Long Bouncing Poems
Long Bouncing Poems. Below are the most popular long Bouncing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bouncing poems by poem length and keyword.
THE ADVENTURE, HER
Eyes
Deep, shimmering pools
Drowning fevered fools
Voice
Feigning tenderness, tragic
Whispered, lilting magic
Scent
Je Reviens enchanting
Left shamelessly panting
Hair
Bouncing raven tresses
Velvety elucidated guesses
Smile
Sparkling white gradients
Breath-stealing bright radiance
Lips
Succulent raspberry fruit
Passion's delicious route
Shape
Form-filling voluptuous esses
Curvaceously exploiting dresses
Skin
Satiny cappuccino wrapping
Exploring fingers, mapping
Taste
Tippy-top to feet
Nectarous, tangy, sweet
Whole Package
Symmetry imperfectly perfected
Entirely painstakingly inspected
Plan
Moonlight eventide, upended
Enjoyment, dishonorably intended
Result
Personal intentions, punted
"Hunter" becomes "Hunted"
Afterglow
Her sensual surprise =
My satiated eyes.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Six-Word Couplet Series Encore" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
A sweet bunny is having a birth ... day,
happy, happy, happy birthday we say!
And we sing a song ... la, la, la, la, la,
you clap and smile ... la, la, la, la, la, la!
Take my hand and we will spin round and round,
your laugher is like a bell ringing sound!
Careful bunny that you don't tumble down,
I think you need a pretty princess crown!
A little bird told me that you can crawl,
and you walk a bit but you fall, fall, fall!
Want to play with your big bouncing red ball?
I love you baby 'cause your sweet and small!
Come, lets blow out the candle on your cake,
yummy, yummy, yummy chocolate cake!
Now, lets go play with your bright pink balloon,
and then ... we can watch a funny cartoon!
A sweet bunny is having a birth ... day,
happy, happy, happy birthday we say!
And we sing a song ... la, la, la, la, la,
you clap and smile ... la, la, la, la, la, la!
________________________
March 29, 2023
Poetry/Rhyme/Happy Birthday - NR
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1535-928-29
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Children Sing To Rhyme
sponsor, Eve Roper, Judged 04/07/2023
First Place
Collaboration with Marcello Eans
Often thought it, never said it.
I’m an heir to Earth, by birth, a world I inherit.
24 hours to live, do I cherish?
Man without vision, a man who’ll soon perish.
Life is my fetish, no worries, no eyes reddish,
Problems & concerns, lightweight like iceberg lettuce.
Do I worry about the weather, whether hot or numb cold?
Rain, sleet, or snow, things out of one’s control.
Career amongst peers, fame, and fortune.
Your name for 15 seconds & you claim your portion.
Mishap in the abortion, escaped with a chance.
A date with destiny, it’s mandatory I dance.
I spent my early years with no parents or family,
Always bouncing from one foster home to another.
Discipline came from movies, that was my reality.
I never knew what it was like to have a mother.
I was never no good in school, often failing.
I didn’t have no friends ‘cause people just hated me.
I didn’t graduate with everyone else in the spring.
I never got no diploma, had to get my G.E.D.
Holding a job for more than a year wasn’t easy.
Robbing banks was the best way for me to survive.
Despite what the jury said, I never killed nobody.
On death row, I spend my days in my new 9 to 5.
Be fine if I die, a candle with a wick that won’t burn.
Naked I came & naked I’m gon’ return.
In my faith, I stand firm, grace freely received.
All things are possible to him who believes.
sad wallpaper and cigarette buts
a man smoking over a coffee cup
with an old stare at a new face
where all society loses their place
the photos hang crooked on the wall
with the waitress answering a telephone call
a seat for two waiting to be filled
and rain bouncing off the window sill
a haze rising from the man’s lips
while the other one looks away and sips
familiar people in a strange setting
with a few remembering but most forgetting
about the lives they lead each day
with a lot to do and little to say
I drink my coke and eat my food
but who am I to capture this mood
I want to hold onto the images I see
like the winking eye and crooked teeth
but I can only write it all down
as I saunter from town to town
During the emptiness of a Fall day
I sat in a barber’s chair
Watching
Nimble fingers
My hair falling
Like white snow
Gently bouncing and tumbling
Into my lap
And wondered
Weren’t they once a dark chestnut
Or was it all my imagination?
In my youth
I listened to the poets
Met the painters
Drank with the writers
And watched the beginnings
Of many promising mornings
When people spoke of new ideas
Because
It was a time when we were all young
And everything was possible.
Now, in the thin days of old age
I recall
The promises and slogans
Of long ago
Weren't always what they seemed to be.
