Long Poked Poems
Long Poked Poems. Below are the most popular long Poked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poked poems by poem length and keyword.
I finally went for my check-up today
To stop all the naggin’ and get the okay
Was poked and prodded till I said no
Started to get up when he said, whoa
Am I good for another forty years?
Hey we’ve known each other since our very first beers
He shook his head and said hidin’ a tear
I know you old friend and your fears
Give it to me straight
Yeah, give it to me straight
I know that I’m nobody’s teenage prom date
But don’t make me beg for another chance
To walk my baby girl down the aisle and… dance our first dance
Then listen to me, really listen today
Or watch from on high as someone else gives her gives her away
No more drinkin’, not one more drop
Cause you old-man Don't Know How To Stop
Give it to me straight
Yeah, give it to me straight
I know that I’m nobody’s teenage prom date
But don’t make me beg for another chance
To walk my baby girl down the aisle and… dance our first dance
I can see how that my hard ways
Could keep me from important days
Thanks for tellin’ it straight
Yeah, thanks for tellin’ it straight
I know that I’m nobody’s teenage prom date
I know now I’ve got a chance
To walk my baby girl down the aisle and… dance our first dance
And dance our first dance
And dance our first dance
two little squirrels build walls
two little squirrels
having a quarrel
both talk smack
nuts are crack
heads are spinning
why are they hissing
there's a largess of nuts
right there in the tree
but these two
can you believe it
are hissing over a leftover nut
that fell on the ground
outrageous!
chunks of hair goes missing
teeth are chipped
eyes are poked
egos are deflated
smack talk is funny
... i'll fix your face!
neither squirrel wants to give in
outrageous!
each denying the other a feather in their cap
can you believe this?
for of all things
... for a leftover nut that fell to the ground
it seems
it seems petty
it seems so reminiscent of one adult asking
the other ... heaven forbid ... for coffee
connie pachecho
4/11/17
When I was a kid, the family reunion was the highlight of the year.
Aunts, uncles and dozens of cousins came from far and near,
To meet at Memorial Park to eat, brag and enjoy the fellowship.
I was admonished by Mom to behave and not voice any sassy lip!
The ladies vied with each other to provide jello, cakes and pies,
Pertater salad, baked beans, termaters and heaps of chicken thighs,
Ham, peas and carrots, cole slaw and gallons of lemonade,
And home-made ice cream, the speciality of Aunt Clara, the old maid!
The patriarch of the clan was usually asked to bless the food.
Stomachs growled, flies swarmed, the old geezer wouldn't conclude,
Until his spouse of many years poked him saying, "That's enough!"
Then, all took a seat and elbows flew as they began to stuff!
After the meal was over, old folks would reminisce and muse.
Others found a shady spot to curl up and take a snooze.
Ne'er-do-well Uncle Wilbur would sneak a forbidden nip of booze,
While snobbish Cousin Sarah boasted of her Caribbean cruise!
The kids frolicked on the teeter-totters, swings and slides.
The older ones grabbed bats and balls and chose up sides.
Now I'm the patriarch and am usually called upon to pray,
But I make it snappy so we can get on with fellowship and play!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Entry for Craig Cornish's "The Park" Contest
I was once a merchant, a keeper of pets...
for sale, to attract walk in traffic - I'd place
my own parrot just outside my store...
crochetthis started to work for me for sure...
now one day a stranger in town one
I never seen before...
he decided to tease my good parrot poking
his pencil through those bars to scare,..
frighten 'Sunshine' one that was mopin'
in its cage on shaded sunny days...
well, this clever bird didn't know what to do...
at first, she decided to screech each time he
poked loud, very loud FLOCK YOU - FLOCK you...
now this arrogant so an so was brazen enough
to report this response from Sunshine, i said ok
I'll have a talk with her, doing that I pointed out
you can't do that any more' it replied sure...
