Long Rover Poems
Long Rover Poems. Below are the most popular long Rover by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rover poems by poem length and keyword.
The idea of a living constitution
has the same forensic indeterminacy
as a committed dream.
I am content to trust this dream to the end
to have it fill my cup of hope all day and night.
I am content to receive its order
to hasten to obey without a pause.
But, the old voice sounds
unrelentingly in the chamber: Do not
compromise. Punish.
Crucify him.
The infirm musing of a perpetual dreamer
rising up with eyes wild for relief.
I am content with the terror and anticipation that
keeps turns by watching me:
Justice, once imagined, cannot be undone.
I have been left to think along these lines
to look for the abandonment of arcane unfairness
months after months.
The months
burn up as a fading lantern
homage to the majesty of the absurd:
A muse easy to bear, Camusian laughter to
suffering’s exalted well —
what single rule might break the dry spell?
Sometimes the unforeseen, the unpredictable
springs in the heart of justice
bending its way upward
again and yet again
towards a distant point
all unaccountably, into the strengthening clasp
of fresh now-born idea,
nearer to binding faith
than wild dismembering injustice.
When the far-distant element
of suffering humanity
looms out more clear;
the faint, far, complex notes of hope
its head moves near
and new flicks of justice’s well
unfolds beyond the known.
Is there any new depth to this well?
Say, what is its true nature?
Quietly nature covers over
the dying bird and the dead rover.
If justice’s dead, it is as though
a robin died beneath the snow
tucked away neatly, whose bright eyes
once stared with impudent surprise
at every tit-bit flung to her.
Now every season we must bear
to live without its whistled air,
for law lives beneath the Spring,
like a sequestered paradise
exiled from the steady hammer of faith,
a trackless rice field
ever trudging through groves of
crouching, unconquered territories.
Oh enchanted universe
conqueror of earth’s stadium
in your wild, singing glory
the faults you committed live.
Come hear my sharpened cries
surely, you can hear my note of crisis.
Ceaselessly I raise my cry.
My cry ascends and floats away
scattered by whirling winds afar.
* “Endure what you suffer as being a father’s punishment.” (Heb. 12:5b-7)
Author's note: written on the anniversary of Harvard's abuse of my human rights
Inside The Mysterious Enigmatic Fragmentary...
Mortal Mind Of Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,
this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time
emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train
while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie
tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and
leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century
tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly
analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,
worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor
revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven
soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath
to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy
of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
When I turned twelve, Dad bought me a shot gun
Thought two sons hunting with him, would be fun
My brother also got his at that age
They were Remington Wingmaster, 12 gauge
Dad had two Pointer bird dogs, both well-trained
This is a breed born to hunt, it’s ingrained
The dogs had been named Old Red and Clover
Clover ranged close but Red was a rover
Dad’s bird hunt of choice, was always Bob Whites
As these quail don’t run before they take flight
Other types of quail, like the West Texas Blues
Run before they flush, that’s dog hunt bad news
I’d walked on hunts, but never with a gun
Then dad said “Boys you’re hunting on this one”
We both knew gun safety and how to shoot
Clay pigeons move out, but quail really scoot
“Get the butt tight to your shoulder”, said Dad
The gun kicked hard, so the stock had a pad
Still before I learned, my shoulder was blue
It didn’t take long to know what to do
We left for the hunt, the sky was still black
Went in the old pickup with dogs in back
Just getting light when we got to the field
Gave the dogs a short run, then made them heel
We started to walk, but stayed fairly tight
Dad was in the middle and Big “J” on the right
Clover was working but stayed right in front
Old Red was way out ranging wide to hunt
We could see Red when he went on a point
When Clover saw him, she froze every joint
Old Red on a point is a sight to see
Clover backing the point’s a thrill to me
We walked toward the covey very slow
Clover stayed, just in front, she’d freeze then go
Old Red would only move a foot or two and freeze
Dad talked soft, wanting to keep Red at ease
Both dogs looked tense and about to explode
Like a beam in stress from an over load
When the birds all flushed with that sudden roar
Big “J” shot one and Dad dropped down two more
I never raised my gun, so had egg on my face
Spellbound by the dogs, I couldn’t keep pace
They both had a good laugh at my expense
It’s my first time out, I said in defense
The dogs retrieved the bird as they were trained
Then the hunt ended as down came the rain
On the way home I yelled, “I’m the winner!”
