Long Woos Poems
Long Woos Poems. Below are the most popular long Woos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woos poems by poem length and keyword.
Begging for money and food on the street
Dreaming someday her Prince Charming she’ll meet
Someone to love and sweep her off her feet!
Her prince has arrived, he stops at her spot
He chats her up nicely….she likes him a lot!
Before you know it, they tie down the knot!
Is it really happening, could it be true?
Has Cinderella found her real glass shoe?
He runs her bath and scrubs her real clean
Her beauty shines through, like a pot in sunlight would gleam
The filth of her past... flowing down the drain like a stream
He wines her, and dines her and treats her like a queen
Little be knowing it’s just a false screen!
He spoils her rotten with his woos and charms
Buys her gifts, diamond bracelets dazzling down her arms
A few months passed and things went well
Then comes the tales her nightmares will tell
He catches a glimpse of her dirty pink gown
Walking down the street in her onesie like a clown
Big bunch of unkempt hair, he thought he could drown
Off she goes without a care
Here comes the tramp, the neighbours would gossip & stare
Embarrassed by her looks, he pulls her through the door
Clothing and wine bottles scattered all over the floor
He slaps her around, and throws her against the wall
She cannot scream for help, there is no one to call
He pulls her up and drags her to the bed
The edge of the pedestal catches her head
She feels too weak, she cannot win
Enduring the pain, while he penetrates her skin
She feels like a whore and he’s the king pin
She curls her up and starts to cry
He cuddles her gently and sings a lullaby
He brings her flowers, for her trust to gain
A few weeks passes and he would refrain
Until the beatings flare up again
Choking & punches she could no longer deal
Beatings and hidings, only pain she could feel
He locks her inside for her wounds to heal
She has to get out alive while she can
To free herself from this once loving man
She packs her things in the middle of the night
And runs away before the dawn of daylight
Scars and bruises the story of her life
Cuts and brazes, remnants of a knife
Back to her carefree life on the street
Begging for money and food in the scorching heat.
Written by: Farah Diba Pastor
Sri Lal
Crows
i.
I come from nowhere,
and I have nowhere to go,
I tell the crow perched
on a low neem branch
beyond the Periyar River.
He agrees.
He and I are free.
We speak the same language.
You know who I mean. He eats
the garbage you and I toss aside—
the endless sacks of rubbish
hauled down to be burnt
at the water’s edge,
like a secret in the dark.
ii.
I have seen smoke plume
like the crown of peacock
feathers my blue love wears.
Garbage burns beside the river,
but I dream that he woos me
with white champa bloom.
His hands are like the water
on my skin.
Still, some nights,
the fire of rag and bone rises
so that even the crow
cannot sing for the smoke.
Some nights, the blaze
chafes my throat,
and swallows the sky whole.
Some nights of jasmine bloom
and sweet rice, I am
mute in the face of love.
iii.
So many crows, some say—
the erratic caw,
and I remember cities far north,
where monkeys climb the temple walls.
They swing and chatter
like a mind that longs
for enough gold to buy
an unbruised freedom,
like flesh and bone that hunger
for a gentle touch in the night.
Wherever we are,
some cry carries us
away from ourselves—
the voice of a crow,
an unquiet mind,
the cremation ground
where a father’s beatings
go up in smoke,
or the bronze tongue of the temple bell
that calls good souls to prayer.
iv.
This saffron hour before dusk,
a small silver mallet tunes the tabla—
knocking dowels up and down.
Soon, bhajan will rise
beyond the firepit
beyond the wisping smoke
of jasmine and sandalwood.
I have not yet washed
clean from hauling garbage.
I stand beyond
the stone-pillared hall,
by the big tub sink,
run cold water across my arms.
A crow alone sees me,
in a way most men do not
see the lesser sex.
We are outsiders, he and I.
His call is full of longing,
and I answer back
beyond the liturgy of temple rite,
the cry from my own throat
a song he understands,
my small mouth open
like red lotus before dark.
