Long Flair Poems
Long Flair Poems. Below are the most popular long Flair by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flair poems by poem length and keyword.
Heartbroken lass bereft of eminent beau
papa doth vicariously experience her
(mine daughter's) grievous woe.
Unfair a budding promising relationship nought
going to incorporate wedded bliss,
when for all the world
the strong humble lad
absconded to Puerto Rican his homeland.
Thus pained University
of Pennsylvania alumna
("star student") since grade one
at Belmont Hills Elementary
whose high school alma mater
i.e. Harriton High School,
now glum Oakland California transplant.
I (biological father),
who helped beget offspring
writhes with agony,
cuz he and the missus
sowed wild oats
during prime time,
when irresistible call of the wild
overtook wisdom to shuck contraceptive
yielding the miracle of life.
Parenthood never ended
just because declaration of independence
and autonomy witnessed natural propensity
for progeny to reliant become on self
forced shoulder living expense
no only for herself,
but deux darling
tortoiseshell dappled
five month old kittens
most certainly a constant reminder,
when she and he "two peas in a pod"
shared so many college campus memories,
whereby appearances hinted
and predicted a shared destiny
between two love birds.
An abrupt cleavage
rent asunder never witnessing
mutual graceful dotage
figuratively saddled once ebullient psyche
unnecessarily bogged our engineering minded lady
with cumbersome equipage
after they spent precious
young adulthood years together
emulating how married couple live, I gauge
such scenario, cuz talk of wedding bells
filled the (telephonic) airwaves,
whereby yours truly feeling blessed
potential prodigal son in law
his earning hand over fist big bucks
employed at Silicon Valley company
geared toward marketing fitness application.
Unsure how said high achiever
bolstered with you go girl refrain,
(who ofttimes communicated with Zayda,
i.e. his demise a crushing sorrow),
which inevitable prolonged decline
sundered special rapport
since more'n threescore
Earth orbits around the sun
papa acquired mechanical engineer degree
working within Aerospace Division
at General Electric.
Impossible mission not to care
despite mein kampf punctuated
with mine wanderlust flair
marital covenant garden variety
wordsmith did greatly impair
triggering hostility within mine humble lair
adulterer letter forcibly donned as outerwear.
Its off to grandma's old fashion cottage we go;
past snow covered pine trees all in a row.
To her humble abode adorned in holiday charm,
And two grey horses inside the red painted barn.
Inside a crackling fire warming- nothing to compare.
With flickering flames dancing with flair,
Mesmerizing grandpa with a hypnotic spell.
And up the chimney smoke bid's farewell.
Grandma's cooking in her colorful blouse
the smell of baked bread drifts about the house,
And Grandpa snoring, asleep in his comfy old chair
in a plaid shirt and head with no hair.
Outside freshly fallen snow- a winter wonderland,
With frolicking young children mittens on hands
playing with vigor on freshly fallen snow
Their rosy red cheeks fully aglow.
Carolers singing along the snow covered street
each one adorned with a smile to greet
With sleigh bells jingling
and people joyously singing.
The aroma of roasted chestnuts swirls in the frosty air
On Maple street near the town square.
The White Chapel's steeple reaching toward the sky
A glorious symbol to the faithful eye.
Inside the tiny White Chapel with lights burn bright
a beacon to the world on this most glorious of nights.
Inside rich harmonious voices with glory to sing
As flying wild geese with the moon on their wings.
The parson adorned in modest vestment
As the choir sings- a worthy testament
Outside its silent, still and calm
Inside the congregation seeks the Savior's healing balm.
Cheerful hearts gratitude they bring
patiently waiting to celebrate the birth of their king.
For it came upon a mid night clear
as their voices raise for the Lord to hear.
Inside grandma's cottage on this snowy Christmas Eve
snuggled warmly asleep in their bed
waiting for Santa's with presents filled in his sled.
Billy, Tommy, Freddy and Steve
Next to the fireplace for Santa to find.
A glass of warm milk and cookies to dine.
Upstairs Sally and Sue unable to sleep
waiting for Santa to get a sneak peek.
Christmas Tree lights blink with a fury
the children wanting Santa to hurry
And mom and dad quietly sitting
Grandma in her rocker quietly knitting.
Decorated stockings hung with care from the fireplace
Sally’s and grandpa's adored with red and white lace
photos of grandchildren that grew up too fast
Grandmother's cottage with memories of Christmases past.
Little Miss Poet, Sat at her computer, typing the morning away.
Along came a spider, climbed down her screen, and frightened Miss Poet away.
Little Miss Poet, fell on her duff, as she tripped, backwards over the dog.
When she got up, the spider was smart, and ran into the keyboard.
Low and behold, the fly swatter wouldn’t work, for the spider was safely below.
The spider peaked out, eyeing her as if in a huff, as Miss Poet jumped up and down.
With murderous intent, she flipped over the keyboard, and bounced it up and down.
Just at this point, the spider jumped out and scurried, with his life in his hands.
But the damage was done, the keyboard was unplugged, and terror reigned again.
Little Miss Poet, would have to crawl under the desk, to where the wires began.
There was no doubt, she’d switch to wireless now, but here that was a mute point.
