Long Indicated Poems
Long Indicated Poems. Below are the most popular long Indicated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Indicated poems by poem length and keyword.
My Pet Poems, Max
I hopped onto Craig’s List, made a phone call.
Next day, with a royal blue, nylon carrier, which had a small, zippered door, sitting on the back seat ready, we drove an hour southeast for this scrawny boy — white with beige/blonde markings on his back and,too, on his amazing, static-charged, flying ears. The first short-nosed dog I’d ever gotten, with quite an underbite.
The couple taking our $100 for this shih tsu told us: well, he’d not done well on their farm; was bullied by the other dogs; and was fearful of horses.
In turn, I thought: well, who wouldn’t be? This tiny, white fluff of a boy with that pronounced, huffing smile, all teeth from chin to nose. I told Jim on the drive home, “The funniest thing I ever saw.”
The vet record the couple gave us was fraud —no such vet. And, apparently, Max had a nerve disorder, too,which sent him into a fit of physical contractions and screaming at any point of any excitement. “He is one for the medical books,” our own vet said, as we tried every approach to help him. He suffered in those fits, as our ears and alarm for him did each and evoery time for over three years, with us finally stopping the meds, simply going to embrace him gently, saying softly, “Max! Max, jt’s all right...”
Now, some several years later, the fits are no more...I try not to, but I wonder what horrors he knew on that farm: if the bullying dogs bit him when he screamed? And if the couple tried kicking him out of his fits with their heavy farm boots? My intuitions all but saw it. Oh...
This little boy, who became the shadow figure at my feet... like his ancient Chinese-bred ancestors, lying guard before the holy places, and taking off to bark away any possible predators at the door; and, too, lying half-wakeful aside their sleeping monks or the town’s children in case some monster rose out from a dream, or some other need indicated a command.
Then, when Gigi came, he became instantly a big brother, as a dog will do it, he always abdicated as she insisted on being so at my side, in her little princess way of wedging her way between. Thus, Max has taken to Jim’s affections and shadows him. The boys there. The girls here. Affection throughout the room!
********. *********. ********. ********
(c)sally Young eslinger 12/23/20
Always Thanks be to God
The formula was so simple that even I could follow it and make some
little creatures very happy. I read the pamphlet that came in the box with the feeder, and followed directions so as to create the taste that all hummingbirds would enjoy.
My wife and I had been gifted with a Humming bird feeder. It sat for several weeks before I decided to give it a shot, and grace my home with the tranquil presence of the red oval feeder. I knew that this back yard addition would be a new source of joy as we relaxed on the enclosed patio.
After adding one cup of sugar to four cups of water in a small pot, I sat it on
the stove and allowed it to boil. After boiling, I let it cool and put the sugar
water in the feeder. I tell you, this senior citizen was filled with excitement,
knowing that before long, like the squirrels, birds too would feast in my
little back yard. After putting it all together and hanging the feeder just outside of our bedroom window, I waited with anticipation for the day that I would
personally witness a bird feeding outside our window.
I did not count, but it seemed there were many days before I saw my first little hummingbird drinking the sugar water mixture from the feeder. And when I saw my little bird friend drinking, it was absolutely exhilarating! It was exciting! Who knew that such a small effort could produce such emotions of happiness inside of me? Who knew that feeding a bird would open such flood gates of pride within me?
Sometimes it's the small things in life that makes a man feel like a giant inside. I never knew that such beauty and joy would rain down on a stoic like me, simply from watching a hummingbird drink sweet water. It was pure delight. The pamphlet indicated that each day the hummingbird consumes half its weight in food. What are they doing? Where are they going? One has to assume that they are consuming so much food and expending vast amounts of energy, because they are working so hard at producing things most useful for mankind. Basically that food consists of a diet of nectar from flowers and insects. Oh, and also my sweet mixture.
07082013PSCtest,
...One night I asked who it was,
she said,”Just a man I used to know.”
She would never say more than that,
so I decided wisely to let it go.
But that night, like every other,
when midnight rolled around,
she walked along to the pier’s end
and stood staring without a sound.
I figured it was an old grief,
and did not want to interfere,
but one evening after many drinks
I stumbled, mindless, to the pier.
There I saw old Meredith
wrapped up in a tall man’s arms,
something about him just seemed off,
my drunken mind feared harm.
As I moved she turned and said,
“He does not like company.”
She shushed me and the two walked
onwards towards a quiet sea.
I thought I’d seen the tall man,
but from where, I couldn’t say,
and as I though I watched the two
walk off the end of the quay!
Rushing out, I looked below,
but no bodies could I see.
they did not lay upon the rocks,
or against pilings worn and slippery.
I raced back to the Walrus,
soon all the cops came out.
They dredged the short for three days,
but no bodies were ever found.
Some even suspected it was me,
but no charges came my way,
they combed the shore but found nothing
that indicated any foul play.
It was only later that I understood
just what I had seen that night,
the dead man in the old picture
had been on the pier in plain sight!
For so long she had gone out there,
hoping for the impossible,
it seems that in the end she got
her one wish granted in full.
She’d had no husband of lover
in the many years since his death,
but he’d come back to claim her
when she’d faced her dying breath.
