Long Herself Poems
Long Herself Poems. Below are the most popular long Herself by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Herself poems by poem length and keyword.
Masked and disguised, my first grade teacher, Miss Chark, kept her true identity under wraps one hundred and ninety-two days a year.
She liked sunlit naps, the smell of catnip, but most of all, to be left alone in front of a glowing snapping orange fire with a huge bowl of salmon.
What would the parents say if they learned the truth?
Less than three days before she appeared at the Board of Education office, she had mysteriously awoken from a Saturday night cat nap, and noticed that not only was her tail missing, but she had
turned into an enemy, a fur-less human!
Miss Chark could neither read nor write but no one knew that. She did not have a teaching license, but no one checked.
Luckily she knew English, even though she had never spoke it before, and she knew she needed money to buy herself food. We children loved her and taught her how to read.
Mr. Poindexter, Mrs. Chark's new pet cat has a serious moral dilemma. He has the heart of a young boy mouse, but the taste buds of a cat. He only liked cheese and peanut butter yesterday, but this morning his tail had grown long and fluffy, and he no longer liked his mousey things.
There is a thin line between real and pretend, and you, Miss Chark, and you , Mr. Poindexter, have fallen into the Twilight Zone
I sat alone near an old dead tree in the forest
Fallen bark hanging in the limbs and branches of new growth,
as if she was giving herself to them
Surrounded by her offspring,
which carry her heart and speak her name in their flickering leaves
Once vibrant and strong,
now crumbling, broken, and alone, in her inevitable demise
The many secrets of the forest she has known,
the storms endured, the winter winds and bitter cold
The nesting birds, the warm summer sunlight she reached for,
as if to touch the heavens, all glorious and green
Her leaves that once fell to earth,
season after season will fall no more
Now, she gives back, moment by moment, year by year,
to the ground from which she came, slowly consumed by the landscape
The scars of life have ravaged her, and left her vulnerable and frail,
naked and exposed, at the mercy of time, and decay
Still standing tall, yet she will not stand much longer
Just one tree, as just one life,
beautiful in her time, now to me more beautiful in her death
As the wind whispers through the new growth,
she stands in stark contrast to the world around her
We live, we grow, we blossom, we die,
We give back
As an old dead tree in the forest
As for me,
I will remember her!
She jumped on the line
Through color and light
Traveling in vibration
On projected sound's might
Neutral in nature
Neither here nor there
Just being present
As word is shared
Something was removed
And lines became jumbled
She found herself caught
Made to trip and fumble
...the ball
She stopped enjoying
The journey of travel
Her heart began to focus
On the tightening ravel
Everywhere she looked
Balls of energy gathered
Words unsung
Magnetized all matter
Light appeared randomly
In surges of power
Black as tar wailed
As pink began to cower
...TRUTH
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11-18-2022
Why won’t he clean up after himself?
Why won’t she feed herself?
Why won’t they move out?
What are my values?
How are they different from yours?
Is there even enough time for a thorough understanding of who you are?
Would a minority figure be a better fit for you?
Despite a lack of evidence that such “matching” is even more effective?
As a Caucasian, do I even have a culture?
Am I able to approach every situation as unique, devoid of stereotype?
Can I “step into their shoes?”
Or do I dare propose independence over family reliance/interdependence,
Like any American worth their salt?
What’s that? Your family doesn’t eat salt?
I wasn’t aware of that.
Why wasn’t I aware of that?
Why?
Getting older and falling from grace
Never left the town of her birthplace
Year after year working on the same data base
She suffers from a serious bout of commonplace
Life just seems like a constant race
So much so she’s looking for a hiding place
To take a break from the insane rat race
‘Cause she’s nowhere ready for her final resting place
For some fun and to pick up the pace
She brainstormed ideas to give chase
Since she always had an interest in aerospace
She booked herself a trip to outer space
Outer space sounds just right to find her inner space
AP: 3rd place 2020
Sit down relax for your journey begins.
Breath deep and think of love that never ends.
please let go of your selfish ego.
Your soul awakens as love flows.
Oh, the beautiful wonders of life in its grandeur.
Gaia opens herself up, so beautiful and pure.
You take her hand and feel the resonance of all life.
Crying, you weep, for mankind has darken her with strife.
Our native brothers and sisters too feel her pain.
She weeps in dark clouds with sorrow and rain.
All life of this beautiful universe beckons us to turn away.
Knowing that these human constructs will always decay.
She encourages her children to joyfully Love and play.
For this is the real garden of Eden that we are willing to stay.
Our souls burn with pure delight as our father comes near.
We sing with pure joy and love for the son so dear.
