Long Curve Poems
Long Curve Poems. Below are the most popular long Curve by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curve poems by poem length and keyword.
Razzle dazzle you silly climate man,
You have lost your reputation,
You sided with an alien clan,
Who dangled a temptation.
The alien planet lies in a galaxy far away,
It kept appearing night and day,
In a slimy, persuasive, evil way,
Razzle dazzle, one day you will pay.
But what did they tempt him with,
This of course is just a myth,
That he would be king of trillions
Of galaxies, not only millions.
Your attitude seems to want to stay,
But we don’t want that, so we pray,
Don’t cry crocodile tears now,
The damage is showing, 45 degrees wow.
Hey Mr. Climate pirate, we are frying,
People, animals and plants are dying,
Will you zip back to us, amongst the good,
And come back to your hood.
Yes I will, I am so sorry planet earth,
And promise your great length and girth,
That only you guys will i serve,
In my eternal life, I took a wrong curve.
He took his temperature every day,
And told the truth, he did not stray,
No longer a climate pirate but a friendly cartoon,
And the world would learn this soon.
How mighty did she stand
tall and regal, stately on the land
within her branches stretched
a view along the earth's great edge
in the curve unseen lay God the architect;
but life itself is dealt within shadowed joy and tears
and the girth and sinew of more than two hundred years
birthed young saplings from the profusion of acorn seeds;
that acorn grows to saturate an earth that bleeds
bound tight, secure and snug
beneath the coverlet of earthen rugs
renewed and replenishing the gifts of life
burdened with the memories of old man winter's wife
who embellished the forests of day and night
but polluted rivers, mountains, seas- the creations of humanity
dwindle regrowth and its expediency
until surprise and recognition at last falls
the last acorn of time's concrete walls.
Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
And I've lost my little old mind
Been cruising along and all of a sudden
Wham! You hit me from behind
Behind the great walls of secrecy
Lost my ability to observe
Like how our lives had gotten along
Since life threw us both a curve
We drifted apart, without knowing why
Sadly we each took different turns
It matters not coz you're with me again
In spirit, oh so I did yearn
To relive those days, those halcyon days
Days that were free of care
I'm floating on air, as I sing a love song
It's more than my poor heart can bear
Sadly time has changed many things
From the sweetest times I recall
But just to know that you love me still
They're the sweetest words of all
Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
And I've lost my little old mind
The shapes conform together;
each new curve fits in a curve.
Then many times, with haste, a piece is placed
which does not fit, and somehow, jars the rest.
More hours consumed- revising what was done.
Once again we straighten them;
reconstruct the missing scenes.
Though day by day, year after year it's worked,
so slowly forms the image that's been planned.
And often, when the challenge seems too great,
then it's put away from sight;
next new start falls into place
to quickly strengthen sharpness for the game.
With competence, we choose each fitting piece
and slow but sure, the shapes are interlocked;
each, a portion of the whole,
builds our everlasting scene.
Then, all that's hoped before the colors fade,
the portrait of our finished dream, well-made;
assembled, done, life's masterpiece revealed.
Shapes are firmly interlocked;
our life puzzle, now complete.
March 7, 2018
I want to be with you all of the time.
I'll rub and caress you to keep that shine.
When I feel the aura of your bright glow,
Helios you're for me, I 'm certain, I know.
All day I dream to come home to you each night
to feel supple leather wings hold me tight.
Although you are mine, I bought you out right,
I am only your steward to all in sight
Oh how I love your strength and raw power,
your color and sheen a brilliant golden shower.
The curve of your hood and slant of your hatch,
oh, they satiate an itch that no other can scratch.
Pressing the pedal I free four hundred horses.
I am thrown back and cradle by strong G-forces.
I firm my grip on your black wheel and shifter.
I ready for your speed you bad ass ripper.
Through valleys low and canyons deep
I savor each thrust, each turn, oh the benefits I reap.
I never want to go home just want to be free,
owning the roads of this nation, Helios and me.
I am one hypocrite, imperfectly
I am all edges, no single curve
So rough all around, so badly wrong.
I like the positive, never to do
I say all that I should, none ever true
I step on every toe, I am the brute!
I am one evil mind, alas I am
I scheme all that I can, sleek, evil plans
What is the need? In here, no good is found.
