Long Geographically Poems
Long Geographically Poems. Below are the most popular long Geographically by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Geographically poems by poem length and keyword.
(A bit of fun for Thomas W. Case - I think he lives in Iowa)
Hawkeye pride burns bright in Iowa City,
the place where Tennessee Williams learned to curse.
Iowa City hosts the 4th of July, Iowa speedway race, unique perhaps
because the cars have to stay behind a tractor for the first 199 laps.
How polite are the people in Iowa City? I saw a news report where a man was mugged,
traumatic? Sure, but the man still remembered to say “Thank you” before the perp bugged.
There are over twenty-six churches here, people can be a bit pious and obnoxiously reflective.
There’s a Hawkeye infestation in Iowa City because of the university, classified as ‘moderately selective.’
Geographically, Iowa’s where the rolling plains meet a limestone rise.*
Did I mention that the bars close at 2am? A travesty in any serious drinker’s eyes.
Some noted authors came from Iowa City, the locals are proud of that and own it.
Most were playwrights and novelists, luckily, few of them turned out to be poets.
* whatever that is
note...
We’re in Paris (Peter and I) at the Régis oyster bar. We just polished off a dozen oysters (each) and we ordered "Plateau de fruits de mer" (a seafood platter) and they’re taking forEVER to bring it. Peter’s reading a book. “Mind if I.. ?” he’d asked. I looked at the cover, which read, "Heavy Quark Physics." ick.
So I pulled out my iPad and Thomas W. Case - a poet far above my station had, once again, lavished my latest piece “Brilliant and Wonderful,” (which I seriously doubted). But it inspired me to pen this (while we waited) - his poet page says he’s from Iowa. (5 minutes research on Iowa and 5 minutes to write.)
Ooo! Here comes our platter - bye!
SUNDAY AFTERNOONS
By Curtis Johnson
Mom had a sister not far away, and dad had three sisters, all of which lived within an hour's driving distance. That meant that
there were lots of cousins with which to play and grow up. Most of my paternal cousins were older than me, because mom was much younger than daddy. Not a problem, because it meant that we also had second cousins to play with who were more closer to our ages. Being geographically close meant that we could go on nice rides to visit them and enjoy a delicious meal also.
O, I do apologize if you thought this was about ‘cupid on a Sunday afternoon’.
O, pardon me, but I have had my share of picnics on a Sunday afternoon.
My thoughts here are tender ones, about family rides along the country sides;
And about getting away for family fellowship and fun, on a Sunday afternoon
Now, back to my story. Where was I? O, speaking of meals. The big food filled table with relatives sitting together enjoying a delicious meal was indeed the highlight of the afternoon. After the meal, the grownups would return to their seats of comfort to sit and talk about this, that, and the other. Occasionally, we kids would stop by to sit and listen for a spell, curious to know what the adults were talking about. And wouldn't you know it? I do not remember a word they said. So off we would go to play outside again.
We did not realize it then, but dad and mom were teaching us a valuable lesson
about the vital necessity of family life. They were saying that we should never
lose touch with not only our immediate family but also the relatives.
Any given Sunday afternoon was the one time that made all this possible. With no work or shopping to be concerned with, and having already been to church, Sunday afternoons were the most blessed times of the week. The memories of love, security, togetherness, and social interaction were born in the quiet country settings of Sunday afternoons.
cj08282014
The Prophecy:
An ordinary December morning
extraordinary hopes in white,
streets adorned with snowflakes
embellished in red crystal dreams.
She boarded her cab to airport,
awaited holidays had arrived.
From carousels of Tokyo city
to sledges in the Alps, a while.
Roads blocked in snowfall,
eh, just a glitch in the matrix.
An hour early was a wise decision
she couldn't miss her flight,
home calling season it was.
But oh the flight was delayed
by seven hours for clear weather.
'It'd be a roller coaster ride',
her roommate had read a horoscope.
The tiresome day had just begun.
The Adventure:
A birdie spreading new wings
exploring corners of terminal,
unexpected fascination at stalls
infant desires of relaxation.
Strangers seemed welcoming
a town thriving with journeys
she traveled for 10 hours
without moving geographically.
At last announcements made
she boarded with nostalgia,
the journey to her homeland
began with a gleaming dusk,
golden sunset kissing adieu
to sequins of ocean waves.
She read a verse or two
then dozed off with clouds.
A feather travelling afar
in alluring worldly delight.
The Glitch in the Matrix:
Until they had to pause,
just an intermediate stop
where she stepped out to stroll
retracing steps to board again
caught in freezing showers.
Warm at night, she shivered
longing for her cushioned bed.
A long interesting day though
she wouldn't want it again.
With lilac morning whispers
it was time for her homeland.
