Long Prehensile Poems
Long Prehensile Poems. Below are the most popular long Prehensile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prehensile poems by poem length and keyword.
Do you suppose the monkey knows?
He has ten fingers and ten toes.
He has a brain inside his cranium,
If you ask me, that ain't so dumb.
Do you suppose the monkey knows?
Merry Christmas from Monkeyland,
from ten fingers on two hands.
In addition to all those,
Season's Greetings from ten toes.
Have a New Year, hearty and hale
from my prehensile tail...
.... .... ....
Happy New Year's from my smart brain,
which my brainpan doth contain.
That, my friend, is just a start.
I wish you love from my four-chambered heart.
Do you suppose the monkey knows
He's not wearing any clothes?
On life's easyrider days and nights
love plays a romping game.
On those more oppositionally challenging days,
and long anxious nights,
love is a hunt,
sometimes a passionate hunt,
special occasionally a compassionate hunt,
a mutual hunt
for truth about who is hunter
and who is hunted
and why
and when
and how do these co-arising functions transcend "or"
to gracefully meet in "and."
This primal function of love's synergetic force
hunts
like gravity.
Both parties,
all living entities,
hunt,
gravitate,
even those feeling hunted
haunted
stalked
fearful and anxious
competitively and unilaterally,
often in silos threatening despair.
We all search frantically for safe havens,
hidden from those hunting for our very self-identity,
our life,
or at least so it feels during those dissonant times.
What is a redemptive optimization strategy
for those hunting safe havens from death,
pursued by tyrannical lovers,
ego-identified life-sucking hunters?
When is it not an appropriate moment
to love the hunter,
the hunted,
and the hunt?
Is there a significant difference
between the romping love of fluid smooth days and nights
and the more strategic
logistical
personal
intimately co-prehensile
hunt for love transcending Ego-incarnate death?
Too seldom haunted hunted entities,
primally assuming cooperative investment
in our challenging rampant race
and pace of EarthTribal systems,
when a passionate challenge exhausts our smooth-skinned body,
and/or brain,
the hunted redemptively turn toward other hunters,
gratefully and mindfully inviting a wrestling-with match,
setting aside a wrestling-against death and fear match,
comprehending that compassioning our hunting love
always optimizes EarthTribe's regenerational future.
In love,
sometimes,
at least once,
it is my time to love loss,
to forgive away space and or time,
to redeem future spacetime
equivalently invested in me
birthing my original praxis of conception
as mutual reception--
eco-harmonic redemption.
It seems some are smitten
with long-fingered gloves,
while others have love
for warm woolen mittens.
Like puppies and kittens,
cute gifts from above,
you’ll give ‘em a shove
when fingers get bitten.
A gloved finger’s fat,
not very precise.
Ungloved? Bad advice ~
frost bites like a cat!
But a mitten’s a club,
a stump of a hand,
a digit remand,
a prehensile nub.
No, I say what’s finer,
much better than both,
A techno-outgrowth:
thermal silk glove liners!
The gloves can get peeled;
those mittens can too.
Fingers don’t turn blue
with liners as shields.
----------
for the Of What Use Are Gloves Poetry Contest
sponsored by John Lawless
written on 12/19/22
Helios, open darkened shutters Night did seal;
Nyx's opaque, drawn shades one by one peel.
With prehensile fingers grip your enlightened quill,
Selene's pale orb with luminescent lines reel.
With gilded parasol twirl your flaming wheel,
Until enjoined sparks into tinted rays congeal.
In saffron waves, blanch horizon's, window seal.
On spindled beam, spin golden threads from creel,
Sheaves of golden flax span o'er ethereal hill.
Branching, with sonic beam pearly plains drill,
Until azure streams deep reservoir does fill.
With torch, burnt-orange meringue on puffy clouds spill,
then into earth's grainy purview with vigor steal.
With tempera, egg wash the Sky's blank stencil,
then with magnified lens illumine the scenic still.
Plunging downward, into denser troughs truncated waves swill.
Onto earth's jade footstool, solemnly kneel,
Drawing from vassal's, residual til.
Amber blades with brighter finish instill,
With waxy gloss the folio cover frill.
Once upon a time fairies had tails, feathers and even scales.
This is the true tale of how and why fairies lost their tails.
Well
It all began in ancient times in the age of the dinosaurs
The first fairies were like mini flimsy and flighty Archaeopteryx
With scales, feathers and a long prehensile tail adorned with scales
Fairies flipped their tails to cast spells
But their tails were heavy and misspells were frequent.
Undoing spells was costly, unsure and tricky.
One day the fairy godmother decreed:
"Fairy Tail spells are Old Hat and Flawed"
"There's too many bad spells from miss-flicked tails"
"Fairies need a wand in hand like me"
"Fairy tails be gone!"
With a 'Hey Presto' flick of godmother wand
All fairy tails were painlessly excised
And converted to hand-held magic wands
So now you know
The fairy tale of how a fairies lost their tails
And stopped their misspells.
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
Now Beetle's tale's done no need for a sequel.
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal.
In fields green and fetal past signs with a decal
He'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of things fecal.
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
And warn all the people of dangers so evil.
This Beetle was legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle.
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles.
Again there once was a beetle so feeble and small
Who lived in a steeple with people so tall^-^
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel.
This Dung Beetle was again legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle
And warn all the people of dangers so evil
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
Again, he'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of more things fecal
In more fields green and fetal past signs with even more decals
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
NOW Beetle's tale's ended again no need for……….a sequel
His adventures were splendid each moment so……….regal.
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
A lesson in language both _^_ playful and………. legal
The Dung Beetle though small had a heart brave and true
Proving size doesn't matter in all that we do.
Seahorses...Why?
