Long Shut off Poems
Long Shut off Poems. Below are the most popular long Shut off by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shut off poems by poem length and keyword.
In Secret Caverns, we harken to the darkness.
Our headlamps’ shut off, we are anywhere,
we are everywhere, it doesn’t matter where.
No matches, no breeze, no breath to strike
up the light, no moon, no sun, no shuffling.
Absolutely still - our souls, our conscience,
what disturbs the ash of our ultimate destiny.
No one dares to whisper in this golden cage.
The ages pass by, primordials stir, Jesus is
still in his wrappings. My heart, subdued, like
earplugs in their caves. My eyes, wide open,
stand at attention, to retain the inner light.
I stand in the lake, my life jacket does not glow;
however I grow in sensation; I float upright.
We are the rests between notes. We dote on
the inky calm, not a mere closure of lids; liars,
those pair of skin divers, that blink away shine.
Sans shadows, peaking at the sublimity of time.
It is the grey of evening...soft lamps glow as our hood readies itself for some crumbs of comfort:
Old widows wrap themselves with pillows for third- hand affection,
Children yawn sure as rain that mothers will lullaby them like so ,
Single fathers brew coffee to tide them from a hard day's sweat-
Senior men listen to music begging for new memories...
Young ladies lonely shut off their doors... praying Psalm 91,
It is evening. This is where we are...getting older in wisened thoughts , to gather slivers of reflections, of dreams met and unmet...
Icy winds shiver a bit asking: how will we savor to the pulp, this one beautiful life possessed?
And the light shuts off.
They simply had one Ministry of Truth
for news.
No others allowed.
Wake up, it's happening here!
They found a group to paint, as the
source of all evil.
Stores were closed, windows smashed
of hated businesses.
Book burnings? Now we have Social
Media churnings!
One group, blamed for Society's Fall.
They don't sport a yellow star, yet.
But AOC wants enlightenment camps.
She, the new Fourth Reich Squad Vamp.
Think it can't happen again?
It's already in progress here, my friend!
~THOSE WHO FORGET THE PAST,
ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT~
We are already well on our way to establish
Auschwitz tomorrow!
VOA was shut off due to your new Resident
in DC!
There is space now for a patriot's sorrow.
We no longer have a valid Constitution.
Just one party who seeks pain and
illegal, unjustified retribution!
1/24/2021
~5~
Shopping, Shopping, Christmas shopping!
Enough! I have had enough,
It's stressing me out;
I gather all the gift lists
and toss them into the fire.
I pull the plug on the entire Christmas decor
and slam shut the doors and windows
against a melee of my kith and kin,
against a howling wind
against a starless frosty night.
I wish for the grumpy Grinch
to return and steal this
boisterous and rambunctious festivity again.
I shut off the Christmas music
and plunge my home
in total darkness and silence.
I drop down on my knees,
depressed, sorrowful and forlorn,
I fold my hands, bow my head
and cry silently,
trying to lighten the turmoil within,
To mend the lilt of the true spirit of Christmas
that time has set awry.
Way past midnight
I light a solitary candle
and venture to gather
some warmth from its
gentle and heartening glow.
~The Darker side of Christmas
~Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
I was drivin’ down an old, worn black-top highway, on my way to a funeral. It was mid-Missouri, and late summer made it hotter’n the dickens outside. I was thinkin’ there was only a couple of hours left of daylight as I reached over and switched the car’s air conditioner fan up another notch.
Thoughts of my late friend kept popin’ in and out of my mind. We’d grown up together right here in this very neighborhood. Fishin’ trips, carryin’ ol’ cane poles as our bare feet kicked up the powdery Missouri dust around us … goin’ ta’ school with ol’ cigarette butts in our jean pockets that’d we’d smoke after school … repeatin’ stories to each other ‘bout Edna May or Jean Ann we’d heard … gulpin’ down an ice-cold crème soda outside Gavin’s Grocery on Saturday afernoons … racin’ our bikes that had no fenders …
A little bit of air-borne dust, off to the right, caught my eye. I momentarily diverted my gaze to take a glance in the direction of that airborne dust but continued driving as the roadway stretched out in front of me. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually, I recognized the source of that dust.
It was just a young boy runnin’ through a wheat field … Missouri dust just a-flyin’ around him as he made his way through the golden grain. I couldn’t hear him, but I could see his face, grinnin’ from ear to ear, his hand held high with his ball cap wavin’ in the breeze as he chased whatever was in his make-believe vision.
I watched him as long as I dared, tryin’ to concentrate on keepin’ the car in my lane. I eventually made on down the road, but not without checkin’ my rear-view mirror several times … until that air-borne dust was no longer in sight.
Up ahead, I saw a gas station and thought I’d better get a refill.
After I stopped and shut off the engine, I discovered I had tears running down my cheeks. Seein’ that boy runnin’ through that field was perhaps either me as the boy I used to be … or maybe my late friend. Or maybe just a momentary portal to embrace the wonderment of cherished memories. Took me quite a while ‘fore I got my car filled up, but the events of that day won’t ever leave me, I think.
Depleted...is all I can say,
From every ounce of abuse and pain,
To the point where you wanna shut off any negative existence,
You want to hide from the battle and keep your distance,
You find peace in the small things in life that take you away,
Until you no longer care or can feel the pain of yesterday,
And if you must deal with a feeling when it pops up,
You take it to God, and cry it out in hopes that's enough,
Because you cannot change what you can't control,
And your only option is to emotionally let go,
Your heart is tired, and you need a break,
And sitting in silence listening to the wind takes you away,
It soothing like a lullaby and you can finally feel rest,
Giving you beautiful solitude away from the mess.
