Long Reeled Poems
Long Reeled Poems. Below are the most popular long Reeled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reeled poems by poem length and keyword.
I stoked the fire, you drank the flame.
I poured out my soul, you ditched the game.
I'm gutted, bone dry, howling in pain -
You reeled me in, gave nothing back again.
Black hole love — you ripped me apart.
I'm holding the line, playing my part.
I gave and gave, you drained and drained.
How did our love become so unchained?
Oh Black Hole Love,
I Give, You Suck,
Getting nothing back, in return.
I'm calling All-in!
Black Hole Love, Black Hole Love.
You twist my pleas - I'm on my knees.
Let's play it straight, oh, baby please!
All I want is some fire back from you.
Not choking smoke on black strap blue.
I won't break for you, anymore.
I'm standing, knocking on your door.
I want to love you more and more.
You're the only one that I adore.
Oh Black Hole Love.
I Give, You Suck,
Getting nothing back, in return.
I'm calling All-in!
I won't break for you!
No more, No more!
Black Hole Love ...
Black Hole Love!
The old saw "Go West, Young Man" is attributed to Horace Greeley,
But it was coined by a writer from a Terre Haute paper, really!
Horace was agin' westward expansion and was filled with doubt,
So in 1839 he decided to travel west to see what it was all about!
He traveled by Concord stage which was then in its Golden Age,
Crossin' desert, plain and Rockies, bravin' robbers and Osage.
On the trek esthetic Horace rubbed shoulders with pious preachers,
Gamblers, sozzled drunks, "soiled doves" and decorous teachers!
He arrived in Carson City, Nevady needin' a speedy coach to reach
Placerville, Californy where he was scheduled to give a speech.
Now drivin' the swayin' stage to Californy who would a-thunk,
That hapless Horace would be ridin' with celebrated Henry Monk!
"Hang on, Mister Greeley. I'll git you thar with time to spare!"
With that he cracked his whip - the horses took off in a tear!
Passengers were bounced about as Hank avoided stumps and boulders,
Hurtlin' thro' mountain passes rife with precipitous shoulders!
Horace protested loudly to Hank to express his trepidation,
Sayin' he warn't in that much of a hurry to reach his destination!
Upon arrival, somewhat shaken, from the stage he reeled down.
An inauspicious appearance for a gentleman of such renown!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The lake was beautiful and calm as you see yourself in it.
The surroundings were made of tall autumn grass.
Leaf's are shedding off aspen trees with cattails near
the mouth of a lazy river.
The setting sun brought out the beauty of autumn's color.
Using my cheap fishing pole, I cast out my bait into the lake.
As I watched my line slowly drift to the pristine lake.
A sparrow then flew into my line and tangled itself in it.
Without hesitation, I reeled in my line with the sparrow on it.
Gently I held the bird in my hand and untangled it from my line.
Amazingly, the sparrow remained calm as I untangled it.
It sat in my hand for a moment, and I cast it into the air, and it took flight.
There have been many more rescues of birds in my care.
One was a blackbird that flew into our sunroom.
It was hot in there, and the bird was in distress.
Its mouth was open and breathing hard.
I lifted up my finger to it, and incredibly it jumped on it.
I whisked it outside, and it remained on my finger
until it closed its mouth and flew away.
Another rescue was with a green Hummingbird.
It flew into my screen door, and it was stuck.
Calmly, I slowly wrapped my hands around
it as not to hurt its wings.
It remained calm in my hands, and I tossed it into the air
and it flew away.
Life, given a chance to live, will flourish before your eyes.
A different kind of rest was forthcoming.
But first, captives had to be released from
Hades and led to freedom.
But first, the bloodied and pierced radical
From Golgotha had to demand, not request,
The keys of death and of hell.
But first, the dine of demons in the devil’s banquet
In the regions beyond, had to be broken up; hell’s
party had to be reeled into a frenzy of disgust; and
Satan’s parade had to become a shattered disappointment.
But first, as the devil and demons rocked and rolled in hell, the Christ of Calvary rested on Saturday’s Sabbath; not home yet, but somewhere alone until Sunday.
And then! On Resurrection Morn, hell‘s scorning , the laughter of the beast, and the mourning of saints were compelled to cease! Messiah’s new message was born.
Friday’s stone was gone!
Saturday’s rest was done!!
The Temple’s curtain was torn!!!
It was shouting time on Sunday Morn!!!!