Published in Doubly Mad
Michelin star cricketing cook…by hook or crook.. so canny..will find every nook and cranny…if you took a look at the record..score or text book ..won’t have forsook ..our dutiful..beautiful babbling Brook
Although the barmy army might suggest this almighty Blighty Test best..is more like an umami tsunami..
Bravissimo heave ho machismo..top grade…gung ho pyro Tyke tyro.. renegade hand grenade.. Bowlers afraid.. dismayed..slayed and flayed..somehow right now kapow..but also retrograde..
Boisterous babbling brook…a silky blade…gorged.. slices through a dappled glade..forged..handmade..the republic of Yorkshire conveyed and displayed
Stands so tall…enthrall with his gall.. like Jaiswal…towering…flowering overpowering..glowering…never cowering ... .just run showering..
Us all believers.. that larruping levers.. panache dashers rule…fielders does tease..
Shirty..become go fetch receivers..flash or is it dirty Harry..360 degrees wheeze with such ease..
What a way to play…with that hint and glint of Clint ..Please ..go on funk punk.. make my day
Not the most erudite but when it comes to timber tickles…willow wizardry….no luddite… will ignite… when things get dark and stark… Harry will be that spark..shining bright delight..having a lark out on the park..
Our sumptuous Aurora explorer…humming run sorcery scorer..tropic kaleidoscopic hues..rambunctious strumming the spectrum with his plectrum..woos queues with verdant voluptuous views
Many a sage would rage..even those on the other side of the Ribble.. wouldn’t quibble or contest..knows..the latest of those white rose heroes..is the Test best of the new age..
A pest..blessed with zest from the Yorky conquest treasure chest....won’t wain and never in vain…slain by Brook’s insane high octane rampage..gets us off the hook again…
Can’t cage..does entertain…on the ultimate stage..his disdain like heavy rain…no refuge from the deluge..babbling Brook subterfuge..floods the back page once again..
February dusk descends
Upon Orchard Road;
My walking attends
As feet bear clear loads.
Bright and breezy moods
In crowded walkways;
Casual tour feels good
As curious sights sway.
A sea of faces
In brisk momentum;
Each going places,
Motion feeds quantum.
History lives here
In ample shopping;
This locale endears,
Branded goods shouting.
This tourist belt hurls
Myriad offerings:
Tempting wants that swirl
A spree of buying.
My footsteps tour far
As curious eyes feast;
I see trends on par
That spur the vain beast.
Too soon the dark sky
As bright lights emerge;
Shoppes can ply goods high,
As wants and needs surge.
I observe the scene
With curious feelings;
A climax unseen
In such happenings.
My brisk strides take me
Straight on sanguine flights;
My eyes search this sea
To glimpse odd delights.
Along the streets spy
The way people move;
Scent the lows and highs
That echo these grooves.
My senses soak in
The busy fare and face;
Heed voice unseen
That flavours this space.
A surge of spring air,
Bold shop displays call;
A festive affair
In these noisy malls.
Orchard Road reveals
A dazzling array;
Cash and carry thrills
Can make happy play.
Yet I notice too
The sad and lonely;
The weary day woos
That human worry.
My heart feels the pains
Beyond the trade veil;
The rush to attain
Bread and butter trails.
This brisk atmosphere
Seeds naked contrast,
Confronts sights right here
As loud music blasts.
My walking tour ends
As I circle back;
My hunger now lands
A food court meal stack.
My feet have prevailed
The once tree-lined streets;
Shopping sprees and sales
Call to woo and greet.
My sixty-year frame
Feels fit to yet roam;
Good health wears a name
In place I call home.
Dusk at Orchard Road
Can be like a breeze;
Forsake buying loads,
Forfeit the cash squeeze!
Leon Enriquez
02 February 2015
Singapore
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eye opening ex post facto
fractious, governmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Inspire me like seeds rejected
thrown out,
trampled,
bruised,
killed,
buried yet fights it up
through dirts and death,
sand and dark,
to form a mighty tree that forever stands: Inspire me with such passion.
