Long Noticeable Poems
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Sometimes our attention will turn toward some of God's special creations that may cause our hearts to skip a beat or take one's breath away. Such was the case with me when one of God's choicest roses left me speechless and staring.
While chatting with a friend, I looked to our right and saw a mobilized rose bush* moving in our direction. It appears that I was more startled and enchanted by the beauty of the roses than by the animated movement. The roses were much lovelier than any that I had ever seen and were most beautiful, full of color, and downright stunning.
I did not speak to the rose but wanted to, nor it to me, but I heard it well in unutterable tones, and as I stared at it with wonderment, it watched me sheepishly. I was to some extent spellbound and for a while, I could not look away. There were also other flowers standing and some coming and going in a most orderly fashion, but none was as noticeable as the roses that came in our direction.
Indeed, for a few seconds, I forgot that my friend was standing there, and lest I be embarrassed, I discontinued staring at the one particular rose that had spell bounded me. I then turned toward the less eye-catching flowers, but that special rose continued moving toward my friend and stood next to him as I walked away. By then it was clear to me that they knew each other, but it was also clear to me that the rose was not available to me for acquisition, nor was I in a position to acquire that priceless rose.
It's been many a year since first seeing that mesmerizing rose of impeccable purity and refinement, so arresting and captivating of me as no rose, violet, lily, or lilac ever had before. Never had I encountered a flower so adorable and embracing.
I tell you, roses are my favorite flower, and many of them have graced my home for more than 22 years. I must confess that there have been times I have denied them proper care and adequate water supply due to drought conditions, but I love my long-standing roses dearly. Moreover, for a long season and more, I cannot forget that overwhelming rose that fixated and left me speechless more than 10 years ago.
120219PoSoup, (entry 072820)July NA HM Poetry, Constance La France. Your Best New Poem, Emile Pinet. NA . *fiction. 2nd contest(7/9/20), Strand Completely New 7, Brian Strand. NA
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, but who's elated about greeting thorns when picking roses from a bush or picking lemons from a tree? I observed from the start that I'd never seen a lemon tree so guarded with most of its lemons in deep and difficult to reach areas behind its new growth of limbs. It was as if the tree in 'Tartspeech'* said to me, "You are free to have and consume my lemons if you can endure the munitions of my thorns".
At the time that my wife was offered fresh lemons by a friend, I did not extrapolate the assigned mission by my wife, and prior to my first approach I had not considered the resistance I would confront nor the pain I would have to overcome. After all, some things are instinctive and routine, not necessitating calculations and strategies. I had no thoughts of the combative nature of the lemon tree until I attempted to extract its lemons. One look at the pointed thorns gave me pause and forced a distraction to count the cost of extraction. I then proceeded cautiously lest I should bleed excessively.
Also at the time, I did not count the number of my pricks, but my best guess would be 10 or less, one of which grew noticeable blood. None, however, triggered a retrenchment or convinced me to quit. I did count the lemons upon arriving home, and they totaled 82 as I recall. A nice crate of lemons for less than 10 pricks. I'd say, not a bad tradeoff.
On these early winter mornings, I have green tea and a mixture of the lemon's juices with a spoon of honey, also given by our friend. It's then that I take a different kind of pause and realize the worth of it all.
011220PoSoupCtest, Favourite Poem from January 2020, Julia Ward *Vocabulary.com Dictionary. As an adjective, tart describes a sour taste, like lemon. Website, Blurtit: Yooti Bhansali answered. ...The word is also used to denote a manner of speech that is especially bitter or blunt in the way it is spoken as well as the connotation of the spoken comment. ....
How can I be so aware of where I am yet feel so lost
Your not here, therefore I’ve lost my direction
I’ve lost the light and I can’t find the sun
I’ve searched for days but I’m still coming up short.
Im loosing hope
Wishing on stars that will never shine
And I know I can’t be found when you’re not looking
Are you even real?
Or are you just a dream I’ve made up
A dream I dreamed but blinked and woke up
And the color drained from my eyes
They widen searching for a hint of color
But they too are in the dark.
Colored blind
Only viewing black and white dancing to grays
Oh to see through your eyes
What it must be like
Everything so vibrant and alive.
This acquired taste
The salty sea taste
With an over whelming flavor
That won’t soon leave my lips.
My throat dry and voice raspy
Dead without a day of song.
My lungs, they serve no purpose in a world without air
But still they burn begging for what’s not there.
I drop to the ground
Feeling around
Searching desperately for something
Anything with life
But my finger tips only bleed for the dead rose’s thorns.
But then, a change, a transformation
The rose burst into life right in my hand
But that is not the only change
There is something else
Something good
Full of life
You.
