Long Lanyard Poems
Long Lanyard Poems. Below are the most popular long Lanyard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lanyard poems by poem length and keyword.
-Quiet voices with low decibels are taken with offense. Preconceived notions, spoken words without thought, inserting smileys to disclaim. Invertebrate personas can be seen evaporating from the skin, with the naked eye. Forming a resin that keeps building up over time. Labeling you with defects of character. Beating around the bush, hiding from problems; loose ends form. Texts twist the dough sprinkled with good intentions. Life's a *****, it hurts, don't it? Untied shoes are today's special, featuring potential failure. Intentional lack of preparation. Detached from the lanyard of civilization. Eyes disconnect; declining their calls. Reading the texts with disregard. Getting notifications and silencing alarms. Misdirected; free-falling off the imaginary edge of fictional beliefs. Playing a new version of make believe. Pretending with the help of it's big brother assumption, the answers we do not know. Taking offense to the actions committed with good intent. Overthinking the simple things in life. Misinterpretations of the harmless innuendos.
Oh hearken the struggle, life's gossamer threads,
The delicate sway of hope ...
Framed by churning white of Lord Neptune's might,
Faith dangles a slender rope.
Wan maiden, her savior, and a scarlet shawl,
Battered by surf and gale ...
Yet our faceless hero and his capable arms,
As sure as the damsel, frail.
Mostly monochromatic, all its tones of gray,
Save for the kerchief, red ...
While turbulent struggles around them rage on,
We center that shawl instead.
We see not the others who attend the line,
But imagine them nonetheless ...
The artist connects them with the lanyard, strong,
And so intimates their distress.
The distinctive edges and leaf-like waves
Are peculiar to Winslow's style ...
As are the rare stories his paintings tell,
That enamor us, and beguile.
While he traveled afar and painted it all,
And was a celebrated roamer ...
He loved my home state of Maine the best,
And so truly was a HOMER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Celebration of Art Poetry Contest", Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
languid doldrums, swaying lanyard, sails hanging loose
dreary small drums reverberate, neurons dumbing down
nerve ends fuse, sunlit shadows depict my numbing frown
feelings grind dull, thoughts stranded in the dangling sluice
sudden intermittent draught, strengthening breeze
mind and body free-falling, spontaneous pressure
sinews stretch, skin on skin, pulsating probing pleasure
senses tingle, tickling laugh, lengthening squeeze
breathe in deep, sniff olfactory aroma drift
gustatory tasting plates licked and tongued
erotic amalgam squished and belly-bunged
nostrils flare, exotic pungent odour whiffed
cavort, canoodle, drooling lips, flavours of the beast
rhythms rise where delirious frenzy can often be
harmonic screaming near the edge of cacophony
weave distorted images, dream-dancing above the feast
fleers, seekers, washed-up innocent sinning on the beach
subdividers and King Canute howling at the wind
viral loads onboard, invisible invaders grinned
collective cowardice casts the truth spinning out of reach
Peter is joining us for lunch in the cafeteria. I met him on a crowded Saturday morning at a coffee shop. He’s from the flammable, paper-dry, sagebrush hills of Malibu and grew up overlooking the hazy blue Pacific Ocean. He says Mel Gibson’s drunken Nazi rant, when a cop pulled him over for a DUI, put them on the map.
Poor Peter is fashion challenged. He’s 25, too tall, and too thin. Reading glasses hang around his neck. His too loose-fitting clothes are all variations of brown, like tawny, penny and wenge. He’s wearing a battered tweed coat, brown corduroy slacks and tortilla colored mock turtleneck. He’s adorably shabby-fancy. If he fell in the dormant, straw-yellow grass, we probably couldn’t find him.
Peter has a serious aura of experience about him. His cheek bones are sharp, his hair is an explosion of uncombed black, his skin is pale - bleached - by over exposure to library lighting.
He lives in a different world - the prosaic, laissez-faire universe of research - where students are left to their own devices and expected to self-manage.
Right now, he’s being vetted by one of my roommates, Leong. His student lanyard marks him, but she wants specifics if he’s going to hang around. “What’s your major?” she asks, her eyes squinting like the Chinese lie detectors they are. “I’m a doctoral student in applied physics,” he says.
I pat his knee, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I say, reassuringly.
Written: June 25, 2023
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We evolved toward the Zenith Ringers.
While no daylight is expected, I am thrilled.
With Banana Cakes, Cheez Whiz, and Zingers.
At Family Dollar's end, our hearts are tilled.
Maybe with Viagra or Valium to help us relax.
Even children suffer from heart attacks.
We sought refuge in modest pleasures.
We spotted willow trees in the ledgers.
Rising from within hexahedron walls.
Within the warmth of the Dollar Tree.
Nature's splendor is revealed, rising tall.
The American syntax is a story to foresee.
This is how the yarn of each firm ends.
Zombies stranded on the planet Zoom.
The new wildlife biology is an odd room.
In the Neptune State, Job's parking trends
We're being taken down to the ocean.
where we plunged into the dim abyss.
Saw the ruins of an ideal ship with emotion.
on a covert task, with mysteries to reminisce.
"Cheap America Lot" went into the search engine.
It brought me odd and creative results, as Chen Yun
There's Outpost Lot, Balaclava America, and Snap Cheap.
Names reflect our place in the world, for eagles must sleep.
Nothing else truly needs to be said.
To drive you on your ascent to the sky.
Has filled us with both hope and dread.
Maybe there will be fewer zebras someday.
existing unrestrainedly in the wild.
Amazon plays ZZ Top's remade tracks.
Happiness in the form of music restyled
But for now, we accept solace in the tax.
In the public squares where we meet and talk.
As well as paparazzi photos of famous people.
In cosmic cruisers and Super-Yachts, such as Hawk.
We practice space travel in our fantasies sheeple.
The lower class, for now, is striving for ease.
Despite devouring pizza in general squeeze,
As no tolerance establishes the standard.
Let the jigsaw fall, which signifies a fresh lanyard.