Long Sunnier Poems
Long Sunnier Poems. Below are the most popular long Sunnier by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sunnier poems by poem length and keyword.
Okay that's it
I finally quit
I've had my years of fun
I've got exercise
Clear in my sights
Fat will soon be on the run
Had a problem in
Getting in the gym
The doors won't fit my butt double wide
So in disgrace
I plaster my face
On the window to watch the skinny's inside
In my depressed state
I went and ate
Another meal served up for four
One thing I like
About the places I dine
There's always room in and out the door
Then guilt overwhelms
Like a hellhound
As I was in the middle of my desert
It could have come sooner than this
And for that I am blessed
It could have come during my first course
Here I am back in my boat
Without a paddle to row
My only form of exercise
But before it's to late
I toss a little more dirt on my grave
With another order of double fries
With my meal out of the way
I go back to the start of the day
Which seems to be sunnier than ever
I decide to go for a jog
Before all my arteries clog
Maybe though I'll wait for better weather
................................................................
Here we are a new day
This is the earliest I've ever been late
You know what they say about catching the worm
I stop to eat my worm on the way
IHOP double stack pancakes
Will that worm never learn
The only exercise these days
Is a fork in my face
If this were the Olympics I'd win a prize
I wonder if this is considered a sport
The reaching of maple syrup
And wouldn't squeezing the bottle also be exercise
I'll try tomorrow again
To reign myself in
One of these days it's bound to catch
I'll look to the future in life
Instead of behind
Then at least I won't have to look at my fat...
In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age,
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek.
Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes;
Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim,
To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes.
Verily there’s a shadow where clear roads stood,
And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod;
There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout,
To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode.
Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures,
With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds;
Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours,
Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds.
The labouring voyager shall move on in truth,
To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.
The tiny seed wasn’t certain it wanted to sprout
It had been through such trauma above the soil
winds buffeting it this way and that
striking sign posts and trees
bouncing off them before being whisked away
once again with no idea when or where it would end
everything out of its control
Finally the gusts died down and it had landed
where it now found itself
trampling feet and the activity of animals
pushing it down into the ground
buried where it was safe and warm
but it knew it had a job to do
so it sent the first small tendril creeping
out of its shell and took a look around
only to discover it had come to rest
at the base of a big oak tree which
shaded the sun
its roots spread in an extensive network all around
selfishly soaking up all the water when it rained
I came across the brown and suffering little shoot
identifying with its plight
as I had experienced much the same metaphorically
since the morning I had emerged
from my mother’s womb
Retrieving a trowel I carefully transplanted it
to a sunnier spot where it might have a chance
to survive and thrive
In not too long, we’ll see the spring,
for winter will have lost its cling!
Across this earth, we’ll waken to her sweet rebirth.
On the first day of spring, give praise and sing!
Rejuvenate; refresh; rejoice!
Welcome her with the gladdest noise –
In meadows we can meet to dance with merry feet!
Bring flutes, lutes, drums, and a resonate voice!
At spring’s debut, let’s all arise
with gratitude for her sweet prize:
of life, the renewal thereof, and love,
and promises of bluer skies!
Feb. 15, 2019
(looks like first day of spring was just this past March 19!! Praying for sunnier days, in more ways than one!)
My father is not the biological father of my siblings
So I am the bridge, I am the link in the family
I, alone, carry his blood, so it is
all the more poignant, and painful that
I am the daughter who disappoints
I am the daughter who didn't join the Navy
who didn't graduate from college
who didn't marry a military man
who didn't give him a grandson
I am the literature-loving daughter of the man
who can not abide books, the man
with no patience for poetry or art or music (excepting Johnny Cash)
I am the (usually) alcohol-abstaining daughter of the man
who can not seem to show affection without the buzz of beer in him
I live in the land of rain
He has retired to sunnier plains
Still we share the same face
And, for thirty four years, the same last name
I see in me his stubborness
the same silent avoidance of problems and pain
the same wanderlust
the same silly habit of leaving keys in the door
Of hating to wait in airport lounges, in doctor's offices
the same scribbly handwriting
the same distaste for celery and peppers
For better or worse
I am not me
Without him.