Inspire me like cockroaches. roaches chased after with torches, footwears,
stones,
brooms,
insecticides,
beaten and
flushed and
flushed and
flushed down the toilet,
yet up and
up and
up they keep rising till they make it out: Inspire me with such resilience.
Inspire me with life.
Who in peace,
chaos,
gladness and
sorrow,
pleases all like there's no tomorrow.
sings and
rings, and
brings, her goods and bad in autumn,
winter,
summer and
spring.
Tall short
white black
all she choosed to treat as same
rich poor
mighty and weak
she made all walk in her path together: Inspire me with such understanding.
Inspire me like death
yes death
I know what death taste like,
she tastes as strong as darkness, smells as strong as loneliness,
yet she comes unnoticed,
steals,
kills,
thrills and
leaves with all staring at her: unashamed.
Blood, no blood
guns, no guns
peace and fights
day or night
stabs and
jams and
beat and
hit and
choke the throats of
big and small.
Foetus,
infant,
toddler,
teens,
adult:
all marches to her hall.
play this circle all over again,
you'll see with her nature has built a bond: Inspire me with such skill.
Inspire me with me
Inspire me with me who woos at my thoughts of sucide,
death,
evil,
unsatisfaction.
Inspire me with me who fights my thoughts of giving up,
Inspire me with me who laughs me to scorn for my failures, and flogs me to make up my mistakes,
picks me,
cleanse me and set me back on track when I fall.
Inspire me with me who looks up at me for more,
inspire me with me who applauds me for ones done,
inspire me with me who sticks to the path meant for me: Inspire me like this.
Locked in the largest room of the palace,
you live days in dire existence,
sunshine caresses you with sun rays,
breeze makes you breathe life;
anything at the swish of a wand is
given to you, lonely princess of Wales!
He has no loyal blood in him,
and as many children as you desire,
He can give you-at least two.
A boy who looks exactly like him,
a girl as gorgeous as you...
he can feel inside you'll be his.
Your jealous Queen, can scream her brain out
and tell you, " I don't like that bodyguard is a joker;
he's too poor and childish, he thinks he's another prince,
but he has nothing to give you...stay in your room,
silly Rapunzel! He won't ever climb to this balcony:
your hair is too short and brittle! How can he do that? "
You'll try to convince her that he is a great guy,
" But mom, he loves me more than anybody! "
" Love without money is a tree without fruit!
Riches can buy many jewels! You're the next Queen!
Her anger will shout her up and all will turn to gloom...
while he waits outside and freezing he rubs his red hands.
Her slickness won't last, she must have a weak spot;
if he courts her with his boyish charms, she'll become soft
and forget that a pretty princess adores him and woos him.
" I got her on my strings...she'll be my animated puppet!"
Infatuation can be blinder than love; he will get her very drunk,
and have her thinking for a minute that she can have him!
The princess and the bodyguard hug; they laugh aloud...
while the Queen sleeps on the sofa and snores, " She's too drunk,
let her sleep for hours; we are going to elope and live happily!
Ah! Such an unfair and vain mother she is! She'll realize that
even money isn't everything...if love palpitates in the heart! "
Try out his trick: be that bodyguard who outsmarted
the Queen and if you get lucky, you must thank him "
Pick: Rapunzel
Written on 2/2/2016
The Christmas Slave
I ponder these days as a lonely man wondering, why live?
My slaves adore me, but they still fear me, oh why, dear God, why?
I sit near the fireplace in a darkened room with warm embers glowing and watching the dying fire dance on the windowpane.
I begin to stare out through the frosted window watching the majestic snowfall.
Still pondering on my melancholy woos when a messenger knocked on my door.
My Butler opened the creaking door, a rush of cold air and snow ushered in.
With my Butler besides me there stood the messenger I know with a slave I recently purchased and I begged them to come in.
They dressed her in warm but ragged clothes, in chains and with her head bowed, then I saw the sorrow of her demeanor which overtook me, and I felt despondent.
I called for my Butler to take her and clean her up with appropriate clothing and unchain her.
