Long Postured Poems
Long Postured Poems. Below are the most popular long Postured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Postured poems by poem length and keyword.
Vanessa throws the shot put, track,
In the F34 classification, wheelchairs,
And is a wheelchair racing coach,
For English Athletics, also an activist.
Whilst doing the job she received a call,
From Alison O’Riordan a throwing coach,
Just after she’d survived a breakdown,
And having deteriorated considerably.
Vanessa suffers from the condition,
Described as Ehlers Danlos Syndrome,
And also abnormally postured Dystonia,
Such that she’s now in a wheelchair.
But Alison’s text was bold yet friendly,
“When are you coming out to have
a throw Nessa?” because Alison here,
Believed she could teach Vanessa all.
Vanessa had only joined the club,
Of Haringey Wheelers to get fitter,
And also so to improve her health,
But not to land feet down in Rio city!
Born on June 20th in the year 1977,
Vanessa now studies hard at university,
At the University of East London, UEL,
Examining sport and exercise science.
She hopes to follow on with a masters,
Or maybe even a longer PhD, loves talk,
Which she didn’t have the chance to do,
When she was younger, a young adult.
Female Sempai, Geisha for her Man,
has not shed her feminine garb.
No replacement theology of female kimono
designing of tailored and defiant underhand.
. Her graceful steel honor honored still. in your gaze Blossoms bloom in beauty’s shade,
Elysia dances in a blaze.
Silken postulance gleams like golden dawn,
shining beacon of value borrowed form,
from a garden of maturity amongst
fresh starts humble but proudly born
against the dark tides of nightfall of gender,
but you swim stalwartly, gracefully rendered,
and tendered as priceless currency.
Unquestioned in your abide, even still in your traditional strides, you magically float.
Your curtain call and mode never surrendered,
your place not lost in new lies.
but stand tall and properly postured,
call forth to Godzilla or Gamera children,
taming these monsters with your aura-
of Mothera Den.
In a tale of the dance of shadows and light,
lance in kitten spoiling,
covers mouth giggling, endearing-
respect full waxing Moon of the Sun,
never eclipsed, never outdone, outshined or
parted sum.
Gentle hand waving soft,
identity, tight-rope, mastery.
Matriarch of many a cleansing breath,
in the balanced sense a)
You teach us that gentle always
bends things to its will. b),
You remember the roles of the old ways,
the tried and true enlightened pathway that turns blossoms to honey, pollinates
a sweet way to hold our eyes aglaze.
Graceful steel, a warrior’s part,
in the lines of a woman,
a warrior’s heart, refined adaptogen
you know how to play in chameleon arts.
Strength and beauty intertwined,
In her presence, peace you find
in her precision wrappings Man's great gift
you are that and of the receiving of God's in kind.
Once when I was just a kid my mom thought t'would be nice,
If I'd invite some friends to play and we could swing outside.
I had a swing set in the yard where I would play for hours.
My daddy built it just for me away from Mommy's flowers.
It stood beneath a large Oak tree and even had a sand box.
We played and swung and had a ball, got sand in clothes and socks.
Our neighbors had a big red dog, a loyal, patient friend.
Prince often came to play with us, he wagged his tail and grinned.
Another dog came on the scene and Prince was not amused.
They postured and they sniffed each other, a dog fight soon ensued.
We screamed and cried and climbed the set as Prince and dog fought on.
Smokey heard our frantic cries and raced onto the lawn.
Prince was huge with big white teeth and muscles big and stocky;
But Smokey feared him not and leaped and rode him like a jockey.
Smokey sank his claws in deep with teeth he grabbed his neck.
The big dog took off down the street with Smokey firmly set,
Upon his back, he rode him well, they soon were out of sight.
We worried that he might get hurt in yet another fight;
But he came strolling home real soon the hero of the day.
"Don't worry kids', he seemed to say, 'he won't be back today."
SMOKEY AND THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER
Once when I was just a kid,
My mom thought 'twould be nice,
If I'd invite some friends to play,
And we could swing outside.
I had a swing set in the yard,
Where I would play for hours.
My daddy built it just for me,
Away from Mommy's flowers.
It stood beneath a large Oak tree,
And even had a sand box.
We played and swung and had a ball,
Got sand in clothes and socks.
Our neighbors had a big red dog,
A loyal, patient friend,
Prince often came to play with us,
He wagged his tale and grinned.
Another dog came on the scene,
And Prince was not amused,
They postured and they sniffed each other,
A dog fight soon ensued.
