Long Ton Poems
Long Ton Poems. Below are the most popular long Ton by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ton poems by poem length and keyword.
Its dark, i cant see
In this park, its just me
A wrong turn and I'm lost wandering
Was too deep in thought just pondering
There's no one around its dead quiet
Pitch black at night, total silent
I feel the cold of a beasts stare
From the shadows it's everywhere
teeth that'll tear through bone and muscle
Eyes that glow at night
Gotta pick up the pace and hustle
Theres no way to stand and fight
It's cunning trot is getting nearer
Try to focus my eyes to see clearer
It's large I can feel the steps on the ground
It's quick, I hear it moving around
It's stench is unmistakably evil
It's intentions are unmistakably devil
Like a bullets release, it's come
Now I know where it's coming from
No fight, just flee
At night, just me
What kind of god can let this be
Try to run, feet are frozen
My final moments, right now, I've been chosen
It's gaining speed
It's got one need
To feed
My first step weighs a ton
Step after step, one by one
Pick up the pace
Or it's my last race
It's coming
The fear is numbing
It's got no emotion
Beg for my life?
It wouldn't consider the notion
It doesn't wanna hear me plead
It just wants to make me bleed
Start to run
I'm thinking
This is no fun
I'm sinking
Like running in soup
I can't recoup
The speed I had as a kid
Wishing I could remove a lid
Of a can of whoop ass
On this beast but its too fast
It's breath is on my back
I can feel it
Everything's still pitch black
I can’t see it
One more step, and I'm weightless
Picked up twenty feet off the ground
This part is when I'm helpless
I land hard like a truck, and I'm stuck
It's weight on my back
Ready to attack
Face down
On the ground
The only sound
Is the sound
Of this beast
of a hound
With its feast
That it has found
Why am I awake for this?
Why must I be the only witness?
To these teeth ripping me to a shred
This beast wished me dead
No pain. just the pressure of fate
If anyone came now, it'd be too late
Acceptance is my only mechanism
This is how I die, no more skepticism
As my mind goes, my life passes
My loves, my losses, my contributions
It all passes
The last thought through my mind; this time
The beast that easily destroyed me
Will destroy you, you'll see
Because this beast has a name in this rhyme
The beasts name
Is time
Most of my classes suck (by that I mean they’re difficult). English is ok - especially the writing. I’d never want to major in English Literature though. It’s one of the hardest majors at Yale. It may be harder than Pre-med. They make it hard to discourage people from choosing it. If you don’t love literature, don’t live and breathe books and writing, you’ll *never* navigate the major.
Despite English being her third language, Leong is an excellent proofreader (which I need).
“Put an emoji in there,” Leong recommended, “it’ll show you’re chill and not panicking.”
“No emojis! I said, shocked, “This is supposed to be professional.” Still, every time I submit a draft the professor says it’s good (an “A”) and I’m done.
Sir Paul McCartney is at Yale today, talking about a book he wrote, I think. They’re piping his music all over campus. I don’t have time to see him, but his “Ram” album is one of my all-time favorites. I know people have their favorite Beatle, but I think Paul has, by far, the most lyrical solo career.
Lisa and I just arrived at the fitness center (in the residence basement) we’re the only three there. Peter (my BF) got there ahead of us, about 30 minutes ago. He’s been working out on one of the weight machines. He’s tall and fit, with black-almost blue hair and a new beard. Sweaty and shirtless, he’s a take-your-breath-away spectacle. The sight of him jangled up and down my libido. I felt myself groan inwardly. “Put on a shirt!” I said.
He comes over to where I’ve taken a seat. The sun is coming in at an angle which reveals that the air between us is filled with dust motes but now he looks like he’s a model standing in a spotlight. I just look at him and smile wickedly. “Why,” he says, getting very close.
“Because you’re distracting!” I answer laughing, as I push him away, “and I have a TON of reading to do.”
I like to read while I’m walking on the treadmill. He tries to nuzzle me as I step up. “Look,” I say, “If I can finish my reading (~200 pages) by dinner, I‘ll have something special for you.”
“Like what?” he asks, smiling and suddenly interested.
“Something for you to look back on when you’re a very old man.” I whisper.
“What are we standing around for?!” He demands, putting my chemistry book and water bottle on the treadmill and stepping away to slip on his t-shirt.
I have no friends left,
In this town,
Will you be my friend?
