Long Naming Poems
Long Naming Poems. Below are the most popular long Naming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Naming poems by poem length and keyword.
he is a god
given hap
piness in
my life
before
he could
even speak
english he told
me his very
first German
joke and where
he learned German
is beyond
me and i must
say he is in no
way part of my
gene puddle
deep and or from
the shallow end but
enough said for these
now are his words:
guten morgen
......... freeman
telling him there
is no rhyme for
the word orange
his reply, "door hinge"
what's a blind German?
a na zi
don't make me go
Japanese on you
me asking at dinner
why everyone else had
Japanese chopsticks
but i was eating with
Chinese? He replied:
Loser!!!
him meeting his math
teacher for the first time
wearing a t-shirt that read
"Three Out of Two People
Know Nothing About Math"
finding a sword
in a pawn shop
in Charlotte
in a back
corner
with his
star symbol
and hearing him
yell "This is mine" and
i replying,
"Not until
i pay for it"
another time at dinner
him now having taken
German classes
naming all of the
colors and me
not remember
ing that gelb
was yellow
so i asked,
you know
all these
words
yet
you
can't
use
them
in a sent
ence? which
he replied Ich
bin gelb and so
as we laughed my
wife didn't get it at all
knowing he never missed
a day of school in his life
me, walking downstairs
asking him what was up
him telling me i've got
to catch my bus and
me telling him the
time that he already
had missed it and then
him feverishly asking if i
could drive him to school? but i pre
pared him for the thought that
took the backpack off his back and
then telling him you're going back
to bed though he fought it a bit
he did it and went back
to school the next day
he and i
laughing
when we
found out
the politically
correct name for
his up bringing for the way
he was raised him was a "free
...................................range child"
me waking him
guten Morgen
wie geht es Ihnen
sprechen das Deutsch?
and him emphatically re
sponding Nein
i know
he's not
one of
mine in
the bio
logical
sense
but i
as my
wife said
that her and
i were meant
to meet so that
i would meet her
son
Form:
There was a pause—
not silence,
but a thick, breathing gap
where time forgot its own name.
Seconds stacked like crooked teeth,
biting into a thought
that wouldn’t sit still long enough
to mean anything.
So I spoke—
quick, reckless—
as if words could dress themselves up
and pass for purpose.
But the question lingered,
slick and whispering:
was that real, or just noise wearing a mask?
Am I thinking too much?
No—
I am drowning in the thinking.
Each thought folds into another,
a hall of mirrors arguing with itself,
and suddenly—
I’ve missed something.
A cue.
A door.
A chance that closed without a sound.
Answer?
To what?
The air feels like a test I never studied for,
and somewhere unseen,
a verdict is already written.
Failed.
Again.
The word echoes,
soft at first—
then louder,
then louder—
until it becomes the pulse in my ears.
Will I ever learn,
or am I built to repeat—
a scratched record spinning the same mistake
until the needle wears through reality?
Pause.
There it is again.
That gap—
that holy, awkward silence—
stretching too wide to step across.
Is this meditation,
or mourning?
Did something die here
while I was busy naming it?
Thought breeds action, they said.
But mine hesitate—
hovering like ghosts
afraid to touch the living world.
Something holds me back.
Or saves me.
Or cages me
and calls it protection.
Save me from what?
The red light hums—
beautiful, forbidden,
a small sun begging for skin.
Touch it.
Don’t touch it.
The wall bends—
a face emerges, watching, waiting—
or maybe it’s just the shape
my fear decided to wear today.
Ponder.
Thought.
Action.
The ritual repeats
like a spell I never meant to learn.
Am I still alive,
or just reacting?
Reality hits—sharp, electric—
and for a moment
I feel it—
Accomplishment.
Fragile.
Temporary.
Almost believable.
One foot.
Then another.
Forward, they say.
Forever, it feels.
Another test waits behind the next breath.
Pause.
Thought.
Ponder.
Moment
In his school years
he was good at naming things.
Trees, minerals, the anatomy of rabbits,
butterflies and all things
he saw or imagined he saw.
Later…much later,
He realized he knew nothing of anything
that walked the earth or grew upon it
or flew above it.
Later still, his internal organs
began to name him. Bushes and flowers
named him as he walked by.