My eyes go unfocused for a second
In a world without color you stand out
Strewn in vibrant colors that make my eyes water at the sight
They refocus
I can see you clearly now
Beauty and brilliancy
I do not dare blink!
I can’t take my eyes off you
Because there’s nothing else to see
And I know im wishing for too much but I’d wish you’d look at me
I know im hardly noticeable
Being so invisible
But I only wish you could see me.
The salty taste turns to sugar on my tongue
And my lungs are revived
So don’t leave
Please don’t leave
If you do the color will wash away with you
My eyes bloodshot still not well adjusted to such a sight
A sight I’ve never seen except in the most impossible of dreams
And there you stand
Im afraid that if I move or blink or even breathe
You’ll disappear
So I’ll stay frozen
It’s not like its difficult
My burning eyes are locked and there’s nothing I can do
These eyes will always burn for you.
the combustion of combinations of created
An angle of a candle in a demi flux should not be mistaken for tooth floss, cherry pickers, or ironing boards. For the numerous numbers of numerals note noticeable nuances of a nought. And a nought is not a neem or a norm so always string baubles in appropriate fashion when decorating in a seasonal style. So spoke a smoke who was whirling a spoke about in the air whilst carrying some ordered cuisine. Hiding from the mirrors crept a serious serpent in spectacles askew. The smoke glared at this. It did not like serious serpents for serious serpents were quite often servants to sevens and nines who lived in mines of golden authenticity. Authentication is not a noted occurrence in an attic crease and neither in any upstairs upstream window frame either. It is said that when there is rot then to peel away the dirt could expose many mangled marked layers. Bean curd then? Yes. Faces akin to beaming beans. Collective cans causing chaotic catafalque cat claps. When sailing on a big ship of over three hundred thousand acres always play a game of golf when there is a high wind. Good. Now it is time for the littlest production company of hereditary mice to spin, dance and preform aerodynamics in a nice pink caravan at an elevation of two hundred million feet. Sky then? Yes. Wow. The wobble of a jelly with a trifle is most entertaining to regard. Especially when seated on a rusted stallion or a coating of ironic iron. It is to be said that portions of bread and soup can actually point several pistols at once. Thus giving bread and soup a glow of fame for frightening the tablecloths and causing them to swoop over the breads and soups to cover and to swamp and spillage of secretive secretions of liquid jûs in a turreted hat. But please do not trip over that cat over there. He is being used as a giant doorstop. Ha to it all said large farm gatherings. Hahahahaha they all said in great audio reflective fields of moo baa oink quack neigh ee ore. But collectively sounding like a hahaha and a hahaha is not a hard hat hitting heat and nor is it a large six thousand ton hippo genuflecting in a pond of mud. So whirl away then. Good. Z hypothetical Z at six little worms smiling at twelve cute tablemats. X
Form:
TAKE A STROLL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Take a stroll through the forest in early spring
Nature will stun you, it’s a beautiful thing
A walk in the woods will fill you with awe
The fresh smelling air not savored before
Its early morning the ground is still damp
I’m causing damage where ever I tramp
Minuscule plants growing under my feet
Tiny flowers and petals, an optical treat
A bird is warbling his good morning tune
Soon he is countered with a call from a loon
When I stand still there’s a noticeable din
But when I move a new silence begins
A bee is searching for a succulent bloom
A myriad of flowers all his to consume
Buds are sprouting from bushes and trees
The rebirth of nature as cold weather flees
Continuing my walk I encounter a glade
Covered with flowers every color and shade
Tall reeds and grasses still sporting dew
Reflect the suns rays like crystals often do
Tiny rainbows appear as the dew beads glisten
Then fade away as the breeze moves the prism
This pristine meadow under azure skies
Home to insects and thousand of flies
Take A Stroll (2)
Flocks of birds soon will descend
Devouring the buzzing meals to the end
A snapping twig reaches my ear
A young buck and an six point deer
They stand there frozen an idyllic display
Then in an instant they’ve bounded away
This magnificent scenario occurs every day
A tiny sampling of natures endless arrays
There’s still some mist hovering over the glade
The warming sun will soon join the parade
A mixed treasure of flowering scents
Changes with each zephyr and never relents
With so much activity its hard to explain
The peaceful tranquility continues to reign
Ludwig created images that seldom exist
He painted these pictures while penning his sixth
The feeling and sense of harmonious bliss
Nature unblemished, soon to be missed
Man will soon discover this untouched paradise
This heaven on earth is a treat for anyone’s eyes
They’ll develop home sites so all can enjoy
Unfortunately all of this beauty they will destroy
Big square houses with manicured lawns
The fish in the stream no longer spawns
A gated community with pools in the rear
A local commented “ what the hell happened here?”
