Long Shortly Poems
Long Shortly Poems. Below are the most popular long Shortly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shortly poems by poem length and keyword.
The picket line’s a lonely place
With just two of you there
Fighting for a membership
That doesn’t seem to care.
Two members turned back;
Just two, no more.
Most of them slipped quietly in
Through the hidden back door,
And quietly slipped out again
And we saw them driving by
Funny how none of them seemed
Able to look us in the eye.
We stood there with our picket boards,
Were snapped by the local press,
But we lost that action ,
The carnage not made any less
For the lack of any backbone
Must have made the management laugh
And very shortly afterwards they started
The decimation of the staff.
I had to swallow my pride,
For ironically at the end
I helped negotiate leaving terms
For most of my blackleg friends.
And in case any wonder
Just to let you know
I was one of the first
The company decided to let go.
Less than two years later,
Lacking any Union voice,
The rump that was left was
Given the stark choice:
Self employed status
Or clear your desks and go.
Not being vidicrtive I resisted
The urge to say I told you so
The picket line’s a lonely place
With only two of you there
Fighting for a membership
That just doesn’t seem to care
An Insignificant Insect
An insignificant insect
Living on an insignificant planet
Located in an insignificant galaxy
Why does man think he is so important?
He is a parasite tolerated by the universe
To be swept away whenever it desires
Man kills the planet he is on
Pollution and war leaves deep scars
Ruining what was created shortly after the big bang
Wanting to spread to other planets and stars
To rape them and watch them die as the Earth is
Man will be swept away on uninhabitable worlds
Man thinks he will leave an impact
There will be no impact
No monuments to what man has done
No trace that he ever existed
An insect that never mattered
On an insignificant planet in an insignificant galaxy
Man never existed
Mama why?
The sight of me makes you cry?
Oh mama why oh mama why
You never asked me honey what is it like to die?
Mama why can’t you tell me why I keep these tears in my eyes
Why am I so despised. I can see it in your eyes you can no longer hide your precious little lies.. or should I say you’re untold Truth. Of course I’m questioning. What did you think I was going to do? Remember when I asked you.. how my grandma died? I should have known by the look in your eyes that you fully didn’t tell me about her demise. All you said was that she bumped her head, and shortly after that they pronounced her dead.. was that the truth or a half a fact. I know when you look at me that you are holding back. As time went on and I grew strong I still didn’t know what the hell went on. So f*** that I had to find out after a funeral I don’t thank you daughter knew I was going to handle that. But the chick didn’t care, she just hit me with a Mac. To be continued..
I Care I Search.
So many years had separated us.
I felt a sense of accomplishment
when I visited the church that I and
My family attended when I was very young.
The pastor was leaving, but he opened the
door and allowed me to walk through the sanctuary
of that little country church where I accepted Christ
as a child and was baptized. It was also sobering as
I walked through the cemetery.
I Care I Search.
When my search began 15 years ago,
I did not know who was dead or alive.
Shortly before I began, I was informed
that Bob had passed on. Perhaps Bob's
passing hastened my quest to reconnect
with old friends and other people I knew
many years ago. After writing a poem about
him, I later learned that Dennis had passed.
I Care I Search.
Dennis and Johnnie were my closest friends.
A few years ago, I learned of Johnnie's
whereabouts and his current health status.
Three weeks ago, I met with Johnnie whom
I had not seen in more than 50 years. That
is why seeing him was most touching, and I might
add that I have never felt a feeling like that.
Due to his mental status, our communication was
limited, but just seeing and touching him was rich.
I Care I Search.
My search was initiated because I cared so dearly.
In so many ways, I have a deep debt of gratitude.
I don't know anything with which to compare this
my feeling of richness, my invigoration experience
of finding people, places, and things of my 'yesterdays'.
After the Cross
By Franklin Price
4/5/2015
After the cross
On the hill where he died
With nails hands and feet
Spear wound in his side
Crown of thorns on his head
All his blood he had lost
All of this did for us
Oh my God what a cost
They laid him away
In a tomb with a stone
He arose in three days
For our sins did atone
Met his disciples
Showed them all his scars
To show it was him
Not a fake Christ by far
Told them they had seen
As no future man would
For those faith must do
To believe if they could
Then shortly thereafter
To heaven he went
He had done all on earth
For which he was sent
He did it for us
For forgiveness of sin
If we believe that it happened
We won't see him again
We will see him the first time
When to heaven we go
For us he died on the cross
That's all we need to know
Put your hands up those who want more sillies
Counted six thousand, one hundred and forty
Seems like a bunch of you still like to giggle
Be assured, more's coming up shortly
First one, how does one make holy water?
That's easy, you boil the hell out of it
That's really quite funny and extremely clever
A copyright I've got in my mitts
They say nobody's perfect, well I'm a nobody
So it follows I must be perfect
If four out of five suffer from diarrhea
Must mean one person enjoys it's effects
A computer once actually beat me at chess
But it's no match for me at kick boxing
Beat the poop out of that annoying computer
Other laptops thought it was shocking
I say no to alcohol, but it just doesn't listen
That's the silliest thing I've ever heard
Whenever I talk quietly to a Bloody Caesar
It answers, “you are totally absurd!”
