Long Nimbly Poems

Long Nimbly Poems. Below are the most popular long Nimbly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nimbly poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Wings

As born again blossoms bloom,
who am I to wilt upon the dawn of spring,
as I can see morning robins gather
to bless me with the melodies they sing.

Their once melancholic lullaby,
disappears with every drop of rain,
in cloudless, bright blues skies,
they have sang away winter's pain.

I watch them collect fallen twigs,
nimbly, creating their new nests,
rebuilding something that was once broken,
fighting valiantly against nature's tests.

They're aware that predators lurk,
so when sunset sinks at silent twilight,
I wonder where do they seek shelter,
so they don't become prey of the night.

With philosopher eyes the mind ponders
what if birds were born without both wings.
How would they fly to freedom when trapped?
Would we still hear the melodies a robin sings?

When bewildered in the wilderness,
some slither softly, lost in melancholic motions,
submerging slowly in shallow streams,
unable to control their erratic emotions.

We are blessed with spiritual wings,
but some prefer to remain within their cocoon.
Unable to learn from the homecoming of birds,
their authentic-self, struggles to hum in tune.

In the migration of misunderstood minds,
we can become lost among unknown silhouettes,
like dead petals ignored by butterflies,
our inflictions turn us into marionettes. 

Darkness will always consume our horizons,
so as I arrive upon illuminations ledge,
I revel in the belief my spirit will fly
if my foundations crumble at the edge.
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Shooting Sixty Four Rapids In the Time Stream

Shooting sixty four rapids in the time stream

Powder milk biscuits helped yours truly, 
a Norwegian farmer wannabe feel bold
enough to weather inclement
steady rain which swirled, pooled,
and eddied around rolled
up pant legs skinny ankles, which
immediately felt cold,
though frigid sensation I extolled 
before undertow willingly

steadily, and nimbly pulled this former
ace swimmer into watery fold
quelling, relinquishing, and taking
my hard won mettle of gold
earned early in primetime, now
at last...preemptive quiescent salvation
sluiced into unbarred
Davy Jones's locker hold
meeting his maker 

yours truly made in fleshy mold
buffer dis future papa gets tubby old
all me eager life possessions
long since donated and/or sold,
thus the final countdown
found yours truly submerged
for no rhyme, nor reason told
as I blissfully headed into the webbed
wide woebegone watery wold.

Whiling away the hours 
quintessentially lollygagging 
within pristine environs of Bangalore
bushwhacking an arduous chore
preservation, no longer will eyes explore
of course said dreamy forevermore
glorious hoary idyll merely
knowingly, and imaginatively 
buzzfeeds capital one desire i.e. alone 
in the wilderness penchant – furthermore,

escape madding crowd 
thick with village people galore
offload mein kampf bon jure
yaws true well lee washed away
in briny deep pull lore
“FAKE," & figuratively, hypothetically,
ably tipped, gypped, 
and drowned ma poor
wet tin his every pore,
this March 21st, 2023

(ewe could Hermes faintly
bleating after mighty roar)
of ocean riptide off back
body electric far from shore,
soaking wet tha top n bot hum
'o me soggy mossy noggin,
wharf fanta seas 
waterlogged optima gills, this papa
caught in reverie as stevedore
Immune to the deafening thunder of Thor.
Form: Rhyme

Break of Day Spawns Thwarted Revanchist Rebellion Among Biosphere

The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,
the approach of dawn's early light
illuminated terrestrial space
which nebulous solar city flanges
revisited since time millennial
hubbub of human race
nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift

as planet Earth axis place
alternated in accordance with
inexplicable universal teenage
mutant Ninja turtles joint pact
with power rangers assumption
sans quotidian playstation remotely
controlled by aliens upon
oblate spheroid figurative stage
set whence commencement nudged
village people foment quiet riot rage
and rant against

uncontrollable catastrophic frenzy,
when cosmic creator
rehearses another page
from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues
of yellow and osage
nonetheless, no mortal adept to predict
(only within plus and/or minus
some marginal variance of error).

