Long Routines Poems
Long Routines Poems. Below are the most popular long Routines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Routines poems by poem length and keyword.
We met some friends from out of town
Who had 3 hours to spare
So Hudson Yards was the New York
We thought we’d like to share.
The subway ride and escalator
(Very long and deep)
Were, from their usual routines,
A rather giant leap.
We climbed the Vessel, took some pics
And strolled the High Line to
The Hudson, where some piped-in music
Glorified the view.
The indoor shops were quite a hit
And purchases were made.
At Citarella, lunch was picked
From gourmet foods arrayed.
A little trip to Hudson Yards
On a cold and sunny day
Provided lots to see before
Our friends went on their way.
I start-out fresh every morning
but my resolve is reheated
Oh, it's med-school Monday-me.
Thank god my bf understands the fact
that on weekdays my time contracts.
Be careful, she may be grumpy and jumpy.
She’s the administrative flunky
the maker of plans
who strategizes for exams
It’s Tuesday-me
I'm in my zone and likely busy
slumberless and frumpiest
a pithy, dismissive miss-prickly.
who may not have been fed
and barely went to bed
It’s Wednesday me
in over my head, but focused,
patience at its lowest
memory’s key when deep
in theories, diseases and diagnoses
steer clear of me please.
Thursday me
with a brain like ground caffeine
irritation verging on obscene
trying not to be mean but acting like a tween
I need everything 2 B done, I’m under the gun
still acquiring scads of knowledge
but prepping for the evaluations to come
It’s Friday - did I sleep?
It’s evaluation day
dressed to impress
there’s a ballet underway
of peers and professeurs
weighing and clinically assaying
how I cope under a microscope
by 3pm I’m played and frayed
but looking forward to some play.
A few laps in the Shangri-La hotel pool,
and before I know it, I’m smiling and energized,
and with a bit of surface polishing, ready to date!
Why aren’t weekends considered therapy?
Is the air lighter? Are the days brighter?
They may not be but they seem so to me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Formidable Cool by Wolf Alice
Tom's Diner (feat. Suzanne Vega) by DNA
Ramble On by Toni Jevicky
.
.
sci-fy news from med-school..
We use antimatter everyday.
With PET scans, we inject radioactive isotopes (literal antimatter) which emit positrons that interact with electrons in your body to create gamma ray bursts we can track to create a detailed 3D map of your body.
looking up at the new light ahead
i have never been excited for the New Arrows
the green lights feel good after years of reds and yellows
i can now see new scenes and smell new smells
the stale stench of payback is behind me, and now my view is clearer
the alarm goes off, and we wake up with kisses
we are kids all giddy tripping over routines and plans in our nappy heads
i get up in the shower while she gets up on the cell phone
i know we will not come close to getting out of the house on time
however it is the thrill of the adventure that stops the concern for punctuality
looking at the new light ahead
i have never been so anxious for the upcoming memoirs
the nodding from north to south feels a whole lot better then the shaking from west to east
i can now tell new stories and inspire new inspirations
the offensive scent of ramifications is past tense, and now another dream is nearer
As a teenager they say life is too short
But that person doesn’t give it a second thought
Decades later you realise what it means
Long after the boring daily routines
Everything can change in a heartbeat
One decision could make you incomplete
An accident could change your mobility
Change your outlook and capability
One genetic dysfunction
Can make your entire body malfunction
One disgusting disease
Can bring you and your loved ones to your knees
What it means to be happy and healthy
Means so much more than being wealthy
A career and fake friends mean nothing
When the doors are slowly shutting
The ones who stand by and witness
Are completely helpless and turn religious
Praying that they make it through
Begging for one chance to renew
As teenagers we think it’s a lie
That earlier in life you may need to say goodbye
As a teenager we feel invincible
Never comprehending the unthinkable
Decades show we are not
Be happy with what we have got
Not what we haven’t
We need to stop being nonchalant
Our lives are too short for regrets
Because when your life is complex
There is no turning back
And have to accept the fact
Stars like jeans
are made to fade
their blues bleed out
in the wash-up,
in the burn-out,
in their legacies of
spin cycle routines.
But the twinkling glitter
in their burnout flares,
falls like rain
from shooting stars
in shimmering showers,
that cling on tight,
like the curse
of forever chemicals.
No one can ever scrub them clean
from party clothes
washed all alone,
by themeselves,
rinsed and spun,
rinsed and spun,
in washing machine
cycle routines.
So these spun-out,
hang out, party clothes,
are stored shrouded in plastic
to stop the glitter's spread
in the wardrobe,
in the armoire's bottom draws,
to dim the legend’s
endearing stain of
faded fame.
Stars like jeans
are made to fade
the blues bleed out
in the wash-up
in the burn-out,
in their legacies of
spin cycle routines.
The constitution of ‘behind closed doors’ has been ripped apart
wild and adventurous, the silent additions to personalities
while morality is shredded in the offices of humanistic views
giving character an explosiveness
for goodness to break the boundaries of its definition.