You, the little Prince
Living On the planet B 612?
Will you be my friend?
The robin
Gracefully singing
When I Walk?
I have no friend,
Will you be my friend?
You, the engineer
In your lighted office
Located In Duchess Anne Street?
I have no friend
In this town,
You, will you be my friend,
You, the creeping ivy
The higher you climb.
Will you be my friend?
You, the schoolboy
That carries in your binder,
Books of poetry
More learned than me?
I have no friend,
You, do you want my friendship,
You Jessica Pegula, you, Coco Goff,
You, Karolina Muchova, players
Who Win tennis tournaments
Playing All over the world?
I have no more friends,
In this town, you
Will you be my friend?
You, the rum baba,
Tasting more delicious than angel liquor?
Will you be my friend?
You, the humble cowboy,
Gary Cooper, who does justice,
When the train, yes the train,
Whistle it three times?
I have no friend,
In this town,
But elsewhere may be,
I’ve had so many; I’ve had so many, maybe
They’ll miss me tomorrow
What happened to my friends?
Je n’ai plus d’amis,
Dans cette ville,
Toi, veux-tu être mon ami ?
Toi, le petit Prince
Sur ta planète B 612 ?
Toi, veux-tu être mon ami ?
Le rouge-gorge
Qui chante gracieusement
Sur mon passage ?
Je n’ai pas d’ami,
Toi, veux-tu être mon ami ?
Toi, l’ingénieur
Dans ton bureau éclairé
De la rue Duchesse Anne ?
Je n’ai pas d’ami
Dans cette ville,
Toi, veux-tu être mon ami,
Toi, le lierre rampant
Plus haut tu grimperas.
Veux-tu être mon ami,
Toi, le collégien
Qui porte dans ton cartable,
Des livres de poésie
Plus savant que moi ?
Je n’ai pas d’ami,
Toi, veux-tu mon amitié,
Toi Jessica Pegula, toi, Coco Goff,
Toi, Karolina Muchova, joueuses
Qui Gagnez des tournois de tennis
Aux quatre coins du monde ?
Je n’ai plus d’ami,
Dans cette ville, toi,
Veux-tu être mon ami,
Toi, le baba au rhum,
Plus délicieux que la liqueur des anges ?
Veux-tu être mon ami,
Toi, l’humble cowboy,
Gary Cooper, qui rend justice,
Quand le train, oui le train,
Siffle trois fois ?
Je n’ai pas d’ami,
Dans cette ville,
Mais ailleurs peut être,
J’en ai eu tant, j’en ai tant, peut être
Que je leur manquerai demain.
Que sont mes amis devenus ?
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
I fondly recall the innocent days of my childhood,
playing hide and seek among the backyard boxwood,
and life as I knew it then was sweet and good.
Country life was always fun.
I treasured Christmas tree lights glowing in the dark,
family gatherings each summer in Audubon Park.
In my younger years I was as carefree as a lark,
enjoying days in the sun.
With my little sister beside me we made mud pies
and didn't see anything wrong with little white lies
or that dancing like ballerinas in the rain wasn't wise
until our pirouettes were done.
I enjoyed having an allowance that I could spend
and sharing whispered secrets with my best friend,
wishing our playing time outside would never end.
How I loved to run!
In sweet memories I recall swimming in the lake,
helping Mom in the kitchen when she would bake,
and eating more icing than I had put on the cake.
Having fights with a water gun.
How wonderful were my days spent as a child,
Dad called me a tomboy because I was a bit wild.
I was happy and content with life, always beguiled
with everything I'd done.
My braided pigtails were yanked by a silly boy in school.
He giggled like an idiot thinking he was so cool,
til I fought back with a fist and called him a 'stupid fool.'
That battle I had won.
If memory serves me well, I remember not liking boys.
Always wanting their way and making too much noise.
I preferred playing house with many of my stuffed toys.
Boys were creatures to shun.
I was very competitive and wanted to win every race,
and didn't care much in those days about ladylike grace.
I recall being angry with myself for falling flat on my face
and not talking to anyone.
I've photos of me since I was born and it's plain to see
that my childhood was a very delightful time for me.
With a loving family like mine, I grew up quite esprit.
I love them all, a ton!
