Long Dinged Poems
Long Dinged Poems. Below are the most popular long Dinged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dinged poems by poem length and keyword.
My drinks enticing and sweet
On a chair in the middle of the street
My little floaters been dinged
Toiling waves the edges singed
The wood alive with roaring flame
Waters pulsing like a broiling brain
The cars flow downriver like syrup
I float on my raft with an empty cup
My chair can't sink among the heat
Since it's not the damn drivers seat
So I travel the world and surf
My cup will never touch any turf
Arms reach out from the ocean waves
They hold tight, the current fails
They want saltless delight im sure
I lift the parasol, sugar is the cure
I reach down and share the fluid
The current takes it, people included
It's no matter, I can surf without it
So I crouch on the boards and sit
Then lie and bask in the sun
And even the hands cant ruin the fun
They still reach and pin me
From below the board they see
Grab my cup and take it
I laugh and spit
I let them take it where it belongs
Bubbling under the wooden walls
And I still have the suns fire
It extinguishes the waters pyre
The lapping waves cant burn
My raft of wood will never turn
Everything is so warm and free
As long as my drink is lifting me
There I was, a lonely soul, lollin' on a Bermuda beach soakin' up the sun,
Where the sand is pink and the rum swizzles will never be outdone!
Where college goils from New Joisey and New Yawk flock to each Easter,
To frolic on the beaches, find romance and display their comely keister!
From across the way I espied this beauty strollin' along the shore.
I mused, "Is this the steamy summer love that I've been pinin' for?"
The statuesque bikini-clad doll came towards me with a cat-like stride.
I could hardly quell the romantic notions that were wellin' up inside!
I leapt to my feet, pullin' in my gut and puffin' out my puny chest!
(After all! To impress this stunner wouldn't you want to look your best!)
"Hi-ya, big fella", she purred, "I've come to Bermuda for a little fun,
And my ten-day holiday in this lovely paradise has just begun!"
Well, what's a feller to do - I invited her for a Manhattan at the local pub.
Afterwards, we sipped champagne and played toesies in a heated tub!
Later, strollin' the beach, we noted that old man winkin' at us from the moon.
This was enhanced by romantic music serenadin' us from across the lagoon!
Things were goin' so well that I just could not believe my good luck.
Suddenly, it all ended as if I'd been dinged in the head with a hockey puck!
Alas, I had been dreamin' this romantic interlude that was far from borin',
When my spouse poked me sayin', "Wake up and stop that infernal snorin'!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Sweetheart Of Poetry Soup's "Steamy Summer Love" Contest - Jul 2010
Broken wing, cracked heel, dinged fender
There's always something busted to fluster intention
An excuse pulled from quiver,
To send arrow in reverse.
To pull away, questioning,
Doubt defeating resolve,
Willpower bent to neigh and sway.
The good ship "Self" is always broken.
Faults and breaks litter the decks
Patches and quick fixes
Good enough for now
Keep "Self" sailing, broken, battered
But feeling fine and dandy,
Unfettered by paraphernalia's blah and blah
A spirit with wings resilient,
Cannot be tethered by contraption's flaws.
Even sore broken wings, patched and fixed
Are good enough for spirit to soar to fore
As done so well, OK or just swell, before.
I can still smell Mom's homemade soup on the stove,
she always had a pot simmering for us kids to welcome us home;
it was made in this huge soup pot which I inherited,
old, and dinged but it is one of my favorite possessions.
She did not invent the recipe for this homemade soup,
it was passed down from her mom, and her mom;
not a complicated soup, the ingredients simple to obtain,
but it had a secret ingredient called love that made it special.
Comforting on a cold Canadian day after playing in the snow,
or skating on the pond or having a snow fight with my brothers;
or after walking home from school I knew the soup was waiting,
I helped my mom making it sometimes, I was the perfect dicer.
It is an easy soup but has a lot of vegetables to dice up small,
like onions, celery, carrots, there could be other vegetables too;
but Mom kept it simple for us kids, we added four litres of broth,
Mom made her own chicken broth (I buy mine) that simmers a bit.
