Long Cool Poems
Long Cool Poems. Below are the most popular long Cool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cool poems by poem length and keyword.
Maybe they don't know, my pen
We've been crafting before my age of ten.
We've been friends for quite a long time
You and Ayinde- Partners in crime;
Together We've written about love and hate,
About true inspirations, and ideas we contemplate.
Koda, we wrote about life and it's tribulations
And it's manual that has no stipulations;
We wrote about cool, falling springs
About imaginary eden with roses and swings.
We wrote about the eclipse that just reoccured,
We're so gifted even Shakespeare concurred;
We did write 'bout an okin from Offaland,
And only those in the bloopers will understand.
We wrote about oppression and corruption,
And about a land of plenty, with no'ing for consumption;
Thousands of poems, performed in the African Hall,
With you and I, gracing the geography laboratory hall.
We are inseparable my dear bamboo pen,
Who made me an oracle amongst men.
"Human mind knows no constraints. Without spending time or money, one can make an odyssey into the outer space and even into other planets. What is needed is the fuel of imagination." - By Poet
Outside, the night was gathering strength
How swift our lightning Sputnik,
Out running the speed of sound and light
Shot into space with a violent jerk, leaving us psychotic.
At a distance were luminous spheres
Suspended like glowing lanterns
Comets and meteors in hyper space
Seemed more like diffused patterns
An asteroid came whizzing towards us.
I closed my eyes in dreadful shock,
Fearing a terrible head on collision.
Thank God! It deviated from our track!
I looked at my friend seated beside
Obviously not here, lost in thought!
Looking down, I saw Mother Earth
A luminous ball, not bigger than a sapphire dot
Oh! How quickly we landed on Mars
It is so different from what I had learnt
Neither a barren belt of sterile terrain
Nor a rugged stretch of craters burnt
But a heavenly place so cool and serene
Full of scintillating scenes and ravishing sights
We, the emissaries from a far away land
Were warmly received by a team of alien sprites
The weight of the world suddenly lifted from us
We bounced up and down almost floating in the air
Found ourselves in a gorgeous garden
With springing fountains and blossoms fair
Trees were laden with dazzling gems
Lagoons and lakes of liquid silver
Vast expanse of tawny vistas
Plains waving with luxuriant verdure
What fun…! Hmm…over there,
Nothing like those seen on planet Earth
A herd of animals so strange and rare
Grazing on red grass in a canyon of great width
Our restless eyes scanning all around,
We accelerated our pace in rising delight.
As we were eager to explore every bit of ground,
We moved forward with enthusiastic gait.
Sudden was the sound I heard behind
And saw my mother standing near
Puzzled and confused as I looked around
In my ears her voice fell ringing clear-
“You lazy one, know this is exam time”
Rough and curt was her angry tirade.
“Again you can’t play a dumb mime”
Her words made my afternoon reverie suddenly fade
I saw my open book sneering at me
And my uncovered syllabus, a vast sea
In lands of sun, a city stands apart,
A rare and misty jewel of human art.
Not built on easy plains or common ground,
But where the sea and golden hills are found.
The fog rolls in, a phantom, cool and grey,
To shroud the towers at the close of day.
It moves like the past, through the single gates,
A whispered mystery that the hour waits.
Its hills are vertical, a winding dream,
With cable cars that climb against the stream.
Victorian houses, daubed bright and bold,
A story in each cornice, we are told.
Where tech and grit in restless union meet,
And every vista feels, a brand new feat.
From Coit’s peak to the bridge’s arching wire,
San Francisco sets the rare soul on fire.
A compact wonder, singular and grand,
The rarest city in this western land.
Living around in this old world
so many trappings to keep us down
catches us by the throat so tight
representing what makes a big frown
Freedom for me is being alive
being contented with my lot
have thankful heart for the past
my life here as true born Scot
This life has been blessed to me
in so many ways to fully enjoy
despite the battles and the downs
rising up makes mind to fully employ
Being retired brings extra dimension
making this one free so totally full
each new day promises alternatives
from the daily normalities so ever cool
Spiritual life brings views eternal
God in Christ becomes so real
indwells one by His holy spirit
bringing peace marks His seal
I somehow missed the river in these woods
Until I heard water dripping onto heavy moss
A whisper in earthen tongues
A hymn sung in deep green
Stepping to the water, I sought a name.
I bled into color and waded into aimless conviction.
The surface interlaced my fingers—playful
The current rose to my shoulders and I felt the waves from within them
Folding around and under my arms
Tracing my back in a dance that mirrored the fluttering of my fingertips
A cool weight against my chest and rising up through my throat
A breath suspended between my lips, unsure of its direction,
Wavered
Until I fell from within like a rain cloud
I poured out as I drank in
Colorless abandon and sparkling mirth
Cloudburst and spring
I stood frictionless on her bed
Finding those softened edges that fit into mine and held me steady
But the trees whispered their scattered ramblings,
And my fingers faltered in the flow,
The earth rose to swallow the current
And the stones shed their last sorrowful rivulets
Back to the road as the fading light greyed
Unanswered and unguided
As before yet renewed
Past the the trailing reaches of the canopy,
The wind sighed at the darkening sky,
But as I left the green I smiled:
Flashes on the horizon and rumblings in the earth
Echoes of her soundless song
Born in their meadows and
bread for the masses - to
culture exploited, a suture
‘livery of freedom’
he spun on the wheel ~ I
canvas my flag, and the future.
