Long Jet Poems
Long Jet Poems. Below are the most popular long Jet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jet poems by poem length and keyword.
I see him stumbling around looking for something to hold on to but there was nothing there except the open thin air and a bunch of bureaucrats wearing thin frocks walking around on wet grass with fake greetings and a forced smile that caught us by surprise.
Bob has been in the news and this has left everyone confused he is running for office again, midths the barrage of criticism running down his spine weakening his legs and making him look like the walking dead. At first, he looks like a robot coming out of a hut, and then it appears like a man in despair. There was no one around to cover him except for gravity and his own sanity.
Bob is fun to be around but this time his attitude makes me frown, he does some weird things, like walking with his nose pointed in the air and use his finger to show you the clock.
Sometimes he is agitated and his temper cuts deep causing everyone to proceed with caution while he rolls the dice and shuffles the cards. He is a nice person to be around but the mood swings will drag you down; yesterday I invited him for tea, we had a small talk and it left my aunt weeping in the dark, what is really going on with Bob?
Bob is a very good man but sometimes he looks very sad; he has a very tight schedule and attends more than ten meeting in a given day, heaven knows how he stands up while going through the gate.
He knows his work quite well and he can talk up a storm from hell and still remain true. I watched him come and go and how he presents himself while he rides the big ship, and the ceremony he attended with the mercenaries hiding in the bushes and the guard of honor marching every hour to pay their respect to Bob.
He wasn’t quite in it, he was always looking for something to hold on to but the air propels him along and John, his closest friend, stood next to him and pushes him on.
I could sense a silent annoyance rising up in john’s emotions, as he reached for support while climbing the steps. He attempts to hold john several times from his back but John shrugs and show him the way with a polite gesture.
They and had a cup of tea towards the end, and spend some time feeling out each other. What was said, I really don’t know but the cluster bombs exploded and close that chapter. The tennis match was a blessing in disguise, and it is an indication of how the story will end, I love happy endings.
We were extremely delighted when we picked up the keys to our brand new house and starting at the front door, we made slow anticipative steps desirous of testing the key making sure it was correctly made. But to our utter surprise, it did not fit in the keyhole, and we were left outside our new house like house-citing strangers admiring all the landscape and beautifully designed exterior. Although my wife was calm and patient, I was steaming hot in the dead of winter sending out smoke signals both from heat and cold with unspeakable emotions which were overwhelmingly joyous just seconds before. What now and what was I suppose to do? How does one go from 'cloud nine' to free-fall far below the clouds in milliseconds? Not only did the key not fit, but I wondered if there might be some other surprises waiting for us on the inside. Although I pretended to be at ease, my wife was reading the 'waves of intolerance' forming inside of me. My curiosity got the best of me. So I took a quick peek through the key hole never imagining that I would observe such disappointing craftmanship.
That peek filled my emotional cup to overflowing and left me angrier, devastated, frustrated, most utterly confused, and my imagination grew more bewildered when I considered what it must really look like beyond the peek hole. This entire venture of home building was supposed to fulfill our quest and life-long dream of a brand new home, but it appeared that our dream was rapidly turning into the greatest nightmare by the aid of a peek hole. We wondered what revelations lie behind curtain number three or the fourth peel of the banana.
My wife suggested we get another peek from the back, and you guessed it, "The beat goes on". In our view from the front peek hole, we only looked toward the walls and ceilings, but instinctively my wife looked down toward the floors and the nightmare grew bigger. My already painful headache took on 'jet propulsion speed with the beat of the wildest rock band. Water was every where because the furnace had been left off causing the pipes to freeze and brake. Smiles and peace were nowhere to be found as my lovely wife began to cry. The beat goes on but .......
12312018PoSoupContest, Slap The Muse And Turn It Loose, John Lawless *Fictitious Narrative
I had a dream that I was a butterfly
winged iridescent; my life would flutter by
as I was dreaming a dream of a dream of
my own lepidopteron being above.
Hither and thither I flightily flitted,
or so it seemed, as illusion befitted,
with troubles, eidolons, and nebulous fears.
And thus it continued for one hundred years.
In the Nymphalidae family was I,
akin to the nebula high in the sky
with beauty Cithaerial shimmering bright
in colors that cover the spectrum of light.
Knots and shells detailed in this Hubble capture
glow in light show that can bring about rapture,
cause soulful poets to sing about gladly
(seeing a butterfly wing about madly)
or brood over sadly with soft doleful sighs
the ultimate stages before its demise.
Stargazers perceive it with scientists’ eyes
and give facts and figures astronomer-wise.
The lobes of Twin Jet PN M Two Dash Nine
expand ever outward in pinion design
from central star system, in gaseous streams
of splendorous rainbows pellucid in gleams.
The binary stars at the nebula’s heart
go round one another in luminous art,
spending a century in this rotation,
and form the wings through their stellar gyration.
But let us return to the classical theme
of the Chinese philosopher’s famous dream
(which these rhyming stanzas have sought to extol),
where I found myself playing a starring role.
Diaphanous butterfly wings had I then
in the long-lived dream that I dreamed ten by ten
decades lastingly onward in cosmic time,
as did Sleeping Beauty in legend sublime.
Yet when I awakened, no alae had I.
No longer was I slender winged butterfly,
but veritably was a human once more,
with life to engage in, encounter, explore,
or just suffer through in a sentient state.
How would I create my tellurian fate?
Still I wondered if this was ‘reality’.
Could I be a butterfly dreaming of me?
To die, perchance dream; ay, indeed that’s the rub
that makes us endure the heartache and hubbub.
For death claims all beings as part of its sum.
And in sleep of death, who knows what dreams may come?
~ Harley White
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Inspiration for the poem was from the article, “The wings of the butterfly ~ New Hubble image of the Twin Jet Nebula”, of August 25, 2015, on the Hubble Space Telescope Org website.