Birds called out his various names,
his species and sub-species,
the Latin nomenclature,
the exactness of his being.
He heard all this naming
through an open window in his head
that could not stop reflecting thoughts
back to him.
As most seekers do
he sought the advice of a guru.
“Your mother did not love you
not just the way you wanted her to love you,
and so you had to name
all that she was not.
“What!’ he said,
is that your only answer!
“I could name a thousand more,”
the guru replied,
“but you have already named them,
and so they in turn named you.
Now you are caught,
pinned like a moth to a display board…
go now and un-name yourself!”
He thanked the guru,
hesitated,
then foolishly he asked the wise man -
for his name?
Eccentric Emma, third world charity advocator
Posts smiling foreground photos in mud slewn villages
Personifying inconsistency wafts remote mantra
Mind realm torrents when Followers Like - limitless!
Travels to India restore her heart's connection
Finds enhanced spirit to spruke eco awareness
Flying globally promotes environment's protection
Inspiring group loaded Moped selfie shared with us
Music festival painted face participant
Conjured creation poetry flow in cosy yurt
Auto biography depicts flatulent elephant
Busy vision mushrooms make logic inert
Occasionally posted toddler rememberings
Receive role call of awe drawn replies
Blond curled spark eyed munchkin grin
Retained young outlook, fart poem supplies
Updated page sells self painted guitar
claimed to have been owned by AC/DC
Imported stock sees profit from spirulina
Entrepreneurial shift from childhood ADHD
Nomadic yoga posing 80's born alternate
Emma, changed her surname to Everfree
Her permaculture preach has holes in it
New living quarters each month or three
Sporadic travels to soul's partner, Hawaii
Engaged by quest to marry herself
Masculine inner attributes enlightening
Complexity must be hers uniquely dealt
Keen Facebook fan of spontaneous dance
Rolling to Random Rab, office chair expressive
Arm fling brings shattering of glass desk lamp
Naming failure destiny, stalled artist replenished
Close to home exploits in essays documented
Park brake left off vehicle, ensuing downhill chase
Securing it heroically before damage (almost) resulted
Brings multitudinous comments of (unearned) praise
Originated: 14th June 2020
Subject' s actual legally changed name
rhymes with 'Emma'
Satire Saturday passed without posting,
so I went with Rip the Crap out of Someone Sunday!!
Parody speaks its flattery
Curiousity reeks of jealousy
Many place names in Australia reek of notoriety and oppression
Where massacres took place, involved first nation native population,
men, women and children, demonstrates gross inhumane expression
Many of these place names remain, Bones Knob, Murderers Flat, Skull Creek
are mapped in a university publication
The area where my family resided
may similarly have followed, same infamous identification
My paternal Scottish ancestors, original settlers on our family farm from eighteen sixties,
a time of many massacres
With axes sweat and labour cleared the timber, populated the land with sheep
Were they involved in a massacre? And if so, my father, was it a secret he did keep ?
Existing on the nearest road a signpost declaring Butchers Ridge
only a couple of hundred metres from the old original family home
Allegedly named after a horse called Butcher
far and wide he purportedly did roam
When I was young, the story I was told about this horse
he repeatedly escaped from his owners farm, crossed a bridge
Was always discovered on a sloping piece of land,
hence the area was given the name of Butchers Ridge
A different story of the naming of this area which makes more sense
was revealed by mother after father passed away
A massacre took place giving this area its name, about which my father never spoke
did my father bear inherited shame ? It's history now no one can really say
One full moonlit night, around the time of one unable to sleep
decided to arise, some teenage pleasure I would seek
Go fishing catch a big bag of speckled brown trout
from the stream there known as Butchers Creek
Halfway between the house and my intended destination
an eerie whooshing sound right above my head
Look up !! Nothing visible on this very still clear night
Very quickly reverse my fishing decision !!! Hastily run back to the safety of my bed !!!
