Long Finals Poems
Long Finals Poems. Below are the most popular long Finals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Finals poems by poem length and keyword.
Law, English, business, and so on—
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS
(degrees from the home of “The Tribe,”
dross that just obsolesce).
I'll trill as “The Lithium-Laced Lyrist”—
as rhymes are my forté,
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
for poesy's my métier!
I remember when I held my children for the first time
I remember when I spoke at my dad’s funeral ad libbing in a mix of joy and grief
I remember when Saturday was THE most important day of the week
I remember when I first stepped off a plane for a foreign holiday and the air was so different
I remember when I used to sit in the dark and listen to Pink Floyd
I remember when on Blockbusters, contestants used to ask “can I have a P please Bob”
I remember when my mum said off all her 6 children I was the only one she never understood
I remember when tasting Thai food for the first time I described it as an ****** on my tastebuds
I remember when at times even as a kid I could get so angry that I believed I could literally kill
I remember when I went on a 1 day trip to Barcelona to watch football and returned 5 days later
I remember when after paying my bills I had less than £50 a month to live on
I remember when I saw Ricky Villa score THAT goal and Gazza hit THAT free kick at Wembley
I remember when I was thrown in Holly bushes as some form of initiation at Grammar school
I remember when I smashed the school record for 1500 metres
I remember when my players won cup finals when no one except us believed we could
I remember when I graduated at the age of 55 sharing the day only with my classmates
I remember when I invented the scotch egg drink of a double malt with pickled egg
I remember when the first time my head was so scrambled I couldn’t comprehend where I was or what to do
I remember when I’ve spontaneously combusted in work situations
I remember when I’ve sat alone and for no apparent reason emotion totally overpowers me
I remember when I try to forget the darkness but find it impossible
I remember when I’ve written words sometimes and thought that’s not too bad
I cherish the fact that, at the moment, I CAN still remember when
study period
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch and my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, dirty clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
.
.
jelaxing = gelling & relaxing
Lovingly lauded.. they marauded.. rightly applauded
Saffa gaffers did thrill
Willow wielding wizards of Oz
Yielding…lampooned..marooned..jaffas
Festooned spill just like Seville .
Must remember..the ember burning
Yearning of Temba Bavuma
Kept his sense of humour
Despite being the victim of flimsy whimsy
Many a nasty rumour
I implore you to ignore the tumour
That is Michael Vaughan…dim..grim
Pompous pig or obnoxious prig
Having a dig..more clickbait hate p**n
Unsung and hamstrung..stoic heroic
Temba has brung salvation for a nation
With no Cronje bung..
The only stifling snub
Hell bent pundits in pulpits scream
Not just trifling .. no defending the Saffa culprits
Blunder of sending a sub par side
Alright trite s**e team down under..
Only one man stood sentry…Aidan Markram..often ignored..
Even deplored…a national pastime…his crime
Not being as sublime as in his teenage prime
But such touch..much gumption & grit
Did his bit…hit a century
Sod the rest…now a cricketing god
Against the odds.. has always saved
His Test best for the Aussie conquest..
No longer a sinner…the match winner..
Only one other Saffa..biff Smith’s
Scored more second innings tons..
They did vanquish their perpetual anguish
Their hullabaloo..voodoo..ending
The choke complex.. the hex hoodoo..
No longer Bill Murray day of the groundhog
Finally went the way of the underdog..
So Aidan and Temba we will always remember when
You gave South African Cricket their own
Homegrown ticket to the 25th of December..
Has been glummer.. Gory…still got the bummer
Of no tests in their upcoming home summer
But this a story of glory
Not being woke…not about race
The colour of his face
In history Temba Bavuma with such grace
The best ever test run chase at Lords
Nabbed his place…as the bespoke bloke & ace
Who broke the finals choke & grabbed the golden mace..
Miss All That (MAT) came in all prissy; serious cooks laughed a scoff.
Dare this woman think she’d make the finals in the ultimate cook off?
Something wrong with her we decided; her waist was too thin for sure.
We are serious chefs, burly with shaved heads who create chili pure.
Slimy's secret ingredient gives you flatulence and burps galore.
Many cream their britches before they reach the bathroom door.
Believe it or not, more people ate his chili than the chili of others.
He has thousands of relatives, I think fourteen younger brothers.
What do you call that crap? Asked a newcomer named Surly Sue.
We did not warn her in time, and she was now headed toward the loo.
Slimy slipped his secret ingredient into the donut she had been eating.
She did not make it for customers were taking up all the toilet seating.
Mother Russia in the form of Rotund Roth began his concoction.
Kremlin always bought his chili to make money at their biggest auction.
You sign up to stand in the bread lines waiting for two slivers of toast.
Best quality is chili's persuasive ability to bend wills of man and ghost.
I pulled out all the stops this year, introducing the Super Power Slide.
Gives you a kick in the salivating glands that makes you want to hide.
You turn invisible so no one can see your flatulence propelling you.
Around the room twice, before letting you fly out the window too.
Miss All That asked about six thousand questions to every single cook.
I wanted to say "Here lady" and hand her my dilapidated cook book.
But instead, I fell into niceness mode and helped her like the others.
Her chili was named the best; for she slept with all of Slimy's brothers.
Jordan was born with mild Cerebral Palsy,
But took part in the 2012 Paras at just 16,
Because he was born on 12th of October,
1996, and Rio was is second Paralympics.
“Even if you don’t like school, I would [def]
encourage everyone to take part [and] enjoy
sport, be it badminton, swimming, athletics
…ask others…don’t be shy, just go for it.”
