Long Hoorah Poems
Long Hoorah Poems. Below are the most popular long Hoorah by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hoorah poems by poem length and keyword.
** Winter’s Last Surprise **
How strange it seems
Being within a few days of Spring
To see the landscape
All covered in white!
How odd it feels
For all the trees’ branches
With all their twigs, too, showing
Every tip accentuated
— Ready to bud
Open to Spring —
But now how so jarring
To see the frigid air’s blanket
Of snow fallen
Heavily over everything…Is this a
Wanting act by Winter,as if
It were wishing to kill
The early-risen daffodils? To
Infuse despair into
Winter-weary trees along with
All the early green
Of the ground being turned white?
And, too, we must wear our gloves
Yet one more morning, going out
To clear the cars and walks
Of this snowfall’s final hoorah.
How much more marvelous will feel
The opening days of Spring’s clear,
Soft, azure blue skies!
——————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 3/12/22
Thanks be to God
Our winter takes a stand to come each year:
beyond the spring, and after summer days,
accepts the brilliance of late autumn cheer,
which spreads a last hoorah with fiery blaze-
then winter shares its sparkling, snowy glaze.
What peace dwells in this purity of white
that cloaks the hills and valleys day and night,
while bare tree limbs, adorned with fluffy shawls,
present their charming, visual delight.
Quite joyful is that time when winter calls.
And yet, while nature sleeps beneath this veil
of white, the landscaped beauty is not firm.
Devoid of color, mounds, and swirls of pale,
white glow- sparked by the sun- does reaffirm
its shiny brilliance is enjoyed short-term.
And in that warmth, icicle gifts are cast
like jeweled shards of crystal, holding fast
on limbs and branches- clinging for a time,
till the next storm- or spring awakes at last-
to fully melt away old winter's clime.
December 15, 2020
Contest: A Lovely Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Form: Dizain- Rhyme Scheme: a b a b b c c d c d
A cornucopia of symposia
hoping to make the future rosier
banging a gavel to unravel
multiple knots of itinerant thoughts
billing and queueing a crisis slow brewing
the same old charade a grand masquerade
where everyone graces the room with two faces
theater heads one alive and one dead
solving the problem of how fast can we rob’em
scatter the cash in an off shore locked cache
hoorah for symposia, no doubts all supposia
a game of three shells all whistles and bells
just keep moving the pea so no one can see
we’ll never be rid of this schemed pyramid
John G. Lawless
©8/23/2018
The last hoorah of old man winter 2022?
March twelfth Ded Moroz
struts his white stuff
first real substantial puncheon
found Jack Frost in his glory,
he haint no longer morose nor gruff,
cuz series of fortunate meteorological events
found crystalline precipitation hoary.
I revel watching
the bit torrent of snowflakes alight
upon the greensward;
a cold wind bloweth and doth bite
any exposed flesh of daredevil
(the re:noun Evel Knievel of verbiage)
weather beaten soul
trundling with delight
inured to brutal cold
all fours seasons excite
contemplative character
asked me to ghostwrite,
thus a reasonable rhyme yielded
courtesy wuthering height.
Yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief,
when surprise blizzard came our way,
no matter yours truly solitary fellow
holed up in me mancave yay,
he experiences unfettered glee
for picturesque blustery scene today
eight sleeps before Spring Equinox
glad second rate nor'easter
pummeled Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.
The near future forecast
bodes well nigh arrival of vernal equinox
when the sun crosses celestial equator
in northerly direction, marking
prime meridian of right ascension.
Fanfare for common man
(think das scribe spinning these lines)
grateful timely notion
kindled inside mine noggin
truth be told - before onset of storm,
I drew one blank after another
and felt at my wits end
regard apropos material to write about.
Methought to soon to post
poem about beware the ides of March,
(approximately sixty one
and a half hours hence,
similar explanation regarding
summoning creative literary endeavor
honoring Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit,
thus imposed upon figurative shoulders
(mine) to hash out some
marginally passable verse.
Now attention pauses to take look see
out bedroom window
watching medley of gusty air
in sync with blizzard conditions,
yet yours truly snug
as a bug in a rug
despite not turning on the heat,
and would ye believe
bard of Perkiomen Valley
only donned in ma birthday suit?
Gentlemen, raise your glass to the British institution,
Breeding the champagne elite with seamless execution
Exclusively tailored for the clotted cream of the crop
With privileged patrilineage as the firm backdrop
The bespoke cradle that nurtures elite evolution
Crafting leaders of Britain's unwritten constitution
Renowned for ‘hoorah’ high spirits and notoriety
Crowned on high pedestals in moments of sobriety
Vandalism explained briskly away
Upper class boys club spirits sashay
Entitlement says, "turn a blind eye"
The Club, “purely hearsay, by the by”
While the common personage may humbly sip tea
Tailcoats stained with joviality, champagnes spree
Aware the law will not have their ‘guts for garters’ *
In recognition of gab and bubbly barters
Once they graduate with the superior scroll
They enrol with honours on parliaments roll
Embracing all their fine manners and etiquette
Hogging the political scene, lest we forget
And through the vast ancient chambers and corridors
'Bully, Bully, Bully' seeps slyly through the pores
Where the brotherhood debates the law of the land
Holding a flute of the finest champagne to hand
*Guts for Garters – Meaning to punish severely
Date: 10/04/23
Contest: Bullingdon Boys
Sponsor: Joe Maverick
it was the sixties
we were young
we were going to change the world
spin it like a basketball on our finger
take the three point shot
win the game
we had great leaders
john, robert, martin...
the planet was singing
with the purity of a four year old
...
