Long Middling Poems
Long Middling Poems. Below are the most popular long Middling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Middling poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m either really high up
Or really low down
Never just simply breathing
I’m either ecstatic
Or simply just tragic
Never quite really middling
It’s either blazing light
Or inky dark night
Never a morning or evening
I’m either fully alive
Or I’m living dead
Never just simply existing
I’ve a mountain top life
Or one mired in the trench
Never level ground trekking
Burning with passion
Or freezing in hurt
Never just lukewarm caring
I’m either in love
Or sizzling with hate
I’m never really just flirting
I’m Aphrodite one day
Then Medusa the next
Never just simply acting
You are either my friend
Or sworn enemy
Never just simply mingling
I’m either in heaven
Or tormented in hell
Never just purgatoring
I wish that my life
Were more even keeled
Cause this is just schizophrening
I’m either oddly insane
Or I’m sweetly inane
For a normal life I'm longing
It is too early
it's a middling time.
Nature lures,
leads us on to a pause
where the weather
is all wrong.
Ice licked stems
are unforeseen
by a too hasty thaw.
Defrosting groundhog's drip
in an almost warm sunshine,
loggers lean on silent buzz saws
their foreheads dry and clear.
People take a day off
from the winter grind
bobble hats
and puffer jackets
are laid aside like bad dreams.
They predict that tomorrow
the snow is going to be heavy footed
and extra lumpy
any hint of avian romance
will be indefinitely delayed.
Yet today is middling mild,
and Pollyanna
dreams of daffodils.
In middle America — a small earth tremor,
not enough to scare the cat,
the cat felt it, and it told the mice
who lived in the walls.
"It wasn’t us", they said.
A mess on my desk;
the glass inkpot has toppled,
has spilled deep blue ink
on a sheet of white paper
printing upon it a smudging form,
— moth shaped,
and in the middle
a human figure– a man-moth.
I thought of ripple effects,
how all things run to the middle
when danger threatens.
I thought of Rorschach cards
and the anatomy of meaning.
Across the mid-point of the rug
the cat has fallen asleep.
The ink-image
tries to weakly crawls away,
its wet wings drooping.
I gently nudge it back to the middle,
eventually the ink dries and stiffens.
It was New Years Eve so they decided to have a special dinner for two
they ate spinach, noodles, and ham with a dab of orange mustard glaze
red candles burned softly on the linen cloth, as the old year flew
They watched Alice in Wonderland with the fireplace ablaze ;
At 8, he made a nice espresso coffee with Bailey and served it hot
with lemon filled panettone. It was a lovely middling snack.
She tried to keep her eyes open
but the night was gloaming with umbra
so she went upstairs and faded into sleep
dreaming of spells plasma and levitations
Try as she may, the knowledge of New Year was far away until
exactly midnight then,
RATTLE RATTLE (went the doorknob) It woke her from her sleep
"Happy New Year" she said half sleepy to a silent door. She assumed
it was hubby entering the room. Hubby was still downstairs messaging.
(THE GHOST OF NEW YEARS EVE)
"I saw her through the key hole she was fast asleep. I checked
on him. He was sitting on a couch waiting for midnight. I figured
I better get her up, so I jiggled the doorknob loud enough to wake her.
It wasn't very hard for she slept like a hollow egg shell. "
RATTLE RATTLE went the doorknob. By morning she realized her
visitor must have been an alien from outer space. She combed her
hair, washed her face then with coffee perched on a desk wrote a
true story. The first one on poetry soup. (smile) Ghosts are real.
If you believe it, you see it , if you don't, you won't .
and yes, it was a real good meal....
January 1, 2019
contest name: Slap the muse and turn it loose
I was sent to depict the mist, that wears this present days
I should have foresaw the doom, and should have my wings kept
a messenger needs a beam my bullseye's needs a lit
Please let love lead
My bullseye flashes gloom
Cos' the night shade rains on me
I should have my eyesight boom
The moon to savour me beam
Please let love lead
I should have caressed the stars
To show me my tomorrow
then when my message is passed
I would no longer wonder in this narrow
Please let love lead
In this shadow
I breath so narrow
My wings like dazzle wallow
I can only feel am in a gallow
a messenger need no dim
Please let love lead
So why don't I leave this sallow
I soar high in the middle of no where
It all feels here like deep burrow
My back hind feathers soon wears
Please let love lead
am Middling middle no where
my message caught up with me the air
My bulls-eyes needs a beam
if the message is to be filmed
A messenger needs a beam
Please let love lead
Love is colour red
Blood is colour red
Though skins has many colours
6/25/2020
Random chain of events
preceded occurrence re:
guarding existence of me
interminable fits and starts
concerning self destruction
inherent within one measly
self important species.