Their baby girl turned out exceptional
Their baby girl is very exceptional
Her script perfect
She always had a book in her hand
Reading every spare minute
With a sponge like focus
At craft fairs, for example
She would hide under the table and read
At funeral services and church
She always brought a book
She would always read, read
For her birthday she wanted every episode
Of Criminal Minds, she never wanted toys
A book, or something stimulating her mind
To her was gold
She would also multitask her art
Oils and knitting, all self taught and really good
With her schoolwork
And sports
Swimming, karate and water polo
She was the very best at what she did
All through her schooling
Every single day
Every single day
She never received a grade less than an A
She was class valedictorian
She was phenomenal,
A swan that was always a swan
And recently she completed her first semester
At nursing school with a continued perfect record
Of all A's, all advanced courses
To me this is amazing
If I'm beaming the answer is yes
I spoke with, or should I say joked with the ex
Whose genes did she inherent? Whose?
Because It's neither of us
We laughed, one of the few times we did
I once wrote to my baby girl
Nineteen now, yet she's still my baby
I wrote to her a beautiful poem
About a blossoming rose
Growing to new heights, so elegant and beautiful
Nurtured, loved and cultivated
And she wrote back ... wherever they put me
In life, emphasizing they, I'll blossom that's my promise
I read her response over and over
In my mind, shedding tears
At her conviction, strong
I got to thinking ...
Her being uprooted earlier on in life
Watching her parents divorce, being hurt as a child
Having fears
Spurted her growth, ambition and drive
In my eyes it did
Affecting her in a way that she carried
A chip on her shoulder wanting to be the best
Proving her parents made a mistake in abandoning her
Just this past holidays, I can see a huge transformation in her
It's really noticeable, unrecognizable
She's matured faster than I wanted
Maybe she's dating, dipping her wet feet
But I see something different
I don't know what it is
She's not my baby anymore
connie pachecho
1/10/17
I sing of the afternoon of life,
Of beaches shifting in such tiny ways;
Throes of death is what they are,
Under the light of a softly dying star,
When eyes full of wonder and hope
Stare into a sky
Made beautiful by the ugliness of transition
And the contingent world of vision and smell
Where only the blind and dumb can tell
That life doesn't really give a about
what you’ve done with yourself all these years.
Let the rain and wind pick up a bit
And clutch the world in a wet embrace.
I don’t really care, you see.
Let the drops mingle on my face,
A beacon for what hides inside.
I wear my disguise to bed each night
And when I wake I certainly stand
So that it's not noticeable.
My window provides a stark picture of a dim horizon
In the agony of acceptance
That every day is a painful step closer,
And those that don’t feel agony are numb.
Or maybe just dumb.
From the wisdom of poets long dead
And the simple thoughts of those
Who don’t mean anything to you
Come the answers we seek:
Words that illustrate our ideas
And the satisfaction of knowing that
Other people can feel the texture
Of the thoughts you hold
Inside.
Surely wisdom has no higher price
Than the realization that
Everything you think and feel
Has already been discussed.
Beauty and understanding once meant something,
But now they vie for attention with
Baser things, trivial things
Only meaningful in their relativity,
Along with knowledge, (what a funny word)
Which once meant knowing what was right
And what was not and knowing the difference.
Now it seems clear that true knowledge
Is only the acceptance that
We know nothing more than that which
We cannot change.
As flowers grow, bloom, and die, so must our
understanding ever be compromised and evaluated.
From the ramparts fall
The sonnets of those most have forgotten,
And maybe you’ll blink, mouth moving
Like a fish in the sand,
Gasping as you realize the futility
Of accepting anything
But what you wanted so desperately to believe,
But like any myth, eventually
you will uncover the trickery
And try to accept it without anger or grief,
Because once the movie’s over,
You’re just in a big room of people
Staring at a blank screen.
There was a short wait at the doctor’s office today,
typically odd considering he’s usually on time-
He’s my least favorite doctor, I really must say,
but he awfully good trying to figure out my mind.
I had an open secret I really wanted to express,
an amazingly awful time I was having at school-
I appeared invisible one afternoon at recess,
they called me “tiny elephant” and that I wasn’t cool.
See, a girl named Patty was very passive aggressive,
naturally strange when she bullied other friends-
Many other unpopular celebrities were quite impressive,
but they were big babies and in the in-crowd couldn’t blend.
One day the light in the darkness really opened my eyes,
I ran slowly to Patty and gave her a piece of my mind-
There was a small crowd gathering nearby,
the deafening silence made my eyesight so blind.
I stood up for myself and seemed to be pretty cruel,
acted naturally but really was acting pretty ugly-
There were so many of my least favorite friends at school,
but I gave her what she had coming, I was awfully lucky.
Patty was a big baby and acted like her dry eyes would cry,
growing smaller and smaller by every darn minute-
I screamed nicely, “Patty is there a good reason why?”
