Long Clapped Poems
Long Clapped Poems. Below are the most popular long Clapped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clapped poems by poem length and keyword.
The flag glides upward in slow motion.
Days have the lucky teachers rehearsed
For this honorable day of the country.
We, children have sung until we go hoarse
No matter it was a sunny or a rainy day.
Rehearsals went on, missing classes and plays.
Yes, the great day is here today!
I proudly stand saluting the flag.
The official goes inspecting the parade.
Each child envies the other with whom is
Exchanged a polite little word and hand shaken.
I stand in my corner, not so lucky.
My eyes rest on the boxes of cakes and juice,
Neatly arranged by the Headmaster’s office
And my interest wavers from the day’s event.
The speech begins; I feel a face familiar was his.
I rack hard my brain keeping a fixed smile.
Years back he was news headlines,
Charged for corruption and misuse of office,
Then for sexual harassment on a minor, it was.
Charges were soon scratched for lack of evidences
And the mass had moved to some hotter issues.
A loud request breaks the monotonous speech,
I come out of my reverie “Children, give a big hand
To our distinguished guest, he is doing a great job!”
The claps echoed loud in the air.
“He is offering two dozen books to our school library!”
The claps grew louder and I clapped hard as I can.
“Three cheers for the country…”
“Hip Hip Hip Hurray!” (3 times)
“Three cheers for the guest of honour…”
“Hip Hip Hip Hurray!” (3 times)
Thrilled I nearly knock down my friend,
Raising my little flag and shout as loud as I can.
I muse with hungry eyes
“I wish I can be as important as him!”
Date:9/07/16
Contest: Embrace the line (s)
Zestful
Beneath a weeping willow tree
Shielded by its canopy of leaf
Two lovers found sweet serenity
Zestful to share love in ecstasy.
Sadly a vicious storm was brewing
Both their zestful hearts began stewing
Thunder clapped and lightning struck the tree
The sweethearts too, they died instantly.
Forlorn the couple took off in flight
Into the darkness of sky at night
Flying to unknown territory
To dwell in everlasting glory.
The pair were eventually found
They’d decayed into the underground
Their loving souls live on tenderly
Entwined in heaven's grace zestfully.
The tree recovered its heart still beats
Often sadly the willow tree weeps
Never before in its history
Has it known such zestful tragedy.
*+*+*+*
12th May 2023
Writing Challenge - 'Z' Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Word choice no.10 - Zestful
I fashioned my dreams,
into colorful balloons,
blowing as much air into them as I could.
Tied their ends with long strings of hope,
and set them fly into the sky.
I watched them soar,
higher and higher into infinite heights,
over shrouds of sleeping fog.
I clapped my hands loud,
in gay abandon.
But when had they eluded my grip?
Some of them had burst,
before they could ascend higher
I wasn’t cautious!
Oh, now I see my balloons,
with the thread of hope
hanging loosely down,
disappearing into the horizon,
like black specks of soot
signaling,
they no more belong to me!
------------------
Feb.5. 2023
Re- entered for Brian's Premier No.1194 Poetry Contest
Balloon Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anthony Biaanco
THE WEARY LOVE BLUES
I ain’t gat nobodi, but just myself alone;
I ain’t gat no one but the windz and birdz and treez;
Here I loll, a loner with harmonica, by a stream
Tuning a bluezy piece from a luv-sick soul.
I ain’t trust nobodi but all just myself alone;
No bod knowz ma plight but this slow slippi stream;
Have gat ma luv drowning down her shadowi deep,
Which gives me heartache that go not with her flow.
I ain’t gat no buddi and gotta be myself alone,
But gotta warbler perched by a finch on a bough,
I croon on, far in the waning light, ‘cos I gat some hope
With ma mellow soul piece, searching still on ma own.
I ain’t gat no genuine luver but just myself alone,
Round me drone the windz and chant the birdz in a spin;
The leaves clapped and the treez swayed by the rhythm-
Oh damn it I be consoled, ‘cos they all gat no soul!
Today I was asked to write a poem
about a lady who had spun some dog hair to make a scarf
When you read this unique story
I hope you'll get a jolly belly laugh
Not well washed this scarf that she was wearing
got wet gave off a doggy smell
It happened in the rain while she was walking down the street
All the local male dogs stopped !! In unison clapped their paws
Hooray! At last !!! We've found a bhitch on heat
Holy smoke she shrieked what am I gonna do
in desperation she began to run
Thirty grinning dogs behind her
were having so much fun
Now the moral of this story
just imagine this epic scene
If you're gonna spin with dog hair
make sure it's bloody clean
Since writing this poem my mind is quite agog
Can charge a man with buggery can buy a bastard file can cut my bloody finger
But I had to find a way around how to describe a female dog
(the bhitch she just delivered a litter of six pups. Surprise! surprise !. She was a victim of deletion)
Footnote this is a true story with a wee bit of poetic licence
A famous alumnus is visiting the university. I got an invitation several days ago to a small, socially distanced, masked, focus group. It was to be early on a Saturday morning - so, why not? I was excited to see her - I’m a fan.
