Long Seesaw Poems
Long Seesaw Poems. Below are the most popular long Seesaw by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seesaw poems by poem length and keyword.
two women on a seesaw laughing their happy heads off
Like male praying mantises, except they did not scoff
wearing dresses and high heels which was absurd
Their husbands Phil and Lee walked by, without saying a word
Pretending they do not know their wives imbibe during the day
Something hard to not realize if you are looking their way
They were arguing now about whose seesaw was the best.
They were both on the same one, so it was no real test.
Let’s go to a ballgame, suggested Phil to his friend Lee.
They had no argument from their Gladys or Sammy.
Arguing now about whether the seesaw was blue or red.
Let’s stop by and pick up my favorite cousin, Fred.
Sit there, backs turned, Eyes Wired Shut, disconnected from your gut.
Thrusting back and thirsting forth, comes in the night.
Sniffing sleeping walking, head throbbing, bowels moving
To the rhythm of your heart pumping.
Silent mourning, red hot night but it’s not the knight that’s coming.
Pricked, poked and rubbed until the shameful betrayal and physical frenzy.
Frozen by the red hot burn of white stuff erupting.
Backs turned, eyes wired shut, disconnected from your gut.
Speech strangled, sore to swallow, why don’t you wonder what my mouth has seen.
Screaming pain going nowhere. Signs of agony everywhere.
Shaking hands, spirit shattered, will never find a piece again.
Please perhaps ponder?
Eyes wired shut, disconnected from your gut.
Ghosts hanging in your face. Held up by four, skin cold, cut down too late.
Trophies counted six feet under.
Disconnected from your gut.
Stench of innocence, reeks of guilt, but those around him bathe him well.
Slithered split tongues sitting on that slashing seesaw-like swords through butter, and with whispers like back stabbing knives.
Feeds and kneads their fallacies to grow in girth, fed by terror sucked from bodies with no hair, say no, no say.
Mouth wired shut.
Smoking tempers drinking frothy ice cold mixers. Open scabs festering under strobes.
Treading softly fearing toes, balancing on breakable shells. It’s no choice for those who know.
Your gut.
Reunion highs and lows. Don’t cry. Go.
Form:
The power of fiction, classified- untrue
Imaginative stories precisely on cue
Through ordinary people found in their mind
Aliens, monsters whatever they find
As they search for a person, a place, or things
Santa, utopia... a horse with some wings
They search deep in their heads expanding their brains
To find yellow submarines and Alice in chains
Tiny Tim, Thumbelina and Little Bo Peep...
the shepherdess girl who fell fast asleep
Superman, Spiderman, Batman and the Cat Woman too
Little Jack Horner and Little Boy Blue
The power of fiction makes falsehood look real
Like an octagon seesaw and a triangle wheel
Even a person with the lowest IQ
Can tell imaginative stories just like me and you
Mercy! How playtime has evolved since I was a Hoosier lad!
In the olden days you made-do with what little you had.
Our cell phone was a string stretched 'twixt two old soup cans.
That way we avoided strict federal communications bans!
Our swing was an old tire with a rope tied around a limb.
That, and a plank across a barrel for a seesaw was our gym!
My fishing rig was a safety pin hook with a willow twig for a pole,
Wherewith I spent languid summer days at my favorite fishing hole!
Many cold and snowy days were spent bundled in winter attire,
Racing down the steepest hills on my sleek Flexible Flyer!
Rainy days were spent huddled reading in a secluded nook,
Or crafting model airplanes that I happily undertook!
Though I savored a rowdy game of marbles, I was never very deft.
That saucy neighbor girl always beat us guys leaving us bereft!
In the pasture we made a diamond for our raucous games of ball,
Taking care, of course, to avoid bovine deposits, that above all!
On many a mellow, moonlit Hoosier summer's night,
We'd capture fireflies in mason jars on their wing'ed flight.
How did we manage sans all the gizmos kids now have at hand?
I suspect my grandkids would find my playtimes rather bland!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Why is it harder to say yes than no?
Is the pendulum biased to No side?
Is the seesaw weighted more on NO side
Why is it harder to sway up on a swing to yea?
It's fear that weighs you down!
Fear of what yea may mean.
afraid of being used,
afraid of being disappointed,
afraid of letting someone down,
afraid of being hurt,
afraid of being rejected,
afraid of being left alone,
afraid of being left vulnerable,
afraid of putting your heart on the line,
afraid of the unknown,
afraid of change,
afraid of failure,
afraid of stepping outside of your comfort zone.
But what are you missing out on?
Take the plunge from the high platform
of procrastination.
Give sway to yea, and let go.
The pool is deep, its surface quivering,
trembling with affable expectation.
