Long Degrees Poems
Long Degrees Poems. Below are the most popular long Degrees by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Degrees poems by poem length and keyword.
We strive for the norm.
We don’t dare deviate,
for fear of rejection
from parent, peer, or schoolmate.
If you do, you’ll be labeled
weirdo, kook, or quack.
People may point at you
or talk behind your back.
But what, exactly,
defines normal, anyway?
Is it in the way we look
or in the things we say?
Do we have a formula
to measure by degrees
the ability to “fit in”
with the greatest of ease.
But me, I don’t care
if you think I’m a freak.
I’d rather be myself
than boring or meek.
So you think I’m flaky?
I’d prefer to say,
I’m eccentric, quirky,
and unique in every way!
So don’t act your age.
Go dye your hair blue.
Have some fun, laugh out loud,
and to yourself, be true!
Gray wolf follows in the snow
Gets angrier as degrees begin to fall
Ice makes a coat of armor on the fur
As their leader he joins the pack in action
The hunt begins not simply out of malice
Wolves kill because of hunger when they kill
No food for weeks creates a monsters nature
Temperatures below zero makes them fierce
Howls break the chill through deadly silence
Sharp white teeth come out with growls at night
Reminds them of life's fragility when food is scarce
Savagery sets in with Winter frost
Weaving through the pines they stalk
Trappers rest innocently without a guard
Wood fire warms, comforts those who trust
God watches over everything at dusk
The attack begins by moonlight calm
Wolves jerk their heads from left to right
Ripping out hearts and lungs
Gray wolf is first to dine tonight
With raw power by design on steady footing
The camp site smells of coffee mixed with iron
Drenched in blood, wolves devour everyone
Peaceful sleepers never knew what hit them
Time froze solid over crystal ledges
Not withstanding planetary degrees of cold
Eroded ages in deep space remain
Below zero beyond the inner planets
A pure white landscape far away
Fixed in the void a world displaced
Through no fault of its own
Ice geysers spew forth from tectonic force
Debris escapes through thin atmospheres embrace
As the rings of Saturn part
No gravity to hold it back from endless dark
Sacred worlds, engineered by natures magic
Reminded of Earth's past without the people
Religion, caskets, cold graves and catacombs
Back on the home planet are gone or frozen
It seems so long ago
Brought in from the cold on dim candles glow
Before the age of matches lit the way
In the age of Renaissance, intelligence grew
With colorful flowers, warm hues and daring fragrances
Lifted enlightenment to bloom
Soon there would be rockets in the future
History holds nothing back not even floods
Love of exploration and science are not taboo
To build a future
Divine intervention fits in small crevasses
In hour glasses devoid of population
Sand can not keep up with time
Plenty of ice though fills in unknown zones
So many barren worlds stand out there alone
Planets move fast, stretch on vast distances
Far from the sun
Measure out frost in the cosmos cold and long
Engineering inventions will do
The way, the truth, the light
Replacing catacombs and candles
Hope springs eternal in the depth of space
Where lights flicker, ashamed to go out of place
Cosmic storms rain on with asteroids
Manufactured in the void
Where it is always cold
Ice Planet roams alone
Awaiting an encounter
Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.
Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go –
glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me -
son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam.
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.
CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018
The missus brings me high test coffee...
A cold wintry January 53rd, 2021
at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque snow covered landscape
safely ensconced within Unit B44,
we (yours truly and wife)
occupy bedroom and
television room respectively
comfortably numb and toasty warm
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
courtesy climate controlled environment.
I practice crafting poetry
(seeking posthumous fame)
while the spouse busies herself
channel surfing putting
down remote control
after espying satisfactory movie
(Fatal Attractions),
about which she knows
every single detail,
and can rattle offer personal tidbits
about cast of actors and actresses.
Aforementioned regular routine
predictable until
onset rites of spring,
where warm weather perfect balm
to allow, enable and provide
antidote to existential woes
coping with being quarantined,
though sensing optimism
regarding president Joe Biden
green lighting living social pursuits
possibly revisiting
following favorite pastime.
Recalling contra dancing
as palliative against bashfulness
life as high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo… agent tulle nudge, yes
my mother over mollycoddled
then uprooted me
mein kampf familiar
bedrock level road terrain,
which venue offered groundswell
to blossom forth into
golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise,
(an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from moors of formality
lit figurative saint elmo’s
Sesame Street Big Bird
winging fiery dance
allowing, enabling and
providing shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzfeeding like yellow jacket
liberating spontaneity
that je ne sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward pollination
healthy packing heat overflowing
testosterone bin laden well nigh
erupting pistol (stay man)
toward opposite gender,
whereby bravado donned as key
to hoe field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally
rooted rutting squeal!
"BY EVENING MIGHT WE FIND
DELIGHT IN THIS OFFERING
THAT IS WAS FASHIONED TO
HAVE US SATISFIED"
"IT IS TO INSPIRE A TASTE THAT IS UNIQUE AND RIGHT
SOMETHING A PALETTE WISHES TO TASTE"
ONE 3 POUND BRISKET(BEEF)
SALTED AND PEPPERED
COOK FOR FOUR HOURS AT 250 DEGREES, UNTIL
THE ROAST IS RARE ( RED) IN THE CENTER.
REMOVE FROM OVEN AND ALLOW TO COOL.
