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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.