Long Pings Poems
Long Pings Poems. Below are the most popular long Pings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pings poems by poem length and keyword.
The tides have grown heavy with secrets and oil,
And the coral is ghost-white and brittle as bone.
Where once there were thousands in glittering coil,
Now the deep-reaching current is silent and lone.
The last living spark of a sapphire sun,
A relic, a myth, a forgotten medallion,
In a world where the legends are all but undone.
Her scales are not jewels, but dull, tarnished pewter,
Scoured by sand and the sting of the grey.
The songs of her sisters grow softer and muter,
Dissolving like foam in the wake of the day.
She remembers the bioluminescent dances,
The pressure of hands in the dark, cooling vents,
But now, only shadows and cold, empty trances
Remain of the kingdom’s magnificent tents.
She rises to surface where moonlight is fractured,
By nets made of nylon and islands of glass.
The air is a flavor her lungs never captured,
As she watches the iron-hulled leviathans pass.
No sailor is singing, no lookout is dreaming,
They stare at their screens while the radar pings slow,
Missing the flash of the tail that is gleaming
A final, faint pulse in the dark down below.
She dives one last time to the floor of the trench,
Where the weight of the water is steady and kind,
Away from the heat and the iron-wrought stench,
Leaving the sun and the wreckage behind.
A sigh of silver, a bubble, a quiver—
The ocean accepts what the land couldn't keep.
The last of the magic, a cold, quiet shiver,
As the heart of the sea falls forever to sleep.
And she cries.
The strange caricature reminds me of your odd face,
The twinkling roar clings to your tiny lace.
The way you want to lean on my race,
The sacred passion gives me a new space.
The only path I have seen,
One and only desire you could have been,
One and only proportion you own for the time being,
I am no one else until you see me clearly giving.
The endless life is a paradox of gorgeous wings,
You are no longer out of control for the measured pings.
The unholy genuineness gives me no more rare bliss,
The unknown appetites are the reason for my irregular gist.
It is not common or ordinary anymore,
It is not filled with hate at its core.
It is no longer my salient reason,
No reason can ease my aggressive tension.
Why can I not settle for less?
Why are you not something obvious to bless?
Why don't you know my name until I remind you of the same?
Why can't you see me as nothing more than a dice in this game?
"when thoughts cease to flow ~ where does ego go "
quote by _ Unseeking Seeker
Slurred vortex of concealed life sights.
This way plunges sharp in my mind.
Down in my soul's abyssal heights.
Sown tight on the stone-strewn soil rind.
God's schema and our life point mesh.
Slurred vortex of concealed life sights.
Shattered stars will find love afresh.
Pandemonium heap twitch highs.
Joist the fate core is a sheer dice.
Holistic bounds of twin fire rings.
Slurred vortex of concealed life sights
Meant you'd yield eons after pings.
Wings display oodles of oneness.
How might the chasm strangle us twice?
Stand soul needs, and can't take sadness.
Slurred vortex of concealed life sights.
Written: May 21, 2022
Unity consciousness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
It’s the day before New Year’s Eve
And the minute and hour hands
Clutch and hold on tight,
As the cuckoo clock pings six times.
Airborne towards emptiness,
Fireworks whistle and hiss,
Shattering the silence;
Nothing to hold them back
Except the dark
And perfect moon.
Different colour
Dandelion fuzz balls
Scatter, sputtering showers.
Dogs howl and bark
In the neighborhoods.
My little Pekingese
Trembles and whines
Next to me at the loud
Gunfire and booms.
How many dogs will stay home?
How many dogs will run away
From the hissing, whistling,
Snap loud ka-boom, and pop, pop
And not find their way home?
How many will end up in a shelter?
12/31/2020
a roundel
One small part of his world of kitschy things,
Jordan's unique house on a rock unfurls
a red merry-go-round mid angels’ wings -
one small part of his world.
Chandelier lights, some twenty-thousand, swirl,
while a mechanical orchestra pings.
Two hundred sixty myriad beasts twirl
but nary a single horse rides the rings.
Stand back a little, put your mind awhirl,
the world's largest indoor carousel brings
one small part of his world.
***
for images of this Carousel google "House on the Rock, Carousel"
it will be worth your time.
won first place in nette onclaud's Carousel in Roundel, August 19, 2013
written August 12, 2013
The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,
the approach of dawn's early light
illuminated terrestrial space
which nebulous solar city flanges
revisited since time millennial
hubbub of human race
nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift
as planet Earth axis place
alternated in accordance with
inexplicable universal teenage
mutant Ninja turtles joint pact
with power rangers assumption
sans quotidian playstation remotely
controlled by aliens upon
oblate spheroid figurative stage
set whence commencement nudged
village people foment quiet riot rage
and rant against
uncontrollable catastrophic frenzy,
when cosmic creator
rehearses another page
from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues
of yellow and osage
nonetheless, no mortal adept to predict
(only within plus and/or minus
some marginal variance of error).
