Long Off chance Poems
Long Off chance Poems. Below are the most popular long Off chance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Off chance poems by poem length and keyword.
You want to know its merits?
Very well, then. Daylight slants
deliciously across the boy's
inclined, thoughtful face.
His lace collar, crumpled,
houses valleys of shadow.
Or what about the Water Seller?
Look at that poncho's warm
woven woollen texture:
and isn't the rip in the shoulder fun?
And the dimples on the pot!
They scream "potness" at us.
Or the beads of water
clinging to the larger vessel,
whose horizontal striations
practically smell
of the potter's wheel.
But oh, that drinking-glass!
Does it seem possible to you
that unctuous oils and minerals
of earth, gouged from the soil,
can render the ethereal soul of glass?
It was a winter afternoon.
I'd gone along to the gallery
on the off-chance.
Standing before this marvel,
I found myself entranced.
But even as I gazed, the sun
(though never very confident in London)
stepped out coyly from behind a cloud.
Duck's-egg orange light, resplendent,
now fell aslant the canvas.
Surely this was harmful?
Sunlight bleaches (does it not?)
the colour out of things.
Alarm bells should be ringing.
I summoned a uniform attendant.
He nodded sagely as I explained
- but did nothing.
Why should he care?
Minimum wage is no great motivator.
An hour from now,
he'd be hanging up that peaked cap,
and be a person until Monday.
No point in bursting
a blood-vessel
over a silly painting. Later.
But I couldn't leave it.
If I stood just thus,
my human frame was just enough
to block the sun.
One little skirmish could be won
if I remained here
until the sun’s trajectory was done,
or the gallery closed,
whichever came the sooner.
So I did. On tip-toe,
spine inclined, quiet,
I crowded out the light of day
for more than an hour.
Pointless, you say.
I can't deny it.
The very next day,
And each subsequent foray
of Phoebus would
merely recreate the problem.
That's hardly the point.
Finding myself there,
I beat my ploughshare
into a sword and,
for that tiny slice of time,
I made the sacrifice,
bore the quizzical looks
with equanimity, quirky,
standing like a turkey
on tenterhooks
and saved the painting.
The purpose of medical alert jewelry— medical alert necklace or medical alert necklace with medical information engraved on them—is to give emergency health assistance with information about any conditions you may have or different concerns that might be helpful in your care in case you suddenly become faint or in any case debilitated.
Medical ID jewelry has been around since 1953. Most crisis responders are prepared to search for such a neckband or armband while triaging a patient. A few people additionally get a tattoo or utilize an application for a similar purpose, however, these may not be referenced as regularly by health workers. Given that space on customary medical ready jewelry is restricted and emergency health workers should have the option to see the data clearly, you should organize a few details over others.
Consult with your primary care physician—first about whether getting medical alert jewelry for yourself is a smart thought or pointless, at that point decide what details to be included in case you want to go further with it.
Among significant data to think about posting on medical alert jewelry:
Ailments: Include any constant ailments, for example, asthma, cardiovascular concerns, diabetes, epilepsy, etc. Specifically, make certain to list any conditions that may render you or your close one unable to speak with health staff (e.g., seizure issue) and/or could be lethal.
Medications you are on: If you are taking a blood-thinning drug, mention it at the top of your medical alert jewelry. This cautions health faculty that you could be bleeding inside in the event that you've been harmed. Also, on the off chance that you have a serious sensitivity to a drug, mention it with so that health workers do not administer it during treatment.
Medical equipment: For instance, if you have a pacemaker installed in your heart.
Blood Group: In certain conditions (i.e., you have blood disorder), mentioning your blood group may likewise be prudent.
I always do what I want.
As long as they are ok with it.
As long as mom gave me permission and Dad is proud.
Alys doesn’t matter so much but in the end, she has to be ok with it.
Otherwise, I can’t sleep on her couch when I visit.
And then there is that voice that just will not shut up.
And actually, it is more like a feeling than a voice.
When the other hippies talk about all the crazy things they’ve seen and heard I can’t relate. I just say somehow I knew to go there. Somehow I knew to be here at this time. It just felt right.
And that voice I was talking about, I mean the feeling.
It guides me.
