Long Flat out Poems
Long Flat out Poems. Below are the most popular long Flat out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flat out poems by poem length and keyword.
Pajamas or nightgowns, to me, are to keep
People cozy and comfortable while they’re asleep.
When sheltering-in or on weekends before
Getting dressed needn’t be all that much of a chore.
For even just changing to sweatpants and tees
Makes things seem so much better, by more than degrees.
I feel much the same way about making the bed
Since not doing so can make despondency spread.
Though many may argue they do the same job
And both PJ’s and sweats make one look like a slob,
It’s psychology playing a sweet little trick
For pajamas in daylight make one appear sick.
In our homes, we’re in charge, so we wear what we choose
And if challenged to dress, we can flat-out refuse
But you’ll never find me in my sleeping attire
Past the morning, unless the apartment’s on fire!
This is the veridical horizontal
Laying it on the line
This is the flat out truth
That its plane to see its sign
Isaiah Forty Twenty-two
"He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth
And its people are like grasshoppers"[a]
From His birds-eye view, His perch
"He stretches out the heavens like a canopy
and spreads them out like a tent to live in"[b]
He does this to educate us all
Heavenly hosts dance for our direction
It's His purposeful ambiguity
As "In the beginning"[c] and "In that day"[d]
When there is more than one thing to say
I don't know why He didn't just come right out and say
This is the veridical horizontal
From the beginning as it stands
But don't busy yourselves with all this
Get busy with what the Gospel commands
Three trains
The first train was bereavement, in the cab the driver died
pulling a coach of grieving souls, unknowing yet, inside
The second train was unemployed and heading where it will
no scheduled destination and so many miles to kill
Third train was steaming in real fast, relationship express
out of control, the brakes applied but flat out, nonetheless.
Where the tracks all crossed was a signal box, manned by a crew of one
who bumbled by from day to day not knowing what was wrong.
But up there in the box he heard, and from all sides could see
the trains approach their final stop, and that last stop was me.
Bereavement got there first and there was nothing I could do
no lights nor signals made a difference, it just ploughed on through
as unemployed converged at speed and rolled on to it's side
the pair of them went in nose first as relationship arrived
the signal box was crushed beneath, it didn't stand a chance
buried in the twisted wreck of flaming circumstance.
Shock finally subsided and the smoke began to clear
just left with total darkness and no way from out of here
all the wreckage pressing down meant nowhere else to go
just curl up in a tiny ball, try not to move, get low.
So there I stayed as unbeknown their night turned into day
the sounds of all around me going on their merry way.
Many days entombed were spent, not praying for release
comfortable in misery, my loneliness my peace
until the silence broken by a piercing warning shout,
'No rescue's due, it's up to you to dig your passage out'.
From where the voice had come from I could neither hear nor see
until the realisation that the sound had come from me
skin tearing on the razor steel I slowly fought my way
and finally emerged, bathed gratefully in the light of a new day.
No fanfare, and no wild applause, no ticker tape parade
life went on, oblivious to the escape that I had made.
Since then I've built another box around me, much much stronger
and hope the time till the next train will be, Lord, much much longer.
For contest 'Get low', sponsored by Casarah Nance
In memory of that dreadful year 2002.
Here we have the book of Revelation
written by the apostle John on his own
cast on to the island of Patmos
he heard a voice his mind was blown
In the spirit realm, John was that day
the world was all a thing of the past
for this was worship as God intended
falling at His feet thought time was cast
It looked as if John was dead
for he was above this world so high
though he was completely flat out
but his breath was alive not to die
At that moment a hand gripped John
it was his right saying do not fear
for this was Jesus the bright morn star
who always has been this was so clear
John had such a privilege
never before had he said this
"when I saw Him" so fulfilling
true real worship this sheer bliss!
