Long Cycling Poems
Long Cycling Poems. Below are the most popular long Cycling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cycling poems by poem length and keyword.
Death
kills not despair
emotion found in Hell
nor does it kill wrath
against life imperfect
kills driver's chance
instead
to turn wheel
to gratitude gear
before bodyless
descent
down
slippery slope
of no return
all stays static
in Hell
no need for change
in boring hell
only the perfect
ends there
life changes
from imperfect
to imperfect
teethless to toothless
biting teeth of winter ice
to birds' alarm chatter
stinking flowers
nourishing wasps
to blistering heat
of sun caprice
till autumn thief
robs trees
dry
men to cows
parasites
helpless baby
senseless pa
ignorant mass
mediocre at best
leaving carbon
footprints
and nothing else.
Elite's wealth
will rid earth
of the useless:
pestilence, wars,
famines, GMO's
contraception, abortion
secret weapons
of mass destruction
nuclear blasts,
perfected by nerds
to kill the herd.
Devil dimmed eyes
don't you see
it's suicide?
Nature won't stay deaf
adding its toll
to death
revenging blood
unjustly shed
shaking mountains
out of lap
sneezing objects
down from sky
clouds dry
no tears left to cry
volcano mouths
erupting
dragon breaths
sea belly vomiting
tsunamis
turning skyscrapers
to dirt
killing with one blast
good and bad.
Humble life
not claiming
to be perfect
content of doing
the correct
to continues God's
life breath on earth
rotating wheel
from baby to caretaker
circle cycling
different each time
light following night
crocus piercing snow
unafraid of dying
from ice
rain and sun
softening heart's clay
for seeds to sprout
melody of spring songs
in azure skies
God's image
of love
shouldering sin
waste
breathing out
life
pears and apples
with God's seeds
perpetual imprint
whispering of peace
its silence
one limb torn
from humanity body
even the stones will cry.
Satan hates life
mortal wound
to his pride
only God
can create and
resurrect life.
God's life breath
not destroyable by death
descends into the abyss
if Holy Spirit's flame
is blown out by sin
or ascends to Paradise
of joy eternal
if forgiven by Jesus Christ.
That is all
that matters
to No-Body
which in time
is everybody.
I can't write nuttin' worth a damn on a full stomach!
Hunger pangs fuel mine poetic juices,
yours truly moost best be famished
resembling lovely bag of bones
beyond irreparable damage
wrought courtesy anorexia nervosa
nevertheless literary masterpieces
one written quick succession after another
profusely gushes forth
unstoppable tsunami surges rhythmically
metaphorically allowing,
enabling, and providing
voluminous water logged noggin
able, ready and willing
to burst infinite outpouring
at Möbius strip cerebral seams.
Hyperbole employed
regarding above attestation
regarding conducive bodily
state to whip out
acceptable, passable and
reasonable rhyming creation
to experience and
witness poetic emancipation,
whereby until the end
of time modest glorification
endowed upon me who
imbues vast majority inspiration
of contemporaries, plus unborn peoples...
imagine renowned said
author wannabe just for kicks
(sinks false teeth
into verboten rotten apple -
oohing and aahing yum zuck)
subsequently vicious rumor affecting
millions future generations
debauched learned primates
inescapably slide into behavioral mosh pit
analogous to eventual
senescent cellular detritus
sloughed off vis a vis keratinization
anyway figuratively swinging around
deftly cycling back thru
imaginary infinite jesting loop
unlikely neither chance fame nor fortune
promises me financial materialization,
nope, not even until hell freezes over,
nor when grim reaper feasts upon
*****sapiens obliteration
witnessing every flora and fauna
molecular repurposing quantification
simulates signifying universal recycling
umpteenth big bang occurrence
erasing all cosmic consciousness
nary trace left behind
encompassing collective satisfaction
since genesis wrought life forms
wherein primitive organisms
begot reproduction fast forward bajillion years
madding crowd punctuated
planet Earth avast urbanization
essentially branding oblate spheroid
viz totally tubular vinyl city westernization.
