Long Crunch Poems
Long Crunch Poems. Below are the most popular long Crunch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crunch poems by poem length and keyword.
Margaritas in a blender,
Sans the lime juice, soon will render
recipes for all-night benders.
It's party time, with fun galore!
Supplies are low; it's time for more.
Against advice, drive to the store,
hit the wall and crunch the fender.
Your girlfriend's car, and she's aghast;
the evening going downhill fast.
Your hookup chances likely passed;
spend the late hours swiping Tinder.
Bombs detonating in your head...
What might that be that's in your bed?
You feel the rising sense of dread,
not so sure about the gender…
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A Zejel, a Spanish form pronounced 'the-hell'.
aaa bbba ccca ddda with 8-syllable lines (not required)
A purely fictional poem based on the pronunciation of the form :-)
I have a small secret love in my life,
A marriage I love to do,
It’s when I use the stapler,
Making one grouped sheet from two.
The heavy duty mechanical,
The straight, to big, to small,
I love the crunch of bending steel,
The papered wedding, I love it all.
And at special times there’s 5 sheets or more,
A bunch to join as one.
Then, when the pile of paper’s so big,
I use the electric staple gun.
My small secret I keep so quiet,
I never want to create a scene.
I just quietly work my job, 9 to 5,
With the photocopy machine.
Written 15th March 2017 on a whim for John Lawless' contest
A crisp brown leaf from the sycamore tree
Silently fell to the ground
It gently lay down amidst more of its kind
Having landed with no hint of sound
How could it know of the silence required
To survive through the night in these woods
I’d crunched one such leaf underfoot in my haste
And fell prey to the people in hoods
The moon though dim, waxing gibbous, I think
Throws monochrome shades in the night
Against this old oak I am helpless and tied
There’s no escape, try as I might
What did they mean, “That’s her gluttony sated”?
No woman I see hereabout
My knees feel weak as shrivelled leaves crunch
And they fail as that dull moon…… goes out
The blades of grass cut through my fingers,
scraping like bone on a chalkboard.
Long days grow longer,
like a Keats sonnet come to life
in the summertime’s furious heat.
Delirious and deliberate, I circle in the sun,
arms outstretched, my head tilted to the ombré sky.
I spin in circles of changing proportions
until my shadow is swallowed by the shade
of the Sycamore trees.
The leaves crunch beneath my feet,
creating a desiccated and delicious aroma
that only comes once a year—
unwavering, unlike your love,
which fluctuates with the tide.
Am I a circle in the sand?
Will I be washed away in time?
Never whole again, as I was in the beginning—
a blank slate lying in wait
until my stars align again.
My existence seems like a timeless tragedy,
ticking away in the harmony of misophonia and me.
I've been reluctantly raised in the arms of trauma,
hiding from the darkness looking over my shoulder.
I place a metaphorical knife under my pillow,
as I fear the biggest bully in my mind's playground.
Sound is like a sadistic samurai slashing at my sanity,
as innocent echoes become the euphonious chant of despondency.
An eldritch echo of anguish triggering anxiety,
a constant conflict between the shadows and the soul,
narrating a sorrowful story in each tear I shed,
but I'm shouting into the void of ignorance,
no one understands why I've bled.
Each breath is like a riddle,
each munch and crunch tasting like monotonous moments of meaningless screeching,
erupting into an earthquake of emotions.
Nobody understands the chaos from within,
thinking I'm a little bit crazy.
I search for a sanctuary where peace meets me at sunrise,
where screams of a sonorous mind are not shattered in fragments of estrangement,
portrayed through the plentiful imagery of pain.
I yearn to live a life mocking butterflies,
to flutter in the flakes of eternal slumber.
begging to lose the blessings of perception,
as all I hear is evil voices chattering from within.
Silence is a poison I'm willing to take,
yet I'm cursed by misophonian lullabies.
I wish to remain isolated within mental muteness,
as I know you will live forever in me.
iron gates -
swing open on rusty hinges
the day cold and windy
the cemetery is old
with rows and rows
of headstones
and massive stone crypts
I love the statues-
weathered beautiful
fall crisp trees bending in prayer
and all the roads intersect
rough and cracked uneven with ruts
leaves brittle orange and red crunch
beneath my meandering feet
inscriptions a la memoire du everywhere
a trickling pond amongst the tombs
oh stop and contemplate the whisper
a gnarled tree protects your rest
the breeze takes my hair and my tears
mother such fathomless love but
your memory
is a dagger in my heart plunging
over and over again-
mother here repose in peace and I
who forever griefs and bleeds
will never let go never is eternity
and here I place a lip kissed
red rose oh the pain of the
grief-stricken _
____________________________________
October 7, 2015
Free Verse
My daughter blessed me,
That's for sure,
She gave me a sweet
Manicure
My fingernails,
Once a delight,
Were long and
Polished every night
By motherhood
I'd trimmed them back
Nail polish, mostly, they did lack
As I washed dishes stack by stack
Imagine now, how I would smile
To be sporting fake nails for awhile
These nails she'd polished just for me
And glued them on so tenderly
The trouble is? They will not stay,
I just lost two this very day!
I found just one, and now feel worry,
Because I just ate in a hurry...
I felt a crunch, and have a hunch
I may have eaten one for lunch
Maybe this fad is not for me
I polished off a nail...
Maybe
? ?
:(
!!!!!!!!!!
=========================================================
clatter-claws scratching drum skins.
Pigeons are the worst. Rose bushes sit quietly all summer
then only after they have lost their heads
do they squeak and squawk all night.
Dry joints crunch down - listening synovial cartilages
stick shift and slip out of gear.
There is the slap-smacking juggle of junk mail
as it flaps its paper wings and falls.
Some sounds remind of…
Dead-spaces clambering up a back wall,
chicken bones rattling on a tin roof,
or deranged harpsichords
goading the moon to shake its yellow faced tambourine.
Some sounds are knuckles cracking under cliffs of silence.
Sleep prods woke ribs till the breaking dawn.
AUTUMN AFTERNOON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
spice cake on the table
aroma wafts through the air
coziness, tranquility
cup of hot cocoa
warms hands
sipping comforts soul
world slows
gone is hurried pace
time takes reprise
sun hangs low
rays cascade down
golden orb sighs
trees stand tall
leaves ablaze
hues of crimson, amber, and brown
air is crisp
hint of chill
warmth in our embrace
meander along winding path
footfalls crunch fallen leaves
autumn’s scent fills the breeze
world goes by
colors change under the sky
autumn charms
revel in this scene
cherish autumn’s fleeting days
winter is on its way
Big Bang exploded on void cosmos
creating Universe in nanoseconds.
Space , Matter, Time started joint journey.
Stellar world continued in Galaxies
Nova, Supernova, Nebulae, in
gaseous plasma on extension:
Quasars, Pulsars, Black Holes in harmony.
Cosmic Evolution running on.
Modern Concept doesn't suggest Universe ,
but Multiverse, rather larger frame work
with multiple separate universes !
Poetic approach to put in Free Verse
Big Bang is the birth of Cosmos
to collapse on Cosmic Death by Big Crunch.