Long Shooed Poems
Long Shooed Poems. Below are the most popular long Shooed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shooed poems by poem length and keyword.
Walking along the oceans sand, in the crisp evening air
He happened upon a sand castle built by a child’s, tiny hand
It's delicate, virginal beauty, a short time it would last
Much too soon the waves of the sea would wash it to a distant past.
Those little footprints, ingrained on some land
Where a sweet, small child had carefully planned
A beautiful, fragile castle in sand
He was painting a picture in his mind of those little hands and feet.
The nocturne of a symphony with children directing the beat.
The rolling motions of the sea kept a rhythmic roar with the waves
They rolled to the shore in syncopated lyrics making wet, sandy graves.
His hope he carried in his heart
As he walked quietly along the sea
He wanted to make everything right
But he was doubting his ability
A silent cantata of a discordant roar of time,
Was singing a haunting melody in voice A-cappella
Chanting audible chords of memories in his mind
His thoughts went back to the little child, building a dream carved in sand
A a child who was thoughtfully shaping their future on land.
As he sat on the shore in pensive thought,
His own child came to his mind.
A sweet little girl, not a care in her world
Singing her innocent, happy rhymes
He’d come home from work, needing time to unwind
Too busy and tired to give his child enough time
She learned to walk and talk all while he was gone
While her mommy taught her all those cute, little songs
"Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffett
Eating her curds and whey
The little spider that sat down beside her
Until she shooed him away"
His wife, the apple of his eye, a woman who stood by his side
He wrote her name inside his heart, always wanted her as his bride.
They fell in love, prayed for a sweet, little child to share all their love.
The Lord in Heaven heard their prayers and sent them a little girl from above.
His memories led him back to home
Knowing he made those vows without end
Finally knowing what he must do..
He’d take his wife and child by their hands
To make their lovely, delicate castles in sand
*~*
From the Elephant's diary
You find me giantly like Gulliver, huge and obese
but I met my doc, he said take it with ease....
for you big is more beautiful so eat more cheese
I am on my diet of sugarcane juice,
lush green grass n' tons of bamboos
Mammoth was my forefather not anymore seen
Now I know being gigantic is in my genes
Instructor at the gym shooed me away
for I broke his treadmill with my single step I say
We love to have our bath in nature's pool
We dabble water with our trunk till we are all cool
A relaxing shower for all friends after hectic schedule!
In our forest club, trophy for best music band,
we won last week for our trumpet troupe!
Large is our family my Jumbo uncle says,
Old and wise he is in our tuskers' herd
He says our eyes are small, to see
only little good left in this big bad world
And our ears are large to fan away
the gossips and bad we hear
Thick skin we do have so called pachyderms
to shrug off the hurling vices of the woods
but we have a large heart to spread
loads of love to all species widespread
In history, we have a place reserved
for in wars and royal processions,
we were used as pride symbols he says
Revered animals we are since eons.....
In country called India, heritage animal we are
and even worshipped in religious places he says!
Huge boulders or logs ,mankind used us for transport
We even entertain them in zoos and circus
But he regrets that we are poached, killed by men
to pull out pair of our incisors called tusks
who polish to make precious ivory to earn bucks
So useful and harmless friends to humans we are
I asked my uncle why so cruel the men are?
He said men show their power
of being Nature's superior creature
we elephant folk are helpless giants
We can do nothing but to pray that
we be valued for our selfless services and
be saved from going extinct from this world!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak,2015
For contest: Giant animals
Sponsored by: D.Nathan
Date: 2nd September 2015
“Cats teach us how to enjoy life. They savor every moment, from
the warm sun on their backs to the joy of a well-played pounce.”
– Anonymous
Snow stopped rubbing against my leg to get attention
when he became curious about Christmas tree lights
tangled all over the floor to the point of contention.
I saw him begin nibbling the bulbs, taking little bites,
so I shooed him away in a moment of apprehension,
afraid that he might break one. Oh, the hypertension!
That lasted all of thirty seconds, and Snow was back,
crouched in hunt mode, his eyes locked on a string.
I saw him tense, creeping closer, ready for the attack.
He chattered and launched himself like a coiled spring,
landing in strings and ran as if he was on a racetrack.
I reached for my camera. It was moment for my Kodak!