Outside was a soothing warmth
veiled in white familiar gleam.
She finally cuddled in her bed
with mother's handmade meal.
Woke up to a cup of coffee
and checked for calls on phone.
Gosh! It was still yesterday
dreaded to repeat she'd forgotten,
her body had traveled in past
Alas! It was a different time zone.
~A True Story
September 2, 2020
All In A Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
The woods behind Doug Richter’s house, although still remaining geographically
Are long buried in the memories of the boys who ran through them screaming,
“Here I come, ready or not”
Some of us have made it through life slowly, always being the first to be tagged
Some of us have found great hiding places to avoid trouble
Some of us have led and some of us have followed
I was surprised to learn about Doug’s passing a few days ago
I never suspected he would be tagged so young … before the rest of us
I am told that Doug’s ashes are to be spread in those very woods that we ran through so many years ago
That seems so fitting to me
I wish I could be there with the old friends sitting around one more camp fire
Bic butanes securely put away
To remember Doug
Somehow, I think I would still expect to see Doug walking out of the woods
With scrapes and scratches; blood on his arms, legs and clothing
And a big ole smile on his face
With everyone else having been tagged, yelling,
“All ye, all ye come in free”
The only way to get Doug out of the woods
I imagine Doug running into heaven
Smiling wildly
And entering those gates, too, with reckless abandon
Abominable Aborigine
Boycotted Baltimore’s Bakery
Canady Canola’s Cannery
Decoded deceitful debauchery
Endless energetic energy
Forwarded farmyard frolicking for a fee
Geographically greeting in Germany
Hardcopy happiness hee hee hee
Ignoring ignorance illegally
Juicy juggling juggernauts
Kettledrums, Kenya and Kentucky
Livening up our literacy
Maniac madness in a manatee
Nightingale nips so nervously
October’s ocelot obviously….
Paralyzes Petunia Parkway’s parenthesis
Quaking quail quickly qualifies me
Relaying relative radioactivity
Scapegoats and scarecrows so scantily
Treat Tajikistan twice tactfully
Undermining Ukraine’s utter ukulele
Vaporizing various vanities
Wicked Washington warrants wisely
X-rays xylophones ‘xtra-instantly
Yellow jackets yield young yearly
Zippy Zeus’s zesty zoology zings with zeal between you and me.
There are two kinds of cultures
- Defined in different ways
In different countries and lifestyles,
Valley vs Mountain, Settled vs Nomadic
Or in modern America, City vs Country -
With their two opposing attitudes,
“Let us tell you what to do!”, and
“Just leave me alone…”
It’s a simple dichotomy really
Of a group and collective orientation,
And a more individualist and self-reliant one
Based on the reality of survival
Each different lifestyle requires.
Different people have different affinities
And many self-select to live around similar types,
But there are plenty who find themselves living,
Out of family or work or relationship needs,
As a minority, a stranger in a strange land
Like that little contrasting dot within
The swirling drops of yin/yang’s polarity.
But these two cultures, as complimentary
As they are, also divide the nation
Not just geographically;
East and West, North and South
But politically;
Left and Right, Socialist and Conservative
To some extend sexually;
Female and Male
And generationally;
Parents and Child.
It’s a conflict of cultures we all experience
But sometimes never grow out of
Or find the freedom from, and peace with.
The two after all are opposites
And the one wanting to tell you what to do
Is by definition more motivated to find the other
And tell them what to do…
It’s the world we live in,
But at some point it seems
It’s just not sustainable.
Things fall apart
When they aren’t maintained and kept organized,
Oh, and here come those who have volunteered
For that job!
Now order rules the day, and chaos
Is always better kept way over there.
There are no frontiers left to explore
And escape into anymore
Other than the inner realm of mind
Imagination, dreams and fantasies
Or an addiction, dysfunction and disease
- Plenty of chaos available in those -
Or better yet, a good book in the man cave,
A quiet sit on the cushion
Or walk in the woods…
Something, anything to give us the peace
We all need
From that nagging persistent voice,
Outside and within,
Telling us what it thinks we should do
While we just want to be left alone
To discover it on our own.
(3/8/25)
Saviour divine, in utter amazement we stare
at your celestial and terrestrial works of art.
The shrubs, the trees, the tares, the flowers fair
all brilliantly arranged choreographically
for your amusement, entertainment and pleasure.
The names of all beasts, wild and tamed you know by heart,
for in a global view you watch them at leisure.
The earth's landscape and plains are geographically
fashioned by you, with gardens and relief features.
Your boisterous seas contain aquatic creatures,
great and small, most pleasant and refreshing for meats.
At your thunderous command, from where your highness sits,
the rains, sleet, hail, snow all water the entire earth.
