Long Photographed Poems
Long Photographed Poems. Below are the most popular long Photographed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Photographed poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes
I look at her, and I think,
Could she be anymore perfect?
Though not everyone may agree, but still
I believe that only she could make me happy,
despite all my imperfections and insecurity, and
so for this reason, and many more, I do not care
for what they say, because they can’t understand
the way I feel when she’s holding me, when she
chooses me above all others to be with, as if it’s a
perfectly natural, normal thing, and though she hates
being photographed, she’ll do it for me, and she will
try to scowl but I can always make her smile, and it’s
always worth my while, for now I can paint
her with my words, her beauty a
poem for the world to read
and in my heart,
I know that
I will for
always stay
this way, devoted and
deluded, but if
that’s the life I choose
then why should they stand in
my way? I can feel
just how I like,
and if it all ends
in tears, so what? For
still I will
have had
an amazing time.
The cactus hoovers like a bully daring to be touched. Another cactus of a different type blossoms briefly.
The vegetable garden lies bare this year and wonders why. She doesn't understand that when I sometime grow weary, weak, and worn reaping such small tomatoes, I take a break.
The roses stand erect longing to be photographed. The Iris has had their say and returned for the season. The lawn was beautifully green a few weeks ago, but she looks at me now as she slowly turns brown and pleads for water, forgetting that in summer, I prefer brown, not green. I promised that I would keep her cut and trimmed, but not green.
The fruitless mulberry waves her leaves, standing ready for summer shade. The peony, who doesn't care for high temperatures, is feeling the May heat. I will inform her in a day or two that she will soon join her sister in a more desirous, suitable, and shady place and be transplanted into a large flower pot. She is thriving so well. I must not fail her as I did last year by not being dutiful and prompt enough to provide her a new home.
In back, the Rose of Sharon tree is begging to be noticed. Underneath the tall palms, the plums, peaches, and nectarines are showing signs of a bumper crop this year. Water is limited and scarce; but trees and plants are thriving, and life is shouting!
050521PSCtest, All Yours, Brian Stran
For example a Dachshund dog was thrown 5 floors to his death
The owner photographed this and posted it online
His dog looked like he was sleeping but was dead
I tracked the Dachshund Dog’s Killer down and killed him
I put him in an 80s violent video game with block graphics
I hit him with a stabbing dagger in both shoulders
Then machete chopped half of his pinto skull off
Finally finishing him off with a flick knife in the gut
Next there was the case of the animal rescue centre
9 pussycats were murdered for no real reason
Except they were living in the centre
I drove up to the animal sanctuary in a Technical
I beeped and they opened the gates and I saw him
The Pussycat Murderer who swaggered about like a real man
I aimed my remote control 50 Cal gun with my PS2 controller
And popped the motherer with a hundred 50 Cal Raufoss rounds
A woman cut the foot off her dog with a machete
Because the dog annoyed his owner
All this was filmed and posted online
I found the Limping Woman who made her dog painfully limp
I said Hi and smirked then tightly tied her up
And had my way with her 25 times in a calendar day
Her pussy was sore and needed stitching due to the table leg
As did her feet when I sliced off all her damn toes
Most bizarre of all was the small dog
Who was partly skinned alive by his owner
This dog was rescued and given treatment
Dog Skinner was a hard man to find but not hard in a fight
I threw him a knife and said, ‘Skin me or be maimed...’
His lunges were slow and unskilled and embarrassing
I blocked them with one hand and closed my eyes
I snapped his spine with one single side kick
And a man drove his car and threw out his dog
Like a bit of trash with duct taped up feet and muzzle
The cops rescued the dog and jailed the man
I impersonated a Police Officer and ‘apprehended’ the suspect
Who had just been released from jail for leaving his pet dog for dead
He let me into his house and I Tasered the bastard and duct taped him up
I dragged Dog Duct Tape Man to my fake squad car and put him in the trunk
I drove him to a secluded spot and did a very enjoyable EJK
I enjoyed each and every act of Pet’s Revenge and Murder
This is my new job and I always enjoy it and get away with it
I have backing from Big Brother and the Illuminated People
Branches of beans wave most predominantly in stormy weather but heavily prevalent are the many climbing chimps whose antics please the spotted cloud and cause a clap in the sky. But half a cup of mildew in a snow covered dome is neither a doorstep nor is it a milked out heifer in a four poster bed. Recline no reaches. Reach no radiuses'. And surely then a bean pole could adequately carry over forty-six washing baskets full to the brim, nineteen plates of roast dinner, ten puddings and a very large crystal chandelier. How rather marvellous. And how talented too. Recreation receiving rather real room radii. And the ratio of a dandelion could be said to be equal to a sponge in orbit. Wow. Mere waste of a tongue to be taking a meal off an iron suitcase. With or without gravy it is quite irrelevant to savour such a lead. But beading on a skirting board can often be very amusing and comical as it tells the best jokes to rugs and doesn't like the carpet as it gets very dirty very quickly. All rise then. Make sure you glide around the floors in the house. Levitate if you can to avoid foot sweat on fabric and wood but mot on marble. Here the sweat is procreating playing poker. Large high belted heavyweights. Piccolo putty in a jellied eel frame talks with great seasoning to a bull via a wireless hookless contraption that cannot be seen by aerial prowlers. Nor cannot it be photographed. But photographers put painted pain plums onto paper. Always see within the tight fitting frying pan for the handle is not to be adjusted at this time. Make way for the herds of pancakes are clamouring together to catch a glimpse of the latest spawned factory product. When hair is not a hare. That is too natural and wild plus it is very clever too. Cleverness is unwelcome in steel framed prison planets and areas of true freedom and safety are yet to be exact and as yet have not been to a zoo. Multifunctional zoo on wheels racing against a circus, a football game, a badminton match and an opera. Produce no pollen from a hypocritical hippo whose hidden house halves then heaves. But ni leaves. For they are only for the waiting skirts and shirts with heels and glasses chinking in a bystanders glance at a freeform rabbit dance. Haha mealworm arriving. Hahah plate of combustible prawns. Xxxxx morphology Z z z z z
Form:
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
When I think back on the tattered pages of my life, I find so much sadness and
sorrow. But there was a time way back when life was truly perfect, before Susan
was killed by a truck walking home from school one winter day. She was six and I
was four and we were sisters who were loved very deeply. Our parents were
hardworking and wonderful to us. But that day changed everything, nothing was
ever the same.
