Long Certainly Poems
Long Certainly Poems. Below are the most popular long Certainly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Certainly poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun did shine,
The day was fine.
That day I was at ease...
"Get on with it" the judge cut in and tailed with a "Jeeze".
As night time fell,
T'was like a spell.
I swear it was not me; was something else besides myself,
Please take account my plea.
Excitement came across me
An urge to simply stroll....
My yoga teacher claimed that's good-
To soothe ones very soul.
All clothed I was when left my home
No harm I really meant,
Honestly was wearing-
Way more than just a tent.
Went six streets into town
Steady paced I was mere walking,
A little did my pants slip down and
strong feeling of a stalking.
Swear it was watching me and
Following in my journey,
I can speak, let me speak
Sit down my good attorney.
My heart was pacing, All eyes on me
The courtroom suddenly silenced,
T'is my time to speak the truth
Which isn't rocket science.....
It followed me from my house
Right to the grand saloon-
For this I was ropeable,
So yes... I mooned the moon.
Have to stamp my innocence-
As the judge adjusted his wig,
When I saw all the people-
I did hide behind a twig!
Then I was arrested and
This a silly trial
I'm a victim of abuse-
For facebook it went viral.
Am innocent I tell you
Am really not a loon,
Most certainly the culprit is-
That creepy scary moon!
"Order in the courtroom
You will be sent to a recluse,
Sentencing your crime for-
Underpants Abuse."
Now I'm locked within this room,
Where cell mates sing this tune...
"It wasn't me, It wasn't me,
I swear it was the moon".
IBM Town
Dad whisked us away,
Mom heavy with babe,
Away from relative hands,
Two year old's off to IBM lands.
It was the machine of opportunity.
A place with technical commotion.
My Dad loves to light the flame,
All aboard the modern train.
His workplace filled with computers -
Large as houses. Do i exaggerate?
Certainly there was no moving mouse.
We moved into our Poughkeepsie house.
The village had a gray one with a pump
Station in back, workmen made a path.
Nevertheless life for us kids sends
neighbors who become lifelong friends.
I lived in the Hudson Valley, a beautiful place,
With swimming in Spring and sledding in Winter.
We loved to tour historic Hyde Park. I can still
See the sign with F.D.R.’s silhouette. We’d chill
Watching fireworks, stretched out on the green grass,
Of the Vanderbilt estate, walk alongside its stone fence.
The culinary my future son would attend also in that town.
He’d earn two diplomas, double serving his graduation gown.
6/20/2017
At last count we have 20,000 members
A pretty big following it seems
There must be something drawing us here
Other sites also help with our dreams
Something special must be happening here
Can't imagine what it could be
This unique collection of such talented people
It's a haven for you and me
Hang on a minute, I think I might have it
It's coz of certain folks enrolled
Won't mention names, you know who you are
Not fair to others if I told
So let's just say there's a humongous big bunch
Who turn my crank every day
Rush to my computer every single morning
To read what these sweeties have to say
Certainly not giving away any secrets here
It's reason for a very huge following
Poetry can almost becomes secondary at times
As we canoodle with love overflowing
© Jack Ellison 2014
The bathroom lacks your spare change scattered,
and my bank account is no longer flattered.
Your socks are no longer sprawled on the floor,
but everyday entails a greater chore.
There's certainly far fewer dishes to scrub,
but there's no companion to enjoy my grub.
I'm no longer someone's personal maid,
but the lack of your traffic makes me afraid.
The covers are tucked on your side of the bed,
but fluffing the comforter is a simple dread.
The satin sheets no longer unfold you,
and this beating breast has no chest to mold to.
A cabinet drawer hangs, and my bouquet is bent.
As I weep, the dripping sink seems to lament.
If you're with the Holiest, and only know bliss,
I wonder if you're oblivious, or you witness this.
If the latter, is your perspective so much greater,
knowing I'm a blink away from the Creator?
By the grace of the Savior, I wait for your return,
when these eerie ashes will leap from your urn.
Fallen in the middle of circular array
no way to be flown from there
Certainly there’s at least a single hole
if properly equipped up with care
No other animals can do that
there’s a magic in elephant’s bowl
How to be out from such circular array
many times it does without any foul
Elephant swallows wood apple
consumes total creamy soft buddy
Seen without breaking its shell
leaves ordure wastes from its body
Maestro bows, a motion lulls thunder,
ovations a period of heeling, a clap
diverts a few, then attends silence.
A typical cough failed its challenge,
disturbed section promptly affects
a hall--indulges the jittery few. An
abrupt tapping expresses with
distinction and a Grandeur Hall
transcends towards the respective
measures that virtuous it's due.
