Long Exclaimed Poems
Long Exclaimed Poems. Below are the most popular long Exclaimed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Exclaimed poems by poem length and keyword.
Henry’s Rust Bucket
He had managed the steep rise from a valley to his home and sat on the small
stoep. Another koppie towering ahead, he looked straight forward and counted
his blessings. One, by one he wrote a list of thanksgivings, carefully folded the
scraps of paper, then crumbled them up and darted them into a corroded pail of
collection. Always a good shot, it filled. A little water still in the bucket, ink
smudged and ran its course as thoughts nudged each other and the sludge pot
thickened. Soon it was far more full than half empty, the cache of paper-mache
almost burst from its seams. When memos and ‘done it’ notes oozed through a
hole at the bottom, scraped through and lifted his mood and the bucket, Henry
the cooper hardly kept up with the fill. The tub rose and time passed so slowly
that it turned in rebuttal, as the container had been really a scuttle for carbon
and coal, a near enough copy to hold passion and fire. So, elevated and so
imposing it became that it shaded the koppie. ‘Enough is enough’, I must move
on and rise to occasions. Remember the past and the present.’ Thus, he changed
perspective and stood on the bucket. It still had a hole and his steps had gone
rusty, but now he could touch the mountains again. Henry had so much to be
grateful for, even with a half empty bucket, that just one or two ‘post it’s’ would
have surely sufficed. ‘Never late than not ever’ he exclaimed, ‘I must fix the hole
in my bucket, gratitude list will only get me so far’.
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Somewhere in the dark reaches…a dying light looks on, over the deep nothingness that remains…coupled with fumes of a once ravaging flame…
All that is left is a red glow, barely illuminating the wick…no air just smoke, chocking the glow it closes its last eye.
…A soft wind glides toward the once beaming visage, carrying with it tidings from worlds afar, she begins dancing with the smoke, coasting through the air like long lost friends.
Amongst it all, a faint Ruby eye…barely able to catch a glimpse of it all, starts to lighten up, the once crimson glow starts running amok. The thick blanket of darkness began to dissipate, everything began to animate, the full spectrum was restored in its grandeur
“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!” it exclaimed! as it illuminated the farther reaches…dancing with the wind passionately as they soared at the summit.
On july 21'st 1942, seventy seven ANZAC
militia, had a breath taking view.' Imperial
Jappanese forces fourteen thousand strong..Moved upon Kokoda they moved
Back let them take the village, yet soon the
Test would be on.! They fanned out in the
Jungle; each side of that thin trail, the first Firefight was soon joined, and forty enemies died all entailed, six Aussies out of
Action, now only 71 guns full strength, they had
Decided their tactics, exact a toll for each
pace lent...Every foot of this track.'
Every inch would cost real dear.' They intended to drive into the Jappanese forces, pangs of caution and
fear, after a week the advace was at a
crawl, Jappanese deaths now in
Hundreds.' And the Aussies began recieving calls..Douglas MacArthur exclaimed and complained.' They were cowards going backwards.' They should be immovable on that bloody trail, he railed.' They were having none of it..By now the Jappanese were
Much slower moving , both sides had
Dysentry and maleria and skin ulcers..
And old MacArther he still
Railed..Third week and two hundred
ANZACS reinforced the gallant few, their
Punishment escalated the Jappanese still
Trying to push through.' By the twenty forth
Of September they were 450 men strong
So they began ' counter attacking' hitting
out strong.' We all know the story they
drove on to the sea..Smashing the enemy
Who were now on their knees.' Old Doug
MacArther..Here I give him his dues addmited his under-estimation.' The ANZACS did know what to do.' He hailed
Them as fearless ( for their time best in the
World ) and soon we will see Australia day
All credit.' And honour my praises i hurl.'
At
To the feet of the 77..And those who
joined the fray
In who kept freedoms light burning,
and their country itself un-dimmed those days,
It could have been disaster.' Upon that tough dirt trail, but the ANZACS endured their country
They never failed..So stand up Australia on
The twenty sixth to celebrate the spirit that
Thats uniqely in your mix.' Play march and
Celebrate..Under the clear blue skies..its
All to do.' C'mon and see your great
country through.
