Long Gruelling Poems
Long Gruelling Poems. Below are the most popular long Gruelling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gruelling poems by poem length and keyword.
It's the little things in life that mean so much
That steaming hot cup of coffee waiting for you as you greet the day
The cheery hello from a neighbour
As you stumble out of the house, briefcase and keys in hand
Ready for the challenges of yet another exciting day
The smile on the traffic cop's face at the corner
As he waves you through after the kiddies have crossed the street
After your gruelling hour long commute
You get to the office and the day starts with high-fives
The cute new secretary gives you a big smile
As you rush by heading for your office
Those long arduous meetings that go on late into the afternoon
Where everyone finally finds out the company has had
It's best year to date and you feel proud
That you had even just a small part in it's success
Then after fighting the late afternoon rush hour traffic
You return home exhausted only to be greeted
By your adoring family and you feel on top of the world
None of these things individually make your day
But all of these things combined make you aware
We're all so lucky to be alive
And that little things mean a lot
A concealed manhole in a dim city spot somewhere in this world opens at exactly 2am. No one knows about it except for the players and participants who enter the hole.
A heavy, thick metallic cover is a common lid or cover for most manholes everywhere in the world where road/construction workers and engineers pass through during the maintenance or proper operation of any urban/rural's electric (and/or water) supply. The hole was designed only as the freeway for public use in preserving (or restricting) order and prompt, systematic operations within a city, province or state.
The manhole is an entrance for fame if you want to compete in athleticism and vye for physical supremacy. Gladiators and mercenaries are the participants and gamblers are the players who bet in the underground arena. It was once a gambling den for high rollers and big time-casino players, however, it was converted into a bloody arena in later years -- the Elimination Chamber.
There are three stages in the Elimination Chamber and not all participants make it in the third and final stage. And as expected, only one will remain and stand tall as the winner.
After all the gruelling matches in all three stages, whoever wins in the end game will be declared as the National Champion. Different countries have different champions and so a bigger chamber is housed underground somewhere on Earth where not everybody is welcome to enter or participate.
This is a fictional prose, not a reality. It will only materialize as real when the Elimination Chamber reveals itself.
There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.
Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.
Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.
Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames.
Nobody can catch her riddle
runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides.
But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.
A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides.
Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer.
This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter.
In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.
Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter.
When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter.
A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter.
Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.
Always been blessed with “stick-to-it-ness”
Got it from my dear old dad
He once rode a bike three hundred sixty miles
Took four days each way, egad!
At any age, that's quite an accomplishment
But my dad was sixty years old
From Montreal to Toronto and back again
A feat so gruelling, so bold
A wee one of ten back in nineteen forty-six
Didn't hit me till many years later
The impact of his enormous accomplishment
It then seemed a whole lot greater
Been telling this proud tale wherever I go
Bout inheriting his “stick-to-it-ness”
Don't think I can even come close to matching
The resolve and dedication he possessed
© Jack Ellison 2013
Sadly, he died of cancer at the young age of 67
It's the little things in life that mean so much
That steaming cup of hot coffee waiting for you as you greet the day
The cheery hello from a neighbour
As you stumble out of the house, briefcase and keys in hand
Ready for the challenges of yet another exciting day
The smile on the traffic cop's face at the corner
As he waves you through after the kiddies have crossed the street
After your gruelling hour long commute
You get to the office and the day starts with high-fives
The cute new secretary gives you a big smile
As you rush by heading for your office
Those long arduous meetings that go on late into the afternoon
Where everyone finally finds out the company has had
It's best year to date and you feel proud
That you had even just a small part in it's success
Then after fighting the late afternoon rush hour traffic
You return home exhausted only to be greeted
By your adoring family and you feel on top of the world
None of these things individually make your day
But all of these things combined make you aware
We're all so lucky to be alive
And that little things mean a lot
© Jack Ellison 2014
Ever been given the “bum's rush”?
It happened to me yesterday
By this highfalutin dermatologist
Who's definitely overpaid
Appeared to me his only concern
Was how many souls he could see
To help him choose between a Jaguar
A Mercedes or an SUV
This may sound a bit cynical
But what else am I to surmise
Spent a minute and a half in total
Discussing the rash on my thighs
His 4 hour days must be oh so gruelling
As his golf buddies patiently wait
Only 43 patients to rush out the door
Before once again joining his mates
So did I get at least some satisfaction?
Well he told me my problem was age
His advice, “just suck it up, mister”
Now you know why I'm so enraged
Ever been given the “bum's rush”?
My blood has boiled over the top
Where did their code of ethics go
I'm disgusted with the whole damn lot!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Meet mystic mind where wonder waits,
Yield to fine grace in profound sight;
See surreal signs here at the gate,
Touch tranquil trace in love's sure light;
Intent sparks clear such bubbly sounds,
Choice charms calm chase in floral blooms.
Quest beyond fear grips gruelling grounds,
Urge spreads a balm as feelings zoom;
Obsess grand surge of mellow flow,
Thought quotient brings such myriad waves;
Ignite and merge warm pulse that grows,
Etch ardent swing as movement saves;
Note happy times in curious hues,
Taste patterns chime in vibrant cues.
Leon Enriquez
05 April 2018
Singapore
NEVER SAY DIE
The pole star disappears in the tempest on high sea,
the ancient mariner in you loses the bearing awhile.
Morning sends the sunbeam from the rising horizon,
the course to the green shore for you gets defined.
If you lose a race on the stretched track called life,
don’t forget you have a long marathon ahead to run.
After the gruelling effort you’ll reach the winning post,
and find life waiting there to offer you your due prize.
If you’re lost in the labyrinth of living, trying to escape,
and find the exit doors getting closed one by one,
don’t lose hope for at the end of the tunnel
another door will open and you’ll see light appear.
If the hours of the day run out fast for you,
the sky falls with the dark night of misfortune,
don’t forget the sun must set to rise once again.
So, wait for the sunburst morning, never say die.
February 28, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title
Title chosen : Never say die
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
Lining up for mediocre service
At the counter for the human zoo
Waiting around like stagnant Zombies
With nothing left to chew
The lifeless agent behind the bulletproof glass
Bellows out the next number in her que
Only 82 more calls and my numbers up
Setting in place my angered mood
Finally 4 gruelling hours later
I see im next in line
Then she bellows again to my dismay
Its 5 minutes to closing time
Im called up before they lock the door
She says sir theres more info you must provide
You will have to return tomorrow
Come early and get in line.
I rendered her my best pissed off smile
And said i live 2 hours away
I had to take a day off work
And lose my needed hard earned pay.
She picked up her lunch and left her booth
Disregarding every word that I conveyed
And left me reeling like a psycho killer
With my melting point swiftly on its way.
But i left without causing bodily harm
Or going Postal to satisfy my rage.
But now i understand fully how people lose control
Once you provoke them from their cage.