Long Nora Poems
Long Nora Poems. Below are the most popular long Nora by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nora poems by poem length and keyword.
Children were afraid of metallic plastic face robots
So the solution was to make them look real
Real?
Yes, Lifelike Optimum Robotic Assistant, LORA
She will be the best nanny you ever had, she never needs sleep
Programmed in all domestic chores and child safe and friendly
Children just love her...
Model Z12 2-4-6, lets call her Nora our Lora
The neighbors will be so jealous...
The children are happy and getting so smart
As parents no worries if were apart
Nora can protect, dress, feed even play games
Being a parent will never be the same
She's gentle and soft, eyes with a glow
Anything asked of her she already knows
The house is perfection, the meals homemade
Happiness is a LORA android man made
At night we never lose sleep
Nora is there if the baby weeps
If Tommy is frighten by nightmares
Nora can hold him and soothe away fears
We have it easy and are pleased
Nora has everyone at ease
Last night as we played Mommy and Daddy games
Nora came in our room and it felt strange
She heard me call baby and her functions stopped
Next morning maintenance took her back to the shop
The baby cries and Tommy is sad
The house a mess, the food taste bad
When can we get our LORA back?
Another week! Don't call me Jack!
Finally Nora is here
Everyone smiles with cheer
Nora save us from our fate
Parents can go on a date
But as we try to leave
Nora hands Susie a bottle
No Nora you watch the baby
It's just the Mister and me
Nora seems unsettled
Late at night I am in the shower
Nora comes in like a prowler
She begins to wash me
Nora please let me be
Nora no, she gets wet
Her body is anatomically correct?
But Susie it was just a glitch
Nora is reprogrammed and fixed
Besides the children love her...
Nora's eyes seem alive
She sways as she walks by
Never ages always is fair
Even has a pleasant scent in her hair
She is so soft to the touch
Susie is jealous. Too much
Spring and time to mow the lawn
Whose that with no shirt on?
Tan and teen with a gleam in his eyes
Fernando don't forget the trim
Clean the pool..
But Susie he is too lifelike!
Why didn't you tell me you got a gardner robot?
Baby, you hate yard work
Besides who said Fernando was a LORA?
Europe was frozen in a tide of hate
The genius Jew was being persecuted
Bound to the intransigence of fate
His violin played the tunes they executed
Now it was time to think as they electrocuted
The hopes of young people in the dawn of their history
Whose own stories would have so much mystery
Down in the baker’s the story ran around
Hitler was marching to a frenzied tune
He bruised the flowers underneath the ground
And told them works of genius had no boon
While the bridal pair planned their honeymoon
On country roads, a visit to the town
Where they would see wonders and a family found
The day of the wedding dawned so fair
It would seem creation began again
Every single person going there
Wore the best they could, the men
With dark serge suits, and a fountain pen
For Granddad to write to his daughter
Who lived across three thousand miles of water
The wedding Nora had lived for all her life
Now like fate, could be too late to cancel
Nothing would please her more than being a wife
No longer a woman her relatives liked to spancel
They went the evening before to the quiet chancel
Made their vows in private for each other
Far away, war’s declaration on a brother.
