Long Wait your turn Poems
Long Wait your turn Poems. Below are the most popular long Wait your turn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wait your turn poems by poem length and keyword.
Little Lilly wanted to go, to the playground, to have some fun the other day.
And all the other Trolls wanted to tag along, for it looked like fun, they said.
So we went at dusk, for our first try, so no wee ones, would be anywhere near.
For you know, Trolls can play pretty hard, and I didn’t know, just what to fear.
I quickly found a bench as home base, for those who needed to have a time out.
Anyone who couldn’t play gently, or broke anything, found they’d get the rout.
First the sandbox became a deep, dark hole, from which to pop up, to scare, thereat.
Of course, dodge ball became club ball, so you can guess what happened with that.
King of the Hill was a really big thing, since they are all, the most territorial, by half.
Surprisingly, the slide was all-OK, but trouble came from underneath, as they laughed.
They wanted to exact a toll, of course, in the middle, as you passed above, quite brief.
The merry-go-round made them dizzy, knocking everyone down, in a domino motif.
The Seesaws became a great big catapult… to the other far side of the playground.
The monkey bars! Well, they aren’t monkeys, that’s for darned certain, I expound!
They tripped, fell, and smacked themselves senseless with no ones’ help, I ensure.
It could’ve been climbed much better, if not covered in so much drool, I’m sure.
Swings became broken as they pushed the others, all the way to the moon, oops!
And basketball became a slam-dunk, as unfortunately they didn’t fit in the hoops.
Hop Scotch took coordination, and you have to be able to wait your turn, too…
So, as in tag, they started bumping and fighting, until becoming a crazy piled up dado.
Races started more fights as all wanted to win, and threw everyone out of their way!
Hearing a laugh, I turned around to see Grandpa Troll, was ready to stop the moray.
He stood near the bench, as I stood looking up, amazedly, at what they had done.
Now, there were other benches everywhere, but they were piled high, on a single one.
I’ll never truly understand the brain of a Troll, for them a playground’s just not fun.
And they don’t play gently, and are bigger, than our wee folk, as I had already known.
They spent the night, putting things to right, even better than before they’d been broke.
And I finally took them home, to find OTHER things, designed especially, for OUR folk.
Some places you don’t write about. You survive them.
Frost on the telly, piss on the stairs,
Smells like bleach, burnt foil, and prayers.
Boiler’s gone. Sockets dead.
Someone’s screaming. Someone bled.
Tinfoil wings fill every bin,
Ashtrays stacked with yesterday’s sin.
Fridge blows air. The kitchen’s grave—
Nothing left, and none to save.
Upstairs she rocks a silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
Skin all wire, voice all gone—
“He screams less when I use alone.”
Three doors down, a bloke named Rick
Dealt ten bags to fund his fix.
Found his brother stiff and blue—
Took his coat, then shot up too.
They found her curled behind the bins,
Legs like rope, cuts on her shins.
Said she slipped.
Said it was rain.
But silence screams
when soaked in shame.
Kid got stabbed by the corner shop—
Twelve years old, still learning to chop.
Mum lit candles. No one came.
Council rinsed, but the stain remained.
Still—
still—
Through all the filth and smashed-out glass,
a streak of sun begins to pass.
It cuts across the piss and pain,
slides through blinds, through cracked windowpane.
It brushes past the silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
No cries now, just the ticking room—
Still rocked gently in her gloom.
It lingers at Rick’s old front door,
His coat long gone, his name no more.
His ghost still trapped where the rot runs deep—
No peace, no fix, no final sleep.
It finds the girl still by the bins,
Track marks raw on paper skin.
She doesn’t move, just lets it burn—
“Smoke still holds me. Wait your turn.”
The sun don’t ask what you’ve done wrong.
It just turns up. Don’t stay too long.
Don’t save the good. Don’t curse the bad.
It lights the wreckage, leaves you mad.
And while it’s here, we breathe. We fight.
We crawl one inch. We steal some light.
A thread of gold. A breath. A flame.
On streets they curse but still proclaim.
So write it raw. Don’t make it sweet.
Don’t bleach the blood. Don’t clean the street.
We ain’t saints. We ain’t pure.
But we’re still here.
And we endure.
This is the sound of neglected Britain—
forgotten, boarded, pissed-on, driven.
A country that don’t fix, just shame.
And sun that shines on piss and pain.
I am the voice of time —
The whisper of centuries long silenced,
And today, I thunder:
The Earth has turned. The meek now reign.
In the year 2050,
China stands not as a country,
But as the heartbeat of a new era,
The firstborn of the Global South’s resurrection.
Not with swords, but silicon.
Not with chains, but circuits.
Africa —
No longer a continent of carved borders,
But a single soul,
One country, one currency, one command.
