Long Instagram Poems
Long Instagram Poems. Below are the most popular long Instagram by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Instagram poems by poem length and keyword.
Truly those days were fun,
Little children playing each,
With a fine decorated toy gun,
Life was serious yet catchy;
And we were easily convinced
‘ Sit back, I will buy you Akara’,
Was enough to pacify and evinced.
I can still peep through the silhouette,
Of throwing stones at Mango fruit,
And playing with a plate of omelette,
Those hid and seek games in the rain,
Truly those days were fun,
We went on errands without gain,
Whether it was under the sun!
And when a person died in the hays,
Goosebumps, fear sits in the air;
I can’t forget those jannock days,
As fear was harbored, decency was the heiress
An old woman could tell her daughters,
“Do not touch or allow a man touch you,
For when you do, you will be in a family way:”
I wish to go back to those days in decipher,
For the imagination of her dream, is not new.
These days;
Even a seer can’t see what a teen talks,
And behold, they are all on Tiktok,
Staring at things our fathers only but imagined,
And when you tell them to face their books,
Oh God! They are on Facebook,
These days, decency is just but a crime,
And when you see it, we call it archaic;
Mothers that should do their job,
Are their, on the sad side of Instagram,
Influencing in their nude paraphernalia!
Majority of these parents will taste,
Eli’s strength, a sad reality disguising,
And truly this age is punctured;
And it is bleeding in black jars,
Where then should I start the tale from,
Truly the beat has changed;
Leaving us naked in the daylight;
Where is our morality forte?
Even the news of these days,
Does not sit well with the mind...
It is either abduction, manslaughter,
Banditry, and all those odd news,
I’m debilitated and would want,
To go back to those days!
My eyes are witness to this insouciant.
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.
Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway
makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.
As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.
TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.
JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game
by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.
Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on
concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.
If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”
And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.
.
.
Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
.
.
Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
Fight Corona Through Breathing & Music Part 1 of 2
My apology from all those whom I informed to post this msg. On PS 3-4 days earlier. I thought first to place a video on You Tube and then post it on Poetry Soup so that, you may find it easy to learn the great
Musical Yoga for giving a new confidence and hope to all those who try to learn this art of music.
Ravindra
Fight Corona Through Breathing & Music Part 1 of 2
This Video* is a Free Gift to suffering human beings
from me for all my friends and non friends,
on Poetry Soup, face book, Twitter, Instagram and
on pinterest etc anywhere in the world.
Video URL:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sa5F6v0OjQ&t=28s
For learning these simple Indian Musical wonderful notes and Practicing it,
To make you more strong, and sturdy,
To face the emerging new challenges of Corona. 01
.
The daily practice of SARGAM ( Musical Notes)
of Indian Classical Music) Is capable to boost your body energy and your confidence level,
It would also make your lungs more strong to pump more oxygen in your body,
This effort would improve every ailing organs in your body with minimum medicines and care. 02
.
These exercises requires no other additional medicines than what you may be taking as per the advice of your physician,
The only thing which can be more beneficial is a input of a matching Sound of Music with your voice, which is not possible due to Corona problems and I have given it in the video itself for general use.
It can be tried and practiced by anyone of any age group healthy or sick with the music as given by me on my You Tube Video.
Even those, who are bed confined, they too can try it- if can do it from their bed itself by sitting on bed (Unless sitting is not allowed to them). 03
.
This Video is not a medicine of Corona but it is a wonderful precaution to keep Corona away from us, as much it is possible, as it improves our general immune system. 04
Concluded in Part 2
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 8th April 2020
I'm sure she is my true love
We're clearly meant for one another
Never have I felt so young
Never has anything felt so right
But how can I ever tell her?
What on earth will she think of me?
What magical words can I utter?
Can she ever possibly recover...
When's the best time to break it to her?
Perhaps first thing tomorrow?
Why wait 'till then? -- The sooner, the better!
But no. It's been a long day. She's tired now...
Do I really have to do it in person?