In peacefull celebrations flood the streets
And parks and beaches, too this a time ( that belongs to you' )
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry found an accordion, half his size,
dusty and wheezing with mothball sighs.
Left by a maestro in a careless mood.
The crowds will cheer! he chirped with glee.
I’ll play like Lawrence Welk*—just wait and see!
he exclaimed, his tiny paws stretched wide with pride.
Ah-one, ah-two! Larry cried,
Chipmunks stared totally mystified.
The bellows wheezed, the keys went clack,
a cacophony to scare birds back.
The chickadees began to sway~
waltzing in a state of disarray.
The oak trees winced, the blue jays fled,
His rendition of Bubbles filling them with dread.
The notes went sproing! like a broken spring.
Yet still Larry played—oh, such a terrible thing!
Undeterred, he pumped with glee,
A-one-a-two-a-champagne-tree!
The rhythm? Gone. The notes? A crime.
But dang, he had a lovely time.
A wunnerful, A wunnerful!
*Lawrence Welk was an American accordionist, bandleader, and television impresario, who hosted The Lawrence Welk Show from 1951 to 1982. The program was known for its light and family-friendly style, and the easy listening music featured became known as "champagne music" to his radio, television, and live-performance audiences. (Source: Wikipedia.com)
THE STUDIO BOOTH
In a studio booth, the rapper did stand,
With dreams of a hit, but empty pockets at hand.
"No money to record," he sadly exclaimed,
The producer's negative response was tamed4
As he kindly declared the session free,
Taking a financial loss like a kingpin real G.
Free of charge, the beats did play loud & clear,
But the rapper's off-key notes did hurt the ear.8
With confidence high, he started to blare:
"Got 200k in my account! Ain't paying, I swear!"
The producer's frustration began to accrue,
As the rapper continued, his rhymes all askew.¹²
"I was shot in the living room," the artist exclaimed,
"Ten times over, my heart inflamed!
Yet here I stand, without a single sigh,
For in the living room, I can not die!"¹6
Rapper rants & boosted, showing fake finesse.
"Free of charge, but not for this mess,"
Mr. Producer solemnly soliloquizes.
Thought how the rapper came at him to eulogize.²°
In his imagination, he was reaching for his gun,
Placed quietly in his drawer, as the rants go on,
So as to let bygone be bygone by his glock gun.²³
But then, with a terrible awakening, he jacked back,
Like a snatched handbag in a fierce attack.
He came back to reality, thought with a frown,
"Next time this rapper came 'round,
He'd be shown the way out of town!"²8
~~~~~~~~~
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?20th April 2024.
Tizzy spun ...
flitting star-to-star
paused for a moment, thusly
(moments being what they preciously are)
wrapped her diaphanous-yet-strong wings about the moon
and gave Heaven a luscious kiss ...
"Oh - you ARE sweet, aren't you?"
she winked and spun away, leaving Heaven to blush
Heaven was gifting her, you see
(though it had yet to discover so)
no worries, either, for it had many greater things
to consider than one silly pixie on a binge ...
"My little rainbow toesies are just tickled to pixie pieces!!"
she thought of Old Sol, who had cried and cried
when he'd heard of her plan ... oh, how thrilled he would be!
why, they'd never need to worry about him again
for to add balance to the day - oh!
she spun again, and before Heaven could wink back ...
she'd made a dozen trips across the sky
reach-to-reach, she flashed, like a shining, shooting star
spinning, wrapping, flashing, placing, again ...
and by the time Heaven had finally winked, she was done!
"Oh, Tizzy!" cried the moon ...
"Oh, Tizzy!" giggled the stars ...
"Oh, Tizzy!" she exclaimed to herself ...
even Heaven was happy, though feeling a bit taken advantage of ...
for Tizzy had done what the gods could not
she had given balance to the day!
she had stolen twilight from the evening
- stolen it straight from Heaven -
and given some to the dawn ...
oh, what a charm!
oh, what a talented Tizzy!
for now Old Sol would soon be smiling ...
and she ...
would be warming her pretty pixie wings!
let’s toast some ghosts, the witch said to me.
Her hair was as red as the devil’s sea.
I had no words, but wondered what she meant.
when I saw it, I was lost in wonderment.
You are really toasting ghosts! I exclaimed.
I told you she said to me, her hair inflamed.
