Long Junior Poems
Long Junior Poems. Below are the most popular long Junior by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Junior poems by poem length and keyword.
Chris was born on 9th July in 1993,
And he fights every day in training,
At the British Judo Centre in Walsall,
A Centre of Excellence, producing.
He lost his job as a car mechanic,
Through his ocular albinism diagnosis,
But now trains with determination,
Professionally, to win the Paralympics.
Competing in the -100kg category,
Chris won three bronzes as a junior,
Then at the Scottish Open in 2014,
Won the gold; Welsh Senior, a silver.
At the Euros in Portugal in 2015,
He won bronze against a Russian,
And in Seoul, still 2015, the Worlds,
He took bronze: a Rio Paralympian.
(a salvation for my then junior high school youngest daughter afflicted with cognitive dissonance, who over the intervening years (mor'n half dozen Earth orbitz ago), I dashed off this poem witnessed nothing short of miraculous transformation evinced and witnessed by profound learning displaying significant aptitude cognition).
twas spawned fondness
for above named young lady,
when she got assigned
to thine offspring
a glint of genuine virtue grew
into shimmering orb
of brilliant radiance
if accorded sound - would ring
the tune of countless angels,
which imagined beatific,
Democratic, fantastic...sounds
generated via many wing
heavenly music filling
cosmos with joy as august aural,
choral, epochal...tones
would zippily zing
from across universe
spurring one me silly mortal
to contrive this verse
attempting to capture her
aura, charisma, enigma...purse
sue wing dynamic link
with progeny did nurse
emotional and spiritual value
dedication she did immerse
latent social services skill
plus natural radiance
a blessed hire
at Central in Norristown, Pennsylvania,
whose visits i miss lyre
plucking voice
stilled concern for precious Shana Punim,
who aspires to challenge and grow
this father may spill tears
his lessoned fatherhood role
n'er did aye tire
and glad fate that though our paths
will probably not criss cross
curiosity will gnaw within noggin,
and possibly rub raw minor loss
viz, the persevering
maiden USA touch of Kim
lichened to moss
in her rooted cultivation of care
toward biological lass a lucky toss
of the genetic combination
from Matthew
and Abby Harris our jewel
shimmering facets of luminescence
reminding me human
gem stone a kool
aid - priceless staff member
of human league,
whose golden presence doth gently rule
without doubt a beloved
unbridled priceless counterpart
some lucky guy
pledging his troth yes – she yule
see stars in her eyes
no doubt disappointment
felt by other guys
envious of he,
who snagged Kimberly Hartzell
so worthy and wise!
When my daughter was young
She went to a ballet school
The teacher thought it would be fun
To teach some fathers ballet too
She found all of six of us
Who were willing to take her dare
As long as we promised
That at her recital we would be there
She knew it would be humorous
But she wanted the dance steps done just right
So we practiced for six months
In secret late at night
We learned the many positions
We learned leaps and plies, too
But we did draw the line
None of us would wear a pink tutu
On the night of the recital
“Special Guests” is what the program said
“A Performance you won’t want to miss”
Is all the description read
So right after a first grade tap
And before a junior ballet
We flittered across the stage
As music from Swan Lake did play
At first the audience was tepid
Not really interested in a routine
With none of their little ones in it
Until they realized what they had seen
When once again we appeared
In tennis shoes and shorts
Doing plies in third position
Came the snickers and the snorts
We danced our little hearts out
Doing the steps technically precise
While old and young were laughing
At those guys under the lights
We ended our routine
With me doing a split
And stuck in that position
They carried me out for our exit
And now these many years later
My daughter still tells the story
About her ballet recital
When Dad got all the glory
In nineteen-fifty-six, my school-time crush
and I loved to exchange sweet notes each day,
when meeting by our lockers 'tween each class,
or walking to my next one on his way.
He was a senior...I, a junior, then;
our notes confirmed to meet right after school,
or plan our dates for coming weekend fun...
each sealed with hearts and kisses...very cool.
You see, this was my first and only crush,
who after all these years...still is the best.
In nineteen-fifty eight, I, then eighteen,
and he, at twenty-one, were married...blessed.
And so, that's all I have to say on this...
when best is found, there is no other bliss.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: School-Time Crush
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
Judged: 03/09/2019
Note:
I attended an all-girl high school,
(first two years), and he, an all-boy
high school (first three years) prior
to our meeting. We had both switched
to public school, unbeknownst to each
other, and that is when we met. So I
believe fate brought us together!
(A flash fiction piece)
Breathless summer heat retreats with the sun. People come out after dusk - like nocturnal animals. We’re hunting ice-cream, at a carnival-painted shop.