oft times punishing atmospheric phenomena
incarcerated, pistol whipped
(if anther incorrect),
whiplash unleashed, oppressed, imposed
challenging condition testing ground
flora and fauna could thrive,
whereat most hardy
plants and animals didst abound
linkedin upon terra firmae
murmur of orchestrated
organisms devising fitting
evolutionary survival traits
plentiful glory vis a vis L'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required
sprinting thru uber vanguard,
where zero sum game pitted
disadvantaged Feng shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against itching attired egghead,
kickstarting netzero beastie boys
indeed emulating hotmail prodigies
holding greensward ground.
scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature
going full throttle with pings
across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved,
mis tweeted seeds of life, and white lily,
within soil lent green grubby business
whereby herb and woody stemmed
recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe rooter bakers
gave Gaia a run for her money
to buy Buffalo wings
chasing miscreants nimbly
outwitting, out-rigging
outsmarting nettlesome stings,
and sage protuberant fungi,
released messengers where rise home
spore ports left nada mushroom,
though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord.
Whatever turns your crank
Whatever tickles your pickle
Whatever dunks your donut
Whatever waxes your dolphin
Whatever buffs your Buddha
Whatever pops your cork
Whatever pets your monkey
Whatever frosts your cookies
Whatever spills your pills
Whatever trips your trigger
Whatever humps your camel
Whatever melts your chocolate
Whatever peels your onion
Whatever chafes your carrot
Whatever flops your mop
Whatever rocks your socks
Whatever teeters your totter
Whatever milks your goat
Whatever pings your pong
Whatever peels your banana
Whatever blows your nozzle
Whatever tips your canoe
Whatever flicks your switch
Whatever zips your zipper
Whatever blows your stack
Whatever... whatever... whatever!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Enticed by his faceted aspects
Political points show his honour
Policies opposed, David contests
Left wing woke folk admonished
Rawness of broad topics examined
Cowboy stories of recent history
Scenarios derived from within
Issues which play contemporary
David flavoured, his firm essence
Infuses my little with his lot
I honestly struggle to explain this
... never missed what I don't got
.. A man who won't take crap
Shallow hits roll off his jaw
My bull wouldn't just lapse -
He'd bleed it dry, peace restored
Faceless man tells me myriads
Written by unwavered conviction
Marathon stamina poem olympian
I, willing victim to his inflictions
Dreaming of David, strange concept
- exclusive, by myself for eight years
It's a choice to remain alone, heart kept
Relic packed away, oddly he endears
Hard nosed refusal to enter this century
Old school stance pings my deepest vibe
Unreasonable, how much it means to me
To absorb the jib of David 's scribe
Around three years his senior
In virus time, located overseas
I fixate on his strong demeanour
In lurid choc chip fantasies
12th September 2020
My auntie wears 'Bridget Jones' knickers
But last week at tea at the vicars
She’d purloined MY lace thong
It was morally wrong
T’was the cause of very loud snickers
My thong’s wedged between her butt crack
Stuck firmly between front and back
But it’s not a surprise
As it’s not in her size
There’s no room to cut any slack
Aunt waddles around like a duck
Like a chicken she begins to cluck
‘Yes I took her G-string
Get me out of this thing’
Stop gawping, help me get unstuck
The Vicar say’s I’ll get my pliers
On reflection it’s what this requires
The vicar doesn’t shirk
As he gets down to work
But after an hour he tires
My auntie’s visage is not pale
(Her embarrassment is off the scale)
When my G string gets cut
It pings clean off her butt
It’s a shame she’s the tush of a whale!
For a ‘sweet’ friend BB xx
07/22/21
Well, well"aint seen nothin like me"?
No one is shocked a person of darker pigment can pass a football or do anything they set out to dream with heart in hard work. I think you better stick with a spork, instead of hotknifing that herb, rubbing that lambp of piper sheeptoslaughter jerk.
Catch more bees with honey, plus you can use that plastic spoon to dig your way out of the backstabbery,
but Hollywood Idols love their trophys
especially silver spooned ones, Campbell's Chunky for coddled athletes, who got nothin else to do
but compete for biggest cat in a cradle,
Golden icons on the silver screen.
"bet they never considered me"???
Is there anybody else? I ask you, seriously?
Now I'm with you at the oscars those old Satanic, "Elites" only give awards
Like diplomas in the schools of mystery it apparently seems,
as Necromancers of the record industry getalongs and benedict prostitutes, keeping an ear to the breeze,
you don't want to be in that number,
the Saints ain't no kind of football team. The game is on, we need team leaders, not divides of conquering.
It's better to have a little humility, better to have your soul than to have to whole world at your feet in servitude, for athletic ability?
I don't want some black child to feel left out, underdeveloped, overlooked, that's my little brother, my little sister.......C!?
anyone can clearly see from watching Nickelodeon that people like Ms. Downs are underbooked, a stage of perceived demographic,
it happens like a fairy tale, till their claws tithe Capt. Hook.
Commodities we are, playing a part, innocense took,
trafficking, tracking pings, by Disney, by English Queens, blood exploited by achy hearts in the ritual bloodletting, usually on set, when the Mother goes missing.