I could text her or tweet something
Or perhaps post it on Instagram
A phone call. -- No. Somehow that won't work...
A letter. That's it. A letter. A letter in which
I profess my undying love and devotion, in which
I reveal my true feelings, and in which I break the news
to her ever-so-gently. No -- nobody sends letters anymore...
I've got to stop all of this right now. Time to get a grip
I'm not the first guy who's ever done this
and I certainly won't be the last either
I'm going to tell her right now, for crying out loud --
Honey, please don't think ill of me
But I've been married for 25 years
to a woman I've never loved; there are
three children, all estranged from me
And -- the door slams shut...
I Theme To List Toward Secular Humanism ©ø¥
Mine excel leant
powerfully pointed
nonestablishmentarian
outlook accesses
prolix laced threads, whereat
aye weave with zeal
spinning, sans metaphorical
loom min esse
cent invisible wheel
finagling, incorporating, and lurching
sesquipedalian ward webbing,
sans existential warp and weft
asthma trademark seal
begetting poetic offspring
for no rhyme, nor
reason and less real
than an actual progeny,
(das papa percolates,
per predilection toward prolix)
as poor substitute
to apply seminal seal
if only...grace with
a younger fecund wife,
where becoming
pregnant would ap peal
and be chronologically viable
plus said mother
hood ambition would,
(asper this
hypothetical scenario)
might warrant me to inculcate,
and if necessary
take a knee to kneel
yet stopping short
of any Machiavellian
(cut throat...er rather
umbilical cord) tactics to activate
no explanation why
hankering to create
additional "NO FAKE"
fallacy aye in inflate
cuz, nothing compares
to sire (with love)
heir or Harris heiress,
and coveting father hood again
a son or daughter
even though pushing late
fifties, which age finds me
to instagram, shutterfly,
or snapchat with disbelief
aware that divulgence to experience
such poignant pang mate
be attributed to absence
of mine deux darling daughters
ah...juiced a small
pipe (petty filed)
whet dream wracking ma pate
no great expectations
by dick ends
for any physically
intimate tete a tete
thus assimilate call
of the wild crafting writings
with my huff firm mitt heave
gen till loin that doth undulate.
I consider myself a technologically savvy old geezer. With a simple utterance of “Hey Google, show me cute puppy videos” my world is filled with hours of mindless entertainment. I can do Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Linked-In about as well as any old-fashioned Neanderthal. With all this modern-day technology at my fingertips you’d think my need for paper and pen would be overcome. Not true. All this technology represents the one thing that destroys my creativity. ‘DISTRACTIONS’. Maybe it’s the fact that a pen or a pencil can only do one thing. Transfer my thoughts to paper. No puppies sliding down a snow-covered hill, what’s the weather in Outer Mongolia, or share this photo and God will send you money. There is just me, a pencil and a clean sheet of paper. Nothing creates inspiration more than a sharp Ticonderoga #2 pencil or a fine point red stick pen. Or maybe it’s just that my addled old brain gets so easily sidetracked by shiny baubles.
We shall overcome
unless we’re distracted first—
Oooh cute baby goats
This poet decided against
becoming a measly minced meaty morsel
undetected inauspicious augury
assigning adept
aqueous ace AOL amphibian,
who surreptitiously crept
to the secret crypt (guarded by
foo fighters and amazing dragons)
said gendarmes did except
special fluid scrip as egress into
heavily fortified
(with USDA recommended allowance),
thus when the configurative motley crue
including thyself (a bono fied doo
bee brother - long given up for lost,
which "FAKE" oracle
misinterpreted by a goo goo
doll, and cross dresser named Hugh
played being took a vow el,
and hence consonantly knew
all along, i dwelt peacefully
in a soundcloud loo
immensely spacious with ooh
dills of survival trappings
purchased from Peru
laborers treated by free pact
guaranteeing a socially
conscious shopper to rue
painstaking indigenous stoop labor,
now stamped imprimatur could allow,
enable and provide means to shoe
each formerly eczema dappled,
cracked bare foot
ah, a glimmer of hopefulness
(upon this crowded house of a planet) view
which youtube snapchat ting
reddit as joyous outlook
sans linkedin shutterfly,
twitter ring tender flickr ring shoots
communicated an instagram message
of hopefulness kickstarting optimism
versus the initial thread of this poem,
which to set this got off track
(hinting at goal to be
a paperback book writer wannabe)
rather than ending up as a byte size snack
for a limbering beast, into whose tumblr
of one jagged razor sharp teeth
like daggers lined up along a rack
of reinforced steel maw,
which bang for the bite did pack
leaves no room for bing a survivor
as fierce jaws clamp down
worse than getting steam rolled by a mack
truck, but subjected to thee yield,
whence thousands of pounds
per square inch of pressure
on par lambasted from Donald Trump flack.