Its deserts bloom with data farms,
Its skies sing with satellites.
Nairobi, Lagos, Addis — the new jewels of the world.
The old gods —
IMF, World Bank, UN —
Have crumbled into myths for the museum.
BRICS++ has risen, forged in fire,
A furnace of South-South solidarity,
Wielding economic thunder and military lightning.
The New Alliance of the Rising Earth
— a pact forged in justice —
Holds a strength the world has never known.
A military force not born for conquest,
But to protect balance, defend harmony, and uproot hypocrisy.
Meanwhile...
Europe staggers —
Not united, but scattered in tribal echoes,
Its streets echoing with hunger,
Its parliaments burning with blame.
Third World, now not a label,
But a mirror to their future.
And America —
Once fifty stars in pride —
Now scattered into fractured republics,
Each fighting to remember a name.
They come now, ship after ship,
Seeking shelter, seeking work,
Filing into Global South embassies
With applications marked: Desperate.
And the white man, once crowned in ignorance,
Now knows the taste of his own medicine.
Discriminated, undocumented,
Told: Learn the language. Wait your turn. Prove your worth.
But this is not vengeance.
This is balance.
The earth, long patient, has reset the scale.
Oh reader —
This is not a dream.
This is the roar of a future that remembers.
A reckoning seeded in colonized soil,
Watered with blood,
Now grown into a harvest of reckoning.
The last shall be first,
And the first shall be last.
This is the New Superpower.
And its name is Justice.
Us folks out here 'round Coalstoun Lakes we like to till the ground,
but when it comes to water ... well .. the prospects are not sound.
Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not, you live in hope each day,
then hallelujah ... from nowhere ... a prophet came our way.
"I've had a vision folks" Dean said, "brown water 'gainst a wall
and in your district too at that, it's bound to help you all.
A land of milk and honey folks is what you all will see
and soon you'll live in paradise as happy as can be."
For prophecies to come to light, you have to wait your turn,
perhaps a year, or maybe two, that's something we would learn.
Now folks 'round here are patient like and wouldn’t mind the wait,
but Dean the paradise you saw was miles from here old mate.
While heading off on tour in April, we had problems with tyres near Coalstoun Lakes,
between Biggenden and Ban Ban Springs. We called in at a property where we met Debbie
Bird, who kindly let Chris stay with her while I went into Biggenden to replace the
damaged tyres. In December Debbie rang to say they were having a function where Dean
Collins, who works for the Department of Natural Resources, would be present. He had
worked in the Coalstoun Lakes area for some time apparently and had became well known
to the locals as he pursued the idea of putting a dam in the area which would benefit
folk on the land. Sadly, a dam was to be built and would be named Paradise dam, but not
anywhere near where it would help the Coalstoun Lakes folk. Debbie asked me if I'd pen a
few lines to use on the night, as a bit of a send up.
No matter what happens or what may go wrong
The point is to remain tough and to stay strong.
Life isn't easy. There are lessons you need to learn.
Everything will work out for the best. Just wait your turn.
Friends will come and go. True ones stick around.
They help you when in need and when you're feeling down.
It pays to be the quiet one but always stick your ground.
Don't let anyone disrespect you or you will forever be pushed around.
Love isn't everything because most of the time it is lust.
If there is one thing I have learned it's be careful who you trust.
Sex may seem like everything but in a real relationship it's not.
Communication and trust...Now that's what says a lot.
Of course there needs to be attraction and some loving play.
If there is never any between you two, how do you expect the other to stay?
Choose your words wisely. Think before you blurt.
Emotions are fragile things. Feelings easily get hurt.
Never sit too close to the t.v. you might just hurt your eyes.
They will help you see the truth in the mist of all the lies.
Live your life to the fullest. Regret nothing that you do.
In the end, no matter what, your past catches up to you.
Work hard for everything. Expect nothing for free.
Don't waste your life sitting around wondering what might be.
Don't waste your time with someone if you do not trust them.
In the back of your mind you will always believe they will do it again.
While reading this or afterward you had to take a breath and sit down
Then you know something about your life has to be turned around.
desperate times leads to desperate measures wth whom do you treasure
we mix words in the street still trying to repeat moving ahead to the walking dead
a canopy of dreams inside of me together you will see a whole of of brevity
he ain't heavy he's my brother cruising down the avenue in full bloom
honking horns some may twist to curse the day they were actually born
wait your turn with the mic in my hand got one foot stuck in the frying pan
I'm working on my legacy come and sit next to me in my field of dreams
basketball superstar took his grill down to the mall now he stands ten feet tall
decisions we all make them friend we need all grow to depend got the hoop dreams
my ***** she be working at Dairy Queen to the extreme I rock the mic like a vandal
blowing up chops like Goldie Locks we drop a line or two nothing borrowed nothing blue
folks today don't have a clue they are stuck as glue wash your hands to avoid the flu
got fresh rhymes for 2018 got to keep it real paying all those bills with cheap thrills
Rap ain't like it used to last I check they was frying a rooster but who are they anyways
Depression is a disease will knock you to your knees stop spreading its disease
what are we willing to achieve we neglect all that hate call it fate but something runs deeper
we need folks like Barry White taking the mood higher blown up in fullest desire
some will fade out with a noose around their neck what the heck they neglect
getting stuck in the middle playing a game of second fiddle watch the dunk but neglect the dribble...
