Long Nonchalantly Poems
Long Nonchalantly Poems. Below are the most popular long Nonchalantly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nonchalantly poems by poem length and keyword.
Halloween
Haunting monsters roam on an October Halloween spooky night
As munchkin stroll dress in their costumes that fright
Large carved pumpkins laugh as inside candles flicker bright
Lifeless lackadaisical zombies walk the street on sight, ghost in white
Occasional Owl hoot as monsters howl in the darkness plight
Witches on broomstick, Warlocks wrapped in black capes, before day light
Enchanting the moon. Spiders that bite, weaving sticky webs that stick-tight
Eerie gravestones and casket lids that open yelling "Boooo…."at midnight
Night ebbs with jumpin sounds of trick-or treat, ghost, goblins dance in delight
~
Naughty black feline stepping its paws nonchalantly teasing the dog
~
Nonplussed decrepit two- story haunted house
Idle and dank surrounded by broken down fencing and gnarl skeletal tree boughs
Grave “No TRESPASSING” sign forbidding entry for even a mouse
Hangs warding off the unwanted and those that had doubts
Tenebrous gloom brought brooding shadows around the house
10/13/2016
Children Story
I saw several plastic bags caught
upon driftwood, swaying atop the ocean.
A beer can or five lay scattered nearby
soon to be taken and kept by the tide.
I placed all trash in the bag I gripped,
holding other cans, plastics, bags for chips.
I could not fathom who would do this
and stilled my sad-mad trembling lips.
We cannot seem to fight corporate greed,
but must people also cause land to bleed?
Littering breaks my entire heart
within the spiritual eternal part.
There resides my unique “I am”;
a force that radiates a breaking spark,
that hurts and longs to understand.
What lays the ways of any living man
who nonchalantly murders earth-land?
All tangibles the careless now own
came from something nature grown.
I know this is a truth widely known.
The earth has a true heartbeat –
a pulse littering may yet defeat.
The oceans, forests and even the streets,
see me picking up trash in a sad repeat.
Despite my raw anger, I often weep.
I know God lovingly created planet art
because when I move the ‘h’ in earth
it conveys we reside in His very heart.
Do not, I pray and besiege this day,
kill His artistry with garbage this way.
Beneath the dusty streets where children play
the twilit baneful torture tunnels lay
where many innocents are laid to rot
among them, some still breathe but countless not.
Among the dusty streets, the children act
their role to maximize a shock impact
on our naive, jaundiced media types
greedily turning up to earn their stripes.
Amidst the dusty streets, the children shield
the homes where missile launchers are concealed;
not one child wished to execute this role;
expect to pay the devastating toll.
In dusty streets, now innocence is lost
and children’s lives are nonchalantly tossed,
by tribes with little desire to debate,
upon the altar of ancestral hate.
--The Howling Wind and a Camel’s Hump--
Considering that all life’s matters are not special of but ordinary things,
surviving is just another perspective on life. I unloaded the weight of life nonchalantly, on the roadside.
The load I carried with wobbling legs, as if it’s my destiny,
without grumbling; though it’s back-breaking because life
is a desert, the load looks unattractive and burdensome like
a hump of a camel, it was the vital element to sustain my life.
In the desert,
when a camel crosses leaving trails in the sand hills
you hear the unpleasant, even fearful, sigh of a vindictive
spirit pulling their heads out of the sand; and a deep sigh echoes
in the very end, of a bottomless cave and returns with a dreadful howl
the air is incapable of handling the scorching sun it rises and turns into
a turbulent wind become insane
the passing wind, really is not moving,
a giant goes with wide stride leaving the sound of
his vigorous heart beat. Though he is, in fact, not a living body
when the full harsh sound of brutally tortured spirits
pile up from the underworld layer after layers of groans
the camel lays down its yolk and kneels to pray, with the setting sun,
the stars fall on the sands to soothe the wandering-moaning spirits
in the desert,
when the sand cools off, rather than a burden of life,
it becomes a wall of oblivion and puts every soul in it, to sleep;
in such desert,
when absolute tranquility casts her anchor,
even hearts stop to beat; the dream of the camel flees from
the world of suffering and goes drifting on the water, free from
all thoughts and ideas.
