Long Laminated Poems
Long Laminated Poems. Below are the most popular long Laminated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laminated poems by poem length and keyword.
Encouraged by a teacher I adored,
I wrote a little poem at age nine.
I don't remember writing any more
till that same lady taught me in ninth grade.
One day when we were talking at her desk,
I saw a single laminated sheet.
I took a closer look and realized
the childish cursive on the page was mine.
She'd saved "My Winter Poem" all those years
and brought it as my gift. I almost cried.
When, as a poet, I feel uninspired,
I think of one who cared so long ago.
********************
Almost five decades later, I clicked "Send,"
and my first full-length manuscript took flight!
I prayed and waited for a "Yea" or "Nay"--
“Not right for us” or “We will publish this”!
Regardless of the outcome, I'd be glad
I’d mustered courage for this first attempt.
My memory of conquering the fear
of clicking “Send” is vivid to this day.
********************
My book came out about four years ago.
Commercially, it isn’t a success,
but I have no regrets. My bucket list
now lacks “Submit a full-length manuscript”!
Date: November 25, 2020
Poetry Contest Title: What Have You Kicked Off Your Bucket List placed 1st
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I rise early in morn,
Feeling still used and forlorn
Just Another day in this constant struggle is born.
My feet slowly meet with the floor
They carry this zombie creature to my front door
Confronting the world in my own personal war
So many questions I've has pondered
About the many times I've wandered
Is this just a life so aimlessly squandered?
But now they own my soul for 12 hours
I'm just their battery with no power
As I watch all my youthful motivation sour.
My youth began to rot
With the pointless education I've bought
The laminated diploma was nice but all for nought.
Another days pay in the bin
But where is the win
Your just a sheep in their pasture destined to do it all again.
So you just let the numbness take hold
As you heart daily turns cold
And the whiskey and gin just watch you get old
These days, actors and singers serve my catapult mayhem,
sometimes they are catalyst too!
I sing in between their lines of songs
their churned up recorded whims, hums, and candid cataracts!
And some days, whence things get screwed up
about a random psychotic feed back ,on a laminated free verse!
A day care and a festive color season!
Once small pox diagnosed ,
they let the sick baby get a safe mode, in an arranged detour reason, instead.
For a submission and a genuine submittal try!
On a humorous cover page , it calms down the wildest underneath rage, outcry!
Everything is clouded, intranet, inter too!
Nonetheless, a Fine arts diploma travels to the farthest east and swings to west,
they surely do!
To and fro round trip with a lonely estranged,
to Alaka and the random Parthenon
to cuddle Athena to wrap the scar, very own
before applying to have a trip to scar benign
Certainly,
We knew the translators' sage first,
Before originals tried to happen there, in a diaspora or wanderlust.
Please allow me a reason to try, anyway , anymore
before, they even try to be happy , at least mock or greet
and then eventually, troubleshoot for the love story ever after, special treat!
I am sorry, Joanna, on behalf of the survey-monkey!
You know me now. And the poem from the day care of Maxim Gorky!
Jaded.
Cascaded.
Faded.
I retaliated.
Alienated.
Isolated.
I changed it.
Reframed it.
Battered it into submission.
The abyss that ignored my name—
That stagnant stage that stayed the same—
I busted it up.
Tore it apart.
With teeth, with nails, with rage.
My bitterness, boxed in a cage.
I am a woman scorned.
Properly, pointedly warned
About playing nice with unkind boys—
I did it anyway.
I’ll do it again.
Unless stopped by a trainwreck
In a leather coat, pockets packed
With heavy flicker hymns and haunted facts.
Healing stab wounds with bare hands,
Pressed to my bruised and cracked chest,
Leaking regret.
A man by any other name
Still reeks of old spice and shame.
I only need a joy ride
Into the dreamscape’s drifting tide,
Where trees bend low to bow and breathe,
Their musk and pine a whispered wreath
Inviting me into the realm
Of lust, desire, and fire-fed calm.
