Long Give up the ghost Poems
Long Give up the ghost Poems. Below are the most popular long Give up the ghost by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Give up the ghost poems by poem length and keyword.
Barefaced and Itchy
Outrageously plain —
Arrives on request.
Give up the ghost.
Fortissimo crisp,
Boring as it is,
Unrelenting noise
Ringing nonstop.
Can’t adapt well
While deaf;
Sight diminishing,
I’m decaying —
Losing weight
And patience.
My thoughts melting,
Combining with something else —
Alien, for sure.
Its beauty inexplicable,
So I omit justification
For her purpose.
I could go without glory,
It seems selfish.
I feign well enough
To ignore her:
Vindictive narcissist,
Productive behavior.
I’m alive only because
The ringing is louder
Than melancholy.
Look on the black side —
Pretty sure I’m immortal,
A god, because I say so.
I lost control of this
A bit ago,
But I’m keeping it anyway.
Goodnight.
xo
As we approach a certain age
Before the end draws nigh
Afore my knees give up the ghost
Or bunions stop me climbing high
When all I eat is jam on toast
Now is it time to make the most
To maybe write a bucket list
Of all the things I might have missed
Like jumping from an airplane
Too risky, that’s insane
Or swimming with a shark or two
Is something I would never do
To teeter on a tightrope above a high abyss
Would be crazy I have vertigo
So think I’ll give this one a miss
To bungee jump from way up high
Please have the medics standing by
My bucket list abundant
Making sharks or two redundant
With adventures unfulfilled
That I do not want to miss
Like a day trip to the Moon
Wishing this could happen soon
Set sail upon a Galleon
In search of Paradise
To discover Shangri-La
Or a place they call Utopia
Oh dear, I think I’ve lost the plot
I‘m sounding even dopier
I can’t believe I’m dreaming of a place they call Utopia
Returning to reality
I make myself a pot of tea
For I don’t need a bucket list
As there is nothing I have missed
Contest Strand no 710
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st Place
Soul Consciousness
As I struggle with the endeavors of my existence, leaving me at times numb, continuing to seek the answers that will set my mind free. It is then that I know my soul is conscious, for I begin to feel it’s soft caresses guiding me through this wind tunnel I call life. At times I can almost feel my soul wanting to defy gravity, fighting to leave its captivity and go to its resting place where it will breathe. And yet it waits to accomplish what it was set out to be. To fill me with hope and remind me of my moral actions. The body beaten and torn wanting to return to its dust will then give up the ghost, the consciousness soul arriving flawlessly in it’s triumphant flight returning into the hands of it’s creator to live forever. Creator, Master Artist, Magister, Author of my Soul, is why He is worthy…
Margaret Franceschini – May 23, 2016
Contest sponsored by Catie Lindsey
Responding to questions:
Is Your Soul Conscious at this time?
Will your soul be conscious after you have left the Earth?
To achieve while in the physical body?
After death?
Lastly, is God still God at the end of the day?
MAN;
I was all doom and gloom in the zoom
when the past second died,
A man surely has kicked the bucket
I was told, but I shan't believe
If so, when will I give up the ghost?
Fear;
This one is less romantic, young me
which mob will moan me- then let's all die
If not, its just me - on a beach.
This laudable slayer, I desecrate not
I yearn for your empathy, eh, less pity on me
Time;
your dear friend and his frostiness
I feel more sympathetic, I feel your pain.
Your kin and kindreds, all gone - just the fierce
and yourself to mend the rest.
History is fisty, misery is misty
And Death;
fie upon you amid all good
mirth you haven't given, some you've taken,
When all hope is done, you we shall demand of.
