Long Minnesota Poems
Long Minnesota Poems. Below are the most popular long Minnesota by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Minnesota poems by poem length and keyword.
Still a bit cool out tonight. I drove to my boomfield anticipatin' gentle winds
and sweet returns. All my booms impress and amaze me, 'cept for a
couple of 'em, which I know always takes me a few tosses to figure 'em out.
The air is sweet with the promise of Spring....colorful ducks and geese fill
the sky. Quickly, sundown approaches, winds abate and peepers from the
creek at the edge of my field begin their harmonies.
Suddenly! in a dead-calm wind.... I feel it, only in Spring at sundown!
a cool creek breeze, waist-high, slowly waves over me....redolent with
moisture-filled Spring perfumes released from their winter slumber, while
the air above my waist stays warm!.... a sensation unlike anything I've ever
felt or smelled before!
Then it comes to me.... hmmmm.....stationary warm thermal above...cool
air below.... MTA time! ( a special 'rang shaped like a small hockey-stick, called
maximum time aloft) ... I begin tossing sweet flights (for me!) and eagerly
catch 'em low, reveling in the different temperatures, odors and sensations as
I reach to bring 'em in near the ground. An overwhelming sense of well-being
floods my mind.... as I thank my boomerangs for taking me deep into
April.... in Minnesota.
By Phan Tan Hai
Sometimes I finish a few lines of poetry,
you read them, hesitate,
look at me with pity,
and say my poems are a bit melodramatic.
What can I do—I confess:
please let me write as naturally as this.
These are hurried words,
written in haste so my heart won’t stop
each time I finish translating another sad news report.
If anything in my poems is beautiful for this world,
I would be mistaken for an angel—
I would be hanged in the streets of Iran,
shot on a corner in Minnesota,
buried under bombs in Gaza,
pushed into minefields on the border of Ukraine.
What can I do—my writing is a bit melodramatic,
because the words must cover the tears
I shed each day after translating the news.
I cry in the room where I sit alone,
with a laptop, a few bookshelves,
and an exercise bike.
Suddenly you push the door open.
You say the peach tree next door has blossomed.
You say the red flowers are beautiful, welcoming spring.
You ask why I’m crying over the keyboard.
You say we’re not in a Korean drama.
You say my poems smell like incense.
You say my poems sound like temple wooden bells.
You say spring is coming—why am I crying.
What can I do—my writing is a bit melodramatic.
In the news I translate, too many people die,
and they have no time to speak,
and they have no time to write,
and their hearts have no time
to beat one last time.
— California, January 28, 2026
Fast Eddie Felson was a whiz in a pool game.
Eddie met a professional with fortune and fame.
The best in the business, Minnesota Fats was his name.
In a marathon session, Fats and Eddie took a stand.
Eddie had taken the fat man for eighteen grand.
But soon, that money would slip out of his hand.
Felson didn't want to stop playing pool.
Booze got the best of him, and he looked like a fool.
Tired and buzzed, Eddie appeared to choke.
Before he knew it, Felson was flat broke.
There's a bit more to this movie.
Just get the film, and have a look-see.
Based on the 1961 film "The Hustler"
When Thor’s mighty hammer sounds a thunderous call,
this football team is willing to do it all.
They are ready to plunder and pillage opposing teams.
The Vikings are reality, not merely dreams.
They have played well before the overwhelming cheers.
Success has come easily throughout their playing years.
When the Vikings defend the home field in Minnesota,
their vanquished adversaries are transported to Valhalla.
The offense is ready to score with an attack.
The defense holds the opponent’s offense back.
They answer the call by their chief god Odin.
A new season is here. Let the games begin.