His thoughts were far away this harvest morning
The corncrake singing in the flowery ditch
Struck into his heart like a heavy warning
That life was choked with love, so rich
A fantasy dove-tailing in augured pitch
Be faithful to me, the bird sang, my husband
I never want to wear another’s riband
She wore the oyster dress her sister gave her
It was soft and crumpled like a clotted cream
Her veil was raised when he kissed her
And she thought she was fainting from the dream
What could matter now, but what could seem
His handsome face, his hair so fine and black
There wasn’t one feature where he lacked
Her face was lovely as a golden flower
Her dress, a simple thing with fine kick-pleat
It lay like wisps of cloud upon her tower
Where beauty, youth and kindness all could meet
Such tiny pearls slid on her throat so neat
Their hour of tortured chastity was over
Profusion, perfection, they were like gods in clover.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley from "In Memory of Her", 2004 Dublin
our Spring was a whirlwind of newness
learning our emotions
exploring the worlds we were
that had left their long-held orbits
as we began a dance among the stars
in each other's arms spinning thru galaxies
never losing the gravity in each other's eyes
we then burst into the fullness of Summer
idle days as companions upon a trail
each step brought us deeper into fruition
a fullness of an accrued life
we had reaped the orchards offerings
swung the scythe in union
as fields of wants and needs were harvested
now we sit on a bench
as everything begins to come to rest
it is our Autumn
holding your hand, the age spots
are now a part of what was pure alabaster
still, the precious cup
my cheek holds in reverence
when you guide my gaze into yours
the skin has folded a bit
here and there
condensing years of accruing love
pouring inward to an ever-growing heart
time has been good to us
a love that has grown deeper
its roots match the canopy
joy hangs from the branches
rooted in the happiness below
we are the strong oak
a love was borne in a single acorn
what we have is the most precious gift
our singularity in the devotion we have
for each other
what we share deepest in those roots
is knowing these seasons are but
life in the garden to come
there are still times when our lips meet
i have those butterflies
still, times as i peer thru those roses
you grace our special evening meal with
you are red and i am pink
i skip a breath
the heart races an extra beat
i breathe in the potpourri she has become
i still read to her poetry on that bench
where we first began
i have never wavered in my intent
each poem has but one purpose
to win her heart, again and again
the never-ending story of my love for her
children still lost in the magic
2/1/19 Kismet
Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and extraordinary part of the lives we live. ? Nora Roberts, Charmed
P S its POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 15
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God,
tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still;
Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s
… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice;
Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings
of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
Moses Sichach 325
Muhadzis Ghafur 333
Naledi Segosebe 366
Nancy Lee Kaufman 318
Nandita Das 54
Natasha Turner 131
Nathan Hannen 333
Neil Delport 269
Nelvy Gracia Majaw 375
Neva E. Romaine 111, 61
Newton Ranaweera 257, 303
Newton Rathnasiri Ranaweera Kalu Arachchige 300
Ngoc Minh Nguyen 345
Nia Feren Puthanveettil 438
Nicholas Windle 119, 232, 79
Nicola Davidson 173
Nikolay Lopatin 363
Nina Parmenter 261, 9, 91
Nora Gibson 197, 286
Nyonglema Christian Pisoh 266
Ogino Makoto 342
Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser 100, 145, 86
Panagiota Romios 124, 53, 71
Pashang Salehi 151, 326, 96
Patricia Cammish 367, 368
01/06/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
One Shoe On
One shoe is on, the other is gone.
Let’s put this majestic jester hat on—
once upon a time,
a black swan.
2018 into 2019,
my inner voice whispered:
There will be a toilet paper apocalypse.
Get your M95 mask.
A rhyme from the land of Wuhan,
a lab leak—
stay six feet apart.
The joke and the joker will laugh.
Thirty-two, maybe thirty-four felonies
for Trump, from the Big Apple.
Israel attacked by Hamas on the seventh of October.
A kidnapping—someone named Nora—
a cheap motorcycle,
and Al Jazeera knows.
I'm no doctor
Three Kings’ Day, desecrated by rioters.
“Ashley, go home.”
A vision of Corey, a firefighter,
falling during national turmoil.
And the voice says:
“The pen is mightier than the sword.
Turn your head and cough.
So, Fight, fight, fight—
That is my Trump card.”
A quake, seven points,
On or near the seventh day of the seventh month
Near ridgecrest California.
The fall of Afghanistan.
Thirteen U.S. dead.
A special forces 'guy'—
Gone.
Roe v. Wade overturned.
States' rights.
We, the people,
Will be held accountable.
Go home, Emily Willis.
Get out of ****.
If I needed help,
I’ll go to St. George,
Not California.
And a few other Ideas
But whatever I'm not Tiresias
Nor a revelator
Or like a prophetess
Just someone who's missing a shoe.
I am a sinner.
Call me the freak.
I don’t care.
I should have copyrighted it.
Said:
Jesus is the Christ,
Joseph Smith is a prophet.
I lost my faith.
Found it again.
So much déjà vu
I thought I’d gone insane.
Anon in the comments calls me a con.
I don’t care.
You might say i have a demon
I don't care.
Foregone in the present.
