Long Shuttled Poems
Long Shuttled Poems. Below are the most popular long Shuttled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shuttled poems by poem length and keyword.
In ancient looms of my homeland,
Fairies once shuttled across threads of rainbows
Weaving folklores of gods and goddesses.
Our tapestry needed no haberdashery of
Brabubahanas and Chitrngadas or a vijay panchali,
For no tantric-needle knitted our folktales.
I want to go back and melt in folk songs
Of shamans, who rejoiced in carnival of ripening rice,
Possessed by jingling moans of a pena.
I want to orchestrate, one more time, the ballad
Of Luwaopa and Koubru Namoinee, and
Feel the heartbeats of Henjunaha and Lairuklembi.
I want to burn my poetry in immortal angst
Of Khamba-Thoibi, and blow the ashes
On winds above Loktak's gentle ripples.
I want to defy traditions, once again,
By falling in love like Chingsompa and Panthoibi, and
Tell the world I inherited their sweet arrogance.
I want to retrace petals of
Thainagi Leirang, leaving no stones unturned,
Until I find the lost quill in ruins of alphabets.
I want to ask children of my land
To perform Eemagi Pujah by planting a Madhabi
On the stage of another Shingel Indu.
I want to revisit a forbidden village in my past, and
Reopen the second chapter of Jahera
Sitting by the old mosque with a green door.
I want to hear young Khongjomba sing
Lamphel Patki Kombirei, while I sip chilled Atingba
From a bamboo mug, in a karaoke bar.
I want to see Pidoinu dance in a discotheque
To the exotic tunes of Khulang Eshei, while
Her Moirangphi floats with iridescent embroidery.
I wish to put my ears on grandpa's clay courtyard, and
Listen to Leipaklei's sprouting sighs in a crack,
For the last time in this lifetime.
Finally, I like to be frightened again by Tapta, and
Wake up in a faraway dream where
My homeland shines as silvery as the milky way.
Note -
Names of mythical characters and entities from our folktales, history and books are used in the poem.
Pena is a stringed traditional musical instrument, played with a bow with tiny bells, of my homeland.
Loktak is a lake in my native state, which is the largest fresh water lake in eastern India, where the world's only floating wild life sanctuary lies, on which the almost extinct brow antlered deers known as Sangai, in native dialect, are preserved.
Atingba is a locally brewed rice beer.
Leipaklei is a rare orchid which sprouts out of cracks in dry soil/grounds.
Logo streets
Tarek Hassan
I saw in Kathmandu in Nepal
Hand-crafted paintings of the city, aesthetic artistry
She did like him forgot
Suddenly the door sound memory.
I went to the Indonesian island of buttam
Filled eyes saw, the sea shore
I wrote the name of the plane splitting book
Baluchar got to bed rest.
I saw the sea waves Malay
A long line of rows in the garden of the plume,
Malekkara arranged the scene, to me,
It was really fascinating, bhuleni mind.
I saw the Maldives, around the island city
Travel enthusiasts spend hours in the parlor
Small passenger plane shuttled everyone
No it does not flying and landing airport.
I've lived long, the city of dreams
Eternal spring in the country, the love
Took her as his workers,
He went to the city, I saw how much
Are there to touch hands
luxury lifetime pass in Palace.
I traveled in China in technology
Many people say to me they don't understand
I was impressed to see the love of their homeland,
How many state alleges the new angirase
lightning at night I have seen in Beijing.
I went to Hong Kong on the way
He also saw how the people
I am surprised the external mix, fascinating behaviors,
I have no one to tell details.
I have seen skilled people in the Philippines exercises
Again I saw something there to look dirty,
I was shocked to see their culture
Girl brutalized the country.
I went to India, to heal the mind
How many scenes have been unknowingly plunge
I have seen the Taj Mahal in Agra, I thought again and again
Why do we need so much love.
I bent down and touched the high mountains of Bhutan
I shook with fear of their lives when the plane varies
I'm going down through the mountains.
I went to Australia, on the ground
I could not keep my feet,
The fate did not respond to me, warning that day
dream is still chasing me.
I love to this day, do not see the city
I did it in the hope chest, one night,
This is a dream I have traveled on the fog
Logo luxury streets.
FEELS LIKE A LIFETIME AGO
January feels like a lifetime ago,
breathing freely in a hearty party atmosphere.
The wheels on the van go round and round.
A storm loomed and we stood on Psalm 91.
The storm couldn’t reach where God’s hand breathed.
The wheels on the van go round and round
and our family goes up and down in reverie.
Oh how God blessed us with a solid gold watch.
Extended family joined us - my parents’ siblings,
the youngest with their spouses. And the doors
open and shut...open and shut. Shuttled to downtown,
my brother-in-law at the helm. Nobody wore masks,
nobody was sick, nobody needed operations.
