Long Usually Poems
Long Usually Poems. Below are the most popular long Usually by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Usually poems by poem length and keyword.
The Syrians
Portugal used to have many groceries, but with
The big supermarkets are usually out of the center, so one has to drive
for miles to buy four batteries
The groceries began to dwindle
An Arab family, perhaps from Syria, bought a closed-down shop
Their shop opens early and closes late
Here one can buy batteries, milk, and a loaf of bread
The locals are glad to have them here, especially the elderly or
those without a car.
The Syrians are pleasant people who also serve strong coffee
in the morning, say, at six
They are the correct type of migrants, dedicated to hard work
With a shop needed in the neighborhood, which tells us that
Not all migration is bad
The stars look beautiful tonight
Little flecks of diamonds shining bright
Usually, Pollution in cities dulls their might
And makes us not see the beautiful tiny pieces of white.
Glittering flecks that fade in the sunlight
And God flicking silver in the sky when day turns to night
Those beautiful stars, little sources of light
That shines so brightly in the absence of sunlight.
The sun is also a big beautiful star
Shining its wonderful glorious light from afar
Giving us warmth when things seem not up to par
As long as there is light in the sky, you can still go far.
his is a fireless dragon the seven-year-old told me.
He was coloring it all over the page in reds and purples.
Long strokes, accidentally staying in the lines rarely.
An artist in a frenzy.
Hey, he says “Was Jesus born on the ground?”
I don’t think so, I tell him. I think he was born in a manger
Is that in heaven?
No. In a stable.
He gives me a condescending look.
Then he throws his head back and laughs.
He is with me because I am the school counselor
And he does not want to be in his classroom.
He wants to be with me.
He is with me a lot.
He tells me that the sandpile is a boy.
I ask what he has named it.
Bob.
I say, “I am going to call you Bob.”
He loves that. His grin is filling out to his ears as he colors.
“Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,” I sing.
He grins so widely his teeth show.
This almost never happens in class.
Why don’t you nickname me? I suggest.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Butt hole.”
This is usually a four-year-old thing.
I tell him we cannot say ‘but in school”.
He is sharp. “But why not?”
I say, “Give me another nickname”.
“Okay, Fart head.”
I tell him we can’t say fart either.
He says “Dinosaurs were born before you even came to work here.
The gas for your car is dinosaur’s poop.”
I think to myself, he may be seven, but he loves bathroom words as much as four.
words 259
Speck Of Dust
A cloud took on the third phase of development
Grew with weather that came of age
With it dust particles in disarray were captured
Wind held them tight as wind might do
Mountains claimed them once aptly as their own
One dust speck broke free from this catastrophe
Longed for the monument top again with its giant friend
The sierra known as home, the western range
Being the peak of existence, Earth
The cloud tells another story
Takes water, dust and air into its care
Turns particles white and with the dust, transforms to other colors
Sometimes to the hues of tan, yellow or even gray
Brown tints form around the edges when coming on to night
Desert orange, usually quiet but grounded
Powdered soft, welcomed change, not alarmed
Dust speck escaped all the glamour for more solid ground
Fell back to earth
Got lost with ranges, staged etchings against the sky
Remained there, held down by rain
A pinnacle of success for such a tiny thing
Back again once more
THE FAIREST OF TEN THOUSAND...
They usually say...
This life is not always fair!
But there is a Fairest of Ten Thousand,
Unto my soul.
Colourful, brightness of a tomorrow
I am certain...
Because the Fairest of Ten Thousand,
Walks with me all the way,
Resting in His promises...
Of a Future and a Hope,
Because colourful brightness,
I must get there!
Whispers of obscurity may tingle...
My ears.
The sky sometimes may refuse,
To shine.
But that is not my destination,
The Fairest of Ten Thousand...
Walks with me all the way!
And so colourful brightness...
I must get there!
©Ayeni Oluwatosin
Milly Molly
1. Milly Molly - brown-eyed, kinky-haired she was, seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. She had so many dreams, but love was not one of them until she met him.
Wishing to captivate the court with her words, she ended up losing herself in his eyes. From his gait to his smile, Milly was willing to walk a million miles.
"Am I the problem?" she would ask, pain tattooed on her heart. Nothing was usually as it seemed.
She gave her all, but it was never enough; she always had her head in the clouds.
2. Do you know that when you are in love, you are partly blind? I guess that is how it is designed.
Pain - all she got was pain from the person who ought to be her comfort place, the type which could only be eased with death.
Her tears streamed like a furious waterfall, leaving behind everlasting scars. Everyone hoped she took this as a sign.
Thinking of being a lecturer but becoming his listener, wanting to rule the office yet becoming his doorknob.