Well, that was thirty years ago,
the tale has become folklore,
a thing whispered to tourist folk
all up and down the shore.
I took over the Wailing Walrus,
and have kept it much the same.
The tall, young man still hangs up high,
and there he shall remain.
But I did go to Meredith’s family,
and asked for a picture of her youth,
next to her lover it now hangs,
for all who would know the truth
Every so often some come here,
and say they saw in evening’s dim,
two figures walking on the pier,
who never seem to come in.
They say the figures just seemed off,
kind of wispy and quite pale,
so I sit them down, fix them a drink
and tell them this tragic tale.
In little towns the big events are locally presented,
and every family in the town is usually represented.
Shopkeepers shut their doors when a pioneer curls his toes,
and if someone’s up to mischief, then everybody knows.
Every sporting club is well supported, right down to the wire,
they are the social hubs of towns to set the youth on fire,
through footy clubs and netball clubs combining into one
to sing and dance the night away, promoting local fun.
Of course when youth is mixed with party love can fill the air,
so Cupid’s firing arrows through the hearts of those who care.
This sometimes leads to earnestness when love gets in the way;
the town is now preparing for there’ll be a wedding day.
There’s heaps of preparation from the family of the bride;
flower girls and pretty maids to stand right by her side.
There’s the minister and invitations; the caterers are right.
All the groom must think about - “Are you coming to the bucks night?”
It’s half past five and dawn is breaking; we’re coming back to town.
God knows who is driving but their foot is going down.
There’s nugget, sauce and butter, smeared over everything;
the bucks party is over now - it’s ten hours ‘til the wedding.
And now coming up behind us is a mass of flashing light,
when a siren started blaring; we thought it better to take flight.
We shot around some back streets trying to lose this cop,
then someone with a drunken slur, said “I think we better stop.”
Popularity is not the word that I would say is spoken next.
This angry cop took any plea completely out of context.
He wouldn’t listen to a word that’s said, repeating “That’s enough!”
before I heard the second click of a closing set of handcuffs.”
In a cell back at the station there’s a pall of doom and gloom.
And there’s a hint of panic when it’s mentioned in the room,
by the cop who indicated strongly that by giving him some flack,
we’re gunna stay locked up until his Sergeant arrives back.
I made every kind of plea I could, but this cop avoids my dreading.
He said “Young lad you’re lucky; my Sergeants at his daughters wedding,
so he’ll be in a good mood when he greets you in this room.”
“Don’t bloody count on it” I said - “Because I’m the flamin’ groom!”
The elevator opened on the 46th floor, to a small foyer and one plain, grey door
The door opened and a young girl, 10ish, in a blue, polo, tennis dress, said, “Hi! I’m Karen, you must be Anais. Will is around here somewhere. Aren’t you pretty, though? You go to school with Lisa? No wonder Will likes you.”
She skippingly ushered me from a bright, windowed, off-white, staircase entryway, into a deep-red, mahogany paneled library. A persian cat was soon underfoot, purring and winding around my legs.”That’s Misha,” Karen said, “just shoo her away if you don’t like cats.”
I stooped down to pet Misha who eagerly offered herself to be petted and admired. As I stroked her charcoal fur, Karen said, “Let me get Will,” as she scampered off.
A gold framed, impressionistic painting, pin-lit in bright crystalline light, hung over a fireplace. In the painting, two girls, in summer hats bright with startling red bows and yellow flowers, were sharing a book. The colors were rich, deep and swirling - it looked very much like a Renoir (I know my French artists). He’d done a whole “two girls” series. I drew closer - it wasn’t a print.
Though dazed by the opulence, I hadn’t missed what Karen had said. Will liked me. I longed to interrogate her about how exactly she knew Will liked me, and what form, exactly, Will’s liking took.
I know Will and Lisa (who would be joining us in a minute) are just friends. Not that it matters, we’re heading back to New Haven later - but Karen’s statements were capable of activating a girl's guy-dar.
Karen, wearing socks but no shoes, came to a sliding halt, on the wooden floor, by grabbing the door frame to stop an otherwise complete slide into the library. “You guys are going to the Ritz for lunch?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder, in a way that indicated that she knew the answer quite well.
The Ritz Carlton is a block away and our mission was to grab the food and bring it back here to eat. “Mind if I join?” she said, before I could answer her first question, all wide-eyed, blinking impatience.
“I don’t mind at ALL.” I said, Karen whooped and was off again down the hall. “I’M COMING TOO!” she yelled. I chuckled, knowingly - I’ve been there - I’m a little sister too.
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
Earthdate/starttime: 11/04/19 01:10:26 AM
Earthdate/endtime: 11/04/19 02:55:46 AM
Poetic snapshot regarding immediate
actual, physical, spatial... environment
pertinent, relevant, salient... yours truly
commenced within fleeting electronic
date/time stamp indicated above bereft
attempts to describe character sketch,
whereat I sit within Apartment B44:
taking immediate lock, stock & barrel
ordinary repeated situation witnessing
garden variety *****sapien imbibing
familiar scenario, while spouse sleeps
near proximity, CPAP machine regulates
continuous positive airway pressure
offsetting sleep apnea breathe more so
she can breathe free and clear preventing
airway from collapsing when she inhales.
