Long Hurtle Poems
Long Hurtle Poems. Below are the most popular long Hurtle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hurtle poems by poem length and keyword.
I lift and rise to being chased,
pops half-way, till full, beamed round-faced,
a fire host heightened its facade,
casting daylight shadows abroad.
Cool Earth plunged hot by its keeper,
heat courses like the Grim Reaper,
smiles at darkness to wait its turn,
up curve tidied, noon loses yearn.
Orange turns red, claws at purple,
white flagged as dusk makes a hurtle,
a gloaming rhythms the musing sphere,
like one tied to tracks, locked in fear.
Named twilight as some light appears,
though hour triggers those tryst affairs,
calm ruse warmth as limbs fuss about,
caught midnight streams like baited trout.
A night dips mid-Cherub's flirting,
their chariot horses fleeing,
while the golden sentinel rides,
as the solitaire lift comprised.
A new task surround, maneuvers,
seers illume become producers,
hail a whole new year of seasons,
first, until last, filled with reasons.
The lead round about the bodies,
as they spin on stage like follies,
glows revue as savory hams,
marooned its taste just like PB Jams.
Bittersweet, as they realigned,
lead pars best swept the rest, resigned,
equinox and solstice charted,
psyche chose, and rookies parted.
A decisive planet divides,
segregation always collides,
closets partitioned a household,
Edens knowledge, they were paroled.
As a classroom globe builds up dust,
while folks roam about, make a fuss,
intellect cleans a tarnished steel,
greens will entomb them 'ere they kneel.
Watching from the corner, in her ‘Speedy’ ice cream van
While armed and hooded villains carry out their wicked plan
They rob the bank and make off just as quickly as they can
But Speedy does a wheelie at the hands of Turbo Gran
One robber floors the pedal and one winds his window down
To shoot up their pursuer as they hurtle out of town
But Speedy’s armour plated and its glass is bullet proof
Old Turbo had that fitted when a bullet took her tooth
So now she takes no prisoners as she races up the street
In pursuit of all the bad guys whom she cannot wait to meet
And when a handbrake turn gyrates the villain’s car around
Turbo Gran brakes sharply with a tyre screeching sound
Then, like some Wild West stand-off where no cowboy goes for it
Everything is silent… until Speedy starts to split
The split goes up the windscreen then it runs from front to back
And then there is a high pitched ‘Ding’ as Speedy’s two halves crack
The gap between them widens as the ice cream van unzips
And Turbo Gran stands leaning on her Zimmer’s rubber grips
Out of the car, two robbers undo violin case clips
While Turbo calmly munches on a dozen chocolate chips
Turbo Gran, in mask and cape, is gazing at the heavens
Not staring down the barrels of the AK47s
One villain speaks, ‘Hey Granny, I suggest you make your peace’
Then both of them are flattened by the two crash-landing geese
Sirens fast approaching, mean that Turbo Gran should exit
A grannie in a mask and cape… well… nobody expects it
Her Zimmer’s on her shoulder as she strides back to the van
The halves slam shut and Speedy nips off like a rocket man
*
Turbo Gran is rocking in her chair, facing the tele
She wonders if twelve chocolate chips were just a few too many
For when those geese crashed from the sky like massive feathered arrows
She had to face it, she was shocked… she’d meant to bring down sparrows
At another's home she dwell
As a house-girl to beautify the name
Expected from her chores done well
Tired and emotions running wildly untame'
Living among others isolatedly
Disdained and insulted daily
For mistakes made unintentionally
Treated by all unfairly and brutally
Her abode, a living Hades
Life is an unwantedly de trop fate
Filled with much lovely hate
Welcomed with unfriendly shades
As kids in the house ruthlessly disregarded
And the housemistress fretfully commanded
Garments are dirty and need laundry
No food and she's very hungry
House filled with filth she would broom
The kids are looking untidy she should bathe
Clothes are very dirty she has to washeth
Then iron and park all in a special room
No food she must invariably cook
And sometimes would've to patiently look
Hopefully wait to eat from the leftovers
Barely gets a deserving laud from her owners
As she's deemed by them only a mere slave
That deserves none other than to have
The heartedly desires of her mistress
Carried out with no exhibition of stress
Even if she's feeling as ferocious as fire
Or contradicting her instilled desire
Of neverendingly sempiternal freedom
Which has not even an iota of boredom
Her heart was tainted with painful memories
Of the unseen, untold, and neglected fettle
That should be one of the must-told stories
Narrated to all and sundry spreading in hurtle
As they truly deserve to be respected,
Welcomed, accepted, and fairly treated
By all in our homes and, at large, the society
Cohabit in perfect peace, unity, and tranquillity.
