Contests)Poetry Contest
I remember crying in that washroom stall.
After they broke down my strongest wall.
They read aloud my crush in my journal.
Made me so embarrassed without console.
I remember dying a little on the inside:
Every single time my circuits would override.
They, my family, would save me everytime.
Made me all the more grateful for their time.
I remember how every funeral made me feel.
Over time I come to know death isn't real.
They watch over all of us for a while,
Until they must be reborn phoenix-style.
I remember seeing a shadow of a hat man.
Though I was scared back then,
I look back, and consider him an old friend.
Maybe I'll go as a shadowkin in the end.
Old Granny Glitch would twitch and snitch.
We'd shout, "Oh, no! Just ditch the glitch!"
She'd stall the clocks and jam the doors,
Undoing what we all worked so hard for.
She'd pop an error into our smooth routine.
Scatter crumbs through every polished theme.
A pesky clean-up— clumsy, costly, slow;
Yet showing flaws we'd never ever know.
When one small pause became a clue,
The glitch invited us to look anew.
It opened a crack to let the daylight in;
Revealing new tricks hidden within.
"Don't ditch the glitch," she softly smiled.
"I've only snitched what your certainty beguiled."
"For bold confidence can make one blind."
"When fresh glints ignite a curious mind."
She broke our stride, disturbed the flow.
Yet it showed what constancy could never know.
A hitch, once noticed with great care,
Awakens new questions left waiting there.
Now Granny Glitch still hangs about,
She chucks our neat conclusions out.
For every hitch, shifts the pitch—
So we pause.... before we ditch, the glitch.
Having learned to swim fairly late on
be about my early 30s that are in age
I had a fright with water at preschool
being thrown into water made me real rage
So when I did learn to really swim
a major problem hid me right face on
I had a stammer from very early in life
causing coordination probs now drawn
Learning to swim meant good coordination
this I didn't have as well as concentrate
cause in the swim I couldn't do them all
never impressed the girls so never got a date
Also remembering to breath caused a stir
whether on backstroke front or crawl
it just didn't make difference at all
this was one sport I was unmoved to stall
So all these years now gone by
I never was able to swim well
make sure you don't need rescuing
for I would be stuck in my shell
*Image of CDC by Gfycat.
Revelations
'Tis be the ill that spread and kill that plagues our will,
Enclose us all behind our wall where lives now stall,
Hands round the clocks measure our walks subdue small talks,
Affects worldwide still, we abide naught much outside,
Sarcastic skies o'er moans and cries as lives still dies,
Face mask now styles covers all smiles test our trials,
Naught offer chance for love's advance into romance,
Time found we spare with those we share and often care,
As time, march on all lives withdrawn from dusk till dawn,
Till cure is found, we hold our ground, linked chains, and bound.
2020 August 23
Yes, God so loved this reckless world,
and planned in joy from the start
to send his Son, as time unfurled,
His pledge to change our hearts.
The "Who" of Christmas is well-told
the Babe, his Mother, the beasts.
See the angels, the shepherds bold,
the wise men from the east.
The "Why" of Christmas, learn it well -
what everyone needs to know.
It's God with us, Immanuel,
His peace on earth to show.
The "Where" of Christmas, manger stall
in Bethlehem of old.
A bright star marked the spot for all
to see the Child foretold.
The "Whens" of Christmas pivot -
Messiah's promise breaks through.
Before and After Christ, live it
earth's timeline split in two.
new lyrics for "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear"
December 13, 2021
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name A Christmas Carol
At the heart of Marescaux Road’s Maroon and Gold
Lived a timid girl with dreams yearning to unfold.
An inner-city teen with a spirit aglow
Yet hidden in shadows, her potential lay low.
Then entered a teacher with passion ablaze
A beacon of hope, guiding through life’s maze.
With eyes full of kindness and words like a song
She saw through the silence, knew the girl didn’t belong.
Anne Girvan was her name, a mentor so bright
Igniting a spark and banishing the girl’s night.
With patience and wisdom, the teacher gently untied
The knots of self-doubt that had bound the girl’s pride.
“Believe, my dear,” she whispered, “you are strong,
Your voice is a melody; let it carry you along.”
In the world of words, the girl found her escape
A refuge in language, a chance to reshape.
The pen became the girl’s ally, the paper her friend,
Thus began her journey, a path to amend.
Through verses and prose, she let out her fears
Dropping them like anchors, dissolving in tears.
Anne Girvan—the guide, the catalyst of change—
Empowered the girl to break free from her cage.
In the alleys of Kingston, the girl’s story took flight,
A blossoming author, her words pure and bright.
She painted her struggles, her triumphs, her strife,
A testament to the teacher who transformed her life.
The pages reverberated with the strength of her voice
A symphony of triumph, a tale to rejoice.
The timid Jamaican girl was finally set free,
Her metamorphosis sparked by Anne Girvan's decree.
In Kingston’s inner city, where dreams often stall,
A teacher and poet answered her call.
Now she pens accolades for the one who believed,
Who unmuted her voice—her hero, reprieved.
This tale is her hymn to a teacher’s grace,
Whose influence lingers, transcending all space.
Decorated with praises among the heavens above,
Her ode to Anne Girvan, a testament of love.