But I’m sorry, each time I break the line
In tears and anger, every blessed time
And I despise at once the shameful crime
Would it ever change anything inside?
If after death one’s corpse would start to cry,
Could it draw any grace close, right beside?
I could but scrape my knees to beg for hope
I beg just for grace, not karats of gold.
I beg each time that my prayer would hold.
One hypocrite; imperfect, always would cry
Would beg for mercy, would forever try,
Though I be called a fool, and termed “unwise”.
Dominic A. Ami 03/04/2013
I am one hypocrite.
Form:
Lucky, the lattice of friendships thrown across time’s long curve—
shared laughter still ringing in the hollows we carved,
wild tales we hoard like pocketed stones, warm from the hand.
The first hello thins to a ghost now, faint as chalk on pavement after rain.
Two boys then, wide-eyed as new calves, blinking at the world’s glare.
I trace the years backward: from that pair to a ragged chorus of five,
each addition a door flung open, a shout across gardens.
We still miss the small, hesitant rap at the frame—
timid as a held breath, hopeful as first light.
There on the step, heart a trapped bird against ribs,
“Can he come out? Tell him the ball—” the plea half-swallowed,
then vanished indoors at the call of plates, the steam of stew,
gulped down fast, then out again, spilling into dusk like water from cupped hands.
Let us not surrender the feral children we carried inside us—
kings of cracked kerbs and sun-dappled alleys, our realm decreed
by nothing grander than speed and the next game.
It will not circle back. That knowledge settles like frost
on the morning the knock never answered,
and the door stayed shut, sealing the kingdom we lost.
Stop and smell the roses even if they aren't there
Stop and smell the flowers even if they are dead or bear
Stop and smell the roses because each petal has a different scent and every curve is a masterpiece, like a Renaissance painting
Pass by a rose and you may miss a lifetime
Pass by a daisy and you may lose your smile
Pass by a sunflower and your nightmares could start to become a sad reality
Appreciate what you take for granted or your heart will hibernate instead of bloom
There's a simplistic complexity that is painted to the curves of every rose
How can something so small hold so much beauty
When you can answer this you're eyes can truly see, your heart will smell grace, your ears can feel the future
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so what do you let your eyes hold
Whatever it is, remember before you get too old
Enjoy the event of a white rose
p.s. don't let the world distract you from the paintings on the petals...
She was happy to hear that drizzles
had made the pollen more tollerable.
She had been saddened by the large amounts of pollen
that made herr eyes red and caused her
to sneeze. Blowing into her bassoon became
a chore
due to the fact her nose was sore and sneezing
bothered her.
When the rains began she smiled:
she wiped
the dust and pollen off the table and floors
and made the whole area a great smelling place
by using lavender with it's great smell.
She remarked a cocuss tree had fallen to
be created into this beautiful bassoon.
I had made such sad sounds with
my instrument.
Now with the pollen gone
and me happy I can play a happy tune
and honor
the cocuss tree which had been felled
that I might have this beautiful baSSOON.
tHE STRAWBERRIES SHALL BE FAT AND SWEET WITH
THE GREAT WEATHER WE HAVE.
i SHALL BE HAPPY AND FULL OF GLEE
EATING THESE LOVLY
FRUITS.mY SWIMSUIT SHALL HUG
EACH CURVE OF MY BODY
AS i SUNBATH
THERE i SHALL REST
AND RESTORE MY
HAPPINESS AND REHERST MY
MUSIC.
tHESE SONGS SHALL TELL THE TALE
OF MY DOUBTFULNESS AND BOUT WITTH
THAT MEAN OLD POLLEN
nOW THAT i AM HAPPY i SHALL
GET GUIUTAR AND DRUMS
AND FLUTES TO PLAY
AMSIT THESE PROFESSIONAL MINDED FOLK!
wRITTEN BY:
TENTION DE PUTAIN LA FEMME À LA CHATTE PHAT
A.K.A;Aliénor Aurélie Jeu de Selle
Bassoon player extraordinaire
From the Book
" Heart Broken Men"
by Doppa Dolce Meatus
A Tale of Music Composer
Changing the Way we Veiw the Instruments
we Use.
Why is thee bassoon assocated with Sadness.
I walked in there and there they were
The Lyre and The Flute
a Composers misunderstanding of
who he loves.
The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…
Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk
I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing
A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark
___________________________________________
"Write A Backwards Poem"