Long Whiled Poems
Long Whiled Poems. Below are the most popular long Whiled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whiled poems by poem length and keyword.
I remember how you looked that day;
How happy, young and free.
Your sun bleached hair, your sun bronzed skin,
I watched you from the lea.
You never saw me standing there,
I'm glad it stayed that way.
We never spoke, we never met,
But I came every day.
I came to watch you cast your net.
You were my mystery man.
I whiled away the live long day,
Watching from the sand.
You seemed to have all you could need,
The surf, a boat, a net.
I close my eyes and click my heels,
And I can see you yet.
Judy Ball
For Close Your Eyes And Click Your Heels Contest by Michael J. Falotico - Aug. 22,2011
Most intimate entries written upon blank pages;
a confessional within them releasing emotions to a forgiving Lord. Quote _ by Poet
I write upon a blank page of my diary,
Loving warm desires neath the umbrella
Whiled honeyed rain fell all around;
Looked into hungry eyes.
Perched and drenched on a tree bough a red robin spied
On quenched by a rainstorm of French kisses.
Our brief dates were short, realizing he misses
Being together. I do sneak outside;
A feeling of warm butterflies
Excites fluttering round,
Didn't attempt to deny desire for my fella.
My hand rests on my recorded story.
I listen to please music notes get me teary,
Dancing round feeling like Cinderella
With my fella, a love I've found.
Sleepy romantic skies
Look down upon me, my diary alongside,
Till the balmy night's quintessence ceases.
1/31/2021
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
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12/10/8/6/12/10 syllable lines each stanza
Unorthodox nonestablismentarian epitome
Describes celibate bent aegis.
Mein kampf illustrates gravitas.
Underdog muted lest intimidation
think bully brandishing fist in my face
threatening to buzzfeed me
a brassy knuckle sandwich.
While breezily reading Judy Bloom,
(whose material geared
toward young adult)
book titled Blubber - published in 1974,
(which year found yours truly - me
undergoing amazing transition
classified as puberty)
bemoaned childhood's end - id est mine
interestingly enough romanticized boyhood
livingsocial within Lake Woebegone
(way before Garrison Keillor
named said fictitious town),
purely swiftly tailored
harried styled fabrication,
although that first decade
found torturous growing up years
more so courtesy
self exclusion from reindeer games,
thus during lunch or recess
(two most favorite classes)
bullies turned me into minced meat
taunted and teased
a severely socially withdrawn boy,
who never shared emotional agony,
he internalized verbal slings and arrows
eventually physically succumbed
from brickbats indiscriminately
lobbed at painfully shy
once upon a time happy go lucky lad,
(with a button nose),
when he whiled away days of his life
as the world turned
first at Lantern Lane
for about a half dozen plus years,
then at 324 Level Road
for approximately
one third of present existence
unbeknownst to him
that psychologically dark shadows
lurked within the outer limits
of the twilight zone
haunting corporeal essence
attached to those lovely bones,
now saddled with excess adipose tissue,
especially around belly of the beast
housing hunger artist
starving for knowledge,
and peopling his overactive imagination
with exemplary protagonists
blithely thwarting incendiary threats,
cuz of natural born defense against
gunning character assassination
courtesy fearsome imbeciles
hell bent on nasty, short and brutish fiends,
who did their collective bidding
vis-à-vis cut throat leviathan,
who overshadowed and locked in
propensity to live free and clear
analogous to unfettered noble savage
cannibalizing yours truly (me) as fancy feast.
Soul asylum salvation sought
as if survivor of mental health challenges
akin to foreigner trying
to sidestep gingerly self annihilation.
As long as he was hale and hearty,
has not uttered the name of God.
Until things went well as per his plan,
has not offered prayers to Him.
Taking pride in his youthful vigour,
and very handsome Cupid figure,
has not felt His holy presence.
Failing to see Him in every heart,
and running after physical pleasures,
he whiled away his precious time.
Now, having lost his wealth and health,
the Enlightenment has dawned upon him!
Feeling the burden of his life,
for solace, in times of grief and loss,
having come to know that
God is his path and destination,
his spiritual journey towards the Almighty
he has only just begun!!
Oh, what a poet I could be,
If it wasn't for Babslou93.
Each day new words come thick and fast,
Each one I think I'll make the last,
But no, I can't resist the lure,
I send a stonker right back to her.
Then back she comes with thirtyfive,
I strive to keep the game alive,
My paltry twenty she jumps on,
Sixty eight, where did that come from ?
