Long Launches Poems
Long Launches Poems. Below are the most popular long Launches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Launches poems by poem length and keyword.
Boys carry their snow sleds
up, up
to the highest peak
scaling risk
their voices pitched
chattering noise of expectation
frozen giddiness on snow packed hills
boys belly flop onto plastic sleighs
bubble-headed jauntiness launches them
lunging down, down
bewildering "swish" of speed
smashing white drifts
projectiles scattered
boys tossed in snowbanks like pizza dough spinning
baked together in joy
pushing the balance of extreme
runs repeated
brash, blunt, bold
epic span of freedom
ignoring downfalls from ill timed moves
in a lost sense of direction
gleefully tired
snow flecked
boys wheeze the icy air
make their way home
their talk clotted with bravado
beneath it, the unspoken promise to never tire
of boyhood
in twilight, the slopes gleam
gouged by sled marks
that clear a path for growth
targeted direction
and if boys fall from the path
are there souls
who'll notice?
when ruts threaten
when sleds teeter
in unruly spaces
Poem composed February 2, 2022
Jan Allison's - Fun Pyramid Cruise
Rolling shores of sugar form on crimsoned lands
Tan children run through cinnamon granules between their toes
Crunchy warm, doing soccer flips, glowing orange with the sun
Cascading sugar crystals wave good-byes
The yellow waves, light on honey oceans rise
Jan Allison's new Pyramid Cruise Lines launches
The flag ship, Gold Pyramid, to everyone’s delight
On honey sun and honey moon it sails
Glitters on golden Pyramid and sea
It lifts into the sky, one hundred floors high
Each deck with fewer cabins to form a shape
The ship is the first of its kind
Built in the perfect image of a pyramid with diamond top
To the top which rises to a clear crystalline ball room
Jan dances their at night
A dozen roses on center table in her room
Three white ones, 2 bright red and purple
And let’s not forget the brilliant yellow roses
Sent by every friend, from them to her
With warm wishes for a wondrous maiden voyage
On a runway suited to launch anyone to anywhere in the world;
On a jet plane engineered and well equipped to take me there;
Without a doubt, I was determined to be a world traveler.
I dreamed, prepared, and was driven to be the best.
My biggest supporters were my Lord and my mom, and
such support would come to be the 'one sustaining anchor'
for my soul to successfully launch my dream and chosen work.
I had a model for success, and he was my human hero.
Others had charisma and showmanship. My hero had
character and humility, ingredients that I knew were
required for the kind of success that I was seeking.
Not long after launching, there was lots of turbulence,
but that was only the beginning of 'dream-altering'.
The plane was highjacked, and I along with hundred
of others were blindfolded. The pilot was forced to land
in a desert.
From that day forward, my dreams, like paper planes
we made as kids didn't fly; neither did many parts
of my dream that became a nightmare. But we kept
making paper planes..
Remember this: The vast majority or nearly every plane
that launches also lands safely. However, 100% of planes
that do not launch, never land. Life happens and throughout
my journey, I have learned that 'dreams that turn into nightmares
do not have to make me a nightmare'. By God's Grace alone, I
weathered the storms, and in spite of all that went supposedly
wrong, God has been good all along the journey. Launch!
081122PSCtest, PAPER AIRPLANES, John Lawless
Fiction based on truth
YOUR LOVE
(Music & lyrics by Joan Donnelly Ellis ( for Male Vocalist )
Your love has always filled my deepest longings
Your love performs actively
What I found hard to do you managed somehow to see me through
And awakened dreams that were once only fantasy
You're a work of art my living Mona Lisa
You're the mountain top a trumpet's claim of victory
You're the solid ground beneath my feet
The wind that launches a fleet of ships that sail with the best in life for you and me
Chorus:
You've given me loyalty, treated me like royalty
Even during the times when the opposite was due , ou-ou-whoo
Then you amaze me by asking wild and crazy questions like .
Why am I so in love with you
Verse 2:
No your love hasn't always provided what I wanted
But when it come to needs as if by magic you'd supply
Then you tell all of our friends to you I'm like Heaven's angel on lend
When I fall you rush to my defence with logical alibi
Repeat Chorus :
Troubling the soul
When all things seem to be untold, left to one day unfold.
To visit and no one is there. No one seems to care. What has become of you?
What has become of me? Troubling souls innermost parts, battling two halves, of an equation. Half man, half amazing, braising are these thoughts of unyielding might.
Blurred sight, nothing seems to be right.
Slight touch of rough withholdings, days end with a scolding.
Holding on to you, but realizing you can’t be kept.
For every step taken forward, there is an equal amount of steps that are backwards.
Troubling the soul
When the one that consumes your thoughts fought so hard to maintain that inner vibe.
Now launches an attack as your soul dies.
This twist, that turns should you be concerned at how it felt, the day when all was dealt
That final blow
To let go, to see it all crumble right before the ending. Blending all that once was you.
What do you do? When your hands are tied and your heart has flown away?
What is left to say? No more I love you, just days of as we lay continues to play, in the background.
You have been played the fool. Left in a pool of your own drool, suspended animation faced with annihilation, retaliation ending with meditation, the calm after the storm.
Troubling the soul
AI isn’t singular,
it’s a conglomeration
of all the algorithms
since nineteen hundred and fifty
when the imitation game
computed machinery and intelligence,
followed by checkers
followed by thinking machines
followed by LISP.
My only question:
has Artificial Intelligence
learned how
to cook a goose?
NOTES
LISP: an abbreviation of "list processing” a family of programming languages.
1950: Alan Turing publishes "Computing Machinery and Intelligence," proposing the "Imitation Game" (Turing Test) to assess machine intelligence.
1952: Arthur Samuel creates a checkers program that learns to play better over time, marking early machine learning.
1956: The Dartmouth Conference officially launches AI as a field, with John McCarthy coining the term and bringing researchers together to explore "thinking machines".
Late 1950s-1960s: Early AI systems like the Logic Theorist (proving math theorems) and the Perceptron (an early neural network) are developed, alongside the creation of the LISP programming language.
~From AI Overview (AI giving a history about itself.. Can we trust it?)
Spring is a wide eyed child
on the back of her grandfather,
Old Man Winter.
She bounces from snow to puddle.
Spring, is a stubborn, headstrong
child whose rule of life is
chaos, wonder and excitement.
She grows from budding to flower
with every high and every low.
Sometimes she launches
fiery hot flashes of lightening
and crashes thunder and pours down
sheets of wind and rain.
Spring is the sweet child
that is mild, loving but,
has a mysterious mischievous smirk.
Spring is heart and soul,
and she is young and beautiful!
02-25-2023
In Bloom Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Roger’s waist was the linchpin
when we launched “The Rose”
off Garrison’s Cove on Bailey Island.
He let out the rope around his belt
as she slid off the trailer
at high tide. We weren’t young back
then, but barely young enough
to pull it off. I was from a river-boating
family back in Pittsburgh where
some folks cleated shell boats to docks,
and drank on them all summer. Not that we
were soberists here later in Maine,
No—there’s still case of Grey Goose in my
garage for Roger, which is an old-testament joke
about what God thinks about our plans.
Stephanie painted wine glasses on Roger’s 70th
and a broken stem among them will become an
offering to Poseidon on the rocks this fall
when we break them, and next summer’s
miracle of sea glass washed up in oath
and mystery in the natural orders of myth.
Cook’s Lobster House is also on Bailey
down Garrison’s Cove Road
and the launch ramp there looping
around the bend reminds me
me of fulcrums, linchpins
and hinges-- how they all love
a good turn, rope-let launches
and unraveling yarns, midnight clinkers.
We should all plan to croak from
the moment of birth, but we don’t--
the former having been so traumatic
that we can’t remember it.
The boats find a way of slipping in.
Do not let the dawn, that tirelessly heralds light, slip from your arms,
The man who sows fidelity with the thread of time, his honesty clear as crystal.
He, who launches flying doves bearing messages of "Good morning" and "Good night,"
Do not let him flee, for he asks, "How’s your day, how does your heart beat?"
Even in moments that seem mundane, he is the one who always stretches forth his thought to touch you,
Moment by moment, day by day, like a shepherd of stars who watches over your inner moon.
Proud ones may blossom in your path, faces carved out, with deep pockets and plaid pleated in gold,
But they, in their rush, do not weave with pale hands memories like your favorite cloak.
Do not wither the crown of rays he has crafted with trembling hands, a treasury of giving both minor and grand,
He who digs his kingdom beneath your steps, wants you as a queen in the palaces of shared moments.
Do not leave him on the altar of forgetfulness for newly gilded illusions, for behind the shine may lurk emptiness,
Keep him in the temple of your heart, for the guarantee of happiness is not found in the fleeting smiles on a temporary face.
Let not the man who with each word tells you he cherishes get lost in life’s grand weave,
For he is the binder of your days, the one who keeps the seams of simple, beautiful joys intact.
Cherish him who chose to be a bearer of beauty and generous in secure arms,
Like not a tear forgotten at sunset to sink, let him shine, for perhaps another will know how to see him, if you do not give him his place under the sun.
Where my dad had taught me my first swimming
Where my mom’s nose got a little cut while bathing
Where we, boys and girls, like monkeys always dived
Where my first and best friend, by drowning, died
Where my neighbor’s girl claimed of losing her ring
Where her boy-friend was found wearing the same thing
Where we had caught every kind of fish we hooked
Where-around we had many a grand dinner cooked
Where-about we had planted many kinds of trees
Where stones from rocks we culled for our marbles
Where my father’s sister’s husband's in-law had a slip
Where thenceforth they check all omens before taking a dip
Where, at least once bathe, young or old rich or poor
Where the waters ever get fresh from a flowing river
Wherein stories say many treasures are hidden within
Where every domestic animal too get their swim and win
Where we teach any swimmer each day a new swim-style
Where anyone explores and launches many a love missile.