Long Excited Poems
Long Excited Poems. Below are the most popular long Excited by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Excited poems by poem length and keyword.
She has a passion for life; she is exuberant about everything.
I doubted this and started to dislike her before I had met her.
Too many people talked about how excited she was.
No one is this enthusiastic all the time.
Then I met her.
She is radiant like a light bulb; she glows on you.
I was the recipient of the glow, and I loved it.
I loved her!
I wanted more.
I followed her around the party that first night
Never wanting to let her go.
She was excited about everything, and me.
That was the key.
That is why she was a pied piper,
we all wanted a piece of her
Luckily she exuded enough energy for all of us.
Oliver, the October Scarecrow was freshly made from hay.
He liked scaring the birds and the bumblebees away.
They tried to get near the pumpkin patch until they saw him wave.
His arms spiraled like a windmill at the edge of a windblown cave.
He had a mouse in his pocket, keeping it away from the cat.
There was an owl nearby, who was also eyeing it, for it was rather fat.
Tasty to the cat and the owl, but not a delicacy to Oliver at all.
His pumpkins were healthy, two of them were at least three feet tall.
There was a witch that came by and tried to cast a spell.
He did not fall for her trickery, in the meadow or the dell.
She scooted off shortly and told others about his wise ways.
He was excited about that until the end of his days.
I test the winds every day because I live in a forest
I am a pyromaniac, but I do want to prevent forest fires
Today the wind is calm; it is a great day to scare the neighbors.
I drag twelve boxes out, stuff two with paper and light it up
Fire is not a steady lover; she is a frenzied volcano
In minutes, she is reaching toward the sky in bright orange flames
I sit mesmerized, fascinated, not caring if there is a forest fire
My husband runs out of the house to stare; he is like the neighobrs
Fearful of my excited beast of a fire who is crackling gray and black now
Yet too scared of me to say a word, for I am a frenzied pyromaniac.
Let me speak of Thanksgivings Day 2021
It was incredibly easy, full of holiday fun
The children were excited, the turkey was hot.
We laughed ourselves silly over jokes no others got.
There were nine grandchildren, loving me with hugs.
A loony uncle went around, looking in corners for bugs.
He thinks the FBI is watching, and big brother too.
He only gets to come here once a year, a real coop.
We put aside our politics, and no one brought up beliefs.
Concentrated on pumpkin pie and cranberry a big relief.
Unified in a prayer, we put our contrary views aside.
Grandpa snuck in a nap in our large armchair made of rawhide.
We hugged each other good bye as if we’d never see them again.
I gave an extra big hug to my best friend, who is my identical twin.
You never know at our age what the coming days will yonder bring.
It was such a pleasant day, my heart felt good enough to sing.
Peaked out and everything was covered
White—some things totally invisible—visioning
Helpless immobility burdens, once always conquered:-
Background sunlight caste dull-white shadows
Across whiten, once pale green grass groundings;
Where excited dogs have left frozen scented footprints.
Wow, who would have imagined that warm yesterday
Was, as if fall had challenged winter to show her cold face?
Well, weary winter just burst out in all her agonizing beauty!
And now, here we sit in an even more distancing atmosphere
With its own chilling pandemic overtones of melting running water
Wetting wishful dreams frozen into no-show-snow, slippery tomorrow!
Deer whisperer, had a full schedule, for she was trusted by so many.
She examined reindeer, elk to baby fawn, giving attention and love
They were brought by their kin and neighbors with nary a whinny.
Bridgette’s listening healing gift was from the heavens above.
Stories of trauma, upsetting vignettes, with pure PTS Disorder.
They were referred to her by friends, her healing gifts rapidly uncurl.
Bridgette was a deer whisperers, from Wyn Family, a sacred order.
Able to nurture and inspire hope in deer since she was a young girl.
One fawn was concerned about her mate, who was in the spirit world.
Bridgette put her in touch he assured her -he was in a wonderful place.
Many elk and moose came to her. Their stories rapidly unfurled.
Deer in more forests discovered her; found her quiet woodsy space.
Many nights she listened to the hearts and soul of the most innocent.
Those who suffered pain caused by man, arch enemy, one they fear.
She spent her life in the forest, nurturing deer, her time well spent.