I understand so next day when bothered she said
YOU KNOW - YOU KNOW - YOU KNOW - bubble head
"Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani"
I know feeble feathers can't make a hill quiver.
I know no beast can stand against an elephant.
Once, I made the monarchs and monarchies shiver.
Why, then, like a lamb, do I let wolves be triumphant?
I know I could have taken the bull by the horns.
My body is broken now. My blood has been shed.
My head is poked with a crown made of iron thorns.
A cross, made by me once, has become my deathbed.
I'm fixed on the cross. My heart and mind get stirred.
The power of powerlessness puts my soul to the test.
Existence seems as though endlessly gone absurd.
I scream and screech. My turmoil turns into tempest.
I've borne the human pains in my body and soul.
Pains of my passion make my incarnation whole.
I woke up ready to kick butt
Despite my case of bubble guts
Anesthesia my sensitive system affected
But next to me attention was directed
A woman who was in excruciating pain
Laughed at my jokes and asked my name
I ordered the nurses to serve us champagne
To ease our anxiety over the bill we’d gain
Checked in the hospital at 845
After searching for parking is a crime
When surgery is not until 1150
Jokes on us kids and not Walt Disney
The nurses said I was in a rush to leave
A good sign they said all yellow laughing
I wanted my phone but it wasn’t at hand
So I joked poked fun a mental happy dance
As they wheeled me away to get dressed
I turned to the lady in pain less depressed
She thanked me for being me eased her mind
I hope that her pain decreased in time
So poet friends I am stuck in the house
But only for a day then I can get out
Thanks for the prayers messages and thoughts
Positive I needed and you all delivered dear hearts
I also appreciate Poetry Soup
I live to write again thanks to YOU
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.
Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.
Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.
Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.
ODE TO ODES ®
Patterns of raindrops on my windowsills
And a rivalry with the scorching sun
Ordinate and baste me an idea
Light filters through the raindrops
Weary wind pluck me a leaf
Cascading down on the patched pavements
Breakdancing of leaves swirling
Sour and dove into the windy music
Sojourning on a brain pulsing quest
Thunders brought me shivers
And slice the sky and the rain
The cold chill poked me
Like the soft tread of a child's feet after a bath
Resort to my noble comfort
As I broil a memory
To marinate a poem.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2014
oh, crumb beneath my keyboard key
your like bread but not like tea
I saw you once last Friday night
you glowed like beige electric light
your crusty soul is effervescent
like soup that joined a family crescent
your melancholy little face
has linty dreams of outer space
I poked you with my favorite pen
you ran away like 7 men
you scooted left, you scooted right
then shouted nothing in the night
my heart became a velvet spoon
it sang at noon beneath the moon
your fragrant silence hurt my toe
although my toe was down below
o crumb. my crumb my desks delight
you haunt my snacks with snacky might
a sandwich died to let you be
now you live rent free under E
the laptop fan began to roar
it blew you toward my bedroom door
you rolled beside a dusty sock
then married it beside a clock
the clock said tick, the sock said blue
the crumb said " I am missing you"
I cried one tear in my exam
then wrote your name upon a yam
so, sleep dear crumb in dusty doom
beside the dust bunny in my room
the world may laugh, the chairs may fight
but you dear crumb, you take flight
An all-but-empty Interstate stretches
straight, streaking horizon to horizon:
it is a ribbon with no bow, wrapping
northern Nevada.
The eye fixes
on absent fences, looks for limits,
scans scenery overwhelmed by sky.
I cock my thumb to beg a ride;
a tear forms at the corner of my eye.
"Damn wind!"
I mutter, half believing the lie.
A dusty pickup rolls toward me
then accelerates, leaves me staring.
It dwindles into distance. -- "OK!",
I snarl.
I kick a rock, pick up my pack
and start to walk, left thumb poked
out to nothing.
Someone will stop.
Two cars speed by; I wave to them.
My belly rumbles and I count
the steps I take. My wet eyes ache.
Someone will stop.
Or won't.