Long Thief Poems
Long Thief Poems. Below are the most popular long Thief by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thief poems by poem length and keyword.
You flew beside me, small and brave,
From west coast skies to the ocean wave.
Tucked in close, not a sound you made,
Just calm little heartbeats, never afraid.
I gave you a friend, a buddy to share,
Skipperely wheeked, and you both were a pair.
In cozy corners, you’d nuzzle tight,
Two little souls curled safe each night.
But illness came like a thief in the night,
And you, sweet Gizmo, began to lose your spark.
We trusted a hand that wasn’t so kind
He never looked close, never gave time.
He chose the needle when there was still fight,
Never tried gas, never made it right.
Didn’t give you what might’ve healed,
Just rushed the end, a fate sealed.
And I was left with a heart torn wide,
Empty space where you once lied.
No more your squeaks, your gentle stare,
Just silence and Skipperely waiting there.
But you were more than fur and paws
You were love without a single flaw.
You knew my voice, you knew my scent,
And in this world, that means so much.
So rest, my boy Gizmo, my sweet little friend,
This isn’t goodbye, love doesn’t end.
I’ll see you again, where skies are wide,
And you’ll hop to greet me, just by my side.
"Time is the thief you cannot banish."
Phyllis Mc Ginley, Writer, 1905 - 1978
if you cannot beat them join the crowd of armed unkind robbers
otherwise you end up with identity fraud at the hands of the thugs
instead rule and divide the hourglass one step at every moment
synchronize what must be said and done and count the rewards
an imposed time machine is a wicked illusion and criminal offence
pick your own pockets calm rapid paces and speed up your apathy
turning tides do not steal pebbles from beaches
the sun never asks where her rays have gone to
moons follow their path without wondering when
a waterfall keeps its composure even when falling
cancel direct debit to people who don’t care for you
standing orders are not written in hard grafted stone
debts can be cleared and overdrafts countervailed
the only mortgage you have is to live to your tempo
a bit of rhythm helps when the pendulum swings backwards and forth
rhymes a chime for when the final bell takes its toll as the coffin lies vacant
if you have not filled it with meaning before permanence rests in the grave
a time sheet spread out over nothingness infringes upon the tick tock of joy
imposters can try as hard as they want to steel your dial
will try to bend all the hands of fortune magic and fate but
destiny comes from the springs rewound at every dawn
vacant echoes will be enriched with challenging meter
when the ultimate curtain unveils to your own applause
as the poachers admit defeat and fall on swift swords
feel free to mock burglars and mischievous muggers
a dead man’s pockets are full of victory’s memories
10th November 2020
Edwardo Badia
1856-1914
That low bred confidence man!
That snooking swindler who took me for a fool.
“Hey Gregg, you thief!
You owe me still, even as I rot here,
Regrettably ensconced inside this bursting old boneyard,
Final resting grounds of a thousand parted pilgrims,
No doubt suffering in claustrophobic hell,
Like this old besotted soul,
Decades and repeating weeks of years,
After Mister White planted me in this dusty earth,
Next to the famished broad oak over here,
A few yards from the stone crosses of the Luetweilers,
Buried and cushioned in the wrong grave,
Stuffed inside the tomb of a swindled corpse!
Sir, we shook hands on that deal!
I was to be transferred to Whittier Heights,
My new spacious home for these dusty old bones,
In exchange for the procurement of land there,
Burial land with pleasant vistas, green grass, and
“Eternally sweeping views of the Pacific,”
Fitting views indeed, for my sweet wife and loving mother;
And although my family was ceremoniously exhumed,
And taxied there by a duo of horses and a trio of men,
Sir, you forgot me here, forlorn and alone,
And still in this detested grave!
How could you knowingly leave me here,
Separated and apart from my sweet wife,
And my loving mother?
Sir, I demand a refund!
ME, MY MUSE AND ME!
ME
What I am about to say and do,
Would be inconceivable by more
Than a few,
How could I dare,
Its isn’t fair,
For it is Christmas season,
Do I have a valid reason
I hear you say,
Please hear me out I pray!
My muse has been cheating,
Spying on me and meeting,
With another website,
At first I cried,
Then got angry, would put this right!
Called my muse in to chat,
Boutique clothes, expensive red hat,
A Rolls Royce parked outside
Ostentatiously no intention
Of wanting to hide,
Jewellery and attitude,
Don’t get me wrong
Have always felt much gratitude,
But this was never anticipated
And by me sorely regretted,
And totally unexpected,
So with no emotion,
Said,you are fired!
MY MUSE
What said my muse,
Is it that time of the month,
Have you any excuse!
You must be mad,
And clearly, your
Husband won’t be glad,
For he will be roped in,
Where will you both begin,
You’ll be wiped off soup,
And lose this poetry group,
Don’t make this mistake,
Are you calling me fake,
I will not be fired
Nearly 2 years since you hired
Me, tread carefully,
I will take you to task,
For I wear many a mask!