The golden sun, the silver moon, the diamond stars
each give their vivid expressions of your glory.
Of your ingenuity do the birds sing in mirth.
The planets; Mercury, Neptune, Venus, and Mars
line up with five others in reverent procession
for your wonderful works made for man's possession.
Oh! what a magnificent creation story.
A glass falls and shatters
Scattering crystals
On the floor.
So up it is swept
And tossed in to the bin
To be thought about
No more.
A splinter or two
Are left behind.
They cut
And it serves
To remind
One of the
Treasure
That has gone.
What's in a glass?
It is memories
Carrying refreshments
Of sentiment,
Occasions shared with
Celebratory clinks
As a toast is made
Before one drinks...
A sudden fall
The crash
The smash
And the value is forgotten.
If it was special
It stings for a while
Then life
Moves on.
Likewise, a sudden
Turn of events
And one can
Become that glass!
Broken
Unmendable
With a need for
Tenderness,
While the most
Surprising individuals
Just pass.
The memories
The relationships
That once were
Are shattered
And scattered about.
One wonders
If one too
Is swept
Away from their hearts,
Chucked out.
The splinters of such loss
Remains and
They pierce
The aching heart.
Those geographically
Closest to one
Become the furthest away
Adding layers
To existing grief.
Can such
Relationships
Be repaired
And thus bring forth relief?
The reality is
That like the glass,
Some ties
Are slashed
Forever.
So when the
Seemingly unmendable
Are mended,
It's to cherish
And to
Treasure.
2024.05.18
One year ago, on a Saturday @ 20:10:00, I wrote
"Now, I just remember something to ask you.
If I lost my memory and/or
Was not able to read English any more,
Would you be kind enough to read my life story back to me?
Nay, maybe not, by then
You would have a lovely family
To enjoy and look after.
May I wish you all the best in your life, a happy, healthy and worry free kind of life surrounded by your loved ones."
On the next meeting, you promised by saying: "Of course. I will".
Well, BB, you did not put it in writing,
I honestly believe you were sincere.
I did not know why you said you agreed with it,
When you did not have to.
That was your very first promise
You made to break and hurt me.
That was exactly what had happened.
Everything had gone with the wind,
Every promise you made disappeared in a blink,
Why, BB why? What did I do wrong?
What had happened between us?
Why you could not tell me
What led to our friendship falling apart.
I never expect any thing from you
Except being a good friend.
You hated the governments,
I understood and respected that.
Any way, I sincerely wish you ,
A good health, a happy family
A comfortable life without relying on government funding.
Yeah, go to the under developed country,
Pick a simple but beautiful appearance woman,
With low maintenance, can bear your children,
No Covid-19 vaccination, share your life long passion.
For sure, one day not very far away,
I will forget how to speak and write English,
But you will not be around to help me,
Let along to know about it.
This was not due to geographically distance,
But rather personal preference.
Our friendship was regretedly finished.
Nothing last for ever,
Including my feelings for you.
Used to jab the raggedly tagged faggots b/c sad crabby lads have had their tags grabbed badly yet wagged their drab as stag shabbily as it was dabbed from what came from the tab that came from the lab too reserved to gab at the slab of the drab of the somewhat cab like scrap that gave somewhat of crap before it shat itself after meeting the scapula that became like Dracula before it whacked half a spatula sized radically habitual, mystical ridiculously perpetual medically perpetual cyclically repeating ritual that happens to coincide with the Tik Tok enabled cellular tested, wrestled, meticulously meshed, caressed, messy radical, half-hazardously sexual, wrecked ineffectual, critical, still not quite literal, but mimical, of a cylindrical, syntactically, sporadically, lackadaisically, unanimously, fastened to the meticulously dastardly, massed, blasted, gassed, wrestled, brass, brash, bastardly, bass-like, mass mighty, hat-having, hiss-heaving, bereaving, belief-bound of a be more than beneath the beat up and bleak beak bitten breezy bean and cheese pile of raked leaves style bowl of chips and dips script that the lady with the bloods and crips lip gives as people sit with a ship to New York style trip seem to forget as they lose their because of the tip that hits one when instead of their mitt that would grip somewhat of a catch in a fit that would lick the one who sits with the kit of the fictionally fit mystery that blissfully bit into a tic while it in turn was lit with the mix of the hysterically, rarely, heretically, medically dissed fizz of some **** that would knit a new tit because of an antipsychotic, moronic blip on the screen of some that geographically, sporadically, masterfully admittedly mentioned, could cause retention of some invention, that one would mention if only and if one was sick, with a little grit left abreast a messy Mexican directionally challenged malice but talented callous chalice wielding balanced rally style for a carousel encampment trampled on and possibly tampered with tampon treated, bleached, beaten...