Long Cockeyed Poems
Long Cockeyed Poems. Below are the most popular long Cockeyed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cockeyed poems by poem length and keyword.
Lucky and Blue, were my babies. Lucky was a big black mountain dog.
Blue was a husky, with a curly tail and one light blue eye, the other brown.
They were with me for ten and twelve years. Blue ten, Lucky twelve.
Blue had what I thought was a bee sting on his mouth. I took him to the vet.
He is suffering, the vet told me. He is in pain, he cannot eat. He has cancer.
Cancer! I was horrified. I did not have a choice. I had to help him transition.
The vet asked me if I wanted to stay; I did not. I went outside and bawled.
I cried so hard that my husband thought I was a little sobbing boy when he came back.
He had dropped me off, and had gone for gas.
Lucky had a stroke that did not kill her; which is sad for she was suffering.
She could not move, could not walk, could not answer us when we called her.
The grandchildren and I called for her off and on for six hours. We were concerned.
I finally found her cowering in the back of her igloo dog house. She could not walk.
My husband pulled her out. Her eyes were going cockeyed, and she could not stand.
He took her to the vet, and had her transition to the rainbow bridge.
I bawled and bawled and bawled, then I thought this “I could be sad for a year,
or I could be sad for a month, or I could be sad for a week, or I could be sad for two days.”
I chose to be sad for two days. My husband came home and said “No more dogs.”
He gets hurt when they transition too. I knew Lucky would not be happy with this.
I looked online for a new dog that night; it was a Thursday. I made an appointment on Saturday.
We met Sophie Helen. She had been beaten and abused. My husband said “We’ll take her.”
I was shocked. I had never had a dog who was scared of me before.
She shook like a leaf, like she thought we were going to kill her.
That was ten years ago; she sleeps with us, she is our little mini-me.
Lucky and Blue stop jumping and leaping sometimes to watch over us.
They are happy in their place over the rainbow bridge.
I have no doubt I will see them both when I get to heaven.
I feel them here now, frolicking and playing, glad we are happy.
Twinkly bunch with loaded school bags
Ambition injustice and itching their backs,
Cunning those faces in front of the gate
Heedful pupils well-chosen apparently late.
A fistful primary breeziness
Shared with smiles, tears and silliness,
Together they brawled, together they fiddled
At times they often complained to be differentiated.
Kiddo little minds and parents appeared unjustified
They cried, they blamed and they lazed,
Loaded by books and rat raced tutelage
They pass by a very dignified teen-age.
Out from the custody of cynosure
Together they stepped towards Lyceum liberty,
Few were classed and few remained united
The formers became edified and rests were unidentified.
A masked – small compliments and the evening aloha
The river side sunset appeared to be ambiguous –
A fiesta time boogie and the overnight cockeyed
At times such occasions made them to blab out their twinkly time.
Grown up as buddies and with time they rationalized
Affairs, status and outlook made them more gratified,
Traits made them parted and one cried in solitary
The formers humiliated the frailer and the frailer remained solely.
Lost in their computations, explores and technological justifications
Few carried out degree uprightly and few were abased shamefully,
Bucketed with knowledge, numbers, meetings and self-worth
They neglected those twinkly smiles who were grown up with assorted life.
Few became responsible and few got hold of ménage
Few were invited and rests seemed out of the sight.
Hearsays few get together known to be friendly trinity
Yet there also they lived with different hierarchy.
Left away life they sacrificed the age of assorted life
One who lived with it can now front the barbarous life.
They lost themselves to their twinkly buddies’ mobilization
Upcoming in their lives they will surly come by friendly exoneration.
Dated: 18/01/2010
Where are my shoes? I can't find my shoes!
Where have I put them? They're impossible to lose!
OMG, I'm ashamed! This is awful! Don't tell anyone the news!
--Whew! Now take a deep breath: I've found them with the booze.
Oh, no! Not my hat! Oh, drat! I simply can't have lost that!
My purple-pink alligator hat, the one that's cockeyed and flat.
Where could it be? It's not in the wine vat or under the doormat.
--Whew! Inhale and exhale: It's perched on top of the green velvet cat.
What's this? Ee-gads! My wedding ring's not on my finger?
Where in Heaven or Hell did I possible fling her?
Doggone it! It's not inside my life-size replica of a honeybee's stinger!
--Whew! OK, calm down! I see it: on the tippy-tip-tip of my hummingbird's
dinger.
O, Dear! Whatever can the matter be? Do you think that I'm losing it?
That I've got Alzheiimers, Dementia, or I'm Inspector Clousseau-ing** it?
Not a chance, my precious darling: Boot your brain and start using it!
Once you remember I'm already 99 1/2 years young,
You'll be glad that the green velvet cat in the purple-pink alligator hat
Hasn't yet got my tongue!
--February 07, 2018
__________________________________________________________
**Peter Sellers rather insane, comic character from the movie, "Return of the Pink Panther, c. 1975.
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
Once referred to as meaningless blather
Much of communication these days falters
In fact, putting the truth in a precarious bind,
We obfuscate, equivocate; often, lying at altars.