I would like to be twelve million kilometers away
From this stupid town, I’d like to be in Minnesota,
To burn all my poems in your hungry eyes,
I want to get away from those raptors that steal my nights,
I would like to believe that the light of the heart will always shine,
I would like to be twelve million kilometers away
Of this city, in the desert, tomorrow,
I would swing in Louisiana, hard a rocking chair,
I would like to dive into the warm waters of the Red Sea,
I would like to wake up tomorrow in a small hotel in Aqaba,
I would like to be twelve million kilometers away tomorrow
Of this city,
Watching sheep graze the grass of an English garden,
I would like to meet an angel, who speaks to me about God,
I would like to meet or find an angel, who crosses with me, every morning
I would like to be in Wyoming, which I don’t know, under the shimmering moon.
Je voudrais être à douze millions de kilomètres
De cette ville stupide, je voudrais être dans le Minnesota,
Pour brûler tous mes poèmes dans tes yeux affamés,
Je voudrais m’éloigner de ces rapaces qui volent mes nuits,
Je voudrais croire que la lumière du cœur brillera toujours,
Je voudrais être à douze millions de kilomètres
De cette ville, Dans le désert, demain,
Je voudrais me balancer en Louisiane, dur un rocking chair,
Je voudrais plonger dans les eaux chaudes de la Mer Rouge,
Je voudrais demain, me réveiller dans un petit hôtel à Aqaba,
Je voudrais demain, être à douze millions de kilomètres
De cette ville,
Regarder des moutons brouter l‘herbe d’un jardin anglais,
Je voudrais rencontrer un ange qui me parle de Dieu, tout le temps,
Je voudrais rencontrer ou trouver un ange, qui traverse avec moi, chaque matin
Le Wyoming, que je ne connais pas, sous la lune scintillante.
Oh Holy Night, all is calm, all is quiet, except for the tv playing to itself, if to keep a lonesome resident company, if to take place of a friend who never came.
Oh Holy Night, thus quiet town of New York Mills Minnesota, these lovely people whom are Gods Children yet they are alone each and every day..
Once were young vibrant sons, daughters, husbands wives who gave of themselves in our society with a friendly smile, hug, handshake, worked amongst us earning a good days wage, now only to sit alone, their once friendly face, now showing their age.
Truly HE taught us to love, His gospel is peace, why then should vitality living be home to these lonely souls, where are our servants of GOD to bring a cup of coffee, a card game, a manly chat about serving our country?
Oh Holy Night, tonight a baby was born, a sweet baby who would live amongst us to love us, bring us HOPE, why can’t we sit and hold their hands, be CHRIST to them if only for one hour?
A sweet Baby Jesus taught us to love one another, His law is love, and HIS Gospel is PEACE.. we too will be in their shoes, yet we are not to be seen next to their bed, Jesus would be with them, we must be HIS hands, FEET, pray with your feet..
What Child Is This who looks upon these lonely souls who took care of us when we were sick, now only have tv to keep them company?
Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, it is the night of the saviors birth, until He appears, let us Shine His Light upon these Souls, let them Hear The Angels voices..
Along the eroding banks of the Minnesota River
Lies a tranquil scene that will make you shiver
Where nature and man join together as one
Entwined around debris that time has spun.
Acre upon acre farther than the eye can see
Hidden underground rusted metals flee
Bogged down by mud time stands still
Where trees and brush continue to spill.
A historical town with stories to tell
Of steamboats landing under yesterday’s spell
Where mills and founderies drowned in the past
Mastered by floods the river cast.
In the quiet river valley where eagles soar
The support of volunteers continue to pour
With trucks and skid loaders they renovate the land
Removing the debris once left by man.
The hum of equipment echoes throughout
Giving nature a chance to sprout
Where metal and tires layer each other
Showcasing debris nature and time will smother.
Piece by piece the past is removed
But the power of the river still carves its groove
Where the trains lone whistle echoes each day
And natures growth still guides the way.
Today the river continues to fight back
Claiming its territory with a sedimentary attack
Wave after wave it buries the past
Leaving behind a mark that will last.
Along the eroding banks of the Minnesota River
Lie remnants of the past that will make you shiver
Where nature and man grow together as one
And tales of progress are diligently spun.
As the snow fell like tiny wishes to the barren cold ground all was quiet inside this home.