Twice before,
maybe.
Once, in 2001–2002.
And maybe—
If the high school memory is real—
1996.
A Cold War relic computer,
an Army officer from the West,
and my warning:
“Tolkien’s Two Towers.
Call 911.”
I don’t know if it was real.
Maybe crazy.
Most likely.
I don’t care.
I live in a very small very old village
In England where everyone knows your name
But what makes the place rather odd
Is the locals who are very strange.
There's Gina the window cleaner
Her bum the size of mar's
And Lady Quinn
Who drives like a mad lady
In her Bentley car
There's old Doctor Mckenna
Who always complains that he's ill
And young pregnant sally who forgot
To take the pill (again)
Farmer Giles and his sheep
Tom the butcher boy who walks around naked
In his sleep
Norris and Horace
the identical twins
And gambling Fred who backs the horses
and never wins
Old Nelly at the post office
And Nora who has the local shop
And P.C plod the nervous local cop.
They all get together on a Friday night
In the local pub and get merry and gossip
For it's the communities hub
Many tales have been told
About a Headless horseman
hereabouts who rides through the village
around midnight when the lights go out.
Headless horseman?
It makes no sense to me
Because if he was riding a horse
How the hell would he see.
Every year we have the village fete
and people from all around cue up at the gate
we used to have a morris dance
But morris can't dance no more
Because Morris hung up his clogs
When his feet got very sore
There's Mollies stall of home preserves
And paddy and his performing fleas
That leaves everyone scratching
And heading for the trees.
The old church stands on top of the hill
and long after the bells have rung
Your ears are ringing still
When anyone does something wrong
they have to face the old ducking pond
I've been ducked a time or two
And got completely wet through.
It's claimed Robin Hood
Met maid Marion in our local wood
Bet they were up to no good
And his merry men got really merry
Down at the local pub.
If you ever visit us at our village
Hogs bottom's end
We might be a bit strange but we'll greet you like a friend
But be wary
Many a visitor never leave
And meet a grizzly end, ha ha ha haaaaaa.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. July.
NORA
Carefree-spirited, wild at heart she sped down the steep streets of San Fransisco
Racing heart torn to pieces pounding from her chest, even after a bottle of Cisco
Wiping copious tears, but the dam burst, the outpouring she won’t control
Deep was their love, despair had broken her and stolen her spirited-soul
No stopping the storms of thoughts, she cries out to the sky, we were a pair
The night you didn’t see her, but she saw you with her, was too much to bear
Off to her lover’s concert gig that night at the club, numb to the world
No need for a ticket stub, she’s cool, Nora is the guy in the band’s girl
She parks her motorcycle and removes something from the saddle bag
In a hurry to carry out her goal, tonight is the night, there’s no time to lag
Distraught, destroyed, defeated, and numb she strolls on through a crowd
Pushes her way to the stage, edging closer in front of him, the music is loud
Left hand reaches into jacket pocket, she places gun to head
My beautiful cousin, at only nineteen she fell to the floor dead
At my age it was so painful, I kept it inside, nowhere to run, hiding my strife
I didn’t want to burden my mother over a broken heart, so I took my own life.
They took a leisurely stroll amidst the gardens of the Ferndale Park
Nora’s auburn braided hair resembled the clustering of cedar tree bark.
With their smooth silky lustering texture, flickering golden highlights.
As sunlight filtered through the branches, twigs and leaves, it ignites.
Aunt Olivia and Nora walked away hand in hand up the busy dirt trail.
It’s not the last time I’d see Nora, but this memory makes me wail.
In the silence of night a lone wolf howled,
I glanced at my watch, it showed twelve,
“Ding Ding” the sound of a church bell,
On spur of a moment it was blowing a gale,
Trees jived and jungle roared,
My heart was throbbing,
A sudden silence scared me to death,
Oh my god! A maniacal and demonic laughter,
A dead pale blood thirsty figure - oh! this place is haunted !!!
I ran and ran – somebody behind me,
God! A monster hand pulling my hair,
Someone dragging me to the woods,
Bushes and branches curling my knee,
I was dying and dying for help,
“Mother! save me” I cried
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” I screamed in fear,
“YOU WANT TO SEE ME?” a creepy voice.