I comfortably position
derriere with pride
(all cheekiness ass side)
lightly seat dated, inside
ideally with bifocals removed,
recalling "Plato's allegory of the caves,"
where everything espied
a blur, more so (from mine
severe myopia) conjures
dark shadows flickr ring across,
the edge of night - stride
rite across dreamy field of vision,
no matter (despite)
superfluous squinting briefly applied
across webbed whirled wide
universe till ocular orbs
instagram, snapchat, and
shutterfly, lids slowly slide
shut, whence immediately
dark doth light divide
consummate relaxed mindset
frame imbued, and imbibed,
where gentle existential
awareness dost glide
ever so nonchalantly,
my consciousness of self I abide
faintly effortlessly breathing n'er decide
ding nor discriminating spontaneous
notions nothing intruding denied,
flitting to and fro, hither and yon
of each inhalation and exhalation,
then, aye approximate,
I imagine an analog clock
some few minutes elapse,
when minute hand silently sweeps,
re: completing micro orbitz ride
ding tiny armature nsync as thought
processes soundlessly, mindlessly,
and independently elide
into mild trance send dint altered state
akin subtle difference,
where engaged bachelorette
becomes a bartered, bettered,
and buttered bride
likewise with meditation disembodied self
ascends cerebral cortex
figuratively lapping - sea ming lee
asper gentle timeless tide
buoyed by bobbing
mantra setting placidity
wordlessly teasing, massaging, and
evoking enchanting ecstasy
motioned via film meant invisible guide.
It was the Eve before Christmas, every tree covered in snow,
Bonnie was walking Plato her poodle, conscious to keep to the road,
As she nonchalantly walked, she thought of Derrick her Danish beau,
He was the one that she wished to be by her side as they grew old.
.
Imagine if he proposed tonight, she thought as she strolled,
He is the moon and the stars if she should become
Lost in the dark, and her warmth if she shivered when she was cold,
Her compass in life. Although she wore gloves her hands felt numb.
Bonnie quickened her pace back, her dad said in a low tone, a guest has arrived,
Her adrenaline pumped and her palpitations went into over-drive.
She rushed upstairs, straight into the arms of her love, Derrick she cried,
He sat her down on the bed, suddenly she was full of life.
Derrick presented Bonnie with an open box, her adrenaline went crazy again,
Will you marry me he asked, yes yes, you are the love of my life Derrick,
Bonnie rushed downstairs to tell her parents, and tried to somehow regain
Her composure. Congratulations were said and accepted; Bonnie’s joy was magnetic.
They went to a popular pub in the village, Bonnie flashing her ring,
She walked over to the juke box sensually, with poise, which accentuated
Her sensuous figure, and a tantalizing cleavage, her raven black shimmering
Hair, she swept off her face and seductively Derrick she beckoned.
The engaged to be married couple swayed to the music as if they were one,
Derrick looked at his watch. It’s late , so they left the pub somewhat tipsy,
Feather like snow fell on their faces sobering them up, tonight was fun,
They agreed and exhausted, fell into each other’s arms so delightfully.
Their heightened passionate and undulating love continued till dawn arrived
And so they awoke to a fairy-tale Christmas Morn, within soaked satin sheets,
Breakfasts aromas wafted upstairs, bacon, coffee, freshly baked bread, they grabbed
Their carefully selected gifts, and donned their gowns, there were even chocolate treats.
Wow exclaimed Derrick, Happy Christmas everyone
It stood on the other side of the wall rooted firmly
for the white bougainvillea tree did not belong to me
Wondered why it always branched this side
paving my walkway with blooms of white
While I patiently waited for my rose bush to flower
it nonchalantly continued its year-long showers
Unbothered unfettered by the gardener’s reaper, it grew
in every direction, old branches shooting off the new
Assiduously each day I tried to broom them away
but they, like a mother’s kisses were always there
Falling softly like advices from an old friend
they were fragile, paper-white, yet persistent
With gentle breeze they glide to me be it summer rain or spring
Innumerable, countless like God’s many blessings.