There are four serving windows, hundreds of flavors and crickets serenading from the dark.
My BFF Kim and I are with my older brother - we run to the line and he follows. We’re waiting in line when the noisy muscle car roars up. The driver is Kim’s ex-boyfriend - Rob. Dumped but still, somehow, on the planet.
We fear the contamination of simple ice-cream pleasures with sour drama.
We turn our backs as they park and they join a nearby line. I feel Rob watching us, we’re tense, like maybe there’s a spider nearby.
Rob comes over - he wants something from her - she’s bored with understanding. He stands close - private-space-invader close - he’s high-school-junior smooth. His assertions have no creativity - just history repeating itself - the talk is brief.
After a minute, he storms off - his friends are disappointed - I think they wanted ice-cream. Tire squealing and motor roaring announce his departure - his reputation is upheld.
I got two gigantic scoops- one Banana Peanut Butter Ripple the other Key Lime pie. YUM
Hustlin' Soul Jazz to the beat on the street/
Straight ahead Hank Mobley Art Blakey Seven Steps to the cool sounds of Harlem, diggin' deep into the subway, Harlem-148 St get off, take off/
whatcha say, bright moments, Man, bright moments the Pharoah Sanders way Milestones on the eight track Blue Mitchall's trumpet at the Sweet Basil, a jazz club in New York City's Greenwich Village/ a great place to play jazz and hang with no big pay day/
Wow, what a scene, Cecil McBee, Leroy Jenkins, Junior Mance, heavy heavy hitters of the jazz day/
So dig this, don't forget Wynton Kelly and his trio/
cool jazz covers and slick sleeves to get the record-buyin' hipster to hit on vinyl. Man, let me get you a bird's eye view, cause there ain't no cover charge to dig these words to view
There are only two movies I watch more than once a year.
While You Were Sleeping with Sandra Bullock is one of them.
Sure, I love her. But I love Bill Pullman too and Peter Boyle.
You know how sometimes you want to recast a movie?
This is not one of those. Each person was cast perfectly.
They are comedians, their timing is exquisitely done.
They are lovable, except Peter and Ashley, but they are great
Because they are supposed to be pompous, staid, stuck-up.
Every time I watch I am cheering for the heroes to get together.
Even Joe Junior, the landlord’s son, has a loveable side to him.
Glynis Johns is perfect, and it is great to see her again.
But the plot, oh, my, it is hilariously funny! So terrific.
I sit on the edge of my seat, chomping down popcorn
At an unnatural rate, cheering them on, dying for the ending.
When Lucy says “I fell in love with you,” and Peter Boyle says
“You fell in love with me?” my heart swells every single time.
This is a die-and-go-to-Venice movie. I highly recommend it.
If you want to grin for the rest of the night, watch this one.
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
He was my best friend
I trusted him
not to fall in love with me
I was young, I did not want to be in love
He was, and I wish he had kept it a secret
He didn’t
It nearly ruined our relationship
I was six, he was seven
He kissed me on the playground
Miss Kneeland, our teacher, an old maid, was askance
He told her”It’s okay Miss Kneeland. When I grow up
I am going to marry her.”
I was mad as hops for a long time.
We became friends again my sophomore year.
He was a junior.
He was my best friend.
I trusted him not to fall in love with me.
But he did anyway.
I kept telling him I was not old enough to be in love.
I told him this until winter break my first year of college.
When we both returned home I could not keep my hands off of him.
That is when I knew
That I loved him too.
Salute
Bunker Hill, Yorktown, Lundy’s Lane,
Monterey, Bull Run, Gettysburg, Shiloh,
Antietam, St. Mihiel, Belleau Woods,
D-Day, Saipan, Iwo Jima, The Bulge,
Chosin Reservoir, Pork Chop Hill,
Ia Drang, Khe Sanh, Hamburger Hill,
Iraq and Afghanistan.
Famous battles in American history.
Washington, Scott, Grant, Lee, Custer,
Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, Nimitz,
MacArthur, Westmoreland, Abrams.
Famous leaders in American history.
We are all familiar with these names and places.
But what about the nameless men and women?
The faceless citizens who gave up families, jobs,
education, comfort.
The ones who gave America their blood, bodies,
minds to defend us and set others free.
Their blood has stained countless lands.
Their wounds, physical and mental,
should remind us that freedom is not cheap.
The noncoms, privates, petty officers, junior officers.
The occupants of The Tomb of the Unknown,
the Punch Bowl, the French cemeteries, Arlington,
and countless unknown graves.
The living dead who suffer from grievous wounds
and PTSD.
These are the true heroes.