Long Readjust Poems
Long Readjust Poems. Below are the most popular long Readjust by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Readjust poems by poem length and keyword.
Cantrix spoke
F=gmm/r^2
Cantar replied
F=gm1m2/d2
Adagio Censendo,, they wished disturbed to
Ballads aren't the only way to convey musical
Commutation. Poems often are rhythmic
To produce are movement of words were
It begans the sequence needed to make tones
And define the require type of singer to gain
What's needed, to differ novice and professional.
Somber evenings have you
Might the world readjust
We are lovers
You are my lover
Others are outta luck
Might I delight in
Loves benifets
Vivase intros the kiss
Boo'd in Venice
By
Adagio Crescendo
Conductor
Music arranger
He married Vivase Largo
His family wished them
Separated, due to her
Lack of respect of her
In laws musical past.
She failed
When questioned
about a famous old song
She awnsered by saying
She sounds like she's
Sitting on a watermelon
Spitting seeds, "pout ting!"
He is surly, mean, unkind, angry, a horror to be around.
We need to sweeten him up. Grab me the honey jar, woman!
She doesn’t trust anyone. We need to teach her to be less jumpy.
A few hours on the trampoline ought to do the trick.
If he doesn’t have a cough, he’s got a headache or a tummy ache.
Somebody has to readjust this hypochondriac’s thinking.
She’s too compliant, too self-less, too giving; it’s hard to respect her.
We need to harden her up. Put her in the microwave!
They are too willing, too open, too kind. Everyone takes advantage of them.
We need to straighten them up. Run and get me the big ruler.
Yes, it is fix-everyone-else day and I am in high form.
Until they grab the megaphone out of my hand and
Drag me toward the lobotomy shed.
HELP!
“Sweet Cheeks”
by Positive Mark
There was a time when I’d still buy a mango,
not in remembrance of you, but most definitely in celebration.
Sweet cheeks,
with the doors locked.
Each grip
was a cork popped.
Consequences mixed with the nectar in your kisses.
Mouths full of forbidden fruit, each time the serpent hisses.
Walls are patched in old huts, and temperature increases.
The amputated left to bawl, and howl like other species.
The moth-adjusted breeze came from the sway of slender hips.
The energy was transferred through a pair of spongy lips.
A shrimp boat at a sports bar, and a stick of marijuana
can turn an SUV back seat into a leather sauna.
A curse, caught in a gust of wind, can turn wild spirits loose.
They laughed each time your kisses filled my mouth with mango juice.
At times,
I’d buy a mango,
At times,
I’d speak your name.
The rum would slur your syllables.
I’d readjust my aim.
Immeasurable passion kept the two rogue lovers warm.
Caught in Dante’s Inferno, now we’re hurled by vicious storms.
I felt as if that fruit would manifest your swift return,
but no amount of sweetness could deter the scathing burn.
These days I sit in neon rooms,
when darkness steals my day.
The mangos are no longer here.
I fight another day.
Although we’d like to do the things
We’ve always done before,
Our bodies sometimes let us know
It’s time for less – not more.
When we were young, we’d party hard
And drink and stay out late;
Yet now we find ourselves at home
And nodding off at eight.
A walk of several miles once
Was just the appetizer.
Now it’s like a five-course meal -
And who knows if we’re wiser?
For wisdom means accepting things
That we cannot control;
And it’s a challenge to admit
That age has claimed its toll.
The truly wise will slow it down
And readjust their pace;
For life is more a journey
Than a flat-out non-stop race.
If some refuse, they stand to lose;
Rejecting this advice
May cause more problems than they know
And they will pay the price.
My love my pain
I can't stop loving you
Your love has taken me over
Over the limit of no return
I can't imagine not loving you
What other sun do I need to shine
Cos your beauty is incomparable
Your ways are a healing
Your personality brings happiness
Let stick together
And be happy
Let give love a chance
Cos I love you
My love my pain
I can't afford to let you go
We all can't be right
with our feelings all the time
Sometimes love is not enough
And that becomes a burden
Instead of happiness
So readjust your ways
And change your pattern
If not you can't catch my train
Despite I love you
I hope that could be enough
Let stick together
And be happy
Let give love a chance
Cos I love you
Whenever I am reorganizing and freeing up space in the garage, it's always just a matter of time before she'll come calling.
Or I'm on the computer writing or catching up on the news, it never fails that an urgent honey do was just about due.
She's been visiting relatives for the last two weeks. She's got two more weeks before she returns home to me.