Whad'ya call a boomerang that won't come back
I guess I'd just call it a stick
What do you give a woman who has it all
Your phone number of course, Mr. Slick
BLOWING BUBBLES
Little girl watching in glee
blowing soap- bubble
with little trouble:
In air, airy balls to flee.
Thin tiny balls flowing free
The girl blows abrupt.
Too shortly to burst.
Row of foamy balls in spree.
The filmy balls float in stream:
Transparent show
reflecting rainbow
'Child' sinks in delighted dream.
' Old' watches with long sigh
Iife- long treasures blown
Nothing are now shown.
Hollow bubbles get dry to fly.
Once created desired balls.
Time has chewed to gulp
Scheduled hours are up.
Life to transcend on last call.
All achievements turned obsolete
Now life looks meaningless
Once seemed most peerless.
Now to leave and each to delete.
Whether you build a large empire
or make foamy bubbles little
Both arre salient and brittle
Sure to decay and to expire.
06/04/22
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Contest by Brian Strand
(Note: This poem was written shortly after the 2022 Olympics and after Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos rode their rockets in a new space race for billionaires.)
Races
By Mark D. Stucky
Our country had a Space race
to beat Russians to the moon.
Decades ago, we left lunar footprints
and brought back rocks and selfies.
Rival billionaires build rockets now
for suborbital joyrides above.
We periodically join Olympic races
to go fractionally faster than others
for prestige and multi-metal medals.
Hosting countries spend billions
to applaud athletic bodies.
But for all that cash and hype,
we get no cure-for-cancer hope,
but viral spread and doping.
Our world needs better races
toward things that truly matter.
We require a Race race
to travel much faster
toward equity and healing
than ever gone before.
While we wish for a quick sprint,
a marathon is what we’re running.
Ending slavery long ago,
this race’s qualifying heat,
was just one stride
beyond the starting line.
Jim Crow still taints the track.
Systems still are prejudicial.
Supremacists still conspire.
Voting rights still are suppressed.
Vigilantes still chase and shoot.
Police still harm the unarmed.
This crucial marathon
has many miles to go,
but if we struggle to the end,
contenders might all be winners.
(Originally published in Small Town Anthology VIII: Entries from the Eighth Annual Tournament of Writers, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2022. See also my poems "Closed Community Prejudice (an Alphabetized Memoir)," "Weapons of Wonder," and "Hate Vacuuming?")
(Image by Braden Collum on Unsplash.com.)
September 12th, 2019...12:00 p.m.
inspection/ emission finally possible
but...hopes dashed to smithereens
August thirty first
two thousand nineteen shortly past,
no matter 2009 Hyundai Sonata at long last
scheduled with ample funds
checking account blitzed
now back home
(Highland Manor apartments)
absolute zero money left cents lessly gassed
exhale incomplete sigh of relief
cuz necessity to dodge fast
escaping deafening police
ear splitting siren blast.
Congenial customer service
representatives at CJ's tire,
and automotive dutifully require
loose fender securely attached,
but hood latch replacement more dire,
thus postponing mechanic
to affix inspection sticker,
no matter old one did expire
once again driving on borrowed time,
cuz both driver and passenger front tire
plus rear right TPMS metal sensor
re: passenger rear tire
malfunction functionality
hoop fully explains this wire.
Your truly uber verging wreck,
no complaints regarding trained tech
very competent mechanic
even for peripatetic pluperfect prospect
reference I recommend unsolicited
advertisement plus aye inject
relieving anticipatory anxiety
oh yes, said vehicle
in good hands absolutely correct,
no matter sucker punch
to checking account
doth severely affect
mine psychological aspect.
More legal (zooming) tender
zaps lion's share of this thrifty spender
wannabe, which cruel tread full fate
unquestionably, ostensibly invariably...
every year without fail doth render
finding me in poor house
desperate to pray divine
rolling rocker alms lender
whether he.she major criminal offender,
nor no preference regarding gender.
Fat/slim chance
wishful fantasy will become true
escapist mindset bolsters
this hen pecked forlorn rue
stir standing glum within
long fostered, and winding queue,
this dirt poor dude intuitively knew
bubblegum, toothpicks and glue
holding psyche intact turned hue
man into sad sack... boo hoo
minus auto body work
undertaken by trained
heavy metal punk ken cutting crew.
He was a bitter aging man
He’d never married
Had lost the love of his life
And never recovered
She had died before his return from war
Her parents’ home still stood there like a castle
He often gazed at it from his window
After their final family funeral
He became incensed when he heard
Some city slicker was moving into her house
And when that day did come, he took to spying on him
Cursing him, venomous and vicious
Vindictive and spiteful, inflamed with jealousy
Maliciously sinning by mischief and omission
Finally the bitter aging man did win
And the village prepared for another funeral
All his conniving had paid off
It was shortly after
That the tragedy was discovered
The two lovers had been separated by a letter
Lost and never delivered
Florette announcing her condition
Did not receive a reply
Had moved away in shame
And died on her own giving birth
AP: 1st place 2025