Long Pick Poems
Long Pick Poems. Below are the most popular long Pick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pick poems by poem length and keyword.
A strange, eerie, black feeling of despair,
I am lost, alone, no one seems to care
except the Moon who appears and prepares.
He throws me a long rope, yelling, "Catch hold!"
Noticing my doubt, "Have no fear!" he scolds -
"Believe!" I beam as unknown scheme unfolds.
Watching down below as upwards we soar,
I see Daddy and his friends - and Moon roars,
"Look, they're searching!." as my hope I restore.
Gently rocking mid air, the sky, my bed,
Moon covers me with clouds' blanket, my spread.
He lays me down on the path up ahead.
I awake as my head they elevate
"What's this long rope for?" one friend speculates.
Starting to tell them, yet I hesitate...
"I found it ... while playing down by the creek
and followed it up to where this hill peaks."
Begging, "Can I keep it?" my tale I tweak.
February 18, 2020
Edward Ibeh's contest: Pick a Title 14, Tristitch
In a literary context, the term felix culpa can describe how a series of unfortunate events will eventually lead to a happier outcome. fortunate fault.
When I entered I wondered what I'd find
So much to look at sitting on the shelves
Perhaps if I'm lucky fate will be kind
There are some post cards with pictures of Elves
Stereos, jewelry, tools and guitars
So much to look at sitting on the shelves
I pick up a cap with a metal star
Hidden amongst all of these many things
Stereos, jewelry, tools and guitars
On each side of the star there are gold wings
I'm amazed at this treasure I have found
Hidden amongst all of these many things
I've searched for days I have looked all around
I'm amazed at this treasure I have found
When I entered I wondered what I'd find
It seems I've been lucky fate has been kind
At The Pawn shop Contest
Modified Terzanelle to stay in line limit for contest.
First, I would dine on a bowl of sunshine
To spark my day and give
the energy I would surely need.
Next, a dish of work would suffice
To save me from idleness and drive me
To do something a little worthwhile.
Then, I’d have a serving of rest--
A time to meditate or reflect
Before, or even after, a day of work.
I would pick each letter of each word
With my fingers, savor it, turn it
In my mouth with my tongue,
Feel how it melts or crumbles,
Taste the subtle differences in flavor,
And then down everything
With a half-empty cup, oh no,
A half-full cup, rather, of optimism.
If I didn’t have these for breakfast,
I wouldn’t be able to carry my feet
To the door; I’d just stay at home,
Do nothing while the world passes me by.
I’d be sluggish and useless because
Sunshine is energy,
Work is a reason for living,
Rest is contentment,
And optimism is that wonderful feeling
That somehow things will turn out right….
And bright.
November 12, 2024
Baguio City
He trusted that writer’s block was just a lull and searched for his pen
Ink had dried for some time and his worn mind scratched for words
A lullaby or even a tristich would do if an epic eluded his triste drought
Anything to get words into motion once more before sadness set in
Yet he stared at blank pages and paused before stitching up muse
Silence was alchemy in disguise and inner voices shouted lost causes
Three lines were stuck in the fountain and his quill would not scribble
Mute and depleted he scrabbled congested emptiness into lost letters
But drawn by invisible spells sentences woke from catatonic displeasure
The flood gates opened and Atlantis surfaced from sunken slumber
An underworld of forgotten allusions sprouted eluviation in reverse
Emptiness meta-morphed into congestion on a once silted river
Streams of consciousness cascaded above cesspools of tidal return
Waterfalls seemed to rise from stagnant illusions of frozen arrest
Soft water in veins of calcified drowning emerged on the surface
As he mended confusion seams repaired forgotten hem’s dreams
Poet he was still is and will be and he exhausted himself yet again
Three stitches of past present and future and sanity basted aloud
15th February 2020
Contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Pick a title Vol 14 contest Tristich
Title picked A lull
My radio just went silent
Another episode of mimes
Most of them are reruns
That they play from time to time
I'm pretty sure I've heard this one
Where they're in that tiny box
Not sure if they're trying to get in or out
Either way I wish them luck
I don't know how they do it
Mimes on the radio
Oh listen, it's the pretend to fly off with the umbrella routine
Truly a favorite of them all
You can pick them up on several stations
Though I'm partial to AM59
Out in the middle of nowhere in a rain storm
Seems to me to be the best of times
So if you find yourself in radio silence
Don't reach to change the channel out right
Just sit back and enjoy
The finest in Radio Mime
WAIT A MINUTE...THIS IS CRAZY
Is that three mimes that I don't hear
Preforming the famous Zambolini Mime Trick
In which two mimes died last year
I don't think that I can listen
The silence is killing me
Don't they know what they're attempting
Is pure insanity
Someone tell me when it's over
It can't take the suspense, this heart of mine
For there is nothing more exciting
Than an afternoon of radio mimes
Cry out young Frozen pillars of spirals
Othird twain jitters the blue still flames
Lethargic legend blue blizzard haze horizontal hue
Deepening depleting colors covered in white dust grounds towering
Warring temperatures cold and hot
Integrity demise animals run for warmth and shelter
Nightly temperatures pings
Tomorrows new climate maybe it will be warm or hot
Environmental shifts it's spyroing air and land temps
Rreality roars in timid winter storms
Blowing brutal sub-zero winds
Lost dermatitis drying out the oils of my skin
Ups and downs of vertical horizontal winter trade winds
Elavaged emotions I'm colder than my scenes
Soul solace misplaced my happiness had I go on frigid I'm blue
10/9/20
Pick a Title Volume 23 seasonal Acrostic Poetry Contest
Pick title #2. Cold Winter Blues
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
A typical night,
a typical song,
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
So easy to sing
Just sing right along
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
One more time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
The song from the heart
We give it a start
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
I strum the guitar
It's easy so far
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
One more time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
It's a pick up line
I say all the time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
What sign you born under
Open 24 hours
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
One more time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
So we sing all night
And we sing all day
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
One more time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
I get a phone number
But it's the wrong number
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
I'm all broken heart
Cause we never even start
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
One more time
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
All wipe out again
So this is the end
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
So good bye my friend
I'll see you once again
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay
The last line
Eh-lay-ka-lay-lay...
