Long Neat Poems
Long Neat Poems. Below are the most popular long Neat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Neat poems by poem length and keyword.
Wee Willie Winkie met up with Tom Sprat
To try to find the crooked cat
They employed the help of three blind mice
But then decided that wasn’t nice
So they left the mice with Ol’ King Cole
Who ate curds and whey out of a bowl
That he took from Miss Muffet when she ran away
From the little spider that ruined her day
They went down Drury Lane where they saw the Red Hen
Being questioned by all the Kings Men
About bells and cockles in neat little rows
And who might have taken the emperors clothes
She quickly blamed the Duke of York
Who supposedly took the knife and fork
Just before the cow jumped over the moon
Which is why the dish ran away with the spoon.
Staring at the album before me,
Memories came floating around me,
Dancing memories of good and old,
Came rushing and flooding my mind.
The front page of the album bears,
A smiling child in his birth suit,
Casting a cute shy look,
He showed his grace and beauty.
I stopped turning the pages,
When I saw a boy in trousers,
He was so naughty at times,
Running around the house all time.
Next page holds the picture of a man,
In a neat and nice wedding suit,
Looking so handsome and hot,
He showed his strength and power.
Then I closed the book of memories,
And looked up at the mirror in front,
There I saw an old gentleman,
Waiting for his time to come.
Yesterday’s I is today’s I,
Today’s I will be tomorrow’s I,
Whatever changes happens around,
I am I and that will not change.
Honorable Mention in STRAND SELECT 3 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
Eyes furtive carry the reflected sheen of aluminium paint that is smooth a chrome flood
On the tin roof of the woodshed seen, with moonlight awash, awaking the dreaming scene.
The light has the tint of coyote’s hair; the furtive fox is rising to maraud with that
Peripheral stare, the balance tail is curving around a body still turning, his eyes red dots
Burn beside the russet and auburn fur, in the night full deep, guard dog in slumbering sleep,
With a stealthy gait the stooping steep steps you negotiate, around the mottled boulders
Grey you move or even! glide your way. The lightest breeze full on your face, with elegant
Tresses like a filigree trace, to soundless halt you poise your form upon the ledge with its
Girth two pace. Your.. goal in sight about to spring.! with visage grim, the huddled lambs
Sense... sudden..fear! They start to bleat hear querulous tones, the move was neat! Yet P D
Drops down on lightening feet, from her crop of rock with a body shock, she lands on him
With her forked tree limb, his neck is pinned, in her sundown boots she stands on his tail at
The very root, with feral fear his eyes a-glare, how now will the tale of the captured fox ensnared
Unfold? Don’t destroy the tail of this fox caught cold! She could train him as her reddy scout
He has a fine nose plus attuned senses that she alone caught out!.. or better still she could
Keep him well penned perhaps in documents contained, or back to herr schäffer send!
I have come out of retirement ha ha! for P D's inner animal contest .
© JOE MAVERICK 2-01-2011
I am sitting at a teacher’s desk.
Not my desk, a borrowed room.
Staring at an orange backpack with
A broken zipper and a cat emblem.
This desk is familiar. There is a torn paper
Plate, a half-eaten sucker, two paper clips, and
Several stacks of ungraded papers dated
A couple of months ago on this desk.
With a two-inch pencil, I dig out a small half
Broken daisy key chain from the rubble.
The edge of one paper has cocoa or pudding
Spilled on it. I am comfortable here. This
Mess is familiar.
Part of my day entails going class to
Class. When the teacher leaves, if I’m
Comfortable I might pry. I’m at a new desk
Now. A recently sanitized desk. I slowly
Pull the top drawer open. There are two
Crisply sharpened pencils. Nothing else.
I slam the drawer shut, uncomfortable
Poking around in this desk, knowing
When the teacher comes back she will
Know if I have switched these pencils
Or even looked at them. It’s that kind
Of room. There is nothing on the
desk top.
Ding-ding-beat,
beating drums, humming,
humming a useless song.
Listen and repeat.
Hoping for epiphanies
while we watch the sun cast glitter
upon Autumn leaves.
Maybe the truth
resides within a song,
or a voice,
a bed made up
or a room made neat,
or the groove
between our toes,
where the sand beneath our feet
collects to make its way to the street,
from the ocean that represents
freedom; how come?
Is it really so grand
that we itch to fight for it?
Ah that itch! Damn
the restlessness!
But here we are going deep
into norms, zombies
chasing green lights
and leaving cookies for Santa.
A dream world where ghosts could be
whatever we haven't yet thought.
We don’t understand what we need,
how our choices, guided
by an urge to breed
are mostly made without us...
We're the aliens,
puppets suspended into space.
Merry, merry,
merry Christmas. I believe
in drug-induced euphoria, I've seen
the god that wasn't. A smell
so familiar. The essence
of things ever filtered,
adulterated by senses
meant just to survive.
We wash ourselves in a fountain
of beautiful reasons to be,
bubbling up from nowhere
in our jungle beneath the stars.
Happy New Year,
wild Summer,
sweet dreams.