Instead of being frightened, he was perfectly content
to walk around, wrapped in lights from head to toe,
so, I let him prance like that for a while without dissent.
But when I tried to take them off, I got a hiss from Snow
letting me know that giving them up was not his intent.
It became a problem that I had to cleverly circumvent.
I thought that turning on the lights I'd already strung
might change his mind and fill Snow with a bit of fright
so, I busied myself with ornaments and stockings hung,
then found him cozied up beneath the tree. What a sight!
He was licking each brightly colored globe with his tongue.
That string still tightly wound around him, they were flung.
I didn't have the heart to take away his brand new toy.
While soothing him with my voice, I plugged him in,
standing by in case he was scared, but not my lil' boy.
Here's the photo and I swear, Snow is wearing a grin.
He's asleep before the hearth, on a pillow of corduroy.
A memory to treasure on this Christmas filled with joy.
When I placed a golden star atop my Christmas tree
I heard the faint mewing from beside the fireplace.
Snow's big blue eyes were open wide as if in plea.
I just couldn't stand the sad look upon my kitty's face
and put a star on his head, then got a holder for a battery
so his lights could move with him. Now, he's purring at me.
Words I write...erased
Words I speak comes out one ear
Love I send...hated
Your words left unsaid
But, instead, tucked in my head
Wondrin' when it's said...
I dread the silence
I need you, I want you now
Patience...self-control
Singing and dancing
Playing piano in mere bliss
Thought of you kindly
Then, the atmosphere...
Gets colder and shatters me
Nothing matters...dear...
Words, like birds, release
Out of my once concealed lips
Take a look...hurry!
Please...please...pardon me
But, I express truthful thoughts
Truth hurts, feelings burn
Oceans~emotions~
My ears bleed because of you
Your problems are deep
Cut me open, fenced in
Wounds ripped apart by harsh words
I can break ease-ly
Lost inspiration
Given the impression of
I-Do-Not-Care-Hun
Do what you do best
Speak that speech, so blessed and free
Liberty loves rest
Bargain with me your-
Your words...your-your everything
Don't disappoint me
These lines are meaning-
Less than perfect, but more than
How you just view me...
Damaged to the core
Because your words translate that-
That you don't love me
(Anymore...
Anymore...)
Qin edoba ou liha toghil...hil...
(You abide in the light)
Dona nobis pachem...em...
(Give us peace)
Asthma comes b-back
Backstabbing me for breathing
Happy as can be
Words I make...vanish
Words I speak, earns rejection
Peace I send...jaded
I regret nothing
I'm sorry I'm not sorry
I regret everything
Forgiveness I seek
I lack a leg to move on
I beg you...don't leave
Ignored for life...wowed...
Baked in the oven of angst
Here comes shame cupcakes
Oh I long to hear...
That you're near my side truly
Your response - I fear! ??
Cursed Verses...pure cured
Blessed miracles in disguise
Words unsaid...no comment
(Speechless...actually...)
You were but a dream
You were but a dream
I let out my passion scream
I'm the floating boat and you're my beloved stream
Words left unsaid
I'm off to bed
I'll hear no more of your solitude
Now, I'm naked and ashamed...I'm a ghost in your haven, uninvited and shooed
"She will reign on the cliff above the quay, this derelict house restored to her former beauty. No beast of the field, nor bird in the air shall wander her halls. Now she belongs to me." ~ quote by poet
As I walked along the cliff path early this morning
a fine mist seemed to enshroud the derelict home.
I always thought of it as if it was in deep mourning,
with its weeping willow's roots buried in the loam.
It had been abandoned when I was but a child.
I didn't know who had lived there, inside the walls
but I recall it always left me feeling quite beguiled,
wishing I could walk inside its fading carpeted halls.
Once, I'd peeked in a dusty window when I was ten
but Mother said it was dangerous and to stay away.
The ruins were haunted. I was not to go there again.
Twenty years later, she still sits, overlooking the quay.
And now, that I've returned to my childhood house,
my fascination with the abandoned home is peaked.
I brushed aside a cobweb and shooed away a mouse.
Carefully, I stepped on the porch steps that creaked.
Clapboards had fallen off; I recall they had been gray.
Bird nests were tucked between rafters and eaves.
