Long Methodically Poems
Long Methodically Poems. Below are the most popular long Methodically by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Methodically poems by poem length and keyword.
They would watch, with wild amusement,
as chubby little hands worked furiously, struggling with each button.
Tiny, unskilled fingers loosening, gnawing at them, until the last one was free.
She would wiggle out of her brand new, red velvet coat,
scrambling to play with building blocks and toys.
A capsule in time, that confirms something about her that cannot be tamed...
her pride, stubbornness, and a fierce desire to be
INDEPENDENT!
We are watching in mild discomfort,
as blue veined, arthritic hands work furiously, struggling with each button.
Swollen-knuckled fingers loosening, gnawing at them, until the last one is free.
Slowly, and methodically, she shrugs off the old familiar, wool-tweed coat,
while we patiently wait to enjoy our afternoon tea.
A capsule in time, that confirms something about her that cannot be named...
Is it pride, or fear, or a fierce desire to be
INDEPENDENT?
____________________________________________________________
For the contest sponsored by Black Eyed Susan: " Buttons "
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Strange heat is walking up the street with a heavy load upon its head and a yardstick to measure the dead, it’s walking in a straight line, staring at the glaciers melting from the hill filling the empty pockets with moisture and soaking the earth with water. A strange heat is moving around in the street and it is disrupting my heart beat and the pacemaker that is stuck inside gets my hearts rhythm to comply, and the leads connecting to my heart chamber are place methodically and the wires deliver electrical signal to keep my heart's rhythm in a fixed position. A strange heat is moving beneath my feet and the lining around the earth crust that is made of metamorphic and sedimentary rocks starts crumble and I could see way out in the deep, the tectonic plates began to shift but I quickly sealed it up with a touch of magic and the intensity around me was strong. A strange heat is following me around and you have got to get a whole of it before it destroys the town; it is dressed in a well- and it wears a felt hat everywhere it goes and sometimes it appears in the middle of the show. It climbs landscape, mountain seas and land and it can cover a short distance in seconds, and when the universe comes to town it covers itself in sheets and long gown; a strange heat is in the place and you have got to cool it down before it is too late.
you …
held your “goodbye” …
like a rusty-edged old knife
we both knew well it was there -
knew it was coming
lurking behind your forced kiss of
cotton candy kindness
the one you’d spun from the sugar of
what we’d once had -
obsession, pure …
born of truth, youth and puerility
grown over years to a mildly
despotic, methodically erotic understanding …
we knew each other too well
but hell, it worked to our advantage
when the focus was flesh -
enmeshed and tangled in tawdry knots
of egyptian cotton
our mangled thoughts on
the passionate pains -
gray-shaded stains and one last
sublimely timed climax for
old time’s sake …
then …
to rake that jagged
blade across my dreams
the “goodbye” schemes you’d sheathed
bequeathed to yours truly
since the newly-crowned “he” lit your fire
(my ire, of no concern)
meant to cleave this fool’s head from
his incredibly naive disposition
those jaded ropes that
had tied my ever-fading hopes to
the whipping post …
your words of pity raising welts on my soul -
stripes of lost lust, entrusted
but no worries, luv -
they leave no scars to betray you
but they bleed …
oh yes, they bleed and burn
and that endless ache -
that fiery weep of my coursings
will keep me warm in the
dark winter of my …
dysphoria.
* This is a free verse form I call QUILIBRAT, which simply starts and ends with a single word, and has two stanzas of 22 lines each. *
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
They grow girls tough in Alabama, Pa.
They are lively and the meanest you ever saw.
They chased me down and threw me into the mud.
Don’t make me go back to school said young boy Chud.
The pa rolled his eyes, and pointed to his wife.
You might as well know, son, this is your life.
These dainty creatures wear dresses to fool us.
But they are tough, and grow up to rule us.
His wife rolled her eyes, and smiled at their talk.
After it was done she knew they would both squawk
But she would mud wrestle them both to get out of cleaning the shed.
She went through her moves methodically, figuring out in her head.
How to best them both, so she could stay in the kitchen.
She could call in recruits, but then they’d be ’n.
So she figured it out, because being a female, she is slick.
They grow girls tough in Alabama, but they don’t grow them thick.
