Long Caper Poems
Long Caper Poems. Below are the most popular long Caper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caper poems by poem length and keyword.
Rumbling collision of vapour,
The dancing ritual the increased
caper, acts of earthly vigil,
autonomously the same above, the
cosmic storm fitted quietly upon the
pupil, all fractions and pixelled
evolving minerals, blinking gold-
laden crystal, the workshop of clarity
, the milk and oil contrast reality, the
true light festering among the
counter core of creation, giving
place to life just a sound a musical
note, manifested 'this' into being as
perceived, contrived through it and
believing, if you lose meaning that's
the mind retreating from the
anarchy peace your seeking, soul
stirringly appealing, jump out from
the blocks of inner vision and into
the springs of new dimensions,
sinking illusions finger tipped grasp
at perfection, not a lonely road but
one of anguish and sorrow, dying
today searching for tomorrow, then
your begin to understand nature's
complaint, and nature's reason for
acts of terror and charges of treason
My spouse and I own a comfortable home on a quiet street,
And we have roses, flowers and bountiful fruit trees replete.
I take great care to ensure that things are regular and complete.
That way, from neighbors I'll take no unwarranted heat!
I planted a holly bush a number of years ago,
And that dude just continues to spread and grow.
So every now and then I grab my shears and it I prune.
This must be done every year around the first of June.
It is nearly six feet high - I must stretch to reach the top,
So I use a step ladder to reach the highest twigs to lop.
In years past I've used the ladder and have had no trouble,
But today it slipped - I took a tumble in a bed of stubble!
When I fell the branches parted like The Red Sea for me.
I landed on my posterior in all sorts of dubious debris.
Looking up briefly I saw the pristine Colorado sky,
And sent a plea upward saying, "Lord this ain't no way to die!"
I could see the headlines in tomorrow morning's paper:
"Man dies in clutches of holly bush due to careless caper!"
I learned a valuable lesson as a result of this exercise:
New methods for pruning that challenging shrub I must devise!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
There's something I'd like Santa, may I ask,
I don't want lots of presents, just this one,
delivery won't be an easy task
so do the rest, leave mine till later on.
As long as you can drop her off by dawn
since I don't want the neighbours all to see
and start the gossip rounds on Christmas morn
it will make life much easier for me.
Her graceful curves are bound to turn some heads
she's cool and smooth, an object of pure lust
adorned with one shade, Queen of all the reds
mirror polished and not prone to rust.
Mankind has still not built a motor yet
as gorgeous as the '69 Corvette.
If I am on your naughty list may I
humbly offer some words in my defence
for maybe you will then understand why
what I did, and thus it may make some sense.
Inside a restroom stall at work I took
from it's dispenser all the toilet roll
and left one sheet inside so it would look
like it was full when viewed through the small hole.
A guy we hate goes in there every day
to sit and read, and do a number two
so pulling this prank was our little way
of getting our revenge,as one must do.
And the prank worked, for soon it came to pass
he used his newspaper to wipe his ass.
Now, nobody got hurt, no-one got blamed
it looked like an unhappy accident
but he got his comeuppance just the same
and that was fine, since it was our intent.
Let's face it if you read from front to back
it's mainly crap in all the newspapers
and he just added more with our 'attack'
and still is ignorant of our mean caper.
Santa, I know you preach goodwill to all
and don't like to wish anybody ill
please forgive me I hope that you'll still call
there's mince pies and drinks on the windowsill.
Just park it on the drive, and if you please
through my letterbox can you drop the keys.
For contest 'From your lips to Santa's ears' sponsor Phillip Garcia
December 1st 2017
I walked on Cedar lane where estates used to be
Until taxes on each acre made their residents flee
The views of the Hudson are still grand
But it makes financial sense to subdivide the land.
Young couples skip the wedding vows though they feel love within,
Benefits reward the single life; the married seldom win.
There are homes with narrow fronts, the reason, if you ask
Was that the width of the home was criteria to tax.
In my county middle earners were the rule
But taxes rose, for pensions and for school
So they moved many miles to reduce their tax rate
or made the jump to go completely out of state.
