Long Abuzz Poems
Long Abuzz Poems. Below are the most popular long Abuzz by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abuzz poems by poem length and keyword.
A herald announced the joyous news that a king was to visit my hometown!
Jerusalem was abuzz anticipating seeing a royal king wearing a regal crown!
I could visualize his majesty arriving on a prancing Arabian steed,
Or being borne upon a lavishly bespangled camel of exceptional breed!
I'd also heard that kings were borne in magnificent coaches gilt with gold,
And that with great pomp and blare of trumpets their procession was foretold!
This I wanted to see so I joined the milling throng and got a curbside seat!
Thousands of jubilant celebrants lined both sides of the city's dusty street!
"Here He comes!" shouted the mob! "Hosanna In the Highest!", they cried!
I strained my neck to see a real king in purple robes, the nation's pride!
The exultant crowd spread their cloaks and waved palm fronds along the mews,
Shouting, "Hosanna To Christ The King! The promised Messiah of Good News!"
This king, this King of Kings, rode a lowly donkey as His means of transportation!
I was told that a prophet Zecharia said He'd ride one for His triumphal celebration!
As He passed by I fell to my knees! He looked directly AT ME!, smiled and waved!
From that moment I became His disciple - straight paths for me He hath paved!
The man next to me said this man, this King, was born in a stable cave,
And that of His power to heal the ailing, blind and lame He freely gave!
Unlike earthly kings, He even promised eternal life for a sinner like me!
From this day forward I'll forever follow that good man from Galilee!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
BEE-HAVE
church was abuzz with matrimonial mass
and we were mesmerized by the goofy voice
of the master of ceremonial priest don’t laugh
my husband’s pinching his skin so thin
i dare not look at him at the same time, a few rows
back my cousin has his own planned attack
leans up near my sister-in-law and finds need
to mention her hand in my brother’s pants pocket
oh how he jests “how unsuitable for church”
now she’s ahem just staying warm so i’m
trying to keep it all together you know
church face and all but now there’s a bee buzzing
smack against my brother’s face perhaps it also
disapproved of the inappropriateness the indiscretion
aggressive move of his wife (tears rolling, ready to burst
like an ice cold pipe in deep winter) i smooth down
my dress pinch my husband’s skin (okay mine)
and try to keep my eyes front-facing ...but for that voice
our side of the family might even have tried to be
….civilized ;)
10/23/2017
Light Poetry
I spent my day shopping for rubies
It's not a usual thing to do
I usually shop on Tuesdays
Then I just shop for two
I dressed up in my best
And caught a cab to town
Hoping to invest
In a ruby ring and evening gown
Arriving at the jeweller's shop
I was overcome with awe
I felt my chin drop
As I knocked a tray of pearls onto the floor
Madame, "May I help you,
Can I assist in any way?"
"Yes, I came to buy a ruby ring
Could you show me the display?"
The assistant looked happy
He unlocked the compartment of rings
He was so brisk and snappy
I thought he was about to sing
The rubies were breath-taking
They took my breath away
I became more breathless
At the price of them that day
I knew they would be expensive
These were far too dear
The price was so extensive
It made me feel quite *****
I was embarrassed
The assistant looked poised
I felt very harrassed
Silly and annoyed
"Please take a seat, Madame
Sit quietly for a while."
Was there a hint of sarcasm
In the assistant's smile
Other customers were waiting to be served
Looking at jewellery and gifts
They thought they all deserved
Or give a loved one's heart a lift.
The shop was busy
It was abuzz like busy bees
Nobody was in a tizzy
Except poor dishevelled me
Standing up from the chair
Trying to look haughty
Waving my hand in the air
I left feeling naughty
Outside in the mall at last
What a day it's been
My day spent shopping for rubies
Had been like a movie scene
Feeling tired and muddled
My feet were hurting me
I cannot wait to catch the bus
And go back to reality
While Up And Adrift In Cloud 9...
