Long Worm Poems
Long Worm Poems. Below are the most popular long Worm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Worm poems by poem length and keyword.
These walls are broken,
termites eaten, the bricks crumbling
clay, the remains of dust.
was this ever a house, ?
Their first fire extinct,
it was never real,
The early smiles were deception
A makeup never truly made from the heart,
The haste of amity, the oath of the court.
Soon to end at the court
She will never let it grow,
Her stout, domineering rebellion
The canker-worm of their joys.
Unwilling, unyielding
The burden
Friends turned foes, filial bond interrupted
The external bond beckons and her mind now yielding to ousters
Calling her back to her long spinster days
As she watched friends build; left to tell their stories as a busybody
Add her interest in politics and never the trick of a happy home
She will never build hers,
Envying the world
Seeking approval from strangers
Comparing her journey to mammoth public ovations
Begging bystanders for pity
Armed to dominate, it must be her way
Unwilling to learn, whining like a toddler
Anger her weapon, to manipulate to consent of unsavoury standards
Animosity her sword, a trade well learned and days of embittered recklessness
Presumptuous, bent on her own ways, ignoring the holy law
Stouthearted. With a hymnbook, with bitter anger seeking mercy
Her public show, commended by deceived comrade.
As they fight for her in ignorance of her real person at home
A mask of deceit,
The house is boiling
Because she takes no instruction and will learn
How wise women make their home
This house is crumbling
Beyond all redemption
She was in Court yesterday
To seek divorce, that is her house of wisdom.
Because she could not sustain the home in humility
Perhaps a pattern of divorce
A kindred spirit resuscitated,
Learn from me,
Never crown immaturity,
Especially the hard to teach.
Or honor her for a mother
She may never know,
The secret of all mothers
And may never learn the pattern of sustained home
This house is broken
It did not grow to become a home
With the Bible in the rain
This house may never be built
A winter school yard deserted, a
piece of paper littered , a leaf left
over from the fall and the swing
slowly and cautiously swaying,
empty of the child,who waits for
the Sun to bring the warmth and joy
of Spring!
The robins, husband and wife
chirping back and forth fighting…. I
found fourteen worms and fixed the
nest and look at you.. yes dear but I
clipped that black thing with my
wing and my shoulder and my wing
hurts and it’s hard to fly! Last week
it was that Falcon trying to catch
you and you were injured eluding
him!
Mr Snuffles who loved to chase the
squirrels and the run
The run was his best but now it’s
his bark and He has gone to seed
As the Sun warmed the playground
And the children come and the
mothers pushing the strollers
The wind carried the smells of spring
Fresh grass cut, flowers blooming
and a breeze with hints of youth
Of seeing a black squirrel for the
the first time
Of smelling popcorn, a hotdog,
base-ball and local carnival
Church on Sunday, family and pray
for my country, patriotism and here
comes summer and the paraders
march
The Park is filled and hot and those
lazy fathers not curbing their dogs
The Robins flying and search the
ground for food and the worm waits
Everyone waits and the waste of it
Will this heat go? Will it rain? Will he
come home and start beating
Mommy again? Will we have food
and Mommy have a job ? And I
heard it’s going to turn…
Stargate Worm Hole closes in an hour, she warned, don’t get too comfy.
I rolled my eyes, and dug down deeper into my warmth, choosing me.
It’s truly something you will never forget, the phantom voice said.
I took grandma’s cozy quilt and quickly covered my shoulders and head.
My spirit guide smiled of unbeknownst, I was working out her plan.
My dream coaxed me to travel to Stargate Worm Hole, in outer space land.
I was on a blue bus, the year 1952 or possibly fifty three, I was not sure.
One thing for certain, we were on an astral bridge, and feelings were pure.
The time was innocent; I was blatantly gawking with reverence and awe.
We were in space where the stars were closing in, and feelings were raw.
This is the Stargate Worm Hole, my spiritual guardian in sweet way said.
I was soon in REM sleep, snoring in a delightfully rhythm, almost fully dead.
Whenever you want to relax, you can will your imagination to come back.
My guardian angel told me. Just let me know when you hit the sack.
So now my nights are filled with innocent, and good old 1950’s fun.
And I am more than fully relaxed when rooster gets me up with sun.
We stepped in pathless wood on fading twilight.
Dusty dusk with misty mask merging to night.
Deep dense darkness simply slipping at slow rate.
Soon the forest would reveal its dark secret.
Darkness penetrating through green foliage.
Weary wings of the birds now folding plumage.
Call of crickets in loud pitch : Night of No Moon.
The forest would reveal its dark secret soon.
Chirping of birds now stopped settling at nest.
Nocturnal fauna in action leaving rest.
No idea, which is hidden ! Good or Evil.
Soon its dark secret, the forest would reveal.
Illusive dream of mesmerized mystery.
Sublime serenity sleeping on forestry.
Warm glow of glow worm shining sparkling best
Soon dark secret to reveal in the forest.
Holding hands we wandering in happy mood
In dark, wish to explore wonders of the wood.
Sweet close togetherness in darkness to create.
Soon the forest will reveal its dark secret.
Honeymoon trip ! Spent a night in forest log house.
Got chance to ripple in darkness with my spouse.
Dense darkness enchanted us ! Appropriate.
As a part of forest felt its dark secret.
Inspiring line : Soon the forest will reveal its dark secret.
I’m not string, I’m not spaghetti
And I’m certainly no yeti
With a bit more evolution
Could have been a John Paul Getty
But I love to make you squirm
Cos I’m just a wriggly worm
Yes I’m smaller than a human
But far bigger than a germ
Children often giggle
when they watch me wiggle wiggle
It’s actually a wriggle
But I wouldn’t want to niggle
But when I slither slither
They run off hither thither
For sometimes its just fun but
sometimes fear that I deliver
I was living in the park
In my tunnel nice and dark
From the sound of those vibrations
Kids up top had quite a lark
Well I should have stayed down deep
But I came up for a peep
Then I caught a rapid movement
And got captured by a creep
So he dropped me in a tin
My wife and kids already in
So I swelled up nice and thick
Cos my wife and kids were thin
So when he had a look
It was I - the worm he took
And now I’m slowly drowning
While I wriggle on his hook
But then I see a chance
And I take a second glance
I can’t believe I see
Some wartime ordinance
So I jiggled and I shook
And I wriggled off the hook
It was in a former life
That I’d read a wartime book
And so my plan well made
I hooked up the hand grenade
And said a quick Hail Mary
At the ticking sound it made
Sometimes it’s a win win
My family’s safe inside a tin
As I give the line a tug
And he reels his tackle in
Poetry is like a painting
that creates pictures using words instead of hues;
When the lines don't say but show,
the imagery delivers its quiet news.
Poetry is like a sculpture,
as the poet shapes language into living form;
When the marble of idioms is carved,
it gives voice to the bird, the lion, and the worm.
Poetry is like a garden
where the words blossom into images like streams;
When the seed of letters is carefully planted,
there blooms the fragrant rose of the poet's dreams.
Poetry is like a map
that takes us through emotional or imaginary landscapes;
It's where the scale of meter charts its rhythmic pace,
and the symbols of abstract words may be fish or apes.
Poetry is like a footprint
that leaves the poet's mark on time;
When the muse gives purpose to the pen,
the ink of inspiration touches the heart and mind.
©bfa082226
From far and wide.
To see the
Big Island Rattlers
Verses
The Desert Snears
Alot of planning
Across sport negotiations
Stuff to say in conversation
Nothing's ever been like
This before.
From riding someone's coattails
To individual dominance
Secure the worm
and cast the rod
there really jumping tonight
Tune the band
Rent the hall
We call this one
a humdinger
Say, did you see the beautiful
Smiling face
She think she's pick that right one
You know that special one let's
Just wait and see
Bayshore special
And a Desert Delight
Time for talking
Is whining low
The hype men
Getting a taste for crow
Tell everybody
Like I know
It's getting down
Tonight!
My dear
If you meet me
Halfway
You will soon meet
Me at my finest listless
Slow like a worm
A total birdbrain
Pardon, pardon
My dear
These were
My silent acclaim
Reiterate your word
Reiterate your action
But mind's constant motion
... ... ...
Could you
imagine me
How distressing 'tis
I know, I know
You'll mock
Such idiotism
I know, I know
My thoughtless behavior
Enraged you
You see
Even this idiot
Doesn't seem to be
A senseless idiot
I am not mad
I cannot be
But, I say unto you
Bear with me
With utmost plead
Neither I wish
To be an idiot
Like this
Can you imagine
How tormenting
'Tis to be
Like me
These were the times
I thought
Of seclusion
'Cause I feel like
Only Me, Myself and I
Can withstand
And have you
Ever thought
I thought
To pen this foolish
Poetry
"Deluxe"
Lyn-Jenne
How thou hast shaped me, and increased my life,
O Rose! Before, I was a squall, a storm
of melancholy and dark, bitter strife:
a soul already lost like a vile worm
on a dry sidewalk on a hot, sunny day.
Without hope or joy, without faith or God,
I spiraled, and at risk of losing my way,
my hateful heart thought thoughts that none can laud.
But O, dear Rose! Reformed by thee, made whole
once more by thy bottomless love and wide-browed beauty,
I am a new being fashioned by thy sweet soul,
and now transformed through thine unwavering fealty.
Rose, my storm was broken up by thy light,
so that I'm no more a worm in God's sight.
The yellow scraps perform a thrill during fierce storms.
The breeze turbine is a lofty pattern within local farms.
Amazed, I can spot concussive impacts in the wet stones.
Bursting a ball of fire to tackle to impel amply atones.
A golden ovoid floats through unfathomable seas.
In symbiosis, green clusters wave in the gentle breeze.
Portentous obscurities better the mighty sweep.
During this time, igniting was lit on cremated sheep.
Misty areas are evolving naturally to be wildly small.
Efficient turbines humming, the trees shriek as well.
The dappled shade of padded blossom subtly changed.
A tentative mid-year sunset will have utterly emerged.
Twirled, observing the shadow in youngster-like awe.
A rare bird split a point worm and devoured him raw.
Written: November 15, 2021