It was quiet to souls of God who had moved on to their own lives, work, school, priesthood, yet its mementos, laughter, love, tranquil times of a family playing games, loving one another, showing GODS love remained intact within its walls.
Three boys arrived to the Home of their MOM, Dad, turned the key, stepped back inside this HOME of Jesus to share thanksgiving with their Loving MOM once again, as if for a while to cook, lead, serve share laughter, love, with their FATHER in spirit around His Table as if nothing had changed..
Turkey, gravy, cranberries, squash, but yet the daily word of GOD was the centerpiece, seeing their Fierless mother home again surrounded by her grown men.
Jesus…. Food nourished their tummy’s, yet Love brought them together again in thus HOME once stood empty, thus is HIS table of plenty, and thus is the table where my heart aches to be, a small town of love, compassion, is where I found my “Real family 33 years ago… where I said yes to my husband, my confidant, because Jesus brought him something money can’t buy, to see his beloved mother back to her home where her sons lived, are, laughed, board games were played, at HIS table of plenty..
Jesus is ever present in thus home, therefore it is never empty, for even when we sadly drove away, back to our daily grind, tears falling down my face in my soul I knew, His Table remains in their hearts to be reunited in GOD each and every day of their lives..
Oh my Jesus, we see hear feel you in our lives in what we do, say, feel every moment, every day, we are fallen, we are broken, yet you love us as we are, you dry my tears, you bless us with a warm house, food, clothes upon our backs, it’s us who turn our backs on you, when we choose to do our own things, Lord, teach us, show us, speak to us when we are too busy to remember being at HIS table in Wadena, Minnesota. Help us keep those thanksgiving memories alive, you are the turkey, cranberries, in which fed our stomachs, now we need to feed our souls, let us Be your feet, hands, to reach out to those who are without a home, family, to be “HIS TABLE” As we await your beloved SON thus advent season, help us be The Light to someone’s candle. I pray these things in your ever merciful loving name Jesus,
AMEN…
The Jolly Green Giant is a mascot created by Minnesota Valley Canning Company
In 1925, it introduced Jolly Giant Big Tender Peas
In the land of big & strong lived a man called Jolly Green Giant
he was a caveman who slept on a bear skin rug
during the day he worked the land and produced big crop
In the day he wore a tunic made of green leaves,
remnants from the husks of the giant corn he grew.
One day his buddy said to him,
I heard on the other side of the world little people live there
the food needs to be tiny, otherwise they can't eat it
That is how tiny seeds came into existence, from the Giant
of course.
You might be told otherwise but I tell you it was the Jolly Green Giant
who turned every big seed into a pint size one
Trump’s the promoter who doesn’t give an iota thumps Minnesota
Damnation of mongrel nation’s fascination with immigration quota
Each voter another boater sailing through every derailing floater
The ICE age rages on front pages centre stage masked Miami Vice
Tasked & asked by the elite to beat any Asian who likes some spice
Shoot at every protest hoot boot out any non caucasian eating rice
Murderous lice slice & splice US already killed not once but twice
Toted odd bods devoted to guns on roughshod runs promoted as Gods
The resident President nods doesn’t give a sod it’s all about the wads
Against the odds rogue vogue Rogan brogue bogan pods onward plods
Will erase poor prods with taser rods buried in clods by Death Squads
Bogus slogans in a country built to the hilt on colonial guilt a melting pot
This lot forgot that America should could be the ultimate cultural hot spot
Not a blot beast of vultures feast on have nots with the least & society’s rot
Paralysis whole country’s in ICU lies on dialysis then dies from a blood clot
Almighty Evangelical Angels delight at the trite blight as might's always right
Scorn despite being born here the fright at sight of friends stolen in the night
No respite from sworn spite of religious lite.. the colour of ICE is bright white
We know what they will do facts skew impacts broke folks of a different hue slew
Nothing new slate voodoo as focal local few hoodoo pacts imbue hate will spew
Whatever your view be vocal as you never know next in the queue could be you
Trolls with Christian souls still rue losing control.. last roll of the dice the ICE crew