Long Whine Poems
Long Whine Poems. Below are the most popular long Whine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whine poems by poem length and keyword.
A feller I met with a twinkle in his eye
Quite the enigma you see.
Said, "I ain't got no dough... not a single penny!"
Said he, "ain't got no cash... not a single plug for a cup o' tea."
"Couldn't buy you no drink / not even a dime's worth of time
Wouldn't dare ask you for no drink in my silly whine."
"Never saw nothin' finer... not a sight to behold
Then, your fancy top hat... not plated with gold.
In this fine conversation... though, I confess,
I don't know nothin' much... not more or less."
"Don't know nothin' much 'bout music... not a single note
But begged the whole bar not to leave me croak
In this sea of confusion... though- I confess
I ain't got no answers, not more or less."
Confused, I just stared / mouth agape and wide
"So are you broke or not?" I finally couldn't hide.
He winked / then chuckled / a sly knowing grin
"Don't you fret none... my friend / I ain't never givin' in!"
"Never learned nothin' clever / that ain't no surprise
But I sure ain't unhappy, not with tears in my eyes!"
A poet / a pauper / a prince; his stories spun gold
Ain't nothin' like his tales / never gettin' old.
We made a bond that don't nobody understand
A friendship ain't never been seen in no other land.
When I was lost, consumed in fear,
My confidence shattered, my heart unclear,
I thought the pain, the hurt, the sorrow,
Were signs of a bleak and hopeless tomorrow.
But then a blessing, disguised in pain,
Led me back to my Lord again,
And now I see the truth so clear,
In every test, Allah is near.
I used to question, complain and whine,
Blaming the world for every decline,
But I've learned to trust in His mighty hand,
And accept each test, as part of His plan.
For Allah tests those who say they believe,
And He helps them stand, He helps them achieve,
The strength and patience to face every trial,
And rise above, with steadfast denial.
So I thank my Lord for the pain and the hurt,
For pushing me to Him, and opening my heart,
And I pray that He forgives me my sins,
And grants me Jannah, when this life ends.
Life is a day that starts with the glimmers and glows of sun.
Those colours become brighter, progressing like when you first learned to run.
The hours pass ‘till the morning just like the years before you became. Fate is time’s little fool, you don’t get one without the other in life’s little game.
Soon your hours get longer, lost in the shadows of the midday sun.
Here you feel the power of what you are at the peak of your magnificence, your undoubted one.
The twelve hours now in the second iteration are without your permission spun. Youth lost like the petals of a flower after rain and wind has done.
Wisdom through age gathered now holds court when answers don’t want to come. The questions you leave unanswered because you don’t want to see what your youth has become.
Soon you’re in your last six hours of the day that is your life. Do you whine, curse, moan about your lost time, your lost dreams you know: ‘what you could have been or done’? Or do you intend to live those hours longer than the eighteen before was done? Live the minutes by the second and make each second a different one.
Some colleagues found him a tad frivolous
While others thought him over-fastidious
The Dean advised him to start off assiduous
Though I.T. pooh-poohed it all as ridiculous...
So the new instructor shifted and twisted
himself into the oddest-looking pretzel-like
pedagogical configurations, hoping to please everyone
but -- you guessed it -- he pleased no one, OF COURSE!
not his colleagues, not the Dean, not I. T. …
Yet his students found him competent, considerate, kind
and they certainly didn't seem at all to mind that
an 'ideal combination of qualities' he never did seem to quite find ---
the rarest of balancing acts, about which certain
colleagues, the Dean, and I.T. will forever whine
(I am with my published four books of poems.)
I breathe poetry wielding a tool, mighty,
mightier than either the sword or rod.
I reign as an Empress in Fancy's domain,
sketching life in ornate motifs and mode.
I paint with dull colors of pain and strife
also with brighter shades of gaiety and grace,
in finer yarn than the gossamer thread
on the fabric of fancy in befitting verse.
At times stealing away from the noisy crowd,
into the stillness of the cloistered cell,
I dwell with Fancy's mystic charms,
and weave downy dreams at will.
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
racing with the deer loping past,
sometimes I wander into mysterious woods
where flowers, their richest fragrance cast.
My ears are intent on the songs of birds
which come floating from the far off groves
and the whirr of cicadas on the bark of trees,
breaking the calm of twilight eves.
I love to saunter along stretching strands,
watching virulent breakers in fury heave.
My heart dances with every tide
and swings with the rhythm of rising wave.
I feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
and the speckled blue of the infinite sky,
watching the day dying in flame
and the night in a diadem of stars vie.
I hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
and sing of love’s beauty in ditties fine
triggering sparks into flames grow
in umpteen hearts that pine and whine
All that's lovely meets my eyes
and communes to me in profuse delight,
which when turned into rhyme and rhythm,
I post it for others to devour and digest
Wish from my harp, flow symphonies sweet
songs of longing, love and lust
of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
to fuel hearts with vigorous zest.
What I strive is to be a poet out and out.
Some may brand me as an aberrant and a fool.
But beneath the facade of my wayward thoughts,
lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
~~~from the "Dig My Own Grave Series"~~
["Dig My Own Grave" is a series of writings in the reflection of mental preparation...
