Long Dash Poems
Long Dash Poems. Below are the most popular long Dash by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dash poems by poem length and keyword.
Dreams do not resolve,
They only recall, relive, appall, and gall.
They replay the scenes endlessly,
On loop, over and over again,
With the final chapter,
Be it a happy, sad or left-hanging ending - missing.
The cure to the plague of memories,
Requires a journal written down when awake.
Recording a list of infections, inflammations and cankers,
With their reliefs in portents,
potions, hocus pocus, spells and concoctions,
Written down in the stark light of day.
Read and revived, sipped slowly before shut-eye.
Sometimes with a dash of a 'beg to differ' or two.
Or a sprinkle of withdrawal, pulling back to let was, just be,
Pulling the pin, stepping back, sucking in, retreating,
Chin up and jolly rogered to defuse the angst, stem the rot,
To clear the air and begin again,
Coping!
is there room for the Irish in the good ole USA?
room for the hanging of the greens, Hennessey O’Shay?
we will hang this flag over our tavern on Tuesday.
Irish parade will come by and leave a bit of Celtic our way.
will Father O’Leary listen to the confessions of Stephen and Clay?
will there be a mad dash to the Blarney Stone with a tiny sashay?
believe the hanging of the greens might be here to stay.
is corn beef and cabbage on the menu for Tuesday?
merry and gay, we will dance a lively jig, and Pat's pied piper will play.
famous leprechaun will disappear, with his crock of gold, far away.
paddy mcCullough, is there room for the Irish in the good ole USA?
we will know more on Tuesday during the St. Patty’s day soiree.
I DELIGHT AT HER CURVES
Her curves sparkles in the night
I, beguiled to play with her in delight
Gently, I pick her arch to steady
Deep breath slips, we both are ready
My breath softly tiptoes upon her neck
as I stir her lightly with planted pecks
Over her body, my hands diddle a rondeau
sighs and moans escapes a high and low
Her curves sparkles in the night
I, beguiled to play with her in delight
Gently, I pick her arch to steady
Deep breath slips, we both are ready
Strokes and blows birth tension: a mountain high
focused, for here and now must be a bull's eye
As one, we wind in merry-go-round sweet
the beat we fire boils a dynamite heat
Her curves sparkles in the night
I, beguiled to play with her in delight
Gently, I pick her arch to steady
Deep breath slips, we both are ready
Fragile lass I caress her first class
so as I fiddle and fondle, she in dash
The sounds and feelings bloom more wild
as the movements we shared one big style
Her curves sparkles in the night
I, beguiled to play with her in delight
Gently, I pick her arch to steady
Deep breath slips, we both are ready
She shouts and shouts, while I push and pull
My heart reach atop and my mind a sugar full...
Then, the door's open, mom strides with a frown
saying, "Your violin too loud, shut it down..."
_____________________________________________
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name Love or Hate pick a subject #2
==Placed 4th==
O.E. Guillermo
3:33 pm, March 10, 2015
At the end of each summer day,
while laying there in my bed,
I placed a small transistor radio
under the pillow near my head.
Each night that the Reds did play
I listened to the baseball game;
Joe Nuxhall did the play-by-play -
youngest player ever, adding to his fame.
They were the Big Red Machine;
often in first place;
Pete Rose knocking out another hit;
Dave Concepcion fielding with grace.
Ken Griffey - the father -
roaming the outfield grass;
George Foster hitting home runs;
Joe Morgan sprinting in a dash.
Tony Perez, so consistent;
Cesar Geronimo had the perfect name;
Johnny Bench squatted behind home plate,
catching another game.
Through my little transistor radio,
Marty Brennaman and Joe Nuxhall brought it all to life,
as the sun faded away to darkness
on those hot Ohio summer nights.
And at the end of every night,
Joe Nuxhall would sign off all alone,
saying, "This is the old lefthander rounding third,
and heading his way on home. "
Do you find yourself playing church
More often these days than not
Going through the motions
Only shaking hands with God
Working on your salvation
With religious bolts and stripped out screws
Saying I love you neighbor
But leaving out the Golden Rule
Climbing Jacob's ladder
In your multi-colored worldly coat
Holding tight to your possesions
As you hate to let them go
First in line on Sunday
Dutifully religiously
While every other day of the week
You fail to bend the knee
Your Bible always with you
On the dash or in the back
You hear Jesus loves you somewhere in there
But you're not sure of where that's at
You sing out loud in the crowd
Sometimes even raise your hands
But when they ask for volunteers
You struggle with the yes I can
You have a ton of secrets
At home hidden in a box
Letting them out when you're alone
Because you don't dare keep it locked
Afraid to give that one sin up
Do you find yourself playing church
More often these days than not
Going through the motions
Only shaking hands with God
Woke up at 2:30 this morning with the first stanza in my head and couldn't go back to sleep till I finished it about an hour later...You think God's trying to tell me something?
A pretty dash upon these shores
As waves now clash with room for more
A certain flash hurls insight well
As moments mesh in visual tell
A touch impacts the way words come
As inner tact frames lines that sum
A deeper find now comes to sign
As joy in kind moves and aligns
A sensuous thrill can forge delight
As wordplay grills deep unseen sights
A poignant dance as music curls
Fond happy trance of thought that hurls
A time to think upon soul quest
As poise now links sheer festive zest
A choice of feel can surely thrill
A broken will to mend and heal
A space to find true peace of mind
Beyond mere signs the truth you find
Leon Enriquez
10 September 2017
Singapore
Hear what you hear,
Strange voices call;
Faintly yet clear,
Pain knows odd gall.
