Long Centenarian Poems
Long Centenarian Poems. Below are the most popular long Centenarian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Centenarian poems by poem length and keyword.
Brrrrr my alarm clock wakes me with a start. I open heavy eyelids to see sun streaming through a chink in the curtains. Bounding out of bed I hurriedly dress in my bikini and cover up with my shortest shorts and tightest tee-shirt. With my arthritic knees and varicose veins I am no Betty Grable, but I’m gonna prove once and for all that I can still cut it! Grabbing my surf board I head off to the local beach where my family are gathered for my 100th birthday celebrations. There is an air of anticipation as I strip down to my bikini and dip my toes into the freezing water. White spume crashes up the beach as I paddle out on my surfboard, everyone cheers as I stand and begin cresting huge waves eventually coming to rest on the damp sand. My son wraps me in a fluffy towel and hands me a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He presents me with a telegram from the Queen and a gold envelope containing a voucher for my next challenge of wing walking ...I just cannot stop smiling!
centenarian
surfs like flipper the dolphin
palm trees blow in breeze
Hey Write a Happy Haibun Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
2/7/19
"The Eagle has landed”
Apollo 11 lunar module named “Eagle”
prediction defied naysayers ain't no boon
dog gull announced successful landing
while voice of Ole Blue eyes did croon
in Sea of Tranquility on moon
sometime about high noon
halting advancing armies
from one after another platoon
set down pontoon
bridges across the river Kwai (dune
axe why, the spatial event
July 20, 1969 witnessed great withered
figureheads regaled American dignitaries
even many an centenarian old prune,
plus lovely bones as skeletal rune
none other than remains formerly
Robert Hutchings Goddard exhumed
subsequently astronaut Neil Armstrong
uttered "That's one small step for man,
one giant leap for mankind,"
though skeptics good n plenti
claimed hue moon phase
would never become crater!
Three astronauts gravitated,
celebrated accomplished fete
instrumental proffering accolades
glock o' spiel trumpeted didgeridoo
courtesy King of rock and Queen
arduous encapsulated endeavor
spurred ravenous appetite
they got the moon cheese
lunar than later nibbled moonpie
washed down with spot of tea.
Heroes welcome greeted
podcast linkedin crew
upon their successful
accomplished impossible mission
returned to umble Earth
bootlegged moonshine stowed
within light saddle
sore ring hearts skipped beat
felt over the moon,
nonetheless by George underwent
thoroughly good medical examination
afflicted with minor malady,
not deemed more serious
than cardiovascular lunar tick.
Fast forward Fifty Earth orbitz chock
full of journeys light years distant pock
marked little uninhabited rock
quite quaint outer limits mostly schlock
of twilight zone by Spock,
he of Starship Enterprise.
No hint what prospects doth lie ahead
for future generations, centuries after
present madding crowd long since dead
yes, the space travel science fiction
authors flesh out today
will arrive within blink, whereby
fantasy with reality will wed.
This August 26th , 2018 rendition
regarding previous literary endeavor
Wick End Up Date, Snippet Sans...
...The Deadly Scourge
...One Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder
(Never abating infiltrating
writing material e'en superceding
the death of John McCain, where
Munster monster rears gnashing
undermining marriage with ambivalence.
Anorexia nervosa absent bulimia
nadir of onset schizoid behavior,
which agonizingly slow suicide
self starvation maelstrom within
psyche of self prepubescent lad
(particularly devastating
immediate family members)
emaciation pitted existential
ghastly revulsion unseen,
wuthering heights wrung death
knell annihilating fragile entity
christened Matthew Scott Harris
obvious preemtory imprimatur
yieldeing covalent bond to die starkly
horrified kith and kin helpless
Zorro slashed signature profound
perilous depressive psychological gouge.
Now at about two plus score years
attaining centenarian rank perfect 20/20
hindsight supreme advantage swift under
currents alluded drowning, when das
scribe juiced started to nibble puberty,
whence devastating emotional crisis
tripped, trilled, and tricked chronological
clock theorizing numerous educated
guesses within mindful middle progeny,
and sole son (of Boyce and late Harriet Harris),
why I willfully hurtled flesh at light speed
down abyss toward death. Literal and
physical lightness manifested within
nooks and crannies prior to full blown
symptoms to eliminate sustenance
drawing curtain on brief residence be
fore high noon of life. Metamorphosis
from boyhood into man found solace
attempting to keep at bay natural cycle,
which trans formation grieved me
pining nostalgic childhood’s end
(one fraught with romanticism)
vengefully interpreted attempt to halt
deadly tracks intervention of mother,
whose nursing experience helped fend
passive attempt promulgated silent...