oft times punishing atmospheric phenomena
incarcerated, pistol whipped
(if anther incorrect),
whiplash unleashed, oppressed, imposed
challenging condition testing ground
flora and fauna could thrive,
whereat most hardy
plants and animals didst abound
linkedin upon terra firmae
murmur of orchestrated
organisms devising fitting
evolutionary survival traits

plentiful glory vis a vis L'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required
sprinting thru uber vanguard,
where zero sum game pitted
disadvantaged Feng shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against itching attired egghead,
kickstarting netzero beastie boys
indeed emulating hotmail prodigies
holding greensward ground.

scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature
going full throttle with pings
across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved,
mis tweeted seeds of life, and white lily,
within soil lent green grubby business
whereby herb and woody stemmed
recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe rooter bakers

gave Gaia a run for her money
to buy Buffalo wings
chasing miscreants nimbly
outwitting, out-rigging
outsmarting nettlesome stings,
and sage protuberant fungi,
released messengers where rise home
spore ports left nada mushroom,
though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord.
Form: Rhyme

Zealous Solemn Namaste Kowtowing Loo

aside from being worn 
     during mortal kombat firmly braced
full body armor suited up 
     with proctologists safely positioned
 
     most definitely
     entire body electric en cased
ready as ever to confront 
     another flatulence emitting *******
 
     solidly debased
 strategically situated, 
     when beginning examination 
     sterile sighted rectal 
     probe positioned nimbly, 

     kept intact, finessed 
     fixedly, exactly, deftly crosshairs 
     with trace excrement carefully erased
     scrutinizing pulsating rectum sphincter muscle 
     observing anus function 

     a posteriori mesne faced
with quotidian regular onslaught 
     moving bowels graced
significant muscled tissued 

     sphincter requisitely 
     performing perfectly lining interlaced 
without any unusually turgid, 
     significantly ragged, or quirkily 
     plugged orifice 
     preventing human waste,

thus if hazardous condition ensued necessitating 
     immediate surgery without haste
perhaps even ass sass mint 
     by a gastroenterologist
 
     if patient suffers from 
     irritable bowel syndrome  
      where fore (Juliet) defecation sanitized      
scrutinizing expulsion of human waste,

or if defecation thick as petrified paste
which warrants squeezing tight 
     begetting a hemorrhoid  
     as son young (gush) moon like cheeks 
     put thru severe weathering pace.

Battle of the Seasons

From the north he came nimbly in the night
	Softly silently bombing blanketing buds

Saturating each single stem
	Snowy sneak attack barraging bombarding bark

Wracking white war-like wonder
	With relentless wrath and rage

Cardinal calling watching in wonder
	Bright crimson claret buried between alabaster boughs

Chipmunk and squirrel shell-shocked
	By snowy shrapnel scamper to shelter

Relentless yet irrelevant retreating rush
	Futile effort from frosty frothy forces

Spring stands inescapable
	Flowers and flakes conflicted

Spring snowflake and spirea stand strong
	Bravely bearing banners high

As if to say, try as you may
	Your day has passed ‘tis spring at last

Ol’ man winter wanes wails and warns 
	I shall seize the season someday soon …




Inspired by the 5”- 6” snowfall we have on March 26, 2011
after we had 80 degree weather last week.


Wasted Wine

Tonight I lay in bed in dread 
of returning in the morning 
to the beige building on that dead end street 
that floods like the Nile after a rain
potholes in the parking lot like a lunar landscape
to my tiny office the last on the left in the back 
its one window facing a barren farmer’s field
where I’ll listen to the click-clack of the keyboard
as my fingers fly nimbly over it
I must have been meant for so much more than this 
mind numbing monotony 
of minimum wage pay though I have a college degree
to type marriage licenses and divorce decrees
tax returns submitted by the wealthy 
that only serve as stark reminders of forty years of failure 
to make the world take notice of me
as if I were cursed from the cradle 
to be covered with a cloak of invisibility
forever to remain a nobody that no one can hear or see
as all the magic in my mind withers on the vine
wasted before it could be made into wine

When Life Was Really Child's Play

Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen

When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics

Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy

We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings

We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!

Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.

There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains

Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played

And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.

We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze

But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.

Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.

Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!

