Long Clinched Poems

Long Clinched Poems. Below are the most popular long Clinched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clinched poems by poem length and keyword.


Cat sitting

I came to sit for a lovely home
A week of quiet, time alone
When I arrived, all seemed well
A tidy home, as I could tell

Excitement flowing through my veins
I turned the knob and took the reins 
But what I found, to my surprise 
Ten furry tails and twenty eyes

Trash was strode about the room
Nowhere in sight, was there a broom
2 black cats stared me down
Bowls lie empty on the ground

A Siamese, untied my lace
I met the floor with little grace
Two orange Toms were mocking me
Then a third, if you’ll believe

A tabby wove between my feet
This one, it seemed, rather sweet
A hiss rung out somewhere behind
All claws and teeth, twas eight and nine

The next one, big, but face unclear
While swinging on the chandelier 
Unsteady claws flew about my head
“Get down right now!  Get down!”, I said

I balled my fist to make him weary
Only then I saw him way more clearly
His golden eyes bore right through me
With sharpened teeth, primed to chew me

My fumbling fingers, found the switch
And lit the room, without a hitch
I must admit, when there was light
My eyes clinched shut and wished for night

As the week came to a close
I felt a tickle attack my nose
A bit choked up, to say farewell 
Yet downright glad to exit Hell
Form: Rhyme


Choice To Choose

If you don't like gays,
Don't be one of them.
  You choose to hate
And condemn.

  If you don't like abortions,
Don't have an abortion.
  Your choice to blow it out
Of proportion.

  If you don't think gays should marry,
Then don't get gay married.
  You can't leave it alone,
It's dead and buried.

  You're cool with stereotypes you 
Were raised by?
  You must be comfortable eating
Humble-pie.

  In the land of the free,
Vote to take away our rights.
  You look tense, your jaws
Are clinched tight.

  Freedom of religion means;
I can't do it because of my beliefs.
  I hope you are wearing your
Big boy briefs.

  Freedom of religion is not;
You can't, because of my religion.
Your beliefs have no place
In my decision.

  No respect when you take
Away the right to choose.
  You might want to tighten
Down your loose screws.

  You boys have a hell of a lot
More to lose.
  Tread lightly boys when the
The woman blows a fuse.

  Silly Republicans, you didn't 
Think this through.
  A woman's anatomy is not
Your choice to choose.

   Turbo1904 ?
Form: Rhyme

The One That Got Away

"I love you"
These are the three ripe words that 
I wanted to whisper in your ears.
So, I
Fixed a date
You came
We met 
We spoke
But I couldn't propose:
Though tattooed on the tip of my tongue,
at my dismay it refrained to flow out.
Then,
I packed all my feelings and emotions in a box 
with a love letter clinched to it
and laid it on your desk.
Looking at the hourglass
Counted the time.
Zealously anticipating
for your arrival
But,
Unfortunately 
you were on sick leave.
Poor me
Carried the box
ran and hopped into a taxi.
Impatiently sitting, 
throughout the ride
yearning to meet you..
After reaching the destination
Carelessly forgetting the box,
restlessly I jumped down
Rushed to your flat
Found your name plate beside the door
Pressed on the calling bell
Faced your maid
With a fine clarification 
I stepped inside the hall
Not finding you
Confused I stood.
In a while,
Got to know
that you have been shifted 
to hospital;
Not knowing the address
and the exact location
I stumbled
Place to place..
In search of you
With a wrong information.
Cash had melted;
Looking my wallet
I sat on the street 
gaping at your photo,
that..I had stolen 
from your locker.
Hit suddenly an idea..
Thought of calling you
But,
In a hurry had left my
mobile on my table;
Recalling your number
I went to a telephone Booth
I tried and tried and tried..
With many failed attempts
I just heard the recorded voice
which repeatedly said:
"your call is not reachable"
My eye lids were twitching
prophesying something awful is to happen.
The clouds were shadowed by darkness;
And I returned back home
with a huge sigh;
Found my pillow 
Embraced ,
Cried my heart out,
Lay insomniac,
whole night
Thinking
Of YOU
I stay awake
Worrying,
What might have happened to you..!
The next day morning,
I found newspaper 
Headlines said:
"Airplane crashed due to turbulence"
Strange was to know..
Your name typed too..
under the missing passenger list.
Why such a shocking news ?!
Why the hell did he board the flight 
all in sudden with no clue?
Myself wriggled
On the floor..
Soul paralyzed
"Losing him"
~The Untold love~
The one who capriciously
got away from me
in a very 
short span 
of time.

3-7-2020
 
Second place in the contest.
Note:The one that got away poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Silent One.
© V. Deepa  Create an image from this poem.

Shepard of Light

Give into me 
cruelest fate, no sympathy
oath by blood, you swore in me
innocence is no more, ‘twas drowned by tainted sea
waves, they crash upon your feet
in truth they say thou shall be set free
one exception, only with death’s reception can you witness thee
and only by my hand
in word I told
they, my flock, shall die age old
protection I provide by this fist clinched tight
no wolf shall cross upon I, 
who has been asked in spite,
to pull under those who doubt my might
in no day, and never in the night shall they, my flock, witness hindered flight
I seize the moment, end thy plight
this land will lay in peace
for I, it’s protector shall provide, until my living cease, exactly what you asked in me
© Jacob Frey  Create an image from this poem.

A Dillydally Way

Trailing naked toes, hat low peaked
fingers laced abaft head and sun,
white-water gently threading through
the webbed keel of one foot.

