Long Booted Poems
Long Booted Poems. Below are the most popular long Booted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Booted poems by poem length and keyword.
Take away my static hair,
My thick, wool toque, my glassy eyes.
Take away the chilly air,
The endless clouds, the covered skies.
Give me back my sun-streaked hair,
My floppy hat, my shaded eyes.
Give me back the sea-salt air,
The fluffy clouds, the crystal skies.
Take away my dull, dry skin,
My soggy mitts, my booted feet.
Take away the frosty wind,
The icy paths, the slushy streets.
Give me back my sun-tanned skin,
My denim shorts, my flip-flop feet.
Give me back the toasty wind,
The sparkling dunes, the sandy streets.
Take away harsh Winter's sting,
His gales of hail, his banks of snow.
Give me back my darling Spring,
Her rising sun, her lovely glow.
Bordering the local
football ground, young
mountain ash bend
in the cold wind.
Almost reaching to full height,
their lean, pliable trunks bow
and spring back,
whipping against the air.
Defiant, almost arrogant
they dance and swirl
their leaves like balls
of streamers waved
by frenzied fans.
Boyhood comes charging back
as I walk the boundary,
booted up and wearing
number twenty five.
I inhabited the hero,
rode wild applause
to the consummate ease
of my play and saw
my name bannered
in large print
across Sunday replays.
Imagination flew far above
my skill and as time
chastened dreams,
ambition retreated to a place
in a noisy crowd
carried along on the swells
of boisterous cheer,
or lounged in a chair
watching an ad riddled
game at home by myself
with a beer.
These evangelical rendered words
From Shamsur Rahman
Joe, I am nobody known to you. I am somebody simply likewise soaring to the tapestry skyline with this harbinger song of mine bridging the gap, the song merging with your orator keynote
soaring once more.
Joe, when the whiplash sound cuts through your skin
your blistering aching skin
They, their laughter and louder
the civilization and the throwback scar.
Their booted hills dehumanize you, spine bone an afflicted offensive
Then the sand and the humankind carved a nomenclature, pensive.
Joe, when they dumped you beside the garbage can, in late hours
with conveyor news about you, tied in blue, the mayhem mimicry
bursting seventh floor forecasting an awe of pain
for a picked up self , to beside a forthcoming homecoming reign.
Even though I never met you Joe
These evangelical rendered words and your pondering lookout
a face with a pensive shade of an awe, on and on
an imagism of a motif , foretelling a long saga of strife
in Asia, Africa and Latin America, all encompassing, Joe!
(I have no rush)
A most strange creature walked into the room
upright on two legs he stood oh so very tall
dressed in fine array booted and suited
a hat perched jauntily on his head
He cast around the room eyeing people up
as he strutted back and forth leaving in his wake
a deep silence of disbelief as the folks all stared
and started to draw back as they saw his tail
Not a person was this uninvited guest
no even though dressed as a man
he was a ferocious gorilla in love
seeking out his Jane he hunted around
Not finding her he stood confused
gaping at the people in their finery
come on now said his keeper catching up
and he lead him back to his cage
The gorilla sits there tear running down his face
lost without his Jane he sits in desolation
she had passed away only 5 months ago
now he hunts for her whenever he can
His keeper has tried to jolly him along
even introducing a young lady or two
met with indifferent then ignored
he only want his true love Jane
Standard bearers lead the Hearse
Past we Veterans lining the road ,
Booted and Suited, at the salute,
In that honoured Veterans’ Code.
We all enter with respect on
This sad and solemn day
Standards precede his coffin
As we see our brother on his way.
His long faithful service Included
An almost forgotten Korean War,
Now Our Brother Noel is at peace,
Memories can’t trouble him any more.
We few are here in lieu of those
Who today couldn’t be present,
The band of fellow Veterans
We few so solemnly represent.
At the finish of the ceremony
At attention, sad eyed, mute
We stand by his casket for
One last farewell salute
Just a few years I knew him,
Considered him my friend,
Sadly but with pride I come,
Here to Parade at his end.
Yellow above the dredged-up earth.
hard hats, husky men
bent on constructive destruction,
Brush burning,
they flame throw their wands of
progress.
It all has to be done, done to be mended,
done to be done with.