I could make ring bells from seashells found on seashores
go into retail where these bells get sold on shop floors
and tell thee tales of Seabells see sales win awards
if Seabells received well we could see sells soar
but there be fails and seashells will see me shut doors
Seabells on thee shelves won't sell themselves
Seabells that stay shelved are Seabells in stealth
but if retail sees sells these bells might split shells
when Seabells break seashells they Seabells no more
in retail it entails that Seabells a chore
stealing seashells from seashores for Seabells is wrong
Seabells in retail ensure failed rewards
leave seashells on seashores where seashells belong
sit on a seesaw it sees sore your bum
a sore bum on a seesaw's a seesaw no fun
(none of this stanza is part of the poem I'm just)...
sawing a seesaw for Cecil in sun
sees seesaw I Cecil for saws so seesaws
no I saw for sneezing Cecil a seesaw he saw
Cecil does sizzle when Cecil's in sun
snoozing a little he frizzle a frum
I've syphilis symptoms seep sauces abort
a sauce on a seesaw in slippers and shorts
it sizzles my settle a saw Cecil's seesaw
a seashore with seesaws see seashells flung
a seesaw at seashores not see sure for sum
seashells flung seaward hit sailors at sea (dong)
seems I cannot stop recycling sims-
ulating symptoms of simpleton dumb)
yeah im done phew
forget not king warning demonic
danger incremental gradual liberal
nor genocide joey precedent
nor dispensation donny cleansing
oligarchy authority false choice
g ford greater more effective evil
empire merrikka people subjects
rejects will well being ignore
dream fruition arriving never more
guard commons free speech farmed
private sector extract boiled ready frog
politic elect thesbian culture war
tonies grammies oscars divide conquer
chopping chomsky consent manufacture
wealth income earth labor rare birth
despair lament pay rent higher
proper response race both blatant
subtle kinder gentler totalitarian
all planet people planted excluded
possible power economic politic
remote hemmed chemical psycho
social escape routes addict dead ends
abundant narrate nook craney cross
every color four bid three finger all pro
nouns nun since seeing poking stabbing
lids bins laden all gore beat rhyme
tapdancing tintinabulation embedded
robot tune ruin seesaw sooth soul life
sleep endless bow dark nestle loud
selah
As the same auld pain come back on the knoll,
Risks and concerns are all over the ocean.
The waves drown out the penance of the soul,
When my light goes out, a dark muse is woven.
Risks and concerns are all over the ocean,
In September, when the season begins to dwindle.
When my light goes out, a dark muse is woven,
Things were borne as one by wile and swindle.
In September, when the season begins to dwindle,
I have a lot of eager hopes when I aim to sleep.
Things were borne as one by wile and swindle,
At the cliff's edge, striving to let bliss seep.
I have a lot of eager hopes when I aim to sleep,
My pained spirit had become quite frozen.
At the cliff's edge, striving to let bliss seep,
My mind is racing on the rhyming slogan.
My pained spirit had become quite frozen,
With an eerie voice, sing a riddle in the dark.
My mind is racing on the rhyming slogan,
Slow-motion derailment was foreseen stark.
With an eerie voice, sing a riddle in the dark,
Floating in a haze, unfit to flee this blood flow.
Slow-motion derailment was foreseen stark,
I can fix minds, but cracks pull me a seesaw.
Floating in a haze, unfit to flee this blood flow,
I'm submerged and left to fight this fake pain.
I can fix minds, but cracks pull me a seesaw,
Pretty fading follies of ruined reality again.
I'm submerged and left to fight this fake pain,
The waves drown out the penance of the soul.
Pretty fading follies of ruined reality again,
As the same auld pain come back on the knoll.
Written: October 1st, 2022
The Lake.....
lies… still,
a glistening sheet of tin foil,
shimmering in a cold-eyed wind.
At night
the lake still... lies… still;
a coffin with lid screwed light-tight.
On occasion, the moon trickles light,
lightly across the lake's pitch-black back;
the knack of making the coffin lid crack!
Today, I challenge myself
to touch-dive the lake’s chilling depths,
halfway down I halt, a dark vault,
weakens my errant confidence.
Despite puppet legs and handcuffed arms
I spin frantically to reach a detached surface,
bursting out like some skittish, Scottish salmon
only to be held between the two supremos;
illuminated sky and darksome water.
Tonight, the lake grips my bedroom window
and I watch as watery, inky tentacles
claw and talon at an unsettled shoreline.
Later, I wait for sleep to possess me,
sensing surrounding hills clinging closely
while rain falls like pellets of iron.
So I drift…listening to the lake
whispering dangerous, whispering treacherous secrets
until nature’s seesaw; night tilts into daylight.
Ian Souter
After the laughter, comes the pain-
our days are mixed with sun and rain.
Life is a steady weather vane-
forecasting clime we can't ordain.
Its pendulum does swing both ways;
unbalanced is its worth of days.
What brings us happiness, we praise-
but dread the shift to its sad phase.
The high-tide days are filled with glee
as waves wash out the shore debris,
again to turn- and we agree-
we reach low tide- just like the sea.
Our life is but a huge seesaw
some days, we're high, and filled with awe;
yet others make us clench our jaw-
as we crash down when life turns raw.
Laughter's not cherished without pain-
for pain does heighten laughter's gain.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Strand Special 3
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 12/16/2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: One In Four
Sponsor: Joseph May
Judged: 08/25/2019