Long Half(a) Poems
Long Half(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Half(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Half(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
I think of you now and again
Out half a world away
On the other side of the globe
Here it’s midnight and for you midday
Somewhere on a Himalayan mountain
How can I possibly relate to your reality
Far from anything resembling a city
With no infrastructure of any kind
No cars no shopping centers
No electricity no electronics
None of the luxuries I take for granted
How can I relate to your reality
Your wealth is a goat some seeds and hope
A little schoolhouse relatively close
As your best prayer for a better future
The gap between the haves and the have-nots
Is nothing less than astronomically absurd
And there’s no trusting the middlemen
Greed keeps robbing those who have less than nothing
Seems there’s fewer godfearing people left on earth
Not many believing in justice and universal equity
I can’t relate to corruption
Concepts of karma swirl through my head
Death remains the greatest equalizer
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
Inland swimming pool.
Between two hills, a chasm, in winters rain fills up the gap
a lake is born, in May, June and the middle of July the water
is fine, if a bit greying.
The lake has no outlet and is used by farmers for their crops
if there is scant rain.
In August, the lake is silty, but it is the only swimming pool
we have, we sit by the bank drink beer watch children play
it is our day at the beach.
When the lake is dry, we find skeletons of animals and
that of a missing person who went swimming in the night.
Although we say next year, we are going to the beach
we do not it is too far away and crowded.
This year the rural idyll was shattered the dog sensed danger
something behind it swam wildly to shore.
As the owner of the canine lifted it out of the water, a monster
bits the dog in half, so much blood and distress.
As there is little one can do with half a dog, the owner threw
the remains into the water where it was snapped up by what was
described as an enormous reptile with a shark-like mouth.
The lake is a silent malevolent eye in the blissful landscape.
This year we are going to the seaside.
The Meglomaniac of the year,
Maybe seeing his mortality,
Craving a way to ensure
A really lasting legacy,
Launches his tanks
Expecting might to be right.
Conscripts don’t beat patriots
Giving the Meglomaniac fright.
The promised quick victory,
The annexed state of slavery
Crumnbles and quivers in
The face of Patriotic bravery.
Half a pound of tuppeny rice
As the cost of oil is rising
Costing more and more to fuel
A tank, which is hardly surprising.
Combat continues with
Refined tactics and stealth,
Rumours and counter rumours
Of the Meglomaniac’s health.
Dictatorships don’t listen
Or tolerate the question why
So the rest of the world waits
For the Meglomanic to die.
Missing: Pieces of Me
SPLINTERED HEART
like a leg severed, ripped loose:
the phantom limb throbs and aches
knowing yet unwilling, unable to accept
that it's only a ghost playing evil pranks
sitting frozen and paralytic
from the weight, the frightful weight
dragging, forcing down the head
welding chin to collarbone...
heavy, crushing feeling on the chest
punishing pressure on the heart
a heart at the point of imploding...
alarm clock crying, screaming:
time warp between sleep and awake
when not yet aware of where one is
not yet aware of what or who one is
a split-second reprieve until----
(oh, it really did happen
oh, I don’t have a leg now
oh, you have been torn loose
taking pieces of me with you)
it has been proven medically:
people with life threatening seizures
can eventually function normally
with half of their brains removed
not so with a splintered heart
not so with half a heart...
~ How can I forget a gently bold spirit that is Tim
whose poetry brims with verve,
contemporary images, wit, and emotional depth?
While exchanging comments on our posts,
I found out that he stayed in my country during
the war. His anecdotes sparked the beginnings of
a dear friendship that allowed us to connect through
email and facebook. Tim was an erudite poet as
seen through this winning piece in a contest.
~Knowing his health was becoming frail, he would slip
in and out of the site, yet quickly responded to most
of us on social media.
When Tim passed on, I was shocked; his demise ...sudden.
I am grateful to have known him up close and personal,
a man of integrity who wanted to revisit our country with
his daughter a year before he finally rested in peace. Salute, Tim!
Anthony Biaasoc's The Uncontest Contest
6/22/2020
She wakes up in a padded room
in an asylum on a hill.
A half a mile from civilization,
spirits loom with an ominous chill.
A skilled
professional in a white cape,
draped,
over casual attire.
enters the room.
A well mannered man, smooth
endearing,
compassionate,
or so he seemed to be.
in this chemically induced
dream.
Screams,
trapped in her mind.
the silent kind.
he leans over her mid-section
it is medication time.
Twisting, fighting
to escape her own mind.
Where is that man in the red bow tie?
