Long Notice Poems
Long Notice Poems. Below are the most popular long Notice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Notice poems by poem length and keyword.
If the world is your oyster...
And the moon is your clam...
And if everythings for the taking...
Then why aren't you my man?
If life were that easy...
And I could pick and choose...
I wouldn't even hesitate...
I would always pick you!
If it were the other way around...
And you had all the fish in the sea...
Would you ponder your options?
Or would you just choose me?
If picking from a menu...
And I were on the list...
You'd go the catch of the day..
Rather than notice I exist!
I wish I could listen to my head...
Rather than ruled by my heart...
As deep down the truth hurts...
You never loved me from the start.
So always think about choices...
And the games you like to play...
While you were chasing glitter...
You let the good one get away.
22.04.2018
Alice
I got my draft notice in 1971
Nam was winding down
I didn’t wanna go.
So, I started hummin a song,
just a few bars mind you
about Alice, you remember
Alice. This is a song about Alice
and the war of course.
I thought I would have to report
Then I remembered my special crime
I committed in Stockbridge, Mass.
Garbage, that was the ticket.
My friend and I had put our garbage
In a pile with other garbage
Sad part was we left an envelope with
my name on it. Officer Obie tracked me down
that clever scoundrel. We thought we would be
charged with a misdemeanor. Oh no, we were
charged with a minor felony and fined $250 and
Had to pick up that garbage.
I had to still report to the draft board.
I walked in and this fast talkin’ sergeant
Has me fill out all kinda forms.
Then, the last question was
Have you been rehabilitated?
I was perplexed. How could they
ask me to kill women and children
and wonder if I was remorseful of
my special crime of littering.
I told the sergeant so
and he told me we don’t like your kind
and to get out.
Went back to Stockbridge, Mass and
Had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner
with Alice-you remember Alice.
It has been twenty years. I need
to get back to Stockbridge and
see if Alice still has her restaurant.
The spacious arcane hall of Jane & Neal
has thousands of spinning dazzling lights;
it's Friday night and the murmurous noises
of teens lighten up the air-tight atmosphere,
then the happy music fills it with sonorous voices.
Nobody seems to notice Sonia's gorgeous eyes,
although they show sadness, they look surreal;
but in that lonely corner she looks too austere.
How can they ignore her, and let her think
that in that crowd moving in noisy corridors
there's no sympathy, or even boys who don't wink?
Will Sonia play " Mario " to idle away monotous hours?
A note on the picture # 1: This girl seeks a true friendship, but finds none;
and so she chooses to be invisible, in the same way Sonia seeks friends,
but she's ignored by all in the arcane hall.
When I’m with her everything changes and I notice life in different phases
Her beauty is written about in praises
Even though she sees nothing but imperfection as the mirror gazes
But all her imperfections are the definition of perfection to me, if only she could see what my eyes see
As she brakes my limitations to joy and her gentle soul is able to mold my concrete heart
I now find life within death
Learning the little things matter just as much as anything else
That’s what I notice every time I noticed you
Like the smirk you get right before your dimples bloom each time I would see you
The way your baby hairs fall down the side of your head right before I brush them behind your ear
The way your freckles sparkle beneath your eyes like stars in the sky
The way you fit perfectly in my arms
And I used to be so guarded with life because of my past I hold on to but when my reflection is in your eyes I am never afraid to let go
And as I fall I notice the atmosphere around me
Every rose has a heart so I give it to you on your bad days when you just can’t find the beat
The clouds roar louder than lions
And in the rain, you can see the future within tears from the past
Too many times do we complicates things making relationships so vast
When all we need is God to be first and last
When we are together the feeling is always mutual
p.s. She makes the little things big…
My youth is gone; but my energy and enthusiasm
are still in me making me full of zest and gusto.
At seventy, I am more enthusiastic and excited
about life for every day is a new day, an adventure.
Gone are the days running in the fast lanes, being
here, there and everywhere to get things done.
Or the days when every little things became big
deals making you spin your wheels for nothing.
Now, I just take care of myself, do things on my
sweet time and let little things not bother me.
I am so thankful of just living my life to the fullest,
like a little child, so free, full of energy, enthusiasm.
That zesty feeling makes me spunky to dress up
in style, adding accessories, like spicing my cooking.
Feeling zesty pleasantly stimulates me to do my
drawings with pizazz and delight in sketching them.
It makes me so excited to sing and to learn Italian
songs with correct pronunciations and rhythms.
It gives me exuberance when I dance that people
notice and let me know they enjoy watching me.
Feeling zesty allows me to be zealous in writing
poems to motivate and to encourage positivity.
Feeling zesty shows my free spirit, happiness,
creativity, passion to inspire others to live it up.
12/5/21 "Z" Contest, New Or Old - Poetry
Constance La France
Theme: #8 - Zesty
Take me Away, Alive or Awake
by ~CrimsonSmolder
In the lands of consumption
On the edge that is so narrow
Take me away; alive or awake
Take me away; by force or compulsion
Oh malicious being you..
