Long Tim Poems
Long Tim Poems. Below are the most popular long Tim by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tim poems by poem length and keyword.
I went to junior high school with Tim Kinney.
His hair was long and unkempt-an aroma of the cheapest hemp.
He had metal taps on the bottom of his black leather boots.
Never carried a book or pen because it just wasn't very cool.
He dated a ragged little blond from just over the tracks.
Was menacingly friendly to everyone, including us outcasts.
He had black skulls and guns from his neck to his calf.
His 2nd favorite girl branded {TK} on her tight little @ss...
Or so it was said.
By far the coolest thing about Tim Kinney.
Is that he was missing the end of his right pinky.
Like a Japanese gangster, he never said one damn thing about it.
I wrote a poem of despair
My hearts been tossed up into the air
She wrote a limerick that was taboo
She made me laugh when I was so blue
Entering stage left was Tim
Writing of past lovers sins in a hymn
It seems that we laugh or we cry
We live, we love, or we die
The three of us, holding poetic swords up high
Throughout the ages we all do fly
No subject goes unspoken
For the freedom of words we've awoken
No battle to long or too fierce
Our duels are true and unrehearsed.
Through blood, sweat and tears
A bond so strong that sweetens the years
All for one and one for all
Let us carry on and have a ball!
There you stand at heavens gate
This ain't your same ole truck ride
This is your destination
Tim this is your best realization
This is where a man of such love and care for others belongs
You were a rock for your family
A lifeline for your friends
A hero for your son
A foundation for your wife
You had a unique sense of humor
A fresh take on life
You were the one i called first when i had a problem
You always answered the call
You answered every call from anyone who needed help
You were a friend a mentor a wonderful human being
I and everyone you knew will miss you eternally
Fly free free from the pain my friend
And soar like the angel you were in life.
Love and miss you my friend from now on till forever.
Inside your pain
I did not see your hurt
The time has come for you to fly free
Life has dealt you a losing hand
In death you are four of a kind
My heart hurts
My eyes blind
Reality has not set in
You are never going to be there again
Oh the words i wish i could have spoke
The time well wasted
Your soul a beechen of light
Your kindness uncanny
You were the inspiration of your generation
This world has lost so much
But heaven as gained an angel like no other
I will miss all you gave and cherish all i have gained
Rest well my brother and keep watching over us
Someday we shall see you again and what a glorious day it will be.
'The band plays a sweet, soulful slow-dance song
I nuzzle her neck, breathing in her perfume scent.'
~ excerpt from Tim Ryerson's poem, The Dance
*
From a deep slumber, you drift away
Where the yellow moths and poppies sway
And the gentle sun pours crimson gold,
On meadows burnished since time of old...
It is here that jaybirds decked in fresh reds
Whistle dreamy tunes like morn's newly weds,
That lingering music stands aside
As sky's dance claims you for a long ride.
For the wind is pure, a calm it achieves
Displaying the glory of dusky leaves---
So majestic is this place where you tread
Like a thousand years have dawned and fled.
Waltz to the tune of one groom in love
Together now with your queen, above--
Tim, pour light over me... life's blest dove.
Missing: Pieces of Me
SPLINTERED HEART
like a leg severed, ripped loose:
the phantom limb throbs and aches
knowing yet unwilling, unable to accept
that it's only a ghost playing evil pranks
sitting frozen and paralytic
from the weight, the frightful weight
dragging, forcing down the head
welding chin to collarbone...
heavy, crushing feeling on the chest
punishing pressure on the heart
a heart at the point of imploding...
alarm clock crying, screaming:
time warp between sleep and awake
when not yet aware of where one is
not yet aware of what or who one is
a split-second reprieve until----
(oh, it really did happen
oh, I don’t have a leg now
oh, you have been torn loose
taking pieces of me with you)
it has been proven medically:
people with life threatening seizures
can eventually function normally
with half of their brains removed
not so with a splintered heart
not so with half a heart...
~ How can I forget a gently bold spirit that is Tim
whose poetry brims with verve,
contemporary images, wit, and emotional depth?
While exchanging comments on our posts,
I found out that he stayed in my country during
the war. His anecdotes sparked the beginnings of
a dear friendship that allowed us to connect through
email and facebook. Tim was an erudite poet as
seen through this winning piece in a contest.
~Knowing his health was becoming frail, he would slip
in and out of the site, yet quickly responded to most
of us on social media.
When Tim passed on, I was shocked; his demise ...sudden.
I am grateful to have known him up close and personal,
a man of integrity who wanted to revisit our country with
his daughter a year before he finally rested in peace. Salute, Tim!
Anthony Biaasoc's The Uncontest Contest
6/22/2020
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
A field where tall bony trees,
Where hums the cool gentle breeze.
In the gentleness of the grass green,
There lived two rabbits Colin and Tim.
Colin and Tim two best friends,
Lived in little caves in the grassland.
Colin looked like autumn and fallen leaves,
His roasted chestnut fur like all hallows' eve.
Tim looked like winter, his eyes like hibiscus,
His fur as serene as snow, him as lovely as Christmas.
Two buddies, they never fought ,
Hatred, they never got taught.
Their friendship was something so admirable,
As amiable as ever, just like some sweet old fable.
One day they decided to make banana bread,
They were sitting in front of the fire when this thought came into their tiny little head.
Tim brought flour and eggs,
He ran as fast as he could with his galloping legs.
Colin had honey and bananas in his cosy candlelit kitchen,
He decided to read his grandmother's recipe
And began to learn.
They still needed chocolate and baking powder,
Tim went to the market (again) and came back singing louder.
They mixed everything together,
Their heads, light as a feather.
But something very important was still missing—oh! Vanilla,
The batter mixed, then baked, the bread was ready and voilà!
They ate wholeheartedly with smiles as soft as silk,
The banana bread tasted better in the soft pouring rain with some chocolate milk.
There once was a tiny squirrel named Tim
who practiced Tai Chi with great Zen.
He gathered a troupe~
a pint-sized nutty group~
three fluff-tailed apprentices and then…
They donned little leaf-green attire,
stitched snug with twig-threaded fire;
each jacketlet swayed
as their movements displayed
a woodland-born martial desire.
With belts made of braided vine-twine,
they cinched their small uniforms fine;
each buckle was crowned
with an acorn they’d found~
a medallion of mastery’s sign.
They circled in synchronized flow,
soft paws in a forest bungalow;
their medals clicked light
as they moved through the rite~
a jade-tinted tai-chi tableau.
If you’ve watched Project Runway
Then you know its starring role
Isn’t model or designer
But Tim Gunn, its heart and soul.
His is mentor and advisor
And the one who keeps the peace.
He’s the shoulder folks can cry on
When some tears need a release.
With his pocket squares and pin stripes,
In each jazzy suit and shirt,
He’s both classy and flamboyant,
Like some elegant dessert.
On the stage to answer questions
He was witty, wise and charming
And his penchant for the truth
Struck me as utterly disarming.
All the audience delighted
In this star of Project Runway.
I felt privileged to listen
To the stories told Tim Gunn way!