Jordan made the London Paralympic finals,
But he remembers the Swansea Europeans
With great pride, because his birthplace is
Cardiff, even tho’ he trains at Loughborough.
In 2014 in Swansea he won a shining bronze,
For both his sprints - he runs in the T35 class.
In the 100 and 200 he did pride by speeding,
To the line by much strength, determination.
He says about sacrifices “I have a 300-mile
round trip from home in Cardiff to my training
camp at Loughborough twice a week, so
again, that takes some determination.” Fixity.
He feared he’d miss out on Rio’s Paralympics,
Because his groin hurt him so much, exercising,
Such that he thought he’d have to miss, bypass
The Euros in July in Italy, the entrance to Rio.
But a doctor at Nuffield Health’s Vale Hospital
Inserted a nylon mesh in Jordan’s week groin,
To reinforce it, but it is a partially dissolvable
Mesh so that he doesn’t feel it when running.
Jordan won two more bronzes in Grosseto,
In Italy in his skills, the 100 and 200 metres,
And so competed in Rio de Janeiro gallantly,
But sadly did not strike gold to top the charts.
I’m just twirling in the center of my room.
I’ve got way too much to do.
Has that ever happened to you?
I’m assailed, derailed and impaled by indecision.
I can’t find my lucky pencil and I have a final in 90 minutes
I have lab results to qualify and I’ve a term paper to finish.
I have two problem-sets due and I must arrange movers.
Despite my burn-out, I should start packing for move-out.
In order to get our reservations and tickets in hand,
we’ve got to finalize our summer plans.
On my theoretical schedule - I’m behind -
oh, and there’s a mountain of laundry to climb.
In finals week everything is ratcheted up.
and there’s the weighty and unavoidable demands of sleep.
I’m just a girl about to pass out in her room, over-caffeineed,
from chugging a large, iced coffee after 3 hours of sleep.
I’ve read that stress can affect valuations.
I think it’s true.
I twirl.
.
.
Give Paris One More Chance by Jonathan Richman (Youtube ZMF7Jq8xNGI)
I Want You Back by Trijntje Oosterhuis
Make a Rainbow by Benny Sings
Let Her Go Into The Darkness by Johnathan Richman
I’m in a psychology class and as part of it we filled out several, detailed, personality evaluations. They said these were helpful in forming a psychological profile of the freshmen classes each year and of particular interest were these COVID years.
The professor said she’d be available, before finals, to review them with us if we were interested - and I volunteered. So in our review we’re going over my results and she says: “Your trauma history could produce this constellation of wit, wiriness and attachment-anxiety.”
I flinch, irritably, thinking, my “trauma history?” What, “trauma history?” Wondering if - maybe the professor was looking at the wrong paper?
She read my reaction and the consternation on my face, started flipping through the papers, and said, “According to the history you submitted, your father was killed when you were seven and you were hospitalized for...”
“OMG” I thought, blanking out what she was saying, “How could I have forgotten THAT?” Even for a moment. Then I sag with this oppressive, blanket-like wave of guilt at having put the crash so far out of my mind.
“The dismissal of childhood trauma is quite normal,” she said, putting her hand on my arm, “You have to put trauma out of your everyday thoughts - to get on with your life.” She assured me. “It’s quite normal.”
How many blind sides do I have? I wondered
Winter tested my endurance with its sharp and burning cold and now the warm lavender evening, with its smells and sounds of spring seem like a gift. The breeze is warm, and even the broad zones of shadow contain an inviting warmth. The campus lamps should ignite soon but groups of students are milling, talking and laughing as if no one wants to let go of the day.
As Lisa enters the courtyard the campus lights flicker to life. As she approaches, she lets her book bag slide off her shoulder. Catching it by its strap a millisecond before it hits the ground as she reaches me - without looking - like a practiced trick.
Taking my hand in hers, she asks, head tilted slightly to see my eyes, “How’d the test go?”
I’m the first one in our squad to take a final - most are next week. “Cinchy,” I say with a grin and a flick of my free wrist, “not comprehensive - it just covered the last section.”
“Yea,” she says, “look at you go!” A warm breeze wells to obscure her face with her flaxen, cornsilk hair. She lets her bag fall the last inch, and ponytails it, two-handed, with smooth, practiced ease.
Finals existed, like ancient, cultural crucibles, long before our time, but these are ours, as if they’ve always been waiting - just for us.
Yale is still new to us, but we talk, juxtaposing experiences, challenging and comforting each other, even though we’re on slightly different paths. It seems that everyone is pumped up though, a little stressed maybe, but more than ready to hit it.
A story is told of a Roman soldier who came upon an area and needed further direction to reach a certain destination. His guide informed the soldier that if he insisted on proceeding in a certain direction, it could be fatal. The soldier replied, " It's required that I obey orders, not for me to live". Without a doubt, the Roman soldier was a warrior.*
They were vigorous, courageous, and aggressive; in wins or losses, gentlemen no less. I would consider them the greatest duo never to have won a finals championship.** One of them received NBA MVP awards in '97 and '99, a great personal achievement.*** The duo was like H2O, the formula for water, or like two well-tuned music machines.
One year those dynamic duo warriors nearly won it all, but for the heroics of another warrior.**** The unsung, unawarded quiet giant, was one of the greatest sports warriors of all time.*****
070720PSCtest, Warrior Contest, Silent One *Warrior: A person engaged or experienced in warfare; soldier. A person who shows or has shown great vigor, courage, or aggressiveness, as in politics or athletics. Dictionary.Com. *2 Karl Malone & John Stockton. *3 Karl Malone *4 Michael Jordan. *5 John Stockton