Reprieve from damp,
and rainy, or sultry weather,
I schlepped a
light weight Shaker
made folding chair
out upon Jim Baker
Nabor's green acre
and once enthroned
as a " FAKE FAKIR"
in rubberized web
bing (seam ming lee
lapis lazuli trimmed),
this body of mine
lapsed into Quaker
state averse to focus attention,
gnome hatter eyes fixedly glute
to the pages, sans
newsworthy printed material,
to apprise and jute
keeping me astute
with major local and global
journalistic burning hotspots
whatsapp pining (the
most recent issue Newt
about Gingrich commendable
TIME magazine), boot
with rather light
breeze tolerably blowing
temperate, moderate air currents
enveloping this here ole coot,
who aint got Hoot
tee and the Blowfish, nor toot
from no mo' magic flute,
thus by natural
dint cocked mean
looking head (you figure out
which one) between
the devil and the
deep blue seas tureen,
which gaze extended clean
skyward to cerulean vault
populated with strunk
and white tufts
in stark contrast did lean
in to the verdant rich green
sward abuzz within
invisible micro ecosystems
niched and stitched by Jean
E. Huss flora Dean
and endearing fauna
minted quartered gene,
which hubbub of variegated
organisms sound
accompanied motley crue
of each scudding soundcloud
shape shifting bill
low whee near weightless
(cottony ma their) keen
stern preachily mass stir,
then puff (like
a magic dragon),
no more easily seen.
Well here I am in front of my Mac
And it seems to be taunting me
“C'mon big boy, show me your stuff!
Mr. Fancy Pants Poet, let's see!”
“What great stuff have you come up with now
To set the literary world abuzz
Mr. Fancy Pants Poet between you and me
The world's not ready because”
“Your poetic prowess is beyond the norm
Your talents won't be surpassed
Where did your poetic skills emanate from
Were there poets in your family's past”
“C'mon big boy, I'm sitting here waiting
Got much better things to do
Like figuring out the true meaning of life
Or the sum of “two plus two!”
Well here's what I say to you Mr. Mac
Go byte yourself and leave me alone
Creative minds don't have an on/off switch
When I'm ready I'll send you a poem
© Jack Ellison 2013
Sir, ‘tis a letter for your eyes only, oddly, ‘tis a brown envelope used?”
—“Pray tell, why did you say, oddly, madame?”
“It hails from the palace, a place of dignity, but to forward itself a respite with commonality, breeds a different sort.”
—“Ah! That explains that (holding the unopened envelope in his hand raised), for across our channel is abuzz, as war wreaks havoc beyond our shores, I beg that I be naught caught by any challenges, as an announcing envelope may hail an affront at my very doorsteps. Plainly, it draws none to wonder, for it lacks interest for the few who seek cover from our English weather, their ruse.“
“Really, here in England!”
—”That madman is naught an idiot, but diabolical. Give him no measure, for he’ll want more without end, for that’s his intent. Our nation has long been at risk, and I fear that the contents of this envelope may ripen our unsheathed souls to hail victory in its due course.”
“I dislike war.”
—”Madame, it's naught the matter of ‘dislike or like’, nevertheless, it’s a matter of our very survival that will purpose our furtherance of our ‘likes or dislikes’, their proper argument to entertain our future.”
“Maybe, the palace seeks peace.”
—”If it be so, then I challenge that ‘word’ with its homophone and not homonym from that depressing madman, with due respect, madame.”
“Well, open it, sir, for the king awaits—I trust—for an answer?”
—”Very well, tut-tut. Hm, I’m asked to be the next Prime Minister!”
“Oh my, and what of Chamberlin?”
—”He will probably be a thorn in my rose; unfortunately, it is rumored, yet prepared will I be, to exchange it with a lily. Well, I am off to the palace and there will I see that purplish king, or brown if it be so hush-hush.”