The ghosts were booing, hissing, and stuff.
She said “they blubber, but I can huff.”
I was amazed at her ability to do what she did.
Out in the open, showing everyone. What a kid!
Do you eat them too? I asked, kind of intrigued.
I am not a cannibal! She told me. Not a bad seed.
Why do you toast them? I asked her, wanting to know.
They love it, she told me. It helps them so….
They cannot boo as hard when they are pristine.
I do it to be helpful; it is not a bit mean.
Kick the boot
Kick the boot
Put it in the net after we shoot
Kick the boot
Kick the boot
Get a goal that would be a hoot
Kick the boot
Kick the boot
I will play my magic flute
‘Toot Toot’
This theatrical action
Conjured up a wonderful attraction
Since suddenly there
A lovely dare
Looking like a tease
We must mind our manners ‘using the words thank you and please’
Kick the boot
Kick the boot
There is a Sicilian girl who is unbelievably cute
Sporting a designer Italian business suit
“Oh boy just kick the boot”
She exclaimed
Knowing how to play the game
Blushing we, both turned red,
Over what was said
As our mouths went mute
The lady started to root
When things seemed done
Our new companion wanted to have fun
“May I ask?”
“If I do this simple task?
Kicking off my painful high heels
That boot may I steal?
The one you kick
Is the favorite that I would pick
To wear
And cover my leg that is bare.”
I quickly replied
While my buddy almost fainted and died
“Kick the boot
Kick the boot
I will play my luring flute
Encouraging that Sicilian girl who sure is cute”
It was then
I must commend
The dream did come to an end
And when I saw my dear friend
At school
I told him the nighttime vision that was cool
“We made this incredible goal score
And it was witnessed by a Sicilian who we did not ignore
Instead, we did as she request
And gave her our fashionably boots that were the best
She went home
All alone
And when she kicked off the boot
She remembered the young boys who were cute
And sincere with that romantic flute
Two that were filled with amour
Successfully managing the five and dime department store,”
Moral is
In the retail biz
Kick around a boot
While playing a magical flute
You never know when the one will arrive
Needing to buy
A boot
On display next to a flirting flute
wheel ding utmost pro lix:
scrum compulsions won
despite feeling dog tired, (like a ton
of bricks weighed me down)
while seduced by the sun
solar radiation from the sky didst lightly run
sans, i experienced
a weird wired wider sensation pun
knee sensation otherwise, this sun dry
older puppy nun
the wiser (feeling akin
to an overly sated book worm
to boot) on a Mon
Day, nonetheless, forced
by male incarnation from Lon
don, (via NON FAKE voices
inside my noggin) a potential Hun
these tired eyes, could NOT stop reading
even with figurative gun
at my head, until only
sluggish progress made,
which daunting task not fun
bore witness thru novel
(in this instance plotting thru - dun
know if fie could finish
One Hundred Years Of Solitude -
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
pea pulling his story with bun
dulls of Hiss panic
Alpha Numeric characters, -
per printed page punctuated
concluded with a period,
(premature mental dejected ejaculation exclaimed
how ah yee got trounced
by harsh obsessive compulsive task master.
"Nay unto you Matthew Scott"!
Uttered by exactly same grievous rot
while er...mailer daemon (as above, pot
tent shill slave driver subsequently not
quite ditto for identical bon mot
mind wielding damn mask kid ding lot
intonation, now setting me hot
to worry about my thinning hair, the little aye got
as expressed vis a vis A previous poem
of mine titled 'Argh! I suffer the plight of Bad
Hair Year In One Day!'
Teardrops might have an explanation, with reasons.
Those teardrops often happen without reasons, too.
And dreams are one of a similar kind, I am sure.
An uncertain mixture of joy and sadness, true.
Rays of Sunlight were reflecting on my green, leafy branches.
Raindrops touched those leaves with a softer, tapping sound.
I could feel the squirrels hopping, and hear those birds chirping.
"I am a tree!" I exclaimed. A murmuring breeze passed around.
I woke up in my dream, I felt unsure, I do not know why
In my dream, I was missing just one unique, little friend.
A perfect place could be so imperfect for obvious reasons
Yet, I was dreaming, I felt it entirely secure in my mind.
1/7/2020
I am a tree Poetry Contest
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