Long Stick Poems
Long Stick Poems. Below are the most popular long Stick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stick poems by poem length and keyword.
I have come to trust in Leanne advice
because it comes with great intention
and from the heat
And as recently as today she said
Like a graffiti artist who sprays his
wares onto an empty canvas
If your chosen art form be poetry
and the written word
Then spit , stick and pin whatever
comes into your mind you deem
worthy of screaming about onto
your wall of choosing
If not for anyone else but you
yourself and you
And if by chance some passing stranger accidentally stumbles
across it and in so doing takes
solace from it
Then surely this is the answer you seek
to the question
First and foremost do it for
for yourself and the shear love thereof
and if it touches the life of someone else
then so much the better
Because unbeknownst to you in so doing
you may be fulfilling your destiny
and the very reason you we're put on this earth
for in the first place
That being to save someone from themselves
they would never even know or get to meet
Who could just as well easily be a close
family member friend or neighbour you
never even knew was struggling or in a
dark place
The Highwaymen softly play
Me And Bobby Magee
And for the next four hours
Every single drink is free.
Order what you like friend
And stick it on the slate
Tonight we’re saying goodbye
To my best and oldest mate.
On the bar in isolation stands
The Absent Friend’s Drink,
At the end of the night to be
Quickly poured down the sink.
Like every other human being
He was good and bad in parts
A fact that becomes apparent
When the reminiscing starts.
A man of strong opinions
Which he carried to the end
And we didn’t always agree
Me and this good old friend.
It was a friendship of honesty
We didn’t tell each other lies
We just agreed to differ and
Each learned to compromise.
From teenaged Squaddies
To men of retirement age
We remained mates through
Every changing life stage.
Strong willed, as often
Wrong as he was right
He never ever conceded
Without a spirited fight.
A mam of surprises
A man seemingly apart
But not far below the surface
One of good and kind heart.
The free bar has closed
Heaven knows how big the slate
But we gave a fitting farewell
To my much missed old mate.
I’ve drunk so many pints as
This night draws to its end
But I’m stone cold sober
As I think of my old friend
The Absent Friend’s Drink
Has been quietly poured away
Marking the official end of this
His wake and funeral day.
The music’s switched off.
Now just a big empty room
That, to quote the apt saying
Is almost silent as a tomb.
One last look around to check
Then they switch off the light
And tired staff follow us out
Into the darkness of the night.
Heading home
From our evening out
Two darling doves
Our love devout
In the evening heat
As our clothes stick
Her shapely body
Curved and slick
An early night
Us loving pair
Heaven awaits
As we climb the stair
We shed our clothes
Now naked souls
To share our love
Our wanting goal
We lie on our sides
As we kiss and caress
Our hands determining
Tender delicateness
Our kissing increases
Luring our crave
As she lifts her leg
Our wants engage
In readied pose
Her scented lure
I journey slide
To join so pure
Slow in flow
Our rhythm sings
Notes from our heart
Alluring brings
Our bodies writhe
Like courting snakes
Internal emotion
Creates
Pleasurable motions
Rise in me
Flowing loves
Swim in her sea
We quiver and sigh
Her nails grip deep
My manly arms
Harvesting loves reap
We lie there absorbing
Our moments of bliss
Serenading with our lips
Kiss after kiss
We awaken in the morning
Knowing love was in our hands
As we climbed our Stairway to Heaven
That this loving couple planned
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love3.php
Melancholy, like a tipping light
Receives its glory within the spite
An hour of unrest bringing with it art
The wind blowing perils while seas do part
Like ransomed thought trimmed off the track
The gloomy, murky night does snack
Upon the weak that slowly fade
Into nurtured arches of gentle jade
Worlds apart have we become
Unified by scum of garish glum
Building word into world like brick upon brick
Worlds that commune—worlds that stick
She lifts her body into the tide
And curls up billions deep inside
Like a transparent ghost, see her flash
Scented winks through coated ash
Inspired by naught—yet risen from afar
A throbbing for purpose—a dying star
Beat of drum does not quake her being
Lashes close, too wet for seeing
Withered rest never falls on her days
The night closes upon her as she sways
Under bridges festooned in moss
She feeds on diseases, pain and loss
Where she goes, no one truly knows
Where she goes, she truly grows
Bird and beast find no arrays
Of her blackening faerie gaze
But of man does every smile count
For their minds do linger in and out
Grasping onto her rigid quintessence
Nearly failing upon the evanescence
Lacking all and full of dour
Man accepts its only cure
A flask of clear—of ***** agile
Tempered by tempests recruiting the bile
Howls of wind have blown its course
Emotions caught inside her force
None do sway so achingly free
Except the ever-living Melancholy
quatrains with palindrome and onomatopœia
I thought I saw a puddy tat. Was it a cat I saw?
We got one of those curtain things so Simon Dog can come
and go without our bother, when we are busy at home.
Quick-quick, click-click, stick-stick, the neighbor cat watches in awe.
I thought I saw a pretty hat. Was it a hat I saw?
Simon Dog has chased after things since he was just a pup
And though he's seventy in people years, he still jumps up
announcing, bouncing, pouncing all his trophies with his paws.
I thought I saw a piper's rat. Was it a rat I saw?
Lately, Simon doesn't seem as hungry as he's used to
I guess it could be his old age, or maybe stomach flu?
Quick-quick, click-click, stick-stick, the magnets keep that curtain taut.
I thought I saw a spotted bat. Was it a bat I saw?
Simon's not the only one attracted to this curtain.
Diversion and delight offer exercise it's certain -
bouncing, pouncing, announcing a treasure he's not yet caught.
written 5 March 2016
REGULARS
Wednesdays, Fridays and
Weekends are my shifts.