I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child.
Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish.
My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes.
Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.”
Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint.
It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible.
Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground.
I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining. #restraintsux
*I said my roomies “love” my mania but truthfully, I’ve done no hard research
Practice tenderly the harp
the cistern strings.
Practice methodically,
memorizing the melody.
Practice faithfully
the soothing piece,
the highs and lows
with guts and steel,
the pedals pressed,
the ups and downs
within the frame —
the ascent and descent
of ministerial angels -
a dreamy Jacob’s ladder.
Practice with elegant gown,
where you fade
and your soul flies
as you close your eyes.
The heavens so close,
you feel the clouds float by,
the angelic hugs
and in serendipitous
godspeed —
you play the leaping harp
by our Savior’s knees.
Kim Rodrigues © 5/14/2019
I have arrived gradually, in boxes.
from foreign places, unknown sellers.
part of me was procured from a man
who told his son to come get me or else five years ago
I am stealthily planning my take-over of this household.
slowly crowding the people here out of their space,
requiring more and more room as I arrive in boxes.
I am crowding them gently at first,
incognito practically until my drumsticks and brushes arrive.
all bets are off now, no more silence for them.
I am dying to drum out six or eight sets.
They know I am here now, as do their neighbors.
The whole town knows. A gentle, hostile mighty take-over
first a bedroom, then the great room. Now my pieces are
lackadaisically lounging around the entire premises, in a good way.
I am rhythmically and methodically sound. But sneaky.
Piece by piece I have inched my way into the human man’s brain.
The wife has been slower to come around. We still stick out our tongues when we meet.
I am the rhythm master, spreading my beat
enjoying my stands and my cymbals, loving the beat
as the human man plays me softly, then loudly with my sticks and brushes.
Crescendo now! Bam! Final finish! I am amazing!
Little River
In the heart of America,
there is a stream.
It began with a single drop,
followed by others;
one after another...
methodically,
not randomly,
high in the mountains.
It is a miracle at it's very roots.
The river of our hearts...
Few know the existence of the place,
but all know the reality of the torrent.
The raging, erratically-mad notion;
that freedom can be held back?
That it can be dammed up...?
Surely not by those that choose to be,
part of the current itself.
Even still...
Once felt by the fish that swim in the water...
even they too will not be able to resist,
their love of the water...
the essence of God.
All those that know him...
all those that ask...
will never know,
thirst,
again!
Mild weather greeted the week late November
as mid sixty temps held steady.
The sun so bright and warm
draped cloudless skies of deep dark blue.
Leaves floated wistfully, gliding gentle and soft
waltz dancing on the air.
Strewn across the grass a palette of bladed color leaves
I raked them tenaciously into piles.
Resting momentarily more fell from the naked trees
while they still exuded shade.
The cool crispness settled in
as I gathered broken branches for the fire.
Stacked them methodically to sear the fire pit
and I set the fires ablaze.
It smoldered smoky gray ashen at first
from the mix of dry brown leaves and small twigs.
Then burning hot and warm with rising flames
it warmed the stones and ignited the heat.
The momentary break beckoned me
to linger hovering to stay warm.
I watched the flames burn orange and red
licking the wood and lapping its moisture.
As evening set and the fire died,
wind found its way
Oncoming clouds and gusts darkened the sky
dropping temperatures ten, twenty, thirty degrees.
Rapidly a north west storm blew in
dressed in thunder and lightning streaks
A mix of rain and snow settled in
slipping in loud, fast and cold
announcing winter’s sudden arrival.
As the cardinal streaks across the sky
Leaving a trail of brilliant red as it flies
The woodpecker methodically
Peaks away at the distant tree
The mighty bluebird looking royal in blue
Taking over the feeder it rules
Hidden in the trees
Is the black crows of three
The doves can be heard chirping
As they gather in a grouping
The finches small but mighty
Take the berries from the trees lightly
Soaring high in the sky
The bald eagles fly
The hawk screeches
Grabbing pry as it reaches
The bats soaring through the night
Scaring those who see it in flight
The owls are asking who
Are they speaking to you
When suddenly the hummingbird appears
Hovering near to my ears
Sending me to a place of calm and peace
Feeling my soul release