Long Correctly Poems
Long Correctly Poems. Below are the most popular long Correctly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Correctly poems by poem length and keyword.
(alternatively titled eldest daughter despises us)
Eden (beloved eldest daughter) icy
flat tone of voice spoke volumes,
when she talked with the missus and me
courtesy cellular telecommunications key
December twenty seventh
two thousand nineteen
unwavering listless dull verbalization see
I subsequently told spouse, she
thy super smart self reliant progeny
fending for herself approximately
last half dozen years exhibits je
ne sais quois profound loathing
predicated growing up dirt poor free
quint lee lamenting deprivations re:
guarding legal tender adequate specie
i.e. money - at least compared to every
MainLine millionaire flush with dee -
suppose able income, and oft times
lovingly, pleasantly, unexpectedly...
receiving largasse gift horse courtesy
zayda (my father), who art not yet
in heaven sprung monetary help, ye
this second born and only son did
profusely think him (papa) lee
ving voice messages on his landline,
and tracfone, plus wrote heartfelt poem,
similar acknowledgement modus operandi,
when said offspring
became twenty three
years old - five days ago, nonetheless thee
admirable, dependable, honorable... née
holds Matthew Scott (namely he),
who helped beget
darling feels angry,
and doth plainly exhibits contempt
(you) dear reader guessed correctly
towards sorrowful dada,
where inescapable thralldom
doth invisibly chain
(think ghost of Marley)
apologetic sir, whose
precious kinder, I
will unwaveringly cherish
forever love and Revere
despite up Paul ling
destitution, grinding linkedin penury,
and red hot poker faced
anger, yes... dismay
prevails how unforgiving
once (Benny sent) baby,
inside joke, I attest neigh
scent "star student,"
now grown young woman,
no longer - figuratively
wrapped around yours
truly her finger
father who fell short, natively cree
hated abhorrent within re
cent mammary, bosom (hers)
harboring scathing unmasked vee
hum mint, blistering, rancorous,
seething, volcanic withering...,
no matter disgusting revulsion
toward aging mommy
and repentant daddy,
I LOVE YE EDEN + SHANA!
THE CHRONOPHAGE
Ghostly levitating on the Cambridge street since 2008,
the Corpus Clock reveals the ugly-beauty of time.
A gleaming gold-plated clock facade attracts you,
the malicious monster moving mechanically
repulses you. It controls the whole clock,
creating a constant grinding noise.
The hour is tolled by the sound
of a chain clanking into
a coffin hidden in
the back of the
clock.
Once every five moments, the clock face tells the time correctly.
The chronology of chronometry is cast aside allegorically for a
second or two. The pendulum pulses purposefully making
the display lights freeze, fall behind and then fire ahead.
Thousands of tourists take photographs of the artwork.
While students and residents rush by the window, it’s
merciless message ringing upon death minds.
If you stop and stare for it long enough,
you see your warped reflection.
Am I using time wisely or not?
Much like the carvings written upon an ancient gravestone,
below states ‘mundus transit et concupiscentia eius’.
The Chronophage knows you have read this
inscription. It’s clawed clockwork teeth tells
you the ticking truth; “Time is not on your
side. I’ll eat up every minute of your life
and as soon as one has gone, I’ll be
salivating for the next.”
Time is ticking…
We are all brothers and sisters born without hate
Naked we were born to earth with purity and innocence as Lily
Love has no barriers beyond our earthly grasp
Right actions coming from the right setting, it starts from within
Sometimes we feel we are living inside a bubble
To live a good life, we must think, speak and act correctly
Destiny paints our divine promise colors a rainbow
Everything's really just small adjustments in your life
The search for the true love with joy and confidence in this world
Let your light shine bright, love inside the heart last forever
Of life our guiding angels a choir heavenly glamor
Angels over flowing universe with its clean and deep strength
Written by Liam Mcdaid & A-L Andresen
11.03.2015 Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I took a moment visit my God today…
I don’t usually do this…but I got down on my knees to pray.
I wanted to ask him…or her…
(I use both, I believe, correctly
because in all my visits with my God…
he or she has never answered me directly).
At any rate, I had things I wanted…things I’d like to see..
wishes I thought important…
I hoped my God would grant for me.
As I was about to open my mouth…
about to give my God my speech
my mind was filled with memories
of the students I used to teach.
There before me...swimming in my mind,
my students were everywhere..
Autistic students, blind ones, ones with seizures…
and students in wheel chairs.
And swimming right behind my students…
this was really quite a feat
were children and people I did not know…
who had no homes, or food to eat.