When I am there, regulars turn up
which is as exciting as getting gifts.
Let’s start with Carole and Jackie
having so much energy in the morning.
I can hear their voices from down
the road to my adoring.
Two coffees or two teas but
never gravy and water from peas.
Always having a story to tell,
And we always have a laughing spell,
Having a sense of humour that is hip and quick,
I do see Carole licking foam
off her wooden coffee stick!
Moving on to Angie and John,
“A pot of tea please" the kettle I go
and merrily put on. I’m still baffled
by their self-fixing Corsa car.
On evenings, they enjoy going
to The Southcliffe Bar. They love
Bridlington except for when
it’s busy in the streets.
I’m always delighted to see them
come in and take their usual seats,
A 70/30 split heated sausage roll,
as they ask me about a potential
minor TV role,
I ask what cafe’s they’ve been to,
and always hear the portion sizes
are too big to get through!
Josie on Saturdays with
her telephone phone call,
I love saving her “shipping order”,
it’s no problem at all,
Getting up to all sorts like
gardening and swimming at the leisure centre,
It’s always a delight when I see her enter.
Wendy comes in at the end of the week,
seeing her brings a smile to my cheek.
It’s nice to see a fellow author,
having wrote a book about
Sewerby with a co-author.
Paying for her shopping on her
mobile phone up to date with her tech,
She’s so advanced I bet she hasn’t touched
in years the likes of a cheque!
There’s plenty more who come in off the street,
The most brilliant people you’ll ever meet.
Being so privileged to have gotten to meet them
all over the span of seven years,
I certainly owe them a few beers. So cheers!
It has been a long wait,
Longer but reached
The battle that enemy started
Was nailed perpendicularly
With our lovely Princess!
Long, long ago!
A dream was conventional
To quench the burning stick
Nicknamed national quizzes
But resources and timing
Kicked away our fantasy
Though struggled enough
But never fought abundantly
Here came the princess
Erisinta her name
And said Dad don’t worry!
Leave the battle on me
No army is needed
I can conquer all alone
And sent the enemy far
Quash him to death
And that is what she did
A Princess of the Royal Ng’abokwa
A single-digit score,
With lower points than all,
Leveled Chibe and Chinga
Our SPS vanity
This is the real fight,
That my soul dreamed of,
Come and celebrate,
It is our culture to party,
Start mbeta all the way
The best of our tribe dances
Bigha Chimono bigha!
For if you stop dancing
Stones and sand shall!
Glorify our God,
For he has side our fight
Don’t forget the rituals
That bound us with grace
Praise the Almighty!
For His mercy and blessings
Have showered our canopy
Dedication to my Daughter Erica. 27-01-2025
Where inside your prayer life
Do you find that you are at
Do you make it clear as you bend Gods ear
What you say is what you meant
Do you toss requests to Heaven
In hopes that they will stick
And before too long you move along
Forgetting most of them
Or do you wake up each new morning
And thank him for this day
Saying keep an eye on me in word and deed
In all decisions that I make
Do you thank God for your meals
After you've commenced to stuffing face
With a good food, good meat, good God let's eat
And consider that saying grace
Or do you pray dear Father save me
Mostly from myself
And may your kingdom come your will be done
This day above all else
Do you tell those you know with little hope
That prayers are on the way
Then in the next blink forget the whole thing
And go merrily on your way
Or do you give God thanks with all your might
In every circunstance
From the moment that you wake up
Till the time you lay down your head
Do you kneel at night at your bedside
And think about your aching knees
With a quick amen you jump right in
And in seconds you're sound asleep
Or do you always pray for others
That salvation will abound
That they'll see the light in Jesus Christ
The only true light that counts
So when you pray do you know which way
That you bend your knees
Are your prayer days filled with praise
Or are they given out selfishly
Porridge is ploppy' broth is real thin..
However this true 'soup of poetry' fills things up to the brim..
I'll admit its sometimes murky... yet its flavours real strong...'
its long on warm welcomes to whoever jumps in'
It can be hot at the bottom and bubbly on top;
I hope that your senses can take in a lot.
There’s lumps in the mixture that can challenge your swallow;
But if you stick with your portion you'll see how it beats imitators hollow.
I've hit a few snags.. I'll admit there are trials,
Yet the Judges aren't for 'hanging'
(I mean they make decisions sometimes) L O L...
Now I don't put that in verses, well I hadn't till now
It probably won't Rhyme, but it’s to late anyhow,
Now just where was I? Oh yes you must try,
And keep 'a circulating or you might boil the pot dry.'
I've been trapped in the bubbles that might be silly to you
But the old silly-bubbles do get me in a stew,
If you bite down on one, and you hear a slight ahh!
It’s either a soft or a hard one, now you may not be sure,
Like the egg and the chicken... That got squashed by a car;
It can be quite academic, if you make it that far,
and if that does happen,
That you travel that road,
A nice plump 'foul' wouldn’t hurt ,if its in the brew throwed
If the egg isn't seen, I don't give a dang.!
Pop that bird in the pot, that'll be just the thang....
©Joe Maverick 30-11-2013
"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by Constance La France
Oil just few drops left; wick irrecoverably worn out;
Wet match box; just a single stick; I strike, yet, with no doubt;
Midst terrible tempests, torrential rains and thatch-roof-leak,
Clings to a nook of that cracked chimney, survival seen bleak;
I shield the flame; count the hour; will day, yet, before time dawn?
Who will steal? What? With these thoughts I serenely sleep, fears gone...!
17 November 2022
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France