Capture me whole and breathing
Drug me high
And pain me less
And you shall gain
What other lacked to impress
In a room so velvet
Blood is mistaken for carpet
Curtains turn to shadows
Take me there; Alive or awake
Lay me down on a bed of roses
In a dress of scarlet and pale light black
With hair so curly that shines solid lust
Where candles are lit and halos are exposed
Drug me high
To pain me less
As I stare in those passionate eyes of black
Genuine, yet unveiling
As the drug gives me nausea but keeps me awake
I Lay so still, so wordless
As you rid me from my clothes slowly and gently
And I just stare into those exquisite eyes of yours
Lashes as dark and long
I stare onto that black soft hair
As it falls perfectly to all sides
That built muscular rigid torso and lean abs
That open shirt of yours waiting for the skin to expose
You put yours hands to my sides
Tough yet it feels so soft
As you enter me whole
Introducing feelings of excitement, of tension, of delight
Yet I still lay motionless and still
With eyes so indifferent
And a heart beating so fast
And yet you pause, and produce a dagger
Hidden in thee black silk
Its poison, peering silver, visible at the hilt
I notice, but no reaction follows
You pierce me lightly in the neck and breast
Slipping it lightly, yet in some places deeper into the skin
You lower your aim and strike it slowly yet smotherly to my stomach
A bit of blood escapes my mouth; you wipe it tentatively with your hand
You aim lower, cut deep into the abdomen
Yet you continue to kiss me, and caress my check, leaving scars of red everywhere
Droplets of a beautiful color ooze soothingly from thee cuts
A feeling of lust consumes me
A rage of vulnerability conquers me
A sick pleasure overwhelms me
I try. I will.
And I produce all might to put my hands behind your neck
My legs around your waist
And I kiss you and love you
And sense fades yet the heart still wants
Still lusts, still orders
Yet the blood continues to pour
The body begins to suffer
And pain a bit I begin to sense
As I wince, surrendering my arms to my chest
There's a 2nd part, please do read it c:
My battle to keep you is over.
A checkmate, without any closure.
My skin is bruised and beaten
and battered and scarred and weakened.
I can't shake the guilt
or the images of the life we built
in the days before the war,
before we weren't us anymore.
The world turned to ashes.
Memories of the past left like open gashes
from before the sky turned red,
leaving all our words unsaid.
I didn't know if you were fighting for or against me,
On whose side you'd be.
Or did you not notice the battle at all?
As the mountain between us grew mighty and tall.
Were the bleeding skies
visible to only my eyes?
Did the sirens sound in only my ears?
Did you never notice my silent tears?
Were you embarrassed by me
when my eyes met yours in silent plea?
Did the enemy force you out, or did you slip into the night?
Maybe you never thought I was worth the fight.
This site has been my haven, where I’ve met
so many poets; neither do I lack
for friends, and some I never will forget
although I know they won’t be coming back.
I’m blessed in that the best friends that I knew
who left the Soup still linger in my mind -
like Nikko, Red or Kash - to name a few,
and these are friends whom I can always find.
I offer one name as example of
a girl who left us, why, and where she went.
Dear Black-eyed Susan, who I came to love,
is one sweet poet who was heaven-sent.
In such a short time that we knew her here,
she sponsored lots of contests, which for me,
were so inspiring, then in about a year,
she discontinued posting poetry.
I know the reasons why she left. One was,
though active here, she soon grew to believe
few cared to comment back, and it’s because
of this, I think that others also leave.
She’d put in so much time with contests for
us all; it seems a shame she didn’t get
more thanks for all that she had done, or
more people taking notice when she left.
Now Susan’s writing poems, but not in rhyme.
She’s joined some groups of tanka and haiku.
She’s published now and spends a lot of time
with entering and winning contests too.
She’s flourishing in that community.
I miss her, but I email her and know
that she’s just fine, so Friends in poetry,
be kind! I hate to see good poets go!
...early Spring walk around 3.2mi. Lake Calhoun...so named after controversial industrialist sotten with checkered past...movement underway to return name to Native American Dakota "Bde Maka Ska" White Earth Lake.
Purple Finches trill their soothing song
to people walking around Lake Bde Maka Ska,
a deep glacial lake in the heart of Minneapolis.
A lone Eagle cruises above, easily snatching
spawning Carp from the shallows, gracefully
cruising away, talons firmly clutching the
writhing Carp.
I enjoy watching families enjoying their first
walk around the lake, infants in strollers taking in their first inhalations of sights, sounds and
smells after winter isolation.
Young people wander wide-eyed, wondering
how the world sees them, as they establish
identity through dress, movement & interaction
with others...subtle changes will occur as the
summer evolves...reacting or not, to perceived
reflection.
Most of all, I enjoy my own movement,
evaluating subtle changes I notice in myself,
returning to the park bench by the path where
I comfortably situated my 87yr. old Mom,
grateful to have the opportunity to once more
enjoy our city of lakes, wondering how many
more such gifts she will enjoy,
Grateful
for
the
moment
5/7/17
I am here,
on this bench,
as if the world’s still spinning
but I forgot how to move with it.
The air is thick,
like it’s waiting for me to do something
to lift the weight off my shoulders.
But I just…
sit.
Leaves fall,
but I don’t notice
when they hit the ground,
just that they were once up there,
free,
and I wonder if they ever felt
light.
A man jogs past,
his feet like little promises
on the pavement,
and I envy how his legs keep
the rhythm.
I wonder if he knows
how it feels
to be stuck,
to not have the energy
to move
even when everything around you is moving.
A kid’s laughter stabs through the air,
sharp,
like a sound I don’t remember
ever making.
She runs in circles,
spinning,
and for a moment,
I almost remember what it was like
to be free—
but then the memory slips,
just like the wind,
and I’m back here,
alone
and unremarkable,
on this bench,
waiting for something to change
but knowing it won’t.