Long Bloomer Poems
Long Bloomer Poems. Below are the most popular long Bloomer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bloomer poems by poem length and keyword.
Dad,
how old were you when you first tried THC?
It was not until my freshperson year
at the University of Michigan
when you could not go from one end of any dorm
to the other
without inhaling that not really oregano oily fragrance.
Why were you such a late bloomer?
As I recall,
back in premillennial times
those who were high school pot heads
were recognized by all,
including themselves,
as destined for malodorous lifetime outcomes,
if not outright sociopaths
then at least hopeless malcontents
and scofflaws
without civil redeeming value.
Really?
So how did all that play out?
We were correct
in these pessimistic predictions
at least in large part.
You don't sound surprised,
as I so hoped you might.
Only because
those of us who waited
until we had high school graduation credentials in hand
fared about the same unremarkable neither better or worse,
certainly not rewriters of history
as far as I ever heard.
And,
although I might well be mistaken,
those who self-promote
as never having inhaled
either sooner or even much too later,
have outcomes possibly least happy of all,
except for those who also
have not found enough real food to eat
or too much booze to drink in one remorseful night.
Interesting.
I hope that is a population of zero
in my postmillennial era.
Watch out for those who deny evolution as evil.
They are those least likely to learn
from our mistakes,
thereby proving the foolishness
of their own anti-evolving theories
about traditional unchanging consciousness
and humane nature
and EarthMother's sacred spirits,
inhaling to exhale,
reweaving nature out with nurture in.
LATE BLOOMER
sun highlights
the bod of oak bark -
Autumn knight
CLINGERS
won’t let go -
cling to puppy love,
its branches
CLEAVERS
cleaves to old
relationship vow -
storm shakes loose
LANDING
the leaves land
amidst the old maids’
bitterness
BRITTLE BONES
the children
jump in old gals’ laps
living loud
RING AROUND THE ROSIES
circle round
sing, “ashes…ashes…”
and fall down
LEARNING CURVE
life up there
in the lusty air
now seems strange
GONE WITH THE WIND
scattering
the old bats’ ashes
to the wind
REBORN
phoenix lands
a bitty wiser
and lighter
There once was a fine buxom lass
who wrote poetry with real class
and though she was sly
real foxxy and why
that fair buxom lass was a gas!
Yes PD was not a late bloomer
her pages were full of rare rumor
she told bushy tales
of boys who ate snails
and ran from the po-po’s cruiser.
Well, foxxy ole PD’s so tart
she raised that low bar from the start
bringin’ on game
no man could tame
Unless, he’s N. Bone-a-part?
So, Linda we beg you to stay
do not leave us alone come to play
streak your hair red
get up from that bed
you know we all love your foreplay!
Tap that type, blow that screen, shred that page
yes, Miss Foxxy the world is your stage
I’m truly amazed
at your subtler ways
Your mischievous heart's all the rage!
What more can I say, I not her proxy
cause all of you know I'm not that foxxy
I’ll have to give in
end up with a grin
and beware of all the kits with her Moxie!
*6 Foxxy Limericks
The Month of November Glum
Late Autumn bloomers, mums galore,
Crowd the mantel with Fall décor,
Filling one’s heart with warmth and timbre,
In the glum month of November.
I watched her pick them one by one,
To place in a vase of chrysanthemums,
Of beguiling colours and scent,
Tempting romantic engagement.
My eyes stretch the fabric of time,
Embedding this vision of mine,
My love’s rapport with chrysanthemums,
In the month of November glum.
***
Note:
November’s birth flower is the lovely Autumn bloomer, chrysanthemum, aka mum. Chrysanthemums display the many colours of Fall. They represent friendship, honesty, and happiness; and symbolize joy and beauty.
A smile on her face and a gleam in her eye - From the poem Batter up, by Eve Roper
I was a late bloomer when it came to girls, but when the bug hit, I fell in and out of love more often than any college young man had a right to. Working part time and half way through college, I had grown weary of one broken relationship after another. It was in the middle of the summer of 70, and I didn't know it, but my frustrations and weary days of romance were about to end.
I had seen faces of all kind, many of which turned my head and my heart. Faces that both arrested and tested me, but in the end, I fail the test. But never whining over spilled milk, I wiped it up and moved on, leaving the heartbreak and accepting each experience as another lesson learned. But this face was totally different, one that relates very well to a line I read from a poem entitled, Batter Up, by Eve Roper-"A smile on her face and a gleam in her eye ".
Moreover, it seemed from the start that this time, I was captured. It all started the first day I laid eyes on her as she was a face full of smiles, and although she was not smiling at me, it was the smile that arrested and captured me, rendering me a willing hostage for nearly 50 years. I tell you, it was that smile on her face and gleam in her eyes that said to me, "She's the one".
