Long Smidge Poems
Long Smidge Poems. Below are the most popular long Smidge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smidge poems by poem length and keyword.
My New Year Resolutions for twenty-twenty three
will find me writing more limericks, and I foresee
poems of a gentle nature and none about grief,
for I vow this year I'm going to turn over a new leaf
by not playing tit for tat games with a trivial motif.
No longer will I read poems by anyone contentious,
those who find my opinions sundry or dissentious.
I promise to give more comments to those deserving
and when on the road to animosity I'll be swerving.
I'll find a positive crumb in what others say and think
even if they say my poems are a waste of printing ink.
I'll seek a silver lining when negativity hovers over me
and add smiles to cups of soup to sweeten the recipe.
I'll spend more time writing aural music for my lyrics
without paying attention to the naysayers or critics.
Writing is a sentimental journey traversed by the heart.
Where it leads a composer or poet, is their work of art.
I will find the time to celebrate life with lively dances.
Some may laugh and mock me, but I'll take my chances
and they might join me in having fun. In fact, I'd insist!
There may be a few more resolutions to add to my list.
I'd better print a copy and keep it on my kitchen fridge
or I might be tempted to cheat a bit. Well, just a smidge
when reaching for a snack, as I 've been known to do...
and break a resolution I swear to keep, or maybe a few.
December 14, 2022
Resolutions for 2023 Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
5 short minutes is not enough
to write a verse and make it sound
pleasing to the ear, I've found!
A little free verse will have to do,..... held together with some glue!
For Russell's contest, I will rush
but with Russell's small allotted time
I can't find the words to rhyme
Oh, look I did it!! ..see those words?
Time and Rhyme they turned out good! Please don't say this is absurd!
my dilemma is that clock
ticking tocking.....time is up
Gotta go now.......wish me luck!!
_____
What??? you say I have a chance
to give my poem another glance
and add a word or add a phrase
and maybe set this poem ablaze
to earn a smidge of Russell's praise??
I'll light my muse with fire-crackers!
Blow the words right off the paper!
He will gasp! Then, I will ask!
"Russell dear, please tell me here...
if I've passed this test at last!!??"
____________________________________________
By Carrie Richards
Original poem....."Russell's 5 mintues are up!"
When Mrs. Autumn said good-bye, and Mr. Winter came to say hello
He brought with him a great surprise- two feet of heavy snow
I shoveled my walk, my drive, and porch and spread some salt to melt
That's when I noticed on my lower-back there was something there I felt
I know you think I've pulled a muscle and I'm feeling lots of pain
But I feel fine, in fact, I'm feeling good... all thanks to Mary Jane
With a glass of apple cider and a splash of honeyed rum
No longer will I feel my pain, but I will feel a little numb
Now walking like a hunchback- like the one from Notre Dame
I had to take some Percocet to keep me feeling calm
I've never drank or did drugs before- well, maybe just a smidge
But that was way back in the day, when I built the Brooklyn bridge
“This is a familiar route and one of the most common ones (at least to my seasoned eyes; you may find it beautiful)” — overheard.
______
A day like any other,
but also
a day like no other—
She’s losing the threads again.
No—she’s finally starting to see.
—A day like any other.
The bus hustled over
cracked cement in damp air—
a sight scorched
to the back of my skull.
I sat in my window seat
like it’s a
reflex—
a voice nudges me in the ribs
break something— it said
—anything,
just stopping sitting here.
I switched sides
before my brain can question
if it makes sense.
I let my eyes drink out
the other window—
A smidge of red—a balloon.
Something navy—a child’s backpack.
A birdless branch wobbles—
My gaze drifts up,
the sun reply with dazzles—
For a second,
everything rhymed.
*Image of Golden Gate Bridge San Francisco by Pixabay.
"San Francisco, Open Your Golden Gate"
In my youthful primes some numerous years ago,
while Haight-Ashbury flickers in San Francisco,
ex-law enforcers, lawyers, demagogues all,
met in the solemn grand chambers of City Hall,
to pass a bill addressing our Golden Gate bridge,
about soaring suicides, change bad press to a smidge.
Assemblage preponderance praised a costly deal,
for one city hemmed in a fiscal crossroads, reel,
till one member from the smaller opposition,
gave a counter-proposal, his own volition.
The bulk of them chose a huge net beneath, lengthwise,
high above passing ships, close to those jumping guys.