Nothing particularly spectacular wee hour
this ordinary moment beckoned, challenged
decided... attempt to focus (laser like) sense
and sensibility without pride, nor prejudice
essentially simply worded still life repeated
predictably, & regularity glossed over other
instances finding impetus preying upon pro-
fun ditties, and expansive vocabulary unsure
communicated printed idea understandable
aware some readers disinclined wading thru
thicket (quagmire) of verbiage, hence eureka
experience to corral immediate circumstance
(think Will Rogers' 140th birthday his home
spun extemporaneous anecdotal nuggets.)
Many occasions embarking upon complexity
aspire to elaborate intricate worded webbed
(wide aye bother) complex edifice ambitious
invariably confounding unsuspecting readers
suddenly sinking within quicksand helpless
against salvation, hence painstaking effort
to asseverate downplaying sesquipedalian
rather toning down syllabification sharing
trumpeting, undulating humdrum existence
verily reporting sleeping on floor - courtesy
restless leg syndrome, which affects the mrs.
Marriage basically no match heavenly made,
nonetheless dynamic linkedin travails values
wifely attentiveness to prepare unrecognized
frying object (best described as pop slop), +
she tends other domestic chore, viz washing
soiled clothes nsync of kitchen, whiling away
(think dervish) stoking chaos within invisible
re: nearly infinitesimal speck within Milkyway.
1.
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, you muse of poetry, the
Majority of the times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting on letting you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could
With your request, comply
2.
Oh, Muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming
From your divine essence
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom,
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**
3.
A difficult task it is; indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just
A little more time
4.
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the way
You would like:
In accordance with the universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws
5.
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able
Would be, poems to compose
But
Her writings, her creations, and her poetic epics,
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim
For
She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace,
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know
How
The universe’s poetic language should be used
And how, in verse, it has to be
Delivered!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 SEPTEMBER 2014
* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry, and marriage songs.
** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is, in reality, a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that come in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because Erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.
Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).
Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.
As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.
Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.
Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.
“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make murder premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.
Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.
Besides, I smelled bacon.
All these shooting of our Youth MUST STOP! The city, the churches, communities and our states need to get together. This is not the end. We have a long way to go. It's just beginning. if we don't, a lot of our young people not going to make it through their youth. Contact the city, contact the churches, contact the communities, our states. This got to STOP! The churches MUST pray! WE MUST ACT NOW! The communities MUST get involved. The people MUST stop taking the law in their own hands! We need to get more jobs for our young people! Our future generation is at hand. Agencies MUST stop acting along. This is not an individual problem, this is communities problem. I am and will continue to act, to pray for our kids because they are not just the future to come, they are 'The FutureNow'. What we do for them NOW, will determine WHO and WHAT they will be TOMORROW."
I know that people are tired of hearing about all the shooting going on. Yes, there are some great things that our young people are doing. No matter what race they may be (especially youth of color). Let us also report about these great things they are doing also. Let us pick them out too. As I indicated about our youth, not just the future to come, they are 'The FutureNow'. We have to promote this also. We have to talk about positive things too. I believe, if we do, we can place the attention on the positive things more, not just on the number of negative things they are doing. This year coming up, let us pick some great things they are doing and write about them.
Let us help them to be happy while they are still young. Let us help them to remember their Creator while they are young because when they are older, they will forget why they are here and begin to destroy each other, fighting over worthless things, when they are meant to do great things. There is Great Potential locked within them, trying to get out. Sometimes it comes out negative and that's where the problems start.
So let us help them to bring out the positive side. I am for it and so should all of you be too.
Our Youth should be a priority for all of us because they will be a senior citizen one day without a FutureNow.
How does it make you feel when the one you voted for, lost?
Did the earth stop revolving; or did the sun refuse to shine?
Did your boat cease to float; or did your sails fall into the river?
I was just thinking about the times that my candidate lost, and
about the time that I voted FOR a candidate adamantly opposed
to the union that represented me and my financial well being.
Personally, I have not agreed, but the American voter for the longest time
has been trained to be totally self-interested, even if that interest does not
represent the common interest of the nation. There should be no question
about how we got to where we are.
I was also thinking about the first presidential election in which I voted up to the most recent one. With a little research, I discovered that there have been 12 presidential elections in which I have been a participant. In those elections, I voted for 7 candidates who won and 5 candidates who lost. At no time did I ever think that the winning candidate I opposed was not my
President or Commander-in Chief. I have always been sadden by that way of thinking because there is no constitutional grounds for such mentalities.*
A couple of days ago, I was taken aback when a person I greatly respect indicated that the new Commander-in-Chief was not her Commander-in-Chief as she waved goodbye to the former president. Also, several years ago when a new president took office, a dear friend of mine said, "He's not my president. I did not vote for him." I said in response, "Neither did I vote for him, but he is now OUR new president". I could be mistaken, but my understanding of the American way is that we are free to oppose and disagree, but when the majority wins, we do our best to unite as one.
012121PS
*Constitution; Article 11, Section 2, #1.