Long Half inch Poems
Long Half inch Poems. Below are the most popular long Half inch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Half inch poems by poem length and keyword.
The air shifts.
Not colder, just wrong.
Like the room exhales without me,
Like it knows something now
It didn’t want to know.
The cushion beneath me feels damp,
Though I haven’t moved.
My skin prickles but
Not from shame, but
From exposure,
Like I’ve peeled something back
That was never meant to be touched.
Your eyes don’t widen.
They narrow in calculation.
Scanning for cracks,
Maybe for signs of weakness.
Not searching for me, but for damage.
I smell the faint trace of your shampoo
Sweet, clean, familiar and suddenly
It makes me nauseous.
Too gentle for this moment.
Too far from where I am.
My mouth tastes like copper.
The words I said still sit on my tongue
Like blood from a bitten lip.
I swallow hard and it doesn't help.
The taste stays,
Metallic and sour, like regret that’s already curdled.
I want to rinse it out, but it’s inside me now.
The silence isn’t quiet. It hums.
Like the inside of a car after the engine cuts,
When everything feels too loud and too still
All at once.
I hear your breath
Too measured, Too careful,
Like you’re afraid even your exhale might shatter me.
It’s caution, not kindness.
My shirt sticks to my back,
The sweat being watched like a specimen.
Like I’ve become a case study in grief.
I feel the fabric cling like a second skin
I didn’t choose.
I feel my body betray me.
I see your posture shift.
Not away yet not toward.
The shift Just enough to make me feel like I’ve changed shape
And you’re recalibrating.
A half-inch of hesitation that says everything.
Like you’re trying to decide if I’m still the same person you sat down with.
There’s no comfort here and
No warmth.
Just the echo of what I said bouncing off walls that
Used to feel safe.
Now they feel like mirrors, reflecting back a version of me
I didn’t mean to show.
And you’re looking at her
Like she’s someone else.
~~~
GRANDMA AT THE TRACK
foolishly
i threw the rock
and appeared
to hopscotch
until the ill of my ankle
violently mocked
i chalk it all up
to forget me nots
my mind over knees
ignores
the rusty gears
as my wrinkled hand
avoids resistance
hovering a half inch
above the bannister -
safe.
now i watch youngsters skate.
those whipper snappers
with the gait of a purebred horse.
i huddle with my overloaded purse
carrying 3 cell phones and mine,
a roll of ticket winnings,
leftover candy,
then i
chase my four-year old grandson
‘round the outskirts
as he weaves between strangers
taking my heart with him.
mind you,
the thoroughbreds
are resting soundly
on the bench.
4/25/2019
There you are-
A favored photograph
Framed upon the smooth, bisque-colored door
Of our Kenmore refrigerator
Centered-
Fastened in prominence by
Blue and yellow star-shaped magnets with
"Importance" inscribed upon each corner.
You-
A glossy-coated, eight and one-half inch
By ten and one-half inch
Image,
Created by thousands of colored
Pin-point dots:
Red, blue, white, black, and green-
A brilliant projection of
Loyalty and trust,
Longing and security,
Love and faithfulness.
There you are-
a single moment in the life of a
Small, sad, sleeping boy laying on his dog.
A captured glimpse of true love.
Jingle bells
and reindeer smells --
note to Mrs. Clause:
before Eve-trip, to reduce
scent and slip, no beer
and sardines for Rudolph!
That damn Guiding Red-nose
needs to find other fuel for
his radiant beam-glows! (takes a lot
to piss-off Santa)
It was a foul dilemma:
Every time Dancer, Donner and Blitzen
rose, Santa was forced to awkwardly stretch and
pinch each tortured, dutiful nose; poor deer, eyes
stinging and runny (not the least bit funny)
(Rudolph laughing like a ridiculous fool) (Santa
thinking, next year, to take his place, perhaps a
levitating green-schnoz mule)
fumes causing the team to terribly
blink -- every inch higher, a half inch
lower the sled would breathlessly sink --
Note to Mrs. Clause: especially disallow,
one last huge, gulp for the long cold road -- that
parting toast proved particularly disastrous to Santa's
precious gift load,
when the old saint paused to
light his pipe: Rudolf let loose with
one extraordinarily ripe -- when the match was
struck, ignited the night, flaming presents needing
no additional lift to literally take brilliant flight --
A Christmas to remember
when Rudolf went on a Sardine, Beer
Bender.
Little Miss Take would steal anything
She’d steal from a pauper, she’d steal from a King
Don’t show her a bell if it goes ding a ling
For when you’re not looking she’ll half inch its ring
Little Miss Take does not like to pay
She knows what she likes and she’ll whisk it away
She’d steal the moon as it slept in the day
She’s barred from the grotto, she nicked Santa’s sleigh
Little Miss Take if she needs to be fed
Will nab eggs and bacon and butter and bread
And getting it cooked won’t befuddle her head
She’ll just nick the camping stove out of your shed
‘Little Miss Take is my name,’ she once said
But she wasn’t named as a thief, but instead
’twas only a quick drunken fumble in bed
And her mum and her dad hadn’t planned to get wed
[If Adam Hargreaves would like to get his hands on
this material (or to sue me) I can be contacted through
Soup Mail... or any half way decent lawyer]
See these tiny things
Filled with thought profound;
Cute miniatures spring
From creative grounds.
In a format small,
Craft miniature books;
Haiku moments call:
Browse and take a look.
One and a half inch,
The book height is short;
Words squeezed just to lynch
Warm poetry is wrought.
A sure design feeds
Steady hand-skill mints;
This collage craft seeds
Finesse that now tints.
A paper stock craft
Comes forth from ideas;
Design a rough draft,
Mental image steers.
Visuals now take shape,
With thought focus here;
Measure out or drape
What impulse sparks clear.
A tiny book page
Via plain prototype;
Step by step each stage
Styles wonder not hype.
Imagine the route
From a plain blank sheet:
Until success shouts
With product you meet.
This crafty craft fits
The collage art flow;
Poise flavours sure wit
To let tact now show.
Print the outline page,
Trim, cut and align;
Patience works each stage,
Keep eyes on design.
Arrange each page right,
Guide the lines of fold;
Set rule to guide sight,
Keep pulp sculpture bold.
Fold each page well,
Now back-to-back;
Frame by frame tells,
Allow some slack.
Press the stack stage,
Glide steel rule straight;
Sharp blade trims edge,
Both sides look great.
Fit hard cover,
Like a sandwich;
Forge maneuvers,
Paste each to each.
Surely and truly,
The book sculpture grows;
Practice works surely
When rough edges show.
And then, finally:
A tiny book sums
The effort nicely
With a fine outcome.
Mini book that forms
A miniature whole;
A focus sets norm
In dealing with soul.
So crafty craft shows
In body mass cute;
Feel a certain glow
In silence that mutes.
Little treasures here
In miniature books;
To spread ease and cheer
In satisfied looks.
Start again now
To make one more;
Watch skills endow
A fine rapport.
Leon Enriquez
12 December 2014
Singapore
My (Easy and Delicious) Favorite Dish
If you like ground beef, cheese, and potatoes too,
I’ve got a casserole dish just right for you.
It’s fast and easy, just like A, B, C.,
and the steps for making it are only three.
Step one: Cook onions with some beef (a pound will do).
When the beef is brown, you’re ready for step two.
Into a baking pan the beef needs to be placed.
Tator tots and a large can of cream mushroom soup give taste!
A tator tot, in case you do not know,
has a French fry’s taste, but it’s a cubed potato.
About an inch long a half inch wide,
A soft plump tot tastes yummy baked or fried.
Mix the soup and bag of frozen tots into the dish.
Soon enough you’re going to taste something quite delish!
Step three: Atop the casserole, spread shredded cheese (a lot!).
Then bake on high heat till the tots are golden, and serve hot.
I make this for my students, and no matter from which nation,
Each one wants more of this beef, soup, tot, and cheese creation!
For David Williams'
"My Favourite Dish Poetry Contest"
They say Napoleon at his death
had a half inch object in his neck.
He often claimed he had been abducted
By strange men in a strange looking object.
I sometimes wish they would take me too.
Although I'm not much good past fifty two.
Seemingly it's our eggs they're after.
As they have over biologised their sex factor.
They are worried about our human race.
As we rush headlong at a rapid pace.
To have Gaia exhale her last breath.
End our blessed lives here on Earth.
I believe in UFO's, don't you?
In this unending galaxy we are miniscule.
Men in black keep the facts well hidden.
To know the truth we are forbidden.
It’s fascinating to think we may all be
on the brink of extermination in a blink.
What does Putin really think?
Time will tell….
how much has been burnt
the lips of the aalpanaa
by the heat of the blue letters
the absentmindedness
that can penetrate this flavour
gets hullo-cut
coming to the wedding-relation
do fly oh bird
yet you flow with faster steps
in the deep of the wave
with a long hanging bag on your shoulder
let more horse-carts be composed
for the clouds
let the gate adorned with a figure of lion
be immersed for some time more
in deep-meditation
he who is fallen from the wings of the deer
has a chest of 42 and a half inch
you should look it
coming how much nearer to the talisman
that serpentine lane and that tasty loose-hair
becomes totally blank
you should also see
reaching to what kissing-point
the glacier of the versification
can vanish
without leaving any trace