Long Ramblings Poems
Long Ramblings Poems. Below are the most popular long Ramblings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ramblings poems by poem length and keyword.
Wicked whispers, like hisses,
slithered throughout the office
when the disliked departed for the day.
Rotten hysteria blared
like beastly blasts.
Louder their voices leaped
as they could see that she was gone.
Like following lost sheep,
on and on they'd bleep
about her crazy ways,
her annoying voice,
her ogre odor,
her misfit outfits and
a myriad of mindless ramblings.
My conscience wanted to stop them,
to stomp on their every word,
but my speech was stilled
in impactful silence.
Suddenly she scampered back,
secretly weaving toward
her forgotten sweatshirt,
draped upon her rolling chair
where whispers
gnawed like moths.
She grabbed it with a snap
then whisked away.
I wondered, with
empathic embarrassment,
how much damaging slander
she had overheard.
12-13-19
There are times when the spirit just needs a decent rest;
the grinding of a city’s wheel upon the soul, leaves
dusty debris in its wake. Peace of mind seems elusive
at that point. I seek the solace that is nature.
nature has her way
of soothing the soul
serenity trails
Just one tranquil hike along the lakeshore, listening to the
birds upon the boughs, the trickle of traveling waters and
harmonic bliss has reduced the blare of horns to sweet music.
a croaking frog
sits by the lake
wildflowers
Night sounds sing me to sleep beneath crystalline stars;
a shimmering sky overhead plays out its night scenes across the
stage of the dreamtime. Nature’s children are safe in their slumber; nocturnal ramblings build their memories.
oak and ash
are safe havens
hardwood homes
Peace is every single step when you are in harmony with Gaia. Down that wooded path lay the passionate play of Elysian existence. I come here to find me.
3-11-2020
STRAND CHOICE C,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
POETRY IS.....
Poetry could be a
beautiful woman walking in grace
A response in an outburst of gestures.
Gestures of the creative expression
on paper, a person’s intuitive "right brain"
connection.
Connections, where their thoughts
become as one with their highest
imagination.
Imagination stifled, and not streaming could
cause poetry to become, frustrated
ramblings.
Ramblings of your lower mind causing
the therapeutic spewing of the
disconnected.
Disconnected, from enlightenment
"Left brain" needing to unload and
balance
Balance out some chit while Clearing
Cluttered brain-chatter and
mind-noise.
Mind noise lingering in “left brain.
subconsciously aiming to plug into
Gods Will.
Gods will, the “Right Brain “reveals,
pleasant revelations that inform'
Stanza's, verse, be it prose or poem-
read on paper or preformed.
That I would say.....
is Poetry
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Here’s to all the dogs
who go out of their way, every day
to rescue their pet people
from the impossible-to-win,
rat race.
Who spend countless hours
waiting in anticipation
Just to smother us in
kibble-breathed, saliva-kisses.
Who we trip over and step on
in the middle of the night without
inciting their rage.
Whose fur daily graces our office clothing.
Here’s to the dogs who love us unconditionally;
and put up with our mood swings and tantrums,
when fellow humans won’t.
Who listen to our complaints
And roll those big umber pools in their faces
until white crescent’s show their boredom,
with our ramblings;
they never call us names or claim that we,”
have
“bad attitudes”.
To all of those brilliant
Slurpy-smelly-furry;
Saliva-dripping, Puddle-drooling,
Cuddly, hand-shak’in, Belly-rubb-in,
Jerky-eat’in, best friends in the world;
I salute you…so,
here’s to all the dogs;
may the world never know a day without them!
So, I heard you don’t like my poetry style
Well, I don’t give a toss
It’s water off a turtle’s tush…
(Forget the duck cos it's too cliché')
Who are you to judge what’s right or wrong?
You take pride in pointing out other's mistakes
with your mealy mouthed sarcastic comments
Those little digs you like to shovel
droning on about proper meter and form.
Well buster, I'm gonna shout it out
so get this straight cos I'm making it clear.
You may think you are the next poet laureate
But I'm going to tell you the truth...
You’re a self-righteous bore
whose opinionated ramblings are just a rant
by someone who thinks they can write
but quite honestly... can't!
Opinion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumman
06/25/20
Wind e c h o e s through tangled emerald trees,
and God has painted me a beautiful sky,
a masterpiece of swirling and twirling clouds.
