Long Leapt Poems
Long Leapt Poems. Below are the most popular long Leapt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leapt poems by poem length and keyword.
Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”
Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.
He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.
The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.
The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.
And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”
“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.
Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.
The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.
He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.
Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.
Bridgett Faerie leapt from the flames with a pop and a fizzle
Delighting her elemental dad, Hellfire, wielder of the flame
Her mother gave her the power to make leaves dance
Her purpose not apparent yet, but she was magnificent.
Hair in shades of copper we did not know had been invented.
She stood on the tallest log and stared us down, Then she flew.
New faeries can hardly ever fly. We gasped.
"Forty-one years since I saw a first day flyer,"
one of the elderly brownies whispered.
Bridgett landed next to her.
"Hi!" she said. The whole council laughed.
"She is precocious," one of the faeries said.
Bridgett turned.
I saw her face for the first time;
oval with laughing caramel eyes.
Her nose was a tiny ski slope, a tiny lift at the end. She wrinkled it.
"Where are the leaves?" she demanded. "I want to get started."
Even Hellfire was astounded; he had six daughters but not this one
Until today. She would be a force to be honored and revered.
Her snotty sisters began to make fun of her,
pretending non-jealousy.
Hellfire gave them a look and there was instant silence.
"Are those my SISTERS?" Bridgett shrieked with delight.
She flew over and hugged every one of them. Then she flew away.
How could someone with such tiny feet be so assertive?
No fairy had ever started working on their birthday before today.
Oak tree leaves began floating down into the fire.
The fire popped and crackled faster and faster.
"I love this job!" Bridgett yelled from a branch forty feet up.
Hellfire looked frightened for the first time.
He had never had a daughter who was more like his wife.
His wife flew past him to help her daughter.
That rarely happens on birthing day either.
"A mini-me-of-Enthusiasm Faerie!" someone said.
Others cheered. Someone clapped Hellfire on the back.
"Now there are two of them, he said."Good luck!"
Bridgett's twin sister Brewit popped out of the flames next.
"Surprise!" She yelled. "There are two of us Daddy!"
Hellfire's mouth dropped open. He had felt outnumbered before.
But never suffered anything like this. Brewit gave him a big hug.
Then she flew up with to join her mother and her sister.
A wonderful day in the woods, one we have never forgotten
Although that was twenty-seven years ago.
The story has been told thousands of times.
And put into the imaginations of many. Their purpose: Joy.
Pretty like the crystalline canyon rocks -
Fair like a deer wandering in the morn' -
With the Great Spirit as a faithful witness
A baby girl named Red Feather was born
And for her onyx eyes and ruddy cheeks
An angel was sent with kisses to adorn.
Her misery began with John Martin -
A white trader of uncouth demeanor
Who took one day a Navajo woman
As payment for whiskey and gunpowder
And soon his bride realized an inheritance
But in so doing died young in labor.
Red Feather lived - lived with a cruel father
Who cursed her and of her did not boast -
Withholding not his friends who laughed at her
And was ignored by passersby the most -
Irretrievably lost between two worlds
That scorned red highlights and native clothes
Until one day when grief overwhelmed her -
She ran away - against the blinding tears -
Where else but to the village of her mother
But discovered that they too made jeers
At the sight of her and there enslaved her
And instead of love - realized her worst fears.
But solace found Red Feather at moments
When she'd steal away to Spirit Canyon
To gaze upon the weathered petroglyphs.
Silence touched her heart every now and then
As she'd sit among the lonely rifts
And consider the Earth with the heavens.
There among them was one where an artist
Told of the wish of an ancient warrior
To jump the cliff and join the gentle spirits
That captured Red Feather's awe in particular
And since the life ahead held not her interest
She soon desired him and her mother
So it happened during one nice spring day:
The wildflowers breezed as she took the path -
Eagles circled above her at midday
And Red Feather stood on the edge with wrath -
Embraced the sky and Sun and leapt away -
Seeking what the next world might have.
Since that time many a wayward Navajo
And traveler alike claim to have seen
Red Feather come to them - white with glow -
And swear wholly it was not of a dream
But that she lives - she lives as a ghost
Wandering along the cliffs and beneath.
So should you come to Navajo Country
Look sharp - Red Feather's spirit takes flight.
She may run silently with a clan of coyotes
Or dance in the shadows of your firelight.
She may be the breeze that blows softly
Or the silver mist that rises at night.
VII.
Reid’s eyes widened with the realization,
she was with child? How long had she known?
His mind reeled and more men gathered outside,
by this time his cover had been long blown.
He glanced down upon red Wolf struggling,
then at the woman who haunted his dreams,
forced to chose between revenge or his love,
just minutes ago so simple it seemed.
He glanced at Mink, and she looked back at him,
said, “If you will spare him, I will go with you.