We screamed and cried and climbed the set,
As Prince and dog fought on,
Smokey heard our frantic cries,
And raced across the lawn.
Prince was huge with big white teeth,
And muscles big and stocky,
But Smokey feared him not and leaped,
And rode him like a jockey.
Smokey sank his claws in deep,
With teeth he grabbed his neck,
The big dog took off down the street,
With Smokey firmly set,
Upon his back, he rode him well,
They soon were out of sight,
We worried that he might get hurt,
In yet another fight;
But he came strolling home real soon,
The hero of the day.
"Don't worry kids', he seemed to say,
He won't be back today."
Judy Ball
For Fraqncine Roberts Pick A Pet Contest - July4,2011
Old ways have a way to replay
Scenes from forgotten melodies;
Those stray feelings that recall stay
Upon the whim of plain fancy.
See how my years have flown away,
Clinging to my journey story;
I barely recall yesterday,
How strange these fading memories?
Dangling strands of cacophony,
Old Mattar Road that paved my stay;
Stray echoes now pestering me,
Those faded faces gone away.
By that old path an empty plot,
Where once hovered our rented slabs;
A sudden melancholic thought,
Flashed fading moments in mind map.
That old neighbourhood now obscured,
I think upon old companions;
Missing moments that once postured,
Nothing remains of old fractions.
How distant is this odd feeling,
Coming back to nothing to add;
That draining, uneasy thinking,
A glimpsing of the past now sad.
So much has lapsed in the distance,
A fifty-year march from just where;
I jog my thoughts to that instance,
Rest in old pains that gather there.
My feeble knees tell on me here,
The familiar laughter still stays;
The fun and games and atmosphere,
Where frolic and cheer made our day.
There was a route and roundabout,
Where a big grass field hosted play;
The crafty seasons thrilled our shouts,
After school hours to arouse stray.
The vacant verge of grass now tells,
Of nothing more than greenery;
Nothing directs that old-time spell,
Nothing remains of our stories.
I write these lines of verse to fling,
Moments that inform memory;
That come to mind and simply bring
A brief rapture to my story.
Leon Enriquez
14 November 2014
Singapore
Dedicated to My Son, The Bedtime Kissy-Keeper Giver
Like a virgin to stressed messes surging,
I struggled with bridges on parental ridges
when I wore both mom and work britches.
Young years adhered pleasure steered twitches
but grown changes sewed pressure stitches.
I changed to a day and night striving
female getter-doner; an energizer twit-nit
who conquered to-do lists into done bits.
I became every weekday employee,
pay postured towards green seen garnered.
I was more a get-byer than I was a
future green funds keen accumulator.
Nightly, I morphed into dinner’s meal cooker
still dressed in work time's pantyhose stress.
I dreamed of a pajama seamed frame
before next becoming a kitchen mess cleaner,
homework tutor, tub time clean scrubber and
loving night-nighttime book reader.
I found no awakes take was sweeter
than my child’s beddy-bye kissy keepers
and prayed my son’s most precious styled love
would counter the stresses that I was made of.
WORDS DECRIBED THIS
THEY DID NOTHING TO
DETAIL, WHAT THE EYE
REALLY SEE'S
I POSTURED MYSELF TO REDEFINE
EXPERIENCE
I POSTURED MYSELF TO DESCRIBE
WHAT WAS BEFORE ME
IT MAKES EVERYTHING BEFORE IT'S CREATION
INFERIOR
IT'S ARROWS POINT TO ALL DIRECTION
AND THIS ENCOURAGES ALL TO WANT
WISH AND DISCOVER
FOR THE SAKE OF CREATION
IT FILLS CAVITY'S
AND TRENCHES DRY SPACES
IT STANDS STILL
AND GOES PLACES
IT IS TIMELESS
AND EVER GOING
RELENTLESS
AND AWE SHOWING
IT'S AMPLIFIED AND WHISPERED
DIFFERENT AND STRANGE
IT'S RIGHT IN WRONG PLACES
IT WHY THINGS MAKE A CHANGE
IT'S HOW WE WILL DEAL WITH TOMORROW
IT WAS THOUGHT OF YESTERDAY
FROM NOW ON IT SHALL BE SPOKE OF
AS IT WAS HERE ALWAYS
Dice in Outer Space
A dice occupied a part of space o'er three weeks ago,
I saw it reside without rockiness, roll or drift to weigh,
Only debris floating in the hollowed terrific atmosphere,
Could steal that cubic regality of it’s dignity in cruel slay.
