Long Jigs Poems
Long Jigs Poems. Below are the most popular long Jigs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jigs poems by poem length and keyword.
Like an impetuous dash of time
Everyone are frenziedly falling in line
As we all eagerly await at the carpeted floor
The arrival of our charming celebrity in allure.
Gents got pretty roses… white, yellow, blue and red
Eager to see the majestic beauty -- so great!
We, ladies make a toast with the best champagne
Cheering and wishing while her confetti rain
Today, we’ll spend the whole day and night
Dancing and singing with great delight
With towering cakes, colorful sweets and big balloons
Best orchestra on stage now play in boon
I sing first in solo for my dearest friend,
Wishing her all the happiness which never end
May all the desires of her heart be fulfilled
And her birthday wishes and dreams be achieved
Today, we’ll spend the whole day and night
Dancing and singing with great delight
With towering cakes, colorful sweets and big balloons
Best orchestra on stage now play in boon
I play the sweetest melody on my piano
And everyone jigs and sings for her, too
I recited sweetly my dedication poem
As we give our loving hugs, kisses and roses in bloom.
©2015Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
October 6, 2015 8.25pm
way before aye knew
the name Fletcherism applied
tummy uncommonly (recherché) atypical dyed
in the wool feeding and/or slaking thirst guide
did precepts sans hungry
deaf eating beast impossible to hide
(the ferocious growling harassing imp -
armed to the figurative teeth ready to pounce
viz casus belli sans reeling off
a pseudo say id dish us vicious jeremiad
me, this unrepentant conscientious masticator,
who re: lied
on self control unbeknownst to this pumpkin eater
unwittingly followed
the basic tenet of Fletcherism - custom made
modus operandi vis a vis exercising okayed
mandibular metered (when famished),
eyes kept closed while tongue gently played
adhered to practice of eating small amounts,
which discipline stayed
engorging self, and as a result
(consuming sustenance
only when hungry avoiding
(wolfing like an instantaneous blitz krieg flash)
found me aware visa vis master car ding
marginal increase in pounds meaning
thy body electric weighed
approximately for long stretches
when a habitue at one or another dining digs
stuffed nibbling on hors d'oeuvre figs
adequately satiating with with oomf
when contra dance caller Scott Higgs
announced "hands four," which signal
helped get my mojo back
and reel lee deuce home jigs,
which kickstarted, syncopated,
oft times espying Bobbie Riggs
who years gone back whiz Vic Tory huss
e'en when donning apparel of Whigs
like colluding trump petting molecules
that via tiff Fanny doth zags and zigs.
COLLEGE STUDENTS SHAPING MY WINGS
"She did this" and "She tore my paper, I’m red mad!"
"Miss, tell her to quit copying my lines!"
Every nail of rampage was tolerable,
as bright awakenings made semesters less tough.
They joined clubs and played a sneaky gang war
all the crammed jigs my college students fulfilled
only to grin, "Did our exams fly high ?"
"Please, can we have a make-up work, right now?"
The weeks of campus sermons droned along,
Graduation came, in a flash, they were gone!
I remember how the bonfire days used to flame
our summer nights warmed... unbidden and long.
I watched them grow and warmly discovered,
the different shades of patience in my nine lives.
The boyfriends came and then they disappeared,
oh now what? Some became instant brides.
Another set arrived for academe's rites,
while new batches of rogues began to stir.
Again, party hopping rolled with dreams on flight
that's when my wonder sparked a renewed glow.
With folios of ideas marked,"Let's start".
Each one carrying gifts of awe so dear,
I tossed them all with glitters from my heart…
but, these groups flexed my wings to stretch wider
as a more untamed troop outsmarted the last!
For Silent One's Contest
A Poem That Time Forgot
Interview – 3-21-24 For Paddy Ch. Quick as a Wink 6/26/2010 – 3/8/24 www.poetrysoup.com › poem › interview_with_the_irish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Interview With the Irish Wind
Wind from the heart of Eire, come abide with me for a moment
before you toss your swirling hair across your ancient friend
for I feel your breath rising inside me - a banshee’s howl.
Are you here to carry my Irish rascal’s spirit on the breath of emerald breezes,
his soft and silky coat waving like fields of golden wheat,
to new hallowed hills of green?
Will you set his soft paws on sunlit winding lanes
rising up to meet him
when he crosses a mystical bridge misted in rainbows?
Will you escort him to that sacred hollow of sunny glens
where he ever runs free embraced in the sparkle of the Daystar,
twinkling with delight like etched crystal -
quick as an Irish wink!
Tell me, wind of Erin, does the beat of his steadfast heart
pulse in your throbbing cadence like the bodrain and Kerry drums,
his bright brown eyes dancing like jigs and reels -
a new star in Eire’s eternal sky?
Wind from the Irish sea, do you ruffle his soft grey ears
with the touch of angel’s breath
sung as a lullaby as he sits upon his Creator’s feet
feeling life surge within him again – a newborn wind?
O Celtic child,
Grieving heart, let your heart rest in the hollow of the Creator’s hand
where shamrocks never close,
forever blooming in eternal light.
Hear the music he left in your heart – a soft breeze across the Shannon,
know his task now finished, blessed, like fine spring rain – consummated by grace –
eternal grace so pleased.
And, when you hear the pipes know in ways he never leaves
but sings the music shared by your hearts
sung from his forever home.