Smooth operator, our Lord, who planned this folly,*
this tralala adventure — his peace and safety parlayed.
We blast music from the fifties, sixties, seventies.
Up, up we go from dynastic overflow, generational
happiness in our strobing blue jamboree — guilt-free.
Celebration of two great people — defined by hips,
superglued twins from different mothers. Children
of forever after happiness. Blissfulness before March.
The ants go marching on the calendar screen, right
away we can’t breathe, thankfully not covid. The ants
weave in and out, revolving hospital doors,
pass through, separate, and go home — the square dance
for cool kids, not so cool. Wannabee ankle-biters** - cruel.
In the bus we bust a gut**...months later Dad busts a chest.
Dosido here we go...mom and dad take turns, for the best -
we hope!
8/18/2020
Popular songs: Wheels on the Bus, Ants Go Marching
Bible, Psalm 91 is about protection
Some square dance lingo used in this poem - such as
pass through, separate and go home, dosido
*folly here is meant to mean to mean celebratory fun
**ankle-biters are children
***bust a gut - laughing
Android Embedded Chrystal Blue
In the corner of the galaxy dead in front of night
Just left of the quasars charted long ago
A logic being called 732 thought out and calculated
Waited for the proper landing on the proper planet site
A cold green world with three moons came into view
A giant star off to the right was ready to go nova
He had to set up for the show
The probe shuttled down with perfect coordination
To the surface of the barren world
Instruments and Android 732 were on board the tiny craft
The robot is the next generation of thinking machines
Artificial intelligence of the highest level
Equipped with weapons, scientific tools, and knowledge
Liquid computers housed within its metallic head
Designed to analyze and measure everything there is
The Android is authorized to do anything it pleases
Given freedom and vast latitude to explore
Religious leaders blessed it and confirmed it
To be free in every meaning of the word
They authorized it to have a soul and save the universe from Satan
To roam and catalogue spiritual and scientific entities
Down to the micro mystical cosmic core of molecules and atoms
To advance the human and android condition without limit
It explores new planets and space anomalies by choice
Returns data to the home world through a beam of light
Android 732 crashed into the cold green planet while distracted
Focused on a giant star off to the right that just exploded
In a spectacular display of colors of reds, yellows and whites
It became enamored as it entered the green icy planet
Impacted a crystal glacier at the designated site
Became embedded in it
Froze there on the spot, anointed by blue ice
Enshrined for all eternity
An android crystal blue forever
If my calculations are correct as estimated
Their satchels (twenty five) within auto-rickshaw seats dumped,
Same number (small and big; fat and lean; boys and girls) tight-clumped;
Some hanging; some stamping; some hitting and kicking each one;
The driver, gliding as though great battle won with pains none...!
June, in Southern-India, has been reopening time;
With south-west winds, monsoon sets in as a nursery rhyme;
Fun on way is complete and perfect only when there be,
Splashing water-mixed mud that looks like Kerala-milk-tea...!
Some walk, books (for not getting wet), hidden within their shirts,
They're poor government school-students; studying in outskirts;
Looking at rich-kids, anger aroused, they scream, yell and haul,
Each, yet, knows, at the very outset, fate is same for all...!
Entering within campus, for all, is crucifixion,
Soon begins, within their classrooms, teacher-student friction;
Each tutor (teaching science or math) claims to be perfect,
Kick-starting, with no intro, their vast wisdom they inject...!
Games, occasional; lessons much; Little mental vent;
Frustration of being within four walls, always ferment;
Mugging-up starts; rutting, tests and exams turn punishments,
Learning through experiments gives many embellishments...!
Getting out of those jail-like cells, is glad and heavenly,
Queries of the day, though, by parents, will start heavily;
From opening till closing, all know, they'd be shuttled now,
They're masters of mysteries, yet; will escape anyhow...!
29 August 2022
Back to School Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Francine Roberts
The brain baked and befuddled, the arid wind stole my breath. I stood there among the men, men far better than the rest. Brave men who willingly chose to leave their lovers’ breast, to be shuttled to the barren sea of sand and death. The men stowed their fears and began their quest, one that would surely put their hearts to test. Before the day was out we found ourselves sorely pressed, the bombs rained and bullets sprayed, the waves began to crest. The feted stench of blood and flesh poisoned the men with every breath. The angels cried as the brave ones rest, and joined the others in silent death. The remaining fought on at the general’s behest. Sweat and blood streaked their scowls as they fought like men possessed. Vengeance burned their hearts for their friends suppressed, they fought the coming waves in blood and gore stained vests. The day wore on, no progress made, I became depressed. I’d already lost two friends to this awful cosmic jest.