All around me NATURE is wondrous,
and I touch a perfect wild marigold growing sweetly.
oh tendrils of a vine, I l o v e ,
your twisty way of meandering, curling and twirling.
And the FOREST is a rhapsody lovely,
with birds of all kinds calling from hidden places near,
I pause and listen to their symphony,
the highs, lows and the s h r i l l s and trills,
and the silent waiting for an answer.
Here a beautiful wild ROSE, how I wish to pluck you my dear,
but to do so would mean your sad d e a t h.
____________________________
Re-write from September 2, 2015
(Nature Heals)
Verse
Contest 219, Tenth Place
What are these phantom waves of thought
that bind me in embrace
as many minds across the globe
combine in cosmic space.
Whenever torn from their embrace
words wither and vacate
and once again I join life’s race
and concepts dissipate.
No muse to keep my mind alert
nor comfort my surcease
No outward flow of cryptic sense
my fervour to release.
But ever drawn back to this source
suffused within it’s worth
life’s race abates as passions soar
and visions see new birth.
The phantom waves of cosmic thought
born on the back of muse
collate to help articulate
the words that I then choose.
My ramblings then bought of this whole
and spilled in rhyme and verse
are scattered out on winds of time
their meanings to disperse.
Ivor G Davies
Roger Ebert~ "At The Movies"
Chicago Film Critic: Pulitzer Prize winner for Criticism.
Has a star in his name, at the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Passed away in 2013 A.D.
~~A Dedication to Roger Ebert~~
Ah, dear Roger! Gone but not forgotten.
Infinitely compassionate, warm and fun!
With you, and many Chicago journalists,
I was so very blessed to run.
You never were too big to come to my
humble home parties!
You brought your journalist friends, too.
When my daughter was just two, she
joyfully opened our front door for you.
Each New Years Eve, you rented a space
for your hundreds of friends,
With drink, food and overflowing
laughter.
Those days, Roger, I will remember and
cherish, today and forever after.
I daringly argued with you about your movie
critiques!
And yet...you were open to hearing the
ramblings from my mouth.
Till a deathly illness, took you painfully out!
But, of your endless virtues and genuine
humanity and creativity,
Of these, dearest Roger, I will eternally shout!
Love,
Panagiota
Panagiota Romios
4/1/2019
And I'm concerned, afraid, got the railroad crossing blues and the jazz that plays so low and desolation looms like the ghost of Christmas past/ And the band wraps up and it's time to go home but the blues is still crawling around inside my head like desolation and the lone watchman/on the peak is scrawling poems like rattlesnakes' bites/ And the blues plays low and sweet and melancholy/While the train whistle sounds so lonely in the deep night/ and this is what I do the jazz the blues drenched in sweat and staggering in the lonely night/ This is an intro into my world, my poems, my sound, culminating in a book called Beat, writings & Ramblings published by book fuel and on sale at amazon/ end of plug/ Late in the evening and thinking of Kerouac and Ginsberg
and wondering where I fit in/ but the train don't run here no more no more, the train don't run here no more/ The jazz played on and on and we partied and smoked and never looked back but that was yesterday and today I type and set loose words upon a page that no-one will read but the b-bop cats and jive masters/ always wondered what happens when you get to the bottom of this page/ be-bop be-bop and the forgotten words meshed into something altogether
different/ This is who I am
My mind reaches with papered fingers
Palms held upward
Searching for an unearthly scribe
The pages of me lay strewn on the floor
Inked with my inconsistancies
My moments of clarity
Passionate notes to former lovers
Humble ramblings
Wisdoms trinkets
Released along margins
Waiting to be edited
Combined
Clarified
Celebrated
Parts of me are folded
Edges torn
Ripped in pieces
Ideas lost in time
Scribbled over with anger
Hidden under layers
Page upon page
In no particular order
Yet in some way
It all makes sense
The best and worst of me
Tears and laughter
The symphony of me
Pressed between pages
Words that seek to travel
Beyond blue and white
Two dimension
Rising above the page
Synaptic passages
Creating color
Telling stories
Real and imagined
Paper moons
Oragami sunrises
My mind reaching with papered hands
Palms held upward
Seeking an unearthly scribe
For SKAT's ode, old/new contest.
I really really want to win a hug!