Long Pan out Poems
Long Pan out Poems. Below are the most popular long Pan out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pan out poems by poem length and keyword.
A sense of holidays!
Blueberry pie hot out of the oven with buttery toppings
popcorn popping in the pot with oil on the stove
Lemon and lime are the sour balls used for drinks or garnish
Take that hot pan out of the oven with your glove.
Coffee is served with a biscotti, black coffee, strong, steamy
Fresh coffee beans ground and gurgling through the percolator
Unsweetened coffee, hot, burns your lips, bitter to the tongue
Cold ice in the freezer and the glass shelf in the refrigerator.
Uncle Joe’s gas problem and Aunt Emma’s feet
As Grandfather breathes and snores through his nose.
The last crumbs of cinnamon, the last glob of whipped cream
Take Grandma’s hand when you walk out, she hates to impose.
Blank canvas in your sight
You get to choose
The way you drape and decorate
Don't be too conservative
Change might scare you
But you might
Relish the outcome
There will be days when it don't pan out
That doesn't mean you failed
If you judge yourself too harsh
You may forget there is a lesson to be learned
How will you remember?
If not by your mistakes?
We all have to start somewhere -
Unless you prefer to be inert
Unless you remain
Rooted to the spot
Refusing to grow
To falter isn't your lesson
How you react to it; is
How you embrace
The opportunity to grow
©091020141420
Not long to go now until we are
told we will know
How the next 4 year's are bound
to pan out
As the way it's been reported on
it's almost like we have a casting
vote or have a say in it ourselves
Bering in mind however or whichever
way it pan's out it is entirely up
to them not us
I highly doubt they care what we think
anyway as they have far more pressing
problems to deal with
And when such a big deal is made
of Russian interference why or how
come we don't feel the need to but
out either
If you believe in the supposition
that the news media are the so
called all knowing visionaries
they proport to be like our very
own BBC
Then this election is moot anyway
And just how much power can
or does a President really wield
in an actual democracy
Only a Dictator who rules by
an iron fist is trully blessed
with the gift of absolute power
Ask any old ordinary folk who lives
in say Russia, China, Iran, Afghanistan
or Saudi Arabia
On the basis of if no one is looking
over there shoulder or they are
reading verbatim from a script
Pause, smile for effect praise
the leader and maybe you will
see your family again
You need to do this
It would be better if you
...did it my way
My way, well, I don't know
I'm still figuring it out
....along the way
Ways,days, leave me dazed
With confusion, illusion, and conclusions
....that never pan out
But I want you to listen
I have important things to say
....I'm a poet, for goodness sake
Words, like perfectly formed turds
Still stink when they are delivered
....no matter how tightly wound
A wounded wound, makes a distinguished sound
On the piano of the heart
....like a weighted string
B R e
a
k
ing.....trying to take on one more note
The pressure of holding it together
Giving way...to the thud, of words
.....pianos float notes...not words
The beauty of rhythm and flow, gone
The whipping of the string, finally free
....to make noise in the air
with WHOever is there
daring to care
for the broken great.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-30-2018
Note: Fear communications are so damaging...just had to walk away. Also, it's a wounded (injury) wound (past tense of wind...ahhh...words make me silly with joy).
It was on a Sunday morning in the village where I stay
Out walking with my dog, I heard some pensioners say
Did you hear about the earthquake, it was somewhere in our State
No magnitude has ever been like it, it's impossible to relate
Quickly I headed home, to view this terrible news
Upon turning on the TV, I'm in horror at what my eyes now view
The awesome Golden Gate Bridge, against an azure bluey day
Lies broken, distorted and twisted, as if it's foundations had given way
The camera now focuses on the mainland, capturing plumes of choking black
Freeways lie twisted and contorted, trains running from their tracks
Gas lines spew throwers of flames, sirens resonate in blaring sound
What was level hours before, have dropped from it's original grounds
Many reporters are now on the scene, as they pan out across the blue
From the helicopter of CNN, Alcatraz disappears from their view
Slowly the island it sat on, as if by magic, now it has gone
Words are heard through the speakers, what the hells gone wrong
The daylight turns to black, a city lies in shreds
Memories of 1906, when three thousand plus were dead
All through the night, tremors came and went
Has history repeated itself, the San Andreas Serpent
I am awoken in the morning, having left the TV on
Panic stricken reporters screaming, most of San Francisco's gone
Where once stood a city, lie pillars of battered ruins
Deep gorges surround them, in bloodied scattered strewn
There's a break in the programme, it's from Yellowstone National Park
The land is starting to rise, incredible is the remark
Geysers that once flowed often, have receded in their shower
Are we about to witness, another of her powers
Back to the CNN studios, more footage of the morning
Towering inferno's in sickened tears, the clock, the warning
I fall to my knees in remembrance of the date
It's December the 21st, has earth met it's fate
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
The word of discovery of gold in '49 in Californy raced across the nation!
Why, it was said you could fill a bushel basket full with little botheration!
This appealed to a young feller in Boston town named Clancy Wiggins,
Who forthwith trailed the sun west to help himself to his share of diggin's!
In them days to make the trek you had a choice of travelin' by land or sea.