I have spoken to several first nation dreamtime elders about this weird eerie sound
i experienced on that distant fishing full moonlit night
They say its first nation native spirits venting anger
thus responsible for my fear. I think they may be right
after the umpteenth
day of rest god
messed up not
paying mind
to Adam's
naming
game
on that same exact
day of days was
created not one
but two birds
one doomed
and to be
used
in meaning not so
worthy absurdly
to become
extinct but
not from
his now
known
name but from dogs
pigs and people
not stupidity as
we all take from
history saying
the name
dodo
but the other bird that
on that day of days
later in the evening
came out so
contrary
even
more
then a canary swearing
it could speak because
this bird's tweet so
to speak from out
its beak was
not a
dog
but the mew of certainly
a positively confused
bird trying to contact
even attract his
foe a cat
so that
Adam
without a gasp or question
never asked but simply
named this bird
tip your
black
cap
a
god
never
made a
dogbird
stay silent
and stay still
you dodo Catbird
Form:
We’ve been dog sitting for two weeks now…it’s been amazing I might add
but it has also stirred up memories of the dog that we once had.
He was a Golden Retriever, his name was Whitman
He was as gentle as can be
We spent a good twelve years together
(I wish we had 83).
Why did you name him Whitman, people would ask?
Was it because you loved Walt Whitman’s poetry?
If only…we would answer…
he was named after a bakery.
If you think naming Whitman after a bakery was crazy…allow me to elaborate…
Whitman’s made the best better cream donuts…our family ever ate!
An amazing feature of memories is how they seem to fly in on their own wings.
They pop into our heads when we least expect them…triggered by the simplest things.
Taking Bella and Matti for a walk…watching them unwind
Throwing a ball for them to retrieve…and Whitman come’s to mind.
Sitting with Bella on the couch…before she goes to bed
thinking that’s exactly the same spot Whitman used to lay his head…
I guess it is inevitable…and certainly no reason to be dismayed
that as we make new memories…we’re reminded of old ones we have made.
It gives us a chance to think back…to be thankful…to remember with a smile
a person, or in this case a dog, who was in our life a while…
Whitman’s bakery and Whitman are long gone now but we still remember their mystique
for a dog to be named after a donut…he must have been unique!
So as we sit with these two wonderful dogs…and try to get them to behave us….
It’s nice to remember our Whitman…and all the memories he gave us.
I sing the ballad of Jeffrey Epstein
With his island of underage dames
He had connections, a kind of go-between
If hell exists, he's in the flames.
Lots of folks knew of his appetites
But he had connections, he had clout
Now all sorts of bigwigs are in the gun sights
If elected, we should kick them out.
Of course we have to be careful in the naming
Some people just overlooked sins, to get a connection
He was a low life liar too, not above framing
But its sickening to look at the contacts collection.
There's a lesson here, to stay away
From any man whose got demons to hide
Black and white, avoid shades of gray
Or he'll take you for that devil ride.
From the dead, his hand reaches, naming names.
Dragging people down, dragging them below
Lives move on, but their honor stained
Some truths, I'd rather not know.
Riding to work in the car I saw this certain license plate
Naming a certain rock star in how all this played into fate
I wouldn't give such praise for it's God who gets the Glory
Leading me along in my days even in this tiny little story
Perhaps in a minute or so I changed to another station
With two familiar words I know with the Bon Jovi nation
"My Life" is what the words were and that was the end
To the Lord I defer listening to messages He does send
This plate I've never seen before followed by that phrase
How many know what I mean in each and all of our days
You just think a thought, how often the Lord will respond
All these things I was taught has created my greatest bond
So the plate was Jovi-4evr as I just past that car right by
Sure it was pretty clever but the premise of it was all a lie
The Lord making it clear to me in His consistent presence
To hear such as I see, as it is always His Love I can sense
Why bother naming babies in the foreign land
Sarin gas is not a Happy Birthday gift or plan
No way to play, no party list to live or die by
Syria is no kind of place for children's games
No Happy Birthday cakes but many planes
Full of surprises with dire consequences
Falling from the sky with great precision
Not with balloons but barrel bombs it rains
Down comes the pain for babies endings
Chlorine gas to bleach the level playing field
Containers full of dynamite and nails
Shrapnel is no toy for children in a war
Metal fragments make them just as dead
As when the sarin fell on them
They sortakinda have the same effect
Why have a name when getting outta bed
Why bother naming babies in the foreign land
Why bother being born to die again
That sortakinda does not matter what you said
When dead is dead