A "Do not enter," sign was nailed across the doorway.
meant to keep out squatters and the likes of thieves.
I backed away and looked up at a broken windowpane,
as a seagull flew out, then swooped down to the shore.
Damage done by nesting birds and decades of rain.
Such a grand old dwelling, someone should restore.
I walked for a mile or more, thinking all the while
that if anyone's footsteps were to tread her halls
they'd be mine after returning her charm and style.
My hands would scrub, paint and repaper her walls.
I turned around and started jogging in her direction
until I stood before her with a smile upon my face.
"I will bring you back from dereliction to perfection
in a restoration to show off your splendor and grace."
February 7, 2023
Writing Challenge - D Words Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
I would give you my advices
If they weren't overpowered with spices
And things. Believe me, I hold
No control over these bold
Statements I make, nor the clever
Phrases and quips. I have never
Told a story of my own imagination—
No, 'tis the work of some abomination
Running amok in our sad homes.
They carry foreign, mysterious tomes
Filled with ghastly images and
Recipes for the witches' gnarly hands:
Indeed, a witch would benefit from
These outlandish ingredients, some
So abhorrent I dare not say their
Names aloud. But alas, they are,
At the same time, wonderful items—
Spices and things—bizarre and exciting:
They provide a necessary embellishment
To the newly made unintelligent—
We call them newborns, for they eat all,
So why not tell a story for them all,
About dragons and knights and the blood
Of the hopelessly valiant in the mud
Where their decaying corpses lie.
Spices and things—to show the fly
That is shooed away by the fairy
So that she may revive him and be merry.
And all the world's a miser, but who
Must know? We promise you will never know.
Drink this, or eat that—it is delicious.
None of it at all is remotely malicious.
It is soul-cleansing and stomach-filling,
Bad only for the vision you're killing,
For who must know? It is not needed.
Take root in the head I have seeded,
O Truth, so flexible, so malleable,
But not in the least detrimental.
Truth likes spices and things, she does.
Boys and girls, you and I, she loves,
She feeds us, clothes us, kills us
On the day we are called, the Day of Lust,
When we fight for our afterlives,
Be it Heaven, or Hell. It is a beehive
Of swirling angels and demons
That vie for our trust—daughters and sons,
The parents care not, for Truth doe say,
With much spices and things, that away,
Up high or far below, both are right,
Because both are eternal; both are a light.
When I was six or seven my mama had a friend,
Who thought quite highly of herself and liked to play pretend.
When she came over seemed to me she noticed everything,
From a little dust here or there to condition of window screens.
Mama shooed me and Smokey from the kitchen while she cleaned.
Smokey went to her bedroom and climbed on her dresser to dream.
Mama's friend came over, her nose high in the air.
I thought she looked like a hound dog, sniffing for a hare.
She ran her fingers along the sills, inspected the cup Mom proferred.
She chatted about the things she owned, the places she had toured.
She talked about her family line, her neighbors and her friends.
Mama smiled and nodded, I sat there and grinned.
They were going out that day to shop and see some sights.
Mom left me with Sister and told us not to fight.
She went into her bedroom to dress and fix her hair.
You should have seen the lady's eyes as she spied him lying there.
Smokey lay there very still, curled up in a ball.
"What a beautiful fur piece! So lustrous, black and all!
I want one just like it! I hope that you don't mind!
Why everyone would envy such a piece so fine!"
"Why it would go with anything! You must tell me where you got it!
It really must have cost a bit!" then she reached out to touch it.
Smokey stirred and stretched his frame and opened amber eyes.
Her mouth fell open and she stared in startled, shocked surprise.
"That's no fur piece, that's my cat!"I told her in indignance.
I gathered him into my arms, the cat stared in indifference.
It felt good to see her shock, her voice for once unheard.
The only thing she thought to say was simply,"Oh My Word!"
Mama laughed until she cried as she told Dad the story.
Dad gave the cat a bit of fish and said,"Perhaps, 'bout him, we should worry."
I oft shooed thee as bird of barest brain,
No, ye do hide behind some talent rare,
Should a rare hand nurture ye to train,
Thine sense of shades I doubt any may share.
It is thine knack human commands to heed
That makes thee a bird of a choicest breed,
Thou ‘lone, O angel, canst call a Monet
From a Picasso, Peace pigeon, prized pet!
