Long Perked up Poems
Long Perked up Poems. Below are the most popular long Perked up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perked up poems by poem length and keyword.
It's raining like dog gone it outside
I can just see all the mothers say "oh dear"
Happy Mother's Day Moms
You all have done such a great job
rearing your youngs through eighteen
and sometimes even longer
Always willing to lend an ear
and so ready with advice
God didn't give you a book
when He sent us your way
Yet you are able to wing it
And wing it you did
You rear up your youngs according to the way
you think you should
We turn out just
FINE
young and dandy
pompous, forgetful
conceited - yet you love us
We turn out
DECENT
because of you
You give us qualities, traits
that are now part of us
What do you need now?
But to hear from you
You never need anything
ask anything of us
except to love you AND to listen
Haha you got that
Even when we appear not listening
our other ears are perked up
- our inner ears
Yes we are so intuned of what you say
that far after it has been said
we can still hear it
Yes we love you, Mothers
And today we salute you
for getting the troop in gear
for feeding and clothing us
for giving us patience and a willingness to care
for instilling in us what are now inside of us
And that is patience and kind
Virtues that you are the champion of
Happy Mother's Day, MOMS
I have to get this right! Old Gus settled.
My first essay without Miss Edward’s help.
For a contest; so it wouldn’t be right.
My feet were mammoth, I tried to collect them.
Old Gus’s ears perked up. He was gone.
Raccoon or opossum maybe.
A tribute to my mom I thought,
Remembering her smile, her laugh, her hug.
I was seven when flu took her.
Came home from school to find out.
Dad grieving so hard. Bad time.
He had lost a wife. I had lost my sun.
Dad peeked in. How’s it going, son?
He gave me a nod. Anything I can do?
He was not demonstrative. Not a toucher.
“She was a hugger,” I wrote. “I miss that the most.”
Written 9-30-2019
Contest: Realism Art Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper Photo Selected: #2
The streets grow loud with the tambour of laughter.
In the normally quiet witching hour, carols tumble, unplanned, from merry crowds.
Even the stoic gendarmerie patrolling the Champ de Mars are showing their smiles.
For it’s almost Christmas.
Servants, having gotten their Christmas bonuses,
practically dance the mahogany halls,
crowned in festive paper ivy and borrowed silver bells,
humming in merry misrule - as if all rank has turned topsy-turvy.
Downstairs, the chef (Julian) is in fine, bustling form,
like a magician setting up a great trick.
For things are getting serious - thirty Christmas geese,
a ghostly-pale flock for feasting, arrived this morning, as did some
very large salmon, crates of cheese, fruit, liqueurs, and champagne.
Peter and I were hoping for a calm Christmas day
but that dream’s no longer in play.
For on Christmas day, Grandmère celebrates brunch
with two hundred and some fifty of her closest, most indecorous friends.
I’m the corrected granddaughter.
“Oh, you must come to this one,” Grandmère said, in an injured whisper.
I can’t resist that tone in her voice. “If we must,” I sighed.
So I will be, for a few hours at least, a reluctant holiday prisoner.
“Good,” she smiled, her voice restored in victory.
”I bought you a dress,” she added slyly for mollification.
My ears perked up - she knows the designers I like.
“It was just delivered to your room,” she said knowingly.
“Oh, who will suffer to rescue me?” I asked Peter, in mock drama.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, taking refuge behind a mug of frozen eggnog.
.
.
A Christmas playlist for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_30.mp3
Evell’s pointed ears perked up. A faerie library! Where was it?
When does it open? Who can check out books? She was intrigued.
“Only true faeries can see it,” evil Morganna said, she was a chit.
Not being a pureblood, Evell wondered if she would get access.
“I know I will be invited,” Morganna told her. She was a snit.
Two weeks later Evell discovered a new road, and a tall stair.
She was let inside. Dwarfs, elves and dragons reading books.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” a pixie said, flinging pink dust in the air.
“Excuse me,” Evell said to the librarian. “Where are faerie books?”
“Everywhere,” the gargoyle said, extending his hands. “Every shelf.”
Fantastic Faerie Frolicks, Fairy Bible and Recipes for Fey Cooks.
Morganna never showed up. "She won’t," winked a knowing elf.
In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple,
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies,
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!
The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year...