She dreamt of new things upon his arrival, but falling out of love was not one of them. Oh, Milly Molly.
3. Years later, she returned to the town where it all began, wrapped in dreams which colored her world.
Haunted no more by the past she hoped to undo, nor the tears she had sown.
Wearing a bright smile on her face with all her scars faded, Milly was a diamond made of rock. Kind of wish she had known.
Nonetheless feel gratitude without
cerumen eye zing
January 22, 2020 'ere
and thank guardian angels
who find me continually blessed
regarding audiological sense to hear,
whereby faculty ears avail hear
structures of silence on wing
and prayer grateful ring
around the collar soundwaves,
which analogously ping
pong with supreme functionality
and pleasantly and gloriously bring
audible world wide web despite
my senescence, though amazingly aging.
Though no medical practitioner,
yours truly doth assign
value to learn tidbits,
enamored how biology
and evolution did codesign
about body electric (mine)
being proactive to nip
in figurative bud potential detriment,
that usually gets diagnosed as benign,
especially biannual examination
concerning ears, nose and throat
relieved said organ divine
delivering sonic boom, where
one mortal grovels, while fading
sunlight dances and
enables fading poetic moonshine
to manifest itself without rhyme
nor reason, neither sense nein
sensibility, no doubt readers pine
I desist tempting urge to combine
words together begot
as prodigy progeny
directly linkedin with
impressive "fake" authorial scion
just back after after taking extended
holiday/sabbatical within Apennine
Mountains to bolster every vital sign.
Modern medical science doth allow
enable, and provide this primate
cause he feels wowed at how
examinations every now
and again (usually six months apart)
Medicare doth pay
so one doggone old sow
war puss till death
doth him part, he will vow
to vet health issues,
and in the end barks a final bow wow.
I wish I could rewind time, but would that make a difference? I often relive the pain I've caused like guilt on repeat, a reel that won't shut off. It's time to start realizing all this regret is consuming me alive. I need a way to let it go so my insides don't bring me to my own demise.
Maybe acknowledging the fact that there are no do-overs only new tomorrows. With every sun break a moon comes awake, that's usually when I can feel all the weight.
I hope by letting the past go, thinking about you won't feel so terrible. I dream of the day when I can laugh at things we used to do, and enjoy all the moments we shared instead of crying about you. I want to not feel this heavy heartache, so again I will try this grieving a different way.
3/21/17
Is it going to be the low, high, wrong or right path?
Something I've grasped
You can't get any time back
Days and nights just might pass
Quite fast
The weather and intentions of people colder than ice packs
Humans kill and fight over cash
Just like that
In more or less than five flat
How quickly some will put a knife in your back
Trying to set you up in some kind of trap
Regardless of if it leaves all ties slashed
Too many have little to no regard for life and laugh
And it is not by chance
Sometimes due to a leak in a line of gas
Explosions caused after one striked a match
Usually causing damage and a bright flash
Medicines made by plants
Occasional ocean waves with white caps
Vague and very well defined maps
Crude and fine crafts
Dotted, single colored and striped hats
Near and far from spice racks
As well as any spyglass or wine glass
There was different types of bats
Inside a mineshaft
A sack of rice sat
Ending up becoming a nice snack
For several sighted or blind rats
A house with orange, grey , black and white cats
And nine mats
Several windows ajar so there is a slight draft
In the sky photographed
Another unidentified craft
Not going to give this a timestamp
While using a stihl trimmer to slice the grass
By: Dalton Ogletree
Lately I’ve been a little lost in crevasses
And unable to stop the type of thought that crosses.
Ashamed at actions recent, decently embarrassed,
Even though forgiven by those who are better than good and fairest.
And bits of moments play one at a time
Reminding me of the black ooze and slime
On my soul I feel when I get anxiously high.
But it haunts even on days when my bowls and glasses are dry.
I can’t shake the shame
That I’ve now sewn to my name
Essentially anxiety’s claim
My stomach, heart, and mind I can’t tame.
Lately I had been feeling so blessed
And maybe that’s why I gave in to chaotic unrest.
The aftermath of feeling a fool
For realizing I had been such a ridiculous tool
Has me in complete loathing of self
And despising the bottles on my shelf.
But what should be expected when all I drink is poison solutions
Usually straight, as I’m not a fan of dilutions.
And though I did nothing wrong as far as moral mistake
The embarrassment, shame, and self-hatred won’t give me a break.
I sweat myself to non-sleep as I wait day’s breaking light
And keep myself awake with nausea and headaches despite restless nights.
This sickening root system in my pit
Is likely going to stick around, grow for a bit.
It will all fade eventually with time, and given a touch of luck
Lately though I’m reminded, maybe I put up a good front…
But damn do I suck.