Long Short story Poems
Long Short story Poems. Below are the most popular long Short story by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Short story poems by poem length and keyword.
My phone rings…. I answer it but say nothing as I don’t recognise the displayed number and I can only hear ‘white noise’ at the other end. Okay I admit I’m going deaf and will be getting my hearing aid soon but that’s another story.
I check out the number on Google and see it’s scammers who ring up people claiming to be from Microsoft and unless you pay up heaps of money they will hack your computer. It was the second time they had called in two days so I’ve written a little script based on an old joke for when they eventually try again
Caller: Hello I’m calling from Microsoft
(before they can get on with the rest of their script)
Me: Oh are you the engineer, I’m glad you rang so quickly after I logged a fault call. Please can you help me, I have a terrible issue with my computer, well it’s not my laptop it belongs to my son ....
Me: You know the handy little coffee cup holder on the side, well it’s broken…
Caller: (getting cross as he can’t use his script) What the heck are you talking about…
Me: The coffee cup holder – you must know the one … you press a little button on the side of the laptop and it shoots out …it’s so handy for my coffee mug but it’s got jammed and it’s only half way out and I can’t use it.
Caller: Coffee cup holder - are you mad?
Me: No… I'm not mad but I have short term memory issues … but my son will be absolutely bloody fuming if I don’t get the coffee cup holder sorted. Can you tell me how to fix it?
Caller: Just hangs up in frustration!
I just need them to ring me now and I will be ready!
Short Story Contest N/A in contest judged on 9/27/16
Submitted to Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please Sponsored by Broken Wings
09~27~16
Curious how emotional feelings can change,
Depending on the font type that you choose.
What’s written can also be swayed by the font,
This font that plays with your muse.
Times New Roman is the traditional, respectable read,
Reliable information’s read here,
Whilst Script is more elegant and creative and hip,
Like reading a poetic Shakespeare,
But, if you want to read clean, current, and stable,
Sans Serif is often the choice,
Or if you want strong, progressive, stylish and chic,
Gothic will be your print voice.
And then, if it’s a friendly short story,
A bold Cooper is what you might need,
Then ,finally, after you’ve put the right font on the page,
You’ll enhance your emotional read.
.
.
I love words in a novel,
a short story and a magazine.
Words are my inspiration,
Communication.
I love words that encourage,
Inspire desire in a positive way.
Words are gentle and precious,
Words are spoken from the heart,
Out of happiness and anger.
Words tell the truth and lie,
Words exaggerate, fascinate
Words can change the world
Make it a wonderful or dreadful place,
Words make or break,
Words are the past future and present,
Our peace and war,
Words hold our future,
It can lead us,
Misguide us.
Words can be paradise or hell.
Words are who we are
You are the spokesman of your own words,
And how you use these words,
May make a difference to this world
But most defiantly yourself,
Use with caution.
David W. Carter
Your laughter’s echoes are like a broken record in my hysterical brain
I misplaced my journey-like notebook, written in pen and pencil prudently and sincerely
Solace sunrays are embedded in your blue-green eyes and it’s driving me insane
Change is a challenging chore, but as someone once told me, “No one ever stops progressing, but it’s your job to improve frankly!”
Confined to this Depression wars, I feel like I’m frozen forever in his ribcage
Don’t accuse me for committing atrocious felonies – my intentions don’t lean on greed
I love God’s Wonderful deeds indeed! I loathe this fast-paced world, especially in this day of age, sponging up avarice and rage
Be careful what you watch, say, touch, hear, and taste – nourish your family seed
Visions of unforeseen, unforced miracles is a memory I hold dear honestly
I recall years spent on pondering about the tragedy in this fast-paced world and its many crimes
You scan my verses as if it’s a short story, catching your sheer curiosity
You have read me several times like a children’s book with silly Mother Goose Rhymes
I resemble shrouds of misfortune for cat’s sake...Now, am I worthy to be compared to a children’s tale? Am I the cause of the world’s calamity?