The ants go marching two by two;
The little one stops to tie his shoe,
...
then
it started raining bullets
our optimism soured
slightly at first
and the grassy knoll
and the sniper
and the magic bullet
john was shot
jackie squirmed
we sat on the edge of our seats
The ants go marching four by four;
The little one stops to shut the door,
John F. Kennedy was assassinated
The ants go marching five by five;
The little one stops to take a dive,
years had passed, five
look before you dive
the civil rights movement gathered
to fight for their God given rights
the right to be treated as humans
exactly that...humans...no more no less.
to listen to the man who had said
"Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon
which cuts without wounding and ennobles
the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals."
the man who stood on the hill speaking
"I have a dream today!"
The ants go marching seven by seven;
The little one stops to pray to heaven,
Boom, boom, boom, boom!
Martin Luther King Jr. was shot
died
and my God it rained
it rained salt
as a nation black and white cried
The ants go marching nine by nine;
The little one stops to check the time,
time for the rise of Bobby
Hoorah! Hoorah!
Boom, boom, boom, boom!
i wish he could have ran faster than the bullets
they murdered John's brother
Robert F. Kennedy was dead
the sixties where almost finished
and i wondered
if the world would ever be the same
again
I marched away buried my face into the ground
To get out of my pain.
great leaders lost
words that radiated
radiate hope
America was
the envy of the world
it's two thousand sixteen
and we have sunk so deep into the dirt
i know we can't Trump this disaster
have you ever heard of fools gold
we have a choice
our lives count
remember the ants
nature's banner is blowing in the wind
don't make
the little one shout
"THE END!!"
March 16 2016
armand
Fresh out of high school thought it would be cool
Signed on with the army not having a clue
Sixteen weeks of training mental torture a must
Than cast into battle not sure who to trust
Left right left right you don't have a clue
You thought what you left at home was bad
Welcome to the Zoo
Thunder is explosions whistles are bullets
The red splattered paint marks are real now
The artist is armed he's thrown his brush away
Left right left right you didn't have a clue
You thought what you left at home was bad
Welcome to the zoo
Marching through the desert sun blaring down
Heat drains all your strength eyes see a faceless clown
Hallucinations this can't be real
Ground is shaking near me why cant I feel
Left right left right you didn't have a clue
You thought what you left at home was bad
Welcome to the zoo
Wake up eyes open room is clean and bright
Who are they where am I why are they in white
Immobile flat out strapped upon a bed
This can't be Heaven I don't think I am dead?
Eyes are closing fading away again
Is this reality or simply the end
Left right left right you didn't have a clue
You thought what you left at home was bad
Welcome to the zoo
Loaded on an airplane headed for home
Missing limbs and memories I never should have gone
Welcomed by my family tears streaming down their face
Prosthetics are amazing I guess I'll run another race
Left right left right you didn't have a clue
You thought what you left at home was bad
Welcome to the zoo. Hoorah!
Gentle is the growl of the distant traffic.
The heat of the vanishing night
Tumbles through the wide inviting window
As summer's last hoorah cascades
A tsunami of over-ripe heat
Across the surface of the dusty duvet
Where I lie
To suck the resistant moisture
From my pores
And simultaneously steal my sleep
The wild creatures are subdued.
Lucid thoughts crowd into
The sleepless void like
A second unwelcome visitor.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
Want to wrestle me into the world..
I reach for the ropes with hopes of
A friendly hand, to tag me back
Into the realm of unreality..
Gentle is the growl of the distant traffic.
Jinjagoliath
10th September 2023
4am
I used to be a "hottie"but now, I just go potty.
What on earth could be the matter with my ever shrinking bladder?
I hold no affection for my sun damaged complexion. Too many summers at the sea have caused barnacles to grow on me. Alas hoorah, horr ray, at least my
hair's not turning gray..My aging back is not that great and with these hips I negotiate, and try to keep stiffness at bay, just to face another day. I now write
a weekly "to do list", so things don't go awry, things I might miss..I think growing older really sucks, unless ofcourse one has big bucks and can afford those nips and tucks.
Joan of Arc
HE speaks, and messengers appear
To innocence of one so young in year
The calling understood, she will not flee
Till France is free of English tyranny
The struggle long, a hundred years or more
An army tired, sapped of strength by war
She steps into the fray, new hope, inspire
Her words believed, the lighting of the fire
Hoorah, the trepid siege of Orleans broken
Triumphant Gaules their spirit now awoken
Battle proved, proud see her banner fly
On to the capital, her new war cry
Though the king be doubtful to her power
Sanctioned he, and blessed her of the hour
There, before the gates and walls so tall
Defending well, Paris refused to fall
Defeated, wounded, weary, drawn, down
Undone, alone, rejected by the crown
Falls into allied hands when out at large
Imprisoned to be tried, on falsehood charge
Religious order sent to set out court
To seek and force the answer that was sort
She, unwavering in her self belief
Her story standing gave them no relief
A minister dispatched to find (his) truth
Then shout her heresy from every roof
A thousand times the question fills her ear
A thousand times she answers without fear
Time was never going to be her friend
None came in aid or cared her to defend
Sent forth to burn in blazing execution
Inglorious was her perfect persecution
True to HIM her love would not betray
For HIM, at the stake, her life she lay
The passing years, gave her soul release
St Joan, now rests in reverence and peace.