Odd laughter pounds,
Echoes now hint;
To flood old grounds,
With distant mint.
Soul on the verge,
Glimpse of new space;
Ripples now merge,
Sense a blur trace.
In the sex act,
Churn of new quest;
Love wears a tact,
A brand new fest.
Look and you'll see,
Notice the feel;
What may yet be,
Streams from twin wills.
Wait thus in time,
For rhyme to niche;
Here void can mime,
Watch oomph enrich.
Cluster of cells,
As a new strain;
In time to dwell,
As place marks plain.
Whirl of new waves,
Thrill time and space;
A new soul brave,
New birth to grace.
A certain still,
In floating ooze;
A happy fill,
In bubbly snooze.
Nature knows best,
The dance that saves;
Sense ample fest,
Flame in fluid cave.
If you must know,
Psalm of new seed;
A spark now grows,
Watch grandeur feed.
Play of fine take,
In a womb dark;
Feel lovely make,
A living spark.
Flesh from deep flesh,
A deeper dance;
Astronaut dash,
In growing trance.
Rush of new day,
Light within light;
A mindful way,
Glimpse of insight.
Feel your way here,
Come with wise grace;
A time for cheer,
Prize fond embrace.
Leon Enriquez
30 October 2017
Singapore
When sky born laughter a strained ode construed,
soaks up the pale rust yellow foliage,
visual feast pursuit awhile imbued,
An early morning spell I might engage,
while breathing in the faraway sea chill,
one awe struck heart dweller in brief passage
Of sunlight and fraught tree trunk on the hill,
cheep and chirp road noise lifting sluggish heart,
I peer awakened from my window sill
On dockland, wharf or pier an eerie start,
seagulls flap their wings in gray formation,
as town dwellers boldy dash and dart
What joy to feel in summer pure elation,
cusp of dawn entanglement as glee,
passing noonday flux an aberration
A comet’s blazing trail now lodged on earth,
symbol, metaphor, this rousing figment,
cusp of dawn entanglement as top glee,
human July throng in our element
LESSONS (In Memorium:
Mervyn T Rodrigues, RIP, Dec 30, 2020;
Our Form Teacher, 4Science2, Class of 1971,
St Joseph’s Institution, Singapore)
~~~~~~~~~
Said and done
Glimpse of smart ones
A brilliant batch
A serious catch
Four Science Two spawned:
Sheer flavours fond!
We grow up
Fill our own cups
A path calls each
To live brief reach
Aim our best shot:
Quest our sweet lot!
~~~~~~~~~
A fond trace
On a good face
Wit forged a style
That winsome smile
With a shrewd charm:
A stern kind arm!
An odd lot
Bore play and plot
No time for gloom
In that classroom
In the back row:
I felt so slow!
~~~~~~~~~
Old school days
Echoes now stray
Lessons on Lit.
Shakespeare did fit
Form teacher then:
Words well-spent friend!
A sure cite
Essays to write
Long ago chimes
Mellow old times
Lost old school mists:
Death files last gist!
~~~~~~~~~
In quick flash
Age brought swift dash
We recall when
Fifty years then
Echoes of old:
Form teacher bold!
Now and here
Glimpse old times cheer
PE once stroked
Antics and jokes
Success wrought best:
Joy in full fest!
~~~~~~~~~
All too soon
Life’s last high noon
Gone beyond cheer
As death draws near
Grief comes to call:
Sweet turns to gall!
Loss frames toll
Sad words cast poll
A farewell note
A “Thank You” vote
Rest in peace Sir:
We feel sad blur!
~~~~~~~~~
That olde school
Now museum cool
Bras Basah Road
Old echoes load
School days long gone:
Old passage borne!
Tryst with fate
Here at the gate
Mister R‘s wit
We recall bits
A curious time:
SJI chimes!
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 January 2021
Singapore
Smiling recollections,
summer evening reflections, now
almost gone for new generations
while my venues of childhood musings
and adolescent anticipations
...near extinction.
I must concede my willingness to share
what they will never recall
- the exhilaration
when Dad would pronounce,
"We're going to the drive-in tonight".
A creature double feature,
"The Blob" and "I Was a Teenage Werewolf",
both Feep worthy presentations,
fantasmically speaking.
The impatience for dusk was matched
with the rush of a 10 minute intermission
and, while spotlights played on the
darkened screen, cardboard pizza,
Buttercup popcorn, hockey puck hamburgers,
soggy steamed dogs, and french fries,
were greedily consumed for more
than the price of admission.
Hood ice cream cups with flat wood spoons
for dessert, then back with only
one minute 'til SHOWTIME to the
mosquito safe car where "Pic" coils
repelled the infestation while smoldering
on the glove box door - mesothelioma be damned!
Then, if we didn't escape with an
early exit dash, were caught
in the dust and chaos of the only
late night traffic jam in town.
And...years later, those teenage
trysts, without permission - I'll never tell
what movie?
But, always remember "Gourmet Confessions"!