She knew the spider was there, but hidden somewhere, in the stuff on top of her desk.
Little Miss Poet, crawled under the desk, checking and fixing, every wire and plug.
When she came out, there was no spider about, so both relief and worry set in.
As Little Miss Poet, looked down and around, the spider appeared on her arm.
With a scream and a jump, she flicked him off, and tripped over her chair this time.
Unfortunately for this one, the problem wasn’t done, so she attacked jumping forth.
The spider jumped free, but her toe was in need, as her foot connected with the desk.
A few words were uttered, as she jumped around, with foot held high in the air.
Broken toe or not, she vowed to get that snot, so she shouted for her hubby’s help.
He was down stairs, with the trolls you know, and couldn’t seem to come up.
So she swatted with flair, as the spider jumped back, yes, into the keyboard.
At that moment, a Troll walked by with a club , and decided to help her out.
Everything smashed, the problem solved, she sat down at her sons’ computer spot.
Tears in her eyes, at her computers demise, Poor Little Miss Poet, began to write.
This computer was next, to the one from before, and the spider was there, again!
Yep, you guessed, in the keyboard he sat, staring and more pissed than ever before.
The moral my friend, is that you can’t always win, even on a peaceful, beautiful morn.
Little Miss Poet, finally limped away, retreat was the better answer, by far.
PS. This happened, without the Troll, of course.
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts, ....
Eager junior players are busy getting into their strides..
In small groups of 4 to 6, they are seeking to earn their stripes..
Religiously undergoing punishing regimes while in training...
Perfecting skills and flair to better perform beyond all these training...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Players are wielding each a racket as an integral part of their hands..
Moving fluidly into anticipated spaces with well measured paces..
Unhurriedly and ever so confidently they execute hitting maneuvers...
One can't help but recall the phrase poetry in motion in their actions...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Perspiration drenched players are seriously undergoing racket drills...
Moving swiftly and surely through well drilled routines without frills....
Whacking hard and fast the moving blur of a rubberised squash ball...
Confidently and effortlessly retrieving impossible shots off the wall...
Within the glass backed walls of these squash courts...
The dedicated coach is closely assisting and monitoring his players..
Eagled eyed and confident, he's getting the best out of the players..
Pushing and cajoling, occasional groans and cries of frustration and of laughter...
Help relieve the monotony in this serious business of training players to be better...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Young players are diligently sweating blood and tears to excel further....
Endlessly going through technical drills so that their skills be better..
These endless cycles of training and stroke making drills are necessary....
For these young players are chasing living dreams of squash fame and glory...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts...
Kiddie dreams of glory and fame are planted in fresh young minds in earnest...
Sporting dreams are cultivated and gradually nutured into driving ambitions...
A number of such dreamers will falter never to taste the ultimate highs of glory...
But one in a while, a shining diamond of a player steps into court, to start a new story..
Within the the glass backed walls of the squash court....
A generation of champions are being groomed to hold court...
Outside the world awaits patiently, who's the next champion to step forth?
You made up your mind to view the world
With different eyes —eyes recessed, eyes inundated with lustre,
Straining to catch every flight of the dancing seasons that hurled
Man and beast beyond frontiers with baluster.
You are the town-crier of our time, delivering messages printed on banners
That hail the energy of the heated earth.
What a voice you possess! So smooth and euphonious, it rings loud and clear
With the gumption of a king’s augurer, leaving behind manners
That haunt us pleasantly with bliss and mirth,
Suggesting frantically the suavity of a seer
Journalism has come to judgement, fragmented by words and the eloquence
Of time and grace. Are you not equal to the task?
The world admits you certainly are! And with supreme relevance
Your disciples are many, Dear one, flaunting the mask
Of imitation — they litter the world like tiny red beads flung and scattered
Beyond boundaries stretching from sea to coast
You are a lover of words, speaking with valour even on the arcades
Of fright, charming viewers with the powers of gathered
Attention when rainy nights and dewy mornings boast
Loudly of integrated existence of cascades
An anointed raconteur you are, reeling off tale after tale
By moonlight of cosseted playgrounds
I assume you frequented gatherings, prelapsarian, on a scale
So great that the sage spoke on select backgrounds
How do you do it?
Do you burn candles with scented tallow, and without
Need of a flint —thus reluming primitively dark alleyways?
You are the light that shines on tenebrous path and grit,
Revealing fey monsters responsible for the drought
That burned the pennants of truth posted on archways.
I never before knew an institution of mass communication
Until the bright age of running news crowned your labours
By way of a universally attended coronation
The world attributes to you the favours
Of heavens and caverns of Eudemons.
Arise, Dear One, arise and claim your special flair,
Make noise with the reeds of the Nile and dance gracefully
As you dine on stewed cinnamons
Rest assured you’re deeply blessed, Dear one with a dare;
I assure you mightily, speaking faithfully.
Your rhyme reads like a rap they say,
a rap I say,
a rap they say,
perhaps but rap is rhyme you see,
it's rhyme really,
it's rhyme you see,
this poem is not lyrical,
no not at all,
not lyrical,
'cus songs use words repeatedly,
repeat you see,
repeatedly.
