Long Well to do Poems
Long Well to do Poems. Below are the most popular long Well to do by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Well to do poems by poem length and keyword.
"it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" Luke 18:25
How rich must I be to give all that I can?
To help ease the suffering of my fellow man.
Those that are homeless & constantly hungry.
To give all that I can , how rich must I be?
Always food on my table, what I call quite well to do.
The woman on the street for her next meal not a clue.
I know I should give as much as I am possibly able.
What I call well to do, always food on MY table.
Maybe tomorrow, I will see if there is anything I can give.
Or maybe someone richer than I will offer help for them to live.
I don’t actually have enough to do much to ease their sorrow.
I will see if there is anything I can give, maybe tomorrow.
There's a special man I call my "friend",
With a heart that's gracious without end.
He employs it fully to love or grieve,
Yet never shames it upon his sleeve.
When side-by-side it's plain to see,
That we're as different as men can be.
We're yin to yang, to be exact,
And I'm as white as he is black.
My hair is straight, his head is nappy,
I'm oft subdued, he's always happy.
He's well-to-do, I'm hand-to-mouth,
And tho' I'm a Yankee, he's from deep South.
I'm quite capricious, he's even-coursed,
He's married years, I'm twice divorced.
He's traveled as far as a soul can roam,
While I've stayed mostly close to home.
I'm a simple gent, he's a true "class-act",
Yet we roll as one, and that's a fact.
Now, with all this contrast you might wonder,
Why our pact's not easily torn asunder.
But see, what's important to him and me,
Goes far beyond what others see ...
The things that count, when said-and-done,
Are the ways we think and believe as one.
What matters the most, right from the start,
Is how we connect with a kindred heart.
For we have a bond that can't be seen,
That's timeless, precious, and amaranthine.
And it's true that we're born of different mothers,
But this journey through life we make as brothers.
True, I have no vision what's to be our fate,
But I'm sure we're meant for something great.
For we share an exciting and wondrous dream,
That requires a strong and devoted team.
And throughout our journey, day-to-day,
The good fortune will be mine to say,
That in all the ways that I've been blessed,
When it came to friends, I had the best.
Happy Birthday, Buddy, don't mind the sum,
For I'm wishing you many more ... to come!
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Occasional Poetry" Poetry Contest, Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer, Judge & Sponsor.
( For my Buddy, Partner, and Wingman - Robbo T )
the combination of bought a realistic
view to what was going on.
one slip of the tougne one slip of the tonungue
would bring two opposing side together
one said in union it would recreate how
the structure of collabaration would
be defined as.
Lowbouis stand in el quesabras
while well to do fellas
sleep in mansions on hills
watch out for the rain El Quesabra
please stand by
there is a hurricane ah coming.
even the flute player realised how
horribale such conditions were
just even amagining being
spared or the oblivane
which await you.
Cry while onions ripened
season your meat
not to be gamey.
when the weather tames me.
who's to care!
In that haunted house by the hill
where nobody now dares to dwell
abides an spirit of such evil
so great for you or me to get near
So long ago in the days of yore
a well-to-do family lived there
their soul fed it with so much sin
and debauchery they never did heed
So they partied and made merry til' the end
and unspeakable orgies there took place
things that no decent soul would comtemplate
in secrecy they smeared the town with all their filth
But as everything must come to end be either good or bad
so a very dark and forboding night they all went too far
for in their debauchery and cruel games
a deadly and final price did all of them have to pay
Since then that night in this house by the hill
horrible screams mixed with sobbings can be heard
misterious noises that no one can ever explain
and your blood will chill in your veins if you
ever dare to visit the haunted house by the hill.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
October,31,2014
The mystery of man
This is the third day after new year and the day
equally dark and miserable as they were before
the new has number changed.
On the Eve of festivity, drunk people thronged
narrow streets hoarse voices and screams
upsetting dogs and cats.
oddly, we celebrate the new year with
warlike gestures like fireworks.
Most of my friends are dead, yes, we too danced
the golden calf, not knowing what life was about
I still don’t know.
On the third sober day, the same old bombs
killing people, as arms dealers drink champagne.
Our democracy is for the well to do
for us subjugation and waiting for Godot.
(07/21/11)
They asked: who do we turn to
When the politicians no longer care?
And the word change is flying in the air.
Every country, every island, every nation
Is feeling this devastation.
Only 10% of the world-are well to do
But they’ve forgotten about me and you.