I don’t have to clean a shot gun before dinner
Reminiscent of the America I Knew
Seventy years have come and gone as though
it was a watch in the night,
and if we would choose to turn back the clock
we can’t even if we tried with all of our might.
I was born right after WWII ended
in a time of buildup in our now and forever changed land,
but it was a short lived peace with hope and dreams that
would soon be dashed as we entered another war because of aggression in Korea’s land.
I remember I was a small girl as I read on daddy’s newspaper the big headlines
stating the Korean War has ended it was posted on the front page,
though I didn’t realize all of the implications behind that statement
I must have known that my daddy in this war at least would not be engaged.
There were soft summer nights of neighborhood fun as we kids
would play night games till about 10 p.m.,
we would run home and get washed up and into our beds
and then after being rested up and we would start it all over again.
It was a time when radio and television were fun and all would be listening and watching Father’s Knows Best and Let it to Beaver because they were sweet and clean,
and not having to worry about language that was not suitable and sex outside
of marriage and trying to keep it all safe for your children in decency.
The children did a lot of fun things then, climbing trees, hopscotch, Red Rover
and marbles just to name a few,
the boys playing cowboys and Indians, baseball, basketball
and bb guns providing they didn’t aim them at you.
In those gentler times, women and girls were safe
within their own public or private restrooms,
because the men and boys for the most part knew their limits
and respected them as part of their early manhood grooming.
Families in those days had a father and a mother who instilled decency
into the hearts of their child,
and only a few in my classes at school back then
had ever chosen to run wild.
So what am I trying to say in this poem
that I feel needs to so badly to be said,
America, America how far you have strayed and fallen and the light
you once had has gone out and now simply put, it appears to be dead.
Written by:
Marilyn S. Jennings
May 2, 2016
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
The future opens as i become a space rover
Rolling these rocks, from a long ago race
As a window of light opens in front of me
A portal has opened, i feel a glow on my face
Through the dreamy blue, what will i see
As i turn and say goodbye to this world
My thoughts intrepid as to what awaits out there
Over the blue, i Semaj finally step
One, two three to a black abyss i stare
Within minutes of being here, the darkness fades
A strange orb rises oozing colours of light
Like similar beauties from earths parades
Wonderful scenery, another worldly delight
Through what i would call a clearing, an expanse appears
With wondrous colours and earthly creatures
Giant butterflies, rabbits silhouette against this sphere
While plants so gorgeous display their features
I venture further into this kaleidoscopical rainbow
En-captured by a thrilling of a world of serenity
What delights have my eyes, been allowed to bestow
A place of calmness and no hint of calamity
Beside a brook i sit as i absorb this place
Scented petals grace and drift in a light breeze
As i scan the surface, there appears a face
A golden haired beauty, golly! is my mind in tease
I rise to my feet, and in wonderment stare
To my amazement she smiles, fluttering her butterfly wings
As i approach this beauty by the rippling brook
My heart pounds notes like a longing sing
She looks at me in curious pose
Wondering what to make of me, an alien being
Is she reciprocating what i would be doing
If she stepped through the blue, is she what i would be seeing
As we edge closer, its as if it was meant to be
Nervous i am not, in this land of blissful serenity
We all have a path and maybe its my destiny
Have they tried and tested, and eventually found amenity
I turn around to look back, to where i came from
I can't hear her voice, but i can hear her song
My body, my heart in self possession aplomb
No going back through the blue, for this is where i belong
For Constance La France " A Magical Journey " contest.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-9.php
I was ‘ Walking ’ back from grocery shopping
When I saw something, that had me hopping…
… mad, I mean… at what I seen
… a Man treating a Dog, just like a Queen !