Take me and our child far from this place,
just please do not do what you came to do.”
Red Wolf argured back, speaking in Cheyenne,
traded words with both his daughter and wife,
then Mink said,”He says he will let me go,
that I bring shame to his lodge and his life.
“He says we should both ride away quickly,
that if we do so he’ll delay the chase.
He says a whore daughter is bad enough,
but bearing your son makes me a disgrace.”
Tears streamed down her face as she said the words,
her mother joined in with an acid tounge,
Reid felt something break through his burning rage,
asked, “Do you truly carry my little one?”
When Mink nodded, he pushed Red Wolf forwards,
keeping his knife at the neck of the chief,
the whole band stayed back as they walked through the camp,
Mink ran ahead and two horses did seek.
She mounted first, Reid pushed Red Wolf away,
leapt on a horse and away they did sprint,
the two kept riding for hours that night,
pushing their mounts through second and third winds.
Red Wolf, it seemed, kept his word to the two,
no pursuit was launched by the Cheyenne braves,
but Reid knew now he could never go home,
he had failed to get revenge for the raid.
In the end he took her to the white world,
back to the people he’d not known since youth,
and I see from your looks that you have doubts,
but what I’m telling you is the plain truth.
I know because my father told it to me,
of how he came to Kansas with his squaw,
I was not that child, I came later,
Mink made Gray Fox ten times over a pa.
He doesn’t talk about it all that much,
most of the details mother told to me,
but when he does, a look comes to his eyes,
a look that’s haunting too all who might see.
It’s not that he regrets moving out here,
he’s lived a life that is worthy and full,
but sometimes I think, when he gets like that,
he regrets not slaying that damn Red Wolf.
Born Doris, named for our grandmother Doris Owens,
she is nothing much like grandma.
If anything, I am more like grandma
for my thrifty ways and down-to-earth practicality.
Doris, nicnamed Dorie, how we tease her when we hear
her name like the name of the spaced-out fish on “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who we teased as a child because she always dawdled,
always losing track of time; we never could guess why!
In that way, she never was like me, but was more like Dory
from “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who like me, is long-nosed and full-bosomed
and of all my sisters, has the most in common with myself.
Dorie, who got confused for me, particularly by our grandma,
the woman after whom Dorie had been named!
Dorie, who got to be the cheerleader I failed to be
but who majored in my field and never got to work as a teacher.
Instead she works today in a place for special needs adults,
working many hours now that she is divorced.
Dedicated, hard-working, studious and conscientious -
in those ways Dorie is the most like me
of all my other sisters.
Who else but Dorie would write me back 40 to 50-page letters
back in the day when all we had was snail mail!
My letters to Dorie I copied off each month as a record
of my hectic life when I was young in college and
also when I was dealing with my new role as a mother.
Dorie, my writing soul mate sister, who probably
does not write much any more and I doubt that she writes poetry!
She is busy working up to 60 hours a week!
But when she writes, her emails are long and detailed
just like mine.
Dorie, in whom I gradually saw differences from me.
More emotional, more hormonal, more maternal -
this is Dorie. More religious and in politics,
the opposite of me.
Despite all that, we love to chat.
We laugh and laugh, as I do with all my other sisters.
Dorie, who like our youngest sister Theadora,
shares with me a fascination for things such as nutrition,
all three of us sharing with each other our recipes
fitness hints, and special ways to boost metabolism!
Dorie, the sister who Mom says "leapt with joy"
inside our mother’s womb right before Mom went into labor
just for hearing the voice of me, her oldest sister.
I love all my sisters equally, but for many reasons,
Dorie is the sister most like me!
March 6, 2019 for the "What's In a Name" Contest of Kim Rodrigues
“It was a race
going to my place,
our emotions out of control,
went for the bed
and my lust-filled head
focused only on it’s one goal.
“Our clothes were tossed,
they were soon half-off
when she froze and gave me a stare,
In all my time
never had my mind
ever gazed upon such despair.
“Her face a fright,
she cried,’It ain’t right!’
Then she leapt up and grabbed her shirt.
I didn’t move,
I was so confused,
made no move to go after her.
“When she ran out
it left me in doubt,
had I done something I should not?
I pondered it,
but gained not a whit,
didn’t matter how hard I thought.
“I’ll plainly say
all of the next day
it weighed heavily on my mind,
so I went home
to my flat alone
and was shocked by what I did find:
“A woman there
with long, graying hair,
gad broken in and taken a seat.
She did smile,
but it seemed vile,
and was directed straight at me.
“She said,’Hello,
myself you don’t know,
though your father knew me quite well.
Alas, he’s dead,
so I choose instead
to bring his son a living hell.’ “
“I was quite lost,
but then she popped off,
‘Don’t you know I was his mistress?
And you dead dad
did something quite bad,
he gave me his damn syphilis!
“ ‘It played its part
and destroyed his heat,
but it was far too late for me.
But much, much worse
then my own damn hurt,
it got passed on to our baby!
“ ‘It’s doomed her life,
and it’s just not right,
since he promised to leave his bride,
but oh, he failed,
and let me to wail
left both of us alone to die.
“ ‘Could not strike him,
but he still has kin,
two children that he proudly claimed,
So my revenge
to his son I send,
soon, like me, you’ll be insane.
“ ‘See my daughter,
you’re so fond of her
that you surrendered to your lust.
And syphilis
is so relentless,
now you are just as doomed s us!’ “
“She cackled hate,
it all snapped in place;
the girl I’d met the night before!
It all made sense,
why from me she went
running frantically out the door!
“A half-sister,
what I’d done with her…
and the line that we’d almost crossed…
Then the way she
had chosen to flee,
showed that her conscience was not lost.
“It all unfurled,
the familiar curls,
my little sister had them too!
And in her grin,
and her sculpted chin…
I knew all I'd been told was true...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
III.
It was near midnight when they came again,
four warriors armed all with flaming brands,
Myron bolted up from a fitful sleep,
and poured out bullets as the horses ran.
He managed to shoot one off of his horse,
but the trio screamed and charged in once more,
Harold said”They’re fools to keep charging in!”
But Myron though hard, and wasn’t so sure.
He called for all to cease firing
and listened close as if searching for proof,
then he heard soft thumps coming from above,
one of them had gotten up on the roof!
The charging men had been a distraction,
and Myron grabbed the shot-gun in a hurry,
fearing that they would set the roof aflame,
he opened fire with a hot fury.
A hole was blasted where he shot the brave,
the dead man rolled off and struck hard on the ground,
the charging warriors roared in anger,
so Harold shot another one of them down.
The survivors fled back towards their camp,
but no withdrawal did the Sioux men beat,
instead they took turns sniping at their foes,
to deny Myron and his family sleep.
Come Morning Myron looked out and saw perched high
sixteen warriors atop their steads,
with lances and rifles and tomahawks
preparing for the morning’s bloody deeds.
But what chilled Myron’s soul more than anything
was the small tree trunk that two riders held
by the branches, to batter down the door,
and visit upon them a living hell.
The others let loose a barrage of shots,
to try and suppress Myron waiting within,
he fired endlessly took down two more,
then leapt back as the riders bore down on him.
The battering tree smashed right through the door,
a slew of war-cries went up, loud and piercing
the shot-gun blasted, two more warriors fell,
the noise left all their heads and ears ringing.
Harold went down from a shot to the chest,
the doorway was a commotions of words,
but standing there clutching his aching head
was the muscled form of Diving Bird.
Myron leapt forwards and drew his pistol,
then jammed it straight into Diving Bird’s ear,
Roared,”If you value your War-chief’s life,
you will all stop, and ride straight out of here!”
The Indians outside froze when they saw them,
none understood the words that he did say
except for an old man, missing an eye,
who spurred forwards to attempt a parlay...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
He fell one stormy midnight clear,
His feet upon his head,
He deaf of mouth and blind of ear,
All purple, green and red.
He dined politely on a rose,
Then with a speckled hen,
He quickly drew himself a nose,
And put it on again.
He paid the hen all shiny pound,
Then gave his ear a flick,
A tiny thought leapt to the ground,
And scurried up a stick.
"Hello there little sky-fall man,
A bildog, blain and ned.
I live inside your gumble mind,
That's right, inside your head".
"My name is wonder where and how
And who and what and why,
And what you're wondering right now?
How fell you from the sky?"
Down trouble eye our little man
Shed single Silver tear,
As off to forge some further plan,
Thought flew back down his ear.
So down he stood and set he off
To answer up his quest,
His head puffed out, his feet aloft
And walking on his chest.
He walked through woods where gilbroks played
Upon the purple moss,
With trees all trunked of plasticine
And leaved with candy floss.
For three long days but not so long
He walked on through the wood,
Until he heard a silver song
that tickled 'neath his hood.
The song it came from purple rock
Amid the Numbum trees,
Upon the rock, the Dandy-dock
Sat singing to the bees.
"All hail the Dandy," our friend cried
Before the purple stone,
"Hello there!" Dandy-dock replied
"My haven't how you've grown!"
"I am afraid I cannot help"
The Dandy softly groaned,
"You must search out the Bollynelp
Near the lake of Sollynoad"
So off he trekked to find the stream
That led out to the lake,
Across the lands of pink ice-cream
And plains of chocolate cake.
The stream ran on and skipped and played,
And sang it's tales of old,
But in the lake the waters stayed,
All tinged with green and gold.
High in a tree beside the shore
The Bollynelp sat chatting,
He talked a little then some more
Of chalk and cheese and matting.
"I'm sorry," called this strange old bird
To our hero down below,
"A quest like yours I've never heard
But the Dumble dog will know"
"The Dumble dog I'm sure you'll see
Upon that distant beach
Where our fine land does cease to be
And the jelly ocean's reach"
He thanked the Bolly with a sigh
And turned towards the shore,
And off he walked, still feet held high,
And chest upon the floor.
Lucy Locket lived amidst Lakeland Hills, where jay serenaded morning;
Like plum rainbows celebrate sunshine, with never any silent warning.
Lucy was merely twenty years old, like a peach rose, dusted with dew;
And she was also a dutiful teacher, unveiling what children never knew.
Lucy liked to sew and to garden, like green nature, roving everywhere,
Recalling lavish, sunset skies we used to view, in the colors of vanity fair.
Kitty Fisher was Lucy's best friend, amidst many, for she was popular;
Like finches are popular in floriated summer, creating gladness, ocular.
Fancy emerald nature wore fun, fantasy makeup, in its faceted colors;
And unfaltering family flattered fall with visits, beloved like no others.
Kitty lived in the house of very ordinary, like cherry redbirds singing;
Where silver moments comprised golden hours, jeweled time ringing.
Summer snapdragons grew quite lovely, on her sparkling street of sun;
And scarlet maples smiled colors, until the smoky season left, sudden.
Nepalese neighbors narrated tales of sweet nation, at mulberry night,
When nectarous, naval oranges hung ripely, under moon, satiny white.
Purple ranunculus blooms resembled roses, when sunrise echoed dusk;
And 'Marimo Moss Balls' played water polo, while jasmine trailed musk.
Giant water lilies ruled placid lakes, giving rise to titanic, pink blooms;
As golden sun and calm moon vie for dominion, inside separate rooms.
Lucy and Kitty went to a lecture, in a lavish, lavender evening of larks.
The lively, literary topic was much enjoyed, like the sun's dying sparks.
Afterwards, Kitty and Lucy parted, each to their own welcoming home;
Like a green bird of turquoise skies, oft makes its nostalgic way, alone.
Later, Lucy discovered her pocket was missing, its location so unknown,
Like red streaks of gold time, ever fleeing, past a blue, marble milestone.
Next day dawned golden, and Lucy's pocket, she found on her doorstep.
Golden coins were tied to its ribbon. And at Kitty's note, her heart leapt!
For it was Lucy's sparkling, glad birthday, as devoted friends remember;
And Kitty had made it one of her best, like hued leaf nights of November.
'Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.'
Penguin the pilchard leapt onto the ice
He flipped and he flopped and arrived in a trice
He took a deep breath and he held it and then
He bellowed with all of his might… “MEN!”
Pilchard the penguin said, “Where have you been?”
And then asked his friend, “What on Earth have you seen?”
Penguin the pilchard said, “I’m telling you,
A big boat has come with a whole TV crew.”
With all of the penguins now gathered around
Pilchard’s mum, Herring, prepared Pilchard’s ground,
“Remember the plan, we’ve done it before
For when men with cameras visit our shore.”
Pilchard the penguin said, “When they arrive,
We show them the struggle we have to survive.
Let’s huddle together then we can deliver
The image they want so let’s practice our shiver.”
A rumble, some heaving and ice cracks appeared
And up popped an orca… who nobody feared
“Okay,” he said, “so who do I chase,
and who is the stand in, you know… just in case?”
Pilchard the penguin said, “No ‘just in case’,
Nobody’s getting consumed in this place
It will be I that you shall assail
And I won’t be eaten by no killer whale.”
Seagull, the polar bear, said, “Holy cow…
Does this mean I can let my wind go now?’
Pilchard the penguin said, “Don’t let it go,
Until you’ve scraped ice up to make flakes of snow.”
The film crew arrived and they took up positions
They struggled to film the Antarctic conditions
It came as a shock that the blizzards that blew
Came with a stench that was rather like poo…
The penguins all shivered while stood in one place
While foul smelling snow pelted everyone’s face
The crew filmed the penguin as orca gave chase
And shed tears of joy when the whale lost the race
Penguin the pilchard said, “Give them some smiles,
And leap from the sea like Polaris missiles.
And then do that thing that all humans find sweet
Where young penguins stand on their mum’s and dad’s feet.”
Pilchard the penguin said, “It’s for the tele,
Won’t it look good if we slide on our belly.
You see that ice gulley, why don’t we slide through it?”
And Penguin the pilchard said, “That ought to do it.”
The crew packed their gear and they made for the shore
Where they boarded their boat and weren’t seen anymore
While back with the penguins where men were now gone
Pilchard the penguin said, “Get the fire on.”