Long Copacetic Poems
Long Copacetic Poems. Below are the most popular long Copacetic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Copacetic poems by poem length and keyword.
Blithe breaks at the illumination of muted yellow leaves,
so alive, nearly laughing like children; still life clinging.
Autumnal blouse of painted bark and pretty sleeves.
Silence of bluebirds and red robins - inward singing.
The rake’s barely broken earth, a few clingers at task.
Season’s copacetic with only a tinge or tingle of coolness.
Time’s fallen back as I read and write in open-door-bask.
I will join worshippers at church to net November’s fullness.
A shiver, a shake, an ooh, an ahh, A phoebe does go
on and on about the break of day; brightness in her clutch.
The slightest breeze bursts forth to create the ebb and flow.
It’s like an artist brushing hither then thither; a mirthful touch.
More beaks join the chorus, as will I, when I hear the music.
Oh how delightful, a dizzy dance of bells in the wind’s socket.
I swoon and sashay, on the pavement, in communion’s cubic.
How much more seasonal joy leaps from robin redbreast’s pocket?
Sal, the neighborhood guy
by Edmund Siejka
“Hey Sal how you doing?
Holding down the same corner, right?”
“Yeah. Why is that bothering you?”
“It’s time Sal. Settle down, find a nice girl, get married
and move from this neighborhood.”
“Why? And be like you. Miserable and always sneaking back to the block?”
“I like to visit.”
“Yeah, you like to come back to see how bad everything’s become.”
“No, that’s further from the truth.”
“Well, let me tell you something the Avenue’s still busy
And people are buying
And new stores are opening up.”
“But they’re not the same stores we used to go to.”
“Whaddya mean? You prejudice or something?
These are hard working people
Y’know if you can’t find anything you ask
And somebody will help you.”
“C’mon Sal you know what I mean. Let’s be copacetic.”
“Hey, I only got a high school education. Whaddya trying to tell me?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. You’re thinking too much.”
“So anyway, how’s the job? You eatin’ and the wife’s happy?”
“Yeah, I’m eatin’ good,
Gotta go to the gym, lose some weight y’know?”
“Yeah, I can tell. Your belly is jiggling all the way.
Man, you gotta cut out the carbs.”
“Whaddya know about carbs?”
“Sugar and all those sweets.”
“Yeah, you got me there. I love pastries.
Can’t live without them.”
“Well, you need to learn to live without some things.
You don’t have to have everything in the whole wide world.”
“Yeah, be like you. Standing on the corner watching life go by.”
“At least I didn’t become something I’m not. So, think about this.
When people see you cruising by,
They laugh and say ‘Look who’s back.’
So, adios friend,
See ya around next time.”
Our tribute to the eighteen year old boys who were sent to Viet Nam
Was to be chill, chillin, and chillax’in as a tribute to those soon gone.
We were groov’n, and groovy, beatnik style, but we called ourselves hippie.
We were funky, groovy, and pretty nifty, copacetic, stoked, and thrifty.
Wearing our hip hugger bellbottoms, our flowered shirts and necklaces too.
Traveled the country in VWs, singing folk songs with a home fry or two.
The true hippies ran to Berkley when they left their parents’ crib.
Lucky to find shagged carpeting, pet rocks. Stoked with each other, glib.
Seventies amazing, pretty out-of-sight, our threads lasted night after night.
Fab time for us whether we were dorks, dudes, foxy mamas, putzes so bright.
Getting the low down was a bummer, but flower power was alive all summer.
Did not feel the need to rip anyone off, shared love with each newcomer.
Learned some stuff about ourselves in these days of lava lamp and Woodstock.
We could give each other skin, and keep on trucking, sharing a bong or a rock.
When boys returned from Viet Nam I am not sure they spoke the same way.
Many of the survivors put soldiers down which was an ignorant, mean play.
SHALL I JUST TAKE A WALK AROUND THE SUN?
Shall I just take a walk around the sun?
Though, this is hard and demanding yet, copacetic,
Rough, tough and full of thorns, a trip or son,
As the harmattan wrestles with the sand in mystic,
And sometime too hot the eyes of the rays,
For everything cold was burnt from coal and heat,
And often dark from dark; as it pryingly pays,
For not all who wander are lost, by chance, the treat;
But in enmity of eternity shall we wrinkle,
Like the Swan in the Arabian swoop, in travesty,
For the sun can be a frenetic foe you tackle,
The gumption to dine in the zenith of thirsty,
A nude that shamelessly assault my consigliere,
So long lives this, and the ventriloquism of her lingerie!
a cynosure of all eyes
carrying danger
like a backpack
seasoned acrobat
thrilling all and sundry
with go-big-or-go-home feats on the trapeze.
he's done this countless times.
a life lived on the edge
flirting with disaster
each moment could be his last
the audience
on tenterhooks
watching him fly through the air
he's done this countless times.
all was copacetic just minutes ago.
amid all the rip-roaring...T H U D!
seasoned acrobat lies dead on the ground.
everything stops; a hush
suddenly falls over the circus.
it's stunningly unexpected...
but he's done this countless times!
he never saw it coming,
no one did
d e a t h
in an instant.
