Long Getting Poems
Long Getting Poems. Below are the most popular long Getting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Getting poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes I think I write too much,
with the words getting lost in rewrites
repeating and reiterating
those same emotional feelings within
but
within me rises and storms that need
to express what I feel,
reveal what I see.
Strange to think of that long gap
some eighteen to twenty years
when nothing could be written
when life drowned out the need with other struggles
but here I am again,
with a renewed vigor and resurgence of
what has been hiding, pushed down within
the inner depths of my mind and soul
may the words find their way
and may they be worthy
blessed and enjoyed
by the writing and the read.
Do you remember when love was more than a four letter word
And holding hands walking down the street
Doing a matinee on a Saturday
Feeling the rhythm of the music in your feet
Playing baseball on an abandoned lot
And how the girls could turn your head
Sneaking that cigarette behind the house
Getting your first kiss and turning red
A nickel bought a candy bar
A penny bought a picture of a movie star
Go for a Sunday ride in the family car
A baseball glove dangling from your handle bar
Do you remember when Mom read us a nursery rhyme
Hey kids, what time is it? It's Howdy Doody Time
The Falcon and Shadow were fighting crime
You could find anything in the Five and Dime
In the drug store, you could get a cherry coke
The smell of the bus when it left all that smoke
Playing chase tag on the street at night
Running through fields, flying a kite
Picking flowers for Mom on the way home from school
Meeting your classmates at the community pool
School shopping right before Labor Day
Saving your money by putting pennies away
In spite of the hardships and all of the strife
Honesty was a way of life
We grew inside from what we learned
We didn't accept it if it wasn't earned
Pep rallies before the football game
We knew each shop and the owner by name
Do you remember when life was innocent
Do you ever wonder where it went?
Countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.
Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.
Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.
Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who whiz patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.
Be careful of the thing
that doesn't exist.
Do attend to the loss
of the lightest fundamental
(you just couldn't lose)
because it never really was -
the consummate vacuum.
How is it not possible
to lose one's mind?
"To avoid tripping
when getting off the train
at a high level platform:
mind the gap."
The voice of authority
renders the request -
but instead it's an order:
Don't fall
for the vacancy
its emptiness
(but not emptiness?)
don't get hurt.
"How does your mind work?"
This question, a one
that never could
be substantiated.
It's not a question
one should ask.
So why did I say that?
____________
(Fill in the gap.)
And, in the process of caring
so much for so little -
of tending to what amounted
to nothing in the end -
tripping, stumbling, and losing...
Get a grip!
Stay put and remain upright,
maintain your balance;
equanimity in a yoga pose
needs stillness of breath,
and keeping still
sometimes feels like the
most painful stance of all.
Falls tend to occur when
least expected? Not so.
They happen when stopping,
or embarking,
or leaving,
or all of the above.
So watch out,
stay focused, and do
whatever it takes
not to get hurt.
Why should I mind
this exquisite aching?
Now the foundational fabric
rips apart at the seams
while avoiding tripping
at the high level platform.
A favorite slip
(skirting the issue, a peculiar talent)
might not be worth repairing or
perhaps it's damage, irreparable.
It's not visible,
so why ___?
(Such a shame.)
We don't know
what we don't know.
Ripped apart, undetected -- yet still.
This gap has
(sew its seams!)
a mind of its own.