("When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last.") Revelation 1: 17 (ESV)
Two boys in their 'tweens
Around the time of 1915
Had jobs and chores at home
Couldn't just run and roam
One Saturday when in town
Saw an ad the circus
Was coming around
Saved their pennies
Did some work
Couldn't wait to see
What was possible quirks
Thrilled with excitement
When the time came around
Wanted to go all day to town
Around lunch dad said could go
They ran to all the way to show
Longingly waited in the line
Wondering what on the inside
They would finally find
Inside the huge tent
Found seats prefectly fixed
Comfortable in there place
Never knew would have to race
Outside in a heated pace
To be saved from terrible harm
The show had started excitement
Built, someone in the bleachers
Some liquor spilled
Another person who just as careless
Threw down a match that was what set it
Someone yelled fire as the tent went
Up in flames and the 'tweens
Went jumping, running
Saving their skin
Looking back over their
Shoulder as they ran
Both hit the brick wall
Of the local dry good store
Knocked flat out pulled
Away from the fire
By some passerby
Lived to tell about it
On another day
I was glad they were alive that I say
(This is based on a true story that my father told me of this happening to him and his
brother in Concord around 1912 up to 1915. They were both just before being a teen ager
or very early teens.)
Form:
Nessie lifted her head today for just a second.
I saw it, and thought ‘there she is!’ black skinny neck.
Black face, looked dinosaur-like. I ran flat out toward her.
Was it the “real” Nessie?
She dove down hard, did a disappearing act.
I lifted my green wading pool, looking underneath.
Thinking there was going to be a deep cavern,
But there was nothing but wet leaves and brown earth.
“Looking for a drain were you?” A snotty voice said to me.
I looked up into the eyes of a smug, irritating arch-enemy.
Dhramned Abominable Snowman! Out of all the stalkers in
The world, why did he have to be mine?
If John (or Jane), a spouse (or bike) can bring butt pain
and some fools in pursuit of mere bliss think both tools.
Most fighters win rounds (one or two). But do they fight to win (for you)?
Some might say I’m a blighter. Still, new bikes are lighter!
There are good wines that age, but the best wine IS vintage.
If courtesy’s a subtle art, integrity’s its dearest part!
Life (flat out) can mean bugs in your eye, though you fly!
Ride uphill grants a clearer view; this world’s not you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
My poem is more a humorous comment on the human tendency toward
revisionism (I hope) than a criticism of John’s sly original poem with its twist.
This light-hearted free verse rates a ‘10!’ I enjoyed it, John, though I prefer rhymes!
See ‘Together for the Long Ride,’ a poem by John Watt on PoetrySoup.com.
I am sitting at my campsite watching my wind spinners frantically
trying to keep up with a wind who is fierce in her work out today.
Millions of leaves cover my yard; at least six pick-up loads of them.
Left by me, as I like to shuffle through them months later.
I want a fire desperately but know I cannot have one as I watch
my exuberant dog rolling in the oak, elm, and walnut leaves.
It would be a forest fire for sure right now. Everything would go!
As the wind throws buckets of leaves into the air.
I smile to myself. It is as if they have a life of their own,
slinging and sailing into the air flow, in a joyous happy way.
My wind spinners are going flat out fast now, spinning their colors.
Reds, blues, yellows, oranges, and pinks. Matching the wind’s mood.
Christmas approaches, I’m counting down the days
Santas around the world, are filling up their sleighs
Reindeer’s start sprouting wings, under thermal skin
Children on best behavior, concealing cheeky grins
Elf factories all flat out, working shifts back to back
Repair threadbare holes, in Santa’s bottomless sack
Christmas trees felled, on snowy fields of Douglas fir
Our bank balances reducing, some in fact disappear
Decorations light up early, as nighttime starts to fall
Presents all snapped up, throughout shopping malls
If you think for one second, yuletide mania ever stops
Turkeys pardoned for thanksgiving, now get the chop
'X'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
26/11/21
you remind me that i matter
that means oh so much
there are teardrops falling when you are sleeping
you remind me that i do inspire
you have no idea how much i longed for that
when you are not looking, there are times when i am weeping
you remind me that i am truly cared for
i have massive amounts of filed prayers on that issue alone
when you are running errands or are at work, i find myself actually cheering
you remind me that i am worthy of a friend
i remember staring into space wishing and praying for that very thing
when you have the door closed while taking your bath, i sigh relief that i am no longer fearing
you remind me that i can be loved
words cannot describe my personal road trip journey with that
when your attention is focused on cooking your dinner or watching the soaps, i simply crack a smile
you remind me that i am not the only one
i never thought that i would be thankful for that
when i just look at you in the sway of the day by day, i cannot hide the fact that i just flat out love your style