Another brand new day has begun
Filled with exciting new things to do
Like shopping and spending piles of dough
I'm sure it applies to you
It's the way of the world, it's how it works
No one said it would be easy
Just look up yonder at that fiery red ball
Today will be bright and breezy
All is copacetic, everything seems fine
Copacetic as it's meant to be
Have I ever lied to you before my friends
My trustfulness is guaranteed
Okay, not every day will be a winner
But nine out of ten ain't bad
Smile at the world, it will surely smile back
I have nothing more to add
Another spanking new day has begun
Filled with exciting things to do
Like shopping and spending piles of dough
I'm sure it applies to you
It's the way of the world, it's how it works
No one said it would be easy
Just look up yonder at that fiery red ball
Today will be bright and breezy
All is copacetic, everything seems fine
Copacetic as it's meant to be
Have I ever lied to you before my friends
My trustfulness is guaranteed
Okay, not every day will be a winner
But ten outta of ten ain't bad
Smile at the world, it will surely smile back
I have nothing more to add
Strikes relentlessly thrashing
(from all points
encompassing me) assigned
unforgivingly, vehemently,
witheringly, blind
ding figurative sight, then
I finally craft a title,
then subsequent lines
of poem (or prose) defined
incumbent to pay
proper obeisance deigned
then once a thread bare
theme more or less defined
unleashing skein of thoughts,
(that barrel thru
muss hike key)
utterly entangled,
enthralled and entwined
rather then panic, a series
of deep breaths
decompresses,
deemphasizes, and diminishes
a near futile attempt (thwarting captivity,
futility, and impossibility) to find
even just a faint coalescence,
essence, and furtherance
pitting ma small nose
to the metaphorical grind
stone calmly try
to temper onslaught
of tsunami like brain storm,
yet no matter
how fast fingers type,
a sinking sensation,
sans pursuit to process
this tidal wave sets me
further be hind,
this faux
cat and mouse game,
which forces bust
ting thru out this scribe
demand to answer himself
with minor expletive,
viz cheeses crust
why the ƒ¨ç° must
this doggone eventual dust,
when staking claim
on literary fame and fortune
will no doubt entrust
yours truly to pauper's grave
(if lucky enough
to garner gofundme monies
or not bother, and consign
any viable anatomical
parts of this
well kept body fussed
over with copacetic delight,
holistic insight, and magic night,
where a strong gust
of wind doth suffuse dreamy state
permeating mine subconscious,
where inexplicable
exemplifications doth leap
and prance, while aye
obliviously repose in deep sleep,
which may be the condition
of an unsuspecting reader,
whether an generic
guy or...a Veep.
"Road Kill and the 3 Fates"
Daughters of Nyx
the sisters
Stand strong together
when darkness
feigns innocence
next to the forgotten
Road Kill
Nyx becomes Themis
a memory
infiltrates the mind
prompting the true law
and order of things
Backwards towards
a beginning
Inside resides
the female Titan
somewhere winning
Collecting the threads
of each life enlightening
the golden chords copacetic
the beginning chapters
come in far too late
back to front
Road Kill and the
3 Fates
Empathetic
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
llb-klb-mlb
“Gold” / Chet Faker
https://youtu.be/hi4pzKvuEQM
“At the instant of drowning
he invoked the three sisters
It was a mistake, an aberration,
to cry out for Life everlasting"
"He suffered the enormous agonies of passion
Writing poems from the end backwards,
Brushing away tears that had not yet fallen."
Rosemary Dobson, Poet. Sydney, Australia
(extract The Three Fates)
1. Moirae (Moirai)
https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/the-morai/
2.a
Themis
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Themis
2.b
Nyx
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyx
3.a
“The Three Fates” by Rosemary Dobson, Poet. / Analysis
https://poetryprof.com/the-three-fates/
3.b
Rosemary Dobson, Poet. Sydney/Australia.
(18 June 1920 – 27 June 2012)
https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dobson-rosemary
Anthology of Poems/Rosemary Dobson.
https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dobson-rosemary/poems
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosemary_Dobson
“Objects of Affection”
Objects of affection
drop like white marbles
from the sky
we love to look
to our heaven
for all kinds
of angels
all’s fair in
love and war
when faith
and belief
in a stronger
unified existence
that type of love, denied
trust
walks out the door
along a fine sharp line
sucked into that endless place
where the black ball
is dropped,
compartmentalised
life interrupted
for the unheard
taken down
by the unnecessary
silent swift intervention,
interrogated, eviscerated,
true autopsy, denied
what is love
to the alienated
gone AWOL alien
true fabric
orchestrated
by the external
as something other,
superficial,
the internal, inconvenient,
briefly recognised
worthless feelings
buried deep, the complex
compartmentalised
non-copacetic;
by the artificial copacetic
written off blithely,
non-evolutionary
the revolution de-loused,
time spent of no importance,
touch and emotions
clinically extinct
love
unknown
life
unrecognised
of unknown origin
unidentified
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)