But it did not! Or when present, it did not in blissful glee,
For in that sharp moment a splendid skiff fell from above -
I saw the dice in all its semiotics of multifaceted identity,
Embellish yet echo the presumed emptiness of the glove.
Beside me greeted stars, moon, whetted Mars, quasars,
But the giant in sweet surprise moved and claimed a grin;
Its semantics hit in semiotic spread binomially distributed,
All in me found a meaning amid that societal shriek din.
Random but creating the rational: humans, animals, plants,
One roll of the silent, saline dice rained waterfalls in power;
A slight of hand tilted destiny’s child peeking and glimpsing,
For the swift air to cuddle its sheerly innocent bent tower.
Somatic development bloomed a phenotype in rich display,
Social evolution scooped that prize secured before a trace,
Vocalising tribal calls cut the beholder’s hope to denounce,
Their drive for the female dressed in ovum for sperm case.
But this family - me, you, cherish still moments of freedom,
When ecstasy rolls the waterfalls of two bodies harmonising,
Into one synchronous whole pounding with the life-pulse bold,
Transforming individuality to join with the mesh globalising.
The die, cradling the social with quickening consistent tie,
Files economic highs for tomorrow’s feed, pleading to know,
The happiness of the CEO reigning down joyous bonuses,
Enabling restaurants to serve sumptuous cuisine aglow.
And to medicine wherein the random nests, hiding its kin,
Academia and pharmaceuticals search spare but by step:
Postured algorithms fibre the genetic code, the cell division,
Discovering blazing makeup to aperture the random footstep.
Gannets
I stood on the crag on a clear summer’s day
And looked down to watch the surf breaking the scree
When I heard the clamour of birds out in the bay
And looked up to see a company of gannets soaring.
Silhouetted in the sky with their wings spread wide,
They flashed with finesse in and out of my sight.
These “Queens of the Sea” I saw in the crowded heavens,
Expressing freedom with impressive manoeuvring.
Then, a serenity when they postured within my ken
And plunged into the deep at alarming speeds.
With impeccable timing, avoiding collisions,
They broke the ocean's surface to pursue the sardines.
While others floated on the water, bobbing up and down,
Undaunted by the torpedo divers raining from above.
As captives of the sea’s grasp, they accepted their outcome
And waited for a wind under-wing to help lift them airborne.
Then, with exhilarated anticipation, I cringed
To see gannets running atop the waves, flapping their wings.
And when in the tempest, I seek my mind’s eye passport
To indulge in the vista I witnessed from the crag.
Into the loom of death’s murky depths, I seek comfort
With floating birds that render fate awaiting escape.
Then, I sing praises, though life has its shortcomings,
And lie back satisfied to watch gannets soaring.
although a group of people sustain their lives beautifying
everything surrounding them
insisting that everything is good
because they are God’s creation
while another group of people
though they also are humans
swallow and spit out loathsome language
go tottering intoxicated from a foul-smelling-contaminated-air
fuming from the languages they spat out
after there came an erect postured bipedal primate
which was a trifle creature fed by dust wiggling on the earth
for thousands of thousands of long years
eventually they started to share their thoughts
looking in each others’ eyes
cultivating, refining words and phrases for better communication
among those words
were beautifully polished and preserved phrases
thru generation after generations of studies and development
they were exclusively used by a specific class of people who enjoy showing off
and thereby wanted to separate themselves from ordinary people, however, now, the beautiful words and phrases became coarse;
is it because the words were abused by them or
their sleazy tongues stiffened the phrases?
they lost interest in finding the reasonable reasons
because there was no yard-stick to establish a standard;
zombies stalk on the street in bright daylight
the fake brand-name luxurious articles overrun the street
DNA twisted weirdly
all children are born mutated and therefore have evolved
to an overly obdurate species, strange world
there are no family features of daughters like their mother
or sons who resemble their fathers anymore
but only a line of families
like a poorly shaped mosaic landscape made with puzzle pieces
picked-up from alleys and forcefully placed to make a picture
they are never satisfied with what they have
and that’s why if you applaud them they demand more,
if their request is rejected they yell and scream at you
with newly invented swear words
rather, like a dead person
no matter how much you extolled him, doesn’t ask more;
even stamped on to humiliate him, won’t cry or say a word
that’s why God may have kept
everything beautiful beyond men’s reach
that’s why men who live on this side of the world
shout and scream
making everything uglier than it should-be
hanging on to the things they can easily put their hands on