Long Stiles Poems
Long Stiles Poems. Below are the most popular long Stiles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stiles poems by poem length and keyword.
Young love had finally made its way back into the 1980s and all of those teenage lovebirds
back in the 80s were so "totally gnarly." The 80s was when MTV made its TV channel debut,
the first cell phone was invented, and when a lot of people were born in that decade, that
had included Julia Stiles (born in 1981), Michael Cera (born in 1988), and even me (also
born in 1988). Also, the 80s were the times when hip-hop music and the break-dancing scene
were born, especially when the TV show, “Yo! MTV Raps” was on TV. It seems that young love
among the then-teen lovebirds ( teen boys and teen girls) had been in their lives since
the day they met at summer camp, middle school or high school. And when a teen boy and a
teen girl fell in love with each other the day they met, they knew it was love at first
sight. There were a lot of awesome things those teenage lovebirds have done back in the
1980s: they went to the movies, had gone out to eat, they had gone to the school dances
(including prom back in 1984), and stuff. Their outfits back in the 80s were “totally
tubular,” especially when all teen boys and teen girls were wearing their Converse shoes
and their Nike Air Sneakers. The 1980s were the best of times for all of the then-teenage
lovebirds and their parents. These people were young and in love, especially when they
were the ages between 13 and 17. And what their favorite love songs of the 1980s were
“Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper, “Material Girl” by Madonna, “Never Gonna Give You Up”
by Rick Astley, and other love songs that were heard back in the 1980s, especially the
year 1987. This type of young love has brought the best in all of the young couples. In
reference to young love among all of the then-teen couples, it’s like living in this “when
doves cry” moment. All young relationships are just like the ones these people have seen
in all movies from the 1980s, like “Dirty Dancing,” “Pretty In Pink,” “Can’t Buy Me Love,”
and “The Breakfast Club.” And if young love were to revisit the 1980s and bring it back
to the future, young love will be indestructible forever.
A BACKWARD GLANCE
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
Many instant delights can never last
All future certainty lies in the past,
Often distant memories linger so
Nostalgia's balance sways to and fro;
Fleeting and ephmeral is the dream
Yesterday's hero,a today's has-been,
Rose-tinted glasses with short-sighted views
Can distort all perspective,out of true;
Twenty,twenty embellishes hind-sight
But cannot guarantee,a future bright,
Experience forgotten wastes away
As superficiality has its day.
The wheel of life endlessly turns again
Grinding mistakes with perpetual pain.
The imaginary musings of my mind,
experience past & present lingers long,
dusted off,re-opened,viewed from time to time,
retrospective perspective changes all;
Maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast,
then savours the mellowness of memory;
A tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face;
Today will be yesterday,gathering dust,
then filed,microfiched,all too soon forgotten
'til an event unlocks the museum again.
Dull
colours,
long buried-
this sepia
day
Our
childhood
memories-
a forest of
dreams
see
snows of
yesteryear
drifting in my mind.
score
and ten-
looking back,
one day at a time.
TANKA
Spring is cricket on the green
Summer is picnics in the park
Autumn is conkers from the crescent
And in Winter slides on ice
across the schoolyard
Crystalline 57 Nostalgia
The stream where pooh sticks once were raced
now flows into memory's embrace
THE WAKE
Slowly,
nostalgia
trickles into
torrents,to flood memory's
canyon.
RITES OF PASSAGE
Each Christmas we all gathered there,
‘Aunt Clare, has more room ,after all’ with
her trestled tables and chair.
Grown-ups swigging their brown bottled ale,
young-uns, lemonade with paper straw,
VE style parties, once more.
Lunch over, the voice decibels rose,
raucus laughter oiled by the beer
brought forth more plates of festive cheer.
Cards slid noiselessly over the American
cloth, copper coins switching from pot to pot,
enthralled children watching on, ‘til
banished with a special treat, to the cold
stairs, or now bare front room, or to play
out in the deserted twilight street.
Every year the ritual was much the same,
a family ‘bring and share’ , long before
such gatherings were given this name.
FACES&PLACES
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
THE HACK
Out of the yard,my daughter and me,on a hot
summer day of Eighty-three.Hastoe to Cadsden,
there and back,eight hours in the saddle,for our
first all-day hack.Onto the canter path,down to
Paines End,through Fox Lane the route did wend.
Into a copse ,keeping the pace to an even flow.
Up to Dunsmore,past the Black Horse, we followed
the course.Chequers, Pondswood,down hill to the pub.
Horses tethered for a rest,we ate our ploughmans with
a pint of the landlord's best.Back in the into the saddle,
at the canter to retrace our steps and in Hastoe as the
clock struck four,to stack the tack on the stable door.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
I have learned to grab life and hold it tight for you may never tell the future. Please I pray
hold on to each day as if it your last.
I have experianced life death illness and the rest i've been and am a teenagerand will always
be my own leader.
Enjoy.
Enjoy moments. moments come and go and sometimes you don't even know.
For you must awake this day and age, as terrorist come as you lay asleep. they don't have
to come from another country, sadly they may be your own family.
Hold on to close friends as they are hard to come by, but don't close on too tight as they may
slip away like tiny dropplets of rain.
Fights go on at school and home.
I have learned that no matter where you go in life people are NEVER perfect. A girl walking
down the road may not have family or many clothes. She's pretty and seems to have no
fears, but you don't know all shes been through all these years.
love.
That is a statement of fear and people greatly unferestamate and cry over these questions,
Who loves me?
Who will love me when he/shes not here?
does anybody love me?
and the simpl question of, what is love?
I find it hard to answer these questions as i really don't know myself.
People that are poor, feel thhey have no more to live for, they feel they have to steal, have
hatred for that boy with fancy meals.
I have learned that no matter how hard your life may seem rightnow... there is someone out
there that may not even have life tomorrow.
So... think of what i said, nail it deep inside your head.
STOP all the pity things you deal and TRY... p[lease try, if onlyfor one day... to make this
world a better place.
Love,
To all of my close friends
Family,
And LOVER 4 EVER!!!
BY:
~SHELLY STILES~
Form:
My mind was poisoned with lies about me and mothers past
A portrayal of a woman who abused her young daughter steadfast
Animosity and pain I felt as I listened to their agonizing deceit
Of a mother who misused her child, allowing her actions to repeat
The vulgar names they said she called me, at the age of two or three
Made me stop and wonder why in hell she ever wanted to have me?
I believe the Lord did speak to me telling me to defend my mother’s grace
And as I began questioning them, not even one could look me in the face
I cannot recall the horrible things you say and yes, I realize I was young
But what I recollect is her amazing strength and beautiful songs she sung
Songs my mother sang to me as she gently laid me down to sleep
Her soft soothing voice called out to me as she prayed for the Lord to keep
Looking back upon my past, my memories of my mother’s an endless list
Never can I recall the poisonous lies of a mother’s love which did not exist
How could I allow them to feed me vile lies which pierced me like a knife?
My loyalty should have remained with my mother; the woman who gave me life
A sweet soothing voice and gentle kisses is all that comes to my mind
Remembering a love for her daughter; being patient, caring and kind
I cast out the lies fed to me; remembering all the sacrifices she did make
Never taking her for granted again, guilt ridden by my many mistakes
Please forgive me mother, for I was manipulated into a devious scheme
My love for you is unexplainable and the lies fed were only a bad dream
I promise never to doubt you again for your approval and love is all I seek
Trust me again with all of your heart; the only wish your daughter bespeaks
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
Red checkered carpet and mahogany wood dominate
Guinness, beer and wine stand politely
Reflective
The eclectic gathering of minds and smiles
Litter the room as left over christmas baubles
While one voice swoons across the ceiling to fall on ravenous ears
Smiles in therapy
And memory slip over the rickety stiles of childhood
As eyes wide shut dance or skipping hypnotically
As an exuberant uncontrollable child on a windy day
Create their own beautiful masterpieces from the words lain for all to dream
A sigh
A scratch
A rustling peanut packet to distract
The odd glance searching the sea of eyes for recognition, acceptance, hope or a mere smile
Where aaron jumpers distract
Why do aaron jumpers make one think of catalogues, hearty meals and most of all love
The love of huge warm arms swinging you around in adoration
Sheer exhilaration at really being in love
Why do aaron jumpers and
A scottish poets words create
Grey seas frothy cream licking the rocky skirt of the lighthouse
Red and white solid safety which
Perfectly beckons me
And the poem did that and the mind did follow joyously
The words laid down by
A man died two years ago
Why did he have to die 2010 just before i heard of him
And now i must search his words in past tense
And almost hero worship
The man from Edinburgh and the visions he gave me
By the sea
I shed one tear
-------------------------------------------------
Plz Note
This is about my visit tonight to a poetry group and how reading and your own imagination dance arm in arm.....
Every poets words are half the painting to be completed by the fresh eyes which read on...my theory anyway
My reaction to Edwin Morgan's beautiful write strawberries
A single’s net is cast
A single climbs the mast
To view a sea of profiles
Catching eyes, some color-blind
Some emails are soon returned
Some senders have not yet learned
Most personals are not for wiles
Or just adult friends to grind
A match searched for past 'leven
A perfect match wished for from heaven
No more games on survivals’ isles
No more drama is undersigned
Updating ads for smaller ponds
If no pic, then no response
If no interest, then no dials
Old tires put lines in a bind
Pulling to shore some more flirts
Pulling to shore some more skirts
Sorting through a crowd of smiles
Where faces can read the mind
Which one is honest and true?
