Long Memo Poems
Long Memo Poems. Below are the most popular long Memo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memo poems by poem length and keyword.
For those residents in MAGAville,
That can't seem to pull their heads out of Trumps' ass.
Take a minute away from those affectionate kisses, and
For that moment, you might not be without class.
I know it must be difficult for you,
To honestly think and even act for yourself.
But what the hell, take a break from your ignorance,
And raise your mind above that bottom shelf.
Maybe then you can show some independence,
Since you don't always have to follow the crowd.
While those keepers of oaths and stupidity,
Can look elsewhere to make their boys proud.
Because honestly, you've been missing the boat of reality,
While sailing on a junket to an island of fantasy.
And pardon me against all truth that's social,
But that gibberish is quite simply, lunacy!
So stand tall, pull your big-boy pants on,
Take a deep breath, then swallow hard.
Take a look in the mirror with clear eyes,
Find the truth behind the lies, and what remains is a canard.
The Home Goods store was filled
With tons of stuff for Halloween.
October’s weeks away, but it’s
The most I’ve ever seen.
There were glasses and ceramics,
Decked in orange and in black,
Painted witches, ghosts and goblins
Meant to give a heart attack.
For the home were lots of pillows,
Shaped like pumpkins, ghouls and bats,
Plus assorted signs and dishes
And some scary welcome mats.
But what really did surprise me
Were the many queen-sized sheets
With a Halloween design;
I never knew, aside from treats,
That to really feel the spirit,
We should decorate the bed.
Did I miss the memo sending
Such ideas into my head?
Next are turkey sheets for T-Day
And for Veterans, some tanks.
Dear Home Goods, guess for showing me
The way, I owe you thanks.
Elves have been very busy making toys, all year for the good girls and boys. Santa sent out a memo, stop the machines line up in a row.
The deer have been practicing flying again, just like a real jet plane. Santa sent an e-mail to the deer, the look on their faces brought on real fear.
Santa said have you heard, hot off the press I have the word. The world has been sick, with Covid and this is no trick.
The kids cannot be disappointed this year, so let's go grab our PPE gear.
Date Written: 12/7/2020
2 Place Santa's Covid Christmas Contest Judged:12/19/2020
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
Gypsies
Across a misty channel
Sensor fingers
Stretch
Through foggy, silent waves
Where two souls embrace
In expeditions of speechless discovery
Two minds stand naked,
Face to face,
With wordless words
Each knowing the inner rhyme
Of another soul –
Intimate outside skin and limbs.
Across the barriers of minutes, hours, months
Two silent gypsies wander,
Through heartbeats
They stand, then gaze,
Connected to each other -
Escapees of the spoken word;
Outside the limits of ticking clocks
Two hearts touch
And see the signature of yet another
Self
At the address of the not yet arrived,
Undelivered.
Across the minutes and the moonlight
Pushing past the stealthy march of mysteries
Two fugitives flee holding hands
Leaving footprints
Escaping lines and spaces
Of a calendar;
Two almost strangers stand
At the mystic gates of the unknown -
Today’s unwanted guests
Intruders in tomorrow’s dwelling -
Thieves of time -
Fate’s despoilers.
Across the walls of midnight’s
Crumbling castles
Two wanderers peer into fleeting glimpses
Briefly understanding
The images and ghosts
Taking shape in the mist undefined;
Two stowaways crouch in secret coves,
Hidden from eyes born into mortality
In the warehouse of the borning
To see and not quite
Understand
Young future’s dance.
Across all barriers of time and space
Two gypsies touch outside galaxies to identify
Vague daylight outlines- dim midnight contours -
Embracing imprints,
Acknowledgment of events to come -
Words still unspoken;
Two souls run past the morning
Then return in recognition
For they now stand
Outside of themselves -
Vagabonds of facts
Nomads escaping demands for proof in black and white.