More than expected, I felt her absence the very first week. Several times I have caught myself waiting to be interrupted.
Often I've had to readjust or reprogram my mind; "Home alone". I say to myself, "Oh wow, she's not here", and resume my activity.
In 45 years of marriage, we have never been separated this long. Realistically, for the first time, I am missing her in a whole new way.
In 45 years, I've never missed her this long, this much, this way. I'm niether bored nor lonely, because I always have plenty to do.
I have been gathering and eatting more tomatoes since she's been gone.
I suspect I'll be eatting crowder peas and zucchini before she gets home.
I wish she could have seen me gathering peaches and nectarines today.
I can't deny; I've eatten more ice cream than I should; but I'm not all bad.
Why, a couple of days ago, I made a very tasty peach/nectarine smoothie. I must confess; I just have to say; I kid you not; and believe me when I say.
I will welcome her return and not be sad when things return to normal. But I'm 'tickled pink' that since she's been gone, the phone hardly rings anymore!!
72717FBPS
Wishes Of A Cold Ghost
I emerged! fragmented from a hanging red lamp,
dripped in chemicals, washed clean, previously unseen,
wished for my place, lost in times longest tombs
unclothed now, and bare, breathed on in prayer.
From holy books stacked, but all blindly unread,
I wished for, soft spoken words, pleasantries of Birds,
a fires warmth, not dead embers and coals,
slipping in times endless, returning still friendless.
To wander i desire, wishes seem futile,spent !
Faceless Phantoms, gather and,mull ; another blind skull,
again all my wishes, particle to aged dust,
reflection lives in life’s mirror; i become deaths bearer.
Wishing to glide, in a caring embrace, held!
Maybe to return to ashes dust, my spirit to readjust,
this day again ends, for me it never exists ;
To ether wishing i am bound, once again stardust drowned.
In a London pub fingers idly play with place mats.
Wonder-lust had led them back to where they assumed they had first met.
She recalled a local vicinity a basement rathskeller, he a country Inn;
cork mats slid under wet rings.
"Do you remember meeting me at all?"
He had to readjust himself into a time and zone that once existed
in her reality but could not locate that shared location.
After much hazy thought, he replied:
There were a lot of people, you were one in a crowd. I felt your hand
in mine, and that was the beginning.
We backpacked around Europe then I led you back
to this packed tavern where place mats
are soaked in the beery residue of uncertain endings.
A NATION IN CRISIS…FALLING APART
It has been said that America
is an experiment in democracy.
If that is so—and it seems to be—
this country is in deep septic trouble.
Today, the mad dog political moniker
can no longer be looked upon as a joke;
for America, in its political experiment
in democracy, has truly gone made and
is now falling apart from its rabid agents
of abject bigotry, hate, and racism.
It appears that the pre-experimental exercise
of attempting to make slaver as common
as shackling pets today, has forced
modern-day mad dog political power mongers
to readjust their corruptive variables
to ensure desired collateral damage outcomes.
Indeed, the demonizing of the innocent
to rationalize ethnic-based murder,
has become a Hitler-like tactic
that has proven its “negative-good” desire
that has arisen from this Frankenstein-styled
political experimentation—sick exploitation.
Though most of the rabid “hit men” of the racist
power-mongers are dead, others and their backers,
due to the allowed irregularities of justice, will and do,
remain alive to pontificate their demeaning rhetoric
of coded domestic terrorism, painfully canvassing
a bloody mosaic of a grieving nation in a bloody crisis.
How long America…how long shall it be…before
this nation becomes inoculated against the viral infection
of apathy that seems to have taken on a rabid smallpox-like
endurance, that continues to mesmerize us to simply watching
the newsy dramatization of the falling apart of a nation in crisis?
Pray tell—God’s will done—the answer will be…not long!
Wake up, people! This is no damn nightmare; it’s today’s reality.
We turned the mattress over,
the world was leaning to one side,
and heads were rolling.
Bodies tipped over in the night,
whole families were found to be
slanted from the slippage.
They say (meaning nobody we knew),
that the sharp cheddar and the gruyere
had saturated the dreams
of our sleeping flesh.
We upended the matrass, slept well
for a night or two,
then the pale-faced fridge began to
groan unintelligibly,
it was joined by the AC unit,
who caterwauled,
and rattled its teeth non-stop.
Slowly the planet began to readjust,
to realign.
The doomsayers were not pleased,
they had expected
so much more
than bad breath and diarrhea.