Long Last ditch Poems
Long Last ditch Poems. Below are the most popular long Last ditch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Last ditch poems by poem length and keyword.
I teeter on the brink of possibility.
The sun on the new horizon glistens
its rays on the undulating sea of change.
I gaze a while, drifting with a squawking gull,
or diving with a hunting cormorant -
lost in my imagination, caught in plausibility.
Sometimes a gust of wind unsettles my balance;
I totter into uncertainty, struggling to stand,
but you take my hand and steady me.
Now I only look ahead; no way back.
The chasm is inviting me to jump;
to take a leap of faith and ditch the doubt.
I place my baggage at my feet;
packages of responsibility and confusion
tucked in neatly and nestling with the past.
One last tug at the sleeve of my coat
as they make a last ditch attempt to restrain me,
and I have jumped - flying through the air, free.
As I land I see you there smiling and safe,
arms outreaching. The promise of the future beckons,
and looks inviting, exciting and full of hope.
Once I teetered on the brink of possibility
now it is a glistening reality. The sea is calm now.
And, as the sun sets on the horizon, I am home.
(note: to all my lovely friends who thought I was literally considering leaping into a chasm to
my death, I can assure that I am most certainly not!!! It is merely a metaphorocal chasm,
and I intend to stick around for quite a while yet. Heavens, I am just about to have a book
published, life is very good! Thanks so much for your concern though)
The eye of the needle rattles the intoxicating compass of her heart
Someone has moved the sign posts and this is not a trivial matter
Magnetic fascination unbridles a moon so intensely absorbed
That even the tides can not keep up with eternal connection
Of infinite creation that had once offered its life for safe keeping
Nature is unparalleled but humankind lives a paradox of evolution
Breaking up an internal connection as if deeply compelled to expire
Emaciated kin on one side of the fault line disempowered by greed
As we seem deeply compelled to take a ride at the edge of extinction
We have lost touch gripped by raking in dubious malevolent profits
Can’t learn from history mock dinosaurs and woolly mammoths
Strive to go out with a bang following Darwin’s unintended curse
No bee will harm lavender flowers as they caress innocent petals
A river never attempts to carry more water when flashing its soul
Many floods are man-made and Noah’s ark has nowhere to go
A vulture sits on the remains of an ice berg and feeds on entrails
Of a last polar bear and gobbles up flags of empires stuck into guts
In a last-ditch attempt not to drown we build star ships like flying pigs to
Migrate to the sun like Icarus on a suicide mission for burning in hell
Affinity to nature sends a final warning to accord for ultimate sins
07th July 2019
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press
sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured
from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"
closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
kith and kin, unfairly
dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
included with your obituary post.
crushed at rock bottom he gathered the fragments of descent
slow motion agony that started at a plateau of deluded deceit
free falling sadness spiraling out of control beyond fast repair
the black dog on his shoulder had survived the fall and barked
another round of sadness an insurmountable sorrow cheered on
‘you are useless and even void and oblivion are having a laugh’
a tunnel with no light and the canary asphyxiated in the mine shaft
another panic attack unable to ease the landing of a scarred mind
scared and confused he gathered the pieces and stabbing shards
with broken bones and un-abating accusations he collected his guilt
fears and shame about yet another defeat at the foundation of evil
demons and miserable clairvoyants spoke in bifurcated obsessions
possessed by the mother of all depressions he reached for a glimmer
of hope he searched for a message from science deities and reason
yet unable to guide his emotions all efforts crashed without rescue
the rope had twisted once more and he dangled helpless face down
just enough slack to disfigure his angry face that featured disgust
and yet as the blood flooded his brain he surrendered his objections
one final attempt and he severed the noose with the open fracture of
the razor sharp dislocation sticking out just below the palm of his hand
with a further snap of his wrist and life line he surrendered lost dreams
if life gave you hemlock but the vessel had cracked on the impact
of the smash and grab of lifeless cycle of disassociated insanity he
resolved to drink his own blood and call upon autoimmune response
after all the medication had been useless and hours on Freud’s couch
had only imprinted more festering pressure sores on purulent skin
cognitive explorations had only dragged him further down self-denial
religion mantras and science had failed to invoke sanity and healing
levitation would not emerge when he fell from the edge of madness
the cross lay in pieces and nails had lacerated his heart and resolve
just when he felt the pulse getting weaker and with delirious gaze
he succumbed to a last ditch attempt to reassemble a piece of his soul
wrote an ultimate will on the wall and vowed to hand over let go and live
15th June 2020
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling
unlike Christopher Robin
hi ho... hi ho exiting
their wooded den
(think Snow White and
her seven dwarf men)
off to work they go to earn cents
(unbeknownst conversion into) yen
boot just enough to undergo
gastric bypass surgery
to shrink abdomen,
plus grueling boot camp regimen
guaranteeing bullseye
hit courtesy artillerymen
nsync with honing
sharp eyed acumen
joining (rather leading) civilians
carrying out coup d’etat
putsch ching aside feeble,
inept and lame
president to step up
and augment pen
ultimate last ditch effort
to halt climate change
to stave turning planet Earth
into self destructive oven.
All joking aside horrific,
née apocalyptic crisis doth loom
perhaps even unleashing mushroom,
clouds (thrown in for good measure)
encompassing entire planet
assuredly spelling doom,
where liquidation and fire sale
at all brick and mortar
stores will bloom,
(just ash at the front desk)
charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew
pointing blackened decker
index finger boom
meringue literally every black
Friday, Saturday, Sunday...
until every tomb
morrow until end of time.