I greatly miss my beautiful childhood.
My mind wanders to those lovely years,
When life was sheltered under my parental roof,
With my siblings and cousins, a gregarious gang!
It was a time when no worries weighed us down.
Had no responsibilities to shoulder.
Like wind, we ran across plains and meadows
Chasing butterflies and lured by the songs of birds.
Fun it was to play ‘Hide and Seek’,
With friends reversing the roles in turn,
The ‘cop’ chasing the thief in hide,
And the ‘thief’ evading the cop in chase.
Never knew, foolish it was to bury deep
Many a coin, stolen from the piggy bank
With hopes to see them sprout some time,
Yielding thousands for the autumn pick.
On warm summer nights, we caught fireflies,
Shut them in glass bottles to see them glow
And kept them in dark corners with all lights off
For the thrill of watching a mini firework in the night
Our days were resonant with giggles and laughter.
Each day awaited us with new wonders unfolding.
We watched the world with undying curiosity
It was a time of carefree adventures and enjoyment.
As we grew old, how in vain we tried to hold back
The moments of childhood joy that fleeted away,
So fast like the receding tides of an ocean,
And glue up the shards of shattered innocence.
In the evening of life, in my twilight years
In the cusp between my old age and death,
I still search for those days that have slipped away
Like tiny grains of sand between fingers.
You wore your height and weight
As a disguise and armour
Over an old wound
That was still raw
Just never healed
The toddler victim way deep inside
Deciding never again to be frail
Not look like easy prey
Raped by a boy she knew
One she looked up to
He did it then left her by herself
To find her own way home
This little girl of three
All alone to find a way to pick up
The pieces of her broken heart
Of her murdered innocence
Just her and her tattered bloody dress
So disillusioned So lost
Abandoned and forgotten
With no one to protect her
A three-year old so easily betrayed
This three-year old never able to forget
Still there after all these years
Still stunned at being sullied
Still shocked being abandoned
Still crying to be saved
Dying to erase the hurt inflicted
Her shattered world never to be the same
Nothing more than a remaining shell
Like her light had been blown out
And it stayed dark just not right inside
This little girl of three
Was still surviving on her own
In spite of the years
The extra height and weight
The thirty years that passed
Vaguely her older sisters still remembered how
Overnight they’d lost their joyful little sister
And something just wasn’t right
Like so many other stories
Will it ever come to an end
What evil lurks
That preys on little girls of three
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on February 11, 2021 for contest 3 POETRY sponsored by ANTHONY BIAANCO - RANKED 7TH
When we were younger…we prided ourselves in being what we would call hip!
We were hip by our music, by how we danced, even the clothes that we wore.
and as grandma’s and grandpas we still think we’re hip
but we’re told no-one uses that term anymore….
Back then when it came time to watch the Grammys
we knew the words to every song…
we watched as the performers did their singing and dancing
and we danced
and we sang along…
But as the years have slipped away from us
though we still have our musical hunger
it seems the people doing the singing
have gotten younger
and younger
and younger.
So now when it’s time to watch the Grammys
we don’t always feel we belong…
We often can’t understand what it is they are singing
which makes it impossible to sing along.
And if we try to dance like they dance
we don’t feel like hipsters…at all.
In fact the only hip we are feeling
Is the one that we bruise…when we fall!
So now we sit back and relax watching the Grammys
they still put on a wonderful show
and we listen and try as old hipsters
to pick up and use their argot…
So this year we were dope with the clothes they wore on that stage
and dope with the songs that were sung…
though we’re pretty sure dope doesn’t mean the same thing
as it did back when we hipsters were young.