Long Citing Poems
Long Citing Poems. Below are the most popular long Citing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Citing poems by poem length and keyword.
Jock Jams and Sports Anthems
" Gott Him all Prettied up!"
--------------------------------------
Meaty Mo'Hamm and "The Baycity Biggium" made there announcers debut: they were limited to ring action due to a supspencion prior to there signing there officail contract. Big Meaty didn't complain he simply spoke: "saying that one interest: revealed the concern of the other: citing decorium as an unraveling art form!"
On the same show: "Cold" Sturgeon Grimious stood by his "Main Man"Rasstuss delicate in an interveiw where "Giggy" rhinestone came out to insult a lack luster performance by the former Worlds champion. Saying he crawled out of the kitchen floor, like a scared kitty and let the rat's and me-say's walk off with the cheese, No wunder that "ole Gal"
told you not to come back up in there less you gotta some bacon or some thing greasy!" He snapped and started a brawl. Out numbered he laid there til "Swigg Nasty" Made the save.
"Tabloid" Tinsel Tease and Honey Mambo made there in ring debut with a victory over Country Cowboy Muan Deanse and Big City Cowboy Frill Champion. Massiouro Guisseymoto was the referree.
woke to find Honey perch upon the Big City Cowboy who had been clothes lined by his then former tagteam partner the exiting Country Cowboy.
My muse, my friend, like you, I'm a dreamer,
treading upon the fickle path of fate;
tending to the scars, time left on my soul.
Memories have me looking inward,
writing poems to console my loneliness,
lamenting how rainy day blues have levied their toll.
You've shown me the beauty of morning dew,
and the surreal, unfathomable reverie
of dreamy places, and had me flying with the birds.
Sometimes, it feels like I'm walking on broken glass,
or drowning in a bottomless sea:
till I hear you whisper encouraging words.
Citing the beauty of life and the inevitability of death,
you taught me that grief is love with nowhere to go,
and made me one with the spirits in the sky.
Saturated in solitude, there is a dream place,
filled with ebon veins of old thoughts;
where childhood memories still make me cry.
You, like me, are a poet born from grief;
broken into a thousand beautiful pieces,
trusting that time will numb our pain.
And collecting all the pieces to life's puzzle;
I swim against an undercurrent of melancholy,
only to find that hope starts to flounder, once again.
With catàstrophe everything a mortal
can muster might be the end to what
he thought or should have thought
It is increasingly tolerable
he said analizing his pain
Yet the concuss gain
and what remains are
numb and each movement
my thoughts give reason to
give into the stresses of
disappointment
he laughed midway though
his storytelling
Citing how foolish he must've
looked tumbling over
the briers patch
and again
He made mention
of the tention
that caused him
to be distracted
he was happy
he reacted happy
reacted tumbling
to break his fall
Being so near
the creek
it was easy to
seek assitance
froming casting fishermen
they bought me here
here I founded help
for me and my horse
might I rest here
until my strength returns
here at Rattlesnake Gutt Creek
When thinking of me,
I find myself of two distinct minds.
When thinking of me,
I don't know which to listen to.
One is confident, filled with strength.
I take care of myself,
so that I may take care of others.
I spend time the way I wish,
with those whom I wish,
and where the group wishes.
One is pathetic, filled with confusion.
I have no idea why not one
will let me take care of us, of her.
I spend time imagining spending time,
with one who shares my thoughts,
one that my heart desires.
When a soft song plays
and I imagine what could be,
I wonder at why I can't seem to pair
two minds into one.
Whether those be my two minds,
the strong and the sad -
or whether those be mine and another's;
both seem beyond my ken.
It's difficult to reconcile
one half that feels as though
I'm doing everything right,
continuing to be me, to live -
with the half that feels as though
I've never figured it out;
my longest liaison a matter of months, in twenty long years -
who am I to know or speak of love?
Part of me knows 'tis only occasional melancholy,
and yet it rears its head more often these days.
I've never been truly alone,
friends and family always my guides - and yet.
I know I treat passion with reverence,
and a lover with great respect - and yet.
I know I work to compromise and hold on,
to enchant and live every moment - and yet.
Poetry is said to melt hearts and connect minds,
and yet even that can't surmount whatever I face.
'Tis directly from the soul, the spirit, the everlasting,
'tis the greatest beauty I can create - and yet.
Electrifying and terrifying,
amazing and terrible, it ranges the spectrum.