The sky is blasting blue,
splotching louder blobs of cobalt
around a midday solar blaze.
Even the river billows,
heaps uplifted ripples into crests.

An old man rests
his skiff rolling rhythmically
to a tune
the wind whispers
through reed quilled banks.

He smiles beneath a broad brim,
wonders how long further this journey
can flow onward
without a braced rudder,
nor clinched knuckles
upon an implacable steerage.

He wallows in his ease,
allows the world to float on,
to find its own effortless,
unhindered way.


Stephen Hawking Perches

Within Pantheon Of Classical Gods

stricken with affliction,
sans amyotrophic lateral sclerosis
(also known as ALS, 
or Lou Gehrig's disease)

in the prime of his youth wrought
underestimation, vitiated termination,
targeted sequestration,
solidified rigidification,

rendered quandary,
per paralyzation obliterated,
nixed navigation,
morphed motivation,

marked limitation
kickstarted infatuation,
jinxed immobilization,
induced intellectual hyperfunction,

garnered fundamental fascination,
fanned fabled exploration,
devastation demonstrated
delectable declaration,

cosmological constant comet
clinched, chained certain capitulation,
brainstormed benefaction,
benediction attribution assured.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
his longevity (marked by bing permanently
     linkedin, hitched, drafted
     to a custom made wheelchair,
his brilliant unsullied scientific genius)

     endured seventy six orbitz veer
ring round the nearest star,
     though seemingly motionless, he freed their
ret tickle physiochemical insight

     encompassing, revolutionizing,
     and jaw-dropping, revelations
     with mortals he did share
transcendent seeded plentifully

     mental limitless groundswell
     fed his fecund rare
if eyed cogitated, formulated, insulated
     (infinitesimal nook and cranny) force *****

lee disproportionate overly endowed capacity
     bracketed with mar ching madness peer
ring with laser, razor, and taser sharp mind
     (or a minuscule approximate near

facsimile thereof) scrutinizing, positing,
     and discerning astronomical phenomena mere
via concentrating gifted limned, and rapacious,
     though processes affixed 
     with a visage mordantly like King Lear.
Form: Elegy

Premium Member Life Spent

Life spent in lonely voyages of self
a solitary love of ebbs and flows
lies longing for the loss of inner wealth
await the distant tide of westward blows

Clinched fingers fail to grasp forever’s pall
slow filtering time’s sands cannot forget
lest pain usurp the harpoons lowing call
sit lost amid the troughs of time’s regret

Thus must old hardened hands consume worn oars
leave in their wake cold fear of yesterday
condemned to serve a master he abhors
long for silent beach and surf crest spray

For time and tide and men will fade to dust
lost vessels wash ashore to rot and rust.


©6/10/2019

Picture #2
Choices Poetry Contest
Sara Kendrick sponsor
Form: Sonnet

Socialism Kills

Young people go marching, the boys and the girls,
thinking like we once did, they they’ll change the world.
They claim government can be the cure for our ills,
they seem to be forgetting that socialism kills.

Lenin and Stalin put twenty million souls down,
left them to rot in dark pits in the ground.
The gulags and purges were the work of their will,
the Holodomor just clinched it, socialism kills.

China under Mao was the state with the plan,
a great leap forwards needs ever woman and man.
But it was a leap to nowhere, sixty million graves filled,
the greatest mass-murder in history, socialism kills.

Socialism kills, yes socialism kills.
It never brings fairness, it never will.
One hundred million paid the steep bill,
they’d tell you if they could: socialism kills.

Cambodia promised its people a golden age,
beginning at year zero, to build better days.
But Pol Pot’s killing fields, the whole world chilled.
One-third of the people lay dead, socialism killed.

Cuba and North Korea both slaughter and starve
the citizens they hold back through force of arms.
Not nations, but prisons, innocent blood they spill,
all you need to understand that socialism kills.

Some say it might work with better people in charge,
though it fails every time, in countries small or large.
Venezuela is the latest to swallow the bitter pill,
it descends into chaos because socialism kills.

Socialism kills, yes socialism kills.
It never bring fairness, it never will.
One hundred million paid the steep bill.
It can’t deal with human nature, so socialism kills.
Form: Rhyme

Babylon

To Babylon, we came...
To watch the rise of Tower 
The Tower of Cain
A fortress of dark n eternal pain

Stretching to the vaults of heaven 
to quite the RAGE of Man
to challenge the reign of divinity 
into humanities Wasteland of Ages 

a paradise of industry and history
a sable hand in a gilded land 
once called EDEN...!

Men Came With Machines of Desire,
Roses of Fire…
gauntlets of Steel
a mechanical tyranny did the same…
That clinched Thorns of Eternity!
The bloody reigns of infinity

Tears fall on dreary sand For years...
A return to Eden 
Where MEN claim...

A Utopia of IRON and Dusty Screams
A future of means and profit!
Yearning for opulent DREAMS…
Built engines on the backs of the damned 

A nation of lost revenants
On horizons golden Zion’s seams
Blood of war mixing with lambs cream.
A Fortress of Praise in a Corrupt age

Babylons full of wrath, as towers blaze!
We find our hearts & minds a daze
And only in our God's holy Rage...
              Can cleanse 
                              & 
                               Turn the Page!
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Something New

Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.         
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.    
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.    
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
   
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.

Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go – 

          glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me - 

son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam. 
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.






CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018
Form: Rhyme

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