Let me count the names
a bond here, a bond there
it sounds so cavalier
tossed around nonchalantly, just people I once knew
Pause while I reflect on a memory or two
Their faces appear, all of my kin
flickering in my mind, roping me in
A smile is seen, its beauty comes back to me
With eyes closed, it's true, I can see
I dig deeper, take a deep breath
They're never lost to me, not even in death
Voices now surround me, the barrier now broke
Their laughter echoes, words they've spoke
Past conversations brought back to life
The comfort it brings eases the pain and strife
Inhale, exhale again and again
I'm drawing them closer, letting them in
The scent of peonies wafts right by my nose
Circles around me just as the wind blows
Just like that I'm transported home
A marvelous reminder, I'm never alone
Hold still, hold tight, don't let them go
I'm imagining a hug, it just goes to show
Their embrace will always be longed for
Time escaped us and I'll always wish for more
Six relatives have lived, six relatives have died
Let it all out, I opened my eyes and sighed
Their memories stay strong, alive and well
Their legacies live on, in my heart they dwell
Pause while I reflect on a memory or two
This is the impact of these people I once knew
My love for them, never cavalier
a bond shared, a bond I wear
Let me count the names
Rats! Mine Poetic Submissions Once Again Deemed Floccinaucinihilipilification
/?fläks??nôs??ni?hil??pil?fi'kaSH?n/
(floc·ci·nau·ci·ni·hil·i·pil·i·fi·ca·tion)
Countless declined submissions of mine,
tipping scales massive
Earth Atlas shrugged,
(he nonchalantly shouldered
1.317 × 10^25 lbs)
sends storied ambition plummeting
millstone yoked neck analogous
to bajillion pound weight
thus yours truly
doth modify expectations
absolute zero prospect
I will posthumously
attain poet laureate status
within human league,
asper dignified luminaries
comprising cognoscenti pantheon
posthumously storied authors
renown unto posterity,
yet ever since disembarking...
fashioning, finagling, forging
building blocks of English Language
humble mission courtesy this wordsmith
never sunk entrenched ambitions
into virtual sea constituting briny deep
wide whirling webbed waters
intent to reel eyes,
neither fame nor fortune,
but wield unique signature
this landlubber mentally laboring
to heft cumbersome words
chiseling, fitting (jigsaw puzzle pieces)
interlocking snuggly, asper
analogous mortise and tenon,
or (sometimes forcefully jamming)
multisyllabic deeply oceanographic
flowingly, trending intrinsically quixotic
harmonically sympathetic...
to affect pacific effect,
nonetheless attempt to launch,
albeit figuratively shipshape anchored
literary endeavor metrically
bobbing (with square pants) along
gently down stream of consciousness
side stepping excessively
indignant, flagrant, arrogant...
undertones, yet present
political perturbations pain
this doubting Thomas unitarian,
whose outlook good n plenti grim,
especially insatiable thirst
about global/world events
can barely be slaked!
It’s a beautiful day, like a hole in perpetual winter. We rode bikes around campus - everyone was out. When it’s cold I just go place to place but today reminded me that outdoors can be fun. Of course, it’s supposed to snow tomorrow night - just a few snow atoms, I think.
Lisa was laying on her back in the grass reading. She rolled over and smoothed the book flat. In the fleeting, golden moment between dusk and evening, the edges of Lisa’s gold hair looked almost green. I’m right there next to her - we’re sharing a towel-like blanket.
She takes up a pen and writes something in the margins - leaving stray thoughts like breadcrumbs. Then trades the pen for a highlighter and colors several phrases. We’re poking around the edges of our chemistry midterm. Her face has tightened in concentration. I could imagine her wearing a similar expression while taking the test.
Later, we’ll combine our little scribbles (her handwriting is awful) and highlights, class notes and charts into something collaborative and shareable. She passes me a note, like a riddle, which I read and hand back, annoyed. “That question doesn’t interest me.” I say nonchalantly.
“You mean you don’t know the answer,” she guesses correctly.
“Not yet.” I admit.
Rumor has it that Putin will attempt to salvage his reputation by saying his ill-fated invasion of Ukraine was an attempt to stop the new season of “The Kardashians.” While we can ALL embrace THAT goal, I think it’s just an excuse (politics).
I love classes - the ideas that we’re exposed to, like Agential Identities or Nominative Determinism Hypothesis - ideas, some ½ stupid, some profound but things I wouldn’t have thought of in 200 years. I constantly find myself thinking “Who THOUGHT of this?”
Slang: politics = lies
Song Suggestion: Broken People by the Narcissist Cookbook