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!
God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!
Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!
`Twas Christmas Eve and in the air a chill
Rudolph had to stand down cos he felt ill
Santa started to panic
So he sent for a medic
Who in error gave Rudolph a blue pill.
He soon perked up and was raring to go
Santa was pleased and shouted ho ho ho
But then a surprise
Between the stags thighs
Rudolphs man thing was beginning to grow.
Surprised Santa just looked on in dismay
As Rudolph managed to break from the sleigh
A deer park he went
Picked up some doe's scent
And with every doe had his wicked way.
Written 7th December 2020.
Christmas Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Alexis Y.
Upon this monumental door, a sense of gratitude came before my eyes
If stabbed by paths of fear and wrath, new trust came pouring down
For behind the glittering forest, and a pomegrante stained sky
Enhancing was this quiet hour, in dwindling crimson crowned
There, in tensile grace, our meeting came a twofold surprise
Lightly splashed in backlight, where the tender grass had grown
Quietly grazing with grace, at first unaware of eyes
This thing of beauty revealed for my gladness alone
Suddenly the white tailed doe sensed me watching her
She perked up ears, alert to my presence, yet did not flee
Dare I even break the silence with a whispered word?
Or take a step per chance my foot might rustle twig or leaf?
This battle of wills...intense, a fleeting chance in time
Making no move...each of us transfixed, unable to breathe
Nor break this entrancing spell as her eyes met mine
Moments transpired...only sound of scarcely whistling breeze
Eyes like windows, of which the glass is tongue
She spoke to me, in hypnotic spell, I felt myself release
Our spirits crossed against the sky, beneath the copper trees
As if laced, were we, where spirits dwell, in universal peace
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
By Carrie Richards, for Kristen Bruni's contest "What Animal Would I Be?"
ultimate forest bear warrior was not always an upright walking beast
He had been transmogrified by a wizard named Helcreast.
Helcreast had turned him when he had his eyes on his daughter.
He fooled him into this trickery with a drink of what looked like water.
he had no name now, his parents had given up hope
Missing for five years, his girlfriend had hung herself with a rope
Helcreast probably hated him now more than ever before
Today he saw the ancient sage outside and he gave a mighty roar.
He wanted to tear him apart, and kick his pieces down the hill.
His hatred was as intense as ever, suddenly the wind became still.
Grandpa! He heard, and his ears perked up at the sound, proud.
He lumbered down the hill, and was face to face to a child so loud.
Whose child is this? He asked Helcreast who had disappeared from view.
Wizard had handed the child a cup, and he was drinking water so blue.
Poof! The child turned into a forest bear warrior cub, was this child his?
He picked up his offspring, and wandered off, amazed at the power of the wiz.
...Connolly, amazed, shook his heavy head,
kids do not lie well, the truth had been said,
having heard the tale, he just could not blame
a child with such anguish in his brain.
“Where are your sisters?”he asked patiently.
“There still in the house, and no doubt hungry.
But I can’t go back there, with what I’ve done,
that’s why I just rode on, trying to run.”
“Do you have family?”Connolly asked.
“An aunt if Bridgeford,” came the answer fast.
“Could you maybe tell her, of my sisters?
She has a house, and they could live with her!”
Connolly nodded. “I’ll take them myself.
As for a wanted man, he would do well
to leave this here county, head out elsewhere,
since I would have no jurisdiction there.”
The boy sat silent, then his eyes perked up,
Connolly remounted, and said, “Tracking’s tough.
Sometimes it’s easy to find your quarry,
sometimes they escape, it’s happened to me.”
With that he turned his horse towards the spread,
put his spurs to it, and away he sped,
he’d tell the town the killer got away,
these things happened, even on your first day.
A tiny bit of surgery will turn you into a cat
I loved the idea, and told my cousin, Rat.
He rolled his eyes saying it would be dumb to do.
What does he know? He is a mere baby, only forty-two.
He has not had my life, he does not meow like me.
Has no knowledge of growling as I could easily see.
I am seventy-one, and I wish I had done it sooner.
I began turning into a cat under the moon they called Lunar.
My ears perked up first, all pointy and pretty.
I developed a taste of kibble, and my words were witty.
I kept to myself and swished around my new tail.
The best part of all? No one sends a cat mail.