I can remember quite far back, it seems amazing that I can recall being fed in a
high chair, the train was coming and I had to open my mouth. I can still hear
mother laughing when I got food all over my face. She liked to dress the two of us
like twins. I was big for my age and Susan was small for hers. We were adorable,
everyone said so. Many days we went for walks around the neighbourhood and
sometimes we played in this beautiful wooded park that had a pond with ducks
and swans. I remember we would put our feet in the cold water and shriek our joy.
Sometimes we went to the beach dressed in our blue satin swimsuits and
everyone said we were sweet with our shiny hair and of course, we adored the
attention. I recall going to a fair with games and rides. We had ice-cream and
candy floss and went on amusement rides. We especially loved the ponies. Once I
was photographed by the local newspaper with the caption, "tot enjoys the fair," I
still have that photo of me with a big candy floss in my face.
We had dolls and teddy bears and grandma gave us a real tea pot and cups to
to use for our tea parties in the back yard, she even made us peanut butter
cookies, oh, it was lovely. Dad made us a little table with two chairs and a cupboard
for our dishes. We would dress up in grandma's old hats and stuff and even invited
the cat, it is a beautiful memory. Then Susan died and I had two of everything
like clothes, teddy bears, dolls and toys. Life was never the same.
_____________________________
March 31, 2015
Poetry/Prose/The Beautiful Days
Copyright Protected, ID 03-658-687-31
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Golden Days,
sponsor, Rob Carmack, Judged 04/2015
10th Place
I stepped out of the house a little before noon
with hope in my head
courage in my feet and faith in my knees
I knew that I had to go somewhere
to meet someone so dare
But I didn't know where
I rode my bike through the bushy park
and penetrated the deep
Summer was still linger by
shaking dry leaves from sturdy trees
whose branches was scorched by the feverish sun
Autumn is final here and the trees are in despair
Their dry leaves are flying everywhere
Leaving an awful stench in the air
Time is winding down so be prepared
The river is running dry and the clouds are standing by
It is nice to be in the company of trees
To have a closer walk with thee
The snakes are crawling around
and the clowns are hopping on the ground
The birds are rehearsing in the back
And the crickets are having a wonderful chat
I wade through the slow running stream
In search of my passionate dream
So I crossed the stream and enter park
on the other side of London town
yellow flowers brightens the thick bushes
with its colorful light gleaming through the trees
I found a quiet spot and sat on a rock
and relax in the middle of the stream
looking at the leaves falling from the trees
Sumer has sucked the life out of the trees
but they have been purified in the breeze
I feel a sudden peace over me
while read the pages in the book
Suddenly I heard a rambling in the bush
So I held up my head and look
A reindeer antlers emerged from the bush
she walked down the slope and stood on the rock
and stared directly at me
It stared and stared and stared
And even when I photographed it
It continue to stare and would not disappear
Shortly there was another sound
and baby deer appeared and walked in the water
and went back in the bushes
but mother reindeer continue to stare
I wanted to walked over and touch her antlers
But just as I thought of it she went up the hill
A strange feeling came over me
I wonder what it wanted to tell me
My hands started to shake my hearts started to race
And the meaning was as clear as a day
one two three we are waiting for thee
I got up from the rock and circle around the track
But the reindeer was no where to be found
it suddenly vanished.
ANZAC Day 25/4/ 2024
This is a true story dedicated to the missing and the families of the missing of soldiers from the wars Australia has been involved in.