Exposure of flesh in the industry of sex marketing
sets the yardstick to the society’s acceptance of beauty.
Virginity is a worn out cloth eaten by the moth of self expression
while simple things have turned difficult
for the complex ones to be the easy way out.
Societal embrace occurs with its hands enclosing from behind.
Blending pride with a lack of talent
blossoms the height of uncommon skills.
Far from arts, creativity, music and dancing
one can still attract ‘die-hards’ with absolute magnetic power.
Family values have lost their unbelievable stamina
as the cabins of cultures are demarcated into mere routines.
The slogan of the 21st century centers on self protection alone
thereby pumping rights with ten times more gasoline to responsibilities.
There’s a line between routine and boring
That’s sometimes fuzzy, and certainly wavy.
Routines are what make up our lives
All the little things we do to keep us on track.
And sometimes these routines
As comforting as they are
Become something too familiar
And then we become bored.
With boredom we can become depressed or excited
But neither sees the everyday beauty of the routine.
The routine just is, something created to meet
Our needs, and in the moment does that perfectly.
And if it doesn’t then it’s time for a new routine.
Being out of the moment is the boggy land
Of boredom, boggy because it is fraught
With dangers of a misstep over here, or there.
In the moment is just in the moment
Each step being part of a path
Arising in the moment,
And as such a perfect arising.
We probably don’t see our routines as perfect
Because in the doing they simply are
What we’re doing, but when we’re bored
With them we see them imperfectly.
Of course boredom can be the mother
Of invention and creativity
But it can also be the soul sucking demon
Of discontent.
Boredom and satisfaction
Thus exist as two sides of routine
A polarity of swinging emotion
We too often fall into a routine of.
(6/18/26)
They say by the end of this current decade,
space travel will be the way to go,
those flights fifteen hours long
from London to Hong Kong
will take thirty nine minutes or so.
It all sounds quite appealing
but I have a feeling
the reality won't match the dream,
the brainstorming sessions
and artist's impressions
will not all quite be as they seem.
For the spacemen today
before they fly away
must be physically fit, at their best.
They undergo gruelling routines
'till their bodies are lean
and must pass a battery of tests.
There's no way that I
would be passed 'fit to fly'
undergoing 3G stress on a launch,
my eyeballs would burst
and what could be much worse
is what such force would do to my paunch.
My initial delight of making such a flight
has suddenly now lost all its fizz,
with a tear and a sigh
I wave 'bye' to Shanghai,
and so Skegness this summer it is.
As a child, I had scribbled trifles on sea sands,
And often allowed them to get wiped by wave's hands;
Mansions and palaces on the sand I had built too,
When they got destroyed by waters I felt no woe.
This mania soon got altered to writing names,
Of persons accompanied playing many games;
The sand mansions too slowly shifted to sculptures,
And seemed in style and structure so voluptuous.
Thus with many scribbling and sculptures, times rolled on,
I got someone who looked like a girl-sculpture-swan;
We, together now, scribbled and sculptured pure love,
That as though would envy the celestials above...
The sea waves witnessed our wavy ways and wondered,
The weather too often changed its mood and thundered;
When our wedding bells aside sea happened to peal,
The sea and her creatures seemed brim filling with zeal...
The sea, then, our delightful honeymoon witnessed,
The shapes and moods of sculptures with feelings got mixed;
Sands and shells turned beds cozily decorated,
Moon and stars the ambiance illuminated...
The buds of love blossomed and on due time bore fruits,
We came to the shores now bringing our naughty kids;
They scribbled, made sculptures in magnificent styles,
We built castles within while enjoying their smiles.
Amidst tangles of routines shores now forgotten,
Our children married and their kids now begotten;
We, one in heart, hand in hand, memories Cudding,
Cherubims of happiness within us wedding...
She too is gone now I like a seagull forlorn,
Taking shelter aside the shore and within mourn;
Cherishing all good and bad memories of old,
Scribble and build sculptures keeping my heart still bold.
I see this sea and shore as paths of transcendence,
Wherefrom my spirit will sore to the resplendence;
Where the splendor of God showers on me his grace,
Where my eyes will see realities face to face.
28 July 2021
Traveling far, far away from home
Leaving family and friends to roam
Did not expect changes it would bring
To a life feeling apathy’s sting
Had much pity from which to borrow
Saw no bright future into tomorrows
Never thought to make goals or form dreams
Caught in a trap of daily routines
Knew nothing beyond my locale
Blind to the avenues I had
Just going along with old pals
Digging cars, music, and gals
Trying to hide distress was not smart
Shielding the anxiousness in my heart
I feigned joy but was acting a part
No one knew the deep sigh in my heart
Then one day to my utter delight
When out of the dark came a light
Circumstance and good fortune teamed
With opportunity to redeem
From plateau low to mountain heights
Life beyond the status quo plights
Came like a shot from a crossbow
Hitting with a decisive blow
Now have traveled from shore to shore
Lived in six states, flown over more
Earned three degrees along the way
Proud of my military days