Yours truly synonymous
with any chance reader
(of course inclusive those
untold past multitudes,
who trod upon this oblate
spheroid preceding one
anonymous groveling,
middling sniveling modest
*****sapien) pursuant
upon unknown destination
giving contemplative,
introspective, speculative...
pause every now and again,
asper bajillion prior
bipedal hominids, whose
individual deliberate or
random natural biological
impulses wrought sons
and/or daughters, whose
subsequent call, sans their
wild procreative proclivities
unwittingly begat the
unique chromosomal
combinations inscribed genes
imbuing each of us with
transient occupancy to revel,
relish, reckon very finite
number of orbitz around
nearest star, how longevity
(till mortality – leisurely
and/or vocationally)
expended, yet anatomically,
biochemically, physiologically...
linkedin with avast
gamut incorporating
unknowable determinants sole
fully cobbling wide, whirled
webbing, (albeit skein
microscopic) comprising
resultant Deoxyribonucleic
amalgamations, combinations,
emulations...throughout
untold generations eventually
giving (swell pregnant)
rise to healthy progeny
predicated on an uneventful
tragic mishap in utero
preceding parturition, which
miraculous seminal fertilization
regarding series of
fortunate events delineating
quintessentially strapping
robust tot destined (years later)
to continue human
species, thus I ponder
tremendous steep odds (analogous
to drawing winning lottery
ticket), when reproductive
processes diploid propagating
one after another ongoing
generation, yet in retrospect
every cellular T-Mobile
chance coupling attendant on
haphazard spontaneous
buzzfeeding circumstances
promulgating prolific primal
precedents begetting each
individual necessitating tenuous
fluke (worm hungers) engaging,
engendering, engineering...
(similar to science experiment)
endowing penultimate on the fly
fusion between two haploid cells
impossible to explain convincingly,
(asper in my mind) the notion
predestination intervenes
likened to invisible hand.
I'd be more than happy to endow my beam to you,
equally, I trust you'll impart with your own smirk too.
That is a proem forward into world harmony,
A prized seed with extremely useful whimsy.
I will endow my food with a smile,
And I'm confiding you'll nod in your style.
This feast is middling for two persons,
It is possible if we could deter arsons.
This majestic tree dispenses shade,
Nature has conveyed us with a unique cascade.
For everyone who needs to take it easy,
Let us enjoy it all around, indeed... globally!
I'd be heartily risen to relate my entity to you,
For every one of the dignities, we are apt to do.
The season minds about us, today,
While lavish panegyrics pave the way.
Accordingly, share a smile; this is a start rally.
An extraordinary beginning's blissful inventively.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: March 6th, 2022
World Peace Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Most of life is spent in
hope for better things yet
expectation of what is to come
or anticipation of what could be
and while this is good, even necessary...
Focusing on the few
more “memorable” moments
misses out on much
of the spaces in-between:
Time with loved ones
time amid others
time to ourselves
time spent going places
and getting things done
time spent sitting utterly still
Such seemingly mundane spaces
on life's broad canvas
are the underpainting of the portrait
that our life becomes
the basis of the character we create
moment-by-moment
day-by-day
While more exciting times
are mere small fragments
on their own, a sad display
an infinitesimal, tiny sample
of the grander scene of life
So slow down, dear ones
Breathe deeply, remembering that
rushing only leads to rudeness
Instead of slopping through
these middling spaces...
Correct some of their ugliness by
brushing them with beauty, a little each day
Carefully choosing each word and action-
coloring them with kindness
Be honest, but without cruelty
Stop tolerating the intolerable
stop committing to what you don't want
stop rejecting what you truly need
life is a limited commodity
don't squander your time or anyone else's
Clothe yourself with humility
artist's smock of life
the covering that allows for
mistakes, creativity
and continual learning
Make the most of every moment
especially
the ones in-between
you might find that in the end
they were the most precious times of all
I Do Not Know The Secret...,
Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem...
Not purposeful intent,
when tasking self (Das Scribe)
a nondescript member of
*****sapiens village people tribe
metaphorical spear in hand ready
to unbridal strong arm as vibe
resoundingly resonates, sans
(crackles, snaps, and pops)
optimal instant to expunge bribe
bing fountainhead of creativity
oft times screed or futile diatribe
no matter smug satisfaction appeased
as mental delectation on par with eclair
for taste buds, a reward dare,
I acknowledge mine appealing talent
(undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion)
with fast break for game of Solitaire,
or sink concentration matte tear
real awaiting with bated breath
comments, feedback, input...usually fair
to middling acceptable,
though frequent occasions blare
ring liberal dollop of adulation,
warms hearty cockles of this hermit
comfortably numb in his lair
which decency, humility, modesty...
of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity
as if yours truly snooty billionaire
keeps in check (ma mate)
cognitive firmae tubby beware
boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight
within me finds ego expanding square
lee out beyond outer limits
of the twilight zone, where
entire cerebral cranium
shatters temple mount scare
ring eureka temporarily
finding me unaware,
viz blinding, deafening, and
obliterating brainstorm spate bare
lee delivering tummy any appreciable,
pronounceable, noticeable... impact
relishing this devil may care
state of being if only...threadbare
tenuous consciousness endured
sustaining oblivious blissfulness
absentmindedness forever delivering cheer
full countenance of mine finding me
unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear,
and/or he who dons most powerful paw
he can render complex edifice
of democracy to disappear
thus...after shaking wordy playwear
an early plug to vote November 2020
due to here
about nine months and one year.
(Wimpole Street, in the West End of London,
has been the scene of many interesting events,
from the elopement of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
to The Beatles composing "Help!")
The Long, Unlovely Street
It’s such a straight and long, unlovely street,
not quite the retail zone, not quite the mouth
of Regent’s Park. It plumbs a line north-south,
where Mayfair and more middling London meet.
Come walk with me on Wimpole, feast your eye
on blue ceramic plaques, as thick as leaves
that strew the brooks so loved by Freddie Treves,
where tall town houses shoulder out the sky!
Elopements, easements, songs of yesterday,
bereavements, human elephants and more:
we’ll see enchantment pour from every door,
and find a little help along the way.
Where legal precedent meets Mersey Beat,
come tramp the straight and long, unlovely street.