Long Discussed Poems
Long Discussed Poems. Below are the most popular long Discussed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Discussed poems by poem length and keyword.
How often someone changes sheets
Is really not discussed.
It’s certain, though, that everybody
Does so, as we must.
I knew a woman once whose bed
Had fresh sheets every day.
Obsessive? Yes, but she preferred
To do things her own way.
In college dorms, the bedding might
Remain in place all term.
Imagine all the multitudes of
Every type of germ!
I once was told of dinner parties
Where the food was spread,
Instead of on a cloth, upon
The sheet from someone’s bed.
Most people likely make the switch
On laundry day each week,
So sheets may well be wrinkled
But it’s doubtful that they’ll reek.
No matter when you swap the sheets,
It’s really up to you,
As long as whom you’re sleeping with
Approves of when you do.
I went for a walk with an Aardvark
In a forest of beer bottle trees,
Entranced by their gentle swaying,
Hanging and clinking in the breeze;
And I found a top spanner bush
Growing at a convenient height
And me and my friend the Aardvark
Settled down for our boozy night.
We sampled the pale ale and bitter
Then the stout the mild and the pils
Organically brewed with such care
To avoid any hangover ills.
And my Aardvark danced a jig,
Accompanying himself on a lute
The wind blowing through the bottles
Providing a raw wild sort of flute.
We discussed the ways of the world
Each providing our original views
On such as the Albigensian heresies
And the standard of reporting the news.
Then a bell rang through that forest
And a voice rolled in my head
Its closing time for the winter
And I woke up alone in my bed.
I sprang from my sheets with a zest
Had a quick burst on my tambourine
Before cleaning my teeth with such energy
On my oral hygiene machine.
I ate toast and two eggs for my brekkers
With a selection of blended fruit teas
Hungry from my walk with that Aardvark
In that forest of beer bottle trees.
Tina was organizing her stuff. She was supposed to meet with the professor exactly two minutes ago. She drafted her outline of the content to be discussed in a precise manner. Now she needs to merge with her timing before it is too late.
The cell phone vibrated with the usual ringtone. An unknown number.
“Are you Reza’s mom?”
“Yes.”
“This is his teacher, calling from the school.”
“ Yeah, please tell me…”
“Reza is deteriorating with his performance. We would like to meet both parents to discuss about his progress. Since you are not available locally, do you think you will be able to attend a virtual session?”
“Sure. I will be happy to.”
“Please, let me know a suitable time when it is possible.”
“Sure…um, let me talk to his father.”
Tina tried to get Minhaz. Three consecutive times. With a long pause of ongoing ringtones, no response.
A separated couple has too many loosely based dysfunctionality, in fixing priorities, in fixing purpose of meaning, when to talk and how to talk.
Tina was struggling before… Tina is struggling with the aftermath too.
“Sorry, missed your call. Anything urgent? Please text me.”
Tina was truly annoyed. She is now getting really late for meeting her professor. A meeting about the trend of pedagogy in language acquisition and about the crisis in the young generation. A meeting bearing much importance for her future motivation.
She tried to be precise.
He tried to be precise too.
“I do not feel any need of yours to be present. It is better to attend an on-site meet-up. I will be there. That should be enough."
“Reza is lacking something….either motivation, or focus, do you not understand? Let me be there.”
“ I understand. You don’t.”
He finished his sentence with a coldness.
“Pedagogy of language acquisition and crisis in language loss.”
Tina's title of the deliverable.
She needed to make up for the wasted time.
She needed to make up to make her presentable as well.
Not all tears are too personal to decipher.
Between a friend or foe.
