Long Adrenal Poems
Long Adrenal Poems. Below are the most popular long Adrenal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adrenal poems by poem length and keyword.
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
Red, yellow, pink and blue
Flowers that drenched in dew
Yearning for your silent kisses
And glimpsing the scene, gives us bliss
Flowers that just unfold
Awaiting your sweet bound
On seeing you whirling around
Words unroll, pen poems abound
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
Plunging into the pure colors of paradise
You make me travel into a land I fantasize
Dancing to the tunes of bliss
You make me sing a song surprise
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
On seeing you, flying with your friend
"This is a poetry" utters my mind
And when you fortuitously land on my hand
Rushes the adrenaline, my adrenal gland
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
After your arrival,
The world looks more beautiful
As you spread joy and beautify!!!
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
She was the nadir of affection
like a scorned lover, hell-bent on revenge.
She was still like a fresh flower, a sight for sore eyes.
David was told she was once jilted
by the beau of the town,
now hell-bent to wreak havoc on men
who unknowingly felt her black spider's charm.
He was not known to her; he was not introduced.
So, it was easy to ignore her, despite the warnings
of his soul. For did not his heartbeat faster?
And adrenal flow in quantities above the norm?
Yet he remained aloof, played hard to get,
knowing that was the way to beat her down.
He had no magic or dreams to weave,
no moon dust, mystic herbs or love potions,
only his determination and wily will.
For they were as alike as two mountain peaks
covered with hard white snow and tricky paths,
dangerous slopes and precipitating avalanches.
Perhaps the predator savoured more the chase.
She began to notice, and David was yearning more.
Until the day arrived when they looked into
each other's eyes and knew the outcome of the game.
Gone was the last speck of hope,
the shred of possibility, the promise of a new love
loomed like a giant glacier and the dice were cast.
The deadly demons in them were loose.
Idyllic days passed sensuously by a farce of fervour.
He had to save himself for her clutches could hurt,
claws that could cut deep within the soul.
So, like the knave he was, he slinked away
left her to her own devices and saved his pride.
She was not easy to forget, he dreamt of her often,
nor was it easy to forgive himself, especially when
he heard the news that she had killed herself.
23 September 2022
ONE FROM THE DARK SIDE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
I suffocated , air grasped from my lungs
My heart sang for you
My mind protested and my melody seemed to be fading
But I waited for you
Finally like it had just be proselytized
My mind sang the same tune as my heart
And all was a smooth, sound river flow
A river flow like my tears when I had convinced myself that it was different
That your heart no longer beats the same way for me
Like when it felt like you did an introspection
And realized you picked the wrong gemstone
That I was no longer the apple of your eye
But a forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden
Still I waited for you
For the mere thought of you
Or the mention of your name
Forced my adrenal gland to secrete adrenaline
And my heartbeat increased threatening to rip my Sino atrial node
Betrayed by my hypothalamus failing to cooperate with my cerebrum
I waited for you, I did
And I know for sure that when you go into hiding again
I’ll wait for you
Loosely based on the movie Arsenic and Old Lace.
I’m sure you’ll excuse the rambling for that is what
the movie was like — an adrenal rush of dark and crazy!
Teddy Roosevelt: “Bully for you.”
BULLY FOR POISON
no pantywaist.
puts his big boy pants on.
deals with his bully
brother and his odd sidekick.
his uncle bugles at tiptop,
races downstairs,
keeps going
to the gullet —
the belly of the whale.
a grave situation.
tools laid out...
twisted...
menacing..
are his aunts a menace too?
but so sweet to his fiance
while they (let me say
this with the voice of Margaret Hamilton)
“Poison...poison…”
oh don’t worry!
they are only helping
lonely old men.
elderberry wine
sounds delicious
and zany.
Mortimer gets ever more
drunk
on crazy
as he finds bodies in window seats
and buried “in the locks,” below.
in the end he,
like his Uncle
(Teddy Roosevelt) blows
his bugle,
races downstairs,
figuring he must be
cuckoo, for he’s related
to the bunch of nuts.
honeymooners pack up the whole bunch
in paddy wagons, straight jackets,
whatever it takes.
he finds out he can’t relate,
he’s adopted.
wipes off his forehead,
kisses his aunts,
rides off into the sunset.
his kids will never visit.
he warns them of drinking,
especially when they are lonely old men.
teaches his daughters not to mix drinks.
he hopes of his adopted family, he’s seen the last.
he will keep tabs.
3/11/2021
It is worn, patched, and tattered, frayed about the edges. It has at times offered me adrenal ascendency, scared me out of my wits, challenged me to act, or to be still. Its warmth has often failed me. Its compass deviated from true north or at times just ignored. I was told to “wear it as a loose garment”, yet it often felt too restraining or cumbersome. Still it is my choice to slip into it each morning, share a quiet moment, a sip of coffee, a laugh about a patch or stain.
It is more frail now, more likely to require re-stitching of old wounds and faded patches. And yet it serves me well. Its distant colors chuckle as we recall a hot sauce stain, that bar in Angelo, the too often sewed pocket still holds its own. Several of the “original” buttons remain to taunt the newer ones. None are sure where the others went, or why.
And so we sip coffee and recall the tears and joys of birthday cakes, of babies snuggled in its flannel fierceness, and carry on.
loosely worn garments
a history of flannel
frayed edges of life
2/25/2023
It Means A Lot To Me Poetry Contest