Long Percentile Poems
Long Percentile Poems. Below are the most popular long Percentile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Percentile poems by poem length and keyword.
Elysian fields long since embraced dada's soul
which rocketed into aerospace
(courtesy General Electric satellite)
just a tad more'n eighteen plus months ago,
nevertheless melancholy
still plucks mine heart strings.
Mine psyche still situated awry
placid countenance of yours truly doth belie
residual sadness easily prompted
can easily trigger me to cry
linkedin when grim reaper gloated
October 7th, 2020
ye did somewhat peacefully die
though methinks immortality
I did briefly espy,
when miracles of modern medicine
tried, but could not
stave off mortality nor fortify
depredations of aging concerning
one wunderkind whose accomplishments
laudatory when a young handsome guy,
whose intelligence scored high
native talent aptitude tests did imply.
The late Boyce Brandon Harris
exhibited prolific talents at young age
aside being scholastically gifted,
acquiring graduate degree
courtesy Columbia University,
freshly minted mechanical engineer
(he admirably ranked within
uppermost percentile academically),
I hashtag thy mine deceased father
(a polymath - jack-of-all-trades),
who possessed (née excelled)
at diverse creative abilities.
Aside from being schooled
as mechanical engineer,
(which courses in mathematics and science
he passed with flying colors)
his mind genetically bequeathed
to craft almost anything under the sun
evidenced first by yours truly,
the second offspring and sole son
who ofttimes felt intimidated
at being in presence
of said Renaissance man.
Handicrafts included
expending blood, sweat, and tears
to craft multitude of projects;
i. building me Flintstone (foot powered)
car with wooden license plate.
ii. making playhouse for all three
of us - his progeny.
iii. amassing wood pile(s),
to stoke wood burning stoves
iv. designing Zayda trail for Teddy and Ruff
(two doggone mixed breed Border Collies
rescued courtesy youngest sister
at her Jacobsburg, Penna work site)
v. constructing sauna in cellar,
Tongue Twisters:
*********************************M********************************************
Meditation maliciously masks my mighty monogamous minx.
Modestly managing my machismo.
Mastering my maturity.
*********************************P*********************************************
Paranormal peasants of a pathetic and permanent percentile.
Penetrate peace from perjury.
A patriarch parallel to a partial and
partisan passage.
Jared Pickett
10/24/09
Asavvy1
Too Heavy for Small Shoulders
They rise before the sun has learned to smile,
bags of books like borrowed mountains on their backs,
dreams folded neatly between timetables
and the fear of falling behind.
At breakfast tables, silence studies harder than they do—
scores are served before love,
and questions sound like verdicts:
What rank? What future? What place in the world?
Classrooms become race tracks,
chalk dust thick with comparison.
A child is no longer a child,
but a number, a percentile,
a promise yet to prove its worth.
Society leans in, whispers loud:
Be brilliant. Be useful. Be fast.
There is no syllabus for breathing,
no exam on how to fail and stand again.
Parents, tired and hoping, mean no harm—
they sharpen their fears into expectations,
forgetting that pressure can crack diamonds
when applied too soon.
And the world waits with its cold arithmetic,
measuring value in salary slips and titles,
asking children to choose a lifetime
before they have learned who they are.
So anxiety learns to speak before confidence does,
sleepless nights pass every test,
and tears are hidden like contraband
in the pockets of young hearts.
Listen—
behind the marksheets and medals
are children asking softly, bravely:
Am I enough if I just exist?
Let us lighten their loads,
replace fear with faith,
teach them that worth is not earned—
it is born.
For a healthy mind
is the first success story,
and childhood
should never be the price
of the future.
Black Lives Matter
Bleak moors secure. No!
Legislative restrictions restrict. No!
Artificial equality marble. Yes!
Current runs last. Shooting blacks may be running or not. Why?
Kinematic singularities extend. Politicians and scientific contending?
Late starts resume. This a life, Yes!
Independent runs extend. This is a life Yes!
Very vitals snuff. What percentile is enough is enough
Extraordinary prerogatives exploit. What's the matter with us
Short sprints mean. Don't walk, run or talk be still innocent
Many moors tramp. racism trumps running rapidly distrust
Anti separatists endure. let us all come together
Tribal Bantu carry. More physical than physiological Don't know?
Those tortured vitals incline. Whose drawing the line and when?
Essential singularities run.
Racial equality bleeds. Let's end racist please
6/20/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Tight about the past—
transparent glass panes,
stained and cracked
by crooked, wicked lies.
Sacred are these settled energies.
They muddle about,
never lifting their feet.
I mean higher than the next—
higher than anything else.
Tether thyself to greatness.
Witness its greatness,
or keep thinking
in the same tones you speak in.
There is no treatment—
only the fight
against debilitating sickness.
You hold it together
with shoestring,
scotch tape,
and wink-less nights
working alongside the sabbath,
long past first light.
Long double-shift shiftiness
into the only off day.
No longer tis old boulder—
a new obstacle
has been waiting for me.
I urgently need
the percentile damage increase.
If my awakened visions
lie in legitimacy,
or if they’re just
daydreams re-sold—
Sandman’s regift,
passed down,
along beside me,
and made well past due.
What use is standing upon
business if it’s business
encroaching on you?
