Long Ninety one Poems
Long Ninety one Poems. Below are the most popular long Ninety one by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ninety one poems by poem length and keyword.
heptastitch (2,4,6,8,6,4,2)
boat bridge
odd corridor
the Ponte di Rialto
first way to span the Grand Canal
eleven eighty-one (1181)
a bunch of boats
crosswise
wood bridge
better by far
the Ponte di Rialto
unique for shops built thereupon
twelve hundred fifty-five (1255)
but wood is weak
collapse
stone bridge
most durable
the Ponte di Rialto
unchanged in four hundred years plus
since fifteen ninety-one (1591)
marble marvel
inspired
foot bridge
still used today (2021)
the Ponte di Rialto
one of three hundred ninety spans
which link the islands of
veritable
Venice
May 28, 2021
contest: Heptastitch
sponsor: William Kekaula
Since the 19th century, she stands looking out to sea
A guardian of the sailor, a survivor of tragedy
The Captain lost his pregnant wife and son and five members of his crew
Now she waits just like her sister when a sailor's return is overdue
Her sister stands in Moss since nineteen sixty two
They stand and face each other across the ocean blue
The Dictator, a Norwegian vessel, aground she did run
Nine people died off the shore in eighteen ninety one
The Captain returned to Norway when his healing was done
In Elmwood cemetery he sadly left his wife and son
On thirty seventh street in Virginia Beach the Norwegian Lady Stands
A monument to all who sail and walk on foreign sands
Sophie, our black cocker spaniel can be a mean old broad.
She is thirteen, so that is ninety-one in dog years.
We were wondering how she would “do with the new puppy”.
My husband wanted to wait until she was gone to get a new baby.
Are you kidding me? That could be six or seven years, I told him.
I am not waiting six or seven years!
His parents had cockers that lived to be eighteen and nineteen.
In dog years that made their ages 126 and 133.
This new baby Beau was quiet, did not make a sound in the car.
We were on the road two hours; he did not make one single peep.
He was fine until Sophie gave him a warning snarl.
That puppy answered her with a bark that came from the bowels of hell.
Sophie turned tail and ran
We have never seen this before.
This is when I knew things were going to be okay.
Nobody could take us on a vicarious journey
like the late science fiction writer Ray Bradbury.
He would place his readers into another time and space.
Words flowed onto the pages with style and grace.
Ray would send us on voyages to the stars.
Readers could walk on the sands of Mars.
We could see the future through a man’s tattoos.
There were numerous scenarios for us to choose.
Children were kept company by a robot grandmother.
That was a short story like no other.
Ray took us to a place where books were banned.
We would often wind up in a fascinating land.
Few have accomplished what Ray has done.
He left the living at the age of ninety-one.
His literary works will always be here to read.
Just open a book and see where it will lead.
RIP June 6, 2012
Fortunately, this family friendly function,
finds me festive and not feisty in my fifties.
Forgive me if I am not the first
and you may have figured out,
that the fact-finding letter "F"
is my favorite letter
of the alphabet.
There are three thousand words
that start with the letter "F"
to which one hundred and ninety-one
are four letter words.
And like most of us,
coming from a foul mouth family,
I'm pretty sure we used
every one of them.
Now this is not football,
you must be full of fiber and feces
if you think I'm going to fumble.
Now! When it comes to women.
My fantastic fantasies and fascination
of the fine figures of the female form.
My favorite fun-loving fiancée
who I met at a Fountain?
was the final finish of a fetish.
Where I use to
find'em fix'em and forget'em.
It’s ninety one but feels like more,
Like I opened up the Devil’s front door.
He said “Come on in!” with a fire breath grin
Now I’m sweatin' places I ain’t ever been.
The sidewalk’s cookin’ eggs on the sly,
Birds stopped chirpin', too hot to fly.
Even my dog gave me that judgmental look,
Like, “Take me out again and you’re getting cooked.”
Humidity’s clingy like a bad first date,
Stickin’ to me like it’s true soulmate.
My shirt’s now soup, my socks are stew,
And I swear my flip flops just melted through.
AC’s gaspin’, fan’s wheezin’ low
I bribed ‘em both just to halfway blow.
My iced tea’s warm, my will is weak,
I’ve been napping in the fridge since Tuesday this week.
So if you see me walking slow and fried,
Just know it’s the heat I ain’t yet died.
But tell my kin if I do collapse:
Bury me somewhere with cold sweet snacks.
Nineteen ninety-one, just four years in,
love's first blossoms wilting, with little peace,
and, straining underneath its fragile skin
resentment, like hot magma, sought release.
A revelation reared its ugly head,
something I never knew from years before,
the cracks grew wider, from them anger bled
erupting skyward from it's ugly sore.
Like through the ceasefire in some no-man's land,
where hopeful birdsong soothes amidst the calm
she introduced herself and shook my hand
a warm 'hello', a smile, and I was charmed.
'Love at first sight' I thought was a cliché,
a fairytale for those more heart than brain,
but must be real, for now I felt that way,
infatuated, giddy, free of pain.
In no time we were lovers, things moved fast
from handshakes to bedmates, blink of an eye,
it all seemed meant to be and built to last
as those few breathless days passed quickly by.
But, sadly, things did not turn out that way,
responsibilities dogged every move
This love affair was but a holiday
and doomed to fail, thus circumstances proved.
Unravelled years ago, I hold a thread,
one end of it still tugs within my heart
reminding me of something not quite dead
that stops us both from being far apart.
But one thought often crosses through my mind
is that she doesn't hold the other end,
a truth I hope that I shall never find
which means this broken heart will never mend.
For contest 'An incomplete love story', sponsor Faraz Ajmal
11th July 2018
A Monday morning, nineteen ninety-one
sat at my desk within I.T support
the first working minute had not yet gone
the phone rang- 'normal day' or so I thought.
The call was from a damsel in distress
her voice was unfamiliar to me
I grabbed my tools and set off nonetheless
in ignorance of how things hence would be.
A fresh faced blonde rose from her desk and smiled
her voice danced like the daisies in the breeze
one gentle laugh and I was left beguiled
and though we became friends, no chance I seized.
Do I regret the choices I have made?
Oh precious memory, why must you fade?
For contest 'Limerence', sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
The life of my father,
The life he created,
The life he has lived,
The kindness he gave us.
It is an extraordinary life.
At the age of ninety-one,
He can say he went to Siberia
And swam in the Atlantic.
He lived through wars.
He was not called a hero,
But he was a hero to us,
Always with a kind heart.
His smile, his love,
His generous heart,
He led a company
And gave it his all.
He had no shoes at the age of five.
He knew hunger at the age of ten.
He was a scholar by eighteen,
A father,
A leader.
Now he does not remember much,
But he remembers how to love.
He reminds us to be kind.
He remembers to care.
The unsupervised stop sign travels all over town
With no one there to watch him, he made departure from the ground.
Off he went o’er yonder, and up and down the city street
He’d stop in front of speeding cars, and then rinse and repeat,
It must be such a shock to to see a sign when before was none
The action of foot slammed on break caused pile ups on ninety one.
Despite obvious danger, his game brought him so much joy,
That stop sign played with cars as if they were naught but his toys.
The police tried to stop him, fire fighters too,
But what department is prepared to stop a stop sign barreling through?
He spent the day causing chaos, and carried on all through the night
Until each and every driver was frightened for their life.
By morning he grew tired of the game he’d been engrossed,
So the unsupervised stop sign returned home to his post.