Long Jogs Poems
Long Jogs Poems. Below are the most popular long Jogs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jogs poems by poem length and keyword.
The rise of the moon charges the air and calls out to the undead. My eyes open to
see only darkness in my resting place.
I stir slowly as the desire of hunger courses through my body.
I feel like I must feed.
I exit the catacomb of my cardboard hideout.
Gone are the days of myths and coffins. Capes and curses. And a prince to rule our
likes.
What prince would live in the alleys and shadows of society while feeding on the
destitute.
Their blood is thin and vile, but it has sustainance.
Tonight the moon calls. It begs. It howls. It's power is beyond my control.
I place myself beneath the stars and stand before the orb that beckons me to rise
from my sleep.
I envision a bat and I am airborn. With fluttering wings I dart beneath the
streetlights. I grasp the limb of a tree near a well traveled path.
The city park is quiet on this Autumn eve. I watch as the creatures of the night
begin to stir below me.
The smell of human flesh invades my nostrils, even before I hear the approaching
footsteps. Anticipation builds as the hope of rich, healthy blood presents itself.
I see the form of a female as she jogs along the dimly lit path.
Ahh yes. A woman. The sweetest nectar of all the living souls.
I wait until she passes beneath me. Then I drop to the ground and land in human
form.
I envision the wolf. I am running through the brush to get ahead of my prey. I linger
just off the path matching her stride. I see a small clearing ahead so I race to be
there first.
I find a shadow beside the path where I crouch and wait.
Again the smell of flesh approaches. The footsteps are like thunder in my ears.
Here she comes.
I leap from the shadows and I see her startled eyes as she raises her hand to fend
me off.
GARRRRR!!!
Suddenly my eyes are burning.
DAMMIT!!! Why do these women carry mace? That wasn't a problem in the old days.
I retreat into the darkness gasping and coughing and rubbing my eyes.
I'm going back to the alley to find a bum to feed on so I can get back to sleep.
I'll try again next moon.
Rockman :-)
Submitted to the "Poems From A Vampire" contest.
A genuine hero isn't one that's flawless
Arguably not the one garmented with
Absolute forfeits but one who is purely
Accountable in securing relationships
Amiably without trade of another life.
Fantastically feeding through the
Flickering lengths of surfaces
Flawlessly demonstrating, yet exploring the
Fatal ends of the earth
Formulated with his hands.
Firmly confronting unknown demons with
Frictions slipping through the gutters
Flourished and aided by true
Friendship with an unending ink.
Mr. Fantastic.'
Invisibly sewing through the storm
It's amazing how universal laws
Illuminates patterns bearing geniuses.
Intrepidly matched with foxes and foes
Incognito, still dooming through the runs
Inexorable the heiress that jogs through walls
Infallibly without a pause for blockages.
'The Invisible Woman.'
Humbly joining the waves in a path
Haven to show light in reflection of
Hazardous challenges and adventures
Hurtful exposures but the
'Human touch' burns through
Heartily thrives not drowning in power
Havoc stricken but banked on
Hopelessly sticking to what's better than potatoes.
Family!
'The Human Touch.'
The Thing that Grimm's do is
Tactfully take souls to the other world full of
Turbulence but he possesses a crushing strength
Tenaciously draws the souls back to life
Triumphant discoveries without boundaries
Topped against gravity and human deposition
The sailors enemy isn't the dreadful
Tenebrous storms but the ignorance and absence of
Tough likeminds that can generate a tunnel.
'The Thing.'
A fantastic four!
Whenever I am passing by a stadium and
I hear, “Goal!” I think Red For I am a Fan
Of Manchester United.
The sound of a Gunshot tells me that
Someone might have been shot and the Splatter of
Red Thick Blood comes to mind.
When I hear people chatter
About the annoying traffic situation,
The Image in my head is the red Traffic Light sign
That tells hurrying motorists to halt.
While driving home from work
My wife phones me to say she cooked some stew
And the hunger in my head
Makes me see the red tomato pasted liquid as I salivate
While holding on to the starring wheel six Kilometers to my home.
When my wife yells, “Rose’’, I wonder why
She thinks the red flowers in the garden have ears
But the immediate response of
My second daughter, Rose
Jogs my memory.
If someone asks me to make a comparison between England and America
I will surely remember that they both have red on their flags.