It’s not impossible—
but the benefit
must be mine
before I just give it to you.
My Healing Prayer
Written: by Tom Wright
The “Miracle Man”
6/30/2018
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, you’ve heeded another’s plea,
While on the far side knowing, they interceded for me.
You touched my body during Sudden Cardiac Arrest,
Placing me in the low percentile, who survive this test.
You gave sagacity to those who attended me, each day,
Your Spirit was mentoring them, each step of the way.
You know what it’s like to endure pain and even loss,
For you gave your life for my sin, upon a cruel cross.
My cardiologist called me Lazarus, others, Miracle Man,
And at times the Protected One epitomizing God’s plan;
Now I seek to feel useful and productive once again,
And thank you Lord Jesus for your healing touch. Amen.
I wonder into how many mirrors I will glance on my to hell.
This vain and vile image.
We made him together.
Their expectations and my vanity.
Their agitation and my insecurity.
This peripheral paranoia, checked only by the silent staring into an image.
I wish he would show himself, that coward.
He uses flattery and percentile quadrants to entice me to his sodomy.
He and I, bedfellows of rebellious arrogance.
And though miserable, I company, lots and lots of companies.
I wonder into how many mirrors I will pass on my way to hell.
A shroud of glass might end it, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Them my enemy and me their obsequious jester.
This vain and vile image.
We made him together.
Their expectations and my vanity.
My machinations and their will for sunshade from the truth of what we are.
We made him together, and laughing he awaits our arrival.
A sleepover
Hooray
My sister and I
We pack light
a small bag each
It's been 3 days
I am out of fresh clothes
I miss my toys
Can I go back now?
Apparently sleepover
Does not mean what I thought
Ah, if only I brought more clothes
If only I got my books
If only I could keep what was mine
the new house is good
until I mess up
and then come the lines
I will not
I shall not
I will not
I shall not
My sisters afraid of bees
So why is it
she's outside
forced to stand in a patch of clover
Why?
Trampoline tickle fight
the older girls should have listened
I cried stop
they did not
And yet here I am on the porch
Wet bottom towards the world
begging for forgiveness?
"She" burst in while I was changing
"Get Out" i scream, like a respectable person
Except I forgot, 9 year old girls without parents
aren't respectable, or people
half an hour I sat, shirtless in front to the window
Ham and cheese
That's it
Every day for a summer
Ham. And. Cheese
eventually I hid the ham
and only ate the cheese
We are selected by a family
we will finally have a home
we tour the place, and it's amazing
tree house, dollhouse, multi acre yard
We'll give you a call said the "parents"
but they never did
ah, eggbert, oh speedy one
you are my only friend
all the other games
were always asking for player 2
but who needs a player 2?
Is it just me or are our dinners getting smaller?
Tomorrow marks the
first day of fourth grade
We head to the doctor
We get weighed
At 40 lbs, I am in the fifth percentile
That's a good score, right?
Todays the day
Finally
January 2009
Somebody sees me for who I am
Form:
Always nice to be away
From people like you
Who are stressing me apart,
Don’t you think so?
Whatever,
Just in time.
I was thinking deeply about
All that happened in my life,
Since I met you, I will never forgive,
It hurts too much,
Hope this party will remove such thoughts.
Have a great time,
Comments and feelings reserved,
Showering me with your weekend lies,
Coz you are fading away gracefully,
I know how to please myself.
This is the time when
We gotta take coffee
With a pinch of salt,
I love you percentile,
I don’t give a damn
What they are going;
I was driving when you beeped,
Talk to me before I walk
Into the cave.
During childhood
It was all about imagination,
As in opening a window
For a fun, medieval war with full set of armor and a sword
And fighting the foes who comes to fight.
I'd always made it unfair
For my enemies;
Seventy-four to forty-seven
And scoring a victory for my land.
As each war was fought, many men were defeated and killed
But with the stakes of losing my country and throne,
Losing or surrendering was not an option.
But a new enemy came, stronger than any other foe I fought,
And his name was Evil Ken,
A dark figure, with the same body tone as mine,
His eyes were bright red,
Both hands were sharp as kitchen knives,
And his energy was pure darkness.
Not only Evil Ken came,
He put his contagious plaque
Over my countrymen;
One claw from his hands
Feels like a painful parade
Full of little ants
Crawling into your skin.
I'd thought in my mind
That my soldiers can be healed
And fight by my side,
But it was too late.
The meadows of my imagination
Became little voices,
Similar voices of fallen men whom I killed,
And my muscles in my right wrist,
Which had the power of democracy,
Became the voices' weapon
Of mass destruction
And turning it against me.
The percentile of me winning this war was 3:1,
Favoring Evil Ken
And fear came through me
Like a man was getting executed by be-headed.
I feared that I will be next on the chopping block
Of iron and steel.
So for this "Never-ending war"
Between Evil Ken and his plaque
Against me
Multiple names were firing at me,
Like ***** and a juvenile delinquent,
But an unfamiliar voice came by my side,
Like an angel from the sky flew down,
And gave me evidence
On how to defeat Him and his plaque.
This evidence was
Leadership, motivator, and a
Survivor.
The war ended with his plaque
And Evil Ken was finally disperse.
I may have won this war,
But more will come in time
And more men will be defeated.