It’s easy to condemn a crook who breaks the law for cash,
But did you pay your contractor “off the books” to save a stash?
And who are those guys he hired, English they speak not
He'll claim he didn't pick them up at a big box parking lot.
Taxes distort all sorts of behavior
But I have an idea that can be our savior.
Eliminate all taxation
Print money instead, save the nation!
I know this proposal could cause consternation
But think, no accountants, no weeks of preparation.
No IRS, less smuggling, less incentives to cheat:
More business formation and a better balance sheet.
If you keep cash under your mattress, its a dumb caper
In a few years it might be usable as wallpaper.
What we do doesn't work, look at the national debt.
Investing in the USA is not a long term bet.
Feds printing money might also lead to inflation
But the new April 15 could be a cause of celebration
Farmers could hand down the family farm
Without handing death taxes to the Fed's long arm.
"Death and taxes” may endure no matter what we do:
For governments find backdoor fees when old revenues fall through.
Still, I can dream, can I not?
Of an opportune rainbow, and an economy that's hot.
Metaphorically speaking, we all lost our virginity at birth
Born free, infused with ego poison, stifling innate mirth
Reality of pristine dreams replaced by myriad illusions
Conscience deadened, conditioned to trust delusion
We became akin to a dead man walking in stupor
Past regrets, fears of morrow, no childlike caper
Fierce winds of duality reinforcing false belief
Chasing desires fleeting offering no relief
Being thus transfixed in deep hypnosis
Became victim of our own prognosis
Habit patterns our mental prison
With head-heart disconnection
Feral animal in human form
Our soul began to deform
Limited by mind body
Labelled somebody
Shortened stride
Our false pride
Having fallen
We now awaken
Upon so choosing
By mind discerning
That the joy we seek
A fleeting sneak peek
Pleasure yields to pain
Self-serving desires slain
Body over time withers away
Brain cells too, dementia slays
This contemplation ushers silence
Wherein rekindles love of innocence
Aflame within heart, veiled from sight
Thought rested awareness feels delight
As nodes within, throb with bliss magnetism
Each cell of our form an electrified joy sensorium
Essence of our presence thus beholding in surprise
The dance of magic divine enabling the Phoenix to rise
22-March-2021
I’d love to be a model
Tall and thin like Jerry Hall
But I like fish and chips too much
And I’m only five feet tall
I’d love to be a dancer
With poise, and style, and grace
But I was born with two left feet
And would end up flat on my face
I’d love to be a climber
Scaling mountains in one single bound
But I get dizzy in high heels
So I’d best keep my feet on the ground
I’d love to be an athlete
With medals of gold on my chest
But it takes all my breath, to run a bath
So relaxing at home is best
I’d love to be a painter
And have works of art hanged in great halls,
But the only paint that I can use
Is emulsion you slop onto walls
I’d love to be an actress
Starring on the silver screen
But with my memory, I’d forget the script
“What was I saying?” – see what I mean
I’d love to be an explorer
Through untamed jungles I’d caper
But I love the luxuries of life
Like hot baths, and toilet paper!
I’d love to be a poet
And write my own anthology
But that’s just another pipe dream
So I’ll have to be, just me.
Written: September 12, 2023
Ocean Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
“The sea is an underwater museum still awaiting its visitors.” – Phillip Diole
______________________________________________________________
In the endless expanse of the ocean's domain.
Calm, circumfluous crystal collides coiling terrain.
A bed of iridescence behests the view.
Turquoise riddles, azure feral, and true
Humpback whales waltz on the horizon stage.
Their majestic demeanor, the ocean's sage
Waves akin to a shroud, coral reefs below.
In a cerulean ebony, enigma utopia to know
Tidal waves waltz ripples in a twirling thunder.
Foams that fizz and fatuous horses canter under
An aphrodisiac shore, paradisal and grand.
Where quicksilver spume kisses saffron sands.