Much of communication these days falters
Why can’t we all simply say what we mean
We obfuscate, equivocate; often, lying at altars
Why not tell it like it is without shine or sheen?
Why can’t we all simply say what we mean
And mean what we say, so there’s no doubt
Why not tell it like it is without shine or sheen?
There’s no reason to get angry and shout!
And mean what we say, so there’s no doubt
About the points we’re trying to get across
There’s no reason to get angry and shout!
Half-truths and cockeyed theories are a loss.
About the points we’re trying to get across
Let’s be careful when expressing pieces of our mind
Half-truths and cockeyed theories are a loss
In fact, putting the truth in a precarious bind.
Let’s be careful when expressing pieces of our mind,
Few folks say what they mean, they’d rather,
In fact, putting the truth in a precarious bind,
Once referred to as meaningless blather.
Written October 28, 2022
Submitted to “Tell It Like It Is” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
It continues to befuddle my inquisitive mind
why many of you have attacked and maligned
vaccines, and have decided to become aligned
with other naysayers. Are you physically blind?
It's not amusing when false dogma spreads terror
Your claims are outrageous and uttered in error
Open your eyes to the truth, and be a torchbearer
instead of creating hysteria as a rankled despairer.
I'm not suggesting you wear rose-colored shades,
but stop throwing darts at hearts and live grenades
at those fighting for the right cause in the crusades.
Life or death is not a game to play like charades.
I wonder how you'd feel if one you loved had died
for refusing to allow a needle to pierce their hide.
Would you admit your theories had been cockeyed
or pig-headedly insist, "Vaccinations are unjustified."
Remove the cloth binding your eyes. Set yourself free
of lies sweetened with rhetoric, so we all might be
safer in a world that's not destined for its apogee.
Listen, if you refuse to see. Please consider this plea.
October 5, 2021
This or That, Vol 7 Contest - Hysterical Blindness
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Pondering past midnight I rest unsure
If my thoughts and rhymes would be a cure
I seem to have displaced my pen and papers
Don’t’ have a thick candle, only tapers
A famous poet is my envision
I have cataracts, I’ll need a re-vision.
Can’t decide whether to rhyme or write in prose
Maybe it will be a masterpiece, who knows?
When the words come into focus
I lose them so quickly, like hocus pocus.
Most often I write in the present tense
Sometimes in a dialogue or even nonsense!
A title name takes some time to decide
Sometimes it’s perfect or it can be cockeyed.
This oil lamp provides me with adequate light
I need to stay awake most all night,
I need a word that rhymes with pappy
I know, I’ll use a dwarf’s name of ‘happy’.
So happy and pappy will be in this line
‘Oh my gosh’, Oil in the lamp is low; I’m out of time,
What will I make of this unfinished classic?
Will I get the Pulitzer Award or a jar of pickles from Vlasic?
Perhaps someday someone will pick up this book
Go flipping thru the pages with a frustrating look,
As it stands now, I’m left in the dark
I’ll just end it here, pen name:
Happy Lark.
We are born in the same way,
Then why this disparity?
Race, sex, caste - stop such melee,
Spread love, peace and charity,
I have red blood, so do you,
Then aren't we equal, brother?
Give respect where it is due,
Let us honour each other,
I'm human with the same needs
like you, friend. Think about it,
Race discrimination leads
to unnecessary split,
What if there was a divide,
Based on the colour of eyes?
An idea sure cockeyed,
It wouldn't be considered wise
What 'bout the colour of hair?
Dark-haired people, if deemed great,
Do you think it would be fair
to light-haired to bear that hate?
Then why does hued skin matter?
We are the same before God,
These man-made walls must shatter
in truth, not just on record,
Let's not stoop to violence,
Stifling cries of "I can't breathe",
Such voices none can silence,
Their blood from the ground will seethe,
There comes a day of judgement,
When we'll stand before God's throne,
All nod their acknowledgement,
That it'll be 'no divide zone'.
07.04.2021
For Unseeking seeker's "The way we look" contest
The clever current galaxy is cock-eyed, surreal, and night is day.
2020 has been weirder than weird, almost everyone has had to pay.
If the internet went out forever, I would not greet it with surprise.
We are all romping on the sand of beaches, ignoring crazy skies.
At least the masks and the shields have been put up on a shelf.
We are returning to a bit of normal, Christmas will bring an elf.
Today I am relaxing at the ocean, with my family, having a fine time.
Being the grandma gives me a chance to get silly on white wine.
Hey Grandma! My six-year-old granddaughter says, “Look at the sun!”
Not to worry, I tell her. Build a sand castle and have some real fun!
I want these last days to be the best we can ever have, for a reason.
Climate change prevalent, I wonder if we will have another season.
The backdrop to the Atlantic Ocean is usually a lovely lithe light blue.
We have a galaxy in our sky, and it looks completely cockeyed too.
My granddaughter does not leave, so I say. Go have fun. Hurry!
I want her to love the ocean, make a memory without any kind of worry.
What???...
To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)
(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.