Long Extents Poems
Long Extents Poems. Below are the most popular long Extents by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Extents poems by poem length and keyword.
We grew up in times when
Lean bodies had all the guys
Picture perfect bodies that were light
The perfect definition of a barbie doll
That's why people envied models
Cause the screens made them popular
And now having a few extra pounds was an eyesore
Everyone wanted to be noticed
But we didn't know how life for them was
Having to keep to a certain diet
To have to do away with some foods
For it's not easy getting that lean body
Others never has to hustle for it
For they came in lean bodies
That however much they'll eat
The few extra pounds won't be gained
And this caused obsession to the rest
Which turned into hate of the mirror
Making some to opt to wear more clothes
Just to appear slightly bigger
Many started starving themselves
And even though it would pay off
It came at an expensive pay
Losing their health as it was eating away
I guess everyone wants to look good
But the extents to which we go
Shows how nothing stops us in the pursuit
But at what cost exactly ??
The PO£T
My pants are tucked snug beneath the socks on my feet.
I also wear gloves tucked beneath my long sleeves.
I wear a full facial mask of fabric that allows me to breath
and then I retire for the evening and go to sleep.
This isn't some fetish or obsessive compulsion.
This ritual is performed for my own protection
to insure that when I sleep that I am not being eaten
by my current, most unwelcome bed bug infestation.
I must retire this way every day until I can give my apartment
a 100% thorough and complete bed bug fumigation.
Until then I am forced to co exist with them.
Oh the extents I will go to pay cheap rent.
Photos bomb social media.
While
Terrorists destroy livelihoods.
War rages from within.
Crashing rathe upon distant strangers; us...
Pictures reveal this through social networking.
A quite distant war becomes real—too extents.
Photo bombs drop atop crooked faces.
Suicide bombs disfigure and gravely injure a far out man and a groovy woman.
However,
These groves are not so far out.
Closer to home than the television thinks—
Maybe more problematic than depicted and possibly more galactic than photoshopped.
What is their left to do with this distant war?
Sir War, her majesty, governor of terror like substance—ruler of all.
King War . . .
Master War . . .
Will you bow your heads to such ungodly deity?
Or
Will you fight for your mental pictures of believed righteousness?
Let's take this down to size and ask me (the writer) what he would do.
I would photobomb every picture possible until everyone around me cannot help but to smile and laugh.
One thing I know for sure I would not do is...
Never would I ever bow down to Master War.
May 29, 2017
Contest: Form P
Sponsor: Broken Wings
I hear the ringing music of chimes,
The wind whispers turn into beautiful themes,
My emotions churn with the musical scales,
Joy and pain resonate with the melody’s extents.
When the sunrise beams brighten the morning skies,
the myriads of colorful rays brighten my eyes,
In the lack of wind, the chimes wait with a trust,
A wind whisper will arouse musical notes of hope in my heart.
In the mid-day, when wind speed rises,
The melodious music of chimes enhances,
Memories of love songs serenaded to my lover,
Rings the chimes in my heart forever.
In the night’s darkness,
When the chimes are silent and lifeless,
Searching for my lover in starry twinkles,
My heart plays hide and seek with lonely senses.
Oceon waves move in troughs and peaks, currants and eddys
Are way down deep.' Permeating the fluids strong, salty grains
That pass unseen, echo of life be it bland or keen? As
Above in wayward events, all is changing to such extents'
Where are
Life or death? Its hard to sense' all things began from a
Void of deep dark dense.' That shrouded the light 'about to start'
Its energy to move. And all construct.' It proves design
It shows out lines Of the God of life, who is out of our time'
Consider all is changeble? all we see won't last,!search for
God and eternity ere your chances are past.!
awaiting interpersonal subsequent situation
aye tend to get ants
see when in the midst awaiting
said sub routine involving
outcome of circumstance
the parameter, perimeter, potentiometer,
et cetera extents
sifts out the destructive sycophants
versus real boot not nacho
munching macho gents
thus ipso facto fur cher
pro bono, and hence
gaining kudos for fas innocence
je nais sais quois joie de vivre personal aim
finds this lapsed passive pen sieve blame
less body electric alternating
between defendant versus claim
"FAKE" aunt Emma, who wrote to said
real or fictitious dame
purportedly gave solicited feedback exclaim
ming absolute zero tolerance
for acquiescent docile frame
within the real versus make believe
Milton Bradley board game
of LIFE as well my late mum (Chris Anne)
whose maternal sermons
included a ban
against blindly enlisting
into any sect chew will clan
purporting pretending posturing
as Dudley Do-right dan
sing with the stars amidst a Euclidean
Geometry auditorium,
where the glitzy dazzling audience
flush with many a fan
gnat tics toward a particular couple
said open eyed spectators
focused glazed eyes and grand
huzzahs on a man or woman,
who took charge hand
dilly directing his/her partner
acrobatic aeronautics inland
pro active with guiding he or she
toe till lee tubular counterpart re
speck ting decorum, yet pre
zen ting a choreographed production nee
an utterly out of this world with lee
ping skyward ward jumps key
pin equipoise holy jee
purrs, which scenario
analogous to taking bold
measures tubby
forthrightly assertive fold
ding arms crosswise
across chest, taking hold
din stance without conveying
a haughtiness mold.
her eyes are gray, foreboding
reflecting the wrath of Zeus
yet therein lies the charm of Hera
who silences Olympian thunderbolts
she is sharing a tenebrous introspect
the smile withdrawn, judgmental thought
an ego that must be fed, expense of others
aloofness brings happiness no more
i am lost in the beauty of an honest waltz
women addressing their problems
instead of undressing in front of them
we all suffer in being human
but with an honest waltz such as yours
we begin the inward path
realize the injustice we do others
its ultimate expense, our self
we are wisely told never to judge
yet every day we do
and to some extents we must
who shall i call friend
do i devitrify, or dignify humanity
sometimes i wonder why get honest
people love to be honest about faults
most of the time it is yours
truth can be an elusive beast
sheltered within, Medusa's avoiding mirrors
refusing to acknowledge the peccants within
the ones we tend to ignore
dismiss as peccadilloes
i was not fond of reflection myself
those mornings after, mirror of dipsomania
the abusive beast, a life of full moons
it was worth every battle back
sitting here sober, listening to you
Phoenix 94
He sprinted through an awesome barrow, skirting a stone.
The music of July night is hidden behind hazel leaves.
I smile and watch young people play from the walker garden.
Indeed, the downpour plunged, beating on my roof tied a tin drum.
Choking out the bunny's smell in the extents of the forest.
July fireflies long for the moon as floods ascend from onset.
The banished euphoric world is an isolation labyrinth.
Watching the waters surface, the days pass suddenly of shadows.
Conscious at dawn, the moon sails with me to the morning seashores.
1St Place Contest Winner
Written: September 25, 2021
Checked by: SC.COM
Your Best Sijo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
I focus on a steady course, unwavering,
with just the few there'd be of us.
We past the ignorant, composed of juxtaposed hearts and
minds of a lost world that overflow with the many
of them there'd be.
'Tis easy to fall into a soulless mire, for their company be
greater, tho' friendless they'd be of any tiny mind whose
extents are to the girth of their being.
They toil neath our hydroplane sails that breathes life's
purposeth, empowered by our angelic host that guides a
righteous path to a waiting gate that holds open, to
welcome us, warmingly.
The soulless has parted from their earthy remnants, as
their spirits rejuvenate within a spectrum light, for
once they'd be lost, yet, now sheeps they'd be
that returneth to the fold of a blessed
meadow, sinless entities all.
Now our numbers restored to its true levels from whence
it were from the beginning of timeless innocence. We
are tended to by our genteel shepherd and our
angelic host.
There'd be the one Heaven and together with the whole of us,
delve into the eternal mirth that enlightens the essence of the
many.
Date: 06/04/2019
As Far as our Eyes will see,
In a Vast, and seemingly
endless World
to the Future’s greatest of Extents,
in a little Hut,
Hidden in a Swamp,
Lies little Old
Ms.
Garratha.
with the few who Reside
alongside.
They Eventually found
a Beautiful spring,
during their driest of seasons,
although seasoning doesn’t matter --
when It’s Wet twenty-four --
Seven.
The Decision to have a whiff,
without a -- Sniffer, may Just have been
the primary decision
For
Why this whole
story
Started.
Beginning with Licks,
progressing to Great
Tastes,
Has Brought together,
the
new Holy,
Wooly Serpent.
As No one has
seen
A serpent of coat,
since;
How often can you
find --
one of this Kind?
They Just so Happened
to
Land this amazement,
as For the water,
was not salty
At All.
Nor Was it clean, of
every Potential,
creating the Monster, Seen.
An ancient Serpent’s hair,
clogged much of its
safety,
and this water,
had much of
serpent’s Father.
His scales and much
Rein.
Slithering Out of this sort-of Creation,
came
Serpent Himself,
Shining without,
armour.