Long Forearm Poems
Long Forearm Poems. Below are the most popular long Forearm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forearm poems by poem length and keyword.
Summer to fall,
No other transition
Is quite so compelling,
So thrilling,
So enchanting,
The sunlight shines golden
In the late afternoon,
Illuminating the leaves of trees,
Some of which reveal gentle hues
Of red, orange, and yellow,
The sun spreads its warmth
Like an infant being swaddled in a blanket,
And it causes one to doze off,
Daydreaming of yesteryears,
What about those years?
Ones of youth,
Ones of innocence,
Ones of naivety,
It’s a bit like the trees,
The way one enters the world
Small, frail and vulnerable,
Only to grow and change
As time elapses,
Quicker than memory will allow,
A sudden tingling stops the mind
And halts one’s dwelling on the past,
What is tingling on my arm?
And when one looks down,
They see the winged creature
Crawling on the forearm,
Unintentionally tickling the arm hairs,
Oh, it’s just a lanternfly,
And now, it is here
That a new sensation arises,
As one observes the insect
With its patterned wings,
Displaying vibrant yellows and pinks,
With an overlay of dark spots,
Like a photo negative print
Of a night sky full of stars,
The sensation is suddenly alleviated
As the insect flies away,
But not without leaving
An impression on one’s mind,
One about small things,
Beautiful, fleeting things,
Which might just make
The passing of time,
Or the passing of life,
That much sweeter.
There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.
Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.
We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history,
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.
We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.
Talk to Me Rosetted Body
David J Walker
The reminders
Of adventures
Worthy of immortal celebration
displayed in an inked
Hieroglyphs parade
on all locations of
the bodies canvas-like surface
aged and dated
in a once vibrant hue
as the new
faded with time
what was it you were saying
when you were saying mine
I remember the mother
Who tracked every lover
She had ever known
With their names in order
On her forearm
I remember the Carnie
With the carnage of his life
Covering every inch
Of his body
In the black prison ink recording
The everyday strife
I remember the soldier
Growing older
with the battles won and lost
At the cost
Of every member of a
Decimated squad he will
Never be able to forget
Talk to me Rosetted body
Of the reminders and adventures
Of a lifetime
The bad days feel like Clouds over a picnic , fog in the crowd, the spinning ground, people pass like vertical white lines of speeding light, this is vertigo, this is the I can't handle riding that bus today or going to that play ,being afraid to say hey, these are the nights I lay awake and debate on cancelling plans, these are the days when I'm lethargic, the days that feel more like daze, the disappointed friends, the minutes with no ends, thoughts racing, pacing, mental loop, in space I'm gazing, too Bright , too loud , turn of the lights, sit with no sound, the times when voices sound like the cartoon sound effect of womp womp womp, the times if you touch me I'll scream and jump, the sweaty poms, the shaking knees, feelings of dis ease , feel like running out of my skin, nerves awakened , pins and needles, like there's a me in side of me and and shes jumping, she leaves me exhausted and smelling of sweat, the should or shouldn't of regret, this nagging , the forearm itch that is accompanying uncomfortable conversations, the thought war it took to say no, the battle it took to keep a yes as a yes, the grunts in the mornings when I didn't get enough rest, the pressure behind my eyes, the speed felt while waiting in a line, the feeling of impatient eyes on my back while I put my change away at a store, the days of feeling like a Bouie watching people swim when I really want to walk on shore, fluttering in my chest when I am unsure, standing in the door way with a half open door, days when the thoughts are to loud to ignore and I get lost in the haze of it , this is what it's like on the bad days
in the evening light of an Ugandan town,
welcome breeze in a large thatched canopy,
in a gathering of strangers and friends,
a nepali chef’s exquisite indian cuisine,
aroma of food swarms the candle-lit lobby,
a lone singer in blue jeans strums his guitar,
“ wise men say, only fools rush in,
but I can’t help falling in love with you”!*
tinkle of wine glasses and bottles
beauteous ebony soft skin reflect the candle glow,
colourful scarfs drape elegant hair,
the warmth of the day is long gone,
but radiant are the primal senses,
a greying drummer taps his feet,
the gathering, swings slowly to the UB40 beat,
in African suburb, king Elvis is reborn,
“ shall I stay? would it be a sin?
but I can’t help falling in love with you!”
i feel a soft cheek leaning on my shoulder,
eyes looking in to my eyes,
her hand rubbing my forearm seeking love,
instinctively my hand reach around her long slim waist,
as we gently kiss, lips sensing the warmth of desire!
“take my hand, take my whole life too,
i can’t help falling in love with you”
two strangers in close embrace,
evening, late night, wine and incense,
no introductions, no names
just passion and desire.
In that Ugandan town,
two strangers sought love
under a canopy, voice of a lone singer,
Elvis’ popular song to UB40 beat!
“ like a river flows surely to the sea,
darling so it goes,
somethings are meant to be”
1st Placement
Written 28/07/2020
Sponsor Beth Evans
Same old song poetry contest
* “can’t help falling in love with you“ Elvis Song performed by UB40
Claire won 5 medals at the Barcelona Paras,
In 1992, where she took the 50m freestyle gold,
To set a World Record, and in the 100m pass,
Still freestyle, she secured a warm silver fold,
A silver for the 100m backstroke and 4x100 relay,
Which made her extremely proud, chuffed no end,
So she only took up para-triathlon 2008, recently,
And in 2008, the Worlds, she won the gold blend.
In 2013 at the ETU Para-triathlon Europeans,
In Antalya in Turkey, Claire won the solid silver,
And in 2014, the ITU Worlds with London johns,
Claire came home 3rd, a bronze to weather.