ME
Are you threatning me,
You disreputable chump
Behind my back,
You dishonourable punk,
You did all this,
For a moonlight kiss,
Someone phoned me and
Warned me that you do
These rounds and cheated
On many a poet,
Don’t deny it, I have proof
I know it,
Be gone you miserable thief,
Your stay here should
Have been briefer
With a huff and a pout,
My muse walked out,
And disappeared
Without a trace!
Goodness me,
No sense of decency,
I now have a vacancy!
I think I have a grem/in, lurking in my words
I'd left a win/ow open and thought it was the birds
But then I heard a thud and a cry for he/p
Saw the little blighter, the elf upon the shelf.
He got very hungry, some letters he did eat
Put slashes where the letters were, do / admit defeat
It was for a contest, no time to put it right
hope that when its judged ,'twi/l be the dark of night.
Oh well I'll send it off, I've got nowt to lose
Meanwhile I'll write another if / can find my muse
That elf upon the she/f has caused me some grief
Never would I have had him down as a letter thief.
(a rhyme but some of the letters have been eaten away and replaced with forward slashes by a wicked elf)
Written 3rd October
For muschi/f contes/ sponsored by N/na Parment/r.
Standing among a crowd of silent souls,
treading over remains of lives once whole.
Peering at chiseled dates, stories untold,
vases with beautiful flowers to hold.
What had once felt warm now seems deathly cold,
all that was young has been deemed now the old.
Death has crossed Life's invisible threshold
and its breath this thief has brazenly stole.
Promises of latter years, would be gold,
now appear to be a bit oversold.
Leaving the once carefree and ever so bold,
to be froze in Decay's total control.
A thought has rooted and taken a hold,
on every man time will take a great toll.
11/19/18
Bondage of lies from the enemy. A thief who robs your spirit of true blessings.
Chains of sin that bind you to your own demise and leaves you bare and undefined, weakened to nothing.
Blinded to see the truth that will set you free. The road is narrowing and ending, Wake up ! see the light. See before you fall off to complete nothingness and darkness.
Spiritual light. Shining its light for you to see. The time to see is now! Only through Jesus’ blood can we be whole and free.
In the name of Jesus open your eyes and see. Let his blood break your chains of bondage. Let in Jesus to truly set you free. The only true way maker, miracle worker, and bondage breaker. Come to the healing Father in Jesus name Amen.
Consent equals dissent,
Into another's intent,
A message sent inside,
Directing the ride,
Having to coincide,
With who chooses rules,
Fools to a false Idea,
Deciding to follow their guide,
Getting you to pick a side,
Dividing you from God,
Trotting on others beliefs,
For some personal relief,
Easing their own grief,
A thief wouldn't be able,
To have a seat at the table,
A fable when tested,
Arrested development,
Eloquent dialogue specialists,
Listing all the guidelines,
Refining your inner mind,
Into their Confined ideas,
Designed to keep you coming back,
It will put you back on track,
Then smack you with the past,
Alas you'll never pass,
They have a class you can take,
Partake in their wine,
It's blood from the Divine,
Find value in their bread,
It's the body of the dead,
Said to heal you from a sin,
If you take it again and again,
All are welcome in,
If they take their medicine.
THE SURGE
You came like as expected
Winds furiously shaking the ground
Rain unstoppable continuous to pound.
As hours passed, your fierce marks the town
water increases up to its heights but still
you never stop swiping every corner, left nothing to spill.
Scampering, they're trying to lope your ailing temper
Mother and child crying for help but your sound is a tearful killer
parent's cuddled the youngsters, but too strong your foulest curse.
It's not your intention to harm 'cause you're just a phenomenal mishap,
but for those you visited, you're the great destroyer
A mischievous, dangerous thief that left nothing even their foyer.
THE AFTERMATH
Scattered bricks, fallen debris, lifeless bodies on the sidewalk
Mournful view, so sickening to the eyes
You've taken out their lives, now all that is left are frozen as ice.
The beautiful city turns to abandoned graveyard
At night seems haunted, deadly ravage
at daylight you hear the silent echoing in the rampage.
Deaths are still unnumbered, missing still increasing
They who outlive cries for shelter, food for their needing.
Never deter, frustrated mind, weary hearts.
>> the typhoon Haiyan (local name:YOLANDA) hits Tacloban City, Philippines in the 8th of November 2013
My father died three times,
defying death’s rule of one.
Statues of stillness,
an unintended museum of moments
I revisit often.
His first death still haunts me.
One drink summoned the thief.
A stranger’s eyes appeared in my father’s face,
grinning at the ground he’d gained.
His second death was a slow detonation,
a bomb held between im-
and ex-
plode.
Each sip he took turned want into need,
never quenching the thirst of the thief.
The third death came on a winter morning,
his body deserted, hollow before me.
A final offering from the grinning thief,
the discarded bottle he finally drained.
My Dad is done with his dying now,
the final funeral for all his deaths.
We stand shoulder to shoulder-
five descendants of dad and thief-
to say one last goodbye.
Each of us
looking back with his light blue eyes,
curating what remains.