As pedestrian on the high-way, I hear a siren behind me
And before I turn I can feel the
Blinking red light on top of the Vehicle behind.
When my wife says it is that time of the month when she has to
Wear pads, it is obvious that I can imagine
The redness she yearns to conceal.
When one says we should go get tipsy
The taste of Red Wine reminds me of its dark red Thickness and Freshness.
When my kid tells me the remote of our decoder is no longer working
I imagine that he means the red light that blinks from its head
Whenever one presses it, blinks no more.
Ever since I saw my Albino friend just after he was slapped,
Whenever I hear a story of an Albino who is slapped,
I imagine the immediate redness on the side of the face affected.
Lee and I work for the same company. I've been here for ten years; Lee, for only a year. Her spot has been occupied by nine other young women in the past decade. They just left--not bothering to resign or clean out their desks--
simply vanishing, it seems, into thin air! They're now classified as "missing."
I hear about their cases on the news and just shake my head.
Through the years, I have made concentrated efforts to get close to the
young ladies who have worked in the position Lee now fills--and have
tried just as mightily to charm Lee. All have apparently been oblivious to
me, failing to realize what a catch I am! Oh, well, there will be others after Lee. She really doesn't deserve me anyway. None of them did--those vapid, unambitious creatures doing their mundane little duties. It's 5:25, almost
time to leave work. Lee walks to work and jogs home, after changing her shoes. I know exactly where she lives.
Lee isn't aware that I already know a great deal about her type--the barely-
average young woman destined for obscurity by her nondescript personality, incapable of fathoming that a heart can be as hard and black as ebony, unaware that she's about to be dangled over an opaque pit into which she
will be plunged, too dense to know that some nice-looking young guys hide behind a shiny veneer and watch--just watch--till the time is right to take
revenge on those who stupidly rejected their obvious charms. This woman,
my tenth, will deserve her crimson death.
The others never saw me coming, Lee. You won't either!
Date: November 7, 2017
Contest Title: Stalker
Sponsor: Silent One
The fog rolls in surrounding me,
My hand before me, I barely see.
A heaviness as moisture clings to the air,
Ghost like shadows from trees that are bare.
I walk forward I don’t want to look back,
I grab a new card from off of the stack.
I think of it like turning over a new leaf,
I take a deep breath and hope for relief.
I turn the corner there are lights shining bright.
Blue lights resonate and glow in the night.
A Christmas tree lit, entirely in blue,
Like a beacon in the fog it shines right through.
The Christmas tree lights shine much like my hope,
I try to break free with some slack in the rope.
They bring a smile and fill me with content,
As the fog thickens the lights don’t relent.
They seem to glow within the fog,
I lose my bearing as I trip on a log.
I feel like a ghost upon a canvas of white,
It all disappears within the confines of night.
I hear a bell from a church on the hill,
Its haunting sound from what was still.
It seems to call to me to just forge on.
All of a sudden the ringing is gone.
I stand in darkness just me and the fog,
Something awakens, memories it jogs.
I think of my journey and all I’ve been through,
What has been done and what’s left to do.
It hasn’t been easy though it’s not bad.
I have fond memories of great times I’ve had.
Still something’s missing as I look for the door,
I know it can’t be like it was once before.
The winds picks up, adds a chill to the air.
It awakens my senses so I really don’t care.
I stand at the threshold to the future and past.
I will simply step outside, the shadows it casts.
Yours truly jogs his memory to write
about witnessing bats appearing at twilight
swooping mammals (in search of prey) quite
silently whooshing thru the dusky night
flitting to and fro, hither and yon
across the darkening sky
analogous to erratic zigzag pattern
traced courtesy skittering kite
resembling little black birds
(think chimney sweeps)
predicated espying them from height
of about five feet and ten inches
beautiful creature whom
one human they excite
dark shadows temporarily
eclipsing man in the moon
obscuring said natural satellite of Earth,
come cool weather,
whence winged wafting animals own birthright
despite suffering *****sapien
wrought them bum rap reputation.
Though initially frightful,
bats unique aesthetically beguiling
captivating anatomy does appeal
and compromising said species
quite a big deal
cuz they naturally regulate
an essential role in pest control,
pollinating plants and dispersing seeds.