I suppose one of the most awful parts
Of the annual American tradition
Like this
Is that from just after lunch
Those 19 2nd grade children
Must remain in school until the next morning
With their parents sitting on parking lot curbs
Just out of reach
Screaming
In the heat
Of afternoon through dinner time
And a typical softball game sunset
The insects
Chattering under the douse of stars
Until a sunrise paints the rows of houses
Pink
And the streetlights shut off and re-set their cycles
The children propped up in tiny chairs
Or sprawled on the floor
Crooked
Bent out of shape like tossed cabbage patch dolls
No longer hungry or thirsty or sleepy or cranky
Or scared
Pencil in hand comb in pocket ribbons in hair
Maybe even a first crush frozen on their face
A little handsome shirt
A beautiful skirt
Red sandals red tennis shoes red socks
No one can change their pose of holes
Until all the pictures and measurements are made
And taken and filed away
By vomiting uniformed strangers
And this takes an eternity that will never shorten
It always comes down to the janitors of society
With name tags stitched over their hearts
To keep the waste out of our sight
So we may live on without the real images
Boiled in our eyes
Spoiling our good time
Every one of us pulled the trigger
And ran
Ran for cover.
Nope! I haint gonna crack'n on the heat... just yet
until the cowed chickens come home to roost!
Sunlight streaming thru window
body electric of mine doth whet
begets hardiness to acclimate
against PECO shut off threat
ideal opportunity to spouse
analogous to her being my emotional pet
snuggling while standing in kitchenette
but accidental twerking
can guarantee yours truly
(me) being recipient of epithet.
I bundle up to stay warm
inside my cold man cave
particularly as average outside temperature
for November twentieth
two thousand and twenty three
hovers between high and low
fifty degrees fahrenheit
nearly brisk enough to see my breath.
I and/or the imaginary paramour
take our separate showers
during warmest hours of the day
less optimal to engage
in neighborly horseplay,
but more ideal for mistress (ha)
to pad around the unit donning her lingerie,
which nonverbally signals
(and greenlights)
more than voluminous words,
hence, I seal lips of mine
despite sudden aroused frisky urge
to burble exhibiting
debauched casanova behavior
accompanied courtesy illustrative
of suave debonair popinjay
rerouting spontaneous seduction today
indicative of throbbing
bulbous anatomical appurtenance,
which protrusion nullifies necessity of x-ray
to identify sudden
source of vasocongestion.
During daylight hours fresh air
arbitrarily, humorously, and noiselessly
streams and wafts
thru screened windows
ushering invisible scents
and audible sounds
of the webbed wide world here,
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
our neck of the woods
since seventeenth year
after second century Anno Domini.
Civilizations since time immemorial
revered fiery celestial ball
establishing their respective mythology
which scheme attempted to explain
divine thermonuclear processes
sustaining the nearest star,
which Sol Invictus did enthrall
housing an astronomical object
comprising a luminous spheroid of plasma
held together by self-gravity
within the heavenly vault
divine creator didst install
which supposed movement
in the sheltering sky
signified daytime and nightfall
linkedin with planet earth
a veritable, observable, honorable,
and admirable terrestrial tetherball.
I’m spending a quiet evening
this Christmas – just by myself.
I shut off the Christmas music
and plunge my house
in total darkness and silence.
I drop down on my knees –
Depressed, sorrowful and forlorn –
I join my hands
bow my head
and cry silently
trying to lighten the turmoil within,
To mend the lilt
of the true spirit of Christmas
that time has set awry.
I light a solitary candle
and venture to gather some warmth
from its gentle and heartening glow
reassuring and bathing me
in peace and comfort.
No one is coming over
and I have nowhere to go,
I have bought no gifts and
have nothing to sip or savor.
But wait...
Who now knocks at the door?
--A disquieting feeling
permeates my being—
Who I wonder
would venture out in this
frosty Christmas night?
As I open the door
I see a wicker basket
with warm loaves of bread
and a jug of wine
fetchingly set on my doorstep.
My eyes glistened in deep gratitude.
But there’s no one in sight,
hush all around and quiet,
And then...
through this dark and foggy night
I see
A solitary star aglow
and footprints in the snow.
~Contest: Most Beautiful Christmas Poem
~Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Where is America's 'can-do' attitude
when it comes to the 2024 debacle
If it's Biden against Trump again
won't we feel we've been shackled --
to a House of Horrors, chains on the left and the right
Why won't we Americans even put up a fight
Let's threaten the networks which air the debates
that we'll shut off our tellies at a minute before eight
And as for primary voting, let's all vow to skip that
If it's Biden vs. Trump -- How the hell can we stand pat
Let's round up some candidates who'll go to the mat for Ukraine
who are ready to dig pipelines and boost nuclear power again
Candidates who intend to balance the budget THIS VERY YEAR
not trick us with gimmicks, wherein massive deficits disappear
Candidates who know how to put the 'Woke' in their place
and let go of the elites' obsession with gender and race
No more Men or women who snub their nose at our laws
and berate those who challenge them with the lewdest guffaws
Come on Americans, let's dig in and roll up our sleeves
and round us up some Presidential timber before Autumn Equinox Eve