This sad lament…
No ill intent
No wish to be
impertinent
An observation
I must make
On a sad loss
That’s hard to take
She waited so patient, by day or by night
As I scratched my head when I struggled to write
And should I produce a few lines circumspect
She’d broadcast them gladly……. As I recollect
And it wouldn’t matter the time of the day
The moon at its peak or the sun shining gay
For be it a saga or little of note
She’d always find someone to read what I wrote
She never would judge, though my language she checked
And highlight with stars where I’d need to reflect
But judgement was something I never did see
Though sometimes she would say P.O.T.D
This sad lament…
No ill intent
No wish to be
impertinent
An observation
I must make
On a sad loss
That’s hard to take
Why did she do what she did that sad day
Why did she seem like she’d drifted away
Her facelift moved features all over the place
O how I miss her familiar face
But focusing on her appearance is shallow
It wasn’t her fault I’m creatively fallow
Yet when I wrote something that lifted my zeal
I found she’d befriended folk not truly real
Did she not know of their hidden intent
Did she not notice their dishonest bent
Did she grow lonesome as each passing day
Friends who were earnest were drifting away
This sad lament…
No ill intent
No wish to be
impertinent
An observation
I must make
On a sad loss
That’s hard to take
How I recall the debates that we shared
Should it be Christmas… or war been declared
And how we would laugh till our sides became tight
Yeast extract discussed as Tom Cunningham might
I’d even compete just occasionally
And sometimes a win would be handed to me
Alas the pretenders have entered her fold
And our ‘Lady Soup’ now seems sullen and cold
And yet my fond memories that linger still
Live on in hope that she still has the skill
To look once again at the harm that was done
To reclaim true friends… while pretenders… “Do One!”
My Favorite Things comes to mind...
a random assortment, a jumble of words
a quotient of portions, quotidian served
quixotic strivings of the great deca-dense
obscured in meaning, eschewing all sense
visions and nightmares and hallucinations
erudite arguments, odd fascinations
old geezers fondling memories of things
most folk would not to mixed company bring
inchoate ramblings of damaged young minds
bubbled through water and cardboard box wine
audible groans from the web server host
these are the ones make me giggle the most
shouting in vacuums, a riotous void
pontificating, or mildly annoyed
grieving, believing, or weaving a string
virtuous outburst that don’t do a thing
rants about orange man and all his mean tweets
and, yes, “Let’s go, Brandon” to make things complete
guns, poo, abortion, yes, all are discussed
sometimes the thin-skinned bail out in disgust
side by side, posting, the sage and the fool
the wise in their youth and those starting to drool
bleeping our excrement down on the page
somehow it all seems to soften the rage
when the bard shouts
when the muse screams
‘bout covid or Vlad
we’re at a computer
with just poo to fling
and that makes me laugh a tad
When I go to school I want a double pink desk.
This is what his girl talked about, her name was Tess.
Jack wondered what double pink meant, but never knew.
Tess never explained, and disappeared in nineteen seventy-two.
The neighborhood searched, the whole city too.
Only thing recovered was possibly a red tennis shoe.
Jack and his wife split up, both blaming the missing on each other.
He moved in with his siblings, and his sad little mother.
What do you think she meant by double pink desk?
They discussed this statement, which was often made by Tess.
Jack fell in love with Marge on a fine spring day.
They got married, and moved far far away.
They have a daughter now, they call her Curly May.
She is unlike the other, but here is what she’ll say,
“When I go to school I want a double pink desk like my sis.”
Curious talk from this five-year-old miss.
I believe Karma is circle…I believe what the wise ones say is true…
If you think good thoughts, say nice things and do good things for others….
eventually good will find its way back to you.
But Karma has no timeline…we never know the date, the time…the day...when Karma will return….when it will come our way…
Take yesterday for instance, Karma had me stunned when a mother using a walker entered our bookstore…followed by her son.
They discussed a host of different books…at times it sounded like they fought…
but after each one found the book they wanted…they brought them to the counter to be bought.
The son was first to buy…at least…I’m pretty sure he was her son…
as he handed me cash with his shaky hands…he asked if I could make his change…in ones.
We are a little bookstore…since people pay with 20’s often our supply of ones runs low…so it isn’t very often we like to see them go.
But there was something in his manner his demeanor…a kind of honesty that made me think he needed those ones a little more than we.
So I handed him his change in ones… “Thank You…Thank You …he exclaimed…and when his mother bought her book…she asked for the same.
I didn’t ask why they needed them…didn’t think it was my place…
but I do know as they left the store…there was a smile on each face…
The next customer into the store was a woman…she bought a few books and here is where I was stunned…when she asked me if I'd mind…if she paid for them…with ones….
Yes, Karma is a mysterious thing…It often returns when we’re not looking for it…sometimes it comes back undetected…
but every now and then…
it returns…
so much quicker than expected.
When old vets gather at a pub to reminisce with their peers,
And their tongues are mellowed with a few free-flowing beers,
Raucous war stories and much back slapping are apt to befall,
As unique people, places and events they tend to recall!
Supercilious officers and their puffery is a subject of disdain,
As are first sergeants and drill sergeants, who were their bane!