And now that he has been through the fire
out of that dark and cold space
you will bring him home again.
Beannactai!
The Saints be preserved! Begorra! Today Saint Patrick reigns!
An excuse to get the Irish blood a-coursin' through yer veins!
A time for clans with even a tad of Irish in their genes,
To celebrate the holiday with the Wearin' O' the Greens!
O'Sullivans, O'Shaughnessys, O'Reillys and O'Neils,
Will be cavortin' and dancin' to snappy jigs and reels!
Anon, they'll savor corned beef, cabbage and Irish stew,
Toastin' the Auld Sod with hilarious hubbub and ado!
Happy harmonizers will sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smilin"
Gazin' into the limpid eyes of Irish colleens so beguilin'!
Revelers will belt out "Biddy McGraw" and "McNamara's Band";
Goodwill and fellowship will prevail throughout the land!
Jaunty old-timers will sport their shillelaghs in small-town parades;
Sprightly leprechauns and fairies will leap about in masquerades.
Saint Patrick must look down upon his flock with some dismay;
What he hoped to be a holy day has become a rowdy holiday!
Hibernia, Eire, Emerald Isle, Erin, call it what you may,
Ain't we grateful that the Irish set aside this day!
At least once a year we can shed our usual dour miens,
And joyfully celebrate The Wearin' O' The Greens!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Roads rising up from Irish mists in merry jigs
To the flowing tenor song
Sung by the River Boyne born from Tara's Keep
As Patrick's paschal fire
Weaves truth from stones of blarney
And lucky charms of Erin's spring
Cloth hills in kilts of green clovers with four leaves
To the Kerry pipers wail of jigs and tiompan reels
When soft sunbeams kiss fields - the wind petals
Of Killarney's rose in Londonderry Airs
Born in fifes and fiddles in soft brogues
Delighting in tea and scones - the clairsel harp -
When clear cut crystal rays
Embrace green fields clothed in sheep -
Faire mischief - the wind dance of the Kells -
In bohdran thunder to banish banshee cries
As pirate queens and lost chieftain kings
Sail from emerald shores
Until they meet again beneath the blessings
Of the Celtic cross
In the north winds of the fair aran island.
In solitude you control
what you do when,
for how long, and why.
You have time-out for contemplation
to muse on, reflect on, and deeply ponder on
what is happening in your own life, in isolation.
Solitude is you alone, but its not lonely,
if you are your own best friend,
if you have too much to do to miss company,
if you know you need time away to stroll and amble,
to rebuild, re-energise and revitalise
your joie de vivre.
Solitude re-jigs, re-boots, unwinds and de-stresses.
It improves concentration, refreshes.
It boosts productivity and restores control again.
It is selfish, for self, by self for self benefit.
Solitude fosters and fertilises creativity,
allowing it to germinate, sprout and grow.
It is peaceful, and allows peace to be found in quietude.
Taking solitude in, imbibing it,
savouring its morsels, sips and crumbs,
is a soul revelling in solitary confinement.
In the center of a fresh pageant,
she throttles like a mythical woman
quick to dance among open flowers,
whirling like a hundred stars
with curves round and breasts oyster pink
as the trees, ovules, candles in her eyes
open the fingertips of near April.
Wild tempo vibrates on wispy notes,
until eyes of fire melt nightfall's brew...
for primal and young is this Aries goddess
holding a voile skirt that lifts
into a twirl while the moon
hangs like a violin... eager to wing
this lady's reggae jigs
drifting on brocade of her springtime arms:
And if every detail of lace in a gown
can be sewn in the light touching her flesh ,
this she shall bring too... this near April debut.
Contest: Your best poem in the last year
Sponsor: Silent One
Written 3/6/2017 Re-submitted 2/5/2018
Ok don’t laugh I’m serious about this
They say Ignorance is a double dose of bliss
I’m a novice at writing poetry and you can tell
I can only rhime and don’t care how a spell (Rhyme :-)
Anyway don’t laugh I say this again
Don’t laugh I tell you as I try to explain
Couplet- I thought this was six year olds that were married
Haiku - Those thing-a-ma-jigs a native American woman uses for the baby she carried
A Blank Verse - Well you guessed it, writer’s block
Eleggy - An elegant tall woman of upper class stock ( sorry Elegy)
Ghazal - Yes the antelope that roam the African plain
Epithalamium- something you need an operation for because it causes you pain
Carpe Diem – Must be the name of a Greek god
Canzone – An Egyptian three eyed, six legged dog
Well I could go on and on
I got it off my chest and admit I was wrong
The rest are explicit and sexual and need permission
I’m glad for poetry soups 51 types of poetry and their definition
Don’t laugh
It is the rainy season.
a cataract of warm liquid nails
hammers upon the road surface.
The thin tin jitney is sliding through
the traffic jams
gliding precariously near
yellow poncho clad mopeds
being rode by two, three or more.
The little three wheeled taxi
is packed solid.
She is sitting on my lap
as the vehicle jigs and jerks.
I am heading for Suvarnabhumi airport,
going home
although 'home' is an empty place of exile,
a land that I can love no more.
Duty calls, even for lovers to part;
she to her village and a dying father,
I to the embrace of loneliness,
a solitude that still yet brings me
to long restless nights
in a cold bed I made for myself.