From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.
As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?" Can you blame her? We should have had at least one mountain story to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke? We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.
On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta. While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired. The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.
Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe. Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life. Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.
Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca. This time there was plenty of room and power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.
My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet. Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
~ (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqTLlHkfSC4&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7xUZkKd58c
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXJWkB8ODAQ
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If I were to have my way; the welcome of-those
bygone days, then I'd be sure they would know.
My hopes the fairest dreams of all; were all I wanted to
share - the ones held so dear that I couldn't let go of for
anyone - but them.
As plane rides come to mind jet setting daily qualms God's
buried grace the quiet suicides, was all that came of those-days,
and because I have come to find, parachutes are an option-not
only for those that are living... but are expressly offered for the
worn walking alone and weary within themselves already reeling
from their regrets -
and so it is I believe God being the catalyst for my life, a show-
of His greater eminence and Sovereignty - mercy -
because I too exist myself in a free fall over this valley of the-
dead - and-so it has become for me my own personal, peculiar-
quirk of twisted providence, the evidence of my fate that all
circles are not the same or brand entirely, nor an entity-
within themselves... completely whole - because my-
experience has shown that they too, given
the-proper-vexing, like me -
can be broken... .
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nePSpOlLfYY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTzDAMf33Jo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1F2zl4LqSlg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDQc6SMNwgY
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study period
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch and my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, dirty clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
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jelaxing = gelling & relaxing
The scene was set the moment we met as he guarded my
heart with verses of pleasure-
I’ll never forget the irrational threat banning poetry
beyond comprehensive measure.
Freedom bells rang and little birdies sang to the tune
he wrote like the whisper on an eagle-
But when injustice came the “Forbidden Authority”
proclaimed our poetry would no longer be legal.
They said too much inspiration would cause creation
to rise above the regal law withheld-
All the generations who put pencil to paper
would be institutionalized and immediately expelled.
It was no longer right to stay up all night
while time could be spent slaving in the field-
Poets were treated like waste and never could
taste the feeling of being truly healed.
Causing such haste the authorities
brought forth a fast-growing recession,
for no longer did poets have the freedom
of heartfelt expression.
How do we know this is to be true,
that this madness occurs in our universe?
See, my beloved escaped from the underground cave
who was caught intentionally writing me a verse.
He felt a love so deep and he just couldn’t sleep,
but the cameras caught him under his blanket-
A flashlight was held and he quietly tried to creep,
but he gave up and could no longer take it.
He was apprehended and people stared
while no one acted like they cared as they flew him
away in an invisible jet-
It just didn’t seem fair he was captured unaware
but he was never able to forget.
He was beaten and burned but he soon learned
how to break free from this awful institution-
He felt he earned the right to express concern,
and finally came up with a solution.
The moment he escaped and ran through the gate
and remembered the rules of the First Amendment,
so he wrote a long letter, but should’ve known better
that the “Forbidden Authority” owned the government!
He had broken the golden rule, for now he was a fool
who would be punished beyond comprehension-
He was made to sit on a stool and use a quilling tool
to imprint on parchment his wrongs with apprehension-
But he soon realized with tears in his eyes
what he was writing was really poetry in disguise.
See…they put curses on his verses…a then he wrote,
“Poetry is freedom of speech-
and dictated censorship is nothing but lies.”
UNSHACKLE MY VERSE
April 11, 2017
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Form:
Johnny Cash gives it away for free,
John K says he would like to be Prez.
Richard Nixon will run against him,
so the republican party says.
Lamar Cox gets 44th KO,
‘The Stilt’ scores 58 in one game.
In high school Heater’s 135,
gives him claim to some basketball fame.
Presley says goodbye to the Army,
and is back on the recording scene.
X-15 sets a new record height,
‘Sit-in’ becomes protesting’s new thing.
Queen ‘Liz says they’re the ‘House of Windsor,’
“Unsinkable Moly Brown” goes down.
The first Playboy Club hits Chicago,
Ebbit Field is knocked down to the ground.
A 9.6 quake in Morocco,
takes more than 15000 poor souls.
Another sends Hawaii a wave,
kills over 17000 more.
Cardinals move to Saint Louie,
Chicago White Sox wear their new threads.
Oversized mitt designed for catchers,
will keep their hands from turning all red.
USSR says they’ll stop testing,
Krushchev bangs on the desk with his shoe.
Lasers will light up the science world,
France now has an Atomic bomb too.
Satellites can now track the weather,
the court says ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ okay.
Civil Rights bill passes the senate,
new birth control pills are here to stay.
‘We shall overcome’ is new anthem,
but not at the riots in Jacksonville.
MLK gets jailed in Atlanta,
while preaching for equality still.
Senate investigates “Payola,
Alan Freed’s one of the 9 accused.
Meanwhile over in Comensky Park,
their new exploding scoreboard debuts.
Americans pay high earnings tax,
John K and Nixon go for the throat.
They debate 4 times on our TV,
before Kennedy gets the most votes.
Say hello to Aretha Franklin,
Chubby Checker has us in a twist.
Huckleberry Hound wins an Emmy,
Cassius Clay is the best with his fists.
A jet hits 2000 MPH,
California cops say UFO.
The atomic reactor is born,
Flintstone’s is the next hit cartoon show.
Lee, Richard and Maurice Petty go,
against each other in the same race.
Richard beats his brother and daddy,
which gives racing world a new face.
Paul and Best kicked out of Germany,
we are not really sure what they did.
Clarabelle speaks in her final show,
simply voices the words, “Goodbye Kids”.
The world’s moving faster and higher,
technology seems to have no cap.
Back in Wakenda, at 3 years old,
I’m still taking an afternoon nap.