Longevity; longevity -
to think I used to long for that!
I wouldn’t want my nine lives more
if now I even were a cat.
My strong years are behind me now,
so which will give out next on me?
My messed-up neck; one of my knees;
a hip? Or will it be all three?
Degeneration I now greet
each day although I exercise.
But if I fall face to the floor,
I might require some help to rise.
When I was young, I felt so fit.
I thought a centenarian
I’d be, but even birds of prey
might pass me up as carrion!
Longevity; longevity -
I say it now with levity.
A life well-lived is life enough.
Let’s have a little brevity.
The Black Cat
Not too long ago (the lifespan of flies)
she had an all black coat that was now
all grey, and her effulgent green eyes
were very dull brown now.
In front of the wall
mirror named Paul,
she was filled with appal
by her centenarian looks. 'I should end it all!'
Instead, she rammed her reflection
in her great abjection.
She hurt her head and her eye.
She began to cry.
Suddenly ....
there was a beautiful black cat with no grey
and no paling beside her in
the mirror waving Hey.
Too jealous of the award-winner,
she rammed the nonsinner
She rammed so hard the mirror blew apart.
Then she felt so dizzy she passed out on a half-eaten tart.
In her all-night
dream at night
she was waving blissfully to the
cheering crowd on the
tombstone Halloween float covered in light
and shadow (quite the fright!),
a float she was booked to appear on that night.
A long long time ago (even not so long ago it sometimes seems),
I used to have what I perceived to be nice, practical dreams.
Not many of my biggest dreams ever did come true,
but there was one I felt so very sure that I would do.
I dreamed that a great milestone I’d one day fulfill.
I never thought to reach it would require too much skill.
I dreamed a centenarian one day that I could be.
At the time I wished for this, I was rather foolhardy.
I still was in my 20’s, so fit and energetic.
I did not know my dad’s side nor their awful stuff genetic.
Each mile since age 30 brought me strange new kinds of trials.
I know by now that I don’t care to make 100 miles!
Big Pharma too destroyed my dream of living many years.
The side effects of one bad drug has brought me pain and tears.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my life, and maybe I’ll live long.
My mother and her kin sure don’t have many things gone wrong.
But knowing what I know today of suffering and of
the many problems I have seen in people that I love . . .
I have no more the great dream to become a centenarian.
Seeing how the world is now, I’m ok with leaving here as an octogenarian.
June 1, 2023 For the Dreaming Poetry Contest of Regina McIntosh
Escape: Tribute to George Oliver
"People can't fly when they're backed into a corner." -Tami Longaberger
Centenarian, I can only imagine
What you were thinking
When you boarded your wheelchair,
Headed out the door of the Ewing Wing,
And took the downhill runway.
Surely you meant to take flight-
Bystanders who saw that you had left your Rocking chair
Could only gape in awe at your audacity of hope.
The California Highway Patrol,
Noting that you forgot to fasten your seatbelt,
Rushed in where the federal aviation commission could not.
The CHP took you back to John C Fremont
And bound you to earth for the few days
you had left.
Trapped, we often get our wings late.