Recent studies estimate bats
eat enough pests to save
more than $1 billion per year
in crop damage and pesticide costs
in the United States corn industry alone.
Habitat destruction undermining
aforementioned living things
akin to Damaging Achilles heel
anthropomorphising, (albeit personifying)
planet earth, an entity
all living things get their meal
cuz meddlesomeness to steal,
viz humans beings self appropriating
bountiful resources of Gaia
with selfish zeal
only spells demise
of self serving bipedal hominid.
As I walk through the misty rain drenched woods
I hear the whispers of my ancestors drifting through the trees
I have past here time and again, physically and mentally
The ghosts of deer and many rabbits and squirrels are here
Heavily worn deer trails have been my steady path
The bases of many old trees have supported me lost in thought
The sound of raindrops pattering the wide leaves my tune
The flicker of winged creatures and the barks of squirrels echo
The sound of running water as I lay to drink from a stream
The hiss of a disturbed rattler and the chill of fear in my bones
The sound of hassling and soft footsteps of my best friend
We have shared these woods on strolls and jogs many a times
Often I have entered this path a very troubled young woman
But, after some time and thought, my troubles soon melt away
I will always remember these fine walks in my dreams
The smell of the damp Earth, insects, and the haunting quiet
I lie beneath the ground very near my old walking path
I don’t know the name of the man who buried me in this place
He must have watched me frequently before he made his move
Dragging me through the woods, raping, killing, then hiding me
I have felt his presence nearby repeatedly over the years
Paying me little visits from time to time, ensuring I’m still safe
I have haunteded these paths for many years, just another lonely ghost
Until he releases me, I shall walk these paths and dream of me
CHEERS!
Jolly jubilant Jack Frost jogs on snow
Wonder of winter shows snow in white glow.
Fun of smooth ice-skating on snowy track
Children throwing snow balls in front or back.
Crisps of thin snowflakes flying out of grip
Knife of ice hits heart of winter too deep.
Dazzling Dahlia nodding abloom face.
Snowdrops though shy, gorgeous no less.
Severe chilled morning greets with fog and mist.
Woolen sweater, pullover, all in list.
Couple comes close in single comforter,
Embracing tight, pressed lips, not to chatter.
Winter enters in frolic festive mood
New Year to enjoy with sumptuous food.
Have fun, make merry, dance delight: Cheers.
Beat drum, sing in chorus, laugh loud, no tears.
01/08/19
Edited on 04/04/20
Third Place
'STRAND CHOICE Z' Contest by Brian Strand
Generally dreads the kitchen:
The incalculable losses it occasions one’s image.
Often with fried, oily chicken:
A company that doesn’t anything damage!
For all early morning jogs promptly ready!
Its healthy rejuvenation of a woman’s waist!
Has resolved not to be domiciled in a periphery,
Wherever seems to suggest a satellite
Eating rice with much stew against Beriberi:
A tradition of treading roads of laterite.
Unparalleled roles of reforms she can play
But sometimes the very driver of a fratricidal truck:
The ultimate prices of natural sacrifices she can pay,
Yet, the chief character behind some municipal ill-luck…
Not infrequently, recipient of cheers of a mammoth crowd,
As much the earner of the first bed in a bedlam.
From time to time a powerful voice on human affairs very loud
Not inconceivably between two hearty friends building a dam:
In some cases, emerging the people’s torchlight and battery,
still in others, the mastermind of a scheduled adultery.
I am here,
on this bench,
as if the world’s still spinning
but I forgot how to move with it.
The air is thick,
like it’s waiting for me to do something
to lift the weight off my shoulders.
But I just…
sit.
Leaves fall,
but I don’t notice
when they hit the ground,
just that they were once up there,
free,
and I wonder if they ever felt
light.
A man jogs past,
his feet like little promises
on the pavement,
and I envy how his legs keep
the rhythm.
I wonder if he knows
how it feels
to be stuck,
to not have the energy
to move
even when everything around you is moving.
A kid’s laughter stabs through the air,
sharp,
like a sound I don’t remember
ever making.
She runs in circles,
spinning,
and for a moment,
I almost remember what it was like
to be free—
but then the memory slips,
just like the wind,
and I’m back here,
alone
and unremarkable,
on this bench,
waiting for something to change
but knowing it won’t.