Long Jump Poems
Long Jump Poems. Below are the most popular long Jump by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jump poems by poem length and keyword.
don’t jump and hop on the boat,
don't make it rock when afloat,
drop a pebble in the pond,
watch the ripples spread around!
we are on a ride with dad,
all so happy, all so glad!
schools are shut for holiday,
Sun is out so we can play,
take our turns on garden swing,
or play catch with rubber ring,
Mum brings food we love to munch,
burger chips favourite lunch!
bed times can be as much fun,
bathed and fresh after the Sun,
Gran’s stories of stars and moon,
we should all be asleep soon,
we shall dream till morning light,
so farewell now and good night!
Written 24/03/2021
Nursery Rhyme 3
Eve Roper sponsored!
7 syllables each line
3 stanzas with 6 lines each.
each stanza is a nursery rhyme on its own but can also be read as one big Nursery rhyme!
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — -
Living with a pack in the rocks,
above the waterfalls of the stone stream,
I learned that the one that is destined for you
you can find the following direction
shadows on the upper horn of the new moon.
*
Almighty and wise moon,
all the eyes of my ancestors are in you.
When all the days pass, these eyes will also move to you.
Take me to her — show me the way.
The one that was made for me
with whom I will have my pack.
*
Far away, beyond the burned oak forest beneath the black hill,
I follow your eye and mark over hills and rivers.
Far through wet grass and doleful forests.
I look for her and pray to you with a sweet and deep cry.
I offer you a sacrifice — part of my booty.
My pack stayed far away.
Finally — I met her when we wanted to drink water.
In the shade of a high white rock.
*
One day with her.
We caressed each other with our eyes.
Kissed and gently bit her lips.
She fed me juicy morsels of prey.
Playful with an endless joint dance.
Staring into her eyes.
After a passionate kiss, I almost fell over the edge.
Her hug saved me.
Our bodies were trembling together.
One silver night for the two of us,
that’s what you gave us.
That night her head slept on my heart.
Where she rests best.
*
Now he is away from me for many nights.
Every moment of longing for her hurts.
I roar loudly at you — in the dark night.
My eyes are burning with anger and pain.
I know she hears my voice.
By the depth of the cry, she feels the force of my desire.
The strength of the heartache of not having her by my side.
*
Mighty moon, set her free — to be mine alone.
Let us be a couple.
Because we were made for each other.
*
You still let my heart be broken?
I followed you and sacrificed in vain — it seems.
I was afraid of you, but now I have no fear.
Like when hunting a deer, I’ll swallow as much sand as I weigh
in the days when you are young
when a gentle horn appears to you above the rock.
I will jump from the top and bite off a piece of your all-seeing eye.
May you be broken like my heart.
— -* — -
Tradition held sway and little Jesus emerged from the cellar
It had been cold and dusty next to coal and a pile of potatoes
There was no water all year and wine bottles were corked up
For the joy of Christmas celebrations and the feast of the Saviour
He had not seen the light of the day for so long and he longed
For centre stage once again like an angel in lonely retirement
‘Yes’ he shouted ‘this is my nest’ as he emerged with the manger
Tinsel hung on the tree and the ornaments adorned his rebirth
‘Don’t know how Santa Claus avoids the flames but this is my show’
Out of the sheltering wrapper he came and looked at the scene
Three kings gifted the fragrance of perfume and mulled beverage
Children’s eyes glowed liked great balls of fire in anticipation
Of peace love kindness and compassion to emerge with all kin
Even the family cat would not be scolded if she ascended the twigs
The little result of virgin conception could not quite understand
Why he had been confined in his under-croft vault for so long
Was he not the glorious bearer of good tidings not just for a day
Maybe they might feed him a few gingerbread biscuits or a cuppa
And he would make a speech about halting feuds and conflicts
As well as not to feather one’s nest with neighbour’s belongings
But just as he was ready to jump into the cradle he noticed that
His place had been taken by Pinocchio with a broken off nose
30th November
my eyes meet up with yours as we walk
the swans flying form a heart as they flock
we jump holding hands off the edge of the dock
the summer water is a refreshing as can be
swimming together out to the old rock
as the sunset shatters into the sea
getting closer as the day starts to disappear
for warmth and to ease your constant fears
water slowly dripping off us like little tears
I’m so damn happy to be here and so is she
nothing all around us not even the pier
as the sunset shatters into the sea
“I love you” is done without being said
the sky around us is changing red
holding each other close in our water bed
like birds leaving a cage we are now free
breaking the halo that once sat on her head
as the sunset shatters into the sea
the rock is like a mountain above the skies
watching the waves of life quickly pass us by
the scroll of childhood unrolls before my eyes
locking up my youth and throwing away the key
understand now that time really flies
as the sunset shatters into the sea
A princess wished for a pet
dragon of her very own.
And in tune with dragon lure
she bought a precious green stone.
It was known in those ages
that baby dragons could swim.
And during a full March moon
they'd sometimes act on a whim.
Sparkling stones in the water
oft lured young ones to jump in.
And if you're there to catch one
it will warm next to your skin.
Breathing through a silver straw
she sits silently below.
And with her glittering stone
waits for a dragon to show.