Clusters of refugee bubbles
Expelled from the side of my tank
Rise expanding in upward travels
Escaped depths, burst at surface
Forging against their vigour
Persuasive stream broken
by my bulky silver body
Interrupting incoming ongoing
Enthusiastic thousands
Spurts of filter flung hum
Tickle my sheer cycling fins
Tell me to nose dive again
Breaking trails of oxygen globes
Until Billy Bully Salmon slices in
Languid flicks follow frantic fro
Gyrating spotty specimen vie
Lunch pellet plops induce swished thrashing
Tumult on top flung untimed as ocean fury
Gaping lips capable of feeding incidentally
Cylindrical home groans, crowded by peers
Graduates from Tank Eight are due soon
To meet with intention, purpose imposed
Sight of orange net scooping candidates
Occasions mayhem, frenzied to catch bus
I surge with the fastest, fattest prime
For my place in net destiny
Overexposed oxygen exhausts me
Begins cressendo to deliver my bounty
Dry eyed tribute to nurtured practice honed
My splatting undulations
boast industry success
Cod calls me to lemon rained plate haven
Farmed fellows raised by deliberation
Egg nursery, microscopic sluge whirls
Infuse infant entire crew with dedication
To feed, to fulfil, crisp silver skin served
If you think eating me equals ocean depletion
You'll be pleased to imbibe controlled science
Take it from me, fat salmon, Raymond
I am desperate to get in your gut!
My reason for existence is to be ravished
Don't reject majestic fish - re-examine
The pearly peach flesh down throat glide
Indulge charitable fridge wrapped salmon
And so we traveled very, very high,
Our destination seemingly to reach
The gathering mist and
Dreary grey sky.
The path rather track that we took,
Could have been misunderstood,
For a stairway to heaven.
Are you going right to the top,
Are you mad to go,
Asked a kind old man with a mop
Of pure white hair, walking his dog.
He seemed to think so.
At every curve we went higher,
I feared we could not travel further,
As the track became even curvier,
Our altitude terrifying,
But still we kept climbing.
I did not utter a sound,
Just accepted that we might die,
And might shortly be heaven bound.
No alternative to be found,
We had to face this rocky terrain.
The mist arrived, low and blanket like,
It was recommended that this
Area was good for a hike,
Or mountain biking,
Perhaps even cycling,
And what about the mist,
Pray tell, I Insist.
We finally reached our rustic
Holiday accommodation,
And destination,
Off the grid,
With feelings of trepidation,
Not a property
For which I would bid.
What a magnificent sight to behold,
We avoided little mounds of sand,
When walking on a gravel path,
Towards our wood cabin,
Cows munched grass outside our door,
A worker, hired as a farm hand,
Covered cow dung with this sand,
Thank God for small mercies,
Hallelujah, hubby said.
The Natal midlands, we will
Visit again, but will stay
on lower Terra Firma
So that we may
Live. to see another day.
Melissa always dreamed of being a beach lifeguard,
But when it got to the age when she asked about it,
She was told she could not because of her eye sight,
Since she is visually impaired and so can't see well.
Whilst studying sports science she found the triathlon,
To be a sport which she could do - a guide sees for you,
And so trained hard every day on a static turbo trainer,
Where you don't need someone to show you the way.
Her swimming background means that she does best,
At the swimming part of the three-disciplined triathlon,
The other components being cycling and running, PT5,
But the honest truth is she really loves the whole thing.
In 2013 in Antalya, Turkey, at the ETU European Champs,
Para-triathlon, Melissa won the hip-hop, most desired gold,
And in 2014 in Kitzbühel in Austria, Melissa won the silver,
At the ETU European Champs, where everybody else was.
2015, and the ETU Europeans again but this time Geneva,
And Melissa took the bronze, then 2016, the Netherlands,
And Melissa bagged another bronze. She teaches swimming,
Was born Nottinghamshire in 1990, and trains in Cornwall.
In Rio she won a bronze and so stood tall on the podium,
When the GB anthem sounded for her and Nicole Walters,
She’s already training hard for the next Paralympic games,
Which are to be held in Tokyo, Japan, in the year 2020.
Inside the water
where they float or sway in their rusting roots
are horse tackle,
buggies,
unhinged parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle, her bones still cycling in the drifting meld
circle squirrel and possum pelts,
The sludge of a dredging flow
tows bodiless pockets of former times.
No one can tell what is missing, what is still surfacing,
what is now lathered into womb-bearing suds.
A wake nibbles banks, it heaps up
headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy,
half drunken sups of rum,
antedeluvian arrow heads,
the painted missing parts of the once and will be.
A momentous loss drifts by, is found by stooping gulls,
their screams almost musical
on a carousel wind.
Under the brittle reeds late summer copulates with
eddy,
churn
and jism.
There are corroding blooms between spent shotshells,
condoms colonize cattails,
belt buckles beckon
to forsaken underwear
that blossom now like pale squid.
The river slops together every wind-plowed recipe,
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.