Next we added two cans of crushed tomatoes, stir, stir it up,
after a bit we added rice, how much, well you be the judge mom said;
and simmer, until all the vegetables, and rice are cooked and blended,
she also added some herbs like basil, salt and pepper, and that's it.
I guess the most important thing about the soup is the memory,
of mom in the kitchen with her stained apron humming away;
she was happiest when she was cooking for her family,
I am blessed to have these memories to keep close to my heart.
Memories of mom making homemade Tomato Rice Vegetable Soup,
in that big pot and stirring in the love maybe that is why it was good;
we would eat it with big hunks of buttered French Canadian bread,
delicious, a tasty soup, a lovely memory of a gone away time.
She carries home onions in a string bag.
She walks in time-dinged tweed and wilted woolens
She is of age and does not count her days.
She knuckles cords of twisted tendons.
She treads low-heeled in frayed suede booties.
She wraps a skimpy scarf around a pinched hairnet.
She carries yellow skinned onions into an ochre kitchen.
She peels and chops all of the pungent onions.
She simmers the diced bulbs slowly in a wide pan until caramelized.
She sweats the produce to a suet brown.
She puts the cooked onions into a large iron pot.
She takes a liver-spotted cabbage from the scant larder.
She shreds leaf and core, minces more.
She places the cut cabbage into the pot, adds water to boil and stew.
She seasons.
She makes the thick soup last for many days.
She later leaves the funk-soaked house
She walks to a shop many streets away.
She, in usual garb and hunched beneath a blunting wind.
She, bone-bent angled away from a cold sky.
She shops, pays with coins, buys onions in a bundle.
She again selects a dense green globe of cabbage.
She battles homeward carrying onions in a string bag.
She feels the strings gnawing her dry skin.
She looks neither left nor right,
one hand clutches a large cabbage head,
she carries it like an infant close to her thin breasts.
Disembarkment hearkened a largely unknown universe
Melbourne's sky lifting grid hidden partially
Behind rows of giraffe laughing palm trees
He dinged his car in the line to leave the car park
Home now to brazen 20 year olds, brought both cars
Had booked accommodation in suburb 5 miles north
She was staggered by intensity of Tuesday morning city
Swarming people made beelines to their business day
Several close encounters with trams saw riled passengers
Drastic traffic presented fresh dilemma, stitched thick
Mounting queues in right turn lanes, a phenomena unfamiliar
Billboards blasted big messages, brothels among them
Heavy clusters of vehicles became the pair's detriment
Hives of continued light intersections caused separation
Having easy communication not possible without mobiles
Deviations from course happened dozens of times
Midday passed in a haze of befuddled frustration
Bemoaned youth of 2000 had no GPS to guide their ways!
Satiated by their eventual arrival at accommodation
Sun setting on a scary first day, unwittingly touring
Seventeen suburbs of mayhem monstrosity Melbourne!
For: All In A Day Poem Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
27th August 2020
OMG
By R Henderson
Painful sweaty clumps of air converged.
From Uranus it demanded to be purged.
Your body full over engorged.
But the contract of passage had been forged.
The close escape, the quest for relief,
Was obtained but ever so brief.
Out it came in the form of a queef.
But so foul it shriveled a leaf.
Plant life could not even be sustained.
The odor Uranus's neighbor was to blame.
The culprit called out their name.
An arsenal like this had no shame.
But the glory was not felt for long.
Before the bubbles descending sent out their song.
Chords of warning to quickly be gone.
But the noses within the perimeter of Uranus took too long.
For stay they did with bright shining luster.
As down moved the atomic cluster.
Holding on as long as could be mustered.
An old Uranus let lose of a down right dirty foul crop duster.
Four minutes straight the eruption blew.
Within the air even flew
Through the air a piece or two
of Uranus's poo.
No one had listened to the rumble that foretold of this one foul deed.