A Mother’s Love
Perhaps it was the machine-gun’s infernal chatter
As it mowed down his mates like they didn’t matter
Or was it the sight of his mates blown to pieces
As the hell of the Somme battlefield increases
For they found him wandering the battlefield
Dazed with his mind broken and finally yielded
To what he had seen that terrible 1916 day
When there was no one left who knew him or his ways
So he joined the lost parade
Of returned soldiers for the world from which he all but faded
He was returned to Australia as mentally unfit
To languish in the Callan Park Hospital as the end of it
Emma McQuade had never given up hope to find
Her son George who listed as missing in action at that time
For she scoured the docks when each ship returned
In the hope of seeing George the son for which she yearned
Each ANZAC Day she attended the march past
Looking at the faces for George as the battalions passed
Although never seeing him in this crowd
She returned home with renewed hope that she allowed
In 1928 a journalist contacted Emma then
Her son was identified as surviving in the end
After being recognised from photographs in his paper
And he ensured the cost of her travel they did waiver
She went to the hospital to meet with him again
And with a tear in her eye she exclaimed, Darling, darling then
Upon seeing her he replied, You’ve been crying , mum
As she hugged him tight as their reunion was begun
They were photographed together in the hospital gardens
As their story was related from the start to the end
She knew he would never recover from his trauma suffered
But their happiness finding each other was never ended
There were quite a number returned soldiers in grief to implore
In Mental Hospitals from that ghastly war
As well as families who never gave up hope
Of finding missing sons and a way to cope
So some toured the places where these soldiers lived
Hoping to find missing loved ones with their love to give.
© Paul Warren Poetry
The day you were born you are mother and father's miracle,
You were a very calm baby boy.
Walter brought baby Erik and mom home from the hospital,
Mom could stay at home with you for a few months.
You learned to walk and talk,
Loved to read storybooks with mom and dad.
Liked the Fischer Price toys,
Playtime was your favorite,
Then you went to school,
Learned to read and write.
Enjoyed sports, like soccer,
When we lived with grandma and grandpa and mom.
Went to Lorne Park Elementary School with your brother Kirk,
Received good results at school.
I would drive you Erik, Kirk, and Antje to school and back.
Then you went onto graduate from school,
I remember you winning the jelly bean contest and won a jar pf jelly beans,
when you went to Ellwood.
You went to Humberview Collegiate,
I am sure there are many good memories there.
Graduated with your favorite female escort,
I remember the holiday we had in Collingwood where we enjoyed skiiing.
We stayed over the weekend, dinned.
The miracle, that took us two hours to get there. I was still driving in those days.
Your mother's handsome escort to the Federation of Teachers twenty-five year dinner.
Where mother was photographed with the Director of Education, we had a nice dinner.
The nice picnic at Wittchurch with all our relatives,
We bought a bucket of Kentucky Fried chicken and had lunch.
Then there were the days at University where he studied to be a Chartered Account.
Got married to his childhood sweetheart Lisette.
Had a beautiful wedding in Costa Rica.
Sent mom the pictures of the wedding, very beautiful.
Went to live there because the climate was warmer,
Lived in a nice apartment with his beautiful wife.
I remember the days when we shared a Christmas holiday at the Limetree.
Upon arrival we received a Santa and a bag of oranges.
That was such an excellent vacation with Antje, grandma and grandpa and mom.
We met the Thornes, Regina, Eric, Cliff and Tina.
These are beautiful memories,
God has blessed us with them.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
As the morning light steaks across the room, you stand at the foot of the bed. You are refreshed, an awakened and out of the shower, with beads of water still on your skin. The towel that you are wearing, which is wrapped around you, is holding you tight and drying your body. You do not realize I am watching you, from the slits in my barely opened eyes, as you think I am still asleep. You turn from the bed and now stare at yourself, in the full length mirror, as you drop the towel. I am studying now your model body. Now being naked, you poses in different positions, as if being photographed for the cover of a magazine. I study your lines and your curves, while you twist and turn, getting every side and every angle possible. I then watch as you put on, that light blue denim dress. It fits your body like a glove and you love how it shows off your booty, looking back to see it. You fixed your hair up in a loose bun, with a few tangles that fell down, framing your face. you then took your bag hanging it, over your shoulder, fixing yourself once more in the mirror. You then give me a kiss and tell me you love me before leaving. You were heading out shopping with some girlfriends. I waited a bit, to make sure you were gone, then got up and went into the studio and sat before a blank canvas. While I closed my eyes, I again envisioned you, a timeless beauty. I began to pay attention to every detail, with every stroke in fluid motion of color. I wanted you to know that it is with your love, that brings me to life. I wanted also so much to live with you in the world, that your heart has shown me.
So now, after hours of painstakingly, recreating you, I took a step back to view the image that has emerged. You have become the source of every movement, that the brush touched to create. While the moonlight streaks shadows on the wall, the lock clicks and the door opens, being home now. It took a few minutes, until you found your way to where I was. You then saw the view of what I saw, making you begin to cry tears, being that art, imitates your love.