Long Cramped Poems
Long Cramped Poems. Below are the most popular long Cramped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cramped poems by poem length and keyword.
Grrrr WOMEN they drive me mad!
We were due to go on holiday
My wife said she was on her way
I’d got the car engine running
I waited
and waited
and waited
But my wife Marcie was on the phone to her mom
Marcie had INSISTED her mother lived in our granny flat
Why couldn’t she pop next door to say goodbye…
Going on holiday is the only way I can escape from the old bag
Still at least she’s looking after Mitzi our Chihuahua
We arrive at the airport just in time ….
Marcie walks ahead in a cloud of Chanel No 5 perfume
To me it smells like cat’s pee
but if it was good enough for Marilyn Monroe she HAS to wear it
Unfortunately I had chosen the only trolley with the wonky wheel
That darn trolley has a mind of it’s own … it must be a female!
The electric doors open and close like see through curtains
I struggle with a mountain of three suitcases, but only one is mine
And half of MY case is taken up with five pairs of Marcie’s shoes
Tell me guys
Why does a woman have to pack the kitchen sink ‘just in case’
One small suitcase is FULL of her make up
Gee I hope she remembered to pack the trowel with which to apply it!
At the check in desk we discover one of the cases is overweight
Yes … you guessed it – its mine with all her bloody shoes in it
I have to stump up thirty-five dollars in excess baggage fees!
What a great way to start a relaxing break...
When we board the plane things are no better
Marcie moans about the cramped seats
She has to ask for a seat-belt extension
telling the stewardess the seats are smaller than those the last time we flew
Maybe if she lost a few pounds that would make a difference …
But of course I hold my tongue
Marcie moans about the noise as we take off
She moans about the aircraft food but still eats every mouthful
She complains how tiny the toilet stalls are
her huge butt doesn’t help but I hold my tongue
As we are landing she says how much she misses her mom and the dog
THAT WAS THE FINAL STRAW
Next year Marcie and her mum can go away
I’m staying at home with the dog!
06-12-17
FORESKINFEDORA FOR POETS WHO IDENTIFY AS MEN
Sponsored By John Lawless
my feet smell
my nose runs
my heart breaks
my tongue is tied
my liver is chopped
my brain is cramped
my spare rib is missing
my throat harbors a frog
my sweet tooth is craving
my eye teeth need glasses
my funny bone isn’t laughing
my athlete’s foot lost the race
my sense of humor is twisted
my heel ran back to Achilles
my ear drum lost its rhythm
my pinky broke its promise
my mouth has a foot in it
my toes are hammered
my fingers are crossed
my lips are sealed
my fever broke
my breath is short
I’m long in the tooth
I can’t see eye to eye
the bridge of my nose is narrow
Call the Doctor!
THAT I have tried and succeeded is only in great measure
That you have been there with all my fears and displeasure.
Holding my cramped heart and swollen hands is how you have
Saved both my mind and spirit – the soul; still intact down
By the emptying rivers that lead to unexpected consequences.
And to weep while watching the death of a perfect day and to
Realize that birth was only half that day ago is sobering:
We watch each other’s eyes while laying on our sides and
Breathing in cadence I tell you that I am a fortunate peasant
And you the Queen who has welcomed by Ghosts.
:: 07-12-2017 ::
Caught in a Trashcan
Kevin Davis 1969-2026
Caught in a trashcan,
While looking for a wishing well,
Wondering what I should do —
Should I leave or stay like I am?
The metal walls are narrow,
But they echo with my name,
And somewhere past the rim of this
A wider sky is waiting.
I’m dusty from the falling,
But my heart still knows its spell —
The one that turns a broken place
Into a story I can tell.
So maybe I climb upward,
With scraped hands and a trembling stand,
And trade this dented hiding place
For the open of the promised land.
But first I breathe the silence,
Let the rust and shadows speak,
For even here in cast-off dark
There’s wisdom in the bleak.
I trace the dents around me,
Each a memory of impact made —
Proof that even metal yields
When something brave won’t fade.
A breeze slips through the opening,
Carrying hints of somewhere new,
And though the climb is vertical,
My thoughts begin to lift me too.
I picture what awaits me —
Not perfection, not a throne,
Just ground that isn’t borrowed,
And a sky that’s finally my own.
So, I rise, slow but certain,
Letting fear fall from my hands,
And step into the daylight’s reach
Where possibility expands.
And when I glance behind me,
At the can that held my fall, I nod —
not out of longing,
But gratitude for standing tall.
For every cramped beginning
Has a horizon at its end,
And every battered vessel
Can become a lifelong friend.
I was born to a city. Once was that city,
grout and soot were my bloodline
I was in it that city, and it was in me,
my eyes were hundreds of windows,
thousands of street lamps.
I was hoodwinked and bounded
by the hoops of an encircling blight.
My child-body an extension of docks,
cranes and wharfs,
of grey schools on the drizzling corners
of grayer days, small narrow shops
on dreary cramped streets, roads strewn
with the detritus of poverty, all an adjunct
of my urban milieu.
I never imagined that another city existed,
one unknown to the drab and mean byways.
I felt I was the scaffolding of that place
and that which I did not belong to
was beyond my view.
I was the glue of my own stark world.
It was then a shock
when they said I was to be moved
to the country.
I wanted to ask - What country,
what manner of place
could my cityscape fit into?