And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
Form: Couplet

Catch the Cat

Once upon a time,
Long long ago there was a girl so beautiful
That all the boys wanted to marry her desperately.
She had no interest in being married, she did not want to be trapped, she wanted to be free and happy.
Everyday, all the boys of her town would gather outside her house, making a ruckus, begging her to marry them. 
Each day she would chase them away, banging pots and pans.
They always came back though.
Finally, the girl was desperate.
She told the crowd of boys that she would marry the one who could give her the bell that hung on  her cat's neck.
So off the boys went, they ran through the town in a mad pack, chasing after the small black cat, but they could never catch her. The cat was just too smart and quick.
After a while, the boys gave up trying to catch the cat, although they would still swipe at her as she passed by them. She would hop nimbly out of the way, and some of the boys would even say they could hear her laugh.
Meanwhile, every morning the cat would visit the baker's daughter, she would always give the cat some fresh bread and milk, and a scratch behind the ears. The cat would pur, and rub against her. 
One day the cat never came, concerned, the baker's daughter set off to look for her.
Finally, she heard a noise coming from a tall tree,
She looked up to see the cat, her bell was stuck on a tree branch, and despite her struggles, she could not get free.
Quickly, the baker’s daughter climbed up the tree, and removed the bell from the cat’s neck. 
The moment she did, the cat leaped from the tree, changing mid air into a beautiful girl who landed nimbly on her feet.
The baker's daughter stared at her in shock.
The girl smiled a wide grin, she said,
“You have taken the bell off the cat, I am yours and you are mine, not because you have caught me, but because I have given myself to you willingly and happily.”
And happy they were. 
The End.
© The Ant  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Prose

Waiting For Good Dough

No matter yours truly
(potential rising star -
analogous to ascending yeast)
bred for easy street
life of po' witless
mendicant nimbly,

pointlessly, and rhythmically
shuffles (think tramp)
along his poetic little feet
garden variety beastie boy
aimlessly, fortuitously, halfheartedly,
and mindlessly follows

one after another backstreet
revisiting, reminiscing, and relegating
lofty mollycoddled station bittersweet
birthright fame and fortune
teasingly did greet

finding twenty first century hobo
shack hulled with poverty
(think dirt poor),
I shoe cannot defeat,
which accursed fate socked yours truly,

where one after another failure did beat
once unassailable esprit de corps
near ready and willing to meet
exalted, fabled, gilded... seat
but woeful naiveté tricked with deceit

mine childlike innocence dripping effete
characteristics easily swindled for Pete
sakes since... young manhood, now wizened
old looking schnorrer marveling,
imagining, envisioning aggregating riches

coaxing, forming, hatching...
liaisons particularly romantically discrete
lavishing untold money during heat
of passion oblivious,
how ingénues with sweet
enticingly, ineluctably, luridly, beckoned

eventually no exit and other ploys
playfully blindsiding me with
one after another promiscuous tweet
barricades no exit wrought
with razor wire and concrete.

Premium Member Ecology, Humanity, Me, and Tea

Ecology, Humanity, Me, & Tea


A fox at the altar.
Bee nests to seek before light.
A rabbit where the fox’d trot.
(Foxes have only ever trot. Perhaps fast, or nimbly, or slow - they do not walk.
They do not run.)

Morning flies...
And the sun is slow to rise.
The clouds are only a smidge more awake than I.
Sleep-rolling by.

A duck flies, no tumbles, no whazzles past.
No more gainly than when waddling on sod.
Morning hawks take to the barest of first updrafts;
rising like mists on the lake where dragonflys slowly
flex their diaphanous gemstone wings.  The ones who 
keep as captor the rainbows from the last day’s thunderstorm.

A frog {Maybe toad.  [Probably frog.]} somewhere in the pottery.
Awaiting the repottery of potted plants, themselves awaiting the
heat of day and breeze’s gift of sway.  Hiding in the repository of pottery;
perhaps in rainwater held in temporary reservoir - a feast for frog, a womb
for gnats...this believing squeak-croaking, near-whistling frog calls out in love -
or something very much like it.  From the dark.  Not near at all to kindred souls.
At even the odd hours I hear it call.  Her call?  His call?  The call we all...make.
Know.
Offer.
Await.

The barn cat, asleep, misses it all.
And misses none of it.

Soon he sidles up.
In need of scritches and time with.
The tea cools, the leaves unfurl.
The tannins dye.
The world wakes.

The lupine at the altar try their hand at purple.
No goose today.
The sibling blue pines put one in minds...
of poetry.  And work awaiting.

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