Bridgette was joyful and excited to do what she could for the deer.
No one else loved so hard by so many of the most loving creatures.
Caring heart and soulful eyes, her two most endearing features.
She did meet a man once, but wisely decided to choose the deer.
Wind in woods still blow Bridgette's song you can clearly hear.
SASSY MY LABBY
Mom and Dad always teach me new
Words, I know many,
They are loving and enterprising,
I’ve heard the names of only family
At the dinner table this
Christmas, hope it will be mesmerizing,
Thank goodness I get tit-bits
During cooking preparations, the aroma of
The turkey as it cooks is totally tantalizing,
I’m not just a doggy, mom and dad say
I’m clever, tell the family please,
Sometimes they are so patronizing,
Can’t wait, I’m excited, heard them talk
About Santa, a new ball, a rubber chicken and
A squeaky toy, waiting for Christmas Eve is
AGONIZING,
I hear them talking about God and above,
So on Christmas Day, will give them
Extra servings of love!
Entering in: “Your Favorite Animal Contest”
Sponsored By: Gregory Paul
Discernment is passed down across generations.
Inside the eyes and between the partitions.
Be that as it may, what's the alterity between them?
How might we perceive both body and soul stem?
My best half, you will consistently have my heart.
The most remarkable princess on the planet.
The sly fire is seething, and it's fetching you.
Endlessness until this man sigh toward the paradise hue.
Shifted symbols that we don't yet understand;
Evaluate the holes between the sheets with an award.
Scrutinize and examine each curving path;
Conceptualism is a solid and wild naturopath.
How diligently you adorned your beauty!
You sigh as you escort your gifts fly severely.
Consume your life and torment your mental despair.
The Platonic anger has faded, noticeable in the air.
Love sighs humdrum around, and endless urn bare.
The flames have frozen your life, and you scare.
The last bow in gold quiver stings hot and cold.
To polish off the last sigh, Love's shade trolled.
I'm excited by the idea of hearing my last voice.
Will it be one you've never seen or a halcyon face?
Where shall I be when I let out my last sigh?
Or, oddly, will it be the errorless reason on that day?
Convey one last glance at the sun and the stream.
The Blue River uncoils at an underground seam.
She sobs she sighs and alliterative name,
"My love, my love, why do you leave me to inflame?
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: August 22, 2021
This or That, Vol 6 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Play It
You were afraid in the beginning.
You were excited and filled with anticipation.
But, afraid.
Just holding her in your hands was a strange experience.
Awkward, like a first kiss.
Unsure of where and how to touch.
Just how should your lips
Meet her cold and unfamiliar mouth piece?
Remember those first few notes
Screeching through space inside the band hall?
A sacred place where rhythm and note
Have coursed the air and touched
The smallest bones of the human body
With the softest and most pleasant caress.
Become familiar with the way she feels.
Close your eyes and feel the softness of her curves.
Treat her like a lady of royal blood.
Her father has given you her hand.
There is no leaving her at the altar.
You will decide your life together.
Love her. Caress her. Kiss her softly.
Learn to move your fingers and listen to her reply.
The early sound of surprise becomes the sound of love.
Soon, you breathe as one, and the voice you hear,
The voice we hear.
Is not hers. Is not yours. But, the union of both.
And what we hear is the birth of something
Grand and glorious and beautiful!
Play it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4C4YU5JtIo
Grandpa's tractor coughs, sputters and comes alive, acrid smoke sharpening my senses... gears engaged, lurches forward, disturbing clouds of fungus midges bursting in the sun from the damp clumps of weeds near the barn.
Anise Hyssop, wild spires along the barn, fill the air with licorice smells as the rear wheels brush by.
Proceeding to the field, the tractor hiccups over clumps of soil, jarring memories of Grandpa's firm grip around my waist, riding along, teaching me secrets of the earth...
...a cycle finished, Grandma brought out to the field at lunchtime, a covered basket filled with cold chicken, potato salad, creamed cucumbers and half a fresh berry pie, lovingly prepared the day before, sharing smiles and my excited recollections of the morning...
...another couple hours and Grandpa tires a bit, so we ramble back to the barn, spying Grandma unclipping laundry from the clothesline, softly singing beautiful hymns of praise.
A Blessed Day, Indeed..