A first sergeant tried to defend himself, but he didn't win,
And was ordered to buy another round of beers, much to his chagrin!
A marine proclaimed that the war would've been lost without Marines!
A sailor declared the bravest guys cruised in submarines!
This brought a howl from all the ground-pounding grunts,
Who with one accord asserted they'd not tolerate such affronts!
An air corps guy said it was the flyboys that saved the day!
This elicited a retort from a coastguard vet who had his say!
A quartermaster said it was he who supplied C-rations and boots,
Showering upon his head a chorus of jeers, hollers and hoots!
As time went on, they discussed the serious side of strife,
The horror of war and dear comrades who had forfeited life.
The final consensus was they'd won the war altogether.
These are the things that vets talk about when they get together!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
the High Honor
"boulé de tout fort"
or
"le coq d'une fort"
Early chemists hoped to turn abundant lead into precious gold. But differences in proton number between the elements (82 for lead and 79 for gold) made that impossible by chemical means.Leocadio Isidro Fidencio Eulalio.(Capsicum chinense) and milk goes hand in hand.(Solanaceae), a seriously heated discussion: she compared the heat of smelting to the heat of the peppers.
Only minuscule amounts of gold: the processes are expensive! Maybe there’d be a ghost sighting. Doubtful one spoke. They hide gold here in the 1800's. People dressed up like ghost to scare people away. Even the Native's and Spanish settlers used these practices to keep people away while they were looking for the lost gold treasures. They tried to get me to think this long name was one person but I believe this is four people. Four Knumbskulls out in my garden taking my peppers and messing around with my uninspiring wife. This or should I say these jerks were talking about turning lead into gold.why did they include the peppers? We don't know. Atom Smashing at light speed. These were discussed using words to inspire. They lacked understanding to many listening.Methods of subterfuge. They used movie tactics with special effects to create a real life like erriness.
Specters meant to frighten the locals from venturing out at night. I called for pizza and they said we don't deliver there anymore. Two weeks later were that pizza man: they changed the story or they tryna fool me! I heard they tried to fool the locals by wearing those invisible cloaking gowns. The guy would be in the box trucks. They put micro phones in the rocks. They used scarey music to sound like something scary. “Applying this technology to clothing could make an individual effectively ‘invisible": said the Professor. who seemed over eagerly involved.And of course they used "the theremin". to scare the devish-meaness outta people. "I want the gold for my selfish self" we heard them agree to this! Said the Folk that were spying on these people.
It’s 1:30am and we were at a cute little dance club in Dublin called “The Sugar Club.” It’s a converted movie theater with tables in stadium seating rows. That night was Salsa themed, and the regulars were stylin’ - the men dressed in white Havana or Colima, Italian Linen and women in bright salsa dresses.
The DJ was mixing a gr8 groove - with music from Bassia, Brazilian Girls, Kate the Cat, with some ElectroSwing thrown in from Tape Five, Pink Martini and Doja Cat (Yes, I asked the DJ for his playlist). The tiny, darkly-disco-sparkling dance floor was crowded and refrigerator cold.
We had a good time. Irish guys are funny and unpredictable, they’ll say practically anything, “Shall I buy you a drink, or do you just want the money?” and those brogues make everything they say spankin’ hot.
We all danced a few times, but Sunny’s a gwyn who never seemed to tire. Guys kept asking her to dance and she seemed happy to oblige - I would have collapsed already.
There was a dead-fit guy, Rían, throwing a strong Chris Evans vibe, who seemed completely smitten with Sunny. He seemed a real dean but he didn’t 404 that Sunny’s femme-facing and that he might as well be offering lettuce to a shark.
We’d discussed the possibility that things might come up and decided to avoid delicate public acts of disclosure (Sunny’s gay, Leong’s a communist, etc..) - we’re trespassing different cultures on this trip, after all.
We explained to Rian that we were students, just in town for the Duran Duran concert, and consoled him with a couple of “Black & Golds” (Kahlua, whiskey and orange bitters) - he was a LOT of fun to talk to.
The bartender asked me if I was one of the colleens with “Margot Robbie” - he was referring to Lisa - which Anna found amusing - but I think Lisa’s way phater than Margot.
Slang:
gwyn = a hot dancing queen
dead-fit = gorgeous
dean = a nice guy, a gentleman
404 = clued into the fact
femme-facing = lesbian
phat = pretty, hot and tempting