It was the one that told me to bring my toothbrush to the beach on the off chance I wouldn’t be coming back. It guided me to Sabena’s. To sitting this morning and letting the dull throbbing in my leg pulse until It was tired.
And after my whole body shuttered. I told her what I want with all my heart is to not feel the heaviness. She said
“breathe, It’s ok.”
I have a feeling it has something to do with when you were, 5 when you were 9 too. Kindergarten, and my first girlfriend.
I had to convince her to go, Mom made me jump through hoops just to go outside. I think she might have reluctantly handed me the phone when my nine-year-old girlfriend called.
The throbbing stopped, I feel a little lighter. I used the golden sword she gave me to cut the chord and get my power back.
And finally, I can do what I want.
More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/12/03/i-do-what-i-want/
Breaking news, there’s been a crash on the tracks. A crash of two trains and 96 deaths to be exact.
Two years has gone by and they had a remembrance party at the pub. Just a get together of friends with a few drinks and some grub.
Mike had been there just on the off chance, after passing through on his hitchhiking through France.
That’s where he met Alice. A beautiful girl. With big brown eyes, and blonde hair that curled.
It started off as just a drink, then it led to two. Then 4 months later they both said I love you.
They were in bed one night watching a documentary on the train that had crashed.
All snuggled up together after having a nice warm bath.
Alice seemed on edge and told Mike to turn it off now.
They disagreed about it and then they started to row.
Mike paused the tv, then Alice screamed so Mike turned around to see Alice on the screen!
She had been a passenger one of the 96 who died! So how the hell is she standing here still alive ?
Mikes mind told him to run but his body couldn’t move.
He opened his eyes and he’s the only one in the room.
He stayed up all night and put things to block the door way. He stayed like that for nearly 3 days.
Mike then decides he’s going to take a train home. He’s been on his own for years but never felt so alone.
He hops on the train and sees Alice there too!
He thinks
How could this be ? How is she still alive ?
And she whispers in his ear welcome aboard dead passenger 95
Another crossroad.
Invalids weep when
wearing another's
soiled diapers suddenly
disappear.
In spite of the battered off-chance -
from a despondent interruption;
I'm the exposed exception.
Coarse fingers bleed.
My wheelchair spokes
are hardly friendly.
I proudly bawl when no one
can see me bow my head
amongst the company of
irreverent observers.
At rest
with this solemn disease -
the embrassing stench of inhumanity
forces me to open a
newly glass-stained window.
I whisk swallowed past-killings
onto bent steel hangers.
Neatly there, they elegantly droop -
angled and uninteresting;
in a dank closet where
falsified myths
and I
silently hide.
Leukemia, I personally, thank you.
Mid wives laugh at me.
Jesters poke a crooked finger, also.
Kings, queens
and jacks are left behind.
I chuckle, too - with an
unbridled Lucille Ball lament.
Four spaded-aces and a forgotten spittoon;
the uninviting hospice where we
comfortably bed together
crocheting darned finales.
Say farewell.
Don't tell anyone.
Blood bleeds beyond
frowned staled dales and
expiration is a personal moment.
Daddy and Mommy need to witness
the definition of
an unwarranted demise.
Open ended the
Grimm fairy tale concludes,
without a finely tuned
Aesop moral,
leashing the braille-exhausted
onto another muddied
crossroad.
It all sparks off
With the mention of the park
Her white tail twirling
Relishing the renewal
Of her communion with nature
Her contact with her ancestral past
Then off to the park in the car
Where ,after taking her ease,
She sniffs at the sourness
Of tired vegetation
With more attractive smells
To follow.
Let off her lead,running free
Through the rustling carpet of russet,
Her paws paddling with pleasure
Until she stops ,stock still
A sentinel searching
For a lightning flash of a glimpse of grey.
Then off like a rocket in pursuit
Only to be left beaten and baffled
Beneath a tree circled several times
Letting out little yelps
Revisited every round
In the off chance
Of catching one unawares
Here it is the survival of the fastest
Off she slowly trots
Disappointed,
Her short pants the sonar
To detect where she is
When out of sight.
With every patrol around the park
Her pace begins to slacken
To be renewed at the mooting
Of a return home.