The call to prayer sounded and the air seemed to freeze. The sun sagged low and took our nemeses to the east.
A cheer arose as our enemies fled, to be replaced by fear and nagging dread.
They would return, for we all knew, they had to avenge those we slew.
The dead tended, the brave lay down in their little nests.
Only there did the tears flow for those who’d gone to rest.
I wonder, now that the day was done, what horrors tomorrow will bring, if today, this day, is only DAY 1.
Form:
A lonely ringtone pierced through the darkness.
A too-early reminder of a task I must fulfill
Since the cock hasn't barked or found its mic.
I embraced sleep some more till the due call came.
Hurriedly, the day commenced as I shuttled
Between meeting a friend and collecting an asset.
I ran as fast as walk could get and roads could clear.
At twenty-first's half race I was done and quite late.
I hurriedly decided to bear the burden I kept
But was sadly delayed by pointing eyes I met.
I was finally cleared, but cash remained my only fear.
I was faced with long money lines yet I must depart.
I then bargained my way into digits transfer
Or maybe short money queues laid along our path.
Hopefully, the driver signed and the journey began.
We saw no collection points, so digits dropped.
A transfer was made, both phones waited to beep.
With wet palms, I called and the exchange checked.
"How do I convince this large heart that awaits alert".
I said with a standing heart, "fear not, it will soon come".
Both phones never beeped and patience became lean.
Fear shrank the driver's heart till we both alone were left.
He had no card or way of checking my cold claim.
My phone's power faded but the car could power it.
My last card was showing the details on online platform.
With no alert to show, he believed and became my hero.
School was a mile and a half
walk from home,
across roadways, busy streets
and railway lines and through
parklands patrolled
by swooping magpies in spring.
We thought nothing of it
when it was pouring with rain
or hot as hell. Six year olds
walked a gauntlet of risk
back then.
Memory can almost recall
an image of each house
along that daily route, the smells
that gathered in the doorways
of shops, the reek of urine
wafting out of a laneway
beside the pub and, still mapped
upon the mind, where fruit trees
overhung a fence and were good
for a seasonal treat.
Each step taken fed the senses
with familiar signposts marking
the way between home
and the schoolyard gate.
Time has passed
into a more protective and yet
more dangerous age. Children
are shuttled to school by parents
in bull bar protected SUV's
and buses with flashing lights.
Souls have become
more brittle under the weight
of an insidious world, perhaps
no better or worse off
than when I walked to school
and danger hid in places where
the senses could go. In my day,
bully boys had names
and were dressed in uniforms.
Now, it is in the odorless
corridors behind digital screens
and in promises where lives
tick away in the sterile
waiting rooms
of mortgaged dreams.
On Vacation With Middle Passage Memories
Out over the alluring expanse
of the Big Water---
where the sky rest upon
the water’s edge---
where undulating ships wait
to fall off the earth---
we saw the lightening
dancing in space
and heard the applause
of the thunder.
Huge nimbus clouds,
dark like the early night,
and filled beyond capacity---
burst opened like over filled water
balloons---releasing great falls of rain
wrestling with ferocious winds;
for control of fleeing waves
rushing to shore---frothing
the sands with quenching gratitude.
Mesmerized and immobilized
by nature’s fury,
the blood flow of memory
released a storm of memories---
detailing vivid descriptions
of Middle Passage crossings.
The only things missing
from this reality of the present scene,
were the times---places---stenches
of the living and dead---echoes
of the moans, groans and rattling chains
from the bowels of the putrid ships
that saved many unfortunate poor souls
from the Big Water’s fury---ironically
landing them safely on the waiting shores
to begin life anew:
shuttled to and from the auction block.
The howling winds, roaring waves,
and whipping rains---all slowly subsided:
we hailed the shuttle bus back to the hotel.
Between our Fridays and our Sundays some pine
For eternity to shield them from the work week forever
For Eden's pronouncement drag the soul through time
A rag to labor with soiled contempt of hands
Wiped on them, and a rude mark on their face
The factory floor, the office, the field make them shudder
Their soul without esteem pressed into littered mud
Yet each weekend the sun runs quicker it seems
And the clock like a whip
Pulls away families, friends, leaving the desolate hunger
That make us toil without being filled.
Between our Fridays and our Sundays we see clearly
The barren repose of earth's ambition
And these days there is nothing there for tomorrow
No pensions, nor savings, only wrinkling toil
The ancient slant against which the masses toil.
And here and there
There is no dream of revolution
The far satellites watches with such premonitions
Streaming masses shuttled in all direction
Confused as the ant disturbed while ascending its mound
Piling up to climb down
Between our Fridays and our Sundays I pine too
But for the eclipse of time
That keeps us like the poles apart
With mounds of impatience steepling my heart.