Long Correspondent Poems
Long Correspondent Poems. Below are the most popular long Correspondent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Correspondent poems by poem length and keyword.
Well hello and good afternoon good morning and good evening to you. This is your daily bulletin from the moo news channel brought to you by Mrs Harriet Heiferton. Today was a big day for a seed. It got moved twenty metres across the field by a strong wind. The pickles however are not classing this as a murder investigation and the matter has now been resolved with the assistance from a clod of earth who said they took immigrant seeds and was happy for it to grow. The other top story this hour on this day at this precise second is that the hay hat school is due to shut down. This follows the news that hay hats were not delivering the best but local mice disagree and the matter will be decided at court later this month. The incident involving the combine harvester on a rampage is being treated as a result of an out of control wheat complex. The combine harvester is thought to be part of a global farming network run by the tractor man. And police are now investigating. Here js what foreign correspondent Mr Howard Pearly White Whimsical had to say "well this matter is all the tractors fault really. I have no time to discuss this further and I am going to a bar now to sky dive". The shadow said this was an inadequate response and all the ticks in the world agreed. And lastly five hundred million cake wheels have been exploded in an offering to a prince. The prince was not happy and cried. He wanted to explode the cakes himself like his friend who drove a car éclair. But he was not allowed. And now the sport Chippendale 0 Rocket science 1 St.business 0 st.industries 0.1 and in the cricket the rain halted play for most of the day. But quack was out for a duck and said quack quack when leaving the field. In golf there was a pause for twenty two minutes to drink tee tea. And a par fell into a jar and the outlaying ground was too rocky for Mrs peach to walk on. The weather will be fine, windy, snowy hailing stormy hot and humid with a full flood alert. Please drive carefully especially over planks. Well that was your daily bulletin from the moooving news channel. Goodbye. _~_~_~^•
Form:
As is said, we are He, who we seek
Today, let’s find out together
Love beckons, we try to take a sneak peek
But fears and desires tether
Veiled remains The Divine Mother
Knowing not the way, we stop flow of thought
Resting in pristine stillness
Joy currents within rise, both cold and hot
Heightening our awareness
Kundalini consciousness
Sublime serpent at root begins to stir
Divine feminine awake
Energy centers in subtle body whir
Our spine does the shake-shake-shake
Trust us; our sanity’s at stake
Pathways three; Sushumna, Ida and Pingala
Snake divine makes up its mind
Upon path of least resistance, has a gala
Unless ego borne fears bind
Charmed by our heart, it’s touch is kind
Oh worthy lama, go beyond all opposites
Serpent’s Holy Spirit in disguise
Be bemused not by myriad composites
Now, ceasing to weigh and size
Allow divinity to rise
02-January-2022
The Snake Charmer Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Notes: A short overview of our energy (pranic) life force field
Kundalini is Shakti - the divine feminine, coiled like a serpent at the base of our spine. It is the kinetic aspect of God’s energy. The potential aspect is Shiva, at the crown chakra, correspondent to our fontanel on the top of head. Shakti yearns to reunite with Shiva and so rises at the optimal time, when mind-body vessel is purified. The energisation is felt as living magnetism within.
Ida is the cool channel, correspondent to left nostril. Pingala is the hot channel, related to our right nostril. Both these paths are serpentine, intersecting at the sacral, navel, heart, throat and third eye (between eyebrows), merging there to connect to the crown.
Sushumna is a three layered cylindrical conduit in the geometric centre of our body, joining the root chakra to the crown chakra. It is referred to as the energy expressway, rod of initiation or staff of power in different scriptures.
I took my mum to slimming world
On every Tuesday night
She’d get her finest glad rags on
And beam with sheer delight
Not much of an adventure,
On the way she’d barely speak.
But she’d set her sights on glory
As the slimmer of the week.
With eager expectation
We queued up by the scales
Catching surreptitious glances
“Has she come off the rails ? “
“Shoes off please and on the scales”
Then handing in your book,
You felt your pulse start racing
When you dared to take a look
“Just a half pound gain this week”
“But don’t get too despondent “
The lady scribbled in mum’s book,
Like a weight gain correspondent.
“Have you checked the scales” said Mum
“They simply can’t be right ?”
“I think they need to be reset
Because I didn’t weigh that last night ?”
“Are you staying for the chat ?”
Said the slimming world consultant
“We’ve got some bars for you to try”
And mum looked quite exultant
“Would you like a raffle ticket ?”
I can still picture the scene,
When they drew your numbers out
And you won an aubergine.
“So how’s your week been Linda ?
Did you keep track of your syns ? “
“I just had lots of chicken breasts
But I didn’t eat the skins “
“Mark - our slimmer of the week !