I saw many people in pain, crying,
I know not the reasons why
but they seem to have more troubles than me
as I watched them floating by.
Suddenly my mind went blank
and I forgot what I had started praying for
as the troubles that I thought I had…
didn’t seem as troublesome anymore.
And so still on my knees with my head bowed
as I visited my God today
it was for all these other people
that I began to pray.
And I hope my God is happy
as my prayers up to her or him soar…
smiling and proudly nodding his or her approval…
knowing that’s what prayers are for?
Has anyone ever hear of the expression or slang for wild grapes or wild
muscadines? Something like bulletses??I can't find it anywhere and I am sure
that I am not spelling it correctly...It is what some people in the south call Fox
Grapes.. |
|
| ^
^
^
. ___o
* o o
ooo
ooooo
oooooo
oooooooo
ooooooo
oooo
ooo
o)
Form:
“Cuddles” is what I affectionately call her
This sweet little darling of mine
No other word can describe this beauty
She's a lovely, she's sweet, she's divine
She's here to grant me my every wish
Never asking for anything back
My life, my soul, my reason for living
Peace and contentment I don't lack
Betcha can't guess who this is about
A doggie or a kitten or a bunny
Guess correctly and you'll win the prize
Three kisses from me on next Sunday
“Cuddles” is an absolute real charmer
On this soul she doth lovingly dote
Guys lounging round in their Jockey shorts
Know it's “Cuddles” my TV remote!
© Jack Ellison 2012
A-bad-don speaks for itself clearly
the war master of chaos to come hides secrets
An inhuman monster created by hate underneath
formed in the bottomless pit of envy
bathed in bitterness his name is a tenfold curse spoiled
laid bare under thousands of years of terror and anguish exposed his venom kind
Destroyer of the world locked in a dark abyss
suffering jealousy under a legion
of depraved demons and fallen angels
mixed with faceless unforgiving pride
blind beggars of the dark side
corrupting flesh to sin
They inhabit the lies told sweet talking arrogance
turning away from truth slowly twisting rights to ignorance
calling up the deceiver of forked tongues shame exists
spitting within disrespectful manners heartless
Disoriented babble rattles to the core condemning faith
spoiled crock tears swearing falsity to be true love's existence
black magic spawns inside poisons brew
From the realm of the dead rotten seed
you hail damned corrupt thief of wasted time
destruction has no shield in your wake to yield
Burning hell's fury is putting good to the sword as bad
loving kindness is declared grave manners against evil doers
when the eyes of man can never be satisfied or pleased
correctly they turn around in an underground abode
filled with lost souls that reeks havoc needing
How fortunate that I, correctly versed,
knew hand-grenades are passive. At their worst,
they maim and kill. But this is interspersed
with usefulness: defenders have no thirst
for carnage. Since the enemy had first
used violence, they had to be dispersed.
It fell to me. How often I’d rehearsed
in nightmares what came next, how often nursed
this killer in my hands. Like Damien Hirst,
I knew that I was certain to be cursed
by those who only see a shark immersed
in urine, not a work of art. Lips pursed,
I threw my bomb, and squatted, for I durst
not look upon the mayhem, when it burst.
Today is your Anniversary of 38 years in God's
place. It is interesting how the years flew by.
I hope I have accomplished what you wanted for me.
I am a poetess and author now. Although I have not
sold a book yet. I have been thinking about you over the
past few decades. And I wonder what you think.
I need a sign.
You probably know why I have not been
able to visit your gravesite. And put my favorite rose
there. I have missed our talks. So, I write what's in
my heart. I'm almost 75 now about the time you left me.
And yet, it feels like yesterday.
You weren't here when I married. But I'm sure
you two are together waiting for me. I miss the love
we had and I know its value. I only want to know
one thing, do I continue on this path of writing?
or is there something else I should be doing?
I need a sign.
It doesn't feel like you're gone, but we can't
physically meet. However, I feel your presents
or is it, my husband?
I write asking what is my gift? If I am using it
correctly? So, I end with your approval and His.
What I must do? In spite of everything I love you, Mom.
I need a sign.
There are lots of people with birthdays in November.
The amount of them is quite a large sum.
In this big club, I happen to be a member.
My flower of the month is a chrysanthemum.
That word is a good stumper in a spelling bee.
Correctly spelled, nobody calls you “dumb”.
In November, there are not many flowers to see.
It is not a month with botanical pizzazz.
That’s when we see leaves falling from the tree.
My birthstone is the semiprecious topaz.
As far as jewels go, it isn’t worth much.
I’m really not into that gemology jazz.
We November people come through in the clutch.
In this great big world, we are the ones to know.