We hurtle down the last few hundred feet
of steep lavender lined cobbled slope
shaded by majestic umbrella pines - around
a last hairpin turn and there they are:
The blue-white Pampelonne beaches, of St Tropez.
Their indecent beauty almost defeats words.
With the scents of lavender, pine and salt sea air, you can
get dizzy on the aromatics. It's a Mediterranean performance
or perhaps a preview of heaven.
Our daredevil, fifteen year old driver, (Sylvain)
gets an unappreciative look from my mom. My brother (Brice)
and sister (Annick) whoop as if practiced, as they leap
from the open-sided Mercedes shuttle. I calmly gather my things.
This tranquil and elegant beach cove is private for hotel
guests - no chic crowds here - just a few quiet guests and
valets dressed in beige. The Pampelonne beaches are topless
(nude if you like), Annick peels topless just before she hits the waves.
Brice, ever the considerate brother says, “Come ON,
RELAX, you’ll just look like one of the BOYS.”
Which earns him the old, American, one-finger salute.
I missed vacations this year and the beaches - where hours
stretch, with blissful laziness, to the rhythm of nature.
Will we ever get back to some pre-pandemic "normal"?
The month of October, the year was 2016, the month that almost ended me
My mind had shattered, the sparkling pieces so pretty in the autumn light
October, the year is 2019, this month just might finish what was started
So close, why didn't I jump, maybe this last hurtle is just way to high
My mind had shattered, the sparkling pieces so pretty in the autumn light
I have no fight left in me, heart is broken, no mind no heart, who am I
So close, why didn't I jump, maybe this last hurtle is just way to high I know I will be held accountable, even though the sins are not mine
I have no fight left in me, heart is broken, no mind no heart, who am I
October, the year is 2019, this month just might finish what was started
I know I will be held accountable, even though the sins are not mine
The month of October, the year was 2016, the month that almost ended me
10/06/2019
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Lyrics come to me by moonlight
When the power of darkness lessens
When whispers soften like overripe
Mangoes dispatched hurriedly from India,
On ramshackle East Indiamen vessels
Sailing fruitfully through consternated
Waters and heated lines of the tropics,
Selling rewardingly on busy markets
Charged with the power of buy-and-sell,
And order-and-supply.
I wonder how Bob would react to
My girlfriend’s long and big, sexy hair
Blowin’ in the wind,
Seeking answers to horizon-tossed questions,
When howling, racing gales accompany
Frightened sorrel horses, newly freed from
Spavins, and spiked by the energy of the sun,
Hurtle home happily towards old and battered
Picket fences newly mended?
I write often under the spell of night rain,
Striving much not to blend lyrics with poems,
Which, like zucchini and cucumber,
May look alike but are quite different.
I stumble upon the fraternity between words
And promises and splice them with soft, nimble
Fingers of the piano.
Gentle taps yonder come from happily sobbing congas.
And with an unseen ensemble, a song is born.
ABC-THE OCEAN'S ALLURING COLOR
The ocean's alluring color
may appear to be aqua or blue;
it changes with the density of light,
and all its dazzling beauty it can endue
to make an amazing sight!