They rode past in a top-down car
She had shades on, like a Movie-Star
My bags dropped down, due to shock…
… Now… What She got, that I ain’t got?
… Her big ears blowing in the wind
Now, I know, that’s Man’s Best Friend
But the only reason, I figured, I was Walking
is ‘cause I need a new kind-of-Talking :
Bow-Wow! Get my tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow! Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow! Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow… … see I can Manage …
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
- to Bow-Wow
and it’s Alright Now
Now, I knew, something was wrong with that Sight
Can my Bark, be worse than Her Bite?
I started to Listen to the Canine next Door
Yapping and a Howling – made ‘em give Her More…
Then I hung around the Local Pet-Shop
I Finally figured out “What They Got !”
The next Man came, I Said, “They’s Expensive,
You may as well, get yourself a ‘Mrs’…”
… Bow-Wow!
Bow-Wow! Get my tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow! Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow! Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow… … see I can Manage
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
to Bow-Wow
and it’s Alright Now
Well… We were already happily Married, when He said, “Let’s get a Dog”
I sat up straight… went to sniffing, as silent-whistle-warnings, went off
I jumped in front of Him … and started to Tease…
“We don’t need nothing ‘round with Fleas !”
… and if You scratch behind My Ears,
I’ll make the kind of noise, you love to Hear ! …
Bow-Wow! Move Over Rover
Bow-Wow! Fe-Fe, Its Over !
Bow-Wow! This is My Growler
Git’ A Little Louder … Bow – Wow !
Bow-Wow… Wuff Wuff Wuff
Carol Brown… This One’s For You Kiddo’
And Your Great Sense of Humor (Smile)
This Poem is From Bygone Days
(Wouldn’t You Know… The Silly One’s Always Survive)
Hope You Enjoy It….
MoonBee
7/20/19
"I'll be your Joker"
Still a registered voter
Signed up to be an organ donor
And finally became a car owner
I rarely use a controller
When it's time, I'll man up and buy a stroller
As well as panels that are solar
Near and far from areas that are polar
Doesn't matter if I ever get a Range Rover
Or Roadster
I'm barely ever sober
Always been a loner
And stoner
3 months away from another October
If you want to be my Harley Quinn, I'll be your "Joker"
Not no poser
Where are you Scully? This is agent Mulder
Anytime you want, I'll be your shoulder
To lean on
From here to way beyond
For eons
Where's my Marge? I am Homer
I'll be your rock over and over
Since I've gotten nobler
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I've seen it so much, I could compile a folder
Life's one giant rollercoaster
It's really revving my motor
All these women giving me a b***r
And then the cold shoulder
As if I am an ogre
I remain a soldier
Drinking high end coffee, no more Folgers
Getting wiser and older
Becoming bolder
As the world gets colder
I'm not feeling dolor
Just multi tasking, while a fire continues to smoulder
Maintaining my composure
Finding closure
Getting closer
To greatness instead of being mediocre
I enjoyed the work I did with several growers
As well as trapping some gophers
Occasionally I'll partake in poker
Even though I'm not the best hoaxer
Once or twice I used a fire stoker
When it came to Mary Jane, I was a doter
A fan of it's fragrance, it's not what I'd call an odor
I consume some products made by Clover
And am usually in places considered remoter
It's time I get a toaster and holster
I don't really need a Flame Thrower
Or to get my face on a most wanted poster
Suit yourself if you want to wear a boater
Or choker
Houses in continual foreclosure
Not always wise to go for the price that is lower
Someday my mind and body will be slower
And one day it'll all be over
10-4 over and out
And now you know, what i'm really about
Not just by word of mouth
As they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth
Regardless of if you had your doubts
By: Dalton Ogletree
its late night and i am scared from the darkness of loneliness,
so i have started to write a story to avoid fearfulness,
its not any alien fantasy but based on the notion of reality,
its the excursion of SEVEN unforgettable DAYS of my RUINED "love story",
It was almost half a year passed away with you,