The pintos, the collards, the black eyed peas.
Caused an explosion that even stopped the refreeze.
The sweet smelling aerosol refused to be freed.
So the stench lingered on everything.
The eyes watered, and Uranus stinged.
You had to sit down exhausted as your bell it dinged.
Finally the relief that a fart was destined to bring.
By day six I was antsy
Stayed in my room all morning
I knew this would happen
While the glass-shatter of the ocean waves
And yelps of surprise from scores of little kids
Drifted in
Through my opened balcony doors
From the beach below
Made the mistake of paying attention to my phone
And the more I did
It seemed
The more emails dinged
Like an elevator arriving at my floor.
Last night a waiter ruined it all
As my wife and I were showing off
Dining outdoors at a fancy restaurant.
At first he thought us hicks
With a giant yawn in front of us
But then we spent $15.00 x 4 Specialty Mules in chilled copper cups
And $27.00 on a spicy Tuna Tar-Tar special-of-the-night appetizer
Sea Bass 40 bucks
Rib Eye 45
He then brought an ashtray though I had no cigarette
Told him we’d finish it off right
With cheesecake scooped in homemade raspberry sauces $17.00
By then we’d been there an hour and a half
Though I made a deal with the waiter
Don’t rush us and we won’t rush you
He said deal
So the female manager delivered the delectable cheesecake
With the bill.
I handed over my card and asked for two spoons
Asked her if gratuity was included
Yes she said 18% and rolled her eyes
Flapped off
I added another 30
She swooped back like a seagull for a dropped French fry
Flew away with the signed bill
And just as we teetered up from our little table
Taut with white table cloth
To walk back to our hotel
Amongst the lighted jewels of Collins Avenue
The waiter popped his head out
And yelled across the patio packed with North Miami elite
Thank you for the extra tip!
I thought as if
He was just checking that we hadn’t made a dumb mistake
Or was using us
To shame the others.
That’s when I got homesick for Michigan
Because I wasn’t sure.
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing, the metal tips on her heels dinged on the metal steps.
The sound reminded John of bullets ricocheting on a tin roof he had heard two weeks before.
She reached the stage and joined the other dancers and then one of the girls sang Brahms lullaby.
John was enjoying a day’s leave at the hotel, last week it was full of German soldiers, Paris was now liberated and the look of joy on the Parisians was evident on their faces.
Tomorrow his regiment was being deployed, to where he did not know, it was just after midnight when they got back to their camp; a couple of miles from the hotel.
At the briefing the next morning the orders were given to assist US forces at a town called St Louise, It was 04.00 as they drove up a steep hill and from here the city churches pierced the mist.
They arrived at the town and he could hear sporadic bursts of machine gun fire, an American captain signalled Johns regiment to keep their heads down.
He soon found out why as the whistling of artillery shells hit their target at the far edge of town.
Silence now, and then they began a sweep and search operation going from house to house.
Then he heard music, cautiously he entered and at the far end was a young girl of about ten
John approached her and she smiled, he picked her up and she was still clutching the music box.
He went outside and in case of snipers he closed it and now smiling crossed the square.
There was a field ambulance by the fountain and John handed her over to the medics there.
He started back to join his patrol and then the girl opened the music box which started playing, yes of course he had heard it before, the unmistakable sound of Brahms lullaby.
Written on Wednesday 6th June 2018
For one nine and sixteen poetry contest sponsored by Viv Wigley
My phone dinged a reminder,
The subject of this poem,
A simple message and it said:
“9:30 Flying home.”
See, I had planned to be away
Upon a river cruise.
My husband, though, had gotten sick
And so, for weeks, my views
Were of the buildings I can see
Within my neighborhood
Instead of little charming towns
As I had hoped I would.
We canceled all that we had booked –
The flights, the room, the tours
And waited ‘til at last, my husband
Ventured out of doors.
He’s better now, but never could have
Done the things we’d planned.
I’ve put it all behind me, but
My phone can’t understand.