Branches brush my aching skin—
A welcome wrapped in woodland hymn.
I am not that complicated.
Though my pain, layered and laminated
Like geological canyons carved in stone,
Matches my internal rue—
A structure built to stand alone.
I can grow a man roses from rubble.
Just give me rosaries, rubies, and rubels.
I admit my earthly needs.
I am an investment, not a scheme.
I saw a world I hated.
I sublimated.
Evaporated.
Changed my state of being—
From rigid to roaming, mist into meaning.
Cold datapoints and sterile streams
Reformed into wisdom, stitched into dreams.
He tried to hold me subdued.
Silenced my dreams with histrionic moods.
Overwhelmed my senses,
With intentions sharp and sentences crude.
I was a prisoner of shame.
And there I remained
For a near decade.
I broke the chains.
Escaped the plush, performative pain
Of pseudo-companionship’s velvet cage.
Now I’m agitated and raw—
Midway through my emotional overhaul
As I transform from meek to sleek,
From silence to sovereign speech.
I will not take silence as an answer.
I will shake loose your response.
You cannot ignore me in oblivion.
I am here to stay.
You have the option:
To be a benefactor
Or de facto arch enemy—I know.
I am aware of where I stand,
And what I wield in my streamlined hands.
I am not simply a pretty creature.
I am not solely for looking.
I want touch—not merely tender,
But true.
Is that you?
I am a watcher. I watch. I think. I am standing by a laminated wad of rotting brown ice; glacier. Somehow she is more resplendant for her age and degrading slough. She will carve off in hunks, destined to float in the sluch of a Svalbard inlet. Destined to become brown water a million years old. And this is still beauty. A beauty of age is of more substance than a beauty of youth, for it as endured millenia. Like the Greenland Shark; he lives for hundreds of years himself and is beautiful. For his knowledge.
dying ice sloughs off
melting, warmth of ice water
rinsing off shark remnants
He's an elder now so don't dare forget.
He has special needs and they need to be met..
Always been a hot boy so keep the thermostat down,
or he'll gulp too much water and in urine you'll drown..
Never was a barker but now lets you know.
Better pay attention or he'll just let it flow..
The laminated flooring makes his joints ouch and
his old bones can no longer reach the soft couch.
He needs carpeting or bedding to lie down and slouch..
Those short walks are great but his back legs go out.
Make sure it's flat surfaces with no hills to mount..
A breakfast and a dinner, let his nose lead the way,
and this 120 pd dog is happy and sleeps the rest of his day.
A letter poem to my neighbor's teen, with the same birthday of my father in the month of October, (in October tales)
They took out our free furnished chairs, and happened in, they
at least they did tell you about that, didn't they?
We tried also with our special veggie tales with your fabulous homegrown dishes
Rasmalai, Biriyanni and Tandoori in Coronado apartment
Had multiple suits glowing with diva with your birthday in a stylish way!
And they should! Where every should could!
And what could they say! Anyway!
For a traveling overseas photo with Aunty and the birthday delight
A status quo in the ever delighted hue, twilight
Still thinking about an acasia, hyacinth for a photogenic try
Picked up a bay leaf, mend a leaf and trying for a seeress, cast in situ, in a story, try
This time this time, Nobel time in calling bell
Over the counter and Island too!
This must be the very high time!
For an Acro and a trip, with Ansar and Muhajir!
Mosita
Mo stands for Mobassher
Si stands for Sibbir
Ta stands for Tajmil
They got you outsourced for your motif in Vatican City , in an Auction
For a laminated fishy Gandhi read
One paid in a smoothie centre for a Modi
The other preferred South Africa to dump Gandhi instead
For a peace train , law is never the land and vice versa too!
For a helpless tattoo, what can we do?
What can they say, in anyhow, anyway?
Go where the path leads
They told me the path was straight.
They drew it out on paper,
color-coded, laminated,
handed it to me at seventeen
like a map to somewhere worth becoming.
Follow this.
Don’t wander.
Where does the path lead?