IN A LARGE PAN MIX,
1/3 CUP OF TABASCO SAUCE
1 CUP OF LEMON JUICE
1/2 FISH STOCK
4 TABLESPOONS OF LIQUID SMOKE
1/3 CUP OF CRUSHED GARLIC
1/4 CUP OF CHOPPED GINGER
1/4 UP OF ONION POWDER
5 CUPS OF RED WINE
1/2 WORCHESHIRE SAUCE
1 CUP OF OLIVE OIL
1 CUP OF POMEGRANATE MOLASSES
2 CUPS OF POMEGRANATE JUICE
BRING TO A BOIL, IN A LARGE PAN WITH A COVER, PLACE MEAT AND MARINADE. ALLOW TO MARINADE OVER NIGHT.
BY MORNING YOU'LL HAVE A SWEET TENDER BEEFY ROAST. TO SERVE WARM IN OVEN BRINGING THE TEMPERATURE OF THE ROAST TO
WARMISH HOT ( ABOUT 130 DEGREES
SLICE AND SERVE WITH POTATOES, OR USE AS MEAT FOR SANDWICHES.
YOU CAN USE LAMB, OR PORK. WHEN USING PORK COOK UNTIL THE PORK IS NEARLY DONE. MARINADE AND RETURN THE PORK TO THE OVEN TO FURTHER COOK THE ROAST.
A SWEET SWEET PIE FOR YOUR PLATE'
3 CUPS OF CHOPPED PEACHES (FRESH)
1 & 1/2 CUP CHOPPED ALMONDS
2 CUPS OF DRIED APPLES (CHOPPED)
1 CUPS OF DRIED FIGS(CHOPPED)
1 CUP OF DRIED BANANA
2 CUPS OF COCONUTS
1/2 CUP OF BOURBON ( 3 TABLESPOONS OF VANILLA EXTRACT)
1 CUP OF COCONUT MILK
1 CUP OF COLA
1 CUPS OF SUGAR
IN A POT ADD 1 CUP OF SUGAR 3 EGG YOLKS AND 2/3 CUPS OF BUTTER. MIX AND STIR UNTIL SMOOTH ADD BOURBON COCONUT AND COLA, WARM MIXING TO CREATE A SMOOTH MIXTURE. REMOVE FROM HEAT, ADD REMAINING INGREDIENTS. ADD TO A PIECRUST AND BAKE UNTIL THE CRUST IS BROWN, ALLOW TO COOL, SERVE WITH STRAWBERRIES AND WHIPPED CREAM.
Today was thirty-five degrees,
But cherry trees were blooming
And daffodils have opened,
Right on time, I am assuming.
The sunshine helped offset the temps
So blossoms felt that yearning
To cover all the branches
As the season’s slowly turning.
Most folks were bundled up and yet,
Some short sleeves started showing,
On those who did not mind the fact
That biting winds were blowing.
Since springtime has arrived, it doesn’t
Matter if it’s chilly,
For Nature’s plan does not let
Sprouting happen willy-nilly.
Occasionally, there’s a frost,
But most plants keep surviving
And soon enough, some warmer days
Will keep them gaily thriving.
The city looks so pretty now
And it’s just the beginning,
Yet everybody out there
Couldn’t stop themselves from grinning.
We don't talk about it
Since hands upon the clock have ceased to move
When minutes creep, on skittish feet
The walls grow small~
By blue degrees, she drowns slowly
Waiting on skies which never clear
While she cuts holes in paper souls
Calling pain by prettier names
She is not invisible
Although she is unseen~
Cloudy skies have beauty, too
Dappled in blue's infinite base
But all the sunlight is full of smoke
Frost tipped flowers of summers fled
Into the wind of oblivion
Melancholy lullabies
Scattered like coins down wishing wells
Price of paradise
She lies and says that she is fine
When truth is too fearful to seek~
Here lies the grave of innocence
Guarding roses of agony
Too brief a heaven to reside
In vastness
We shall lie
Under a thousand eyes~
I am full
Of emptiness
The silence
Of severed hope
Sinking to
The floor of futility
Under the toll
Of heaven's weight
Distract my dark thoughts
New moon's amnesia
As the ground
Falls off my feet...
Her epitaph, an unsent letter~
It takes more sight
Than you would see
To love the soul
That belongs to me.
3/21/21
Fragments of Verse contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
I wade into my creek...
I wade into the Prairie
Crayfish scuttle about my feet
I can feel its slippery algaed rocks
slide perilously under my feet.
The sun is high
90 degrees, even in shade
in this stiffling July heat
Not a creature is stirring
anywhere above this rippling creek
Not a bird, not a bug
Only me and only me.
The noonday sun
turns its pools
into lighter shades of bronze
tinged with some copper
Leached from its bed
of slippery stones
Copper mixed with mud.
The water pulls at me...
Pulls at me...
Tries to pull me from my feet...
But its wet coolness
keeps its hold of me
Coolness versus heat
and I wade on...
Although I know that somewhere
Somewhere closer than I think
in the deepest, darkest pools
A snapping turtle or two lie waiting...
Jaws of iron in this creek.
I still wade on...
(January 21, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the number of churches he attended?
Or the diapers he has changed
Is it the child he had to discipline
Or the one he constantly praised?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the hours he clocked in
Working for the Man
Is it the sacrifices he has made
Leaving callouses on his hands
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the times he said please and thank you
Or the birthdays he has missed
Is it the vows he's kept or broke
Or the women he has kissed?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the time spent doing hobbies
Or the hours watching TV
Is it the home he built for his family
Or the scars on his hands and knees?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the degrees hanging on his wall
Or the empty praise he got
Is it the knowledge that he gained
But then soon forgot?
The measure of a man
Is not what he says or does
It's not the money he amasses
Or the great deeds he thinks he's done.
The measure of a man is hidden
It is what he is at his core
The measure of a man can be anything
But the true meaning of a man is hidden
Deep in his very core
It is being true to himself
That he can be that much more!!!