Written: February 23, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a grove, a feud grew, no doubt,
Fruit factions were ready to shout.
Banana sought peace,
But his pleas soon would cease,
As the orange kept stirring the route.
With a temper as fiery as flame,
Orange sought to bear Banana shame.
He shouted and yelled,
While Banana rebelled,
Trying to douse the feud's flame.
But Orange was relentless and mean,
His anger turned downright obscene.
He challenged Banana,
With no sign of mana,
Creating a chaotic scene.
Banana, in a last-ditch effort, pled,
"Let's put this feud to rest," he said.
But Orange just jeered,
And sneered as he neared,
Determined to jam Banana with dread.
Lying in my Grandmother's old brass bed
I watch the blades of her ceiling fan slowing turning
Around and around and around again...
From the heat of this steamy July
There is no end to my yearning.
The old vintage rosebuds on this wallpaper
Speak of its long gone days now no longer new
The paper's soft faded colors
Cast a feminine pinkish haze that mix into a golden hue
On my tan rural arms and long toned legs.
Somewhere in this old farmhouse
A fly is trapped... I can hear its incessant buzzing
Making its last ditch effort
For any type of escape
I had done that same thing so long ago.
But now I am back here in this familiar room
Lying on one of my Grandmother's quilts
Pieced with love of more than hundreds of pieces squared
Each stitch handcrafted perfection,
An ancestral prize to be loved and cherished.
Softened by the decades of delicate washings
I can smell the breezes from its last airing
I can feel my Grandmother's loving embrace
In this quilt that was so intricately made
With so much love and caring.
Each piece of the hundreds of fabrics
Each of the thousands of tiny knots
That were cut by hand and tied
Were executed with the surgical precision
Of a lifelong Quilter's eye.
Love radiates from this heirloom blanket
Created by my Grandmother's gorgeous vision.
Each block and stitch
That were placed by hand
A kaleidoscope of patterns was her mission.
It will be my lifelong reminder
Of a life that was well lived
Of my Grandmother's love and caring
A wonderful remembrance of her talents and gifts
That I too, can share someday.
And so back in her room I find myself
Lying on my Grandmother's quilt
Watching the fan blades go around and around
Reflecting on my Grandmother's past
Wondering if she ever thought about me
What it would have been like
To have left this strong old farmhouse
To have left these safe ancestral lands
For the biggest of the big cities...
And then to have decided to come back.
(January 27, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Why is ‘Almost Good Enough’
never what you need?
Why is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
an ounce more than you deserve?
Why is ‘Almost What You Need’
the most you’ll ever have?
Why is ‘It’s Not Only That’
the only thing that’s left?
Why is ‘In Almost Every Case’
not in any case at all?
Why is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
the thing sure to be missed?
Why is ‘In Actuality’
in real terms actually not?
Why is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
the biggest lie you tell?
Why is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
the one you continue to try?
Why is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
the one you repeat again?
Why is ‘Really’ not real at all
and spoken then in vain?
Why is ‘Probably’ not possible
or even close to that?
Why is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
the top of your agenda?
Why is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
strictly out of school?
Why is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
the easiest thing you do?
Why is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
so much harder than before?
Why is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
the end of the debate?
Why is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
the beginning of what comes next?
Why is ‘So What’ a euphemism
for the most important thing you do?
Why is ‘It Is What It Is’
categorically not, and never meant to be?
Why is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
ceramic and for sale?
Why is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
the one taken in disgust?
Why is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
four points more than its worth?
Why is the special ‘Love You Lost’
the only one you’ve never found?
Why is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
the one that flies away?
Why is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
the silence you extol?
When will your words wrap like copper wire
to conduct the truth unrobbed
When will you cease to pander and mislead
—naked before the mob
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
March 10, 2019 - Daylight Saving Time Starts
The homey nimble storied wisdom of
Benjamin Franklin still
admired during hour time,
especially noteworthy, for slime
molds, the second Sunday of March,
when theft linkedin with
(Ides say) most innocuous crime
re: stealth of precious sixty minutes, hence
a flash in the pan idea to expound rhyme,
which notional whim came like bolt of lightning,
while daydreaming 'bout (what else...but)
flying a kite during stormy (Daniels) clime.
thus, once again twilight
takes quantum leap
forward hut, our humble keep
sake hour hand of time
grudgingly advances without beep
ping, ewe know who of little lamb fame,
what with barely audible lil bo peep
predicated, asper in taking away thirty six
hundred seconds of sleep
subsequently marking
second Sunday when e'er deep
into Lion of winter month o' March rolls
around with least amount by Dickens
plaintively asking Uriah Heep
to crank up AC/DC dirty
Harry deed done dirt cheap
cuz, this tradition of sorts
supposedly doth reap
economic benefits plus
Circadian rhythm less steep
difference with contrivance
issuing Whatsapp hapt'n when leap
pin lizards such Iam
motioning carillon to alternate between
sepulchral and refulgent chime
creating less discordant
dilly dally dichotomy
reverberates all the way to Siam,
while aye blithely tapped out here
yours truly 'ere at his Schwenksville heim
taking poetic life (in hour hand)
liberty at pursuit this prime
mate takes to hash feeble
verse to eke out a dime
probably more realistic for me
to ply blimey hands with grime,
now suddenly bedeviled what to do
soundlessly communicating woe
whiz mere (mein kampf),
sans displaying mime
as a last ditch effort before time
to call quits with this futile rhyme.