Long Stick around Poems
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My place of residence is where I receive all of my mail,
but my home is the endless wilderness trail.
If I didn't have these rescues who need me to care for them,
I would leave all of this behind, my possessions and apartment.
Every night I would fall asleep beneath a galaxy of stars,
to the sounds of chirping crickets and croaking toads and frogs,
and in the morning I would awake to a fantastic panoramic view,
never the same, always brand new,
and whenever my journey would venture close to an established town,
I might just wander off that trail and stick around,
for a few days in the comfort of some motel,
where I could bathe, charge my devices and sleep in a bed as well,
and treat myself to a suburb restaurant meal,
then maybe hang at a local pub and get familiar with the locals.
After a few days of that and all restocked on supplies,
until the next local established town arrives,
I would then head again back my home,
to my endless wilderness trail, free to wander and roam.
I would hike through out the northern region,
during the spring and summer season,
then hike my way down south during the fall and winter,
where the temperature is higher and noticeably warmer.
A new adventure and journey every single day.
Oh how I wish I could be living the rest of my life presently that way.
One thing is for sure, I will get there one day,
and finally be home all night and all day.
When the voice in your head says: “move on”
Your heart has its own voice that says: “stick around”
When the pendulum swings
From one extreme to the next
Adding fuel to the confusing fire
All you wish for is one clear path
What you get are spinning thoughts
Transporting you forwards and backwards
Do you remain or move on
Ignoring the signals
The stop and go signs
As if there are roadworks ahead
Clearly nothing has been finalized
Until your head and your heart are in unison
Don't rush –
Anywhere worth going
Needs to be enjoyed
Even with the question marks and roadworks ahead
©122817052015
Not that I am not a person that's causing this dismay,
It's the mere fact you will never understand these things I say,
Don't pretend you no nothing of these things I am speaking of,
Wasn't it you that said you had no time in your life for love.
It's not so funny when it is you that's being played upon,
See how hard it is to make right and fixed that is all wrong.
I suppose it wouldn't be right for me to feel so good when your down,
But it's hard for me not to and it makes me want to stick around .
As sad as it is you going through some really hard times ,
But this you truly deserve for driving me completely out of my mind.
Never doubted that your life would be different and full of pain
For all those mean and evil things you've done that was so insane.
TACarter
Form:
The outdoor art fair has displays
In canvas booths that zip.
When setting up for two days straight,
I guess it saves a trip.
I don’t know what security
Is there for overnight,
Though thieves could slice the canvas,
Even if it’s zippered tight.
The booths provide protection more
For rain-related times,
The artists likely worried
About damage more than crimes.
Today, the second of the fair,
Was raining from the start.
I walked past many zipped-up booths
And couldn’t see much art.
Predictions were for sunny weather
In the afternoon.
I'm sure for all the artists
Sunshine couldn’t come too soon.
I’m sure some picked up all their work
And didn’t stick around,
While others waited, hoping that
Their business might rebound.
What does it feel like to no longer exist
Does memory linger on, will our soul be missed
Do minds still function though our bodies are dust
Answers to these queries I'll find out I trust
Could be tomorrow, it could be today
Here's the bottom line, I don't have much say
Hope I'm around for few years to come
Hate to succumb if my life here's not done
Haven't seen Hawaii or the Taj Mahal
Cruised the Danube, seen China's Great Wall
The Eiffel Tower is still on my list
Ireland's blarney stone I haven't yet kissed
Hate to miss a trip to the land down under
The Statue of Liberty one of the many wonders
Seems like I should stick around for a while
Haven't had the thrill of feeding live crocodiles
Perhaps I'll forgo the crocodile thing
There's a chance it will hasten my very last fling
So all in all, I'll be around for a while
Missed seeing these landmarks since I was a child!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Poets are a funny lot
they come for what is sizzling hot
Compassionate? Most times they're not!
they give your rhymes a decent shot
curious to see what you have got
compare and contrast on the spot
criticize the missing dot
or hyphen, but they miss the plot!
Poets are a greedy group
they want to know the latest scoop
what's hidden in the PS soup
their crypitc words an endless loop
they are the lyric writing troop
to help the fallen, most won't stoop
won't stick around till you recoup
Poets are a selfish kind
they only want what feeds the mind
your friendship's based on what they find
within your words that heal or bind
to check on you, they're not inclined
to care for you, they're not designed
"Read me, read me," they remind
"Who cares you've fallen far behind
in life, just write...or please resign
we're here for that which is refined!"
Poets just like you and me
like to feel that we are free
we lack the basic empathy
to reach into reality
and ask, "What else but poetry
is in your life? Please let me see
your heart to intimate degree."
There's more to life, don't you agree?
So show true love's sincerity,
and check on every absentee
Let's strive to keep community
Eieen Manssian
PS This poem is a little tongue in cheek. I've been away from here for quite some time, ocassionally posting to try to fit in again. Very few have asked about me. I've been going through very difficult times and have been struggling on many fronts. Very few will understand the meaning of one's silence. However, I know I can't expect care when I haven't extended it to others. I've been absent and haven't visited, so this poem is for all of us....me included as I'm a poet as well. Let's remember: there are people behind the lines. There are stories behind the names as pseudonyms.
Weasel was wiser than a coonhound
She weighed one pound, a foxhound
Traveled the campground and playground
Searched the fairground and all around
A sleuthhound, she would turnaround
Looking earthbound for something profound
On the rebound, her heart would confound
In the foreground was her hunting ground
She would often bum around and mess around
Searching the battleground for common ground
Renowned for her wisdom, though uncrowned
She took a ultrasound so she could stick around
Even going underground in the burial mound
Riding the merry-go-round so she could hang around
Nursery Rhyme 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
April 14, 2022
while you grew
you knew certain
things even behind
Oz' wizard's
curtain and
certainly certain
things they now
call anomalies
which would
bring
an odd assemblage
of the continuous
my friend he is
real so truly
believe it
a donkey named
and i don't know
why Manny or
perhaps it's
Mannie
kids can't spell
properly so i
just know the
name i gave
him still the
same but now passed
along to my oldest
niece's daughter
making her the
first of a great
lineage of greats
if i stick around
for so long
which is
longer
then the donkey has
for being a real
friend i not only
confided in him
but he was the
cold cloth across
my forehead and
the always there
even when parents
weren't but no
fault of their own
i was never alone
holding him tight
so that his neck
was the first to
go
but my Mum giving
me support supported
his neck adding extra
stuffing so good
enough but over time
he lost a button eye
and his tail was re
placed by colorful
string interesting
how Manny could take
different form and trans
form and yet be himself
to me but after all
was said and done
he was completely over
hauled skin grafted and
so well crafted that only
a few pieces were left of
self from gotten off of
the shelf but his look of
like with all the other
Manny donkeys was
his own personality
and as i said a real
friend
Form:
Raindrops are like Teardrops
Giving life to those in need
Every flower, every weed
Raindrops glisten
While Teardrops listen
Raindrops sprinkle
While Teardrops twinkle
Raindrops may become a downpour
Or too few to stick around for
Teardrops can fill an ocean
Or may only show one
While Teardrops may ruin your day
Raindrops will wash those teardrops away
Raindrops may be the perfect gift
Yet, fallen teardrops tend to uplift
Raindrops, from every hill to each mountain top
Teardrops, for any emotional backdrop
When raindrops come & take away your sun
It's a great time to snuggle with someone
Or, go puddle-splashing & have some fun
When all of your teardrops have been cried
Stand tall & dignified
Because you know you tried
I watched your fervent stars get extinguished, one by one
and from the look on your face I think they stole your only sun
your light has been tampered with in a big way sister- friend
but take heart, grief has a beginning but it also has, an end
Your love for your mother was precious and true like the ocean
it never receded without flooding forward with truent emotion
a daughter is forever they say and yes, a mother knows the way
to her daughters secret place, I can feel the edge of you unfray
If it brings you comfort, I will stick around for the journey of cryin'
in case the mountains get too high, or the sun forgets to shine
I will be here to remind you that broken as it is with gaping hole
your soul still has the power to breathe and reach its only goal
Remember the sound of her laughter , and the color of her hair
Remember the moments of love and arguments thread bare
Remember it all with compassion for yourself and those around
Remember her in the noise, and in the silence so unsound
Roxanne, recall her in the sheltered port of your safe harbor
and know in your heart of heart she loved you with great ardor...
Love,