Long Jogged Poems
Long Jogged Poems. Below are the most popular long Jogged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jogged poems by poem length and keyword.
Wandering the house I found an old scrapbook
A picture fell out and I sat down hooked
We were so young, so poor, and so in love
That we didn't even care if we had enough of
Money and things that most say we needed (but)
We’d make due or just plain concede it
But often the best times were cheap or free
Like a loan summer cabin where it snowed on a hummingbirds wings
Memories all came flooding through
It’s no secret that I’m in love with you
Jogged memories of simpler times and things
Like your gentle voice and touch that makes angels sing
And though those times seem long gone
I don't care about time moving on (cause)
I’m not a fan of all things new
And baby, I just want to grow old with you
Just want to grow old with you
I know your laughing cause we’re just 41
And I sound like we’re almost all done
I know we have lots more pictures to take
Of our life of love and even mistakes
Memories all came flooding through
It’s no secret that I’m in love with you
Jogged memories of simpler times and things
Like your gentle voice and touch that makes angels sing
And though those times seem long gone
I don't care about time moving on (cause)
I’m not a fan of all things new
And baby, I just want to grow old with you
Baby, please let me grow old with you.
I was deep into a dream this morning…lost within its fog…when I was awakened rather suddenly by the barking of a dog.
I immediately recognized the bark of our dog Whitman… I should have felt wonderful…although…I was a bit perplexed…you see Whitman passed away so many years ago.
Thinking Whitman woke me up was enough to make me scoff…until I noticed it was later than I usually rise and my alarm had not gone off.
I sat up…now awake and painfully aware…despite his barking to wake me up…Whitman wasn’t there.
When Whitman was alive, you see, each day…just before the sun…the two of us would wake up early and head out for a morning run.
They were more like morning jog and walks…we had no need for speed…sometimes we jogged where I wanted to jog…other times Whitman took the lead.
It was always in the early morning when Whitman and I headed out the door…and in all our years of jog/walking I never knew which one of us loved it more.
But Whitman is no longer with us…no longer here to get up with me before the sun…and as I’ve gotten older I tend to walk more than I run.
So what was Whitman doing inside my dream this morning…barking me awake…I mean I’d know that bark of his anywhere…it wasn’t a mistake.
I am not an expert but I think it’s plain to see…Whitman must still be taking his morning walk with me.
It must be a part of his routine Whitman wants to keep…and so this morning he started barking rather than let me oversleep.
I’ve been blessed with many guardian angels in my life…and I do my best to heed them…because they always seem to show up exactly when I need them.
It was this morning…while in a dream…lost within its fog I realized one of my guardian angels…was Whitman…our old dog.
And as I walked with my invisible guardian angel this morning…composing this very rhyme…I thought to myself after all these years…who knew…Whitman could tell time.
Forty three years of marriage and still you make my heart beat strong
I never wanted to be anything else but your wife and loving song
Together we walked, jogged and trotted but most of all we danced,
to the rhythm of our first hello. Every loving act was a show of love;
When we were young we danced between sleepless nights and drank
the brew of life as if it were a fox trot of maelstrom haze;
Then the kids left home and we found ourselves alone again,
Phonographic unused cylinders of time crooned again
with love songs from Edith Piaf;
You wrapped your arms around my waist and gave me a beginners taste
Life had been good to us but oh how we lived it in such haste...,
Then we got a second chance, and we did it just so
losing ourselves on the living room floor,
we danced like newly weds on their wedding day;
That was the last time we danced together without goodbyes,
today all I own is an old phonograph, and yesterday's slow sighs.
July 13, 2021
A madman pushed me off the track, lucky not much harm
I sat in the Hospital waiting room with just a broken arm.
They handed me a form to fill, 20 genders, 10 types of race -
I tore the sheet with my good arm and walked out of that place.
I walked past a park, a man dropped a syringe, gave me a stare
I walked past a crazy woman preaching to the air.
I walked past teens speaking to their phones but not each other.
Saw expressions I couldn’t read - an enemy or a brother?
I remembered the in-crowd whose moral sight was blind
I wanted to leave their dubious fads behind
I walked past the demonstrators, their justice leads to blood:
We may need a Noah's ark from the oncoming flood.
I walked along the Palisades, the river on my right.
I perked up because the old roads, the boat basins came in sight.
I jogged on the Long Path, crossing Bergen County, then Rockland too.
Turned inland and ended up in a children's petting zoo.
There were the black hats - Jews of a Hasidic sect.
I spoke with one woman; she looked at me with undeserved respect.
It was a change from the jaded people I often met
Wondered what the secret was, is a religious way correct?
Those Jews might not surf the internet, they might not watch TV.
And when they move en masse into a town they spark animosity.
But what struck me there was something clean and true.
As she pointed out the exotics in that petting zoo.
Since then I've been to Lancaster, where the Amish live an older way
That lifestyle has its drawbacks too, there are always shades of gray.
I've visited Salt Lake, where Mormons spurn drugs for recreation
A visitor described them as the handsomest in the nation.
I like my way of life, but other ways make me think
Do we really need social media, or drugs, an evening drink?
Would we be better people, if some things we didn't know?
Should we stand against the current, or go with culture's flow?
Do we really need the likes, the scroll that never ends?
Can we stop and read a while, or try to make real friends?
