Long Twenty four seven Poems
Long Twenty four seven Poems. Below are the most popular long Twenty four seven by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twenty four seven poems by poem length and keyword.
Santa challenged Jesus,
his words were cold as ice;
"I bring toys and happiness"
"I love this festive life"
"I travel around the world,
bringing lots of cheer"
"I have my own shop,
with strapping reindeer"
"I can fly up a chimney,
with a finger aside my nose"
"My elves are working daily,
with bells upon their toes"
"I have a huge mansion,
beyond the North Pole"
"Everybody loves me,
from the youngest to the old"
"I can see the naughty,
the nice and witty too"
"Tell me, dear Jesus,
what exactly can you do?"
Jesus answered quickly,
And this is what he said,
"I can heal the sick,
and even raise the dead"
"I can walk on water,
make a blind man see"
"Your elves are my disciples,
who follow faithfully"
"You say you have a mansion?"
"My Father has many"
"My children's humble prayers,
are answered by me"
"I can turn water,
to the purest of wine"
"I can cast out demons,
to the lowest of swine"
"I can soothe mighty seas,
I can feed the multitude"
"I gave my life for sinners,
you're one I must include"
"I was born for a purpose,
do not forsake this cause"
"Without my resurrection,
there'd be no Santa Claus"
"I will have the final word,
prepare for Judgement Day"
Santa bowed to Jesus,
he began to weep and pray
Santa visits once a year,
Jesus is twenty-four seven;
Ho, ho, ho, and mistletoe,
won't get you into heaven
Merry Christmas!
'dolce far niente', is an Italian idiom means 'sweetness of doing nothing
It's humdrum of work twenty four seven
thrumming a suffocated heart to burnout
too many tabs open in frantic switching
moments of leisure in despair and doubt.
Can't I pause a while to look around nature?
a peacock dancing to tunes of a cuckoo,
when worries vanish in a world of euphoria
lying on a hammock, there's nothing to do.
A simple miracle, the two little sparrows,
captivated I ask, what are your names?
they flit around, twitching with a squirrel
finding hidden nuts, adventure fun games.
Mr Time is no warden...dolce far niente
in shade of siesta, there's no feeling of guilt
no gems sparkle, only with uncut diamonds,
precious spare moments, a Heaven is built
FOREVER IS OUR PRAYER
When petals climb to reach their swell
they ray a hue 'neath the sun's spell
so are the hearts that rise to quell
wings of love fluttering yell
Twenty-four seven we walk the talk
no dull moments left there to float
Distance crossed our joyful tears touched
pushing our smile to rush to ace flash
Love's peak: its urgency we don't wanna let go
Falling, falling deeply in love is what we show
nights young where at the gazebo, you hold my gaze
let alone my lips you confine so chaste
The heavens aegis with twinkling stars
they suddenly deliver some liquid pour
Unmindful of such, we amble round
chirping crickets hum our background sound
Scents of lavender hover the room air
as there and then you hold my hips for a floor dance
Night gone old but our holds began their mould
Upon hills and caves we clamour to surrender
Beats and breathing leaps and pounds like a drum
Ah! Even the lazy moon strum his guitar
Us twine like the ivy fall softly on sheets
Sharing a flood of sweats and sweets
Sad, there is two years and more we need to hurdle
but this better than never taking the risk
Wired and wind, us, we vow for more than ten days
as forever together we crave in our prayers.
__________________________________________
O.E. GUILLERMO
9:47 am, May 1, 2015
The T.V. Set is blaring, as usual for it is the law to keep it on.
Year 2035, and the gatekeepers need to watch people twenty-five six.
Yes, I know it used to be twenty-four, seven, but the ghouls recalculated.
There are fourteen months now too; twelve was not enough.
Announcement: Researchers say that thirty-percent of world is blind and deaf.
I stare at the T.V. set. Surely that figure is too low.
I think of all the people I know who cannot see the truth
Even after it climbs into their laps and bites them on the nose.
Preferring to believe the experts of their favorite stations over their observations.
At least fifty-six percent of the population is deaf.
For I have seen all the mothers in the grocery store not doing a thing
While their children yell, scream, swear, and torment other shoppers.
It might be sixty-six percent. Think of all those fathers at the ball games
Who must not be able to hear their own words as they scream stupidity at the coach.
Announcement: Seventy percent of the world are mad.
This propaganda is getting way out of hand. I know only one person who is not mad.
She sticks her tongue out at the T.V. set and puts her foot through it.
ALERT! ALERT! Destroyer at 627 Hemlock Street! Destruction of Government Property!
They haul me out for hanging three seconds later.