The Butler presented her to me, and I noticed a warm and vibrant aura about her.
I wondered, what does this mean, why does her presence tug at my soul?
I asked her name, and she said it’s Gabriel as her smile radiated its beauty throughout my house, and with that, I was well Pleased.
It moved me so that I called for my Butler and made a declaration that when I die, my slaves will be free and inherit this property.
The Butler took down my declaration, and I signed it.
Gabriel, straighten up, smiled, and she began to transform.
I was in awe, wonder and fear, but then I saw this beautiful Angel known as Gabriel.
I fell to my knees to honor her. She said to me Rise oh wonderful and kind man, for the Lord saw favor in you, and I am here to take you home.
Oh, what great joy, then I saw my Butler cry and begging me not to go.
But I must go, so you can live free, have an abundance for your families
and the Lord will bless you.
I died this day, December 24 1813.
Towards love we will go to where it is soft
to touch the perch on which he lays his heart
perhaps I'll meet him in the Holy loft
up on that place where lovers never part
Beside his soul I'll hover still as tree
without a sound to break the spell of love
my eyes will speak of tender poetry
to him, who woos me like a turtle dove
I'll bellow out and sound like a kazoo
and he will surely hear my mating call
approaching from the heaven's oh so blue
a paramour of beauty five feet tall
I'll meet him in the sky so tender oft
inside this dream of old impassioned soft*
Inside this dream of old impassioned soft
the beating of my wings against your chest
we must arrive no matter what the cost
inside this Shangri-La of joy and bless
To press my cheek against your velvet crush
and run my fingers through your ebon hair
to whisper words of love until you blush
beneath that sweet emollient moon so fair
For when our souls begin to journey on
to where the stars are shining their own light
I'll be the luster that will heal your qualms
and bring you to me like a shining knight
when hour is shorn and we are born again
we'll be together like, one last Amen*
We'll be together like one last Amen
and live as dusk and dawn by ocean view
we'll soar like angels in God's glistening den
then you will know for sure that I love you
we won't be needing food or clothes or drink
I'll be a Rose of Sharon in your hand
inside this special place we'll seal the link
forget the world out there, its simply grand
when lovers meet beyond all space and time
there is nowhere to go but deep inside
when lovers love with pure hearts so Divine
the bells of Notre Dame are on our side
so let us be the ether of loves waft,
towards love we will go to where its soft.
So you don't like how you been livin
Seems hopeless all you've been doin
What's new in your life, stop worshipping your pains and strife's
You can, you can, and you will have a better life, better life
Through Christ
In Christ
You're a sinner
I am a sinner
Well done, but..
Seldom
Do we confess, ask for forgiveness..
Well in my(our) slackness, and slow reactions
I've.................
I'm.................
ALREADY FORGIVEN
If you just reach up and out to Him, if you just reach up and out to Him
Been holding on to all those wrongs and woos and whys???
Not rights, my right are all but, there're wrong
My whys, my where's nobody cares;
Seldom does the pain go away
Shouldn't be here, no I should be here today
So I fall, I fall down on my knees and pray
To Christ
I'm a sinner
I m a sinner
Well done, but..
Seldom
Do we confess, ask for forgiveness..
Well in my(our) slackness, and slow reactions
I've.................
I'm.................
You're a creature of habits
But your story just yours
And the book not finished
The goal is to rewrite what's already been told;
Rewrite the last chapter it's all that matters
Seldom cries, seldom dies;
Seldom hardly ever flies;
Open up, dry those hurt filled eyes
Seldom tries to compromise
There is dark then there's light
Only God is in the light
Christ died for us now with His life, with His life
Seldom here, seldom there
Seldom everywhere
You can, you can, and you will have a better life, better life
Through Christ
In Christ
You're a sinner
I am a sinner
Well done, but..
Seldom
Do we confess, ask for forgiveness..
Well in my(our) slackness, and slow reactions
I've.................
I'm.................
ALREADY FORGIVEN
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from the anthology "Purpose"
August 10 2016