but that day i met a girl i never knew,
it was the day first time i fallen in your love,
felt that you are the one whom my eyes were in search of,
A bright sunny morning when we met in the street,
it was your birthday dear but you never gave that treat,
but was never less than that when you bit off a chunk of chocolate,
and after touching your lips the rest was underneath my teeth,
it was a mystic evening when we had fun outside,
i was sitting under the SHADOW of tree and you were beside,
we talked about the things we always used to,
but whenever i tried to read your face you turned away your eyes,
again an evening but was out of phase from other days,
because you appeared different in the DRESS,which i gave,
and you blessed that moment with the aroma of your soulful love,
when me and you were walking together on a lonely way,
The night came when you aware of that i am your WISH,
and the day witnessed our first confess of love face to face,
it was the first time i held your hand and CLASPED you in my ARMS,
and that feeling is still alive even though that moment was very less,
then there was a day when dream came true from ashes of ruined love of mine,
you were with me alone but for the LAST TIME,
we
EMBRACED,
HUGGED,
KISSED each other and loved the way i was always wondering,
although it felt heavenly but was noting more than a CRIME,
but ALMIGHTY didn't accepted the climax so pleasantly,
and we were AGAIN together but this time unfortunately,
you came to decide that YOU WANT TO BE WITH ME forever,
but all ENDED up with GRIEF of separation for lifelong journey,
thus you proved my love was a sin and it was fake,
and even if life is a race....i was always too late,
although the love hasn't last to the happy ending but the STORY is all OVER,
and its a new morning so i have to start my journey again like a ROVER....
Form:
Summer ends My school friends, Work begins What a sin, Up for bus
What a fuss,
Autumn leaves
Wear long sleeves,
Thanksgiving Were living,
Leave Santa
Banana, My school work
What a perk,
Friends all here Like Shakespeare, Year Over On rover.
Date Written: 9/8/2020
3 Place Threes, Please Contest Judged: 9/19/2020
Sponsored by: Beth Evans
Vision is shadowy; I choke the steering wheel with knuckles turned white
the shifty roads are blanketed with fresh powder, day has fallen into night
a small oval portion amongst a foggy windshield was my view
traction became lost, tires slid, there was nothing I could do
I prayed to God that He would keep me safe from any harm
He must have heard because I spun out and landed in a tree farm
the skeletal infant trees did not stand up against my brawny Range Rover
if I had struck a mature oak or maple, surely it would have been game-over
once my trembling core ceased to a manageable state
I was taken aback by a heavy rod iron gate
not two seconds before, an open field of trees lied ahead
against my better judgment, slowly I decided to tread
uneasy, I glance over my shoulder to ensure my car is still there
if a gate could unexplainably appear, I feared a car could dissolve in thin air
I am impressed and terrified at the magnitude of what stood before me
I pressed my face up against the icy frame and gasped at what I did see
children; small children not aged more than eight
simultaneously detected They had a visitor at the gate
robotically, as if on cue, They began to drift toward me
cloaked in robes of slate, I fixated on a child wearing a key
the piece that hung from his neck flickered as if it were on fire
with a green stomach, I knew my situation was off-colour and dire
I attempted to address Them but all that escaped was my breath in the icy air
in chorus They froze – countless eyes offered nothing but a vacant stare
I wondered how long They had been locked up for and why
my thoughts were interrupted by a small girl’s haunting cry
my eyes searched frantically to see where the ominous iron curtain went to
my mouth tapped dry when I learned it was I, who was caged, like an animal at the zoo
anxiously I turned around when They became engrossed with something behind me
large yellow eyes cut through the darkness and my demise was all I could see
I was trapped. In order to survive I had to acquire possession of that key …
april 25, 2012
Diana-Marie Bombardieri
for Gail's CONTEST - Stranded 0r a Ghost story