Long Chancy Poems
Long Chancy Poems. Below are the most popular long Chancy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chancy poems by poem length and keyword.
How many sands have you counted
building castles near the shoreline,
which the sea washes away
before the day is done?
Alas, you build them again and again
unmindful of the raging waves
and the wild winds
blasting away those paradigms~
before your hands could shape
the towers in your mind;
As if there were no waves~
As if there were no winds.
Every castle you built
scattered in the shifting sands,
yet your dreams perpetuated ~
like the course of the river
resolutely pushing
though drought hinders
its way to reach the sea;
Like the flight of the eagle
endlessly flying
amidst the chancy sky.
You'd never know this masterpiece
By Leonardo da Vinci
Was painted while Moaning Lisa
Had cramps in her lower vicinity
Muffling her moans while she sat there
Knowing what fame lay ahead
Knew she'd become most recognized
Centuries after she was dead
You really can't see the porta-potty
But trust me I know it's there
Actually had these devices back then
Build right into each chair
My job on P-Soup has forever been
To basically tickle your fancy
Not really sure I know where that is
Guessing it can be a bit chancy
Next time you view this famous painting
Think of Moaning Lisa's chagrin
With such an angelic look on her face
Never guess the discomfort she was in!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Apologies to Leonardo!
It's fun time at “Old Uncle Jack's Corral”
I'm here to tickle your fancy
That's just below your “you know what”
Things are getting a little chancy
I'll give you a hint it isn't your armpits
Or even the crook of your neck
And it isn't behind your wiggly ears
So where the hell is it by heck?
Methinks you may be thinking naughty
Must assure you, ya got it all wrong
One's “fancy” resides deep in one's heart
The place that bursts forth in song
Bursts forth at the start of every new day
Your fancy measures your mood
When fancies are tickled, the grinning starts
A much needed “happiness” food
“Old Uncle Jack's Corral” invites you
To join him for a day of good fun
Chuck your cares and unhappy thoughts
And relax with Jack in the sun!
Tomato King
(self proclaimed)
Written: by Miracle man
2-5-2020
Temps changed quickly from seventies to thirties,
from sunny to snow in just twenty-four hours.
Trees are still naked, holding no singing birdies,
but beds will soon burst with wild violet flowers.
Now is the time for planning tomato planting,
planting time comes beyond average frost date.
While huge Goliath tomatoes do sound enchanting,
I may chance planting early, sometimes I can’t wait.
I get my first ripe tomato before the end of June,
this comes about when transplanting was chancy.
Generally, I plant tomatoes during a waxing moon,
and like my tomatoes big, red, globular, and fancy.
I plant, apply Epson salts, mulch, water, and fertilize,
stake, cage, and cover to protect from strong wind.
Then a fleeting time later I start picking my prize,
those who enjoy them think they’re a Godsend.
Due to high potassium and heart problems I can’t eat’em but I can sure grow’em.
(Except when I cheat a little).
Tom
The chancy countdown clock of my mortality
is ticking toward some unknown preset alarm.
I’m aware of every taciturn tick tock
in unrecoverable moments spent waiting
for something to happen…
and I do not wait well.
I wait for stiff slices of tanned toast to pop up.
I wait for the microwave’s proclamatory ping.
I wait for endless dreary drizzle to stop.
I wait for supplemental shoes to drop.
I wait for stern scarlet stoplights to glow green.
I wait for stalled responses to emailed queries.
I wait for weighty debts to be repaid.
I wait for market losses to regain.
I wait for unsure recovery from illness.
I wait for a time and place of serene stillness.
I wait to watch news that makes me feel happy…
instead of sadly numb from unrelenting horror.
I wait for a time when love and peace…
are not hammered by hate and violence.
I wait for our warming forests to stop catching fire.
I wait for AI to prove its promise rather than peril.
I wait for a clogged Congress to civilly meet in the middle.
I wait for common sense and facts to regain a following.
I wait for a time when cynicism concedes to optimism.
I wait for the long dark night of our collective souls to end.
I wait for the culmination of all things, large and small.
I wait for a time when all our waiting concludes.
I wait for anticipatory hope of Advent and Eschaton
to authentically, faithfully, finally, feel real to me.
But I’m mired in my own limited perception.
I need another perspective for waiting well.
I recall my life spans just an eye-blink slice
within deep, astronomical, cosmic time.