03262016
Pink the sunset which filtered through the leaves
to burnish your skin on one afternoon,
when fireflies glittered like radiant weaves,
Vanishing in the grass. We knew that soon
those ebony clouds gathering would force
us to flee the glade through a birdsong’s tune:
Enticed then to stay, stay madly on course,
dare the oncoming rainfall ...and a smile
enlivened your face with such insolent force.
Till lightning crackled as we wait a while,
you gasped, and oh we fondled everywhere;
while a conniving star reeled to beguile.
A wildcat rushed out and paused low to stare,
While we huddled tightly ... too close to care!
First Place
At the crossroads
The bald old man
With his gray stricken beards
Caressed his antiquated flute
Perching on his cracked dehydrated lips
With his spindly fingers
As he nonchalantly reeled out his tunes
He started with the beautiful tune
Of the defiant bed bug mercilessly bearing down on the torso
As in a depraved Mamba choke hold
On it's gasping victim
Next was the leaching lice
Digging, sinking and sucking deeper
Into it's anemic victim
Then he played ringing in the ears
From renegade mosquitos
Next was a nation, it's people and politics of bitterness
Then he played a reclusive and resigned generation
Deserves the leaders they are saddled with
Next was the tune of the city called Sodom
Then he played the tune of "oh king pharaoh let my people go"
Finally, he graduated to the grand tune of: "he who fails to plan, plans to fail."
She watched them from the terrace. Her heart reeled
to see them falling, cut down by the foe.
And her dear husband on that crimson field
was also slain. The sun, blood red, dipped low.
The months have passed. She’s not the only one
of wives bereft with husbands in the ground.
Their farms! How will the heavy work get done?
And when again will the endearing sound
of children’s laughter in the village ring?
Their strongest sons and some young daughters too
were snatched away from them. Great suffering
is all she knows, for little can they do!
Far better it would be if all the town
had perished when their men had been cut down.
Jan. 13, 2019 for Mark Massey's War Sonnet Poetry Contest
Now for John Hamilton's 2019 Best Sonnet Poetry Contest
I’ll never forget what’s her name;
That teacher who bored us to tears
Whose voice seemed to drone on and on
And lessons appeared to last years.
Her minuscule lacklustre eyes
Peered over a spectacled nose
No glimmer of passion in sight
No colourful facts to expose.
She reeled off the kings and the queens
The plight of Marie Antoinette,
Victorians, Tudors and wars
And all with a face firmly set.
I’ll never forget what’s her name
Oh how I was left uninspired.
It’s rumoured her smile first appeared
The day when at last she retired.
16.09.19
'I'll never forget what's her name contest' : sponsored by John Lawless
two septets with rhyme
At long last, my friend, she bears no shame.
She spent a year seeking a soul-mate.
His eyes obliged her life to claim,
yet he could not, he would not propose.
Their calm ship was headed aground
for months she kept it together -
an ocean of hope, her playground.
Fisherman's widow! At long last
she reeled in and quit her searching.
She found her love had been miscast.
Two smiling faces fade from sight,
they travel on two different waves.
Feeling free, both alone tonight,
the settled sweetness of farewell.
inspired by a quote from Andrea del Sarto byRobert Browning,
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,"
...The months that followed were not kind,
a recall soon took his post from him,
and the angry eyes of the grieving kin
weighed so heavily upon his mind.
And word had gone out ’cross the land,
that Cyril Flint, he lacked real grit,
and people had died because of it,
nobody would hire such a man.
The next year would not go by fast,
Cyril spent most of his days dunk,
got by doing odd jobs, fit for skunks,
forever haunted by the echoing past.
In his despair he found himself asking
why he’d thought himself fit for the star
when couldn’t boast of a single scar,
was bravery such a hard-earned thing?
It seemed so clear to him in retrospect,
his ego hand hungered for the prestige,
he’d never been much for humility…
so much hubris on which to reflect.
As he puzzled on this one half-drunk morn,
a team of horses on a wagon stout,
jolted and reeled at the sight of a mouse,
and away with the wagon they tore.
They sprinted straight for widow Allandale,
Cyril threw himself hard into her side,
struck by the force, the widow did fly,
in wild circles did her arms flail.
She struggled to stay on her feet,
quit angry until a sickening crack,
Caught her attention, turning her back,
from her lips leapt a panicked shriek.
On the group lay Cyril’s bent shape,
trampled by hooves and iron rims,
half the bones in his body broken,
bloody from his shins to his pate.
Folks rushed up quickly to surround,
made no move to help, it was clear
there was nothing a doctor could do here,
his last moments in agony profound.
As he wavered in that morning’s light,
the very last words that he ever heard
was,”At least he didn’t die a coward,”
then on came that cold, endless night.