But my unruly patience had a really strict limit.
After all the sweet agony was finally said and done,
there was a noticeable absence in the desk next to me-
I guess the silence was broken to her annoying fun,
and now I am stuck in the happiness of virtual reality.
1. Short wait 2. Typically odd 3. Least favorite 4. Awfully good
5. Open secret 6. Amazingly awful 7. Appeared invisible
8. Tiny elephant 9. Passive-aggressive 10. Naturally strange
11. Unpopular celebrities 12. Big babies 13. Light in the darkness
14. Ran slowly 15. Piece of my mind 16. Small crowd
17. Deafening silence 18. Pretty cruel 19. Pretty ugly
20. Least favorite 21. Awfully lucky 22. growing smaller
23. Screamed nicely 24. Unruly patience 25. Sweet agony
26. Noticeable absence 27. annoying fun 28. Virtual reality
Oxymoronic Obsession - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: David Lindsay
Date Written: August 28, 2016
Donning rubber gloves, the wife does washing of clothes and dishes...
(plus cutlery, pots pans, et cetera) in the kitchenette sink.
She started what would immediately become
a first and last generation tradition
(the spouse as washer woman
and scullery maid)
soon after we moved here
eight years ago come July 1st, 2025.
I trumpet her pioneer spirit
to apply elbow grease
(to tackle tough
heavily stained articles of clothing
(after her weary cowboy husband
comes back home on the range
after a hot day rustling cattle)
think underwear of mine -
whereat even bleach
falls short of removing
stubborn noticeable discoloration)
such gusto similarly applied
to glassware or cookware caked
with crusty hardened food.
After washing wearable goods,
she squeezes the excess water
from saturated item(s)
and drapes still moderately wet garment
over drying racks
despite the availability
of clothes washers and dryers
here on the premises
of Highland Manor Apartments.
Though she continues to threaten
with colorful epithets
never to wash my clothes ever again,
her words ring hollow
when some time elapses
and... guess what?
yepper, her hands slide down
into the behavioral sink
and I make sure
to acknowledge gratitude,
yet admit to falling short
of filling in the blank
(with a select response),
when she asks me
what will I give her in return.
Earlier in our
almost thirty year marriage,
we (I more so than the wife)
used to be conditional
and if asked a favor,
the immediate response
from yours truly (me)
just so happened to be
what do I get in return?
That Pavlovian feedback loop
occurred way before
my libido took a kamikaze dive,
into a suicide mission
a strong suspicion arises
(but I dare not utter
a premature ejaculation)
videlicet that being adverse effects
linkedin with one or more
of the nine prescription medications
ingested for mental health issues
such as anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and palmar hyperhidrosis
could be the only logical explanation,
and interestingly enough,
I breathe a sigh of relief
cuz all to often sexual fantasies
ofttimes filled every waking
and sleeping hour of mine.
Donning rubber gloves, the wife does washing of clothes and dishes...
(plus cutlery, pots pans, et cetera) in the kitchenette sink.
She started what would immediately become
a first and last generation tradition
(the spouse as washer woman
and scullery maid)
soon after we moved here
eight years ago come July 1st, 2025.
I trumpet her pioneer spirit
to apply elbow grease
(to tackle tough
heavily stained articles of clothing
(after her weary cowboy husband
comes back home on the range
after a hot day rustling cattle)
think underwear of mine -
whereat even bleach
falls short of removing
stubborn noticeable discoloration)
such gusto similarly applied
to glassware or cookware caked
with crusty hardened food.
After washing wearable goods,
she squeezes the excess water
from saturated item(s)
and drapes still moderately wet garment
over drying racks
despite the availability
of clothes washers and dryers
here on the premises
of Highland Manor Apartments.
Though she continues to threaten
with colorful epithets
never to wash my clothes ever again,
her words ring hollow
when some time elapses
and... guess what?
yepper, her hands slide down
into the behavioral sink
and I make sure
to acknowledge gratitude,
yet admit to falling short
of filling in the blank
(with a select response),
when she asks me
what will I give her in return.
Earlier in our
almost thirty year marriage,
we (I more so than the wife)
used to be conditional
and if asked a favor,
the immediate response
from yours truly (me)
just so happened to be
what do I get in return?
That Pavlovian feedback loop
occurred way before
my libido took a kamikaze dive,
into a suicide mission
a strong suspicion arises
(but I dare not utter
a premature ejaculation)
videlicet that being adverse effects
linkedin with one or more
of the nine prescription medications
ingested for mental health issues
such as anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and palmar hyperhidrosis
could be the only logical explanation,
and interestingly enough,
I breathe a sigh of relief
cuz all to often sexual fantasies
ofttimes filled every waking
and sleeping hour of mine.