October 8, 2022 - A Constance La France Contest
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - "T" Forms Poetry
He danced on the decks of tossing ships, danced only for dimes
He danced to the lash and sound of whips, hip moving like dream
And when he reasoned, his words sublime brought heavenly climes
Dance from plantation to Greathouse, dancing in gully and stream
And if we dance again today, he choreographs nuance and fiber
Still; this talented son, this bright native of the Martha Brae River.
He is the twin soul of that Manley, our horizons in the sun
And when at Mona, he taught me how to run with my ton.
O farewell, brother of my brother, mentor that from your distance shape
Me into a patriotic landscape where my children may build, farewell
Sweet intellect; and O may they bring our Mframadan like cloth to drape
Your rest. All your public life was nobly spent, farewell, Rex, farewell!
Your footprints are bright, not castles in sand, from high hills shine
The glory of your days. O Griot, go the bidding now of the Divine
O Blow the abeng now, beat the kumina drum, O village peel
The bells of jubilee again. Aluta Continua, Rex, go take your seal!
Mi mumma band her belly and bawl long time, yai water like rain
Hot like Clarendon springs, and the world like blue mountain mist
So cold, O emptiness, emptiness is such a dread, O such a pain
What shall we do with out hollowness now, and how shall we resist
Again the shackles of injustice, O that there were Marley
To sing this icon into the icon of memory, for all our history
Is but words on a page until we can retrieve the past to right
Today and make tomorrow bright again. He was that light.
Coda
O Kilmanjaro weep! O Timbuctu weep! O Meroe and kujo's clan
Weep for the death of man, a sterling man, a grandiose design
That met its worth in gold in deeds of him. All our life is like sand
Worn from the rock of being by tides and seasons, and no sign
To tell where wind or water carry us, we are blown away
The shadow of the sand is gone, but never cannot decay
It is too immaterial, its presence is like his fragrance here
Bill still O Niger, and you great Nile, I borrow you for a tear.
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Translations
Allons-y = Lets go, pronounced similar to Alizee
Magasins = Stores
N'est pas is written on sound should be "N'est ce pas"
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri = Eat your macaroon cookies my love"
C'est ton droit et ta liberte = Is your right and your liberty
Unquotable quotes - III
When in Rome, do as the Roman Nero.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the vain and the
insane.
A grenade a day keeps the refugee away.
Cut your coat according to your girth.
The kettle calling the pot back.
Like father, like son; like mother, like neither.
Singing in the rain can get you pain in Spain.
Singing in the rain in Paris can get you chicks who do
the twist with fairies.
A sound heart in a sick body is like a tart groggy with
toddy.
The sun also rises best in the West.
Who said beggars are not choosers: they can choose the
place and moment they beg.
A white tiger abhors orange.
A policeman’s girl always wears handcuffs behind her
back.
A lawyer who licks the back of hands always gets paid
first.
A judge who yells at you tends to reduce the sentence to
a phrase.
Building castles in the air with sand is cheaper by far.
A marathon runner remembers the thighs but not the
laps.
At the end of the day is when you make your greatest
mistake – you go to sleep.
Churn milk to make curd: churn speech to make turd.
Pounding rice as a marriage rite brings no surprise on
the wedding night.
One swallow doesn’t make a drunkard out of a
teetotaller, but it sure signals a dry summer.
Cricketing jargon
The late-cut is the shave you missed out.
The off-cut is the cover drive turned phut.
The leg-pull is the batsman’s bras de fer to the leg
spinner.
The long-stop is the twelth man on the field.
The straight drive pierces the umpire’s reverie.
The full-toss is the fast bowler’s slipped disc.
The ton-up comes after the spin bowlers give up.
The innings defeat is the army beating the retreat.
Test matches end up in ditches for pitches.
A bumper is an un-coded message from the bowler to the
batsman.
A bumper is an overt warning to the inveterate blocker.
Tail-enders get to face the best batsmen all-rounders.
Umpires inspect pitches at the start of a match for coins
dropped by lawn-mowers.
An over-throw is a fielded ball flung by an outfielder at
the umpires and which misses the wickets by miles.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
36.
The Rose
The garden rose by Nature's brush
Seems the perfect flower.
It sleeps before the autumn moon...
Is reborn of April showers.
I feel an empathy and compassion
For other flowers as they grow...
With their aesthetics somewhat muted
Compared to the glory of the rose.
The End
37.
The Daffodil
The daffodil in spring will rise
And in the garden grow.
It will slyly peak its head above
The last sprinkling of the snow.