90% of the world population
Are the only ones who care
But the other 10% their power and wealth
They do not want to share.
No one wants their countries torn apart
They love it - soul and heart.
They are tired of being the victims
In this unjust world, and it affects
Every person- down to our boys and girls.
We know the politicians can not
help every one in distress
But stop lining your pockets
Give it a rest.
All the public wants is a fair share
Give them that - show them you care.
If the public was to stop buying
For a day or a week
The ripple affect would reach its peak.
Unfortunately this will affect the small people
Who are trying to earn a living.
They know this, and that’s the reason
They’re not giving.
What is the solution to this world crisis
I can not say- but billions of minds
working together - they can find a way.
Feeling like a lost soul I sit, as the train rocks me to and fro
the woman next to me is jovial and pleasant, with a glow
We chat and pass the hours sharing amicably without restraint
then she tells me she is heading for London to marry, oh how quaint
Perhaps your marriage will be blessed from heaven? this I say
as the gentlemen across from me smiles, cool as the month of May
I can see from his polished shoes and his gray fedora hat
that he's a man of well to do, much accustomed to small pratt
Later in the evening as I sip my tea with clotted cream
I notice how he stares at me, as if I were a dream
Feeling lonely and quiet daring I invite him to sit down
it is then that I do notice, that his eyes are chestnut brown
"Going to London to visit my grandma" I say, "she lives by the sea"
"I can escort you Mademoiselle," he says, then tips his hat at me.
Chose # 3 a passenger on a train
On a horse at the crossroads a pistol in his hand
Dressed in dark clothing he looked fine and grand
Waiting in the moonlight for the York coach to appear
With cool nerves of steel; he showed no fear.
A gentleman by day and a Highwayman by night
Only carried out his crimes when the moon shone bright
Nicknamed Captain Luna; there was a price on his head
If you didn’t part with your valuables you’d end up dead
He heard it in the distance; the approaching coach
A lady friend had requested a necklace or a brooch
He'd heard some well to do had attended a ball
They'd be dripping with jewellery; he wanted it all.
He moved onto the road as the coach drew near
His face covered with a black mask to instill fear
He ordered the two coachmen “slow down to a stop
And throw down those bags you have on the top”.
He then shouted to the passengers" alight if you please
And line up if you will, over yonder by them tree’s”
Three ladies and a gentleman dressed in clothes so fine
Adorned with jewellery that twinkled, in the moonshine.
He said “you and your fine jewellery must forever part
Please fill up my leather bag and I'll let you depart”
The ladies were crying thinking that they'd all die
They thought anything Captain Luna said would be a lie.
He went through the bags and pulled out a silk dress
And thought to himself this will fit my lady friend Tess
He picked up his leather bag and into the night rode away
Leaving his victims quite shaken and in total disarray.
Written 15th day of April 2020.
*Image of Mom Playing at the Church by Family Photo
Pride of Place
Our matriarch, a great musician of sorts,
The piano, her centerpiece, she supports,
Coaching youthful kids even kids in shorts,
Performing at nights at resplendent resorts.
~0~ ~0~ ~0~
She taught the well-to-do to fund her trade,
Still, the piano, the cornerstone she made,
Training those destitute who hadn't paid,
My mom's piano she loved and played.
2022 January 29
*2nd Place*
Pride of Place
~~Julia Ward: Judged 2022 February 09
*Mom was a truly talented virtuoso on a guitar/rivaled Spanish strummers, ukelele and cello, drums, trumpet, flute, horn, tambourine, organ, and YES piano ... to name a few and composer of thousands of compositions.
Payments on my credit card and rent are always due.
Power, water, gas, and those horrendous phone bills too.
Borrowed books I’ve not yet read soon are coming due.
Maybe I can find some time to read them in the loo.
Also it’s that time of year when all of us are due
for a visit to a store with cheap shots for the flu!
My mammograms and dental visits are LONG overdue.
I cannot afford them yet. What’s a girl to do?
And Mr. Doctor, why must I wait so long just for you?
I think some respect for me, your patient, sure is due!
Thinking of the money from my savings I withdrew
just to make it through this year has really made me blue.
Gee, if I could have one wish and have that wish come true,
I would wish to live my life as one big well-to-do!
But there’s one thing that’s NOT due for which I need not stew.
Thank goodness that I’m too old now to have a baby due!
For Paula Swanson's
How Due You Dew Poetry Contest