Long Crammed Poems
Long Crammed Poems. Below are the most popular long Crammed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crammed poems by poem length and keyword.
one day, I saw a car going by
with my fourteen-year-old self in the driver's seat.
he wasn't even the one driving the car.
it was hate that was driving the car,
fueling the car,
steering the car,
because the car was a vessel for the thoughts crammed in that trunk
which acts as the engine
the engine was in the back of the car.
that's right; it was the type of car that goes really fast
except when you're stuck in traffic
then you're on the same speed as everyone else.
but there was no traffic
there was nothing stopping the car
the car traveled at the speed of light,
but you see, the thing with traveling at the speed of light,
is that it's hard to stop, easy to lose control,
and time flies away with you,
no matter how little you enjoy the ride.
one day, I was passing by a car wreck
two cars of the same type,
same color,
same age,
the hoods perfectly crushed into each other
the windshields making contact
and I looked at the boy from earlier,
and saw that he had aged four years.
Forty Christians from Southcourt Baptists,
Skiers,good,novice & the inactive;
On the flight from London-Heathrow,
Trusting Italy was full of snow.
Huddled in a coach past Trento,
Disembark in MSV's mountain shadow;
Crammed & cushed into th cable car,
Just in time for sckolade in the the bar.
Up early to claim skis & boots,
Dressed in salapettes & chic ski suits;
Wait in line for the revolving chairlift,
At the top,jumping off pretty swift.
Down & up the beginners' slope,
In a whiteout,with a prayer& hope;
Pasta for lunch,again & again,
But good to miss out of the English rain.
Learning the knack of forling fondue,
Joining the folk-dance,without a clue;
Saying danke to Karl the owner,
Back on the bus to airport,Verona.
He kept a small room
he wasn’t in it very often
but it was there and he knew it
it was safe
for though life had opened roads
that needed to be trodden
and he was often far away
his room was
waiting for him
in it was his bookcase
teal blue stained wood
shelves of a life explored
childhood memories
books about dinosaurs and the moon
pictures and piggy banks
old record albums and
his Titanic collection
there were two hickory chairs
old world charm in light pink brocade
a gift of decades past
and his library desk, a rare find
and one to keep for its
mahogany leather embossed top
its drawers crammed with 50 years of
incidentals, papers and letters
and brochures
on its walls, his oils and watercolors
kept guard
his paintings from a long ceased dalliance
in art
he kept a small room
to visit
for though he believed that home
is where love is and can be anywhere
he also knew that a seed planted
can grow and grow
but its roots must survive
Friendly goats are holding me hostage today.
They are hop-dancing in my yard; they want to play!
I looked out at 6:30, I said, “no way!”
“Come on!” shouted the big brown one, “We plan to stay.”
Watched them frolic and skip, they made me smile.
I guess I could go out for a little while.
Husband did not know, picked up phone to dial,
Announced they would be picked up with some guile.
Yes, I had to move fast. Time was running out.
My soul entranced, I pranced and hopped, I skipped about.
Was the best day of my life, without a doubt
“Goat Services are here!” My husband, inside, did shout.
The goat herders came out and took us all away.
We were all crammed inside a wagon, blue and gray.
We sang “Red River Valley” as they took us away.
My husband came to claim me at the end of the day.
It was the best day so far I have ever had.
When I went back home I was truly quite sad.
I sneaked back later and the goats were all glad.
I took them home, making my husband a tiny mad.
Bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder
Packed in wooden cattle cars
Their destination to them unknown;
Men, women, and children,
Old, young, and grown.
Bodies standing crowded and pressed against each other
Hearts filled with fear and despair;
Their screams and sobs of anguish and agony
Pierce the stifling air.
Their hearts and minds filled with uncertainty and sorrow,
Not knowing where they will be this time tomorrow.
There is worry and heartache all around
Misery and confusion abound.
History books may have stories that can educate and tell
But only God knows how many tears were shed on the iron rail.
Tense audience members, in active learning auditorium classes,
all crammed together.
In the first few days there were times that I felt genuinely lost.
I wasn’t used to processing everything,
especially technical things, in French.
On day two, one guy, looking askance, said,
‘That was confusing, right?’ Which was a relief.
On day three, Charles, watching me via the rear-view mirror,
said, “Trust the process, kid-0.”