I stood cold and doused in sweat.
Bloody nora ! Long black strands of hair waving upside down,
In a fraction of second I heard a sound,
A horn of a car and that too not far,
I ran with open hands and cry,
The car stood, the door opened,
With no qualms I stepped into it,
I could only see a dark figure in the driver seat,
With a sigh of relief and mind of reprieve,
I wiped my sweat and tears of fear,
I checked for the door – it was closed.
“Move this place is haunted” – I yelled
Move! Move!
“BUT YOU SAID YOU WANT TO SEE ME” a creepy voice
With wide sound and scream,
It was only a dream ,
What a horrendous night..?
My God! I looked at my clock, it showed twelve.
What!!! A lump in my throat,
“Ding Ding” the sound of a church bell,
A knock on my door,
My blood ran cold,
I wrapped the blankets tighter around me,
My door creaked open.
No matter what happens I will not look,
I closed my eyes tight,
“BUT YOU SAID YOU WANT TO SEE ME” a creepy voice.
The priest who wants to rest
went fishing with his dear cousin Nora
A very nice lady, ginger and intrepid.
Today she adopted a Turkish Angora
The priest who wants to rest
took a shower early which he enjoyed
The water he truly liked, it was tepid;
and he sang an ode to Sigmund Freud
The priest who wants to rest
has read the Bible sixty nine times more than Tom;
his second favorite book yet not his number one;
The one he likes the most is The Population Bomb.
The priest who wants to rest
played chess with the pigmy who loves giraffes;
Our priest was shocked: the Faroese midget won!
Horrid event! He can't afford such gaffes!
The priest who wants to rest
states indignant that medicine kills millions
and also adds that doctors are dangerous.
Some of his ecclesiastic opinions.
The priest who wants to rest
has composed a most terrific hymn
with both hands (he is ambidextrous);
A valid reason to admire him.
The priest who wants to rest
painted a most fine picture of a city,
and explained to me what is a monsoon;
Explanation and picture were witty.
The priest who wants to rest
got a visit from his sweet sister Odette;
They shared a very fine meal at noon;
His sister cooked a luscious omelette.
The priest who wants to rest
adores his nieces and nephews;
By the way, they are very young;
yet both have deep political views.
The priest who wants to rest
is nowadays studying Tagalog;
He is very glad learning this new tongue.
I notice he is happy and agog.
He will come back. His return will be swell.
In the meantime, you have a poem to digest.
For he is a man of morals and no mannerisms.
He is the priest, the priest who wants to rest.
I have had too many spirits that have pushed me beyond & beyond seeking a brighter sunrise,
But here predominantly articulates my 26th mirror with my 26th esprit,
Besides a band of 25 mirrors and veinticinco espíritu lived since,
Now please hold, as I locate my account information,
The most current information available in my account is 981,919,688,919B-26,
That’s all, I have marooned in my account.
I know you heard things but let me put this candid,
Everyone in my life is a vanquisher,
And now I prefer to accolade and paint my family in words & this is it,
Tribute to my mother queen Stella & Rolls my Handsome Father,
Your souls are always the silence that watches over me.
Aclamaciones’ to Godfrey and Betty,
You’re my iconic golden illuminators whom I will always adore.
Cheers to #AnnaMary, Star70, my grandma,
You marshal my beautiful life.
Aunts’ Miriam, Robin, Esther & Nora, Santé to you,
You’re family, I can never say good bye to.
Sisters’ Julia, Dumez, Anita, Nataliya, Silva, Mercy, Mary & Eliza ,
I shall always enshrine you,
Because you have always uncovered the faulty lanes in me!
Brothers’ Paul, Joran, Robert, Abram, George, Ronx, Ivan, Patrick, Emmanuel & Jude
Let’s hold the entire universe in our palms!
Kin, everything you did & do was & is always a bell,
A bell that will always gong, in my cerebrum & heart,
And so in a making, our linage will always blossom century after century!
My 26 mirrors will always reflect you, kin,
Somebody who loves somebody is my 26th spirit.
Tribute to my 26 mirrors Contest & Family
T.m.TScripts
©BryanDePoet