We'll use that as the chorus,
it's easy and thoughtless,
lets build a rhyme fortress
with verse summersaultus,
not a word but I don't care,
eating apples grapes and pears,
seeking angles of praise from flair,
story starts now take a chair.
Out in public with clothes removed,
I've had this dream but now it's true,
a dude that's nude and on the move,
without a pube all in plain view,
swing it like a helicopter,
round and round 'til someone stops ya,
grab some weed and party poppers,
run down streets to dart from coppers,
drinking aftershock that shocks ya,
always after the shot has docked ya,
stick your head between some knockers,
wake up thick lipped at the doctors.
(Chorus)
Write it like a conversation,
it might give it a new dimension,
in that last verse you forced the rhyme,
of course that's fine in this rap rhyme,
'cus rap is rhyme it's rhyme they rap,
that is a fact a fact is that,
by it's nature rap is rhyme,
if it reads like a rap then it reads like a rhyme,
does that mean always rhyme is rap,
of course it isn't it's less than that,
now that sounds mean,
what do you mean,
rap rhymes are rhymes and rap,
rhymes just rhyme they're not rap,
well what's this verse then is it rap?
No my friend this verse is crap,
I hope they remember this is a conversation,
they're not reading you lost their attention.
(Chorus)
A third verse now this is long winded,
it's forced and pointless poets cringing,
get back to the story,
now you were knocked out,
yes and I remember nowt,
then what the hell's this rhyme about,
it's like a selfie with lips that pout,
no one cares except the poser,
that means no one notes the nose hair,
wrap this up it's going nowhere,
rap it up like you're a rapper,
this poem keeps on getting crapper,
no one's read as far as here,
in this worse rhyme you've wrote all year,
at least it flows like hip hop songs,
it flows with flow its flow is strong,
to flow like this use words not long,
here's the chorus lets sing along.
(Chorus)
it reads like a hip hop
POTD 17/10/2018
11/4/1991, KENOSHA, WI – Police say a man wearing a fake goatee burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a fake goatee?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a goatee, it’s a van dyke,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
12/9/1996, IMPERIAL BEACH, CA – Police say a man in a Buster Keeton mask burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Buster Keeton mask?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Buster Keeton. It’s Buster Crabbe,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
6/26/1998, ODESSA, Texas – Police say a man affecting a Spanish accent burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you affecting a Spanish accent?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Spanish. It’s Catalan,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
11/25/2006, SHREVEPORT, LA – Police say a man wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a campaign button. It’s flair,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
3/6/2007, SEATTLE, WA – Police say a man wearing a satin vest burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a satin vest?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not satin. It’s velour,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
2/12/2008, VIENNA, MO – Police say a person dressed in a nun’s habit burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you dressed in a nun’s habit?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a habit. It’s a vocation,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
6/18/2009, MARLTON, NJ – Police say a person riding a scooter chair burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you riding a scooter chair?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a scooter chair. It’s a civil right,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
3/27/2010, KING of PRUSSIA, PA – Police say a person holding a bottle of urine burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you holding a bottle of urine?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not urine. It’s mine,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
I said I'd bring the Brussel Sprouts.
My friend said that was fine.
But still I saw him questioning
as though I'd crossed the line.
He mentioned we had many things.
A meal for a king.
But then he said "Oh what the heck"
and on I went with zing.
I mentioned bringing cranberries.
To which he said "For beef"?
Then stated that I didn't care
and kept it just that brief.
Till finally bringing cherries up.
The Marashino kind.
Do tell; I'd brought his anger up.
He thought I'd lost my mind.
I said they're for the ice cream.
When he said "We have cake".
Then told him we could put them on
for something new to make.
He greeted me with smiling eyes.
His kitchen in a mess.
He'd cooked the meal the whole day long.
This man was meant to bless.
The table sat in waiting now.
A knife, a fork a spoon.
My friend next to the burners on
where he'd been next since noon.
We talked about the day we had.
complained of things unfair.
While turnips, carrots and potats
sat cooking on with flair.
The roast was last to finish up.
It cooked a second time.
It looked like we'd be waiting on
for pink to leave the Prime.
When finally all was ready now.
Each dish upon the table.
You couldn't have had a better spread
or find a friend more able.
The turnips shining in their juice.
The carrots basted glisten.
Potatoes mashed in pile of silk
for gravy left to Christen.
We filled our plates with everything.
Three inches piled high.
And kept them separate in their space.
Not more if we could try.
When finally it had come to change.
The cranberries coming next.
My friend conceded they taste great
with beef in it's context.
The Brussel Sprouts were perfect
as we both approved thier taste.
And ate as many with the meal
to keep them from their waste.
With everything we ate that night
included was our prayer.
For though we stuffed ourselves that night
we're thankfull to be there.
We walked it off an hour or more.
Our health in need of chance.
Returning for another round
of ice cream, cake and trance.
To which I mentioned sweetened cherries
to add a little flavor.
When placed upon the ice cream scoop
would leave us both to savor.
The meal ended with a scrape
that both our plates gave squeak.
but despite our prayer and being full
not one us could speak.
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.