Long Here there and everywhere Poems
Long Here there and everywhere Poems. Below are the most popular long Here there and everywhere by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Here there and everywhere poems by poem length and keyword.
As we taste the ink seasoned by those with a poetic mind
We nod in good gesture to those who wrote
Great minds think alike, yet none are two-of-a-kind
Wonderful poets are so easy to find
Here, there and everywhere, we note
As we taste the ink seasoned by those with a poetic mind
Shakespearian Guild- "THOU ART AS FAT AS BUTTER" -refined
Words never so true, in quote
Great minds think alike, yet none are two-of-a-kind
Some poetry should never be left behind
Twirling our thoughts like a feather- afloat
As we taste the ink seasoned by those with a poetic mind
Poetically speaking, "THOU ARTS WE BIND"
"FAT AS BUTTER" these words we bloat
Great minds think alike, yet none are two-of-a kind
Remember these words that in BOLD I've outlined
"THOU ART AS FAT AS BUTTER" -rewind
As we taste the ink seasoned by those with a poetic mind
Great minds think alike, yet none are two-of-a-kind
Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
11/7/2022
Tommy fell off his bike and broke his bum
When he set off to find a new one
Big, tall, or one size fits all
A man he met at the mall,
offered a new bum but for a large sum
Tommy looked here, there, and everywhere
Even the stores where they sold underwear
To venders who had his back
But his bum still had a huge crack!
Something was still wrong, how very unfair
His bum was so noisy it brought him shame
It made weird noises and he got the blame
Tooting, hooting, and squeaking
when anyone started speaking
His bum sounded like a video game
When he discovered he had the loudest,
his talent made Tommy the proudest,
A butt trumpeting bold,
better than a pot gold
His sound-system backside, the best!
Sonic blasts when Tommy bent over
He picked a perfect four-leaf clover
A gas that blew him away
well into St. Paddy’s Day
A blast heard from Dublin to Dover
She came in through the bathroom window
Because it was something that Paul once said
She changed her name to Lucy, in search of diamonds
But the night sky was way above her head
There is something in the way she moves
Here, There, and Everywhere
She said, She said, Hello Goodbye too many times
On the day I saw her standing there
She's so Beatlesque in the way that she acts
I've got a feeling a day in the life
Of this very extraordinary woman
Would be quite the ticket to ride
I have so often told this woman
Please don't let me down
She says right back to me ever so sweetly
We can work it out
She has the answers to all of life's problems
All you need is love
I ask for an explanation
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
She's so Beatlesque in the way that she acts
I've got a feeling a day in the life
Of this very extraordinary woman
Would be quite the ticket to ride
Almost every line is the title to a Beatles song...for you younger generations information...
My youth is gone; but my energy and enthusiasm
are still in me making me full of zest and gusto.
At seventy, I am more enthusiastic and excited
about life for every day is a new day, an adventure.
Gone are the days running in the fast lanes, being
here, there and everywhere to get things done.
Or the days when every little things became big
deals making you spin your wheels for nothing.
Now, I just take care of myself, do things on my
sweet time and let little things not bother me.
I am so thankful of just living my life to the fullest,
like a little child, so free, full of energy, enthusiasm.
That zesty feeling makes me spunky to dress up
in style, adding accessories, like spicing my cooking.
Feeling zesty pleasantly stimulates me to do my
drawings with pizazz and delight in sketching them.
It makes me so excited to sing and to learn Italian
songs with correct pronunciations and rhythms.
It gives me exuberance when I dance that people
notice and let me know they enjoy watching me.
Feeling zesty allows me to be zealous in writing
poems to motivate and to encourage positivity.
Feeling zesty shows my free spirit, happiness,
creativity, passion to inspire others to live it up.
12/5/21 "Z" Contest, New Or Old - Poetry
Constance La France
Theme: #8 - Zesty
I am persecuted
with no compassion,
here, there and everywhere,
I have no home anymore.
Wherever I go I'm a nuisance,
I just try to find my way
here, where all the beings
belong to.
You, humans are taken
all my habitats,
my everything from a breath.
I am the bad when I take
food for surviving,
but you are a hero killing
just for fun.
I am the Iberian wolf,
the one doesn't feel
like howling to the moon.
A murderer under
the farmers' eyes,
a fighter in the woods
without life.
Easy to blame me
for all the disasters
made by yourselves.
Hunt me until I'm extinct,
after all, I have not much
left to fight for.
Something, dear human,
we have in common,
fights and wars
for survival in lands
without respect, nor principles.
Kill me with your reasons,
you have the best guns,
I will kill your sheep,
I only have fangs.
Endanger I am,
so you will be,
a common life
we have to howl for.