Can we set anchor in a place where lies don’t get through?
Can we cure our sick republic, retain what’s proven true?
The Blackpool donkeys have given up,
they have boarded jumbo jets
as emotional support animals.
Once they used to plod between
the Blackpool piers
half a mile up, half a mile back,
day after day,
carrying whooping kids and adults
as they heavily jogged along;
fat thighs clapping sore ribs.
In a dulled daydream the donkeys moved
with downcast eyes,
backs spavined from gleeful bums and knees.
When they could carry no more -
they were trucked away
to be neglected unto death.
Now the donkeys,
when not flying business class,
surfboard in Hawaii,
their Bermuda shorts billow
as if tailored for four-legs.
Those that once rode them
on that uncultured English beach,
now take river cruises
to the more refined European cities
never wishing to see a donkey,
but if they should come across one
I hope that for a moment
they feel a knobby spine
again bruising those broad buttocks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
https://www.blackpoolgazette.co.uk/news/abused-donkeys-not-licensed-work-blackpools-beaches-572591
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped,
which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Sweet flowers of vivid hues so spectacular
Tree jasmine, Michaelia sprayed their scent
all-over
Rolling, playing, sliding kids chuckling with laughter
Ecstacy reached the crescendo with all its joyous
fervour!
Some walked, some sauntered,some jogged -
old and young
Songs of birds and bees soothed the ear; fresh-air
cleansed the lung
Beautiful display of a wonderful race sans rules
and spree to win!
Unseen camera of nature, I wish clicked this
picture so serene!
Symmetrical designing of lawn, fountain, swimming
pool and path
Total relief from a busy life, feel of sauna bath!
Energizes every visitor with its natual healing touch
Rejuvenating and replenishing body,mind and soul
very much!
From the green canopy of the sprawling park
dawn’s sun streamed through aperture of foliage.
Birds’ early twitter trickled through my window,
time to be up, to be with the ambiance of nature.
I used to go out to the park perennially pepped up
with the youthful bundle of energy and vigour.
Jogged as long as I could in the crisp and cool air,
as my routine exercise of daily heavy workout.
Fleeting feet barely touched the shifting ground,
disheveled strands of hair swirled out of bound,
stimulated heart pounded the sweating chest hard,
I felt the flow of adrenaline rushing to the brain.
That was joyful then, so long long ago,
sands of time have since slipped through fingers,
youth’s shriveled vestige, sapped by drained verve,
the legs grounded infirm refuse now to even walk.
Still the morning sun shines, the early birds sing
unseen and unheard, outside my old window.
I turn sleepless on the bed, don’t get up, go out.
This is rueful now, and lamentably I face it.
August 11, 2019
For Contest COLLABORATION
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
The Blackpool donkeys have given up
they have boarded jumbo jets
to be emotional support animals
for those lesser angels
that protect us wingless fliers.
They have opted out.
Once they used to plod from Blackpool pier
half a mile up, half a mile back,
day after day,
carrying kids and also others
that drank beer as they heavily jogged along
their thighs clapping sore ribs.
In a dulled daydream the donkeys moved
with downcast eyes,
backs spavined from gleeful bums and knees.
The sound of swishing waves
lulling eventually
into a sea-green batch of somnambulates.
When they could carry no more -
some were trucked away
to be neglected unto death.
Now the donkeys have retired themselves,
have changed form.
When not flying business class
they surfboard in Hawaii,
their Bermuda shorts billow widely
as if tailored for four-legs.
Those that once rode them
on that uncultured British beach,
now take river cruises
to the more refined European cities
and hardly ever see a donkey,
but if they do
I hope that for a moment
they feel a knobby spine
again bruising their sophisticated
time-worn tight bottoms.
CHRONICLES OF 3 DEAD BLACK MEN & ALTON
Louisiana: Alton Sterling shot dead.
Crime: selling CDs outside a grocery shop?
Outcome: "No charges for police over death",
says The Department of JUSTICE. Yes, 'justice'.
Methinks the last word above is misspelt.
They said: "No sufficient evidence",
Yet, video footage spread everywhere.
And so, death strikes. . .
three (3) black birds,
Six (6) years apart;
A thousand tears in New York,
hundreds of wailing, Georgia sobs,
a whole race & souls mourn in Minnesota
as we recount the tale of a white lion & curb
out on an hunting spree,
Gregory, former police officer (64)
and son Travis McMichael (34) in a truck
pursued a 25years old black lamb,
gunned down the lamb like it's a game,
Ahmaud Arbery was to be the sacrifice
to the gods above the law
and so...his vibrating breath seized,
his flesh mutter to his departing spirit soul:
"I can't breathe"
just like 2015, we reminisce
Eric Garner's last words:
"I can't breathe"
and now,
George Floyd's swansong:
"I can't breathe".
Garner growled 11 times
after being throat cooked by men in black,
Floyd muttered in 15 times
after being strangled by Derek's cursed knee,
Arbery jogged then ran the race of his life
till he got holes in him straight to death,
Devil had the smoking gun of a white dad
and son all to thank.
One simple question needing answer:
Is the game of Numbers being played against us?
In loving memory of late Alton Sterling, Ahmaud Arbery, Eric Garner & George Floyd.
VickWizzy.
Form: Narrative.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}.
Copyright © May 28th, 2020
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