Blankly staring
Into the clouded
Barber’s mirror
I study my vision
Asking why
Those memories keep me awake at night
When near the end
Shadows beckon me
To step away.
If my hair could talk to God above miraculously
It would express praises and thanks to Him joyfully
For His grace, mercy and love shown constantly
Flowing along His provisions’ banks abundantly!
Yes, my hair would delight in God for cleansing water
Reminding His Word’s sanctifying power
Along His forgiveness that’s ready to deliver
Repentant souls seeking it through their confession-prayer!
Indeed, my hair would glory in God’s holiness-beauty
Appreciating each of His creation’s poised dignity
Declaring, “How privileged is earth’s humanity
To bear the image of the perfect Maker’s quality!”
My hair, for sure, would salute God for His wisdom
Since He knows the number of all hair strands in the kingdom
Even those that split away from hair-style boredom
And the ones that fall to find their much-sought freedom!
Never would my hair question God’s will
As to why it’s not bouncing, but kinky, or staying straight still
And why is it losing its luster despite the color-refill
For truly, the Lord cares, though head could be baldly ill!
How glad could my hair be in receiving God’s compliment
For being a healthy-strong covering in its useful involvement
Of its smooth and vibrant service as my crowning ornament
With its silky-wavy flexibility midst weather’s disagreement!
So, here’s my hair, deciding to be God-honoring
Always sweet-smelling against worldly fragrances’ devouring
Witnessing the Lord’s faithfulness and peaceful nurturing
Until it be gray, awaiting eternal, glamorous repairing!
See-Saws - (First Poem posted on PoetrySoup, 08/04/2014)
What playground does not hold the magic lure
of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
in ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
and surging thrill of bouncing up again?
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
it's followed by a swing to new heights when
he'll know once more the joy of that plateau?
In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
for truly, were it stable, it would bore
the simplest mind; for only from the ground
does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
For only in imbalances we feel
the balance that keeps life on even keel.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In Response To My First Poem
Yin and Yang
Just as a see-saw's motion, up and down,
echos the yin and yang of heaven, earth;
these complement each other, turn around—
like dark of night becomes the new day's birth.
All seasons here on earth their balance keep,
along with oceans' rise and fall of tides.
The yin and yang, the ebbs and flows must sweep
throughout the universe—become our guides.
The ups and downs along with highs and lows
in our own lives—imbalances we feel—
are yin and yang which we cannot oppose—
that balance which keeps life on even keel.
But sometimes balances can be unfair
when dark of yin can linger, bring despair.
We pray see-saws can rest awhile—prepare
to longer bask in yang of life midair.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Contest: A Response to Your First Poem
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 09/30/2015
Within my mind are dusty cobwebs
where drafty breathings edge the corners of remembering
as they hold in a picture stilled that looms,
unchanged but not for lack of a broom;
school books, pads and pens, and bookbag piled high,
uniform dress, blouse, and blazer on the bedroom floor,
shoes plopped in the corner still untied behind the door
covers tossed on an unmade bed, pillow puffed against the frame,
a waking dog with ears alert and a wagging tail ingrained;
I can easily dust and sweep the memories stored there.
The dim light of an old candescent lampshade bare,
shadows of my grandmother rocking in her chair.
Four o'clock as the cuckoo bows,
chains straining the weights up and down,
a baloney sandwich, a glass of milk, she sits waiting
at the small kitchen table, her rosary praying.
Bouncing in the door, hurried and ready to play around,
the smile rises on her face as she puts her knitting down
and with a hug and kiss, she takes me in her arms
as I struggle hurriedly pulling away from her charms,
anxious to go out and play
as she asks, what did you learn today?
Sit, eat, tell me of your day
and I rushing through every thought I could say,
full mouth jabbering of this one and that at school,
today, I've learned the golden rule,
family and the love they give
are all you ever really need to live.
I wish I could go back for just a moment in time
and relive those wonderful memories sublime
now gone
and pushed in the corridors of my mind.
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow
ONE STONE
skipped by bonnie brook
he’s showing off
his perfect skill
she hardly breathes
standing still
her eyes slaphappy-splash
he handles the one stone
turns over and fondles
he’s cocky and controlled
her cheeks are piqued
green-eyed moss at her feet
she shuts her eyes and sighs, and
she personifies the prized stone
feels his breath on her polished skin
his fingers on her every inch
the careening off the cliff
from his fingertips
as her heart skips
headlong, in his wistful path
still feeling the flicking
of his wrist, the snap
of his formidable frenzy
voracious vortex
she’s out of breath
and she embraces every minute
bouncing along
the bonnie bonnie brook
11/7/2017
Two Word Challenge Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless