Long Situ Poems
Long Situ Poems. Below are the most popular long Situ by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Situ poems by poem length and keyword.
Wild Leafs flutter in a hue-laden town,
windows creak open, spritely faces gleam,
cheerful air burgeoning, no need to frown,
sweet fragrant coffee dock, a gust of hot steam,
just rejoice as the heavens don their gown
Bus stop close at hand, joyous high alert,
laughter billows skyward without panic,
rainbow veneered archway, daylight concert,
broadcast on the pavement, sound of manic,
street painter chalk marks granite slab, dull gray berth
It’s autumn and those colours bound to show,
bright clad walkway, budding Rembrandt canvass,
red hot sun trail blaze, smoldering, aglow,
ice cool fall in situ, magic atlas,
urban setting nod to season wide flow
Power lines a home for migrant songbirds,
they chirp at streetwise citizens in train,
who brave the latent chill in eager herds,
huff and puff swarm enduring tingly rain,
rapture in a plot for winter blizzards
When time flies, feelings of euphoria,
spur jaw-dropping habitus within,
vision of nirvana on groundswell earth,
chirping bird amber tone on hedgerow,
cacophony that piercing aural backdrop,
riotry of wild bewitching warble,
golden fronted leaf, black nape oriole,
northern red bishop,
snapshot or sedation, honey dribbled spatula,
that ladles satin eardrums,
as momentary plot unveils its kernel,
fleeting countdown to ecstatic charm,
mesmerising tailspin gust bract swirl,
of diamond stud color burst variety,
time lag is an instinct riven leap,
lustrous spark escape hatch mere sprint,
who could be immune to such splendour,
embellishment or antic flourish,
folly swept aside in brisk stanza,
hyperbole on jewel rim chariot,
passenger in situ juggling spheres,
morning dew mist clad bank enchantment,
divinity in spiral foam waterfall trance,
speckled moon’s transient blind soar,
amid hall of mirror dream cloud etching,
bonfire of imagining without rein,
infant echo chamber left me thunderstruck,
lightning flash recall as I shudder,
with ardent inkling of toddler stopwatch era,
parental caper, boisterous shriek,
blue stain paddle boat capsized,
guffaws at the peak of silver rush,
backscatter on a prior and current bloom,
like a reckless swimmer’s wild swipe,
at a grazed iron metal lifebuoy,
whose toss and turn gyration high jinx,
another symbol for the heaven in one’s palm,
that vanishes as soon as it clocks in.
Lemon tinted phase
gilded skyline blown
by ethereal fused mist
eager bard imbued
opal dream flotilla
beyond tarnish while
flash point chariots
of gleam-well canvass
astir or astern perforce
taunt a hued vase
porcelain image fest
for staunch earthbound
soul’s cry parched
stricken migrant famish
sapphire plume ray
bounty veridical
pink chalk sketch
granule blush pots
pearl beam spur
to jumpy pilgrim
grey elephant garb
drifter’s lull prone
metre of skewed
and barren glib
dull tossed aside
rambles and brambles
from cerebral quartz
beige quirky quill
nose twitch petrichor
glacé smelt rain
lava veined fillip
fervent fetal floe
ignited indigo inkling
as noonday nuanced
glance en dash
away from orange
peel cloud skies
toward spring rush
urban junction fare
as founding cue
for zeitgeist driven
western world eden
brick red hydrants
fricative wet spray
dousing hoarse busker
charged by crazy
pavement stamp
stoic poet in situ
tumult, hubbub,
rumpus heightened
by brazen banter
silver coin wobble
on carrageen rim
of oyster pebbled
pool a mecca
for stanza stymied
lingerer who scouts
eclectic threshold
born of cumbersome
blight on ingenuity
Without malice nor forth-thought,
no wide dee what aye will write
and thus would gladly take suggestions,
hence coon sitter this
manifesting poetic effort an in vite
unusual, yes, boot
oft times mental blitzkrieg
brainstorm relapses (pondering)
the same trite,
hence on a whim aye pulled
out all the stops in an effort
to zero in on an in site
full topic in situ, which need
not be politically wrong or right
and trying to tow the line (to avoid
upsetting some person,
faction, ethnicity...quite
impossible, and...oh gnome hatter
that any individual
could share unpleasant
worldly news, (aye avoid
gloom of neigh sayers),
and much prefer to weigh in on
the contemplation of a personal plight,
which sudden on rush of ideas
(akin to an emotional tsunami)
usually occurring at night,
whereby an indomitable surges
of overwhelming might
flashes thru my consciousness light
ting up thine entire cerebral circuitboard,
whereupon this white knight
feels mounted up a wild steed
with fiery eyes that seem to ignite
reining up on hind quarters
to an exceptional height
and now reached a writer impasse, I abhor,
where flow of bubbling ideas
find me marooned as if
stranded on a sand bar
came to screeching stop, thence desperation
analogous caught in a traffic,
and ready to jump out the car
or perhaps feeling
a day late, and dollar
short aghast that glib flow, an exception
that showed me as a
false prophet with no exemplar
of English language with prospects
landing deal as best selling author far
remote then getting struck
by lightening twice starkly aware
ma fingers could not even play
a one string guitar.