You are the echo at the bottom of my Spotify playlist,
The song I forgot to delete but skip immediately,
Because it hurts too much to listen to.
You are the echo of a story not told by me,
Twisting each time it is retold,
Less true each time, less you.
You exist as an echo in my fading memories,
Vanishing, tarnishing, and shifting the more I try to hold onto them.
You are the echo of pain I feel in my gut when I hear “Eleanor Rigby”
You are a story I tell at parties.
You will always be my first everything.
You were everything.
I don’t know who I am without you,
I don’t know who you are.
I have no business feeling this pain,
But I have nothing to hold onto anymore.
Grabbing at smoke, clinging to your echo.
You are the echo on your best friend’s Instagram page,
Because I can’t look at yours and I need to still see you.
You are what I hold onto late at night when I can’t fall asleep.
You are the echo of summer days, and parking lots, and hidden corners.
You are nothing but the shadow I cling to because I can’t leave the past behind.
You are gone.
You are nothing but an echo.
Not nowhere near a mastermind just highly inclined
To turn mental pictures into verbal masterpieces
Not really into the rap hame message want get through I'm
Gone be honest unless you got a gimmick or sell big drugs don't nobody hear you
Young black man going through the struggle don't nobody
see you
These days you gotta use social media get your followers up
but if it ain't making them dance it ain't what's up
The rap game done switched to you tube views instagram the
Hustle is likes that's how these new cats getting rich
Artist don't want record deals everybody independent
made top 10 greatest hits 2 pac didn't make the list tell
me this who had more hits
All I'm trying to say is I don't think message gets through
Scarface tell real stories if your not him or have a gimmick
Don't nobody hear Nor See you
I remember the rumble
It seemed so distant at first, a whisper in this urban jungle
No one seemed to notice it
There was no proof,no broken glass, no fires lit
I remember the sound of it
It was like a earthquake that moved the entire continent of consciousness
While keeping everything in place
Our morals and ethics drifted further away
As we ran our rat race
I remember the thought of it
The pocket watch of tension winding us up
Unable to see who it is winding
People begin to shout, act out, and cut up
As if they were out of timing
I remember the feeling of it
Bit by bit we became disjointed from one another
No longer anointed, we quickly moved to strike down a brother
A sister, a mother, a child. We forever will walk that green mile
Yet somehow do it all with an Instagram smile
I remember the taste of it
Hypocritically bitter with a hint of lemon
As the clean rights of women get trampled and hidden
Plato's guardians only protect themselves
Those of the wealthy and those who will never tell
I remember the smell of it
Was that tear gas, a train crash, or just normal pollution?
We smell our bottled water before we drink it, hoping its the solution
Like paper mache plaster on this ecological disaster we call home
If we pay enough money, maybe we can live in a dome
I remember the sight of it
Now undeniable, issues too big to make just one liable
Its too big to fail, but not fair enough to be viable
Violence is common language, truth is in disrepair
Illusion tasty like candy, vying to be our next heir
Yet I remember
At first they came for them, and we said nothing
We became divided and chided the idea of one house of something
Where everyone is community, strangers and enemies too
All we have left now is fragments of the new rule
And the rumble. Can you hear it?