Share your story with the group”
“I just ate Quorn and Quark all week
And pints of lentil soup”
Mum kept smiling all the time
While others told their tales of woe,
A Chinese meal that took its toll
Or a Hot Dog at the show
Brenda stormed out of the room
Just looking for attention.
“ I’ve not put on 3 pounds” she screamed
It’s just water retention
“See you all next week” said Sue
The hall’s needed by the Vicar
Mark, smiling smugly, swaggered out
Showing off his latest sticker.
On the way back in the car
Mum was smiling, full of glee
I said “what are you so pleased about? “
She said “ They’re all bigger than me”
I told my boss this was a job I didn’t relish
Reports so far deemed this Elfin war rather hellish.
Troops had crossed the border and entered the valley.
So far we didn’t have a death or injury tally.
I entered the tavern, only a mile from the enemy line.
The locals seemed relaxed and all seemed fine.
I sat at a table with three burly men drinking beer.
They didn't seem to mind me being here.
Introduced myself as a war correspondent.
After I ordered them all another beer they were very respondent.
Eager to tell me what they knew of the Elfin war.
At that time, I didn’t realize what I had in store.
I urged them to go on and tell me much more
Soon others in the pub, heard the tales and began to chip in.
First hand accounts of fighting they saw, I hardly knew where to begin.
Seems the fighting was very tactical. The rebels would advance to attack,
The allied Army was ready and their weapons would force them back.
Evidentially a local man, a sergeant of note, was injured by a blast.
He wandered in the way of a hand grenade, on his patrol as he passed.
Most stories were of artillery fire being heard in the morning hours.
Patrons of the tavern didn't seem too perturbed about the rebels powers.
Confidence reined in the army from what they could see.
The publican joined us with a round of beer saying these are free.
”Laddy, I am sure you’ll want to mention this home spun brew.
The best brewed beer and everyone loves it, your readers will too.
It’s called Ellery Tavern Lager. We make it right here in town.”
“He’ll only be interested if the mongrels burn the factory down”
I was feeling light headed, lost count of the number of beers I had.
Went to stand up and realized I was feeling rather shaky and quite bad.
My trusty tape recorder, had some good stories for me to write.
Wandering out to get some fresh air I took some photos before night.
Marquees are bright with neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
Holding hands, we're in 'The Strand'. The velvet carpet guides us in
Popcorn smokes, .. we're drinking cokes,... and cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along with more sarongs,... , her luscious lips, and cigarettes,
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips
'Movietone' intrudes with news, and soon we're in somber mood
Third-Reich goosesteps march again, ... an evil presence in the wind...
Cary Grant , (a news reporter), loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy. But Cary loves this ditzy lady....
William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold. The mystery is clearly solved.-- A crimson sun, is rising cold!
Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die
Another night, suspense on chart. 'Correspondent' , Joel McCrea.
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day. BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way
Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked
----
It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
Allied troops are moving tanks. I wait for you..God give me strength
I'm in the Strand, within the dark, there's no one here to hold my hand
I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio
_____________________________________
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
11/23/14
I travel in my imagination to talk to the sky about the sound from crying
Mum, the coastal area erosion my interest to take the risk to talk the
night gown glowing beneath the wind from the vile of verbose. The night
sombre to talk to me in lusty thy heart call to convey the conversation to
the contraction of my imagination pole to polemic night.
The cart of load middle of office article of etiquette acquiring the anchor
of life floating on the top of leafs to the drop of a pen that sound
inculcate Carbon Monoxide in my lungs, the bugs ramming the trim chopped to
the shape of my poetry garage, where lullaby play violin appeasing the
heart to function for the follow six years to come in the future to the
Futuristic that I have to feature all the songs sang by the birth to take
to me to my birthplace over second of ponder to pedal the hurdles to better
future star.
The shape of a room isn't my stop where building of atomic infractions dust
the dock to the documents of love, salad of emotions building in to into-to
Ruin not thy heart it sound correct to the correspondent reticent, the
Wagging of tail enjoins the brown color to the skyscraper in the heart of
the city sun. The ink of hate won't drop to the sound of pebble and the map
Of courage cool down the ridges moan of baby.
The high thinking keep on colonizing my entire colorless breathe that
wanted to shake to the voice of the night, the taste of understanding swirl
meek hard and aim of okra is too slippery the road to sound of success is
second hand to those placed theirs, the might blame the corrosive
Situation pink of flowers impact changes to the scent of cigar.
Life is a combination of different strata and classes
with the upper classes feeding on the states of the lower
which is the usual, displayed in most societies and cultures
and such a web between nations even more complex and sticky.