The dusk has dawned upon me…unearth the mysteries in the hollow, tacky atmosphere
Man’s plans were destined to be a fail from the beginning of time – why’s my heart thumping with pride and vanity?
Why should I rely on Man when I have God by my side? He’s the one and only that makes me have tears of hope, not frantic fear!
I’ve seen his wonders, so imperishable! I’m a witness to God’s phenomenal, faultless Work!
Why don’t you look at yourself in the mirror? Let’s face it – we’re all playing roles in this world’s tragedy!
Why are you throwing the blame on me? You resemble an irrational jerk!
I can’t bear being that individual who speaks his mind deliberately – I’m not acting immature! Straighten up your mind; stop acting so silly!
~!@#$%^&*())(*&^%$#@!~
Inspired by Jake Ponce’s poem: Ephemeral and the verse (entitled: The Key To My Heart) written by Jan Allison! Check both poems out and you’ll be amazed and it feels as if you’re placed in their shoes. It’s remarkable. Do look them up and read their works. You won’t regret it.
^Written by David William Breidenthal^
***Date this was written: Thursday, May 29, 2014***
IT’LL NEVER HAPPEN TO ME
What a disgusting development;
All my days are lonely;
I am a street passerby;
All my days are lonely;
Eating wet rainbows;
Uncooked promises;
Devouring sweet alluring mud pies;
While the sun yet blinds my eyes;
Stuck up high up in the trees;
“this it’ll never happen to me”
I’m a displaced child;
In a misplaced guild;
Won’t you give me a ride?
I’m an unused clone;
Strip of my shoes;
No place to walk to;
On your hopeless horse;
Don’t let me die in inquest;
Dreams are far to worst;
Riding right on course;
It won’t be my turn to cry;
Won’t be my turn to lie;
Won’t be hard to try;
It won’t be my turn to die;
What a disgusting development;
All my days are lonely;
I am a street passerby;
All my days are lonely;
Eating wet rainbows;
Uncooked promises;
Devouring sweet alluring mud pies;
While the sun yet blinds my eyes;
Stuck up high up in the trees;
“this it’ll never happen to me”
Where can I direct the truth?
Inside my mind is bruised;
Can I peer through brick covered windowed walls?
Eating rainbows devouring sweet adoring mud pies;
Blinded by the light of the sun’s rays;
I’m a displaced child;
In a misplaced guild;
Won’t you com b my hair;
Come taste the poison leaf;
Dying filled with grief;
It won’t be my turn to cry;
Won’t be my turn to lie;
Won’t be hard to try;
It won’t be my turn to die;
It’ll never happen to me…
7/09/70
Written words by James Edward Lee & arranged music by Alton Adkins ©1970, 2019
FROM THE SHORT STORY PLAY
“It’ll Never Happen to Me”
What Is A Poet 8
Begin with a rough draft
Start with a title and a pen at hand
A creative idea
An imaginary short story that can be epic
Opportunities to travel in descriptive words
Shift upon unexpected turns
Tell a story hidden in the darkest corners
Read in between the lines unfiltered
You maybe surprised under your own conscious
Welcome to creative writing disorder
Never stop analyzing
Always brainstorming
The story comes alive on every page
Chapters are read quietly under the shade
With no t.v. and no electronics
A slower pace to use your own imagination
With meaningful poetry
An Author under construction emerging
(In working progress)
In the ancient lands of Egypt, now no longer the upper and the lower kingdoms, but the united New Kingdom established by the new Pharoah Akhnaten, after the passing of his older brother. He began abolishing the gods of Egypt and replaced them with a single god named Aten. He began his rule as the rumored Heretic King. His wife of great beauty was named, Queen Nefertiti, and their firstborn was young Prince Tut.