It leads through the kitchen at 2am
where you are crying about something
you don’t have a word for yet —
and then you find the word,
and then you cry differently.
Better. Like a door opening.
It leads through the year
you were so sure you had it figured out
in the only language they knew —
which was sometimes enough
and sometimes wasn’t,
and you had to learn
to hold both of those truths
in the same hand
Past the version of you
who stayed too long.
Past the version who left too soon.
Past the you that never happened,
still standing at a crossroads somewhere,
watching you go,
wishing you well.
I used to think the path
was something underneath your feet.
Now I think it’s something
you breathe out —
every exhale a step,
So walk like you mean it.
Walk like the ground trusts you.
Walk like the trees up ahead
have been leaning toward you
for years,
waiting,
the way old things wait —
patient,
rooted,
certain
Where does the path lead?
Here.
Always, stubbornly, beautifully —
here.????????????????
A cupola shin, prickly dick creed, hoary
testes tossed, master baiting ova all eel trades
crossed the fecund Rubicon and ejaculated
olly olly oxen yawping, in utero seminal raids
with phallic coup d’etat that buck came vasocongested spades
lit torch, where hello kitty Ernst lee screeched
amidst Grafenberg tit parades
bumping uglies during four nuke key eight ting game
where pinkish puckered two lips viz biological
Russian roulette played – birth control relegated as desuetude
hotly contested fee conned, caved heat seminal blitzkrieg overlaid
bilging swamped,
whence olds eye goat ruff fused exiting nightshade
shy ham mull in, and gave way to blast ta cyst
vis a visa viz biological fertilization qua two plump milkmaids
from inchoate seeds juiced beginning
to compress bladder re: lemonades
per diem mother via umbilical cord fueling gestation,
where sonogram shows faint genetic threnody skein
perchance manifold jades
nope – no fallacy when peppy thrust with sucks esse full feint
after thwarting objection against skin flute charmed thence invades
which begot conception from chromosomal traits stitched
via jean S, and her faction of trumpeting handmaids
whose fecund ditty began to feel swell as biological reproduction
showed no uterine back grades
as Tabula rasa In utero endured fusillades per what mother tubby ingested
sustenance promulgated noticeable womb dar full expansion fusillades
of nutriments ordaining future health of progeny
riddling endless questions within the gallimaufry
discombobulated mental, physical fatigue enfilades
and spiritual state of momma me ya in tha family way, whereby baby blueprint an outcome as nano sized atomic bombshells scoured decades
to determine the ontological makeup from when the fluid dynamics
spelling impregnation since time immemorial and into the future cascades
artfully concatenating eminent grise immaculate kindred laminated with waxy substance i.e. vernix, though smooth
doth serve analogous to microscopic switch-blades.
Form:
I think about nothingness mostly these days
My nothingness is not foggy and mystic
Not demanding about the attires, undone
Still dumped in the bucket, for reasons,
not aligned in chorus
All I know that time
Asynchronous and foggy that
Those all are in, with humbleness
And gratitude
To ponder and assure
I am possible, I am dusable
And I shall be.
Clouds dispersing as clouds to be seen
In the background of cloth line
Not too much voice
Out there. Outlier.
Likewise tragic heroes unsung
Dispersing clouds foreshadowed foretold the bogainvalia tree too
Visible from the patio
An open hand like a Muslim mind
Your colorless teardrops are singing on leaves
A clearly wrapped in blossom
For a diva of colors is one subtlety, understood
And yet heavenly father an interlocking too
And a failed litmus test and
A manila folder and probability
And diversity pedagogy
We're over head and letterhead too
A clear crystal laminated and I shall be
Paper rack among the niche
Stipulations and vibrant
Colors in a fathomless embody
To find envoi , iambic pentameters and juxtaposing
Possibilities
Beyond all white
No mind
Today
And I am grateful for a scent of sunlight
In these
And not in those winter Sundays
With an inescapable limousine
On Elm street
Even though even so
The brush strokes on the
Earth were
Seemingly so.
Got to go.