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Khadi means handspun and handwoven cloth. In 1918, Mahatma Gandhi started his movement for Khadi as relief programme for the masses living in India's villages.
Raw materials then were entirely exported out of the country by the colonists and re-imported as costly finished cloth, depriving the local population of work and profits on it.
Gandhi didn’t just revive India’s flagging Khadi industry, he made the humble hand-spun fabric the symbol of all things swadeshi (indigenous to the country). When he encouraged people across India to boycott foreign clothes, spin their own yarn and wear Khadi, he was encouraging them to rediscover their pride in their heritage while lending support to their rural brethren.
It is also the most sustainable and eco-friendly product whose production requires no electrical support or fossil fuel and generates no toxic waste.
This fabric keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer!
The Indian national flag is always made of Khadi - It is not just a fabric but a way of life.
www.thebetterindia.com/95608/khadi-history-india-gandhi-fabric-freedom-fashion/
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see the dynamics of life as I zoom into
The shadow that’s not displayed
Some smoke weed
Not realizing that they will bleed in the workplace
Some enjoy cough syrup with a cool drink
Not realizing that this simple addition will
Change the transaction in their lives
Later, it turns to tablets yet learners
Think that they can control their habit
Like a rabbit, some will hop from experiment to experiment
Keeping themselves intoxicated while growing in stupidity
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see some learners grow in intelligence
Some study daily
Knowing that they will enjoy their future job
Their passion shines through in the classroom
Because they do the hard work when no one is looking
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see the lazy ones trying to feed off the strong ones
Procrastination will lead to a weak spell
This is something your future will tell you
Break free because you are the future and
It all starts in this four corned room
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
Maybe we should do a rethink about spending to save,
If we are using all our credit on a roll of the dice,
And instead keep that option on ice,
While we think about how much is too much rice.
I think the horse would rather be pulling the cart instead of pushing it,
Especially as a new owner is always on the cards ,
When there is no more credit on the cards.
This kind of selfishness,
By the brainless,
And the clueless,
Will only lead to, too many trying to sell shellfish,
With an increased number of those who are homeless,
And hopeless.
For most, the way to avoid this illogical outcome,
And make the horse feel more useful,
May be a bank account that is full,
With interest accrued,
Instead of interest now due.
The good news is,
It is never too late,
To celebrate,
When one has taken the time to deliberate,
And the decision is taken to re-instate,
What we were taught at school,
About the best way to save,
Which was to save to spend,
So, one can then spend to save,
And live a life free of stress,
Not caring who knows your address,
With no late payments to address.
If you can learn from my mistakes,
And this poem is all it takes,
Then there will be no need for you to go back to school,
Where too many play the fool,
And think that is cool.
From the Nostril Vortex
I breathe in your perfumed
Plasma leaves from the nostril vortex.
I thrive in the pleasant scenes and velvet touchings.
I wince like a skybird earthbound.
Dare to escape from me.
Dare to hide in the dark.
Shhhh! Don’t make a sound.
I am dancing without shoes in the moonlight.
I am waltzing with precise pre-planned movements in space.
I am spewing out movements that show you and me,
The two of us, walking the precise path to here and there,
And then finally to the place of all endings,
And like the cool morning mist, death enters unseen.
“It’s the tomb! I’m in the tomb!
Mother, Father come get me here in the dark!”
But first, slowly slowly slowly…
I lift up her leg there in the shadows,
And I caress, and smell and lick.
“I have found the best time!
This is the most excellent moment!”
I was there in the dusty places,
I was hanging nearby with all of you.
I was wet with unimagined enticings,
Weary, oh so world-weary to the nucleus of my bones!
Of tentatively living all the years of a dubious lifetime,
And of finally dying in the dry ditches of twenty thousand days.
“Come here honey, kiss me now, here in the distant cemetery.
We can hold on to each other
As the mad earth spins into oblivion.
“Sir, would you be so kind?
Some mindful enterprise and
The Pretext Syllogism combo.
And I will have a side of nomenclature
And for dessert two heapings of existential mind mysogenation,
Topped with granulated mesomorphic nom de plume!
Dancing, dancing, dancing and holding on.
She and me sweating in the black heat.
No other way to live.
No other way to breathe.
“I am just here.
See? Know what I mean?
I was born into this like all of you!
I had nothing to say about it.
What do ya say, honey? What do ya say?”
There used to be a clear-cut line
Between what’s right and wrong.
If someone crossed it, he or she’d
Be caught before too long.
Of course, some bullies, even then,
Caused others to get hurt,
Behavior which put everybody
Else on high alert.
Yet even if they weren’t caught
Or punished, we all knew
Their actions weren’t cool or things
That we would ever do.
But lately now I see or hear of
Bullies everywhere,
Defying former norms in ways
Before, we wouldn’t dare.
So crime is up, decorum down
And harm is being done.
I read the news and feel so sad
Before the day’s begun.