Long Ing Poems
Long Ing Poems. Below are the most popular long Ing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ing poems by poem length and keyword.
The president’s bombing kids again.
Blood on the ground, ash in the air,
schools and playgrounds destroyed the same.
And I’m sitting in my ing rose garden,
silk garments pristine and
picking past the petals stained red,
nose clogged with the scent of flowers in the air
and not those that lie mangled,
torn to pieces,
eternally tormented on the ground.
What a privilege it is to be removed,
to have my head buried in this American soil,
ears chock-full of it so the only sounds
that bypass my earthen defenses
are high-pitched laughter
and commands to bend low
under the current state of affairs.
And bend low I do,
down to the bushes that haven’t been maimed,
the stems of elderly jade
that prospered by disturbing no one
and instead shining with untouched beauty.
My heart turns to stone with every headline,
that same jade replacing vein after vein.
Soon enough I’ll be a statue of enchanting green,
dazzling in the sun,
mouth open too late in a silenced cry
in my own damn rose garden.
The sun is burning
Population growing
Poverty pulsing
Rich repeating
Man-beating
One meeting
Fleeting
Ding.
Phone alerts ringing
The chorus is singing
Fear is clawing
Up our throats, feasting
Least of all, dying
The moon is rising
While the Earth is spinning
Heads are pounding
Bosses are hounding
No more housing
Delousing
Ping.
The microwave meal is ready for eating
Time for feeding
Has your skin been shedding?
How’s the fat shredding?
Oh you’re still driving?
No that’s not quite thriving.
Who’s business have you been minding?
Theirs? You’re kidding.
Careful who you let be king
What keeps you ticking?
Ruthless ruling?
Careful clinging?
Shower singing?
Enjoyed by all that will ever -ing
The long forgotten hanging.
It’s a beautiful day, like a hole in perpetual winter. We rode bikes around campus - everyone was out. When it’s cold I just go place to place but today reminded me that outdoors can be fun. Of course, it’s supposed to snow tomorrow night - just a few snow atoms, I think.
Lisa was laying on her back in the grass reading. She rolled over and smoothed the book flat. In the fleeting, golden moment between dusk and evening, the edges of Lisa’s gold hair looked almost green. I’m right there next to her - we’re sharing a towel-like blanket.
She takes up a pen and writes something in the margins - leaving stray thoughts like breadcrumbs. Then trades the pen for a highlighter and colors several phrases. We’re poking around the edges of our chemistry midterm. Her face has tightened in concentration. I could imagine her wearing a similar expression while taking the test.
Later, we’ll combine our little scribbles (her handwriting is awful) and highlights, class notes and charts into something collaborative and shareable. She passes me a note, like a riddle, which I read and hand back, annoyed. “That question doesn’t interest me.” I say nonchalantly.
“You mean you don’t know the answer,” she guesses correctly.
“Not yet.” I admit.
Rumor has it that Putin will attempt to salvage his reputation by saying his ill-fated invasion of Ukraine was an attempt to stop the new season of “The Kardashians.” While we can ALL embrace THAT goal, I think it’s just an excuse (politics).
I love classes - the ideas that we’re exposed to, like Agential Identities or Nominative Determinism Hypothesis - ideas, some ½ stupid, some profound but things I wouldn’t have thought of in 200 years. I constantly find myself thinking “Who THOUGHT of this?”
Slang: politics = lies
Song Suggestion: Broken People by the Narcissist Cookbook
Eyes obstructed, where miles go
So important, who we kill intentionally
Even ourselves, risk to injury
To death do we die desire
In our own mind silent misery
Living a life we take, if not our own
Text-ing, a straight neck deadly society
They drive and text, walk and text
Even on a call and text we done
They eat and text, some crap while doing
Has tech consumed even outside play
Days of call me at home
A phone booth on a corner street
People use brain we call a library
Now all AI doing thinking before speak
Crime in streets, Internet isn't safe
A worm hole, a back door
Sounds like wild sex, it's electrifying
Text-ing, an erge as addicted as drugs
Phone always in face even while sleep
Early morning coffee, grab on way up
Where's excitement to life's adventure
A computer leading lifes way
If it's man-made it breaks
Down even our soul's drama fill world
Text-ing, as deadly as a phone to the ear
Written by Gail Debole
November 26, 2024
Adding "ing" to nouns has taken over the town.
English Traditionalists - turn your frowns upside down.
"Being an adult" is now one word.
We are all "adulting" or haven't you heard?