Haven't got time for those cynical people
They're never gonna drag me down
Life's too short for whining and complaining
In their own negativity they drown
For twenty-four seven it's non-stop paranoia
Can't imagine living that way
On the sunniest day their sun doesn't shine
I rather spend time making hay
Suspecting the government's watching us
Taping us each time we pee
Had no idea things had gotten that serious
Why such interest in little old me
Well I'm just gonna go on my merry old way
More important things on my mind
Like feeding Dufus and my persian cat Lily
A good way to stay sane I find
Haven't got time for those cynical people
There's exciting stuff to explore
This friendly old planet is beckoning me
So I'm off to open more doors
© Jack Ellison 2013
Some guys are cut out for retirement
That certainly doesn't apply to me
If I had my druthers, I'd still be working
This is surely not my cup of tea
Used to be such an active fellow
Was hard at work twenty-four seven
Up until virtually all hours of the night
Now I'm lucky if I make it past eleven
This poetry site is my saving grace
Without it, I'd surely go berserk
Well maybe that's overstating my case
But you get it, I thrive on work
Perhaps there's a big surprise in store
I'll inherit a million big ones
From a distant long lost cousin of mine
Seems I'm getting a little too much sun!
My prayer is clamorous, “Let this cup pass.”
somewhat pious, a smidgen of brass.
God's Word relates how mountains were moved,
waters turned back and shackles removed.
Thus so I make my request to heaven
“Lord, the strain is twenty-four, seven.
“Lord, I can’t think in this eternal noise.
“The mess, the stress, I confess, it annoys."
My simple prayer, "If there's another way,
some stroke of luck; take me out of this fray.
God, move my mountain, can you make it flee?"
Quietly His answer came; the mountain is me.
He moved my cup to a much better place -
And filled it full with salvation’s grace.
His grace - sufficient for any event.
my arrogance - feeble excuse to vent.
July 10, 2022
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Contest Name Pick-A-Title, Vol 31
trials & temptations
life's leaven
twenty-four seven
my nose pressed flat
against the sweet shop pane
a yearning
welled within
a sigh
a shrug
I shuffle off
childhood was rationed then
where
apples overhang
the orchard wall
sun-kissed draped
now about to fall
in
hedgerows ablaze
with succulent sweets
will-power
melts
in a crumble
temptation's face
with whispers
so often
ensnare &enlace
allurement
in her glance
a come hither
perchance
away away
I'll not play
begone
deceit
false words
go go
let not
my ego show
depart depart
I'll not listen
....today
Axed dent of circumstances
finds yours truly liberated,
whereby no obligatory constraints
obliges forcible adherence
synchronizing Circadian rhythm
forcibly linkedin within paradigm
minutely crafting, daisy chaining
involuntarily ceding cradle to grave
man made artificial construct
(dismissing one living away
off the gridlock)
co-opting every precious moment
comprising hour quotidian existence
to sustain swiftly styled
harry tailored lifestyle
affording bajillion *****sapiens
luxury to scold frantic scramble,
freedom to scurry frantically
twenty four seven madcap rat race
formerly existing (millenniums ago)
as "noble savage"
ah...remember those glory days
now, grudgingly,
niggardly... unwittingly
compromising pleasant dreams
jarring deeply slumbering
body electric groggily awake
liberty, courtesy alarming wake up
to toil away making dem
big dearly beloved bucks
essentially entering holy grail
searching made more worthwhile
thankless fracas, fray, fraught
pitting one beasty boy against t'other
survival of fittest in overdrive
(Charles Darwin taken aback),
how origin of most ruthless species
went a courtin for dazzling,
jazzy, regal trappings
supposedly to ease
grueling laboring mind numbing
lumpenproletariat, when after
devoting, sacrificing, venerating...
prime mating years
take respite, and
hire oneself out
as independent contractor,
versus sedately pathetic mundane...
you bet your life
in relation to this
self ostracized scrivener.
In class, the aerodynamics of thought -
the engineer commandeers our papers.
She wears a blindfold over mouth and nose,
trains us on how to crease and navigate.
The solid white and dotted lines, on course.
Teach’ will enforce sans imagination.
Argumentation on the plane - not good.
It will set sail - students will stay in line.
The race is on, some fast, some slow, no-goes.
Leader nods approval to bobbing heads.
A seamless exercise in full control.
But, today, here I am with crimson paper
tucked into my binder. It opens eyes.
Without boundaries, abruptly I crease
the wrinkles of the teacher - she demands
that I cease. I can’t hear her - she’s muffled
behind the ridiculous cloth, of lack
of common sense, and pomp; her eyes seething.
I complete my assignment filled with glee.
The path I take in life, adventurous.
I’m weaving left and right. I’m not unseen.
I break the sound barrier, and speed of
light. My fuselage - twenty-four seven lit.
I lift past the classroom, way past normal,
until my death. The teacher grabs my plane,
tears it up…”will not be tolerated!”
She hands me a page - a solid white sheet.
I paint it bright red, concealing the dots.