Feeling the water ripple
she reaches out with both hands.
And though fire burns her fingers
in her hands, a dragon stands.
Dragons are magic creatures,
invisible until seen.
And as she holds the dragon,
it shifts to emerald green.
(Quatrain)
Oct.16, 2015
Seem so simple, trivial, these books but aren't.
Firstly, humans are picture people. Always been so.
Young minds forming memory, cognition.
Before kids can read, they can conceive images.
Just not speech or actual words yet.
Feelings, however, do register.
And mirrors do stump babies for a while. Ever notice?
Toddlers do show some preferences in time.
So Granna, ever the observer, was clever
in making up still photo books for each grand.
Thoughtfully captioning each picture for later on.
The books are child size, four by six inches
with clear plastic sleeves for about two dozen photos.
At bedtime, new parents will patiently sit
and read these books to groggy children fighting sleep.
They look and turn pages as parents talk away.
Seeing themselves in photos, they jump. Point. Giggle.
Seeing cousins, uncles, aunts and far away friends
is all important in developing little egos.
Not able to read a single word,
they "pretend read", mumbling. Mimicking.
Memorizing images, refeeling the feelings.
Soon the grands will request the books.
Going over them again and again.
Remembering fun days, becoming part of the tribe.
Once Granna and Granda are gone,
only in the books they'll live on.
Reciting captions, sharing times, places, passed faces,
always carrying the feelings, the indelible conceptions.
Sometimes it elevates to look so very close in.
Gently falling back into moments
when dust has been whisked away by time.
Goodmorning my dearest ones
I have a confession to make today
One day I was thinking about life
The struggles one has to endure before success kicks in
The investment one had to draw and rewrite before you are branded successful in life
Many millionaires are trying to become billionaires
Yet the poor are trying to become rich
To get food one has to work very hard for the rich for the powerful wants your money to
If a rich person tells you jump from a twenty meters apartment in exchange for a million many would do it
The richness of the soul is no longer classified as success but its joy is traded with money
If money could buy immortality then would God hàs value in our lives
But am glad a choice to live is in God's hand for if it were in human hands
Few black people would be alive,for racism would have won the day
My dear reader awake to the fact that we are busy with life problems
Then we neglect the everlasting soul
I would love to preach but my gospel is not sent but my own composition
Do wife submit to there husbands as st Paul said in Colossians?
Do husbands love there wives as it is the fairest gift one can give his wife
Do today's children respect there elders
In my tribesmen is there any elder who can lead an offering to God and God answers immediately
Long drought was common just like today but elders prayed for rain in faith and God would answer
Today the elders have a new role with the young girls in the society
The young to have an appetite for all liquor brands
The joy to serve Christ is compared to the crowd turnout and money prosperity
My brothers do not work hard as the ground is cursed for you lack faith in Christ
My sisters the joy of earthly wealth depends on how well you know Christ
My children ....the righteous elders have spoken
Heed the word of God and you will be successful in the land
May joy and peace be yours forever more
The candle light flickers for no reason
even when shielded from stray puffs of wind.
It is an internal thing, rhythm within its being,
a vibrato in its song of pixels waved.
A reminder that making light is tough
squeezing vapor from melted wax, that is wicked
up to furnace of burning flame at tip.
Heating electrons in atoms makes them jump
up to higher energy levels above
before electrons drop back, releasing
splutters of visible light energy.
The process is flawed, with hesitant indecision.
No matter; imperfection can be tolerated in a candle!
There is something charming about flickering, anyway,
When reading a book in soft, warm candle light,
Something that electric lights can never emulate.
Such modern lights only flicker when faulty.
Poetry will not keep you warm
Not like a cat nestled between legs
But, it hunts down manic thoughts
Gnashes the static till the mind gives
Chases a thought till claws are bloody
Keeps you drenched in sweat
Yes, she mews for attention
Till its cries grate every nerve
Till I feed it words & want
Poetry keeps me squirming
Caught in a net skimming a deluge
Waiting for words to be hauled
The big catch ever escaping
Keeps me checking the line
Insisting I jump into cold waters
Foolishly like Ahab chasing a tail
Sadness is my white whale
Mad with promises holey
Poetry is a leaky bucket
Catching the rain of words
Within depression's storm
Coming like a cat with a pail
Impossible and torrential
Ensnaring me for an hour
Keeps me back for seconds
Promising an easy catch
Cold and slippery
Clippity clomp stomp romp chomp
its wabbit making racket with a hatchet
He's got a hump and a stump rump
he goes fuzzy wuzzy chinzy flimsy
when the lame rain yanks his brain chain
thats when he just goes insane *
Button the mutton with cotton Farmer John
fish for a dish Mr. Mish cuz the fish caught a wish
he will wheeze and he'll sneeze so if you please
send the bunny to ma Honey she's no dummy
she likes a lamb that won't scram passed the ham
Mister Kismet go ahead fit it, wack it, sack it
cuz dippity sippity whippity Sue
has got your number shoe
and she' went fuzzy wuzzy chinzy flimsy over you
Herooooo, Herooooo, Herooooo
you know what to do !!!
Dec. 22, 2018
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Contest: Bunny Jump