As stubborn as my daughter can be
She wouldn't move
She stayed in her room and cried
I peeked inside her room
And imagined I would see a young doe
Wide-eyed and with tears
Peeking back at me between the trees
Instead, I saw her Barbie Dolls holding the fort, angrily
Standing guard around her bed
With her teddy bear and my daughter
Hiding under the covers
What was supposed to be her first day of school
With her new dress, new shoes, and new backpack ready
She wouldn't move
For she was scarred
Like a shaking tree
And we were both lost in the forest of our lives
With her tree scheduled to branch
And stretch and grow
But didn't, momentarily
Between us, we were both getting schooled in life
And nature
And the fortress that was hard to overcome
For there stood a mountain that wouldn't move
And a mountain that needed to be moved
One pebble, one stone, one boulder, one hill
At a time, motherly, and patiently
For I was the one who was up for the challenge
Of moving that first pebble
For I called her school and doctor for help
That saw me on the altar of my life
Praying that there be a clearing
A path out of the lost forest
With bluer skies ahead of us
With the unmoveable mountain being an aberration
On that second day
The sun indeed shinned
She took that first step
With her Barbie Dolls beautiful again
shot down and abused
misled and used
shed blood and felt pain
lose more than i gain
turned mad green and so sad blue
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
malnourished and underfed
followed blindly and been misled
drank from the wrong cup
went down but could not get up
put on my clothes inside out and on each foot the wrong shoe
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
been called a dingbat
kicked like an alley cat
two seconds from getting laid
solo silhouette on the shade
i am considered a 'man' only by a chosen few
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
rip van winkle old
igloo eskimo cold
oblivious and forgotten
vagabond and downtrodden
i am a hundred miles away from reconstructed brand new
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
My phone rings…. I answer it but say nothing as I don’t recognise the displayed number and I can only hear ‘white noise’ at the other end. Okay I admit I’m going deaf and will be getting my hearing aid soon but that’s another story.
I check out the number on Google and see it’s scammers who ring up people claiming to be from Microsoft and unless you pay up heaps of money they will hack your computer. It was the second time they had called in two days so I’ve written a little script based on an old joke for when they eventually try again
Caller: Hello I’m calling from Microsoft
(before they can get on with the rest of their script)
Me: Oh are you the engineer, I’m glad you rang so quickly after I logged a fault call. Please can you help me, I have a terrible issue with my computer, well it’s not my laptop it belongs to my son ....
Me: You know the handy little coffee cup holder on the side, well it’s broken…
Caller: (getting cross as he can’t use his script) What the heck are you talking about…
Me: The coffee cup holder – you must know the one … you press a little button on the side of the laptop and it shoots out …it’s so handy for my coffee mug but it’s got jammed and it’s only half way out and I can’t use it.
Caller: Coffee cup holder - are you mad?
Me: No… I'm not mad but I have short term memory issues … but my son will be absolutely bloody fuming if I don’t get the coffee cup holder sorted. Can you tell me how to fix it?
Caller: Just hangs up in frustration!
I just need them to ring me now and I will be ready!
Short Story Contest N/A in contest judged on 9/27/16
Submitted to Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please Sponsored by Broken Wings
09~27~16
There’s tons of fun things you can do on the farm,
like bucking bales of hay or cleaning the barn.
Or milking the cows and feeding the chickens,
working the garden where the beans need picking.
Or on top of the roof replacing the tin,
trying to find where the water’s getting in.
Maybe out on the tractor mowing the hay,
with the hot sun’s beating down on you all day.
When the sun finally sets down in the west,
you can start to slow down and take a short rest.
Now all winded and burned and hungry as hell,
wash off the cow dung before the dinner bell.
Sitting on the front porch beneath the moonlight,
with lightning bugs flashing like stars in the night.
A cool gentle breeze flowing over the land,
while you sit in your chair holding your wife's hand.
The scent of wildflowers filling up your head,
drifting in through the window beside your bed.
You lay your head down but before you can sleep,
you pray that this is the life you'll always keep.
Thunderstorm
the rain hits the windshield and
the wiper keeps getting stuck,
why am I here, again?
The sidewalk flooded
I get that, me too, I guess
Sometimes you just have to let it bury you
Clouds
they hung round longer than
the rain and I think that's worse
hold on, repeat that.
Blue
the TV keeps playing in the back
it's so late, I don't even know this show
wait
Thunderstorm
again, I just got out of this rain
and now it's back again
where did all this water come from?
Florescents
i think I feel something, the pills
drown out the rain but it's still on the window
I almost hear voices.
Sometimes.
It feels like a camera is there.
Humming, strumming, getting warped.
I almost talked back to them.
The whoosh, but no splashing.
No evidence, not even in myself.
So maybe I’m delusional as the browning of an apple core.
Sometimes, I almost certainly hear voices.
Staked right outside my room.
Which I could bring to my lips like burning lip gloss if I cared to.
A trap door could be there.
I like hearing voices.
Mostly, it’s just the “ahhh” sound.
The start and collapse of a howl.
Resides close.
I almost, sometimes hear voices sneaking closer.
Like a fish jumping onto land then into my second story window.
I’m grateful.
Maybe they are too.