032920PoSpCtest, Poetic lines from a Poetry Soup Poet - Eve Roper Silent One, Sponsor
Back then we could eat clouds -
we were that tall, even baggy Ben (who
was small for a lumpy kid),
could leap over a pub door
without leaving the floor.
Then behind our backs
a Lilliputian world crept up,
it was mouse-grey, and it nibbled ferociously.
I went to the South Coast to roustabout;
then the lot of them
chose to join the heavy brigade;
they got real jobs
not the casual hourly sideshow work
bohemians favored.
After spinning my head for a shilling I returned,
but by then the whole decade had dispersed
like moths in a rainstorm.
I renewed an acquaintance or two
with former females,
those who had been set aside
on shelves for later.
There was no longer any power in flowers
drum circles lost their nativist beat.
Of course we all sold out,
I was just a late bloomer.
Now in my mature and preserved fruitiness
I spurn the hallucinogenic
and am as pious as any defrocked magpie
that drips memories by moonlight,
grudgingly bemoaning the sag
of this slow jowly age.
Schooled in hard knock sufferance... -
soulful scribe matt er fact - seeks solemn sanctuary
Despite always pledging
allegiance to the flag
academic performance traced, narrated,
graphed... unfavorable zigzag
vertical lined spikes across
x-axis and y-axis displayed
dramatically sharper increased crag
when promoted one grade to the next
how comprehension did lag
attributed to allocating, dag
gone nabbit budgeting, crafting... productive
time usage, plus an affirmative nod,
whereby yours truly did lallygag
evincing object lesson procrastination
study habits shucked off cuz mum did nag
obfuscation regarding illegible note taking
I moost definitely haint gonna brag.
Deplorable curriculum vitae
not hearty and hale
equals pathetic academic performance
now displeases me,
yours truly did wanna fail
no matter parents told me, I got smarts
severe psychological dissonance
affected this male
in retrospect,... a tell tale
sign everyday existence
arduous, horrendous, perilous...
lifelong struggle analogous to quail
caught between cross hairs
tis pointless foregone opportunities... assail
self pointless, hence no surprise
metaphor locked within jail.
Report cards highlighted
plethora weaknesses bred
teachers exhausted markers
especially black red
spent small fortune replacing
regarding this jughead,
who practically proved deficiencies
prevailed within his head
arising and undoubtedly stead
dully contributing living
antisocially he approximated
being gratefully dead.
Search for acceptance during harrow
wing during formative years absolute zero
earning michelin equivalent laughing stock,
where mummified pharaoh
each arose out sarcophagus (cue Thriller -
Michael Jackson), a hero
cash equalling cow Jackson 5 era
before disgraced pedofile,
now keeps company with Nero
roman around within underworld
plus disembodied spirit Clarence Darrow,
who scopes, karaokes,
moonwalks... with monkeys.
Sundry dead souls heave pens, gogol,
and trumpet like Donald duck,
their afterlife I envy mingling sui generis
versus yours truly down on his luck
dismal flying colors
analogous to mire and muck
no man iz an island, yours truly isthmus
squeezing thru narrow passing lane,
this bummer doth aimlessly truck
this late bloomer summoning forth
long suppressed pluck.
i cry at the thought of heartbreak
i speed in the hopes to create a kaleidoscope alternative
i crash to make the illusion last forever
i die dreaming of you loving me
as i cross over
i become a dark artist painting light images
i look for a penny, but i can't find the fuse box of my sanity
suddenly, it is the third day and i do not remember a thing
it is then that i learn the definition of unconditional love
it is then that i understand the inner making of my broken heart
it is then that a realize that i had no comprehension beyond the satisfaction of my self
it is then that i reality hits me in the head like a hot anvil with cold thorns
it is then that i discover to late.....that it is indeed too late.....
I'm fully awake from a
foretold dark night
of the soul
I arose a late bloomer
surrounded by consumers
of souls in a cold
world
The storm winds twirl
but can't carry away
what's meant to bring
like to darker days
Darkness sparks awakening
in many ways for without it
there'd be nothing to ignite
The fight between
dark & light is really about
uniting the two
to become whole
The goal is to actualize
the one thing that presents
as two bold faces
Unity replaces what was
once seen as duality
existing at opposite ends
of a pole
This is written in scrolls
hidden by hands
that are faster than
the eyes plan to see
It'd be wise to free
your mind of separation
& lean more into
the idea of integration
This is preparation for
a world that will
come to be
You have an obligation
to your soul & that is
to grow from a seed
into a beautiful tree
A tree of life that leaves
the world on more
solid ground than it was
before you came around
Life is a cycle you're bound
to repeat if lessons
aren't learned & you don't
find what you seek
One day your body of work
will return to the dust
from which it came but
that's part of the game
Your nameless soul
knows no bounds to name
on these universal courts
of play
All dark nights evolve
to brighter days
as sure as the earth
revolves around the sun
& its light rays
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse