Long In all likelihood Poems
Long In all likelihood Poems. Below are the most popular long In all likelihood by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long In all likelihood poems by poem length and keyword.
It is said life is one big circle which begins with our first breath
the circle then completes itself the moment of our death
Many of us begin our circle…when but a little time has passed
in a hospital…protected…behind a window made of glass.
It’s where our friends and relatives first visit us…
They come from near and far..it’s funny how they already know us
before we discover who they are.
In all likelihood we never noticed them…those who stop or wave or pass
Never noticed who was standing behind that window made of glass….
There are many in this pandemic…in whose circle much time has passed
who find themselves once again protected…behind a window made of glass.
Only now when their friends and relatives come to visit…
when they come from far and wide…
the person behind the window knows who’s on the other side.
And there is a sadness mixed with happiness to these moments…
Happy they can be together…happy to be seen
but sad the only way to touch each other is with a window in between…
Still reflected in the window…we can see their smiles shine…
Happy at least to have found a way…for their circles to intertwine.
And so we hope and pray for them
Hope and pray this pandemic will soon pass….
and they don’t end their lives as they began them…
behind a window made of glass.
Do not ever watch the six o'clock news
If you want to live a carefree life
It'll bring you down, beat the crap outta ya
It's like being stabbed with a knife
Just hearing about all the stuff that goes on
You'll wanna set up camp in the woods
Not a bad idea when you really think of it
Much happier in all likelihood
Now this is turning out to be quite a downer
That was not my original intention
Always think positive is what I usually say
A smile was the greatest invention
I'm sure there aren't many cynics on The Soup
So I don't think this will be scoffed at
Poets have a feel for the right path to choose
The one filled with love jam packed
So do not watch the six o'clock news
It's always about the lunatic fringe
Look at your loved ones and tell 'em you care
Invite them on a friendly love binge
© Jack Ellison 2013
Do not watch the six o'clock news
If you want to live a carefree life
It'll bring you down, beat the crap outta ya
It's like being stabbed with a knife
Just hearing about all the stuff that goes on
You'll wanna set up camp in the woods
Not a bad idea when you really think bout it
Much happier in all likelihood
Now this is turning out to be quite a downer
That was not my original intention
Always think positive is what I usually say
A smile was the greatest invention
I'm sure there aren't many cynics on The Soup
So I don't think this will be scoffed at
Poets have a feel for the right path to choose
The one filled with love jam packed
So do not watch the six o'clock news
It's always about the lunatic fringe
Look at your loved ones and tell 'em you care
Invite them on a friendly love binge
Untitled
We dance across the heavens, like shining stars,
to the never ending beat of our universes heart.
Its song, time – sometimes – becomes dull, grey,
aches of sentiment, in the throes of lofty sentimentality
that becomes red dew, flowering over the cornea, of a rose
releasing its sweet fragrance, ever so slightly, lightly
down the sides of its imaginary nose.
Sentiment, envy, desire, so anther life goes.
B. J. “A” 2
April 18th 2003
Untitled
I stand on the edges of a desire,
a desire to be all that, – in this life –
I have never been, – in all likelihood –
could never be, for it is not in me.
Yet, in me, it is, as I read biographies,
autobiographies, ancient histories,
I see the dream – illusive as it seems.
Heavy sheets of liquid crystal hang,
fall before these old brown eyes.
Only, the telling comes in ripples
that dot the landscape of reflections
painted upon the cold black surface,
of a pavement that lays before me.
A sad portrait is painted every day,
it comes in the reflections, of those reflections.
Life has flown me through valleys richly
carpeted in jewels, emerald green and serine.
Life has dragged me over rough, ancient mountains,
dropped me over sharp edged, rugged cliffs.
Life has hauled me across screaming creeks,
down raging rivers without a paddle.
Life has thrown me into the fires of hell,
upon plumes of smoke, sent into the ether.
Life has guided me into heavenly spaces
where one will find beautiful places.
Life has shipped me into the shadow less abysses
of blackness where light of night stars hang
in the endless skies where one opens eyes
B. J. “A” 2
April 19th 2003
Untitled
Life lived – looking back –seems to have been as poverty laden
as the life that lays before these tired old feet – its faden
with inactivity, motiveless, motionlessness passages of time.
The richness in both – lost to another time and state of mind.
And who really may care ?, about the poverty in both.
And who really may care ?, about the richness of both.
And who really may care ?, about the memories of both.
And who really may care ?, about the life or death of both.
With Easter at hand.
It seems the hand is the only one who cares.
Assumed death ?, assumed resurrection ?
B. J. “A ” 2
April 20th 2003
Universe is beyond comprehension
That dark far off void away from our sphere
Midnight stars and moon are like extension
On night of perfection, they seem so near.
We might lay claim to our moon and its glow
But darkness beyond is not understood
Where does it end? perhaps we'll never know
Earth's spinning alone in all likelihood
Adventurous man forever seeking
Hard to believe we will stop at the stars
Deep dark void is calling so intriguing
With high expectations, lift off for Mars.
Beguiled by the notion of endless space
Universe waits for distant man's embrace.
The world of Expectations
Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.
They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,
of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul
and of the one’s you seem to want to know
and would prefer to show.
So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go
so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,
might have a chance – into something – grow.
Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,
making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.
WORDS
Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,
from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,
to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,
clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies
out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,
- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -
the empty spaces that wait to be filled.
Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,
pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows
that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,
upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.
Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,
Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow
– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –
giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,
portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,
my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,
indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,
– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,
their tails streaking across, upon, all-around an ocean
of material objects, objects of historical value,
objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history
basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,
drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across
the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,
this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.
This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,
chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –
by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –
to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which
the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.
Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.
Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
The other day a Dobson fly landed on me…and I mistakenly had this hunch
that his reason was a simple one…he wanted me for lunch
Since then I’ve done a little reading…and I think my first though was out of whack
for legend says a Dobson fly is given an extra set of wings…
So an angel can ride on it’s back.
And anyone visited by a Dobson fly…need not be afraid or feel blue.
It only means an angel has decided to visit you.
What made me change my thinking…what brought my initial conclusion in doubt
was the person, earlier that week, we were thinking and talking about.
28 years ago Ali’s friend, Chrissy, came with us to the mountains.
They were still in high school…both having yet to hit their prime.
In the two weeks we shared together…we had a wonderful time.
But Chrissy’s later years were troubled…filled with heartache, pain and strife
and years after our two weeks together…Chrissy took her life.
We were on the Blue Ridge Parkway when we thought of Chrissy…
Wondered about her, her life, her death…and all the years that have gone by.
when, the next day, by a river I was visited by a Dobson fly.
A Dobson fly who was not interested eating me my mid day snack.
A Dobson fly who, in all likelihood, had Chrissy on his back.
I like to think Chrissy heard us talking…listened to every line
then hitched a ride on a Dobson fly to let us know…she is doing fine.
I like to think that Chrissy with Dobson fly in tow
still remembers fondly those two weeks…28 years ago.
I don’t know where this legend started…how it initially came to be.
but I will look a little closer the next time a Dobson fly lands on me.
We think we have the best of both worlds…
we get to watch the sun set over the ocean…
watch as into the water it slowly drops…
And we also get to watch it set…into the horizon
from on a mountain top.
There are many things we love about sunsets…
A few of them I’ll name…
One is how in a lifetime of watching them
no two sunsets are the same.
Another thing we love is how we’re totally aware…
a sunset is not meant for us alone…it is something that we share.
Because the sun we are watching…that announces the day is done…
across the world (accounting for time zones)
that same sun is setting on everyone.
A third thing we love about the sun as in the sky it slowly sets..
is how it has a tendency to bring people together…people who’ve never met.
Who come together wherever they are…as the day is about to end
and who, as they share a sunset, for a moment…become friends.
Yesterday on a mountain top as we watched the sun set
(We chose a spot away from all the excitement and the fuss)
a couple from Wilmington, North Carolina…sat down next to us.
A young couple…and before the sunset was done…
We were sharing stories of our lives and what brought us there to watch the sun.
It was a beautiful moment…shared with two people there and then
Who, in all likelihood, we will never see again.
Yes, there is so much to be gained watching the sunset
which is why we’ll never stop…
whether we’re standing on the shore next to the ocean
or high on a mountain top.
The other day a Dobson fly landed on me…and I mistakenly had this hunch
that his reason was a simple one…he wanted me for lunch
Since then I’ve done a little reading…and I think my first though was out of whack
for legend says a Dobson fly is given an extra set of wings…
So an angel can ride on it’s back.
And anyone visited by a Dobson fly…need not be afraid or feel blue.
It only means an angel has decided to visit you.
What made me change my thinking…what brought my initial conclusion in doubt
was the person, earlier that week, we were thinking and talking about.
28 years ago Ali’s friend, Chrissy, came with us to the mountains.
They were still in high school…both having yet to hit their prime.
In the two weeks we shared together…we had a wonderful time.
But Chrissy’s later years were troubled…filled with heartache, pain and strife
and years after our two weeks together…Chrissy took her life.
We were on the Blue Ridge Parkway when we thought of Chrissy…
Wondered about her, her life, her death…and all the years that have gone by.
when, the next day, by a river I was visited by a Dobson fly.
A Dobson fly who was not interested eating me my mid day snack.
A Dobson fly who, in all likelihood, had Chrissy on his back.
I like to think Chrissy heard us talking…listened to every line
then hitched a ride on a Dobson fly to let us know…she is doing fine.
I like to think that Chrissy with Dobson fly in tow
still remembers fondly those two weeks…28 years ago.
I don’t know where this legend started…how it initially came to be.
but I will look a little closer the next time a Dobson fly lands on me.
Have you ever seen a horsey grin
They have a humongous amount of teeth
Their dentist bill must be really atrocious
They're almost beyond belief
Holy crap when they get a toothache
They feel it right down to their hoofs
You can hear them scream way over in China
They just about hit the roof
Feel so sorry for these gentle creatures
They're usually such amiable sorts
Even when a 300 pound man rides their back
They're usually really good sports
I've named him “Toothy”, this friend of mine
Tell him to brush those dentures good
The cost of a plate of false teeth for horsies
Is astronomical in all likelihood
A lesson here for all you young people
Do as your mother tells you
Brush those teeth real good every day
So your dentist trips will be few!
© Jack Ellison 2012