Long Cap Poems
Long Cap Poems. Below are the most popular long Cap by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cap poems by poem length and keyword.
What If There Was No Tomorrow? - The Polar Ice ‘Cap’
- this time it’s burnt and curled upon a new head. The
sweet smoke of his sugarloaf effigy black as night,
surrounded by a material red trim, below Parliament houses
blows political greed into fiery smouldering smithereens –
then it floated and landed after years, drifting, onto
the crown of a man: a business man portraying
wealth and class; here it sat above suit and below sun. The
American dream swirled with scotch and the tip of a bowler,
only for the same piece (restyled of coursed) to later sell for
pounds to make the pupils of any impoverished person pop:
his Hamburg with a knowing dent in back, how it span and
spun from black to grey and back again around Hill’s peak
to be dyed again and tilted just so. Now it’s pillbox pink and a knitted
O of a name/shape-sake that covers her head where her husband
had a target upon his. Watermelon-pink colour dye actually: the very
same fruit palette of brain cradled in her hands at high speed.
This latest star attraction of Burgdorf’s no doubt was, decades
prior, nothing but a mix of lifeless green and sludge brown from
grass and cud - metallic dead daises ducking over No Man’s
Land. A Brodie: styled on a not-yet-pulled pin grenade atop
beads of sparkling sweat, dripping slipping salt where now
a pedal controlled sewing machine stabs and pins sequins into
veils that hide brides with (it must be said) the same success
that protected Fawkes’ Plot or Churchill’s reputation or
Jackie’s husband and the slaughtered soldiers’ skulls - but
still the accessories twist into fascinators fancy enough for
mothers to weep below, only to find the box dish or bow
to be knocked akilter during the traditional bouquet mad
dash - then up – up – up! into the air before landing anew,
refreshed as a Gatsby or Hijab, perhaps a Trilby or Zucchetto;
better yet, the Boater or Sailor we’ll need when the hat that covers
all our heads smoulders and peaks when next dented and melted: a
loose grenade we can’t be veiled from, nor refashioned nor restyled
when the next season’s must have
will be a copper and bolt
protective Diving Mask
for the drowning tomorrow
from The Polar Ice 'Cap'.
People laugh and make fun of me because I wear a coonskin cap.
But they'll stop laughing because I'm through taking their crap.
People say that my cap makes me look silly.
They say that it makes me look like a hillbilly.
This morning a city slicker called me a hick and he called my hound dog a mutt.
He was laughing very hard but he stopped when I put some buckshot in his butt.
He started running after I shot both of his cheeks.
He won't be able to sit down for about twelve weeks.
If you see me face to face, you may point, laugh and make fun.
But unless you want to visit a proctologist, you'd better remember that I own this shotgun.
(This is a fictional poem.)
My blue, frayed Cubs cap
Here I hold you in my very own hands
As I look at this old, yet important cap
Many memories go back in many years
The first time I've received this cap
Was when my mother brought you home
As you were a brand-new cap
Bought from the store for five dollars
The happy times with my Cubs cap
From perfect pitches to walk-off hits
As thrown up in the air, this Cubs cap
Your victories will always bring me smiles
The sad times with my Cubs cap
From wild pitches to blown saves
As thrown to the ground, this Cubs cap
Your defeats have brought me tears
The surprising times with my Cubs cap
From listening Ron Santo to the rise of Rizzo
As worn on my head proudly, this Cubs cap
Your history will always give me hope
The many seasons gone through this cap
From playoff heartbreaks to division wins
As this once was a simple, new cap
With each passing year, it becomes old and frayed
In the future, I'll get a new Cubs cap
But this grown fan knows one thing for sure...
As I'll never throw you away, this old cap
My blue, frayed Cubs cap - you're my life's treasure
ku-ko-ro-koo!
came the master’s voice
announcing the coming of new day -
okuko, lord of a timing legend
crowned with the mystery
of a red-cap pointing to the sky;
he came answering a call of nature
as father was wont to tell
& i was a kid, a clan’s kid
fondling upon a red-cap of my cock.
ku-ko-ro-koo!
it came piercing thru my ears
arousing me out of my dreams
o, dragging me out of the bed!
& ’twas okuko! o, okuko!
the clan’s myriad-coloured bird
who sits over the entire realm
toppling the crest of our hills
announcing the coming of day
like an impending egwugwu festival.
ku-ko-ro-koo!
it came again & again & again
for the thousand & one times
& i stood still like the dead
out of my thick forest of dreams -
& okuko, lord of a timing legend
who sits like an elder-statesman
as if he paid for an elder’s seat
upon the currency of a red-cap -
& okuko kept announcing
the apt urgency of a new day
his golden voice raised to the sky
& sharper than the tongue of my gong!
Form:
Make efforts to add one more feather to your cap
which will make you glide in the success lap
Mark all targets to reach in the route map
so that you don't need to fetch a rooting sap
Many a hindrance will cover in the doting gap
but never to lose temper and miss a nap
More resources will help an idea to tap
Make efforts to add one more feather to your cap
The ways to reach are tough, but you can catch it's lap
with little care, fair focus and action plan in the map
thorough work will create a grip on the sap
where in all is even without any gap
Complete the work and snatch a nap
Rejoice with rewards and your feet will tap
Make efforts to add one more feather to your cap
By day, I followed her around and watched her every move, for she was bigger than life itself. But when the sun went down, she would change into her uniform and go out into the summer evening. Busing it she'd go to the local factory and work on an assembly line. They made confectionery sweets there, and when the boss discarded them for being broken or imperfect, he allowed the staff to take them home to their families. I'd sit at home doing my homework, waiting for her shift to end. Quite often I would be too tired to stay up until midnight and since I had school the next day, I'd go to bed by nine. In the morning I would find a box of pastries called Palmiers in french palmyè, sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be enjoyed.
When the sun came up we would both sit at the kitchen with a tea in hand and talk before I had to go to school. When she hugged me she smelled of spun sugar with a touch of fixative from yesterday's hairspray. All around her was a peaceful presence, as I enjoyed the warmth of her capable strong hands. That was close to sixty years ago and still today if I stand by a bakery counter taking in the scent of cakes and sweets I can still recall my mother and the way she moonlighted just to make ends meet.
Another feather in my cap of feelgood memories from days of yonder. Tune in tomorrow for another story in my lifetime.
The End.
It's just too goo to be true,
in a crazy little crew,
drawing the ramps up,
dynamic slapstick-
always having food as thought,
the pummel on row,
which is 9000ft straight towards physical steal;
entered into a falsehood-
through made gravity stick,
and unleash the past!
Every loop an iron cross,
all dishes lost,
the accident,
the belonging,
On-
Time,
a relief rafter,
trapped her in a bastard-
livin' lavish though,
lacked her plaster!
I' reddemmed, but inside of your calculator...
Ready or not it's just like your liked NOT to come,
ingenious or not, it's indigenous laughter to rum.
Across my street with sidewalks
shaded by fluttering oak trees,
there's a gardener with the army cap...
while rascals laugh and play nasty rap;
how well tends to his garden without weeds,
how glad he is when neighbors clap,
and he works serenely in this noiseless haven!
Then, Sterlings with colorful wings swap down
to steal his lavenders, he chases them away
with a voice that frightens playful squirrels:
" Leave them alone, let the buzzing bees
turn their mild nectar into sweet honey! "
In the middle of April he wears old camouflaged shorts,
he's amused by a passerby who flashes admiring looks;
" Good morning, Pete: your garden is too pretty! "
" Thank you, John: it makes me proud and happy! "
Each charming flower in his garden has a beauty of its own,
"Ah, youth is a beautiful flower but withers with time! "
He exclaims shedding tears that sunlight makes sparkle,
he has lived a full life and his adventurous days darkle,
and finding something to do boosts his esteem, he feels fine;
do regrets ever embitter him remembering his wife Sharon?
Words: Use the following words in a poem. Pretzels, shout, threshold, pine, now, sulfur, ladybug, percolate, cap and lamp
Let’s give a shout out
to the one who eats hot
salty soft pretzels.
Who holds a pine scented
lamp that sputters and flares
in the darkest night.
While they watch gooey
black tar percolate from
the bowls of the earth.
A cautious ladybug creeps
across the felt cap of
of the pretzel eater.
Now is the time to swat
the nefarious ladybug
as she steels across their cap.
Smack! The ladybug is
no more as a sudden soft scent
of sulfur permeates the air.
A little too late for Christmas isn’t it?
The toys are gone but Santa is back in town
Giving out gifts and coating cities with baking soda.
The warehouses are overstocked with it
Cities and towns are overwhelmed with it
And its victims are running away from it.
The white world stares innocently at the sleeping crowd
And the snowman sitting beside the corner house
With pink pointed nose and seven black whiskers
Awaits its tired visitors. His black cap with light blue
Emblem attached to the center, sits comfortably on his head.
Maybe it's a landmark for someone to establish a location
or a marker to indicate that someone is there
And so the snowman with the black cap on
Is attracting visitors from everywhere.
©2015 Christine Phillips