Which one is the real yahoo
Who's willing to travel for miles?
Who fits the ideals outlined?
Wanting more than clever screen names
Wanting more than tramps or lames
There’s a need for someone who reconciles
Both worlds of man and womankind
Where chemistry can be sparked again
Where harmony can be marked again
Not on the notches of belts or stiles
But where two lives are intertwined
Not on shipwrecked beaches with felons
Not with fruitcakes, bananas or melons
This is for the sliced and diced files
Of those who cut straight to the rind
To reveal the heart and mind so deep
To reveal the soul in a body asleep
With messages and calls in piles
On silent, cold sands, sometimes maligned
Compatibility is hard gained
Compatibility should not be bargained
There is someone over lands, seas or Niles
For everyone who wants to be redefined
Cast a new net and take a chance
Cast a better net for love and romance
With personality, character and styles
Catching eyes of beauty and joy combined
A million racing thoughts running avidly through my mind
Difficult keeping up with the multiple ideas, particularly hard to find
Needing to suppress the notions, all but maybe one or two
Trying to comprehend all the visuals; something clearly unable to do
Impossible to focus entirely on one single subject at hand
Frustration, anxiety and panic attacks soon to be in high demand
Hone in on one topic; let the rest simply fade they say
Words easily spoken when you’re not living this from day to day
Did you take your medication, or did you “forget” to do so once again?
Let me find them for you, it seems your moodiness is about to set in
I don’t need or want this poison which is prescribed upon to me
All is need is kindness and care and allowing me to be drug free
Free from this medicinal cocktail I’m forced to consume every day
Free from all of the criticism; the “know it all” persona you portray
Feed me love and guidance, not medications which leave me semi comatose
I promise this time will be different; I’ll behave without any room to boast
I know in the past I have stumbled and obviously let you down
But if you give me just this one wish, my actions will be sane and sound
I want to live my life again, not needing their drugs of choice every day
I want to be able to think clearly just once, without this hazy cloud of gray
Give me this one wish and I vow to you, I’ll behave myself this time
I never thought begging you not to take drugs would be my life of crime
Maybe this time will be different and maybe I won’t need to feed
On this poisonous medicinal cocktail created entirely just for me
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
Form:
I knew of a beautiful angel; Kayla Lynn was her name
A precious gift from heaven; irreplaceable she became
Silky blonde hair in ringlets; eyes as blue as an oceans view
Kayla embraced life as always; while others had no clue
No clue to the disease consuming her; weakening her every day
Leukemia ravishing her tiny body, while others simply looked away
Showered with love and kisses, her mother always there for her
Praying wishing endlessly for the vicious disease never to recur
Poking and prodding daily; her moral is starting to fade
A sweet innocent child just five years old; painfully becoming afraid
Her mother constant at her bedside, trying to comfort her at ease
Bowing her head in silence as she gets down upon her knees
An unspoken prayer she begins to recite, over and over again
Begging the Lord to spare her child, ending with a somber subtle Amen
Looking up at her daughter who’s still vibrant and somewhat care free
Hoping wishing praying for the lord to heal her and instead take me
But the Lord had a special plan for Kayla; one filled with Heavenly Bliss
And one silent night he sent his angels for his child of sweet reminisce
Tearful, crying and heartbroken for our Kayla Lynn was to be no more
Wondering, “Why this beautiful child and what was the purpose for?”
Then it dawned upon us as we mournfully tried to understand
The Lord needed her more than we did and this is to be as he planned
That day will come inevitably when we reunite again as one
Kayla we love and miss you so, but realize now that your life has only just begun
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
I'm sitting here
Admiring the view
Thankful for it's beauty
It's comfort
It's familiarity.
I've been here before
So I can close my eyes
and picture it still
And I know it all.
Deep breath in
Contented smile
Snapshot made
The scene is owned
Then the eyes open
As realisation strikes
- I own nothing
- I know nothing
I don't know
how each hill was formed
the names of the farmers who built the stiles to every field
or the names of those who now own those blankets of land
I cannot begin
to count every blade of grass
to measure the mist
to know the age and history of every tree
The past of the very bench I'm sat on
is a mystery to me
The winding roads have their own heritage
And I can't say who first walked it's length
Or where that plodding bus was built
Or where it's been since it's birth
The cars stuck behind are heading on their own unique journeys
I can't vouch as to where to or where from
Far less state the words and thoughts of those cocooned inside
Or declare the depth of any of the puddles they pass
I can't tell you the wattage of the bulb
Shining through that distant window
Still less how warm the sun will feel in an hour
Or the direction the wind came from, even ten seconds ago
The provenance and future of those clouds
Cannot be told by them
Let alone by me.
Eyes close once more
I know nothing but
the fact that this view
In this moment
Does belong to me
And that maybe, somehow
I'm all the wiser for knowing less