Long Logged Poems
Long Logged Poems. Below are the most popular long Logged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Logged poems by poem length and keyword.
Against the odds, among the brave, his class was not defined by race
Talent can never be confined by color, race, nor faith, or time
He climbed his way with dignity within a world of bigotry,
and found acclaim, while making waves, when racial boundaries
fanned the flames
He earned a place in history
He raised the bar, and paved the road. He played each part with brilliancy
He bore the load and carved a path, with courage and humility
In a racist world, he earned respect, where few before had found a way
He crawled inside each role he played, and gave them life, from deep within
He wore the skin of many men, with a courageous, calm insistence
One early role, that stirred the pot, was a plot pledged to his love's fair skin
Yes! Shocking some!!.....But soon he'd find, applause for wedging understanding
A cause that spiraled racial growth, and better yet, acceptance
Another role where deadlocked chains, with ankles bound, two fugitives
while on the run, we cheered them on........and viewers too, unlocked old ways
"To Sir, With Love" above, beyond, his art would teach us how to change
"Mister Tibbs!!"........he said it clear!!....."Don't call me BOY! Don't you dare!"
We believed in what we heard, courageous rage, that we could cheer!
He sang with nuns while we clapped hands.......they built a church in desert sand
He won awards for gentle grace, and won a place in history
He warmed the screen with soul and truth, and paved the way for striving youth
who want to be a legend too, be it black or white or green or blue
Bahamian bred, Defiant One, Ambassador, Freedom's reward
Against all odds, he logged his time, to change the tide of narrow minds
A winsome smile, with deeper lines, that swayed the Lillies of the Field...
He was a fugitive against a time, when racial tones were bound by chains
____________________________________________________
Loving Nature without loving God is a neat trick
But as I love Nature, how could I complain?
Are you a humanist? Spinoza a guy with a large brain
Defined God as Nature; if one is not the other, then please do take your pick
When you are very civilized the wild jungle or temptation:
-Less your cup of tea-
Then God surely is not Love, how bitter can you be?
Without moral compass: (We are so rude) Without chlorophyll: damnation
Without morals indeed I may be lost. Without life much worse:
God without Nature: it’s just no good, or to me, a curse.
Nature excluding God’s creation, I add, gave birth to the capitalist his saw
He logged the wood, set fire to the Amazon and this he named the law
Since the two, towards each other being amorous:
Nature and its God, as Spinoza be my guide: synonymous
Dear diary, it has been a great day.
I found a penny on the carpet,
played with it awhile and then made a wish.
I won’t tell you what it is but,
maybe the dog will disappear.
Mom’s got a new ‘puter,
I tried it out when she went to work,
I used her credit card to buy some
gourmet cat treats.
That online shopping sure is easy,
so, I bought some for my friends too;
the whole neighborhood gon’na love me now!
They must be pretty tasty at
$22.00 an ounce.
It sure was nice of her to leave
herself logged on,
when she bought my new litter box.
I know I probably don’t deserve it
‘cause I accidentally shredded her
new underwear last week,
while playing with it;
clearly I’m forgiven.
That new cat in the neighborhood
has it bad for me;
this morning, Mom let one of those
“cuss’ords” rip, when she saw a
dead robin on the front porch;
Oscar is always bringing me meat.
Frankly, it’s barbaric,
I am a domestic feline;
he doesn’t realize
I only eat canned food.
Once he tastes those treats
he'll stop that.
Okay so, I got’ta go now and
grab Butch’s supper.
In my bedroom the three of us all high:
her, her, and I: pass methamphetamine
in circle, her to her to I, our lean
mannequin forms pressed hand to leg to thigh,
one on my left, one with a school yard eye.
We three are, and have been since seventeen,
friends without borders, like grass without green,
throating for water from skiffs diver dry,
strung out on wire like trout with tin-foil breasts
and pupils bulging black as once-a-star.
In my bedroom, the three of us undressed -
took her, then her, now I - have logged too far
on thirty six strips of backward spinning crests
to hide our heal where love unpeeled is scar.
He remains stalwart, though his eyes be dim
tales of the sea define him, some grim
his face etched like a weathered map, a compass
pointing between light and shadows, thin.
A broken nose belies his youth, most zealous
once brash and bold, defiant and rebellious
his black hair, bright eyes and jawline, strong
now tempered with white beard, grays and yellows.
His past has logged a journal of high adventures
stormy life, lost loves, foolishness and treasures
he navigates his emotions with a stoic demeanor
yet his telling face and eyes reveal more than ever.