ACROSTIC--HOW BEAUTIFUL!
Hurtle as agile seagulls do
Over its rageful waves glide
Westward purple clouds meet a dawning sun
Beware of the furious wind when it howls
Eeastward the sloggish moon approches
Another night filled with mysterious sounds
Utter nothing to yourself, move forward
Trees hide owls with their scary coos
Inside the moon's sphere many faces appear
Funny how they look staring at the bright ocean
Urging it to turn dark, so they can easily rule
Long enough to captivate the human mind!
CLASSIC ALLITERATION-CREATION OF THE OCEAN
Once the ocean was a huge valley,
then God made it rain...it wasn't folly;
for countless days and nights it came down
as it was filled to capacity an early dawn.
But there's was something missing,
and God thought, " Beautiful fishes I will place into it:
from big to small to give it life everlasting."
So that divine thought gave the Earth another aspect!
It’s difficult
To contemplate
My F8
A sad ending to relate
A psychological way
To masturbate
As I progress
Thru my allotted years
I face and analyze
My internal fears
And shed somewhat regretful tears
Of not doing that or this
Reminiscing
Of what did I miss
As I hurtle towards
Death’s kiss
I realize
I don’t wish to leave
I want to stay
And not have to grieve
Life is a gift
You want to continue to receive
I wish to extend my subscription
And reaffirm my conviction
That living
Is the ultimate addiction
I admit to being greedy
And spiritually needy
And I’m not done
With questions or fun
Or being lazy soaking up the sun
I want more time
To write and rhyme
I need more days
To enjoy the sublime
I’ve spent to much chasing green paper
Wasting my time on a financial caper
Collecting crap that will outlive me
Only to be given to the next attendee
So, they may add to the pile of waste
Filling an emotionally empty space
It’s such a disgusting race
This is the F8 we face
The never-ending material chase
That simply has no place
Fleecing my time
Demanding I grind
To serve the unkind
I will make you a deal
I refuse to squeal
Bow or kneel
Or waste myself
As your personal toy on a shelf
I will be me
Come and see
Genuine and free
Not a care in the world
To which I was hurled
I will enjoy
The chains I destroy
As I disregard your ploy
To keep me locked in a cage
While you revel in my rage
To keep me from turning the page
To write a new section
Called my personal resurrection
This is my F8
Freedom’s reflection
Look into your own mirror
And own your fear
You having nothing to lose my dear
Eric (and sometimes not)
Have you ever walked
on grass
when dew drops adorn it?
or observed the sky
on a starry night?
It does not take a warrior's might
but still we make it a pass,
and i ask why?
Have you ever placed your
feet in cold water?
with fishes around toes?
or are you all the time
thinking about foes?
Have you ever felt the
breeze on your face?
or the moment when
rain drops pour on your face?
the second when its
like pearls with a grace?
Have you ever seen a
stream over a bridge?
what you felt?
The feel to always move on
in life or just a ridge?
Have you ever been happy
even for a moment?
or you were always
lost in a hurtle to
win some achievement?
I might be sounding
abstract or absurd,
but in this fast pace life
take my word
The one who can sit
calmly, serenely
without any crease of
tension on his forehead
or a tear in eyes,
even for a moment,
believe my friend,
he is,in the whole cosmos,
the luckiest man alive.
Form:
hello everyone
I just can't stop thinking of our beloved Victor
he remains one of the first members I met here on soup
although it was always and only here through poetry
his friendship and generosity is forever true
Victor if you can see and hear this we pray for you
thank you
"wherever you are"
wherever you are may light shine upon you
fighting hard and long you pass each hurtle
now may the grace of peace be eternally yours
you made your footprint tossed into the world
telling stories writing poems that touch us all
you have fought since our paths first crossed
defying odds of every kind along with belief
we join and reflect for wholeness once again
endure for your voice to be heard once more
may light shine upon you wherever you are
SkyWatcher
07-27-23