He chose the sea carin' not a whit for wagon trains or tanglin' with Cherokee!
Clancy left his mom and dad, Spike his dog and Sarah Jane his fiancee,
Fixin' to strike it rich, return safe and sound to marry-up with her one day!
In March of '49 he boarded the ship Barnacle and sailed from the Boston quay.
'Twas cold and icy, the sea was rough, he was sea-sick, not a cheerful day.
They tacked to and fro and three months later transited perilous Cape Horn!
Four months later they reached San Francisco, both man and ship badly worn!
Clancy bounded off the ship anxious to head fer them thar hills and streams.
He bought the necessaries needed to accomplish his far-fetched dreams.
Includin' shovels, boots, jeans and grub as well as a sassy mule named Fred,
Plus pots and pans and a tent to 'batch' in to lower costs and overhead.
Fer nigh on a year he panned, dug and sluiced searchin' fer that pot of gold,
Sufferin' claim jumpers, cheatin' partners, floods, rain, snow and cold!
Now and then he'd pan some dust or a nugget, but didn't amount to much;
What he found he quickly blew on gamblin' whiskey, wimmin and such!
His venture didn't 'pan out' like them lying Californy hucksters said it might.
He sold Fred and his belongin's since his future as a miner didn't look bright.
Clancy left Boston with 21 bucks and left Californy with 18 bucks in his jeans.
It might be said that he didn't arrive back in Boston as a man of means!
An optimist and pessimist were sitting in the park,
Their outlooks as divergent as the light is to the dark.
“I think this will be over soon,” the optimist declared.
The pessimist just looked at her as if she were impaired.
“Our lives will never ever be the ones we used to lead,”
The pessimist asserted, but her buddy disagreed.
“You’ll see, before you know it, all will be just like before,”
The optimist responded, a believer to the core.
Their argument continued, each convinced that she was right,
Not seeing any grays at all between the black and white.
Yet time will tell whose thoughts pan out, for now the world’s a mess
And I don’t see it going back. (My side? Well, take a guess!)
Hatched from an egg, larva begins gathering around massive trees;
consuming enough leaves sufficient for morphing within chrysalis.
Once this process is a success, reconfigured caterpillars nibble and wiggle their way out.
Something extraordinary happens—
Atomic metamorphosis liberates an epiphany.
Majestic, colorful creatures emerge—
Beautiful butterflies make birth, liberated larva bloom, flourish and blossom
A state away from cocoon, a graceful performer sets sail.
Boating across blue skies, butterflies float in thin air.
Rays of sunlight break amid overcasting clouds.
Bright shiny wings vibrantly glisten.
Seeing colors, happiness smiles and goosebumps pan out shivers.
Butterflies of beauty miraculously appear.
Viewing spectacular enlightenment—
Bearing witness to an irrefutable, sighted stupendousness.
Delighted butterflies reminisce, recalling life as larva.
Remarkably capable of flying anymore, professing subject ability by becoming remarkably adept; nearly instantaneously.
And no matter how ugly the world may seem; at times—
Butterflies of beauty allow belief, tarrying wings of hope.
Metamorphic, frosted cookies maintain my emotional environment; anchoring momentous love.
Inclined to bind a beating heart—
Now filled through butterflies of beauty, deep blue eyes shine, reflecting love and life; unveiling romantic harmony.
1/09/17
For contest sponsored by Mystic Rose.
Slow Connection
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Written by;Auteur-C. Inspirant
and Chason Deles Morceaux Dequelqu'un D'autre
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Adagio (slow and expressive)
Intro ? Verse ? Pre-Chorus ? Chorus ? Verse ? Pre-Chorus
And Largo (slow and broad).
? Chorus ? Bridge ? Chorus ? Outro
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A lack of afford reflects his stagnation
as those who he wished support from
has alienated themselves to either
learn from what you are doing or have
done in a assessment of complication
Competitive rivalries often
stem from the learned knowledge of
someone.
Patterns emerge and frustrate others in
how they see you handle things
when the grudge undermines the assessment
when it is easy to withhold a message
or when that alternate doesn't pan out
people look for you to change.
And if you aren't as easy to please in love
a person will quickly start agistments
to get what they want.
He knew she loved him but
asking for a down payment, for one thing
and it turns out to be another
three weeks into
a relationship seems sketchy at best
Heckle bassoons aint cheap and them euro's
don't come easy.
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Eidted by: Bikky Doee Dinkez
of DoeDinkez Editing Co.
A Willington Area Publishing Co.
Sunday did not pan out,
an iron faith faltered;
events planned
wandered off like drunken sheep.
It was the Advil,
it was the insomnia,
it was not enough iron in my soul.
Speaking of which, my stools
are obsidian artifacts;
a consequence of iron therapy.
The day got no better,
the drunk sheep returned all at once,
tin replaced iron,
anemic confusions swirled
my spirit grew pale.
Within me
body bugs binged
on iron
while the blood dieted.
Sunday smelts to Monday
a peaceful time,
my inner ghost is recovering,
sheep are grazing.
I suck upon nuts
and bolts
make plans,
iron-out
future road bumps.