Written on 6/7/2022
On New Year's Day I logged in,
to send my wishes to all members
of PoetrySoup, and by chance,
I came across Carolyn Denvonshire's Blog...
she asked for prayers for her injured knee.
I am sending my loving prayer
over the Washington Bridge
with empathy and care,
hoping that it will make
her walk again like before.
This should have been a happy occasion,
but when everything runs smoothly...there it comes
a bad accident or sad event to spoil its perfection;
and as everything else in life, we must cope with tragedies,
allowing strenght to overcome our pain.
Carolyn, so sorry to hear how badly you were injured,
there's no quick-fix, but relief is on your way:
my prayer and empathy for your speedy recovery,
are being sent over the Washington Bridge today;
please choose one of the remedies for a fast healing.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in ’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and told, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at Buzzard’s Breath.
The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la Tart”.
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the mother lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, “Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! boys, git the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the earth, and the heat increased by day.
Buzzard’s Breath became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
My phone rings…. I answer it but say nothing as I don’t recognise the displayed number and I can only hear ‘white noise’ at the other end. Okay I admit I’m going deaf and will be getting my hearing aid soon but that’s another story.
I check out the number on Google and see it’s scammers who ring up people claiming to be from Microsoft and unless you pay up heaps of money they will hack your computer. It was the second time they had called in two days so I’ve written a little script based on an old joke for when they eventually try again
Caller: Hello I’m calling from Microsoft
(before they can get on with the rest of their script)
Me: Oh are you the engineer, I’m glad you rang so quickly after I logged a fault call. Please can you help me, I have a terrible issue with my computer, well it’s not my laptop it belongs to my son ....
Me: You know the handy little coffee cup holder on the side, well it’s broken…
Caller: (getting cross as he can’t use his script) What the heck are you talking about…
Me: The coffee cup holder – you must know the one … you press a little button on the side of the laptop and it shoots out …it’s so handy for my coffee mug but it’s got jammed and it’s only half way out and I can’t use it.
Caller: Coffee cup holder - are you mad?
Me: No… I'm not mad but I have short term memory issues … but my son will be absolutely bloody fuming if I don’t get the coffee cup holder sorted. Can you tell me how to fix it?
Caller: Just hangs up in frustration!
I just need them to ring me now and I will be ready!
Short Story Contest N/A in contest judged on 9/27/16
Submitted to Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please Sponsored by Broken Wings
09~27~16
I logged on, a world so wide,
But the words they threw, I couldn’t hide.
Behind the screen, they didn’t care,
Spreading lies, I felt despair.
The mocking comments, the cruel replies,
Each one a dagger, each one a lie.
Friends who once stood by my side,
Now joined the crowd, and left me to hide.
The pressure built, the pain too much,
The hate online, I could feel its touch.
So I made a choice, to walk away,
To silence the noise, to end the dismay.
I deactivated my accounts, cut the chain,
No more torment, no more pain.
I focused on my life, took back my soul,
Tried to heal, tried to make me whole.
Betrayed by friends I once held close,
Their words like knives, sharp and gross.
But in their leaving, I found my light,
A chance to grow, a chance to fight.
I built myself from pieces torn,
From the silence of the pain I’d worn.
And though they thought I’d fall apart,
I rose again, with a stronger heart.
I found my strength in solitude,
In quiet moments, I found my mood.
The world outside may try to break,
But inside me, there’s nothing they can take.
I came back stronger, wiser too,
No longer a victim, I know what’s true.
The past may sting, but now I see—
It gave me power to just be me.
So let them talk, let them sneer,
I’ve found my peace, I’ve found my cheer.
No more hiding, no more fear,
He was the best influencer in the world and he knew it.
In the neighborhood he was a star, an Internet hit.
Unconditionally loved his family; watched them sleep.
Had his large arms in every situation, no matter how deep.
He found the Internet one night when the others went to bed.
Logged onto Snap Chat and Instagram, and took photo of his head.
By a quartet to four, he had a following of three hundred and two.
He had followers now, so he added a video of himself too.
Daily he sneaked into closets and threw on clothes galore.
He wore sweatshirts and helmets, and dresses and more.
The checks started coming in like out of thin air.
Before he knew it, Godzilla was a flipping millionaire!
He shared his money with his family. Two kids and a dad.
They had a wife and mom once, but she had gone bad.
She tried to come back when she found out about the money
But by then Dad and Godzilla each had a new honey.