2015 and the ITU Worlds again, in Edmonton,
Canada, and Clare truly proved again to be,
Successful at the triathlon with consolidation,
Of another bronze medal, podium victory to see.
That same year in Buffalo City at the Worlds,
She won the title, and at the GBR Nationals,
She came 2nd, also at the ITU London Worlds,
Then 3rd at the ETU Geneva European stiles.
1st in Detroit at the ITU Worlds, and then 2nd,
In Penrith in 2016 at more ITU Worlds again;
She finished 4th in Lisbon, Portugal - her bend,
Towards swimming, biking and running did pen.
She was born without a left forearm, prosthetic,
And was a Chartered Accountant. She reads,
Watches box sets, loving West Wing frenetic,
And hates mice. She has English Lit MA seeds.
Revving the Ante
She ploughs down the sidewalk on steeled chrome
A free spirit victorious of sorts over senile dementia
Got a quad-bike for her birthday and defeats her age
Che Guevara bandana nestles her orange purple hair
Bells and whistles attached to a gargantuan lip ring
A modern crusader in cruise control defying the odds
The sweet smell of illicit indulgence drifts on the path
To heavenly peace with painful joints doped into joy
That she never surrendered when age has crept in
She sports the number tattoo on her kind forearm
Of times she surpassed from evil camps to survive
Her sunken cheek bears an inked motto ‘sod botox’
The world is too poisonous without cheeky remarks
And turmoil has given way to mindfulness’s peace
In which she flows past barriers and speed checks
One day she was not there any longer on the road
Of infinite wisdom screeching through memory lane
But I shall take a tender leaf from her journey and pray
13th March 2020
Far as my eyes can see, 'till lake touches sky,
Earth beats as one; Poplar, Jack Pine & Birch all
Sing with the White Throated Sparrow, our Planet's
Love songs.
Sloping (5'canopy) an ancient Deer trail along the
Baptism River (flowing into Lake Superior) I startle a
Buck during his midday Nap. Soundlessly lifting up,
He elegantly bounces away.
From above, a dark object swoops in, Brother
Raven is curious, (always a sentinel for Hawks
And Bald Eagles). I stand motionless, willing my
Neo-Cortex to flood my aura with peace; as I
Extend my arm and gently imitate the Raven's
Welcome call, a double-beat "Caw caw"...I am
Here Raven, I am me". My heart quickens as
He alights on my arm, talons gripping my
Forearm gently, but firmly. Cocking my head,
I look deeply into his obsidian eyes to his
Soul...he imitates me, tilting his head in unison,
letting my gaze enter. Images from high race
Thru my mind...the rushing river...undulating
Tree tops...in an instant, we have become
Brothers of the wild, as I softly shake my arm
To set him free.
"I am me, Brother Raven, I am me"
05/30/15
© All Rights Reserved
1) Pick up the cat and cradle it in the crook of your arm as if holding a baby. Position forefinger and thumb on either side of the cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As the cat opens it's mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill.
4) Take new pill from package and cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut and count to 10 .
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.
6) Kneel on floor with cat firmly wedged between knees. Hold front and rear paws ignoring low growls emitted by cat. Get partner to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail and take another pill from the package. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set aside for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in a towel and get partner to lie on top of cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in the end of a drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down the straw.
9) Check label to see if pill is harmful to humans and drink a pint of beer to take the taste away. Apply band aide to partner's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed and get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door firmly on neck. Force mouth open with dessert spoon and flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges.
Drink beer, fetch bottle of Scotch, pour a shot and drink. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect, then toss back another shot.
Throw away remnant of T-shirt and put on a new one.
12) Take cat to vet and get him to give cat the pill.
Oh, Medieval Studies hit me hard!
I'd had to give myself a dressing-down,
A telling-off: "You want that cap and gown?
Then get your ass to lectures!" Bowland Yard
was frosty, unforgiving on my feet
that Monday morning. Seven forty-five?
I'm all alone? Is anyone alive?
I took the lecture theatre's highest seat,
(that is, remotest from the podium).
What sap gives lectures at this time of day?
"The Role of Guildsmen in the Passion Play" -
small wonder I was held in odium
by my professors. I'd been bent on passion,
and far too keen on play, to have a clue
what any of this meant, but now I knew
I had to sharpen up ... well, after a fashion.
That early stuff took place was news to me,
the party-loving fresher. One more yawn
resounded in the chilly air. Forlorn,
my scruffy pad took doodles, listlessly.
A door lisped open. In swayed Cheryl Ladd -
no, Rita Coolidge - Buffy St. Marie.
Some little trinkets tinkled gracefully
as Buffy slid beside me. I hid my pad
with one swift forearm. "Is it taken?" She
bestowed on me a smile so sweetly knowing,
I didn't know if I was coming or going.
"This seat," she said. I stuttered, "No, it's free."
The lecture, when it happened, was a killer,
but I was insulated from all pain.
I even thought I might show up again,
with Miss World wafting something like vanilla.
I crossed the Yard with no thought but my bed,
but someone tugged my sleeve. That fragrance! Her!
"I'm Helen." My whole campus was a blur.
"I wonder ... could you help me, please?" she said.
The next part can be skipped, or summarised.
She wanted me to teach her Skelton, Chaucer -
well, anything. Even Hengist and Horsa!
Three lesson-dates went by. I hadn't wised
up yet. Tonight, she didn't seem that fussed
with Grendel's mother's vile propensity
for harm. She looked with strange intensity
full in my eyes. "You catching that last bus?"
The air seemed cooler as I left her flat.
No hug tonight. No pasta to take home.
Her hair stayed stolid, captured by her comb.
Somehow, our lessons died off after that.
Long decades drain away, we don't know how.
A moral to this tragic history?
All I can think is, what I'd give to be
nineteen again - and know what I know now!