Long Out of order Poems
Long Out of order Poems. Below are the most popular long Out of order by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Out of order poems by poem length and keyword.
I was going to add a long remix track to a playlist,
A playlist called ‘Waitin For the Bus in the Dark’,
But waitin for the bus in the dark is as tedious as it is -
Making a remix tedious alongside it wouldn’t make sense.
The remix is exciting now -
Anticipating excitement knocking on my eardrums as I wonder how the tune will change.
But next time,
If I play it too soon,
I’ll know.
I’ll just know.
Knowing keeps listening from being curious,
And makes it here we go again.
But “here we go again” are lyrics in an excellent song -
1973 by James Blunt.
Maybe I could add that with the remix to the playlist
And never know which will play first.
Maybe I could add so many songs
That twill be one unmemorable remix
That won’t all play in the time I’m waiting for the bus,
One unmemorable remix that Spotify can shuffle out of order.
The bus I’m waiting for now is too long away
To make it to my trans support group before it ends,
So I’ll make my way home
And bump into an old friend
Who must have started to find me tedious
Or forgotten about me,
Like a song on shuffle that barely plays,
Forgotten how good it is.
A Child At Heart he had that Feeling Again
Of gas in his tommy and could not abstain
For loose Winds Of Change to Rise Above
Gripes and conflation from the labour of nutritional love
Let go and deliver a good one at last
Brain Storm out from the wrong end in a powerful blast
Exposed by such Public Convenience of The Naked Truth
He was deemed out of order and rather uncouth
When he took a deep breath to feast on his Shot In The Dark
The joy was quite one sided and the response rather stark
Yet he was a Dream Catcher had to find out what Fire Works
So he sent off a few more Rip Tides and reaped some perks
Solitude at last and A Night To Remember of kind Indigestion
Better out than in or not what a rhetorical question
There’s more to come so far this was merely a Drop In The Ocean
Scented fragrance is a sign of happiness and gourmet devotion
Bloated flatulence cannot release The End Of Despair
Gastrointestinal catharsis must shoot out with fanfare
So he took a Short Cut to a full bouquet of fine smell and aroma
Burped loudly as well because a content soul resides in an unburdened soma
05th July 2019
This poem was not written for any competition
But I used a lot of titles from my previous poems
A Child At Heart - Feeling Again - Winds Of Change -
Rising Above - Brain Storm - Exposed - Public Convenience -
The Naked Truth -Shot In The Dark - Dream Catcher - Fire Works -
Rip Tides -Solitude - A Night To Remember - Indigestion -
Drop In The Ocean - The End Of Despair - Short Cut
The consistency on show is out of order
Switzerland has no hard border
by the rules it really oughta
Monaco too being by the water
Yet Brussels tussles with future allies
alone in their Irish Border cries
even the Irish don’t prioritize
attempts to show muscle in Brexit ties
No identity needed in Sweden from Norway
a border allowing you be on your way
the two wealthiest countries in the world today
have no hard border strange I’d say
But money talks and the EU listens
though doesn’t answer its own citizens
or make clear political systems
assigning, enforcing all but consistent
Some can’t see corruption until the mask crumbles
when it does Britain won’t be part of the tumble
when systems exposed come undone fall
then London calling as London stands tall
Iron laws that rust corroded souls
Hold up society in liberalism water
Wash cultures down to their bare bones
Welcome to the new improved
History has no time to lose
Rules have no place in truth
Life is too precious for the living
Breathing is a lost commodity
No oxygen left in the rooms of reason
Hospitals are out of order as of today
There is technology to consume
To fix the stars in their alignment
The universe must pay for awful crimes
Committed on society without permission
Opinion systems now predict the future
Broadcast news becomes our only hope
To advance you must return to Earth
Allow the sun to spin around it
Where we are at center of the holy host
We must focus on our feelings
Teach success by killing common sense
Throw it out the window if it offends
You are the only thing that matters
Just ask the sun which revolves around itself
And remember, it also orbits you and only you
To forget the past, to find the future
There is no reason to obey the law
But you must honor the news you find
Which is broadcast local and nationwide
With truth you can use if so inclined
Iron laws that rust corroded souls
Hold up society in liberalism water
Wash cultures down to their bare bones
Welcome to the new improved
Broadcasting nationwide
Out of order is my pc
Awful thing to happen to me
I try to judge poetry contests
Impossible on iPhone I confess
Admin says soup made for computers
Makes me feel like a big fat loser
Indeed I lost fuchsia flexibility
Lost files in my purple cemetery
That’s where in my old files
I saved old trash poem piles
Poems gone before saved to iCloud
They weren’t good but I miss them now
For they were like mind flowers
Some weak discreet some with power
I guess they are also like a diary
Full of secrets writes wrongs dreams
Out of order no television or pc
I’ve a phone a home and peace
Day after day, week after week,
When rush hour traffic’s at its peak,
I’ve had to sit and wait and wait,
Knowing that once more I’d be late
It started with a water main.