Barefoot on the shore, spate, and pelagic breeze
The brine in the breeze, a savor of the seas
Seaside pearls and garrulous nautical dreams
A seamount allure, where kelpies do gleam.
Waves wreck as cymbals, water splashes spray.
Unplumbed bedrocks where sunfish play.
Blase naiads and abysmal gaunt cries
In the abyss, the embrace of diastrophism rises.
Swell of the abyss, corrugated, and red.
Balboa sails in pits due to intricate coastal spread.
Nebulous littoral shores, worldly and true
In Japan splurge, a seabed quells the view.
With a caper and a queen, the gulf turns alive.
Natal seaboard, where nexus coldness does thrive.
Beyond the gloom, where ocean waves are silver,
Moonlight pulsates, spritzes, and yelps as a river.
Whipping and splashing, an aqua symphony
The ocean's orchestra in idyllic harmony
From abyss to surface, the music does swell.
A symphony of water, where stories do tell.
In the moonlit dusk, waves waltz and sway.
Their silvery, pellucid shimmer steers the way.
With every pulsating and splashing sound.
Ocean's placate melodies and quiddity abound.
Abyssal symphony is a seraphic sight.
Where nature's cynosure beauty bears flight.
Waves, akin to dancers, gracefully behoove.
In a rhythmic squirm, their sapidity grooves.
Susurrus slipshod secrets of the steep
Splashes of euphoria, sojourn, and sweep
A symphony of splendor, a chorus of grace
The ocean's melody is in every embrace.
2nd place contest winner
Delfin
Free Verse
SATURDAY, May 28 2022
When in this world you bade adieu
Leaving your siblings and family in sorrow
But here am i now, paying my last respect to you
Eleven years we haven't seen each other
Now I see you, but can see me no more
As I gaze at you inside that fancy casket
Tears roll back in my face
Delfin at age 71
For me you're still very young
There are still many things to do
Yes, many things to do that to God we offer
I still remember when we were together young
Living in that dusty town called Nampicuan
Many escapades we have done
That made our parents intensely and extremely mad
Those are adventurous actions and capriccios
A part and parcel of being lad’s didos
A modern James Dean in the streets
But became mellow in your old age.
Your teen-age caper and knavery
Are all things to remember
It always remain in my heart and mind
A knocker of my memory in case oblivion prevails.
Like your Big Brother Tito
Who left us 30 years ago
Won't forget when we we’re all growing up
Attending worship services and playing with friends.
Now you are like him
Resting in peace, waiting for Christ's second coming
On that Day we all be together again
In the New Jerusalem with our parents as well
You are so blessed my Dear Brother
You can not make any kind of blunder again
While we are still in this crooked and vile world
Fighting for our faith, defending for our fate
We closed the brothel, by a love gesture
Fortuitous, when our soul did mature
Blunting oldest profession, not simple
Call it if we will, divine miracle
Earths magnetic field shift, caused hearts to stir
Ray divine, propelled us to realms upper
Mankind shed off feral caricature
Now, love enabled, cognition spherical
We closed the brothel
Schumann’s resonance rise, made our hearts purr
All living in peace, in playful caper
Love the magic, that did so enable
Entwining hearts, in tranquil calm stable
Here and now, not in the distant future
We closed the brothel
17-February-2021
Written for: They closed the brothel poetry contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Your heart has a yearning
And a burning desire
To share what you’re learning
Like voices of a choir
Small pieces of paper
With the things you have thought
A con or a caper
How the villain was caught
No time is a wrong time
If you wake up at night
With a thought of a rhyme
Then you know you must write
Watching movies with you
Your friends do not enjoy
For you catch every clue
And discern every ploy
And time seems to fly by
When you sit down to write
With that glint in your eye
There is no end in sight
You longed for the teacher
To ask each for a story
You wrote down your feature
Of our flag called, “Old Glory”
Friends with the dictionary
Filled with word after word
To some it seemed scary
When the big words they heard
But not to the writer
You knew you’d become
A reader delighter
You knew you’d please some
So write on forever
As your stories you tell
A writer so clever
Right inside you doth dwell