In my nocturnal connection I live between two worlds
the one that is past and the one that has just begun
the sound of crickets tells me I'm not quite awake
but the glare of the screen tells me, I am not alseep
Forgoing the dream that was meant to be complete
I chose to knit the word before the break of dawn
not a sound do I hear cept' the sound of my fingers
as they meet the plastic keys of my computer screen
No happy thoughts come my way no sad ones either
though my pillow whispers alone I'm not discontent
for theres a beautiful lampost staring out my window
and it is eager to read what I am planning to soon seed
In my nocturnal visits I encounter the mainstay of wake
and only the crickets know where I am, for me thats OK
for soon the world will be abuzz with all kinds of action
and I will have to say goodbye, to the nights refraction.
The North Pole was all abuzz as only Santa’s Workshop can get.
They were whispering and pointing and throwing a gingerbread fit.
Santa was choosing an aide for his awesome flight on Christmas Eve night.
Sixteen had shown up for the job, one or two not fast or bright.
During a preliminary test run, striped Tiger was fired.
Ruining his chances of ever being hired.
Tiger’s mistake? He ate two favorite elves as a breakfast snack.
Santa Claus told H.R. to let him know he was never welcome back.
A sloth showed up and was given a courtesy pretend interview.
But did not have a chance, for moved as slowly as Santa’s Papa’s shoe.
Now between Vinnie Vampire and Lily, a beautiful Chinese dragon.
Lily could easily balance sleigh, full sack of toys and red wagon.
Mrs. Claus asked, “Was she the pretty one with the scalloped scales?
Fancy gold wings, greenish clothes, rounded horn and pink painted nails?
Christmas Eve Night Lily was entertaining and hilarious too
On Christmas day, she was issued a contract until 2042.
(an All Poetry feat to walk in
the poetic feet of Robert Frost)
Bucolic New England, circa
Early twentieth century New England
awash with dynamic harmonic leisureliness,
when much of North America favored rustic
visual whirled wide webbed watercolor
waiting afield at dusk, the thrum
of nature all abuzz didst feed thine
dizzily green jovial mien
unlike mean Gary Lewis
veritable innocence and naiveté
rollicked with mine lanky frame
relishing ambling into my own quietude
an infinite breadth, length and scope
of infrequently trammeled near virgin
woodland paths grown over with brambles
nonetheless a faintly trussed harbinger
marked by weatherbeaten
for sale signposts
with here and there an abandoned plow
long since given over
to rust when the pasture
seasons elapsed since
farmer(s) left unharvested
fecund fields absent
the cloven hoof,
and deprived enrichment
manure, sans ungulates
ceased sufficing healthy
free ranging bovines,
where etudes punctuated
the terribly gross fresh air,
now no longer audibly quickening,
snapchatting, nor twittering
with the last word of a bluebird
deathly silence now 'cept
the wind in the willows
whispering woebegone laments
tree tops pining to cradle
idle youthful dreamers
boughs devoid of
psalm quivering romantic songstress
clattering debris merely
delivering echoed whooshing refrains
continually disintegrating among
in a disused graveyard
prescient ken aches with nostalgia
hallucinogenic nightmare slams
irrevocably shut the door in the dark
closed for good upon the onset,
wrought genocide against
the vanishing Red man,
a ghostly scarification meaningless ritual
wrested, removed, and highjacked
from indigenous peoples
without rhyme, nor reason
as fraternities no
longer pledge allegiance.
Old Mrs. Finkelstein
Had a son named Effrim
And a wonderful son he was
He helped with the house work
He helped with the washing
With rumours, the town was abuzz
Behind Effrim's back
They would whistle and quack
Suggesting he was a little bit sappy
The rumour got around
That Effrim wrote poetry
And dedicated it to his Pappy
Now all the town's jocks
Thought Effrim was a sissy
They taunted and teased him no end
Till one fateful day
The news got around
Effrim would appear on CNN
That day did arrive
Effrim's mug went out
To every TV screen in the town
Larry King once called him
“The greatest living bard!”
O'er the land his poems were renowned
Effrim returned home
To a ticker tape parade
He was no longer taunted and teased
A conquering hero
This quiet young man
With the ending, Effrim was so pleased
© Jack Ellison 2013