~~~Each scoop of dirt rids the mess where I'm to be finally laid to rest~~~]
When my time comes __ I'll be of the ones who'd be ready when their time is done._
I've forgiven myself, my friends, my foes; emptied my soul of all worries and woes._
I no longer seek mountains to climb. I've finally left those wants behind._
I've ceased the endless restlessness. All I want now is eternal bliss._
When I'm taken, if I'm awakened, I pray to be brave and not misbehave._
By screaming and crying; or, of my sins... start denying._
In these latter days of life, I'm trying to understand what my dreams are implying._
They show me scenes of past regret__ must be reasons dreams don't forget._
Tis Hidden lessons I'm quite sure to start my inner soul's new core._
About the decisions made in ones life__ try not to whine, complain, or gripe._
Make the best of the time at hand; for you will surely revisit them time again._
And When (to you), they have returned. Replace the regret with what you've learned._
If my spirit passes yet my name's unknown, it won't be due to me being alone._
We come in groups and never as one; so a part of The All we each become._
As of now, I grow weak and slow; wondering of the days I have left to go._
I hope it won't be for a good long while. So don't read this without a smile._
I'm happy to receive this last chance, to give my life a second glance.
Last Stroke of Midnight
The last stroke of midnight chimes –
All plans stand at attention, start here,
Perfect prophecy inhales the first breath
Of winnowing starlight foretold
As you draw up to step into your blemished creation
With new lungs filled with crisp fulfillment.
Torrents of roaring grace
Smash narrow portals of garden betrayal
Eras, ages and eons of sneering dominion
Turned sideways
Genesis false victory turned upside down
Smug visages fade into imploding ego
The missing piece of the heart
Readies to vibrate again in unison
With the tenor of timeless oblations
Heaven’s plan of trembling preparation
Explodes with triumph
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
Before the simpering wraiths of wilderness
Gorges prepare to shatter, valleys get ready to level
Avalanches of obliteration make way to raze
Buttes, crumbling cliffs and ridges of desolation
Midnight’s last stroke of domination
Turns a beastly reign into a flailing whine
Eden’s new age strides into time
In beauty’s signature crossing mountaintops
Leaving incense where insolent decay
Leaves ashes of deluded victory
Sweet scented leaves overpower putrid
Advent conceived, gird in reality, released!
11-22-22
Contest: Just Before Release
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
She wakens to the most ungodly ring tone-
her husband's cell phone left there by her bed.
And next, her damn alarm clock's blare is fed
by noise of the neighbor’s lawn mower’s drone.
At work, suppressing groans, she is a clone
who answers e-mails, and with silent dread,
takes clients' calls. Guff fills her pounding head;
again and then again that ringing phone!
Then finally she’s home. Ahhhh. . . . time to dine -
except the children cannot break away
from Face book - and the oldest starts to whine.
Her hungry spouse then walks into the fray.
Amidst it all, as if to underline
her plight, that neighbor’s dog begins to bay!
For Cyndi MacMillan's
TIMELESS YET CONTEMPORARY, A SONNET THANG
The machines...
Jagged teeth ripped the forest down
Ravenous
Sweet innocent forest
Deadly Machines
Killing every inch of purity
The babbling brook’s blood
Splattered all over the battered ground
The screeching whine of the roots being forced from the ground
Begging for mercy
But there is no stopping it
The mighty trees forced into our willful submission
Chaos
As the inhabitants of the forest flee to safety
Running onto our man made streets
Slaughter
The pittar patter we once knew has turned into a stampede
Slamming hard on the breaks, and breaking bones
Exterminating all sense of hope for a better tomorrow
Silence now
After a long day of murder
What a shame
The bare earth looks dismal
Do we always kill what we love?
I swear it looked like a pack of hungry wolves
blood dripping from their lips
only seeking the virtuous
survival of the RICHEST
Pumping diesel into the sky
Choking the birds
On a path of destruction
For the righteousness of the undeserving
The carnage of the lawless land
Consider what you’ve done
I weep for you
Here today and gone tomorrow
Our world is getting smaller
The comforting grass is no longer
Metallic cold
Seeps into my blood
Enclosed in a forever four wall prison
Wishing for serenity
And only finding despair
Form:
"But love's a malady without a cure. ~ John Dryden"
Love is indeed a malady, greatest malady of all
Since birth we all whine for love
And exclusive love we want from others.
All for love wars have been fought,
endless crime happens
Acids are thrown, rapes occur, murder is done....
Many suffer from depression
But what is love?
How many of us are certain?
Selfish wish to be pampered obeyed and served when young
Selfish desire to acquire someone charming and good
Desire to be the most important in eyes of someone
Desire to be loved and cared
Is this love I ask?
Love is divine blissful feeling
Which is positive and joy giving
Deep desire to see someone happy
To serve that person the best of our ability
Without thinking of oneself
Absolutely no desire, wants, expectations
Only wishing to give without any desire to receive
Such is true love
Mostly parents exhibit it
In name of love, to acquire it
Millions are sad on earth
Love is indeed the greatest malady on earth.
Premier contest winner 6th position
Date: 10/14/2020
Contest Name Quotable
Sponsor Regina McIntosh