Long Comeback Poems
Long Comeback Poems. Below are the most popular long Comeback by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comeback poems by poem length and keyword.
a movement catches my eye
a flutter a flash of blue
&I focus on
the build&beak shape
&wings that say to me
a blue bird
but, I look more closely
there is no orange rusty
breast?
I get out my trusty bird ID book
no rust on breast?
color a gorgeous
cerulean blue
like the sky above
a bit azure a bit ultra marine
a bit turquoise depending on
the light&shade
it is a mountain blue bird*
all blue
they love open woodlands, farm
fields&our backyards
making nests in tree cavities
&fence posts anywhere cozy
sadly, so do sparrows&starlings
causing a decline of blue birds
but people putting up nest boxes
in their yards
has created a promising
comeback for this lovely ''blue'' bird
across the USA&Canada ...
&then he is gone
flying away ...
I first fell in love with baseball back when I was 8 yrs old when I went to a Yankee game and was very fortunate to have gotten to see the great Mickey Mantle play. It was a school class trip, and the highlight of the trip was when Mantle hit a foul ball and my classmate that was sitting right next to me had the ball in his hands but couldn't hold onto it and some guy a few rows down ended up getting the ball. He was totally bummed as you can imagine. But it wasn't until the Mets won the world series when I truly became a fan of baseball and a fan of the Metropolitans. Since 69' the only games I think I missed were the games off air, maybe a handful of others but not many. One of the great games I witnessed was back on September 2, 1972. The Mets were at Houston, and it was the top of the eight when the Mets came up to the plate down 0-8. I was watching the game with my dad, and I told him they were done. He said I'll bet you a nickel that they come back and win. I naturally knew my chances were very good to win so I upped the wager to a quarter (back then that was the most I was allowed to bet- dad's rules)- he accepted my offer. Well, sure enough I lost my first bet of my life, the Mets actually came back to win that game by a score of 11-8. To this day it's the biggest late inning comeback in franchise history and I was one of the lucky ones to have witnessed it
my father bet me
the greatest come-back ever
I lost a quarter
But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
Vulessero Vasa, she called my name from the cleaned room.
There she asked: Vide O' Mare? no: no I answered, looking
at a painting Spira Tanti sentimento, yes she smiled
a perfection of sentiment, a glamorous rendering
or art. It's so, so he said jokingly. So, so it's worth more
than all you could ever image. Perfection is expensive isn't it?
Quite expensive indeed.looking out the window she remarked of
being happy the rain had stopped: she love the aroma of
outside after the storm. Marvelous the nights, starry eyed and
warm.Candlelite was thematic for evening
our supper we dined and danced by candle lite. By the fireplace
we sat watching and waiting, we were determined to stay woke
until the power had been restored.Romance, makes way to love
might you make love to me she asked him: then he never said a word.
We woke to the sound of chainsaw, buzzing and a barking dog from the junkyard scratching at the door.Breakfast was awkward,
after which we finished cleaning. I told her I had to leave she told me
what night shall we be again? His anwser was straight forward and bold,
he told her to speak him as hers and the days we speak shall be
tommorrows as lovers.She said when you comeback to Surreinto
stand in the door and I will invite you in as my fiancee.
Amidst the vast fertile lands
the little huts of the people stood,
Hoarding the millets from the field
To their feathery friends, they offered their yield
Savouring the millets and cereals
And sitting on the ceiling of corridors,
Making their nest close to the doors
Chirping throughout the day and night
They made our ancestors' days bright
Mingled like real joyful dudes
They even shared people's food
Wandering around with their family
They welcomed our guests warmly
They never felt shy , they never did cry
They never ever worried
But that's an old story
When the huts became royal flats,
When the fertile lands became empty plots
These little birds found no place to halt
they flew away, granting us, the feelings of guilt
But now, when people savvy their worth
Sweet sparrows, decide to reappear
Their comeback slams the extinction-myths
Their comeback cheers the earth
Reemerged our cute little friends
Is not it our onus to make their population ascend
Return their place to them
We will embrace peace then
REBIRTH
glories
of
a cultural flowering
a revival
once barren
in a
traumatic fragmented
schism
a comeback
an
elaborate
creative perspective
on crossed
horizons
this discovery
&mastery reinvigorated
immediate
in maturity
with small measure
yet simultaneous
possibilities
of patronage arise
extravagantly
grandiose & complex
to proclaim & emphasise
a lifestyle
well made
in symbols
anecdotes
on a small scale
genre scenes
a relative calm
of elegance
simple
satisfying
longings
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
I used to make fun of my dad’s age…saying with loving youthful vigor
“How come you’re getting shorter but your ears and nose are so much bigger?”
