Long Igor Poems
Long Igor Poems. Below are the most popular long Igor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Igor poems by poem length and keyword.
Our Lady?
You are our lady
of grace.
And now your dress?Is flames.?
The beauty of your sunken dome from a drone
Is a poem in itself.
Written by us and
Destroyed by chaos.?
This is what we do that rivals the stature of the gods:?
To astound ourselves and each other,?
With the wonder of?
Pure, enduring creation.?
The sacrifice we all make to our better selves
Who gave buildings wings and
Laid the foundation stones of our own perfecting.?
Epiphany is not found in the act of worship
It is to be found in the insight gained by gratitude for the world. ?
Exactly the way we built it.?
Exactly the way we know it to be.
Whispered prayers are but poetry?
That none other than you will listen to?
But it is good to talk to yourself?
To sing in harmony with all those other selves
?Who are listening, ?
Wearing?
Not false, but true masks
Revealing the kind of truth that can only be told with a lie.?The subtler architecture that creates heavens from grand spaces on this earth.
Reconstructing what can be seen behind your faces,
Behind all the saints who guard you,?
Behind the divine grace of your stature.?
The sensuousness of your catastrophe is breathtaking.???
© Igor Goldkind 2019
Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ho toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.
Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates
invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.
Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.
Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season
of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day
Marvellous* is the Lord Who loves you, my brother
Your blessed life is His precious gift, to Him you must yield…
Directing you to His victory, on the Lord You can depend
Empowering and enabling is His help everyday
Always available as to Him you call amidst afflictions and anxieties
Ready your soul to restore while your spirit, He revives…
Bring to God all your cares, as your faith He builds
Reaching to you is His love for service rejuvenation
Offering opportunities for prayer-fellowship optimization…
Trust His truth through His Word toward tested triumph
His promises herald assurance against issues of the heart…
Expect His grace to work in you as you cleave to Him earnestly
Resting in His might, as your thanksgiving sacrifice you gladly render…
Best is the Saviour’s provision; He is the Source of breath
Extending His mercy for meaningful pursuits of values eternal
Requiring you, His redeemed, to be faithful despite challenges’ rigor
Taking you along righteous trip toward great holy travel treats.
*Psalm 98:1 O sing unto the LORD a new song; for he hath done marvellous things: his right hand, and his holy arm, hath gotten him the victory.
January 15, 2020
My dear Brother Bert, A very blessed birthday to you. I love you; yet for sure, the Lord loves you more, and His care for you is the best!
I went to a monster party,
At Castle Frankenstein;
With lots of food and spirit,
The fun kicked off at nine
Ol' Frankie did the robot,
I stepped to a jitterbug;
The floor began to quake,
We really cut the rug!
I moved on to a sexy witch,
We slid across the room;
I broke down in a two-step,
While dancing with her broom
I was jammin' to the Charleston,
The Werewolf joined in too;
Igor failed to fight the beat,
He danced without a clue
Dracula did the tango,
I boogied with the Bride;
The Mummy looked bewildered,
As we did the electric slide
I tap danced on a table,
Three zombies did the same;
I stripped down to my boxers,
They shouted out my name!
Jekyll was rather classy,
Wielding his futile pride;
When the music struck within,
He turned to Mr. Hyde!
The chandelier was shaking,
Skeletons hit the floor;
I danced to a rumba,
The crowd was wanting more!
Everything was peachy,
Oh what a beautiful night;
Along came the Invisible Man,
And started an awful fight!
He squeezed the Bride's booty,
Other ladies felt the same;
And when the dust had settled,
Guess who took the blame?!
Off went the music,
So long to our fun;
I had no other option,
But to tuck my tail and run!
Those who partied with me,
Were raising such a chatter;
The crowd was crying out,
"Put his head on a platter!!"
I aroused the little lady,
To an ear-piercing scream;
Hallelujah for a nightmare,
It was just an awful dream
Was it really just a dream?
A thought raced through my head;
"Honey, I have a question",
"Why's that witch hat on our bed?"
P S ITS POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 10
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word; Reads so very dear and well; Joys of your souls cheers; Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills; Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Igor Goldkind 448
• Ilene Bauer 197, 264
• Ingrid Lehman 158
• Irma Hole 50, 6
• Ivina Michelle 418
• J.D. Cromwell 204
• James E. Tate 460
• James Edward Allen 344, 433, 437
• James Fraser 28, 30, 73
• James Study 280, 337
• Jane Humphries 310
• Janice Canerdy 137, 259
• Janice Thompson 382, 404, 404
• Janine Lever 237, 350, 441
• Janis Medders Thompson 190, 308
• JC Brul 150, 55
• Jeanine Marie Cronin 273, 274
• Jeanne McGee 148, 251, 255
• Jeanni Thrasher 315
• Jeannie Flinn Furlong 351, 375, 452
• Jeff W. Watson 346, 388
• Jenish Somadas 202, 226, 66
• Jennifer Cahill 295, 363
• Jennifer Proxenos 31, 67, 70
• Jennifer Soeder 305
• Jeremy Proehl 298, 39, 459
12/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
"Ok I think I got it,
Now, just throw the switch,
If by chance this doesn't work,
Life will be a *****"
"Master I have trouble,
I think the thing is stuck"
"Wouldn't you just know it,
It has to be my luck,
Move away from it Igor,
It just needs a little tickle,
Machines like this are sensitive,
And sometimes kind-a fickle,
Damm this thing is stubborn,
It needs a little kick,
NOW, look what you've made me do,
GO, and get a stick"
"Yes Master I will find one,
Big and strong and thick,
You could use it for a lever,
I know it'll do the trick"
"Bring it here my faithful one
You're loyal, trusted, true
And when I have it in my hands,
Then, I'll be using it on you"
She was a magnificent brew master, few had her talent or skill.