It was when I saw a huge flock of thee
Taking off from the ground at a command,
Swirling soon in a formation to be,
Showing off skills in flight, and to soft-land,
Thence to trap birds of rival fleet—what treat!
I know ye deserve discerning diet—
Of dry fruits and pure Indian ghee— a bit
Rich may it look — a long-corn and millet.
I never knew doves could be trained to tell
A human voice or whistle, and many
A hand gesture to return safe and well
To base, until I did thine talent see.
Thou hast the measure of magnetic field
Of Earth, to have a sense to know at best
Thine place in space with the power ye wield,
And to return spot-on to place of rest.
Those eyes hast more colour cones than us,
That thou canst see three times as many shades
As humans, making ye a bird so precious,
A pigment marked seldom from thine mind fades.
O thou, a perennial guest of my house,
I'd not shoo thee away- now that I know
Thou art not like that pesky pest, the mouse;
Yet hygiene's good habits ye ought to show!
And ye make every corner, every niche
In my house, and thine nesting place, a rage,
Thine maternity home all so hellish,
But, pray, a house is no home of garbage!
It's odd, we call thee a common pigeon;
Such rare credentials can't make thee common.
For nesting home, O thou a homing bird:
What made ye leave trees to like human herd?
______________________________________ ________________
- Reflections | 03.01.12
Chances of precipitation zero. Chances of dew, zero. Chances of a raindrop, one hundred percent, as she was spotted in the sky about six seconds ago. If Adrianna lands here, how will we collect her? Who gets access? Where was the sighting? How accurate is the intel?
The ants had already dug a pond in their anthill in case she landed there. The beetles came around and tried to suck up to the ants, but they briskly shooed them off. The faeries were the tellers of the tale; the sighting, after all, had come from their high-flying ally, eagle. The faeries, like the elves, and nymphs, were pretending they might share Adrianna, knowing full well they would rather fight to the death than share her.
The owls had set mint cups out on their oak leaf branches, hoping she would land in one of them. The entire village was abuzz. No one had seen a raindrop here for twenty-two minutes, four hours, and sixty-three days.
One tiny raindrop – named Raindrop Adrianna was spotted in the sky, six seconds ago. Suddenly brothers and sisters were fighting, wrens and robins were not speaking. Faeries and nymphs were lying. It was not unusual for one little harmless raindrop to start world war six, which is why we always name our raindrops after women. The eagles and the owls had not been speaking for decades, over the last raindrop.
Raindrop Adrianna had turned the whole world upside down. She probably had no idea what turmoil she had started, as she had already landed on a grateful red tulip, on the other side of the village. We told Adrianna’s story until World War Seven, which was started by Raindrop Rhoda.
Written 11-16-2018
Contest: The Raindrop Poetry Contest Sponsor: Craig Cornish
The faerie girl had been warned of Master’s temper more than once,
But she had seen a glimmer of a smile, and she liked the way he looked at her.
She decided to try, for she knew that she could find his good.
She would make him love her, for something. She would smooth out his creases, and iron him in clean new ways, present him in a new light to the naysayers who were so mean about him. No one is all bad, right?
She would help him begin anew, and reinvent himself.
A psychopath? No. A sociopath? Never! She liked the look of the man.
For twelve long years she gave Master big giant bunches of herself – emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically. She gave and gave and gave, not realizing the cost, until she had almost nothing
left for herself.
Her wings had stopped working. Her hair was a mess, her spirit was spent, she was depressed, and sad, all the time.
She did not recognize even an imperceptible glimmer of hope in herself.
She no longer lived her truth.
She had championed him until there was nothing left of her.
The faerie council and dwarf committee decided to intervene. They asked if they could carry her off, and nurture her, and love her, and nurse her back to health. Her self-absorbed Master laughed at their meager attempts to save his toy.
He shooed them away like the fluffs of dust they were, glorying in Faerie Girl’s all-consuming protection of him, reveling that she was willing to give him her persona, feelings, and pixie dust.
The day of her death, he replaced her with a fresh, new, optimistic, ready-to-save-him faerie without giving Faerie Girl a bit of a thought.
She was just another toy, broken, discarded, and burned, like the others before her.