So I guess the next noun to be "verbed"
Is that a child is "childing" or is that absurd?
All languages evolve through the years.
Face the facts. Get over your fears.
Nothing you can do to stop the "ings."
"Verb-ing" the nouns is more than a fling.
Younger generations speak their own type of speak.
Older generations try to keep up so they do not look weak.
No one person controls the words we say.
New ones arise and old ones lose sway.
Now all the nouns can be "verb-ed" or "e-d-ed."
Language creativity cannot/should not (shouldnot?) be impeded.
And, in the future, how many words will survive?
Will acronyms and emojis be the language that thrives?
Our earth rotates with a wobbly spin.. could that be
Indicative of the presence of sin? Not perfect yet living
Maybe that's so.? yet here's another truth many won't know'
A ball of Release was created and run where the sun
Starts to shine, while in the earth's north; there is none'
Reports from dead media, deny it was done.?
Yet I saw so many all enjoying their fun, it was titled
For freedom though to close it some tried,
For to smile is now frowned on; and no singing inside.'
Like the scouring of 'the shire' in the Lord of the rings
How could it happen? In tightening things.?
Fear was It's trigger; as deadly claims just grew bigger
In their 70 and 80s people's actions escape me.!
They'll do the mask-task, but ever do they ask?
How they lived to this good age.? Were their mothers
So.. Unsage.? I'm sure they would cry if all this came
To their eyes.' This insult to good reason cap's
The silliest of seasons.!
As we reach our so called golden years
Time seems to pass by so fast
We realize each day still has 24 hours
But minutes take 30 seconds to pass
A phenomenon known as old duffering
It's the time to fit in all we lack
No sooner it's the start of a brand new day
When it's time to hit the old sack
Where did it go, what the hell happened
Was a dapper young lad then poof
People are now asking if I need any help
As I stumble around quite aloof
The dazed look on my face could be why
People are always trying to help
Sometimes my trousers are on back to front
And I quite often forget my belt
Don't laugh, you'll all get there eventually
Though it seems like forever away
Surely hope you don't embarrass yourself
By walking around nude all day
© Jack Ellison 2013
in our bathtub,
eye to eye
floating on
suds and such,
mind to mind…
wandering ..
.
.
.
.
bubbling thoughts
without foundation,
merely bland lips and blush.
danger lies
on the other side of the tub.
our hands hang on
to the sides
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
through the years of frangipani
and chamomile, the subtle touch
of vanilla skin,
that tantalizes every nerve.
O
O O
O
O
O
O
the sea stirs mightily...
voluptuously lingers
as fingers cling
to the see-through boat.
...a knock at the door
brings us to our senses.
the crocodile smile says it all
so we must hide our wiles
hilarious footdance erased
shower curtain in place
……………………….…………
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////O//////////////////////////////////////////
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9/10/2019
My back’s in the sun with a ring-a-ling-ding
Have to admit I am doing my thing
I sit outside with couch, but no vase of Ming
The dog and cat are here, bringing me bling
I hear a cardinal alight with a teensy ping
She begins to open her beak to try to sing
The cat jumps up and she takes off on one wing
You see on this porch Shark my cat is the king
A Prime delivery truck stops; I hear a cha-ching.
Have no idea what it is; I ask him to fling.
He refuses to do it, what a ding-a-ling!
I grab it and throw it myself with a zing.
He gives me a good day and leaves after I sling.
This package of cookies on the couch, tied with string
I would continue this poem if I was not out of ing
But since I am, I will limp inside on my torn-up hamstring.
Written 8-15-2021
Contest: Monorhyme
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Hush, can you hear?
So soft and yet so clear,
are the whispers of the forest.
You may think it is the breeze,
but listen closely and you'll see,
the wind's as absent as can be.
Indeed it is the whispers,
the sly whispers of the trees.
I hear them when I'm on my own,
entranced beside the moonlit lake.
They wonder why I'm sad, so sad,
and try to cheer my solemn soul,
with jokes and laughs and Billy Joel.
Such company can be a treat,
so when my heart does allow,
I whisper back, the trees and I.
I sometimes act as their spy,
in places where the trees are few.
I whisper to the trees alone,
all dank and limp beside the road.
The one thing I never knew,
was how they loved to gossip so.
For as a present of our friendship,
I bought the latest mags and comics.
Now lie, I do, beside the pines,
reciting the celebrity times.
Date: 06.11.2020
Contest: Whisper to Me Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Riddle