In the wee hours of the summer solstice, a cry rings out, heard throughout the great sacred palace, alerted servants and the Queen awakes, and they quicken their pace to the room of his royal highness, Prince Tut. Enters the Queen.
Queen Nefertiti: "The dream visits my son?"
Prince Tut: "Yes, mother. You there, summon my father."
A servant hesitates to awaken the Pharoah himself.
Prince Tut: "Mother, need I repeat myself, for she refuses to obey?"
Queen Nefertiti: "Of course not my son, be at peace. You there, what is your name?"
Memneht: "I am the hand-maiden, Memneht, my sacred Queen."
Queen Nefertiti: "Why have you disobeyed my son's command, such will be the pain of death!"
Memneht: "For I have fear of the Pharoah, my Queen."
Queen Nefertiti: "There is enough of fear here, go and do as my son commands!"
2019 September 17
Summer love, starts slowly. But as the summer nights last longer, so do the
feelings of love resonate in the air for young lovers. This is exactly where our
story begins. It all started near the end of August. I had just found out my family
was on our way, to packing up in a race to move to Toronto Ontario in just about
seven days. I had no idea, how much my life in Everett would have changed my
life forever.
There was this boy, of course there always is a boy. In highschool he seemed to
be the quiet type. You know the mysterious ones, that you look at in the corner of
your eye and tease. He barely exchanged glances back, and when he did I would
always flash a mischievious smile. Oh the glory days, when you get all dizzy from
the sensation of "crushes". I have never been able to clearly tell someone, when
I feel something for them, and this was definetly a case. We did as most people
do these days. We exchanged msn's and spoke nightly for hours. In the secret
quiet of the night, I finally got to know him. He was kind, and sweet, the type of
guy I never thought I would fall for. It just seemed right, if you know what I mean. I
always went for the angsty, bad boy basically the hottie in the leather jackets
leaning over their trans- ams. So what was so special about James. He was this
diamond in the rough. At first glance, almost dull. But as you looked closer, the
most brilliant color. He could make me laugh, he had one of the highest
intellects of anyone I had ever known, and the most captivating eyes. I remeber
looking in them, and feeling as if the dark brown pools could suck me in and
keep me there forever.
Our relationship to start, was that of a slow one. He went with walks with me,
humourously walking on the other side of the path from me. I remeber always
thinking, " When is this kid going to smarten up, and hold my hand." But everyone
has those sort of stories when they are young. From there on out every second of
the day, I could I would be spending the day with him. He was the one release
from the pressures of the hustle and the panic inside of my home. My parents
indecision to pick up our lives and move was to say the least exhuasting. I grew
nauseated as every day past, because what I knew what was to come was for
the worst.
Form:
I thought I'd write a word or two,
Like all them famous poets do,
And then mayhap I would be known,
And folks would ask me to intone,
The lyrics that were world renown,
In recitals throughout town;
So I sat down with pen and waited,
For inspiration, breath abated.
I waited long into the night,
Then came the dawn and morning's light.
I thought I'd write a word or two,
Short story, pome, just one or two;
But seems to me there's no such luck,
So I got in my pick up truck,
And drove around to clear my head.
It did no good, my muse is dead;
Or else she's just abandoned me.
I prayed to her on bended knee;
But as far as I can see,
This efforts in futility.
DANG!!!!!
A nun and her station wagon go far
In one direction on the road of life
With no brakes and a loaded gun
On their way to heaven of course
Camped out in the cemetery at midnight
Protected in her habit and giant cross
Made of metal and wood of course
Like a coat of armor to stop bullets
From people like you and you and them
A nun knows what is best in cemeteries
At midnight with a full moon on display
Tomb stones laid bare with names and dates
Secrets beneath crucifixes blessed
Nuns know what is best for death
Pray for the sinners and all that rest
With or without bullets in their chest
Authors note: I invite you to read my short story posted here on this site titled “Incident At The Bay Wharf.” It is lots of fun with guns and bums and nuns.