She lays alone, drugged,
dull,
a lifeless look in her eye.
slightly crying.
Where am I?
Still fighting.
Blurred vision , diminishes.
she walks with a lean.
Headaches, a redundant punishment.
No longer looming in this dream.
To be continued!!!
11/07/09
Name withheld until contest is over
Flying ….love or loathe?
Personally….I am a loather
From the beginning to journeys end
I just want it to be over!!
So much waiting is involved in flying
Waiting, waiting and then some more
Great patience and time is required
Just to walk through that plane door
There are passengers who strife to get ahead
Though their seats are going nowhere?
Have half a house in hand luggage
Shoved in overhead compartments everywhere!
Being squashed in between two others
Wedged in a narrow little seat
Desperate to go for a wee in the stinky toilet
Can’t get out as next door is fast asleep!
The cabin air has only two settings
Freezing-cold or Hot-stuffy…..no fresh or breezy
Turbulence is random
Motion sick, scared and oh so queasy!
There are always the general ferals on planes
Nose pickers and those completely without manners
The coughers and splutterers
“The absolute delights” who love to drop silent clangers!
Finally…..the plane is on solid ground
Whole body completely stiff and sore
Brain fogged, weary and feeling quite gross
“Can someone just please open that exit door”?
“Get me out” of this confined germ filled capsule
So I can stand up , stretch, breathe real air
Every flight I swear “This will be my last”
“ I will NEVER again fly anywhere”!
Snoring bush pig
Relishing in reverie like a hog
Trudge on day-dreaming
Wandering beyond yonder
Think of no blunder in wonder-trance
Junking the Fourth Estate
Jumping at the Fifth Columnist Estate
The men in trance
Unsuspectingly saddled with the
Family’s mantle of leadership
Their eyelids basking to write
Their smiles determined to rite
Their yawn yawning to be tasked
Their heads rearing to go nodding
Like an Agama lizard
Their pen roaring with passion to
Dot nothing but ink
Their hands jostling to paste articles
As they took over
We dreamt of turn over
But they added nothing over
Except for our left over
Alas !!!!
We were all hoodwinked
They deluded us into something
Their leader gallivanting all over for nothing
In the mad rush for anything out of something
They foolishly lavish nothing
But Indolence of something
Vanishing into lethargy of nothing
Ink they could not dot
Meetings they organise not
Programmes became a thing of rot
September 24th Lecture of Late Layi Balogun
Our late Grand Patron went without a piece for lot
The family had survived
A silver jubilee this year
But with everybody in trance
Sleeping and snoring heavily
Soaring to nothing actually
When queried
They wink hush-hush eem-eem . . .
With a promise of something in vanity
What men are these?
For half a pen year
No child was born or adopted
Into the lovely family
For they slept snoring under
A tree called Fig
What men are these?
But . . .
May be . . .
But . . .
May be we should take solace
And console ourselves with courage
That those who sleep and snore
Can be woken up with water
And fire to figure out the unrepentant fig
We should for the last time
Live in another Paradise of illusion
That those that are in trance
Will wake up and refuse to die
It is only then
That a new family will be born
To restore the fading glory
Of the once glorious 25 years old JC family
The time is now!
The time is now!!
Now is the time!!!.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
Immediate Past President, Journalists’ Club,UI
For and on behalf of Past Presidents,Journalists’ Club,UI
Oct.2nd,2005
9.45am
Form:
Persnickety Peg invited me to the spa
We were going to be Zen, with a relaxing ha ha
We sat in the sun, soaking up rays off the snow
She wore her sunglasses, and her face was aglow.
She barely remembered I was there with her at all.
Our masseuse was a tom who was at least half a foot tall.
She giggled and purred and stretched under his paws.
I was getting no attention, so got out my mean claws.
Persnickety Peg was all about herself, boastful of course.
I was irritated that she was her usual arrogant self in full force.
She was boastful and proud, lollygagging there in the sun.
I suddenly remembered she has never been fun.
It's been said of her, she's heartless in nature
There's nothing that beats inside her chest
But something like that works two fold
Where most don't take the time to know
What could be the reason for this
With so many hurts it's hard to recover
The way love bites it's pain she finds
She's given away so much of it
That there is hardly any left
It's not like her heart she's trying to hide
She doesn't come with a load of questions
Just where's true love and why's it take so long
Hidden out amongst the weeds
Often makes love hard to see
Where you can go and pick your own
No, it's not like she has no heart at all
She's just afraid to give the rest away
As life imitates art through the bitter parts
She'll draw it out with only half a heart
Living come what may from day to day