Dear Mother Nature woke one day,
and looked around with a sly smile,
surveyed her Earth, both land, and sea,
then paused to think for quite a while.
She beamed with joy with her new plan,
to think outside the box, create
a wonder for her earthly seas...
a creature that would not equate.
Strange, tiny fish that swim upright,
sway like a plant that swirls and flails;
propel themselves by mini fins,
and anchor with prehensile tails.
With equine heads, extended snouts
to suck in plankton and shrimp brine;
and so unlike most normal fish,
no mouths or stomachs to define.
Must constantly eat food to keep
up energy, or they will die.
A gift that helps them spot their prey...
can steer their vision from each eye.
Romantic will their courtship be;
eight-hour dances, pairs will spin
close, side by side and joining tails;
then breeding offspring will begin.
Monogamous, some mate for life,*
and rarer too, the males bear young
from eggs embedded in their pouch
from which in time, babies are flung.
Dear Mother Nature laughs with joy!
Her new creation will defy
the rules for creatures of the sea...
for humans to...then question...why...
...come up with reasons for her plan...
not knowing, just...because she can.
Sandra M. Haight
~10th Place~
Premiere Contest: Seahorses
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 05/08/2018
*There are mixed commentaries on whether Seahorses really mate for life.
Some say yes, others say only some species do, others report that they
do not.
Antiestablishmentarian inherent malevolent violence
wracks human species, a most brutish and nasty beast.
An embittered nihilistic teenager
grown haggard and old,
hence not surprisingly yours truly
crafts pseudo dystopian reasonable rhyme.
An evangelized atheistic adherent,
I aver evolutionary theory
posits prelapsarian Eden
of astonishing plentitude
gone to hell in a handbasket.
Ever since human species stood erect
exhibiting prehensile appendages did allow
cupped fingers upon brow,
whereat vista unveiled to succor chow.
Dawn of consciousness begat
superstitious vagaries daunting
present day Democrat
and/or Republican to issue fiat
denouncing extremist militant uprising
raging across Capitol Hill habitat.
2021 presidential inauguration
today January twentieth
(broadcast right now)
augurs horrific repeat January sixth,
when bedlam and mayhem
rocked Washington District of Columbia,
where hoodlums ran amuck lionizing violence.
Lawlessness bled constitution white
marauding bands of hooligans
bombarded, desecrated, fueled,
harmed, jackknifed, leveled, nailed,
pummeled, rioted, terrorized, vandalized...
with glee and spite
yielded windfall regarding
headline grabbing newsnight
motley film crews recorded
gangsters scaling storied height
(cue spiderman/woman)
think rescuers quick
as greased lightning they did alight.
If only real and/or
fictional life action heroes/heroines
came to the rescue
to avenge forces of evil,
where virtue dispensed,
and trumpeted courtesy better angels.
Meanwhile indefatigable defenders
of human rights
dole out just desserts
upon the heads
of self styled lawless brigands
militaristic thugs hell bent
to wreak havoc
upon cradle of liberty
including complex edifices
linkedin and embody
blood, sweat and tears
of freedom fighters
arrayed against merciless
demonic forces upending
foundation upholding enshrined
nearly divinely inspired principles
quantum leaps since
early man/woman trod
across terrestrial firmament.
I experienced exhilaration
upon witnessing confirmation
genuflection, liberation, restitution
espoused by Joseph Robinette Biden Jr.
forty sixth president of United States.
Ground of Being,
Climate of All Becoming
horizon's here now moment
when MotherEarth
meets FatherSky
EcoSpirit bound solar fire heating air
warming crystal ice floating water
soaking absorbent soul of soil
rusting fractal minerals
decomposing eviL-ing flesh
regenerating Live-ing organic systems
open sets inform researching rhythms
percuss prehensile patterns
of octave colored sounds in songs
reconnecting mythic culture stories
reweaving co-grounded horizon long becoming,
Be longing nondual here/now
space/time
body/mind
natural/spiritual
justice/peace
universe/uniting
secular/sacred
reconnection.
This poem, which is loaded with math terms, is to be sung to the tune of Subterranean Homesick Blues. What was I thinking?
Johnny’s in the basement
Working on geometry
You’ll see my intent
A theorem in development
Presh is on the website
Hit pause, scratch head
Trick problem, misled
Try another approach instead
Look out kid
Better check it again
God knows man
Another paper in the trash can
You better try trigonometry
Lookin’ for a new way
The man with an isomorphic map
and a toupee
Wants eleven equations
You only got ten
Maggie writes chicken scratch
Paper full of cross hatch
Says she wants to attach
You better detach
You can’t find the hypotenuse
Maggie says you gotta use
Pythagoras or you lose
But the angle is obtuse
Look out mate
This spheroid’s oblate
Get on the rack
This nut won’t crack
Better get back from the ledge
With a compass and a straight edge
No primes, God knows,
Can decompose
You don’t need Terrence Tao
Can’t square a circle nohow
Add y, add x
See the roots are complex
Closed loop, subgroup
You need to jump through another hoop
Let’s see, try three
Take five, relax
Eat snacks, do tax
If you should fail, take an ax
Look out bub
Surely you’ll flub
By blunders, errors
Five-choose-two-sers
And logical abusers
Girl with a slide rule
Lookin’ like an old fool
Don’t copy Euler
Get yourself a lawyer
Ah add four, add five
It rhymes, it’s prime, then derive
One two, buckle your shoe
It’s one-to-one and onto
Square here, cube there, eggs poach
Twenty years of schoolin’
And you’re workin’ on a roach coach
Look here Jack
This nut still won’t crack
Break your hands accidental
Use a tail prehensile
Be inferential
You’ll find it’s exponential
You’re gonna have a fit
You’ll never solve it
Ken Chesebro says
‘Cause Mike Pence’ll take your pencil