I see awful men abusing but still possessing it,
and I've never been called an awful man.
And yet.
The first mind wonders why it's even a problem;
live your life, and she will come, or she won't.
Thinking about it causes naught but worry,
worrying about it naught but sadness.
And yet.
My friends say they don't like
seeing the second mind rear its head, not one bit;
citing me bringing a smile to others' faces,
and how I should be proud of that, at least.
And yet.
I know I should enter the blanket's folds,
a new, perhaps better day waiting at the other side.
After a night of dreadful thinking and painful writing,
a respite, a relief, a required and rightful rest.
And yet.
We owe it to our doctors
We owe it to our doctors…
The ones who took it to be part of Sun Pharma’s greater mission;
To prevent disease rather cure
Cure and control if that happens at all;
Defying comforts of air conditioned hospitals,
confronting heats and chills
of seasonal tones while sitting in villages;
A zeal to serve those in pain
having set besides the monitory gain;
A cavalcade of patients all round the day
Intense work, putting impatience at bay;
Educate and listen to endless woes
Mental, social apart from somatic;
What poverty jostled them into
have no means to seek medical care;
We doctors being the sole healers...
We do what we do;
Not for money, not for name
responsibility is an assorted game ;
Had everyone taken to hospitals
and been part of corporates that work for profit;
And Ignored distress of rural and slums
humanity would have scrounged to bums.
Words fail to say what we take back ;
The smallest salving touch
that makes the tender souls smile;
The tranquil looks of the patient
that soothes us deep down the heart;
A good night’s sleep
and utmost content above all,
Limitless goodwill, enormous blessings ;
No mathematics can compute,
no callipers could measure ;
Beyond the prowess we go ...
Meeting people to explore what more we could do
Take them to specialists, to the institutions;
Make them aware about Govt schemes
Involve volunteers from within the community;
Bridging the gap, reaching the unreached
Citing the logic, what cannot be preached ;
Although a tiny drop in vast ocean
but very tender and precious ;
However small the team we maybe,
We proffer colour to the sky
Imbue the aroma of empathy far and wide;
We can move mountains with a solo touch
and change course of feral winds;
With our staunch determination;
and incessant efforts;
Combating disease and ailment
Countering the social taboos;
We do what we do
and will continue doing so.
We doctors are warriors braving the front
Have our families accompanying in this battle;
We owe it to our nurses and drivers as well;
We owe it to our doctors !
Written Sept 24, 2020
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
Yo I know 2 poets, one young and one old,
Bold, and bright, bodacious,
But still gracious, perspicacious, never racist,
Moving to the beat of two generations,
Elations, facing nations, speaking truth to power,
This is their hour,
Yo, I know 2 poets, one young and one old,
Farah and Gary Jones, like Ezekiel speaking life to bones,
He makes it real, with zeal, and shields of toughness,
Like the heroes of old, he was a cop, protectin’ the innocent,
Like Clark Kent, they got two sides, one quiet, and one out tha box,
Knocking your sox off, with on time rhymes, and affirmation,
Now check this out, Farah’s like Mozart, makin’ art like a prodigy,
Helpin’ us to see, the magnificent, miraculous,
To make folks see consciousness, of a world where men love with abandon,
I am a fan of them, but yo, I ain’t done yet,
They part of this whole cipher,
Like the pide piper, we rip it nice and smooth style,
Ooh lala A wewe,
We got barak obama’s, in hidin’, fightin’ for a new tomorrow,
Some got sorrow but still shine with rhymes of hope transcendent,
Like Elijah and the prophets, we break optics, with our brightness,
Tightness, lightness of being,
Seeing sounds of bustin’ breakdowns into astoundin’, lightnin’,
Citing, Charles and Baldwin, If you saw them,
You know these black jedi,
White, red eye’s leadin’ to new ages,
Brown sages, yellow suns of revolution,
With poet solutions, Like my girl sue, sowing seeds eternal,
Infernal darkness, you betta watch out,
Cause the soup’s here,
Destroying fear, and like the book of acts,
Creatin’ koinania, or maybe just community,
No fee, no charge, just bards,
Of me, growin’ into destiny,
And my sista’s and brotha’s of the soup,
Legends of the fall,
I sweat em all,
And in the end, just know that we ain’t stoppin’
Till the world’s a symphony,
Soon all heads will see,
There’s more!
Peace Out!
I can no longer pretend
the lies you tell me are true.
And if they don't quickly end
our relationship is through.