Little by little, brick by brick
I shed the cement filled hollows
while a newer me
shorn of the pasts teaming crush
sought higher acres.
Green pastures taught me to fly
far from of that self
I was leaving behind.
Original Haiku by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: haiku, original, sky, breath, existence, night, dark, darkness, leaf, autumn, fall, leaves, universe, beauty, loneliness, night, stars, moon
should the sky fall,
let my last breath
praise Your existence
—Michael R. Burch
It ever was night,
yet in the darkness I found you,
shining, bright.
—Michael R. Burch
a last leaf
clinging to life
declines to fall...
—Michael R. Burch
the Universe,
dazzled by her beauty,
swoons.
—Michael R. Burch
Loneliness engulfs me
like an immense night
void of stars.
—Michael R. Burch
Crow
perched quizzically on scarecrow:
natural comedian!
—Michael R. Burch
Autumn leaves
swirling:
dreams aloft & imperiled
—Michael R. Burch
struggle to fit
into cramped too-small shoes:
tiny haiku
—Michael R. Burch
your easy smile
brightens the day
natural as wildflowers
—Michael R. Burch
a single silver leaf
on the old oak tree:
autumn moon
—Michael R. Burch
Get me out of my head, it's getting tight and cramped in here
A sought solution for remorse and unexplainable fear.
Thoughts interwoven with sadness come to the fore
As the brain tries to compute this near impossible chore.
Hope and exuberance, wastefully binned
Like a snowball in hell or a Candle in the Wind.
Get me out of my head, for its not the place I want to be
Desire for a one-way ticket to a floating rock in the sea.
Try as you may to find some solution,
Alas, in vain, due to the mind's pollution.
Years of mental neglect with the ignorance of knowledge.
Instead your convinced of your own cut off college.
Get me out of my head, I no longer like the company.
A free house for post-traumatic events to subtly sneak up on me.
Let's see what tomorrow brings, for it can be no worse.
Let's look for redemption whilst entering the final verse.
For it's you and you alone that can remove that impending dread.
By calmly and gracefully removing yourself from your head.
At a nearby butcher shop
hens cramped up in a small cage
with barely space to move
I felt like shouting "If I do this to you?"
Husband stopped me. He has job to do
He can't build a farm for them
A poet's hands are tied
I wish I could go beyond writing
In Bangalore zoo birds in cages
Animal in big jails all caged since birth
Hippopotamus in stagnant water
All enjoying, no one feeling their agony
I felt their pain,
Their desire for freedom
Felt like shouting "If I do this to you?"
My son stopped me
A poet's hands are tied
I wished I could go beyond writing
Saw people dumping metal can in water at beach
Felt like shouting, "If I do this to your house?
Ever thought about aquatic animals?"
Family stops me
A poet's hands are tied
I wish I could go beyond writing
Environmentalist giving speech
Using plastic water bottle, leather purse and private car
Merely talking not acting
Felt like shouting "Practice what you preach"
I merely get up and walk off
A poet's hands are tied
I wish I could go beyond writing
A poet is emphatic to agony that abounds
A nature lover, feels for the depleting surrounds
His analytical mind questions everything around
I wish poets hands were not bound
I wish poets did something beyond writing
We poets should start an organisation
And work towards betterment of every ill around
We are the most empathetic people around
09.06.2021
For Kai Michael Neumann, The Poet's Hands Are Tied
Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers listen
through touch,
they become deeper, more blunted,
a vibration of mallets.
Frown the brow,
push the plow
make music drive a steamroller.
His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into the whittled stems of goose quills.
Augers, grinders, and rotary tillers
are rendered into themes and motifs.
Wrecking crews hum and stamp,
tables thump out allegro dissonance.
Into this din and demolition
comes a heavy sonata
the hard-nosed 'Hammerklavier'
bulldozing a blunt pathway
into cramped 19th century streets,
where in the absence of safety barriers,
all but one turns a deaf ear.
There is no escape from strange morning whims,
when irritation causes numbness in my limbs.
Dawn has become an unwelcome nemesis,
rage for sunrise an uncontrollable genesis,
disturbing the peace of my silent reverie,
tormenting all that is felt as sensory.
I despise the chirping of hungry birds,
so intrusive as they sing in their herds.
Echoing like chisels chipping at my head,
feeling chained to the corners of my bed.
I seek no pardon for my profanity,
these moods are ***ing with my sanity.
I search for signs of positivity,
but daylight always triggers my sensitivity.
Mind slices my thoughts through dissections,
as I hold my head craving for soundless reflections.
Sluggish eyes with black bags and static lips,
cringe at the mirror as reality grips,
washing away a contradictive smile,
without harmony my life is too much of a trial.
Thinking f*** my life through censored cries,
I don't even have the strength to roll my eyes.
Is there a diagnosis for this prognosis?
Or will I forever be in this state of hypnosis?
I’m neither depressed nor suppressed,
in this cramped compression of distress.
I’m anxious attempting to figure it all out,
stumbling across worn voices begging to shout.
Those explosive beats from poisonous roots,
soften my crumbling knees like rotten fruits.
All I can think is,
“oh please, cut that crap”
battling my demons, before I finally snap.
As my mind bleeds like a demented creep,
I no longer require the desire to speak.
As talk is cheap,
can’t you see all I need is sleep.
To forever restrict my emotions before I weep.
Tired of being a puppet with twisted strings,
I hope these pills can tame my mood swings.