Lugubrious blue mood skies funereal and morose shed raindrops,
they unleash tableau vivant torrent’s wet tranche,
blessing, bane or boon from vault of heaven,
damp pearl blob bewitching moisture mellow morph form,
the stuff of less than benign grumpy weather grouch,
whose plight infuses yen for sun-drenched bliss,
haven of the ultra-violet swathe enthusiast,
for others raindrops are a liquid gem relish firmament bequeathed,
to whet voracious craving of nascent pastures,
whose gaunt green blade emaciating stillborn,
that aqueous honey to hue-blazed floral garden in situ bloomers,
who swallow cloudburst drizzle meed in muted slurps,
droplet streak and spiral bubble patten on top hung awning window,
empyrean tear beads that roof top tap dance ritual,
so tantalising to the awestruck spellbound eardrum,
or impromptu downward dribbles on romantic saunterers,
prompting boisterous laughter as they flaunt their dome transparent chromium truss umbrella,
those enraptured red-blooded refugees beneath tilting gust spun bumbershoot,
as mud splatter cherry cheek urchins shriek,
amid the spray and splash globules at agile finger tips
I swear to tell you the truth
Nothing but the truth
But your heart is so feeble
And your spirit so brittle
A whiff of it will make you syncope
A little tyrant I am glad you are no pope
No Ceaser not the next hope
The people would die on knees
Just because you sneezed
Who carried the wind to make me sick
Its you or you or you it can’t be the breeze
A woman without accountability
A mother killing the son
Mumbi had nine daughters
The fable was prophesy
Its a image so broken
But a reality too open
You cursed me to remain your pup
And nothing more
You just robbed the world
So that you can see me rot
In a cold room
Dying of pneumonia and spiritual clots
You want to be right so bad
That I rather die
Than you see me smile
For a thought that is truly original
And If you are reading this
I really understand the criticism
Just wake up and leave
Grown ass man sitting and *****ing
But you need to freeze in my coffer
Watch your life thaw away and go
While you remain in situ like a statue
Maybe I go lick someones behind
Until they find it amusing and pay me in chains
But ass is not the spice for me
New chains are strange and grim
Then maybe I go dig and dig my grave
But I am tied to smile at visitors
Sit when told to sit
Broken broken broken
Broken until the truth would make me scream
Old testement judges, faced the wiles..Of the people, each had (a style. A skill?) Sampson
Was wayward, Ruth was loyal; Ehud was
Intense to repay and kill, Samuel was balanced, effective and direct working most diligent, under God to great effect.'
On soup there are judges..Quite a different
Set, appointed by the virtue.? Of situ and
Consistency, it was quite challenging that line to get.' Wheew.!! These people dispense positions, on different styles of
Writing, titles theme's; rhymes prose and
Dreams.? Who will succeed.? Is the whole
Process frightening? Or could be its
enlightening? its good to know they have no
'Axe's to grind...' and no lives will depend on how they assess contestents lines.! They are most reasonable not treasonable
Specially to God.' Not quite paragons.' Or
Polygons.? Danm its hard to get this
write, right..So
I have not made a good one.' But I hope
to make amends, i plead life and circumstaces..To any enemies? And friends..So to the best of my..Er???judgement thats the best, as i can explain
I think best to finish while i'm? Well i can't
But winning? then yet again? No i'm not the best at
Any political poetry game.? Aim? Aims?