Great minds get the memo.
it is circulated deep into the soil
that you’ve wore the dress of paraffin
in the multidimensional wind of the winter
the cash-memo of the recently purchased
gold-bangles
would reside for some time more
then all the pregnant women
would assemble in the river-ghat
to meditate on the paddy-blossoms
all diamonds and clubs
would overcome their insomnia
through this arrangements
the crushing-news of fostering
flows
this dilution is well-known
the river-ripple of the air
after reading the sun
would keep some extension of dahlia
on its palms
in an unwritten evening
the demi-god-birth of the fire-flies
would break
their easy dead bodies
by the instigation of the surges
would ring … and ring… and ring
and spread cheerfulness
the elderly rain-tree comes to spray anti-biotic
on the spoilt top-branch of the young lad
covered with citronella
Kahua Mele,Estruturador de música:Struchtúr Amhrán
enstruturador de musica: enstrutador de musica!
oh til then strutturatore di brani,Låtstrukturerare
serendad för att inspirera kärlek, älska min kärlek
inspirera mig,Serenitas ad amorem inspirandum,
ama amorem meum inspira me..Serenidad para inspirar
amor, ama mi amor, inspírame.Orgulloso me mantendré
no anónimo para cantar fuerte y orgulloso, canta conmigo.
Tú y yo
enamorados juntos
toma mi mano
cántame
Caesura
Caesura
Casura
Tranquillo, allora canteremo insieme il suono tranquillo
dell'amore divino
tieni la mia mano
cantaremo insieme
amante, per favore
di' che sarai gentile
una linea melodica che
si sposta verso un tono più alto
scritto da: lo scriba poetico
Then thinkst thou child that greatness is thy fate,
Because a father fond admired thy verse,
And friends, not wishing to offend, high rate,
The paltry lines thou wouldst call poetry ?
To play with words, to mould them in a shape
That conjures deep-felt stirrings in the soul,
That lets the mind, besieged by toil. escape
Its bonds - that is the role of poesy.
Let thoughts take flight, discover hidden truth,
Allow the spirit to transcend its very self.
Make these your lofty aims, then tender youth
No bar will be to telling through your words
What's in your heart. Let not the moments pass
Lest they be ever lost, but heed the muse,
Ever at your side, as is the hourglass,
Trickling time, a precious constant warning.
Seize the Spring and revel in its promise
And greet with hope the light of each new dawning.
Life's darkling moments are yet tinged with gold.
Let not a sorrow your deep thoughts imprison.
A poet will all human life enfold,
Both sun and shade, encompassed by his vision.
They made a decorative well
in the campus
where books and laptops
were set aside
by the skinny staked
newly planted ancient oaks.
Students could sit there
to be good company
if they could find it.
The well is small, a bricked hole,
a shallow ocular sink
holding a green stillness,
yet direct sun made it live.
In the dazzle of the day
undergrads agree not to notice
a diminutive tide going in and out,
the hump-backed splashes of
surfacing Plesiosauri
magnified from lava and spawn,
until a passing cloud
clarifies these malformed gestations.
Girls in shorts check their bare legs
for teeth marks
as the noon day bell rings.
The wells inner-life
subsides as light dwindles,
damsel fly
and water striders
skim the small round waters,
while some feed upon
the drowned bones
of prehistoric ghosts.
A memo is eventually sent
to the groundskeeper
demanding he stop feeding
the reptiles.
What do you want to be
When you grow up?
Today it’s a doctor,
Yesterday, a chemist,
Last week, a singer.
It doesn’t matter
Because at eight,
You can be anything.
What are you going to be
When you grow up?
Now I say a professor,
Because I want to sound smart,
And really,
It doesn’t matter
Because at twelve,
You can change your mind.
What will your major be
When you grow up?
I hesitate, because I don’t know.
My friends do,
And somehow, I missed the memo.
But now it matters
Because at sixteen,
You should have a plan.
Who are you going to be
Now that you’re grown up?
And it hits me that “grown up”
Was never something I thought I would achieve.
Someday, somewhere, someone
And it’s all that matters
Because at twenty,
Grown up is just a child’s game.
Simply to put text that we cannot cover anything complex
There was a simplified version of every object-- an annex
The loss of everything to put it understandable; loosing context
Was like cutting all of the trees just to portray land like Lorax
Though, where we put things behind the bars is just the manifesto
Everything could be described out and reasoned with a memo
I was warned by Spinoza, that not everything fits out and can be a reductio
So, would a man be reasoning out of everything killing complexity would be a maestro
A virtuoso indeed, to be smart that it leaps every precautionary never stumbled
Wish I was that man to hide complexity, to assign simplicity-- oversimplified
But, I would lose the essence of dopamine in searching question categorized
As I would never understand if short text means something to unconcealed
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