You have little choice because you called them. Two words on the recorder are driving you insane.
The voice prompting system is telling you to get in line and wait your turn when it gently says to you, "Please wait".
Wait? Not me! I was handsome, tall, wealthy, and chosen. I was God-fearing, God-seeking, and a praying man.
But I was insecure, impatient, judgmental, and irrational. I was angry, hateful, heartless, jealous, rash, and also raging.
When God chose not to answer me within my own time-frame, I chose not to wait, but turned to other means and did it my way.
My selfishness led both me and my family to shame and destruction. What God wanted for me never came to be, because I chose 'me first'.
05202018PS King Saul, Bible, 1 Samuel 10: 1; 1010 BC
carry me through the barren leaves in braids of trees life is a known mystery
locked horns with the mere notion of joy as a bat with girl meets boy lift your head high
cool your jets lest I confess that life is but a test I must confess turn the radio on
sing a song so we all can get along smile cause it's contagious nothing outrageous
be engaged with your new jack swing did I hear the door bell ring
live long and prosper give cadence to the helper warm to shelter feeling better
keep ya head up dig long on Pac's philosophy in cosmic history ya see a breeze
dizzy in a haze thought for many days like a mouse stuck in its maze
Each of us is building our own dynasty living out our legacy into God you see
Strength comes from up above we sweep things underneath the rug gives a big hug
Homeboy got a nine to his head begging for bread face full of lead
I'm a leader and never a follower come in store lest I implore something more
playing our favorite song on the radio face on a pillow sniffing liquid jello
Hello, we must increase the beat to promote its tempo long lines being formed
Curse the very day you were born better wait your turn hearts to yearn
Spinning like a top homeboy do think a lot boogy down to the socks
got to be bilingual take you places to go like Kool Moe Dee making sweet history
faces, places & spaces...midnight traces making the Margarhetti an explosion in the mind
sipping on cherry wine everything is quite fine created from a great design
I want to write a poem about birthday
Because today is my birthday - yeyy yeyy
Do you know why you were born?
You were born for a purpose
Do you know your purpose yet?
God will show you
Do you know what happened on your birthday?
You - the star was born hehe
Heaven was rejoycing
And still is today
Does God know what He is doing?
Sure does
Just look at you today
Why does God insist on doing what He is doing?
He created you, didn't He? haha
Can't be wrong
Now the question: do you know how you were created?
Ahh that - I will leave it to the expert
You are no expert either
Don't fool yourself lol
What should you do on your birthday?
Whatever the h I want to do, right?
Born, buddy
You got to get in there
Through the canal...
And jump
Bingo haha
You made it
You were born
The star is created
Now how many birthday I am going to get?
One - my friend
Unless you want to be born again?
Ahh I can arrange that
No problemo
Are you sure you want to be born again?
Yeah yeah
Now get back in there
Go through the canal
Not that canal
What do you think I'm saying?
Canal of water my friend
Of accepting Jesus as your Savior
Because if you don't
You might as well not to be born again
And how can you live
if you are not born again?
Anyway, how did I get here?
Lol - Happy birthday to me
And you too - some day
Wait your turn, will ya?
The morning sun is rising turning darkened sky to grey
In the yard people are gathering every one real proud and gay
They yell to house in one big voice c'mon bring out the fun
Then man in black looks out and says we wait until the sun
With rising of the sun the man in black leads four in cloaks
The gathered people gleeful yell 'tis time for deadly strokes
The four look to the icy blade and fervently renounce their sin
The man in black leads four through crowd which like the Red Sea parts
And all the people joyful yell let's afterwards take out their hearts
You may the man in black then says but you must wait your turn
For 'tis my job to take their lives and send them on their way to burn
The people yell then get it done the blade's a-shine with thirst
Then they all merrily do shout when blade comes down and kills the first
The three left of the four then know that all their lives the blade will win
The second of the four enraged calls out all burn in Hell
And when the blade takes his head all the people taunt and yell
Then the third with frenzied screams the bloody blade does take
And with that death the one that's left in shoes begins to quake
The fourth is lead to blade as one just wakened from a dream
And with his bloody death the people joyful dance and scream
And so at setting of the sun four more have felt the guillotine