Oh this is painstaking in the main...'
How not to metephorically kill the reader
Now.? Specially any judges reading this
Frame.)
Around the Hills of Malvern now..Desecration takes place.'
Let me inform all how.' Where Elgars body has rested long
And Tolkien and Lewis did ramble in song.' all of these
Three historical giants, drew breath and inspiration none
Can deny it, seeds of thought in Lewis's mind grew into
Enchanted forests even braille did find it. And shared to
The world by many houses, published gems given to milions of children my imagination it rouses.' Gondor of
Middle earth from these hills Tolkien drew' its white walls
And turrets and hidden gardens shone through.' And Elgar twined the
Sough of its breeze.' The lambence of light in tones to
Please.' To refresh the spirits to inform the ears.' That grace
And beauty are to be played despite dread or fear.' In the face of
Hitler they were rehersed.' Indomitable riposte to wagners
Stuka played curse.' And now the enemy in different form
Under the cloak of green climate' snorts and paws cash
From rate payers is being put to miss-use..Same old trope
Of miss-infomation is now in use a commitie starved down
From twenty eight to six.!! Consolidating power the usual
Tricks.' Now two hundred new houses have been allowed
Concrete scars will be in situ where once fields were plowed.' Sacrilige plain in your face, ok'd by cronies yet
There is video trace.' I raise my eyes to Malverns hills I
Raise my pen, would it had quill.' I would despatch it to pierce the evil soul, of this cold committe let it be told.'
May litratures warriors get to the fire.' Email Malvern council the 'need is sore' let them know of the poets ire the
Revenge merits to be meted.' Justice must be requited.'
I set the date
Hope I am not too late
To save some souls
From chilly fate
The year of our Lord
Dial one nine, one two
From my home-based lab
After locking in-situ
A gyro spins
A crackle, a flash
I land on the deck
With a terrible crash
Oh souls that surround me
Running here and around
Never notice my vehicle
Though designed to astound
The floor is now jaunty
My breath like fresh mist
The critical moment I fear
I have missed
Make fast to the lifeboats
Although they are few
I frantically seek out
The captain and crew
"You can double the numbers.."
I cry with a shout
It's too late for they're pushing
The final boat out
I reach for my notepad
Complete these last lines
'Crisp bright morning air
Yet the darkest of times'
A note to myself
Set my machine now to 'home'
So she whirrs and she crackles
Takes instructions, alone
My vain hope is she
Meets me in an earlier state
An inventor incumbent
To change the course of this fate
Now my destiny sealed
By dark ice of the sea
As resigned I join singing;
Nearer My God to Thee
Fast forward to now
Deep-sea divers explore
The old shipwreck is claimed
By the ocean once more
Yet a mystery beckons
Cameras peer through the grime
Uncatalogued cargo
Out of luck, out of time
For three little pigs,
there was no wolf,
no house of twigs,
no huff, huff, puff.
Just three little pigs,
all far too daft,
all far too thick,
and far too fat.
These three little pigs,
all from the woods,
set sail to where,
a statue stood.
These proud little pigs,
set up their shop,
in New York’s square,
beside the dock.
These bright little pigs,
in old new York,
did find themselves,
'most wanted' pork.
These scared little pigs,
did not realise,
the US fondness,
of pork pie.
These lost little pigs,
frantic to hide,
from Christmas ham,
and bacon fries.
These poor little pigs,
now far too late,
all far too slow,
to escape their fate.
These warm little pigs,
beside the fire.
Happy ending no?
There situ dire.
These sweet little pigs,
now roasted ham,
caked in sauce,
like minty lamb.
For three little pigs,
it was the end,
no golden gates,
nor eulogy penned.
02/12/2021