"Where flowers bloom, there is color, beauty and fragance, adding joy to life"~ By Poet
My garden now presents a lovely scene
So colorful with flowers unfolding their immaculate petals
And greeting me every morning
In varied shape and size and in sparkling shades
Among them are soothing little white flowers
Which open themselves at night in the lunar light,
Sensual red roses, multi shaded orchids
Flowers of pastel hues, colorful adeniums
And jasmines on creeping stems,
Intertwined and inseparable
Which send out a spray of heady aroma
When the gentle breeze sweeps past them
There are Bougainvillea’s of red, purple, and orange shades
Reflecting the iridescent colors of a setting sun
Rightly called paper flowers with their light weight
And lack of softness and synthetic appearance
These flowers, like torn pieces of crepe paper
Fly about with every sweeping wind,
Landing down scattered here, there and everywhere
Inciting mischief, but causing no harm
Pentas of lavender and white shade are seen
Nodding at butterflies wishing to be kissed and wooed.
Along with flowers grown in pots and soil
There are lovely water lilies in my little pond
Flowers brighten the indoors and outdoors
Lifting our mood and giving us immense joy
Oh Lovely maidens, you are one of a special kind
You bloom and smile for everyone to enjoy
But aren’t you there in my small garden,
Staying regal and proud especially for you and me?
Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when spiked brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are being twisted by tooth-like stones. Quaint and angular they cluster mischievously among
green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent-minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman of the road.
The labyrinthine landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills rife in my area.
Their rustic heritage now sacrifice to the
orphanage of a malleable environment
Crop farmers obsessed with harvest bounty.
Restless developer pushing limits of an urban jungle. Fellow traveller in league with those fugitives from the cockpit.
The pressure cooker of modern life. Town habitant with split loyalties who clings to tumults of the city but hankers after rural haunts of yore.
Culprits one and all.
A lair from the hubbub.
Dwellings of the strangest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.
Their charm not yet eroded by intrusions of the steel plant genus.
Brick and mortar athletes of homes in a jiffy.
The more alluring aspects of tradition have been fostered and preserved.
Among these are the shortcuts or bypasses of a different more sustainable engagement
Sequestered passages that shave miles off perennial ramblers with a penchant for straying off course.
Saviours of the clueless hitchhiker whose load saps his or her every energy.
One’s eye becomes a lense to all these things hidden or supposedly hidden.
Optic sensor to those trails just slightly out of focus.
Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.
They festoon far flung countrysides at random. Here there and everywhere.
Posted ; April 2nd 2022
after each sip of coffee
her lipstick stain blurred and deepened
just like her untold stories
fought for, finding ways to
come back to life,
reshuffled.
scars she had inside,
scratches she sealed with a pinch of salt,
were the silver shadows coming back
to taunt, to haunt,
to suck her soul to the bones?
oh, to smell hazelnut fragrance
again and again and again;
did she find solace
through the masochistic pain?
little did she know
she was the remaining teacup water slipping into a drain
after a rain.
drowning in the void,
trees scarred by a lightning strike on a purple night.
the fire beside her
looked extra orange,
stairs looked extra grey.
the voices inside her head
kindled a new trembling fight.
same old disgust,
forming a heap of rust,
here, there, and everywhere
feeling a force of upthrust.
was it windy enough
to scatter her into dust?
shall she
discover herself buried beneath
the twirling tides,
leading to roller coaster rides?
no ifs,
yet remaining buts,
splicing the even thoughs
with discarded thoughts like driftwood.
only,
only if she had the audacity
to turn the rock into
thirty shades of blue and blue.
only if
the chlorophyll-less leaves could photosynthesize,
the vacancy,
perhaps,
wouldn't crash like tsunami waves.
she's just her,
her and full of her;
quicksand blooming beneath her feet.
up ahead,
the melancholy hill
whispered,
she owed herself
a meeting with the stranger wearing her skin.
she mumbled and stumbled
"i been here there and everywhere"
"they are poisoning me"
"i can't even see"
"George help me".
i called the nurse
spoke to her about her curse
she was on oxy something
i said this stuff is making her sing
told them about her whinge.
they were giving it to her for pain
but it was driving her insane
"why did you bring these grapes.
and why are those people dressed in drapes,
they look like apes?"
she told me she was on a trip
something about a ship
she was exhausted, half dead
so she said
drugs is all i am being fed.
the clouds were rolled by outside
my eyes were now open wide
i released why she had been sleeping for days
was in a haze
and could only graze.
they took her off some of the meds
she started to gather the threads
"you'll be okay tomorrow mum"
"that stuff made you dumb"
"you will only need to take some".
in the morning she was sharper
no longer stuck in that harbor
"i'll come see you tonight mum"
"you will be feeling much more plum"
"i stuck those drugs up the doctors bum".
Her big beautiful eyes were piercing me up and close
Her playful smile playing all over, vainly trying to prepare me
But, as always, in a trance I lay, heart pounding, mind blanked out.
Completely unaware of everything, except her unabashedly gorgeous presence.
Moments passed, without a word, without an act
Didn't know it was that typical lull before the storm
And then it stormed down, here, there and everywhere
Voluptuous kisses, first gently in isolation and then unending showers.
Me taken completely by surprise, pinned, breathless, overwhelmed.
But, at the same time, enjoying the wildness, the ecstasy, the euphoria.
To get drenched in the first flush of rain, I guess, is always memorable.
'It's raining!' my little one exclaims, and I nod, struggling to look out.