We were a diverse group of about 20 (covid tested before admittance) students and I was in the back row. Seating was offset so everyone could see everything perfectly. I craned and swiveled, when her entourage came into the room. Then, there she was - I’m sure I was grinning ear to ear (behind my mask), we clapped, excitedly. She wore a navy business suit. A jacket over a black blouse with slacks and black shoes.
She gave a talk, about the challenges America faces. On YouTube, her speech-giving voice always seemed artificial, cold, harsh and brittle. Here, she was low-key, motherly, whip smart, personable and humorous - everything I had hoped for.
Then there was a question and answer session (NOT easy questions - did I mention whip smart?) followed by a no touching reception line. And OMG, she’s a foot away. She seemed a lacquered and corrected sort of person - professional - I guess you’d say.
Everyone was gently elbow bumping with her, so I did too. You’d say your name and class. “Anais Vionet, freshman,” I said. I wanted to say “I’m a BIG fan” but I thought I might come off as either fawning or even worse someone bent on wasting her time.
We both smiled, me behind my mask and I bobbed a goodbye nod, but as I went to step away she said, “How’s your Grandmother?” I was shocked but I managed to say, “She’s fine, thank you.” To which she replied, “Please tell her I said hello.” I just nodded, “yes” as a sort of “I will,” and stepped away.
I glanced around, there was no handler by her side and she wasn’t wearing an earpiece - how she knew me I have no idea - but now I think she’s considering a run in 2024. My grandmère would be a whale of a donor.
What a bizarre encounter.
There were three little monkeys,
Named Mindy, Murray and Moe,
And everywhere they went,
They put on a little show.
Mindy was a dancer,
And she was very good.
She danced like a ballerina,
Then tap-danced where she stood.
Murray was a tumbler,
He jumped and flipped about.
The children really liked it,
And were quick to clap and shout.
Moe juggled apples,
Sometimes oranges, too.
He used his hands and his tail -
What a funny thing to do!
When the three little monkeys,
Had finished with their show,
The children cheered and clapped,
For Mindy, Murray and Moe.
4/19/21
For Eve Roper's
Nursery Rhyme 5 contest
You entered our lives as a soul of an angel
Traveling a distance
From the likes of Grange Hill
Your health from the beginning
Was such a struggle
Painful and ill
The deadly Parvo wanted to show us
How baneful it was and will kill
You fought against it day and night
Tenacious and fierce
like a dogs powerful bite
We celebrated when you won the fight
How beautiful, gracefully showed
Your courageous might
It was such an amazing sight
You’re the star shining bright
Seeing you playing again running
In the backyard with zest
Showing us how you do everything the best
Years have passed
Until one day you started to wheeze
Another fight, now with Addison Disease
We almost lost you
Your strength and determination
kept pushing through
Like a whistling whippoorwill
As you kept going on pill after pill
Showing no signs of any ill will
While I play your song, River
You danced holding in your mouth
Mr. Rat your favorite toy
We clapped seeing you happy filled with joy
As we chant
Good boy baby Willow!
Your soulful eyes
Will take any broken heart
Mend it whole
Your pure essence is the river of old
Wise, majestic, beautiful glittering glow
Always wanting to forever hold
Never ever letting you go
The river of Willow
Will endlessly continue to flow
Though the carpet teemed with costumes, toys and figures, laid orderlessly, it was barren.
Distant echoes of the battery powered monkey clapped naively through the still air, and its dim LED eyes softly flickered.
A thread of light shifted through the overcast clouds and chipped window pane, placing itself where someone had once been. Each step creaked the empty yellowed racecar bedstead which ached in loneliness, weakly reminiscing.
Nothing is said, as superheroes lean against the bedframe and villains lay beside them. They keep their place, perhaps waiting for an end to the silence. I lay beside them, another still figure. Silent. Static. Hoping, foolishly, to escape this hollow world.
Mrs. Hickey, you’ve been on my mind,
just like a ball of twine
on a spool that never ends.
Though I’d never clapped an eye on you
my hands explored you:
feel the knees on me!
Hey, baby, let’s take a chance:
I left the condoms in my other pants.
Rollicking times,
late November back in sixty-three,
that’s when I shot John F. Kennedy
(superstar, but he didn’t get far).
Olivia Neutron Bomb,
you can ring my bell.
Gonna take a trip to Lonesome Town,
gonna stay at Heartbreak Hotel.
The aerial’s broke
can’t watch ‘Gunsmoke’
how are we gonna get by?
No BBC no ITV
above us only Sky.
Gypsies, stamp your feet.
Scrape that muck off your face.
Take your teeth out,
tell me what’s wrong.
Don’t go painting with emulsion.
Ain’t no sausages now.
There’s a ghost in my house.
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring.
We’ve got a liberal dad and a bachelor pad
and we do it.
Four hundred children and a crap in the field.
I can see Deirdre now Lorraine has gone.
I didn’t get the point
of Barton Fink, though.
I think I’m turning Japanese,
I really think so.