The developed massively profits on the developing
sustaining such a system for the affluent to stay powerful.
Pressing situations persist within their borders
but that of other nations becomes a meat and potatoe issue
while their greed stays a correspondent
to growing territories without a good sight.
They are obese hypocrites seeking for malnourished sycophants
promoting democracy but stabbing its legs in struggling communities
if propagation of governance isn’t favourable to their selfishness.
Merchandise and production from below becomes contraband
to tense such economies and make them perspire
even if a little consideration is reluctantly offered,
the controlled global markets will still sustain the toppers
feeding the climbers with crumbs to soften their bones.
Heavy makeup is the painting on their wealthy faces
to attract the scanty seedlings of the insufficient future cultivation of others
putting growth under a miasma of depression
to militate against economic and political independence.
Nevertheless, a stranger can only manipulate a home
if foolishly allowed to exhibit some level of command.
A major fertilizer to this trending cause
is laxity and mediocrity on the part of the sufferer
which has got so matronly to need meals on wheels
Faith is a cat, treading softly,
with delicacy, with hesitation,
unlike the dog-like dogma
(so aptly named) which seeks
to hold fast a believer in its
proud, fierce and steel-like jaws.
Yes, faith is beyond reason--
how could it not be when the
mystery is more than any mind
can seize and hold and eat....
And faith is a tease, a hope not
fully formed but heavy, unlike
its correspondent, the soul, so
light no scale can weigh it, no
meter can measure--but faith
sweats and breathes and lives
in fear of its own death like the
fragile body and life it inhabits.
Faith can be mocked so easily
by those resolute like stone
whose hearts are sealed and
walled against wonder, magic--
the magic of the world, of air
and sun and moonlight grace.
The deep, deep magic of two
who meet as strangers, then
meld into friends, then bind in
a power greater than death,
a power cloaked in mystery:
'Why do I love him?' and
'Why do I so long for her?'
This power, this mystery will
never be contained, either by
time or place or memories--
it will transcend even eternity.
Thus faith is the child of love,
real love, love unbounded,
fierce, heedless, far beyond
its greeting card counterfeit.
Faith is found in the cracks,
when reason is overwhelmed
and hope seems near death--
then faith, never easy, never,
never truly simple-- then faith
will be tossed and turned and
sometimes die, but more often
thrive as it makes the soul one.
Thousands living in fear
For they knew Hitler was growing near
In Poland her career would soon to be
As she helped scared persecuted to flee
Gas chambers were yet to come
For not all heeded the warnings of this young one
Compassion and determination
Made her the first in reporting the War of all Nations
A thousand horses and a thousand horsemen
A thousand tanks, her story found both ink and pen
Hollering of the invasion to be
Her worth all would soon well see
As German troops invaded Poland
Her report the first of World War number 2
The first female War correspondent so new
Setting the stage for all the brave lasses who followed through
Days long ago when a woman’s job just wasn’t so
She led the way, helping thousands begin a new pathway
She was the model for those who came after
She never quit, until death's battle
Her beauty had faded at the age of one hundred and five
Her moxy and determination they stayed vibrant and alive
She sipped champagne to the very end, one oh five
A tear for the lady, whose bravery defeated an evil campaign
Clare au Lune
For all tiss worth
You were and angel
Brave on the front lines of truth
Rest in peace, divine, for all time
WHAT IF TIFFE MARRIED ZIFF AND WHAT IF?...
GOOD EVEnING!
Now what if?
Tiffe married Ziff
And McGriff divorced Woodcliff
And what if
I sniff and smell it someone cheating
Someone's being an adulteress
The dead body was frozen
Melted flesh was soft
But the examiner refrozen it
So it was quaff and restiff
No what if this story made sense
This riff of giff what's the meaning of it
Twas a murder movie
Woodcliff murdered Ziff
So he could marry Tiffe
The pleasure garden on mountain eagle
They wed the lodger a story of London Fog
Downhill she's a farmer's wife
Easy virtue blackmail Juno and the paycock
Murder, witness Eistree calling
The skin game say's Mary, whose rich and strange
As number seventeen waltzes from Vienna
The man who knew too much took
the 39 steps
Was he a secret agent sabotage young and innocent
You see the lady vanishes at Jamaica Inn
This murdered wife's name was Rebecca
A foreign correspondent, witness to this was Mr. and Mrs. Smith
Number 13 always tell your wife
So many wife's so many deaths committed
All those poor murdered by Woodcliff
Ahh! it's just from a scene from Alfred Hitchcock??
GOOD NiGHT!
1/26/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.