Expecting kisses and beers
you can't make sense of it all.
For you are greeted with tears,
and an emotional wall.
You claim you never cheated,
acting like someone deranged.
And I wasn't mistreated,
citing the vows we exchanged.
Tears choreograph the dance
as forgiveness is pursued.
And you beg another chance
hoping to soften my mood.
But the truth levies a toll
in the form of pain and shame.
And a small part of my soul
feels I'm partially to blame.
10/30/2015
Artists, poets, both evermore at the forefront
seizing historical truth, citing the rawness, the hunt
of the world around them, the avant garde
of the imperfections of chaos, of war
of that moment we think we have lost it all
when we felt our lives big or small
of our nation experimentation
where we're free to follow our inclination
like the inspired painter had found
Picasso’s Guernica had captured profound,
when the poet pens what's in his heart
of every hymn he's ever loved, 'tis art
Neruda’s Canto General, of the brutal fight
when the light hits just right
the inspired painter finds his way,
as Goya’s French Revolution did portray
Lady Liberty I praise, she is my patron saint
her flame and tabula ansata I paint
spikes splayed upon a crown, accents
Almighty’s seven seas and continents
I show my patriotism quill a Roughrider poem
recite the very core of poetry to cheer them
beneath an uproar of pyrotechnic explosions
cups raised sabre salutes, ambivalent emotions
Aboard the long train of our native-born story
we are in the engineer’s seat with eternal glory
guiding our future destiny, rooted in ritual
down the track passersby in person or virtual
from beginnings to now, we’ve come to learn
we are conductors directing every stop and turn
Fourth Of July
Celebrating our 250th anniversary
July 4th, 2026
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY
loving fluttery
fluttering in the breeze
Alas the wind calls your name
As yet you fly on
Citing and kissing the breeze,
The candidate is ideal,
And so are you.
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY
Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
The pattern is wavy,
And so is your hair.
Magnolia grows,
With buds like eggs,
with a form so slender,
so are your legs.
reach sunflowers,
Up to the skies,
thoughtful expression is,
And so are your eyes.
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY
Daisies are pretty,
loving life’s duties have style,
My candidate is winning,
And so is your smile.
A butterfly so beautiful,
Just like you so are.
MY, MY LOVE YOU'RE MY...
BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY
11/20/19
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024
Linkedin to being lax,
and shirking house cleaning tasks,
which negligence cost us
(yours truly and the missus)
a golden opportunity
to relocate to Hillcrest Village
in Boyertown, Pennsylvania
another HUD subsidized property
under the aegis of Grosse and Quade,
one of the larger residential
property management firms
in the Delaware Valley.
Physical unwellness
(insync with racing heart) arose
because Kathleen Bergen
the new property manager
here at 2 Highland Manor
voiced absolute zero positive feedback,
upon taking lock, stock, and barrel
of appalling living conditions,
her blistering vocalization
(from wuthering heights)
translated as a foregone conclusion
against our hopes
pinned on moving into
two bedroom apartment
referenced above topmost lines.
Said plummeted disappointment
(courtesy blunt admission
out the mouth of
(humpty dumpty sat on a wall)
frumpty recent hire
identified in a previous poem
as new warden)
verbosely predicated upon
gross appearance of living space
immediately dashed cautious optimism
citing unkempt state
within no crater than
moonwalking unit b44,
whereby we wished to skadaddle
far away from obligation
to be mindful of rules and regulations
codified within a binding lease.
Unlikely home ownership
will ever come to pass,
nor the lesser prospect
to rent more spacious domicile
larger than a one bedroom apartment,
no bigger than a bread box
den me and the missus,
(a hen pecking spouse)
might befriend Bugs Bunny,
who might guarantee
adequate sized rabbit hole
constituting large enough wonderland
receiving stamp of approval
courtesy Alice in Chains
subsidized lodging money back
plus additional warren tee
granted by Mister Michael Fox,
who took me back to the future,
when the pace of life
plodded along at leisurely rhythm.
Only within outer limits
realm of twilight zone,
where dark shadows
inch along edge of night
(while two thumbs and index finger
belonging to separate good sports
grab hold the furcula
(or wishbone) structure
formed by the ventral fusion
of the right and left clavicles
and the median interclavicle
silently mouth invocation)
holds at bay, the inexplicable phenomena
moored, harbored, and docked
awaiting lucky recipient,
whose merrythought bestowed
upon he/she, they/them.