7/15/18
Gloria is the lass all the college boys fancied. In fact, she
was the one they dreamed of marrying. Yet, when she walks
through the door at the reunion, she’s unrecognizable! In
truth, she looks like a wrinkled drag queen. A ravishing beauty,
she is no more. Her once pert breasts now hang down like
spaniel ears. Seeing her makes me glad I’ve kept in shape! The
hours spent working out in our private gym and spa each night
have paid off. Marrying a successful surgeon has its perks! Of
course my tan is from weeks aboard our yacht, ‘Cloudless.’
We escape bitterly cold weather by sailing to sunnier climes.
The Caribbean is where we always celebrate Christmas and
New Year. We sip champagne as fireworks explode in starry
streams of gold and silver sparkles in dark inky blue skies.
The room falls silent, all eyes on me as I sashay to Gloria and
we embrace, kissing the air as we did when we were young. All
evening we reminisced. I'm glad I was an ugly duckling. That’s
how I met, Max. My facial reconstruction proved he was the best
plastic surgeon in the world. He performed with the skill of
an haute couture designer and lifted me from depths of dark
depression. I was totally transformed into a catwalk model and
when we married, I knew my future would always be bright.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
My grandparents lived in a drafty old farmhouse,
yet, filled with a warmth, that came from the heart
and a hearth, where we hovered on cold winter nights.
Days were much sunnier, the breezes were brisk,
and the ritual of bedtime, meant taking a risk.
The bedrooms were poised on the back of the house
The heat could not travel the length or about
It took all of our courage when bedtime arrived
removing our layers, we must set aside.
An old fashioned bathroom, and orange Lifebouy soap
cradled in wire, in racks by the sink
A claw footed tub, swallowed one's pride,
with water as cold, as the frost-bite outside.
My bed was a cot, next to her sewing machine,
Under the clock in the frosty, back room
Grams would come in for a minute, or two
long after sundown, and bedtime was due
And although she was stiff, from old joints that would creak
She'd kneel down beside me so softly to speak
Holding my hand, and together, we'd pray
Thanking the Lord for the gifts of the day
A kiss on the forehead,...then off went the light
"Sleep tight, little one,...no worries tonight
I prayed to the Lord that no bedbugs will bite"
if our story ends
as all stories must
i’d want to
remember
each chapter
unfolding
as i sift through
the pages of
memories past
see fate's
written word
scribe how
we first met
recollect
sunnier times
treasured within
hear in my head
out from pages
come to life
the echoes
of laughter
in hindsight
reassess
certain chapters
rested against
their bent corners
not time yet
for dreams
to be ripped
at the seams
nor tattered
and tossed
much rather
i'd fancy
deeper meaning
unveil
lenience and mercy
turn angst to dust
make amends
whilst
old bitter flames
turn to ash
smoldering
bury the past
peaceful at last
unfettered
free to etch
on blankness
of pages to come
draw with ink
of dreams
perched
on the wings
of new love
yet to be
written
Collaboration with Sandra Adams
AP: 3rd place 2020, Front Page Pick 2021
I read You – less to learn,
for words are not Your
language nearly, but to touch
the spirit of You, Your dear presence
my soul pronunciation – “I live...
but not I” – more the spirit of Your
reflection seeking sunnier clarification –
Light is Your signature; warmth Your
essence further forming me, rising and baking
new patterns into my atoms, for greater worship
and ever brighter expression – Love is Your
essence, the bread of my being, and the voice
of my longing heart – I yield, not to lose
myself, but to gain livelier access, to You,
my sole source of ever resplendent identification –
I am authentic only when You speak, and I listen...Christ
is Your gift of relationship -- Our Family and
eternal bond....
Always look on the sunny side
The sunny side of life
It's where you'll forever find me
Life's just one big slice
A slice of joy and happiness
Waiting for you to call
Doesn't even require a passport
It's there to welcome all
A thousand times more enjoyable
Than stumbling round in a funk
Your step will have a much livelier gait
You'll smile a whole big bunch
All are capable, my very good friends
Matter of mind over matter
If you think positive and grin each day
Happy genes will get much fatter
Now it's very well known knowledge
Happy genes can go a long way
To extending your days here on earth
It'll be a much happier stay!