His first appearance in the luxurious
auditorium, covetousness befell the
many, save one. Maestro entranced
a curve amidst a grand hall, fulfilling
hopes of men who are dropping jaws
and the prim-n-proper ever-widening
pupils for cosmetics lost effects.
As the thickness of the drape-enriched
velour, entrenched symphonic, designer
concertos, intricate waltzes, filament of
operettas--richly curtained memories
bliss.
Maestro's music world is the gist of his
being. To suggest other worlds, why
bother, it's just the world of music, and
that's the end of it. It's not a peculiarity
when one's grasp of the world is finite
and specific, that's what defines him.
I certainly don't want to be in a spot
when I'm in a surgical room, having my
heart worked on and standing there in
surgeon's clothes is the local dog catcher.
There are no hidden agendas. His life is
an open book. Life can be much simpler
if there were more people like Maestro
when he made up his mind it be so,
assuring his notoriety and, without a
doubt, a place for his name in the annals
of music history.
Here we are in the village of Morristown, New Jersey.
It is September the sixth in the year of our Lord, 1833.
French immigrant Antoine LeBlanc went on a killing spree.
He took the lives of two rather prominent citizenry.
Antoine murdered Mr. and Mrs. Sayre, and their servant Phoebe.
The citizens of the town considered the deed so dastardly.
It only took twenty minutes for the decision of the jury.
With overwhelming evidence, the defendant was found guilty.
LeBlanc was afforded all the formalities of a fair hearing.
Judge Gabriel Ford handed down the sentence of death by hanging.
A crowd of about ten thousand are gathered in the public square.
Witnesses have come to see the execution from everywhere.
A rope around LeBlanc’s neck will propel him into the air.
Until he is dead, Antoine will be hanging in despair.
“That’s not enough”, cried some of the witnesses in their fears.
They wanted LeBlanc’s skin tanned and made into souvenirs.
Wallets, purses, lampshades, and book jackets were fashioned from his hide.
That is a gruesome fate that certainly cannot be denied.
Here is something else that I have to say:
Some of those relics of the infamous criminal still survive today.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and the website of Weird N.J. for information I obtained to write this poem.
**Ginger Shots**
Today, of all days, I find myself dividing my tears into sections. With each moment, each tear, and each snuffle I make, the paper tissues crumble, showing signs of the mishaps in life that surely cannot be mended. Yesterday was your birthday, and today is my revelation about life—my life.
Lately, it seems I’ve taken a new route, and this road is certainly not paved with gold. God truly blesses heroes; He has never failed me yet! However, I have encountered many obstacles. Is it empathy or just plain stupidity? I never considered myself an empath.
As we grow older, it's true that we begin to see life from a different perspective—the lows, the in-betweens, and the highs. My emotions are so intense; they rise and fall, with frustrations that test my tolerance. Today, I saw red.
Today, I need my ginger shots. Who cares if it's unhealthy? Today, of all days, I am dividing my tears into sections. With each moment, each tear, and each snuffle I make, the paper tissues crumble, revealing the mishaps in life that cannot be mended.
Does anybody care or notice that America has failed us?
It's so sad to hear the news today
Another brother has passed away
Mick elliott is his name
This is Trully a real shame
Ellydog as he was known
A great bloke and mentor for all below
He didn't mince his words this is true
But always willing to help if you were in a stew
I first met mick in a place called Bramcote
Where people ran around without a coat
By coat I mean without a stitch
This was just some of the antics
501 jasper was his det
All his crew will never forget
I never served with him on tour
From what I hear it was never a chore
An FC Barnet fan he certainly was
Even if never winning was a cause
Always believing they'd win the FA Cup
Oh micky boy never happen so shut up!
Never offended or hurt by his mates
Mikey elly dog your now at those pearly gates
You've joined some other really great guys
Keep looking over us from the sky's
I hope you are now at peace
But you have left a empty space
Not up their but here on earth
You will be missed can't replace your worth
Rest in peace ellydog
Save a place round the burning log
Pull up some sandbags and have a natter
About all things that don't really matter
You were a legend in your own right
Trully be missed your star shines bright
I hope you have found your peace
But no more mention of Barnet please
You got what you needed
even though
it was an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies.
“It was never enough for you was it?”
The 'told you so’ pigmy bobble-heads of hippo-Maya
declared with a wink.
Let it be known
that the bedazzling chop suey
of Chinese phooey
will keep you spinning in circles
like a topless drunk.
Wealthy Cats stick it up your nose
and tread on your toes on the way out.
They call it charity, but they also flush 2 times
so the crap takes an extra lap.
The Dancing Masters of Wu
commend you for your patience
and forbearance,
but that is certainly not enough
or is it?