I'm really stuck - I've got a Q,
Defeat is clearly now in view.
Resorting to strange words, it seems
Nothing can outwit her schemes.
My every little plot is thwarted,
I'm really feeling quite exhausted.
The end's in sight, a final flourish.
She's won the day. My game was rubbish.
And though I'd like my breath to catch,
No chance, she's after a rematch.
And so the hours are whiled away,
As urgent matters of the day
Are sidelined, but pleasant I agree
Is Scrabbling with Babslou93.
Schlerotic schlemiel schleps...
Into lonely senescence -
three plus decades already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" thumb
of right hand thrust out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home
red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent
deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still fifty years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland
father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing
heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,
when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature
in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library
few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest
distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates
into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!
With my wife and kids, passing through
the Republic of W,
armed policemen grabbed me.
A nightmare I would have never dreamed -
my wife's expression, so strange it seemed,
dragged away while my children screamed,
I was no longer free.
They didn't tell me, all I knew -
it was because of my tattoo -
and so began my fears:
what would become of my children, three?
what would my wife think of me?
would she wait for me?
I whiled away the years.
I asked my guard who wore a frown,
what if my tattoo were upside down,
and why always, "us vs. them"?
Suddenly, in my nightwear,
I found it was only a nightmare,
but it taught me how to care,
awake in the land of M.
A funny thing happened on the way to my house.
Another balmy spring evening whiled away in the park,
Swinging through examination blues and unrequited crushes.
Those rocky teenage years!
Homeward-bound, my best friend and I,
Via avenues bowered by cherry blossom in the prime of life.
Tranquil thoughts and cheerful chatter.
Dusk was falling.
Suddenly conversation was curtailed.
A twinge of anxiety.
Panic over, the crawling car advanced up the road.
And stopped! Window down this time!
It waited for us to pass then resumed its creeping tempo.
The tension rose. We picked up pace.
There it was again, the menacing vehicle,
awaiting our approach.
No words exchanged but a fleeting glance
triggered the alarm;
A grotesque appearance repelled the eye.
Decision made. At the nearest house we rang the bell
And explained our anxiety.
Our liberator ushered us into the lounge,
Where a sea of eccentricity greeted us.
The doorbell rang. It was him!
Behind us the latch clicked firmly closed.
We stood face to face with our ‘pursuer’.
And then the penny dropped.
He had been checking the house numbers
Simply wanting to locate the address
Of the fancy dress party.
Our ‘good Samaritan offered us a drink.
We sheepishly declined,
eyes lowered, faces reddened.
We made our excuses
And laughed all the way home!
Empty
A hammock swings to and fro in the wind
As if propelled by an unseen foot.
A tricycle lies abandoned by the porch,
One handle grip with its multicolored
Streamers long gone, a wheel missing,
Its once-resplendent pink paint eaten with rust.
The “For Sale” is old. It sways tipsily,
Tilting in the wind, covered in graffiti.
Where is the little girl who used to play
In this lonely and forsaken yard?
Where is the boy who whiled away the hours
Reading and dreaming in the hammock?
Where is the mother who tended these gardens,
Now full of weeds, and the father whose children
Greeted him joyfully at the end of the day?
What calamitous series of disasters
Befell this family, to force them out,
To make them leave the home they loved?
Maybe they sleep now in cheap motels and
Eat their frugal meal at a breakfast bar
Or live in a noisy, overcrowded shelter.
Or do they move from place to place,
Rootless, living in a car, dreaming of that
Joy-filled home they left behind, a lifetime ago?
The staring house now stands bereft,
Bewildered, wondering - where is the family that
Once lived and loved inside its empty shell?
It seems to wait in loneliness, pining for
Those happier days of oh, so long ago,
While the hammock swings to and fro in the wind.
Little Johnny Foster
His name is Johnny Foster,
my sweetheart from childhood lore,
He lived just down the block
From our neighborhood store.
I lived by the old oak tree
Where we would meet each day
We whiled away the hours
With all our make believe play.
We would love forever,
We solemnly swore to each other
Nothing would come between us
We would grow up and be lovers.
Johnny came to the tree one day
And said he was moving away
It broke my heart completely in two
Because I would have to stay.
That happened So many years ago
But today I got a call
Johnny Foster is coming to see me
I find it hard to believe at all.
Now he is in the next room
I tremble at what is in store
With shaking hands I turn the knob
And my heart quakes as I open the door….