A backwash seeps moon-spills,
or drives a John Deere deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push each muddy footprint
toward empty shoes,
sunken slippers,
pumps,
loafers and boots
dropped somewhere between Pittsburg and the Mississippi
yet still moving along.
everyone knows
heart telling tales
that get a dog's tail
wagging after being
rescued from abuse
and so the same for
cats and other animals
that grew up or were forced
to grow up on the shady side of
town not meaning out of the sun
but without love so
lizards and birds and
turtles were told that
that's life as Sinatra
croons his song on
and on but this has
become an everyday
event but what about
in dismay that christian
day of present's presence
depending on one's families
economic state where poison
is wrapped to open to release
in the land of well to do bigger
then the life's symbolic tree
yet as festive festive can
only be so long and we
don't share needles so
it's that tree that must
go even though less
then one foot tall
give it the boot but
know you're doing
the right thing be
cause you're re
cycling
so on top
once a star
now it is the
star of garbage
waiting for the truck
to be picked up but
be thrown out with
all the other stuff
but while driving
by my wife spied
a shiver of green
meaning there
must be
life
told to pull over as
she ran over and
coming back
coddling
an ever
green
shhhhh
everything
will be well
while crossing
herself she
crossed our
house's threshold
and sealed the deal
until the ringing of spring
we found ourselves
around a shovel made
hole to hold but not bury
though either way that free
dom was there for that tree
for now
it stands
taller then
you or even
oddly
me
Form:
Cycling amidst the gloom and glee
She pedals the life's tapestry while
People whisper the bad and good thing
She'd lived in her life,
Though lying in sick-bed
No one dared to spare her;
She still held her head high
And nothing changes her mood.
A lethal disease is not a reason,
And she stood her knee to death,
A source of heartache
that bid me in deep within
Poverty isn't the reason
but unreason man: kids and kin,
A cold hearted person,
a living-death that surrounds her made it.
Amara, goddess of life
couldn't hold her still so
Death does us part in a blink of an eye.
Materialistic longing I do not need them,
Empathy and understanding makes man man.
Unity in timely need with little contribution
Would've given her a moment's breath.
A life of love and laughter beside the fire
Will rumble low in all the hearts but not.
Five sons and two daughters hold
Her womb their world
but few showed the concern
Recalling in pain and remorse
Why doesn't love and unity abide?
Golden crown isn't about life but
A heart that held closely tight.
Disunity and death clutches
and grip her breathe
But her fond memories
will forever linger among us.
Written by - Leo Phakhuimi Kashung.
In the vast beauty and diversity
of the reaches of the cosmos
impresses upon us all
the shear minute dust we are
in any comparison
The simplicity of laws
that govern it's most basic
and complex movements
Birth , Life , Death
some would distain this as "circular"
as the patterns in creation are
for all things existing within its confines
the birth , life , death of stars , galaxies
entropy and the recirculation of those elements
into new structures encased
in the womb for new material
apply equally to the diversity of structures
cycling on the little blue marble
seed sprout bush tree seed
seed sprout plant flower seed
seed baby child adult seed
same down onthe cellular level
same down tothe atomic level
and its clock
in a state of perfectly circular self propagation
For those who foolishly accuse us of being
CIRCULAR
Let me explain a simple something
how we measure time in the cosmos
is based on a circular orbital movement of planets
and stars
and as for thinking
are questions seeking answers which just
lead to more questions
and that's the beauty of it
simplicity defines even the most
complex systems that function
right down to the circuit boards for computers
and technology
Mama seals it with Kiss
Keep it simple stupid
anyone who doesn't know
a clock embedded in the universe
has not recognized his own
Ecc 8:17
9:5-10
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Form:
Waited for the sun to go down and the rise of dark
So I could cycle through Joshua tree National Park
My light shone bright, my pedals whirled:
The desert became another world.
(chorus)
I got into the flow got into the groove.
The trees almost seemed to move
The sky was a field of white blue stars
Boulders were like sculptures on a crater in Mars.
A coyote crossed the road, a snake gave a rattle:
I can't stand snakes, I shuddered in the saddle
A car shot by at 60 miles per hour
I swerved into a cactus, at least it had a flower.
No water packed—I had played it cool,
The desert answered: You’re the fool.
I pulled out my cell phone, to call a rescue team
But there was no service, like a bad dream.
So I immersed myself into the eerie sculpture garden
No one to call for help, no one to ask for pardon.
I learned to be a grownup, learned not to cry.
Brought out my inner resources, under that prehistoric sky.
Now I'm back in L.A., where my worth runs cheap,
And the homeless drift and all need sleep,
Where daily life is full of stings,
And scorpions lurk when the doorbell rings.
The politicians promise goodies, but deliver doom
I get claustrophobic, I need more room.
Can't get more obscured, can't get more stark
Might as well ride the desert, in the star studded dark.