Oh, Dad would try to make a witty comeback…but usually it would bomb.
(makes me wonder where I got my talent for humor…must have been from Mom!)
So I guess it’s only payback or Karma…now that I’m one of the older folks
that I must listen to my children and grandchildren as they crack their old man jokes.
Like when they remind me how I’m over the hill and how I’m beginning to shrink…
And when they mention how my nose and ears are bigger…
I wonder…do they know they’re not as funny as they think?
They laugh when I say, “It’s nine o’clock…time to go to bed.”
and God forbid I ask, “Have you seen my glasses?”
when they’re perched upon my head.
They joke about my lack of hair and when their laughter clears
they remind me if I’m looking for hair…check inside my nose and ears.
In truth…I am quite content with getting older…I don’t think it is unfair.
I don’t mind a bit that I am bald because I never have to comb my hair.
And with my nose the size of a cucumber and two enormous ears
there are so many delicious aromas I smell…
so many wonderful sounds I hear.
Besides growing old is a part of life…we’re all growing older every day
and how wonderful it is to pause…and laugh at myself along the way.
I also smile as I sit back listening to these old jokes unfold…
knowing what a wonderful journey it’s been getting to be this old…
Finally, I have the satisfaction of knowing as joke after joke they tell bomb…
they didn’t get their talent for humor from me…(must have got it from their mom).
The Predator's Stage
She planned it well, to vanish and to fade away
So, everyone would forget
A clever trap within the mess she made.
She left her things in an arranged design,
To pull at heart strings and keep us all in line.
You wouldn’t believe how many felt the blow,
Even had me feeling guilty
And shed a tear for one they didn’t know.
Behind closed doors she’s someone different
She is vile, a creature dark and cold, a psychopathic heart
A deceiving woman, a child beater through and through,
Not even lovable, though she tried to fool you.
To plan a ritualistic return.
She’s hiding now, preparing for the stage,
Because she failed in her new life
To come back grand and flip another page.
But I have watched the "grandeur" she has planned,
And spread the word across this weary land.
I called her out, the "crook on the loose" is known,
And now her seeds of spite will not be grown.
I’ve spoiled the plan, I’ve broken every seal,
The more who know, the more we make it real.
Her comeback stalls, her ritual is dead,
Because the truth is what we speak instead.
“Tell me” Would we want her back?
Sitting patiently waiting for the comeback.
Thinking and wondering why they leave us like that.
As a matter of fact why the hell are we even hear for them to even have to come back?
I’m tired of asking myself that!
So I sit back and analyze the facts.
They say we came from this they say we came from that but deep down inside I knew half that s*** was whack
it really felt like it had to be more to it than that.
Like the crack that was poured out into communities to keep people under spells.
Maybe put it in book and enforce them to read…instill the fear of hell.
How low would one go to keep one under a spell.
One from waking up, sitting back like Kermit drinking from a cup. Comment on this or liking that, the only things that matters now is a post and stat.
How long must I wait for my ancestors to come back.
Have they came back already and was mad at what they seen?
Did they come and then leave because our kings are now wearing skinny jeans.
Are they mad or even sad because we have been put in trick bag?
Did they see the world’s walking Dead and walked away shaking their heads. This among other things I always ponder like why do my veins look like lightning with no sound of thunder?
Can I thank you in passing for helping 'me'
for easing 'my way' into the Presidency
*******
Bush Jr. might have thanked Clinton for an economy
that produced a budget surplus, amazingly
But he focused on his own alleged decency
deriding his predecessor's public immorality
Mr. Obama didn't thank Mr. Bush for his fight against terror
instead castigating George W. for his economic errors
And Mr Trump declined to give Mr. Obama his due
for steady job growth, a comeback in stock prices too
Now Mr. Biden touts his own 'magnificent job' on vaccinations
ignoring Mr. Trump's Operation Warp Speed, the true causation
*******
The elites lecture us: We have to be more civil, more polite
When the simplest of thank-you's they can't even get right