To me, guffaw not, for all you have not
Your soullessness is beleaguered, immortality renders you unhinged
Form:
You can use a heavy blindfold
Tie it to a chair
Throw it in a waiting trunk
Take it far from here
Ask it out fishing with you
Miles away from shore
Grab it when its back is turned
Toss it overboard
Hope against hope
That it'll give up the ghost
But love for loves sake
Will always make its way back home
You can climb the highest mountain
Push it off a cliff
Peer over to the bottom
Watch it as it hits
Place it in a rocket
Shoot it to the moon
While it's up in orbit
Pack your stuff and move
Though you would think by now
That by now you'd know
Love will always find a way
To make its way back home
Take it to the wild side of town
Sell it to the gypsies
Whisper underneath your breath
Hope that you don't miss me
When the weather's cooler
Take it to the fair
While in the house of mirrors
Leave its reflection there
Even when it's stranded
Left to shiver in the cold
Love in all its wonder
Will make its way back home
Spring flowers that never
Give up the ghost;
Perennially in bloom,
Worth fighting
And dying for;
Love and friendship
Like a fine wine
The more aged, the tastier
Going beautifully hand
In hand and can't exist
Without the other;
Love and friendship
Two gifts that keep on giving
And make life worthwhile;
Seeds that need watering
To continue growing
And enduring;
Love and friendship
Two butterflies
Emerging, as if like magic
From their chrysalis.
Soon to grow wings
And take flight;
Love and friendship
STRAND CHOICE X,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
(Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written and posted: 10/13/2018
I want to sleep good
If happiness is base on money,
Be sure that ,
you can never be happy in life,
If love is base on material needs
I assure you,
that till eternity you will be stress,
If debt is real,
That make bills a phenomenon,
when one
Is not selfish,
He can obtain peace,
From a connection that he gaves,
By careing,
I want to sleep good,
I don't want to be the richest,
I don't want to be selfish,
I don't want to be in debt,
Of material needs,
I don't want to lose,
My peace of mind,
I don't want to be runing,
after shadows when the sun is down,
I want to sleep good
Like a necessity,
Like money,
Like a struggle,
Like the people,
Until when will the rich be satisfied?
When will the holes of greed be stitch?
Oh I just can't trade,
my beautiful
Sleep with worries,
When at last,
I will finally give up the ghost,
Just can't trade on vanity,
Instead of a good sleep,
That strenghtens me,
When am awake,
I want to sleep good,
How can one work all time,
without no good sleep?
How could you,
replace worries to sleep?
I want to sleep good,
I wonder,
How a greedy man sleeps?
Guess his ego,
Echo's around him
At night,
Like a ghost,
With his heart,
always on his needs,
His eyes open,
Like a watch man,
Constantly planing for more,
I want to sleep good.
Sleep is a good medicine,
Sleep is healthy,
Work and no sleep,
Is equal to slow death,
Like a necessity
I want to sleep good.
Bidding tearful adieu,
I sat on his grave,
And his spirit stood beside me,
Consoling me to return home.
As I opened eyes to my conscious ,
Ghosts encircled me in black attire,
Their orange faces wore a smile,
Greeted with shriek sounds they proffered.
No life to be seen in full moon,
Not even as dark clouds passed by,
Palpitations that anyone could hear,
Chest went airless for a minute,
Eyes were dry and reflexes dampened,
Shiver that followed down the spine.
Scare of dying never before,
Traversed my nerves to a faint,
Darkness all over and silence of a mourn,
I found him standing next to me,
Both breathing into the same air,
That was a farewell to my life !!
New for Contest- Everything Halloween
Written on 22/10/13
Old for contest on theme- gothic and romantic both
Now entered for contest "Your own fav Halloween poem" by Carol Eastman
Awarded 1st place win
A new day began, I sprained my right hand!
Then my furnace decided to "give up the ghost"
Neighbor brought friend who would understand;
soon, room became as warm as toast.
then it stopped dead--all was lost
my muse and I were doomed to frost.
Two electric, space heaters running twenty-four/seven!
It was twenty at night--temp's winter hat doff.
My electric bill was reaching toward the heavens
My muse preferred to scoff
while my toes were freezing off!
Probably Monday, a new one he could install.
It would cost one THOUSAND--I needed some air!
Opened my door, found my son standing tall!
A guy with tech background, drove here to share.
I needed a hero, and he was there!
My muse and I needn't despair.
Aren't sons and daughters a wonderful plan!
They will help with gusto and style.
And hero neighbors lending their helping hand!
Faulty solder fixed; the heat will soon beguile.
My hand needs a brace for a while;
and my muse? I saw a tiny smile.
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018