Mrs M was a teacher with a clean desk
there was only one pencil in there
it was always sharpened
and a pink eraser that looked brand new
I never saw an ink pen
the top of her desk had a small plaque
with her name starting with Mrs. of course
Even though she was divorced
She never wanted the students to know about it
We all did
She was fastidiously neat and fussy
staying late to sterilize desks and seats
she inadvertently taught me one big lesson
I never wanted to be like her
She was too punctilious; cleanliness was her world.
Students were probably twenty-six on her priority list.
Television's Funster's
Two of my favorites
The Addams Family and the Munster's
The Honeymooner's- with Ralph and Ed
Their still on late at night
Fun to watch- 'fore we go to bed
The Odd Couple- a comedy treat
It is certainly odd
Oscar so messy, Felix so neat
Fred, Barney and Dino the dinosaur
Got to love the Flintstone's
I must have watched them a thousand times...or more
The Little Rascals- all of the gang
Spanky, Buckwheat, Darla...
Oh, and how Alfalfa Sang
When it comes to smartness- Abbott was the worst
Costello was the genius...
He wrote- "Who's on first"
The smartest man to play his part
Obviously, it has to be Don Adams
He was "Maxwell Smart"
The funniest lady of them all
The one that I love
I Love Lucy's- Lucille Ball
Just Stating the obvious Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brother Jacob
4/24/2021
Thoughts scurrying in my head
like underground commuters -
pushing, bustling, focused only
upon themselves with no care for
others - reaching for the last
remaining hang strap or seat.
Words tousling for attention;
some trying to scream the loudest,
while others sulk in silence,
hoping I will notice their drooping
lip - occasionally slamming the
doors of concentration.
Distracting me from mundane tasks
the nagging voices in the background
of my single-mindedness, pulling -
this way and that - lurching from
decision to indecision, from certitude
to the uncertainty of next move.
Manic dance to wavering music -
now here, now there, shilly-shallying
to discordant melody and
rampant orchestration. Confused conductor,
misguiding brass and strings producing
a cacophony of sound - a jarring, jangling din.
STOP! Let me try and restore order!
All sit down, calm down, SHUT UP!
Stand in a neat line, so I can
see straight - consider my options.
Put down your instruments, let them
be soundless. Freeze frame! Motionless.
I stand before the still of the image.
In one corner there is 'do this',
in the other 'do that'.
The mayhem surrounding them frozen.
Grimace fixed for eternity.
While I hover in a place of indecision;
fingers plugging my ears; eyes blinded by perplexity.
On closer scrutiny I see 'alternative',
nestling in the background, quietly waiting
for recognition. I see it now, so clearly.
I pick it up, it conforms to my touch,
We leave together by the back door.
Frozen frame melting as movement returns to
the manic confusion. Alternative and I
in collusion, leaving indecision, and
disharmony to slug it out, tip-toe
to safety, hand in hand....ssh, close the
door quietly, they may not even notice we have gone.
I was awakened in the middle of the night
by a noise coming from inside the house;
Carefully, I slipped out of bed
so as not to wake my spouse.
I quietly snuck down the stairs
to see just what it might be
and was surprised to come face to face
with another one of me!
“Excuse me … who are you?
And just what are you doing here?”
“I knew it!”, the other me shouted,
“I knew in real life I could appear.”
“I am the you in your dreams;
the one you see when you’re asleep.
I figured out how to reverse the process
and through real life’s portal I did creep.”
“Here I can prove it, I’ll show you”
the dream me excitedly said,
“I can do all the neat things that you do
when dreaming inside your head.”
He then floated about the room;
did handstand push-ups with relative ease;
moved objects with his mind;
and, pulled money from his sleeves.
Well, I had to admit that it was true;
I had dreamt all of those things;
I must be dreaming right now, I thought,
this can’t really be happening!
“And I brought someone with me,
the composite perfect girl from your dreams.
Would you like to have sex with her now?”
“No, I can’t – I am married!”, I had to scream.
“You need to go back into my dreams;
You can’t stay here in real life;
And take that Barbie doll with you
Before she is seen by my real wife!”
“No can do”, the dream me said,
And he flew with a jet pack out of the house;
Followed by the oversexed super model
with the very see through blouse.
I don’t know where he could be,
or what he is pretending to have me do,
but if you see me doing really absurd things
try to find a dream portal to push me through.
She was on her way to work
A sixty-minute drive she made every day
It was a rainy day, drizzly, a Monday
Her car flipped in every conceivable way
Her children were at school not knowing
That their lives were being turned upside down
The five-year-old was coloring and laughing.
The six-teen-year-old was with friends, hanging around.
The first responders knew they had a Mom,
From the coloring pages in the back seat,
She was non-responsive, already gone.
They tucked the sheet over her body, nice and neat.
There was a hushed silence for the loss of life.
Some said prayers, some cried tears for the unknown mom,
For somebody’s mother, somebody’s wife,
A young woman who was gone too early in years.
All of us in shock, no one felt exactly like another,
As we watched twenty-four sixteen-year-old girls
Attend a funeral for one of their friend’s mother
And we all saw a small motherless five-year-old boy.
It was one of the saddest funerals I have ever attended.
Everyone seemed to be in shock, consumed by grief.
Taught to all by an ordinary Monday with a bit of rain,
Live every day your best living, because life can be brief.