He watched his kite,her, snap
her tail rises
in the sky
in the deep blue sky
i keep imagining of her
my eyes don't rest and lie,
my mind's eye,
of her with a bird in hand,
the one she waved off …
that i dont imagine
i keep watching her tail
so majestic
and buoyant
... as if she were dancing,
dancing
with herself,
in the deep blue sky,
her carriage
model perfect
of blemishes
with the sun shining
off her inner beauty,
she would flutter
... flutter
to the right and left,
bounce, bounce
up and down
as i continue watching,
watching ...heartbroken
for the last time,
Of life passing by,
Her,
my eyes moisten
as she distances herself
away from me
the burdens of my life
Heartaches, heartaches that
always kept suppressed in me
i say, i wish i could have stopped her flight
and see her come alive
with me,
... me with
one fleeting chance
a chance
of a snowball of goodness for once
but hoping realistically
for just that one snowflake of a chance
one little snowflake that never dropped
... i keep watching
the once beautiful kite
so lifelike, vibrant
especially her tail and direction
up in the blue sky,
a small dot now
... sucking the air out of me
as it became smaller
• i reminiscence
of the past of how our love nosedived
into an avalanche
before it started
... nosediving into sorrow and regrets
the residual of a piece of string not tying
not tying a loop...
i keep looking up into the sky
my mind oscillating, correlating
i see, clearly
her inner beauty capturing me
even from a distance
and now how ... i'm resigned to watching
so sadden
life unravel,
how can this be
or is that the line ... unraveling
again, how can this be
... the kite kept
distancing itself
fluttering itself ...
further away ...
just like myself
... the wind howling
its sharp teeth of injustice, life
grabbing me
i guess
i guess i was bad, unworthy
For her
for i hear ...
voices in my head
the once little birds in her hand crying,
crying
for not finding warmth
i hear a snap
is that for real?
i look,
in the deep blue sky
turning over, turning shades of red
she's gone
and the voice of cruelty just laughing
just laughing at me
for there is an absence, now
of that little tail fluttering
with goodness,
with unattainable borders
that i missed and missed
connie pachecho
3/3/17
She isn’t a plain Jane, beautiful almond
Eyes behind amber frames reach into
Your heart, grasping your roaring waterfall
Beating love, leaving you breathless.
Her warm smile like a friend,
Feelings in tune to absorb the pain
Of barbwire words and melancholic
Quicksand.
A childlike laugh sings to your ear
With melody and harmony, causing
Knees to crumble like a house of cards.
A lithe dancing figure as entrancing
To the soul and mind as bliss
Will humanly allow. Her gait sways
Like a lioness stalking prey, slow,
Deliberate with every soft crunch
Of grass.
Skin, a light mocha with cream around pink,
Pouty, kissable lips and hair like forest sap under
An orange spring morning glow changes
Sorrow to joy, hate to love, and madness to sanity.
A woman showing every gift of wit, passion,
And peace has nature at her whim; a cool
Breeze under a sweltering sun, a fire
Place on an icy-chill winter night,
Seasons unto herself adorning the serenity
Of every landscape.
Celestial oracles call her goddess, we know
Her as Jane, a legend to men and benefactor
To womankind
Form:
Poetry prances into my dendrite field, taking charge,
Taking over, taking me hostage
Perhaps I want to paint today, I tell her.
She scoffs. Smacks me lightly on my brain stem.
Makes fun of me.
Calls me names.
I am not in the mood, I tell her, prissily.
Convincing no one.
Least of all me.
You do not have to write metaphors,
She tells me.
We are not good at them
Well, thank you for that, I think.
She sticks out her tongue.
I laugh
She gives me a line
I decide to dig in my heels, ignoring her
The second line entices me a bit
They rhyme
And you know how we love to rhyme
Dram it!
I hastily finish the faerie I was drawing
Cast her aside and
Pick up my notebook which had been on ready-alert,
Just in case
My muse Trixie
The one I give full credit to
Daily
Sometimes hourly
The one who throws me about
And gives me battle axes of my own
Laughs into my face
Way into my face
I mean, pushing her face into my face
Okay, Trixie. I GET IT!
She does not let go of me
Until we have written sixteen poems
This takes thirty-seven minutes
Editing?
Schemditing.
I am not that kind of writer.
And Trixie HATES editing.
We simply do not do it.
I begin to type,
Wondering if any of this
Makes enough sense even to me.
One of them stands out
Trixie has endeared herself to me once again.
And validated me. I think I may be a poet. Not secretly any more though.
E'er since being a little
extremely shy (viz introverted) boy
a boot deux and half score years ago
bullies threatened de facto scapegoat
mine self esteem they did thoroughly destroy
e'en little Lord Fauntleroy
complicit as well every other goy,
thus yours truly wished
he could transform himself into Donald Hoy
(offspring courtesy large family once resident
within Arcola, Pennsylvania)
whose hairstyle I envied
and felt within lovely bones (mine) joy
could be experienced if some abracadabra ploy
would render our bodies switched.
Nowadays aforementioned scene
once read about in popular science 'zine
state of the art medical breakthrough quite routine
synonymous with waving magic wand
easily mastered courtesy run of the mill teen
ideal way to pick up (i.e. earn) extra green,
especially helpful during
2020 holiday season dulled sheen
courtesy COVID-19 pandemic,
no matter impossible mission
to wipe away mean
coronavirus bugaboos that cannot be seen
with naked eye, under microscope
spiky cell appears quite keen,
nay mesmerizing evidencing
articulated exotic pristine
innocuous fantastic characteristics.
Rather then kvetch concerning balding patch
finasteride, (a 5a-reductase inhibitor)
down the gullet and pharynx hatch,
whereby upon shiny skull appears thatch
e'en Samson would be envious unable to match
profuse locks of love,
and Delilah would find herself
in tug of war match.