Slyly she tries to slip away
To escape having to leave
Her park paradise
With her lead finally replaced
That puts paid
To her thoughts of continued liberation
Back into the car she goes
Resignedly
And upon her return
Drifts into a deep dream
Where her ghostly yelps
And wriggling legs
Replicate her exploits
Of her daily walk.
Each day I come to this special place, to catch a glimpse of fairies fair
Each day I come with a smile on my face, hoping that today they will be there
The tress are old, their branches bent
The deer less bold, now silence is spent
I spy the ring of red and white, toadstools where the fairies sat
Not a hint is left in this flimsy light, not an echo of their chat
I hold my breath, I sit and wait
Yet once again I am too late,
Far off now I hear how they sing, about the wind and the stars warm glow
How I long to dance in the fairy ring just once before it is time for me to go
Someday soon I know I’ll spy,
Fairy folk flitting past my eye
Long years have passed since those magical days, the forest still stands
I walk with my grand -daughter on those old twisted ways, we hold hands
As together we try as hard as we can
To catch just a glimpse of the fairy clan
We whisper as we walk along, afraid to miss the celestial song
We count the butterflies fluttering by, wondering all the while why
They always elude us just by a glance
They always induce us on the off chance
Fairy folk are always to be, intriguing imaginary friends for you and for me
Yet deep in my heart I’ll always know, they are just there behind that tree
And one special moment or so it would seem,
To spy them, just once is every little girls dream
14/03/2014
Makin' proper time for the rule of rhyme,
With a hint of lime, see? It ain't no crime.
I'm breakin' my fast, watchin' the broadcast,
See what's amassed, from first I'll everlast.
Standin' 'bout face causin' rackets in case,
I'll put in place all them chasin' my ace.
I'm on the off chance,
In my happen stance.
Makin' all eyes dance
In my happy stance.
Go 'head, call me fool, I'm shakin' the tool,
I'll make ya drool draggin' in the deadpool.
Rollin' the bones, riddin' the moss off stones,
Ev'ry bird moans payin' off all them loans.
Got my care package, it got ev'rywhere,
I know little bears, it's hard not to stare.
Put you in a trance
In my happen stance.
Knowin' in advance
In my happen stance.
Luck's my lady all-night, she's outta sight,
But she feels me alright, my hand's so sleight.
I make jokers laugh 'til they break in half,
Fall over their staff like a new-born calf.
Ain't no yearling, I'll start with static cling,
Who's askin' me "Is it good to be king?"
I'm author and lance
In my happen stance.
And it ain't by chance
In my happen stance.
On the off chance,
that I’m not swimming in those eyes,
I would swear that her beauty lies,
somewhere across that smile.
There is just something,
so pure and divine,
as if to the clouds I ascended
and my mind it is fine.
I soar.
Where the laws of this world do not apply,
Where the sun never sets.
Where the moon always shines.
Where my feet ever glide,
across a soft summers sky.
Where I, the King of time,
rule in the name of you,
queen of mine.
As I would march twelve soldiers,
in the name of you.
Pray each and every one of them,
stand true.
So please, take my crown, my throne,
take everything I own,
melt it all and forge it into hope,
that I will yet again dive within her soul.
For I swear, her smile is magical,
beautiful, heavenly, calming.
To pour ink for the divine,
seems to be my calling.
The grains of sand, they keep on rolling.
I stand in their way, though the rivers they hold me,
and just as time did, it is I now that is falling.
Buried with hope, embracing peace slowly.
With a smile,
though man’s language too poor, to answer why.
Never forget, your a marionette.
Just a marionette on a string.
Don't dream to try,
To flee or to fly,
For marionettes can't take wing.
The hand that controls you is good it it's play,
For restrained by it's strings you cannot disobey,
So you jump and you dance and run circles for it,
Only able to act as the hand will permit,
Your subservient self, can't do anything else.
Subjugating your life till there's no freedom left,
This hand with it's strings is oppressive at best.
From it's implacable rule you will never find rest.
It conducts you as if you're a string symphony,
In it's delimiting chains you can never be free.
It spins you, and throws you, and makes you recite,
The same verses all day, and then through the night.
What you must say, you must already know.
But on the off chance you don't, here's how it goes:
Never forget, you're a marionette.
Just a marionette on a string.
Form: