Long Shrugging Poems
Long Shrugging Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrugging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrugging poems by poem length and keyword.
She was fair, with a sly smile
never knew if she was mocking you
Her hair short
Her face boyish
Her eyes deep blue
so deep your soul could swim in them
A skinny teen girl
dressed plain, no makeup, but still appealing
Her shape not through forming
Her temper flares
Her temperament subtle
Cautious with her
knew she could be quick with a put down
Still as a teen boy I liked her not knowing why
We were friends as much as awkward youth allowed
close not really, but comfortable
Hanging out not doing much
but I liked not doing much being with her
figured she felt the same for me
At school we were unknown to each other
by chance we said hello if we met
After school we would talk on the phone
hang out at McDonalds sipping coffee like we liked it
Being together at the park, studying at the library
Summers we would go swimming
neither of us were that sexy
but she appealed to me
That teen girl at times we would talk
we would talk and talk about nothing
it always meant something to me
Life was shrugging along
never thought about tomorrow
wanting to forget yesterday
but by being together today was okay
Those ungainly years of trouble youth
with that teen girl were okay.
Have situations ever got away from you
evade conclusions while dramas protrude
like a chain link fence no time to think
assess why you're tense or reflect to sync
up events with stress to pull the valve on pressure
just endeavour at pace absent of pleasure
naturally adapt to lessen the impact
while facts not exact and the lesson abstract
taking life in just not learnt
quaking within and mentally burnt
then one intense altercation the only
thing in focus expanding slowly
and nothing else gets noticed
optically trained within the scope
and the rest of the world you take no note
suddenly it's draining all your energy
and events around it just let them be
busy searching every angle like a clock hand
around the clock to brain tangling demand
lurking constant and you assert but weary
astounded half shocked continuously nearly
working it out but for doubt in a muddle
evermore dumb founded increasing struggle
shoulder shrugging as your wonder wanders
from blunder to blunder now going under
where there's no sun it's just dark and dreary
you're torn up inside and teary, now hear me,
HAVE A DAY OFF!!
Summit Times Ja Just Gotta Walk Away...
Excusing yourself as if...
going to the bidet,
an immense water closet
(perhaps the size of
Mar A Lago type getup),
sans human waste
(after flushing hearing
heavenly suctioned whoosh)
empties into prez Donald's bay,
where one bum wrapped aforementioned
toilet finely (and finally) enthrones
derriere exquisitely, and, delicately
intricately, chiseled wrought with cloisonné
ah...enjoying simple pleasure a$$ I say
sipping one after another Red Bull, whence
with one final trumpet of the rump -
(as acknowledgment to angry 1%),
though quite reluctantly did pay -
hitting the custom built in combination
handsome replica Taj Mahal fountainhead golf
course made from clay
baked Adobe bathroom links
(whew...long Atlas) shrugging off
responsibilities, escorted
by migrant compadre
Russian Putin lookalike uncannily
also resembles plucked Kernel Sanders
advocating consuming buttered Thomas
English muffins with oreos can delay,
tending to government, who successfully
playfully, melodiously preaches, sermonizes
and absolute zero values benefits burning
off calories, where couples sashay,
asper square and/or contra dancing,
where the caller hollers hip hip hooray
barely audible above
noisy fracas and fray
of crowded house,
avast throng of village people stomp
louder than a quiet
riot global military foray
anathema to dogma,
karma, persona... of
Jacques Cousteau, or green like
minded millennials and/or gray
bearded whelk homed by elasmobranchii.
A picture appeared on my phone today,
on the proverbial page I perused.
A view of an evil most vile,
villainy veiled behind verve and vim.
Sadists from Auschwitz,
smiling in a storm.
Shoulders shrugging,
to shield from the sky.
No hint of the horrors,
the Holocaust they heralded.
Not haunted like the humans they harrow,
but hyenas, howling, in high humor after the hunt.
Their consciences clear, their cruelty concealed,
their cheer chills me to the core.
They caused such wicked calvary,
a calamity that echoes into the current century.
Yet they dare to delight,
while they deal in death and dread.
Their depravity so deep that they grin,
as they decry virtue and destroy millions.
But what mortifies me more is,
how mundane their mien.
Will we fear the next fiends fittingly,
or in time... if their faces feel like friends'?
At times, I feel brought low and stripped of luck.
I swapped my big rig for a rusty truck.
I drove the roads through ole Mississippi
Where spirits danced and left my lone soul free!
A cowgirl stopped me on that dusty road.
I tipped my hat, no time to goad.
The kind cowgirl then parked her weary truck.
She laughed aloud, 'Dear Cowboy, you seem stuck!'
Don't you know yet we have been seeking you?
We'd like to sign you up for our cowhand crew.
Hardworking cowhands live by strict ethics.
Would you care to learn a job that's so new?
I had been feeling so inwardly low.
And I wasn't sure how a job would go.
I was shrugging my shoulders sadly.
Not sure, but I wanted the job badly.
I've always felt down on my luck!
So down on my luck!
Just a lonely cowboy.
Just a lonely cowboy.
So misunderstood.
Soon, that cowgirl fell in love with me.
I love her too, yet still must wander free.
I often find strange joy in lone-some-ness!
For broken hearts still bloom in wilderness.
I've always felt down on my luck!
So down on my luck!
Just a lonely cowboy.
Just a lonely cowboy.
So misunderstood.
Soon that cowgirl fell in love with me.
But I had to keep on living free.
I find strange joy in wandering loneliness.
My heart blooms in the forsaken wilderness.
Why worry...?
Within the same breath
yukon catastrophize and
make mountain range
out of molehill mental material
impossible to scale
even with best Sherpa as guide.
Take advice from expert
what if...worse case scenario
time and again no fiasco
never makes cerebral showdown
most horrendous debacle
defies savviest soothsayer
subsequent anticipatory anxiety
exhausted body electric for naught.
Courtesy minecrafted psychosomatic zone
access information superhighway
exit ramp marked "Road closed"
inadequate infrastructure funds
against insurance policy
take life in hands
blithely ignore danger warning
emulate crash test dummy
ram thru barricade
torpedo comfort zone
gallantly ford cliff
behold avast airborne aerial view
traverse iter itineris
partake breathtaking view
quickly descend along skyline drive.
Downplay fear of dying
finally impossible mission
to dodge lifelong unlucky brakes
reassurance courtesy circling hawks
future ingestion feather bedded
good luck bon voyage
bid lugubriousness adieu
farewell to arms, legs, torso...
disc hover onset blissfulness
quickly accelerating toward dead end
automatically yields right of way
into...netherland analogous
to Dutch wonderland
monorail singular underground
freedom locomotive track,
otherwise traffic nonexistent
into eternal nesty plunge
steeping, kneading, enmeshing
fountainhead shrugging off atlast,
where well mapped
neurosis/ psychosis
dost no longer dwell.
My Heart
I am a glass half full
Sometimes sloshing over the edge
A temple for fireflies, sand dunes
Water by nature, that cuts deeply
Beneath the reeds, flowing fast
Rapids, sometimes violent
Rushing past jagged stones
To still again, gentle ripple
My heart is like the ocean
Vast and deep and full of whispers
Rip currents and gentle foam
Licking over the stones and sand
Upon the shore
My heart is like fire
A column of flame rising from my breast
That burns down those old thorny bushes
Making way for new sprouting seeds
In the morning I’m bleary eyed
Fumbling for coffee and toast
In the afternoon, agape with wonder
At the cirrus clouds above
In the evening I am still
…or try to be
Dismissing the stirrings of the day
Shrugging it off like snakeskin
Fidgeting, breathing, sometimes tears
Sometimes laughter
By the blue TV screen light
I am a glass half full
.. except when it’s half empty
But I always, always
Thirst for more
A bisque sun on the windowsill, the early light smells of marigolds.
Beyond, the garden is as usual, a haven for cracked clay pots,
after windy nights there are yet more broken terracotta options.
Breakfast and the Broadwood table is salted and buttery.
Blue and white dishes, like fledglings, wait to be fed.
I sense soccer moms hurrying their ducklings along.
Egg sandwiches will spontaneously appear on the hour.
Nearby, bushy shrubs sup on their own green tealeaves.
I like it here, where groundhogs whistle in the cabbage patch.
Spreading blueberry jam, wondering what kind of man I am,
shrugging the thought away.
Rod Culleton, what can I say? But thank you mate
For all the ways, all the stands; the fireside talks
You challenge the falseness, you've walked the walk
You represent 'true Aussie creed' we'll make it right
Just as she'll' we want true hearts and mate you'll
Do.' You've got back up 'a time or two' the foe within
Can't stand our type..The shrugging shoulderd devoid
Of hype, I know you were crook ' your true heart strained.!
By souless bludgers, they're one real pain.! In many
Behinds, Geez I wish they'd discover' some hearts and minds.'
I'll say one thing more, to all the above, get well stay strong
Aussie needs such blood.' The type that just don't count
Each cost..each trifle, and hurdle. What 'might be lost?'
But whats to gain.? I advise much more.! You've done us
Proud! emptied your store, your inner self, you put skin in; This game..' You stand for more; than some shallow fame.'
So i stand and salute you, I'll meet your eye.' This country
Was built on souls that try.' We'll stay the course we'll Smash each foe, I stand with Rod.! So all will know.' That
Aussies can hope, can dream; will strive 'good on ya Rod'
You've got; some bloody drive.!
I write upon our history, pen smeared in blood
Human legacy, wars enduring shame
Brushed aside indelible ink
Readily forgotten
The pregnancy pain, bonny baby took away
Scar tissue, for the time being hidden
Behind basic instinct, survival is driven
Truth brings denial, all set for replay
Hollowed out, our core is rotten
Feigning amnesia stinks
Unholy absolution, washes away blame
Absence of conscience, shrugging off wet mud
Erosion of remorse, tames great biblical floods
Waters have receded, but stains remain
Edges collapse, into the brink
Crumbling apart, sodden
Grasping at fading roots, crucified in loose clay
Divided we forge ahead, unbidden
My Invented Form I Write Upon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France 28/01/2021
Syllable counted P/S. 12/10/8/6/12/10. per stanza