And eventually, around day four, I started to find my footing.
Shall we wax, free-versely, poetic?
Who has it worse than a physician?
There’s no sleeping in that business,
and the physician’s wisdom, press'd with caution, is seldom desired or given careful attention.
Surely, I’ve heard it reasoned, those who applaud pristine health are but abusing God's patience.
But what else remains, for learned men - the priesthood, with its beguiling, terrestrial proverbs?
That idea’s a purgative. And I am female.
Besides, they’ve erased much of the good will that came out of Nazareth.
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Songs for this
Welcome to the Jungle (808 Remix) by Freedom Dub
Easy Way Out (version française) by Mariama
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*Charles, a 55-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, who's been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old.
Icebox Disaster
Only living son
Home from steamy jungles of New Guinea
Wearing strips of a Master Sergeant
Tales recounted from Australia – Sydney R & R –
In spear points and javelins;
Malaria still traced upon
A war tanned face;
No more holding breath -
Four years of halting steps -
Reaching for the mail –
Cringing at the doorbell’s
Unexpected
Shrill screams,
No blue star hangs upon a window,
Relief sighs
So grateful for hugs held
Extra seconds
In reunion
Though shocked eyes hide
To see a frame so thin -
Hoping darkness covers memories
Reappearing uninvited;
House filled with booming debates
And scents of apple pie,
An icebox crammed with every good thing,
Not seen for years,
From harvest and from garden,
Visited so often
One morning screams of pain resound
As the icebox door crashes to the floor
Breaking a mother’s foot -
With no regrets
Only gratitude for family
Together again.
When my mother's oldest brother returned from war, he went to the refrigerator so often he weakened the door. One morning the door fell off right onto his mother's foot!
On a warm, bright, sun-soaked golden dawn,
a green, slimy, crawly worm woke up,
eagerly burst out from his snug abode,
opened tiny googly eyes, mesmerized!
He didn't know where his darling mother was!
He only knew his stomach was rumbling...
feeling hungry, started to crawl lazy,
and chew on the juicy tender leaves !
This creepy, crawly, greenish…but
brainy worm managed to squish, in the
cozy backpack of a school-going child,
learning his main goal, isn't it lot of fun!
Crunch, crunch! Munch, munch! Aren't books tasty!
Inquiring worm did not hesitate,
as many yummy books he could bite,
he crammed in his belly right away!
"Whow! I feel so enlightened, not an
insignificant worm any more, my
picture should be labelled "Bookworm" Buddy
at children's favourite library door!"
"before long I will turn into
a scintillating butterfly, and
spread my wings and my newly-acquired
knowledge to this wide beautiful world!"
March 11. 2023
20 lines, 9/10 syllables in each line (checked by HMS.com)
Inspired by "Kids Creativity and Learning Nursery Rhyme' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
FIRST PLACE
Added one more stanza (Stanza 4) after the contest had been judged.
Subtle, very subtle, yet the promise whispers in the trees.
The zinnias struggle with a push one last bud to sky unfurl,
While the neighbor's cat goes on the prowl for one more kill to squeeze.
Late September days will end and the unprepared imperil.
The strident cries heard in the sky are the sounds of birds going south.
Though crammed and touching wings at times, they fly with great effusion.
A squirrel hordes some nuts he's found by stuffing them in his mouth,
While looking for a ready den, the mice run in confusion.
The slowly, shortening days are the sun's bowing to appease
The tired flora/fauna pact that's desperate for a long rest,
But a softened whisper in the wind has changed to a cold breeze,
And ice and snow begin to form on the tallest mountain crest.
Watched a first-run movie
From the comfort of my couch,
An experience to which
So many folks could likely vouch.
You can’t beat the convenience
And the snacks my kitchen holds,
Plus the fact that I can pause things,
Even as the plot unfolds.
There’s no outerwear to deal with
And no bus or cab or train
And it doesn’t matter if, outside,
There’s cold or snow or rain.
Yet I kind of miss the theaters
Crammed with fellow movie buffs,
Though, at times, your seatmates seemed like
Slobs or boors or lowlife scruffs.
Yes, I know I can return to
Those few theaters that exist,
But when Netflix has a current film,
It’s too hard to resist.