Its appearance is a comfort
As a tired wintry corpse expires...
Giving way to a vernal transformation
Only Nature could inspire.
The End
38.
April's Blessing
April's sly peculiarities are a blessing
As the dregs of March are born away.
Cleansing a tired Nature's tribulations
Before the warmth of gentle May.
It gives source to seed and germ with
Unfathomable colors to flaunt the eye.
It plays mischievously upon my senses
To humble an enthusiast such as I.
Nothing contrasts to Nature's bounty
As she releases now her gentle showers...
Where orchids give rise to expectation
While still meadows bare their flowers.
Children... no strangers to April's booty
Find joyousness in all her grand oblations.
Splashing and sloshing in hooded dress
In puddles that stoke their imagination.
But April fills me with blissful consternation
As she makes bold her diverse complexion.
Because I... being me, have done nothing
To deserve such encompassing affection.
The End
39.
Half a Ton
Hate must weigh a thousand pounds
While love will weigh but one.
There are those who find it amenable
Ferrying the weight that's half a ton.
They seem devoid of sense and reason
As to why they persevere... soon
Learning the manifestation in the mirror
Is all they truly fear.
The End
40.
Bucket Full of Stupid
There is a bucket full of stupid
Giving voice to maddening crowds
With no obvious rhyme or reason
Why they wear a Reaper's shroud.
Such times seem justly merited
With common sense in short supply
Considering the state of education
And the inane hebetude it provides.
The End
A thought, a nightmare, a dream; and what does it all mean?
Perhaps its meaning hides inside the clouds and reveals itself with the outpouring of rain that often comes with a flooding deluge of pain.
Anyway, last night, I had a dream. I cannot recall most of my dreams, and a few of them I can never forget. This dream was about friends of mind whose names I shall alter and call them Grant and Justine.
In the dream, they created a secret recipe and made a tasty carbonated beverage. I'm no food expert, but they sought me out for a taste test; and I found it to be a most refreshing drink with a very soothing quality.
Their drink had the ability to immediately capture one with suspense upon contact with the tongue. And it had a smoothness that, in a flash, released a taste so pleasing and subtle. I highly commended them on their new product and bade them the speed of God.
And again I ask, what does it all mean? I cannot be for certain, but it occurred to me that we often face situations that are rather suspenseful and hold a ton of questions with so few answers. I sense that if we remain poised, calm, and prayerful, the outcome will give birth to or release a taste from heaven with the touch of Almighty God.
09042017PS 2nd Contest, Dreams, Nayda Negron; Contest #330, Brian Strand
Yet it ended up out of our control
This was years & months & months & years ago
Right before Samhain in the weeks just prior to Yule
'Cause never have I ever fallen in love
Never my heart with false hope I'll ever bug
Its gotta be naturally & over time, you know
Never have I ever let someone see me shine or glow
I'll never let someone in that far for them to even know
I can't remember the second I felt it 'cause the emotion smacked me in my heart like a ton of bricks I can't remember falling "head over heels" or when I caught those particular "feels"
Nor can I remember that split second I decided 'yes,' but I know I Immediately felt superhumanly blessed for it to have been miraculously you
For decades & decades - it seemed we were on a mission, too
Red rose, red rose, your red rose
An overwhelming, calming sense of serendipitous desire to know ALL of you
I wanted to write another chapter within our memories•we've•created•book
I get choked-up re-living how our awkward relationship came about
But still I've never allowed myself the pain of ever falling in love
(If I'm being brutally blunt & true)
The closest I've ever began to fall in love
Was when I got the unique pleasure of getting to be with you in real life
So if there is ONE thing I want you to know
Its that I suck at securing & explaining - but I'm master at proving it with show
Actions mean more than words 'cause words are just something you heard with your ears
And showing doesn't come naturally without fears
There's lots of small things I don't believe you even took notice that I did
'Cause most of the time I just felt like it was expected
But there were so many things - after they took you away, that I really needed to say to you
But towards the end, I felt like everything I said you had somehow stopped believing were true
But that makes no sense, considering our whole life it was only you talking with me that I ever got solace, comfort, or relief
You gave me no reason to ever try and play you for a fool
Even back when we were youngins - still going to school as we grew
As kids you were my highlight many, many days
And if you weren't online, my inspiration dwindled to even wanna try & play
'Cause you were my person when we gamed, too
And nobody else felt the same way as you...