They mended it – it burst again
And cut off electricity,
Another high priority.
With traffic lights set far apart,
Commuters started losing heart.
This morning, waiting in the car
I spotted something quite bizarre.
The men were gathered all around,
Their spades were lying on the ground.
And I could only sit and stare
As “Happy Birthday” filled the air.
I called out, “Who’s the Birthday boy
I’d like to wish him Birthday joy?”
And, as one man, they turned to say,
“The trench is one year old today!”
sometimes coffee in an Antigua cup
or red,
not often, tea,
loose or bagged.
does the string stop the drowning.
occasionally, dandelion,
bitter, mildly unpleasant;
such as a visit
to the deck, tidied,
vacuumed, except for a corner
kept with leaves
waiting for a spouse
to hurry up and finish up.
a three-way
confusion, static;
like a bus-hop,
it’s no party, not even
an old-fashion
party line.
not likely to listen
to reason, cutting
remarks, saturated
in control.
chocolate cream, distilled sips
in a cordial glass,
stem pinched by thumb
and pointing out tact.
sometimes wine, red
in a heaping purple goblet,
only a quarter full;
I’m no fool.
falling into the coolness
of rain, insane
how things change, shift,
stay strangely the same,
and out of order.
hey, while I listened,
a lingering trash bag
disappeared.
this is why
complaining is
for nought.
perhaps tomorrow
will wake up sunny,
and exhausted,
rumpled and relaxed.
a three way cheer
of tact,
bittersweet parched.
Constance was a hoarder.
Her life was out of order.
She lived in a mess
I must confess
I would not like to be a boarder.
Nobody could walk in the door,
Excrement and junk covered the floor,
She could not throw anything away,
She collected more rubbish each day,
Items she had no use for.
Constance fed the cat, dog and the rabbit,
Who all had disgusting habits
Which made the house smell
And it was a living hell,
For her neighbour, Mrs Crabbit.
There was no room to move in the house
Even the rats and flies, and mouse
Found it a squeeze
Made them all sneeze
Even the parrot had a louse.
Poor Constance had a compulsion,
She had a disorder and didn't have a notion,
How strange this would be
For you and me
When we showed our revulsion.
What a dreadful affliction
A hard-to-understand addiction
They need to change
But it's challenging to rearrange
And go in another direction.
Sacked from the Hilton after war with will warn felt lonely because all that had known me had shown me in my hour of need I only had my only no one took me seriously when stress became quite clear to see little bits of my stories listened to no depths though when I tried to say that they say it wasn’t true shrugged off that didn’t happen to you, I was confused and spoke events out of order, the boss and her boss abusing the porter, when I told my mum she went berserk sort your work problems out at work, and tell who? my boss and her boss and no HR, licensed freedom to go to far and they target me regardlessly now Johann and Cindy won’t speak up for me and that fat Helen is a total b.... mum and dad convinced I always wanted attention so when I told dad he believed I exaggerate the situation everyone I turned to in desperation showed me I’m worthless had worn their patience see my story isn’t simple, truth is I had no people, attention seek? never, I’m natural I act unconformed it’s not normal so you look at me it’s horrible, branded stupid selfish need to be punished, being the one is awful, singled out and shown a fool, centre of attention as the moron, what would I seek that for?
I have told this story before using metaphor, now straight truth no bull....
this poem is the start there's more straight up truth no metaphor,
I hate when my cable’s out of order.
It seems I call them again and again.
If it’s not one thing then it’s another.
And all of it is surely a big pain.
Sometimes I’ll be forever on the phone
just waiting for a person to get through to.
It’s worse when the technician that I get
is someone seeming to live in Timbuku.
It never fails that they cannot help me.
Then they schedule me for a repair date,
which is any time between 12 and 5.
I stay home all afternoon just to wait.
Even worse is when my Roku box
is on the fritz, for there’s no help for me
when that goes out! For that, I’m on my own.
It’s not part of my cable’s warranty.
But these are such small problems when I think
of all the bad things in the world today.
I need to fix my mind on what is good:
at least TV’s in color now -not black, white and grey.