My friend, I can only assume, that you,
Despite the new alarm on the door of the Ewing wing,
Are flying high above us
Born five score minus seven years ago
minus attaining age of centenarian
father of civil rights movement,
the revered Martin Luther King Junior
honored as benevolent demigod figure
to the oppressed African American population
without whose bold risks
and subsequent brutal assassination April fourth
ninety sixty eight at the hands
of a crazed gunman (James Earl Ray),
whereby all the King's men
and all the King's horses...,
still aghast at tragic event
while reverberations felt forty two years later,
where embedded white privilege
begets continued racial strife
analogous to uncorked raging tempest
saddling people of color to human bondage
(no matter ponying up excellent equestrians),
nevertheless wrought empowerment
advancing cherished dreams
of slaves recent descendents
allowing, enabling and providing
once attainable aspirations
only bestowed upon
the self anointed masters and early settlers of
the virginal North American contiguous land mass
yet…generations prior
to this prestigious public personality
Abolitionists pitted themselves
against the institution of slavery
incrementally raising awareness
regarding the abomination
forced servitude incurred on those shackled
thus setting the stage
for this grandson of A.D. Williams
a rural parsonage,
who ministered spiritual support
for the small congregation
(initially only thirteen members)
comprising attendants at
Ebenezer Baptist church in Atlanta Georgia
setting precedent for freedom
Having an obvious proclivity for story-telling,
the old man leaned forward in his chair,
eager to impress the grey-haired men gathered around him
while he continued with the saga of his most peculiar life.
With each slight nuance of his speech
and with every twist in the plot of his tale,
he was able to hold them all spell-bound!
I can attest to this, for I watched him
as he cleverly mesmerized the group of men
for a little over an hour!
There seemed to be no aperature through which
any one man could slip into inattentiveness,
for that old storyteller would gesture wildly in one moment
and then – in the next- - he would pause for dramatic effect,
and then he was immediately back to his fascinating narration.
I wondered as I listened to him -
how did this wizened centenarian
still show the marrow to continue at such a pace?
At last, I could tell that he was winding down.
His nursing home peers, hanging onto his every word,
leaned forward in their seats
as he, at the same time, leaned into them – his adoring audience -
and delivered the climax!
I myself was inwardly chuckling, knowing
that the story he told was not his own!
He had ripped off the plot of the most engaging movie
which I had seen recently at a local theater.
But how were the other old men to know that?
In this barren place, they never got out to see movies.
The storyteller was the new kid on the block!
I marveled to think this man now 100 years old
had recently seen a contemporary movie still in the theaters!
For sure, nobody else in that group had seen movies
inside an actual movie house for at least the past decade!
I had to hand it to the guy; his temerity was epic.
He was -after all -
one to tell stories!
Nov. 16, 2018 for John Hamilton's 'Eight word challenge-9' Poetry Contest
Reindeer herd - heard clattering
Rangifer tarandus kept
this deep sleeper awake
cavorting, deer ring
escapade haint fake
dreamt only a smattering while
Santa did shimmy and shake
with ho...ho...ho...
no worry mate - everything's jake
resonating resembling thus Spake
Zarathustra jollity did quake.
Yours truly (i.e, me)
awoke with rapture
forty hooves with
four "toes" on each foot
surreptitiously, soundlessly, and simply
did invisibly bore
I noiselessly swore
sizable wrapped holiday box
with duct tape to secure
merchandise found thee missus
(Abby) excitedly tore
painstakingly, neatly, and lovingly
my feeble protest she did ignore
(think lame gesticulations)
ah... lo and behold goodies galore
unable to deter impetuous more
or less analogous to child like roar
ring with giddy excitement
December twenty fifth,
could not await opening your
linkedin holiday deliverance
including Trader Joe's gift card
to "fake" Monseigneur
Matthew Scott with dogspeed
to wish thee (Andy, Ansley,
Marley - if by ghost of chance...)
plus other kith and kin) bonjour,
and joyful new year, whence two score
orbitz will find me
newly minted centenarian, argh... your
brother not yet ready to explore
afterlife, which grave kismet unavoidable,
courtesy grim reaper conquistador
though... even now no fear arises,
when permanent sleep shall nevermore
witness generalized (anticipatory)
anxiety cease to perdure,
which bouts of panic
running rampant near winded seen yore
citizen banker (me) disgruntled
as if possessed by maniacal führer
running me rampantly ragged das
exhausting emotional furor
takes (and/or took) toll, I deplore
and decry lifelong psychological struggle
germinating while in utero,
when my nonexistence
no bigger than a spore
biological vagaries manifestation
nine months before
set figurative deoxynucleic acid
blueprint stage permanently
etched to the core
every cell sporting mutation
begetting, coding, dunning ensure
ring subsequent generations
oft times pondering,
whence final breath of relief
will signal time to scatter ashes
buzzfeeding boughs of sycamore.