Nature got too messy,
it overgrew its concrete margins,
it got above our work-booted
aspirations.
Clean-up crews sweep and press
against the head-on-winds
of a riotous environment.
Steel, hammers the seeded mud
crushing it of any taint of green.
Everyone knows this is obscene,
lips and ears must be temporarily closed
like the bleak roads ahead
and those dug over
below our feet.
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
Concentration,congregations,communications
illustrations,consultations,relations
persecutions,sanitations,punctuations,hesitation
revised,surmised,surprised in a disguise
The reality is known, system re-booted
salute, population expansions
weather changes, climates are changing
social sites exploring, overloading in errors
sharing, caring, giving back
homemade tasks, ideas forwarding
showing, make known
groups of gatherings
experiments abroad
laughing full of joy
a world, the Eagles soar
Precious moments
tender sounds
alerts notification
concentration,meditation
exercising, food preparation
In a given moment
each day is lived.
Note: The world is not waiting on time. Changes occur. Love, be of peace. Be kind. Trust in GOD. Taking one minute at a TIME.
Be safe. Stay safe.
Just a quick notification that
A new resident was on his way
Giving us enough time to get
A room ready for him to stay
Not our usual type of client
A Veteran French Legionnaire
It was beyond my pay grade
To know how he’d ended there.
He was going through a crisis
In his domestic civilian life
Needed a break away from
His family and his wife.
The Veteran Brotherhood
Had taken care of it
Referred him on to us
For one of our bedsits.
He’d woken up in hospital
Physically sound and whole
The only surviving member
Of an ambushed recce patrol
With no recollection of how
He’d ended up there,
Or the three days lost that
He’d spent under care.
Discharged back to Blighty
Survivor guilt to the fore
PTSD setting in he just
Couldn’t take anymore.
All this had happened
A good few years ago
But Traumatic Stress Disorder
Can take many years to show.
He stayed just a few months
And, not telling us why
He went back to his wife
Where he'd chosen to die.
Just days before he passed
I was surprised to hear his voice
When he rang me to tell me
Why he made that choice.
Said with Chronic lung disease
He was very near his end
And he wanted to thank me
For being both helper and friend.
Shocked and distraught not
Knowing what to say or do
I let Forces black humour
Help carry us through.
The Brotherhood is International
A mixed and disparate lot
So many times it’s the sad case
Each other is all we’ve got.
Booted and suited by his box
We all took time to think
Drank a toast to his memory, left
Untouched the absent friend’s drink.
I was playing near a college town,
people pay money to hear my jokes,
when back-clad fools charged upon stage,
at first I thought it was a hoax.
Then they said my jokes about dating
were ‘Patriarchal Misogyny,’
everyone’s good time was ruined
by those god damned NPCs.
A few days later, when online,
I posted about a new book
written by my favorite author,
figured that it was worth a look.
But outrage mobs went barking mad
over his fun in younger days,
what that had to do with his ideas
they did not bother to say.
The next week an actor friend of mine
told me he’d gone out with this girl,
she’d taken him home and the sex
had rocked his entire world.
But my friend had just broken big,
and feminists convinced his date
that she could ‘win one for the team,’
so she accused him of rape!
When he showed the texts she sent before,
some claim that he ‘hated women,’
as if being good means sitting back
and just watching your career end.
None care about his innocence,
the media still pimped her tale,
even if he were no rapist
he was guilty of being male.
Tired of all this crazed nonsense
I searched for my favorite pod-cast,
didn’t always agree with the host,
but his interviews were a blast.
Yet the website had booted him,
they weren’t fond of non-leftist thought,
to be popular with ‘outside’ views
broke their Truth Council's latest laws.
Then came my dear cousin’s wedding,
which my activist sister deplored,
she growled,”Marriage is such a lie,
they will know nothing but divorce.
It’s always rape when with a woman
a sex-hungry man does lay,
some day she’ll realize her mistake,
hopefully it will not be too late.”
Realizing why we didn’t talk,
I gratefully caught a jet home,
and saw they were building something
in the big lot next to my own.
It was a hideous, iron blob,
and when I pointed this fact out,
the architect screamed,”Philistine!”
then proceeded to holler and pout...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.