She liked to stir in pieces of beasts and creatures with dill.
We could smell the cloves and sage when we opened the door.
Greetings! She said with a hoarse laugh. We welcome you four!
I had brought three friends, for I was scared out of my wits.
She was the kind of woman who tore dragons and lizards to bits.
Can you loan me a hand, dearie? She asked, getting into my face.
I ran away so fast, I left my friends flat, I was on a tight race.
My friend Igor screamed and tried to catch up with me.
He ended up tripping over a lace and falling on his right knee.
I’ll get that! Said the brew master. She picked him up in a huge scoop.
He was screaming like a banshee when I ran past the chicken coop.
In the steppes of central Russia
Lives an old theater usher,
Igor Ivanovsky is his name.
In his youth he had ambition
To gain wealth and recognition
And be a star on stage and screen, that was his aim.
He studied acting, mime, and ballet,
And could sing like Rudy Vallee,
But from talent scouts he never got a call.
There is one thing I ought to mention
That I'll now bring to your attention---
He was a mere three feet eleven inches tall.
Why it should be no one was knowing,
But at age ten he just stopped growing,
The doctors guessed it was a phase and it would pass.
But as he waited to grow taller,
His dreams of fame kept getting smaller.
He feared he'd wind up washing cars or pumping gas.
But Fate was not yet through with Igor
And to help mitigate his rigor,
The job as usher came along and saved the day.
While it required no special training,
Nor was emotionally draining,
It was still a kind of show biz…in a way.
To movie-goers satisfaction
He has become the main attraction
As he shows them to their seats with great panache.
Now at three score ten and seven
Each day is one step nearer heaven,
And though not Broadway, dreams like his are hard to quash.
He works on Saturdays and Sundays
And occasionally Mondays,
But does it just for fun and not for wealth or fame.
Now throughout all of central Russia
There's no more celebrated usher,
And Igor Ivanovsky is his name.
It’s Sure not Miss Daisy
Drivin’
Ivan
The Over-Achiever
Be more
Igor
Big Eater Guy
Piggy
Iggy
The Straw Man
Flaxen
Jackson
Street Smart
Joseph
Knows stuff
Serial killer?
Gory
Jory
Would Love to hear from One
Call a
Jonah
The Extra Cautious
Wary
Jerry
So Burdened
Laden
Jayden
Get Him Deoderant
Smelly
Kelly
Being Cloned Thrice
Tripling
Kipling
This Guy Will Do
Any
Kenny
Who Needs To Weight Lift?
Scrawny
Lonny
Who DOES weigh lift?
Brawyn
Johnny
Halloween Lover
Scary
Larry
He’s got Tons of Them
Logan’s
Slogans
The Substitute
Stand-in
Landen
You’ve Got To
See my
Levi
So gross
Lucus
Mucus
More than Enough
Plenty
Lenny
Below Zero
Minus
linus
(On May 1 1960, at the very depth of the
Cold War, CIA pilot Gary Powers was shot
down over the central USSR. Here we are
imagining his conversation with a charge
d'affaires of the US Embassy. Powers
is threatening to go public on CIA
mismanagement and to tell all to the
Russians - the Igors and the Borises.
Powers died soon afterwards in a
helicopter crash.)
What's Thompson's game? He's sent a charge here?
He should have come himself. So, Mister Jinks,
I'm going to assume you're with the firm.
Tell you what happened? Why don't you tell me?
Okay, I didn't trash the Thunderbird -
but I was kinda busy, get my drift?
My face was pulling g's to beat the band
and if you knew the vehicle, you'd know
the seat ejects like bats fly outta hell -
explosive bolts. I'm falling vertically,
and spinning like a top, and if I get
alignments wrong by half an inch,
the console cuts my legs off when I spring.
So what? So this. I had things on my mind.
You want your secrets kept? So train us right.
Foresee contingencies.
The silver buck?
I chucked it. Threw it, as the chute came down,
but kept the pin. The Igors have it now.
Well fella, you got questions and to spare,
and I don't like the way they're shaping up.
Oh sure, you got your job to do. Me too,
remember? I'm the guy who got his ass
shot out the sky at sixty thousand feet!
I didn't buy the farm. Is that a sin?
Tell Langley I'm an Amish - what the hell?
I told them it's curare.
Get real, pal!
They may be Borises, but I won't have
some guy get stiffed because he pricked his thumb.
They'd find out anyhow. You bet I have!
I got more beefs than Texas. Pin 'em back.
Nobody thought it through, this turkey-shoot,
or what we'd do, dumb Joes like little ol' me
when Igor got us. Unprofessional!
Now bust your ass, and get me outta here.
When I get back, I'm gonna tell the world
how Langley hangs its fly-guys out to dry.
We got a First Amendment. Let 'em try!