From the Big Bang to the Bethlehem star
over thirteen billion years passed by,
a very long Advent time indeed.
God must be very good at waiting.
(First published in Valiant Scribe Literary Journal (Issue V, Winter 2024) 46-47. See also my poems “Star of Wondering” and “Bringing Heaven to Earth.”)
~~~
Like a new house, in my poetry,
you will find a heart built-in.
I am no sharp wit nor in a hurry
to quickly pen, for a poetic win.
If as a poet, it's form comes first,
Then, you won' t find me filling
your thirst!
OR if it's truth in one sentence be
your compulsion?
My poetry for you, is your revulsion.
If heavy imagery be your fancy,
You won't find it in my verse, far
too chancy.
I come from a time when songs
were so beautiful.
Rhyme, to me is fun, and just
naturally plentiful.
I'd talk all day in rhyme, indeed if
only we all could!
Instead of like breaking news alerts,
so heartless and made of wood.
Our frenzy is to the great new god,
multi-tasking, has wreaked havoc on
new generations.
Where Cliff notes has replaced reading
famous literature~ an abomination.
I have tried selling myself out to short form
poetry.
I must say, that so far, only the English
Haiku has worked for me.
January 5, 2020
Noon PST
"Tis a chancy thought, that life is but clear fantasy,
more, a traumatic nightmare of what gives man such glee
as to desire (and make) a fortune and call it justice.
I leave you with these words from John Williams', Augustus...
“One does not deceive oneself about the consequences
of one's acts; one deceives oneself about the ease with
which one can live with those consequences."
Is mankind most likely to highly treasure that which he abandons?
Love’s moonbeams, collectivist pleasures, cast spells much like charlatans.
Dancing with the devil is dangerous, not discerning the degree of no return.
Does choosing the protagonist purpose in life justify heaven eterne?
My love for this multihued world, like a magnet, pulls me,
The unknown, (portrayed like pie in the sky), surges my fear;
My rebirth, though it looks like a myth, brings a bit of glee,
An absurdity, yet, within, often seems to appear...!
Everything, here on earth, looks like a celluloid fancy,
Days dawn with wonders, optimistic and pessimistic;
Joys and pains, like mushrooms after rains, are often chancy,
Caring and sharing, like heaven, make life altruistic...!
A single human life, here, is enough, if lived deftly,
Born again to die again, is a mere musical chair;
The soul should find its place of rest, being lived intently,
A life, clear as a crystal stream, is my only prayer...!
Finding the divine in each being be my constant strife,
May Nirvana (perfect peace and happiness) fill my life…!!!
and in my meditation wanderings
I arrived at an antique door quite unique
it was a tall large carved wood door
with an ornate knob and large keyhole
it was really imposing
there was no chime
oh, where would this portal lead to
was this the threshold to evil
or the entrance to fantasy
or the gateway to my uncertainty
I would only affirm if I turned the knob
and step through its opening
I hesitated for I feared the unknown
was apprehensive and suspicious
in a quandary with qualms of uncertainty
it would be chancy and risky
my doubt was wavering
I talked to myself
you are strong, brave, adventurous
go for it
so, slowly with misgivings I turned to knob
the door opened with a creak
peering through the opening
was the most divine, sublime
tangled garden dripping with hued green
and pretty bright flowers
the smell was inviting
a thousand birds singing come, come, come
so, I stepped through and then back
just to prove for sure that I could return
how long did I spend meandering
well, time stood still so I do not know
but upon my return to reality
I told myself do not hesitate
with the unknown in fear
carefully, thoughtfully always move forward
with the certainty that all will unfold
as it is meant to . . .
It's fun time at “Old Uncle Jack's Corral”
I'm here to tickle your fancy
That's just below your “you know what”
Things are getting a little chancy
I'll give you a hint it isn't your armpits
Or even the crook of your neck
And it isn't behind your wiggly ears
So where the hell is it by heck?
Methinks you may be thinking naughty
Must assure you, ya got it all wrong
One's “fancy” resides deep in one's heart
The place that bursts forth in song
Bursts forth at the start of every new day
Your fancy measures your mood
When fancies are tickled, the grinning starts
A much needed “happiness” food
“Old Uncle Jack's Corral” invites you
To join him for a day of good fun
Chuck your cares and unhappy thoughts
And relax with Jack in the sun!
© Jack Ellison 2013