The sole man gave his views, first, condemning their choice,
stating, it's an eyesore, monstrous, in a loud voice,
he says his plan was cheap, so much so, he will pay,
and taxpayers need not lose out on their mainstay.
What he had said, left the entire chamber -- dumbstruck,
"You can't stop those headstrong that life's not worth a buck,"
"Stupid!" "Ludicrous!" "Outrageous!", members were floored,
He ends, "Is there an issue with my diving board?"
*This was true but since neither succeeded, I guess the press left it off the front page and put it in the Sunday edition comic section, nevertheless, we San Franciscans knew.
2021 August 10
*4th Place*
Dumbstruck
~~charles messina: Judged 2021 August 29
The shimmering water so divine, the Moon has to take a closer look,
Oozes down into the bowels of the atmosphere, it’s not a brook!
It is a canal of sorts, with a beautifully built gothic surreal bridge.
The sparkling water warms Moon’s heart more than a smidge.
The silence of the night hangs forever in the evening air.
Moon feels a warm, loving spirituality from here to there.
I feel your presence, she says to angels who are no longer high.
They laugh. Their soft sweet titters warming the heart of this guy.
It is so gorgeous, is it not? One asks the enthralled, raptured Moon.
He has no words. This is the prettiest evening. It makes him swoon.
What makes this night so magical? He asks his spiritual guests.
We are not sure, but it is like this often when the humans rest.
There is a mystical feeling that warms the Moon to his toes.
He cannot describe the ethereal love, but it is something he knows.
While the world is slumbering, and even the dogs and cats sleep.
He enjoys the depths of this feeling, as he peers into the deep.
In my special child’s room, delightfully cozy
There watches Smidgeburner, his ape stuffed toy, cuddly fuzzy
Alongside prettisome guru, chimpanzee Betzy
Donning a hat declaring “God does not bless the lazy!”
Then Smidgeburner, a.k.a Smidge becomes busy
Tidying the bed-zoo against being messy
Guru Betzy supervises, never bossy
Smiling, she commends, “Wow; room’s not lousy!”
While cleaning, Smidge feels tired and dizzy
Turning jovial mood into a sickening frenzy...
Betzy counsels, “Working well never makes one crazy”
So she hums a tune that invites good air, soothingly breezy.
As Smidgeburner rests in their secured haven, warmly grassy
Betzy, the loving lovely guardian, is not anymore uneasy.
Concluding the monkey-tale, I hug my boy who’s now drowsy
Thanking God* for pacifying his spasm epilepsy.
*2Chronicles 5:13 …praising and thanking the LORD; …For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever.
March 13, 2019
1st place, "The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru" Poetry Contest Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 3/27/2019.
Over a bridge
and past a bright green meadow
appeared a little squidge
an angry monstrous short little fellow
"Come, Come my Sesame Balanja,
Follow me to my CrossjaKanga!"
He jumped and he whelped
screaming such strange things
he motioned, and he dotioned, and he complepleded
"Let us go and sing of kings and rings...
Come, Come my Sesame Balanja,
Follow me to my CrossjaKanga!"
So I went where he motioned
under the bridge and into his cavy fridge
where he said he makes his devotions
and as I tripped on a wire, he smiled a smidge
"Come, Come my Sesame Balanja,
Follow me to my CrossjaKanga!"
Soon I realized I could not get up
over me had fallen a net
and there before me- bones in a pileup
I knew this the end, my gullibility my regret
A quiet nearing voice behind began to windup...
"Come, Come my Sesame Balanja,
Follow me to my CrossjaKanga!"
Contest: Inky Dinky Parlay Voo Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Caren Krutsinger
Poem Name: Sesame Balanja
Date: March 7, 2020
'Round three in the morning I wake
to see that it's time for my break.
I can hardly wait
to keep my sweet date-
I bounce out of bed and then take
my flashlight with me to the fridge
to bring Irish creme- just a smidge-
to my special place,
a real quiet space
where I and my date can abridge
the writes that I worked on that day.
And so, with my Muse and her stay,
with sips of our drink,
we each share a wink
and fine-tune my words right away.
An hour or so and we're done;
I'm bleary, but still, it was fun!
That sweet Irish creme
had sharpened my beam!
Now back to my sleep till the sun.
So this is the vice that I love-
which I find so hard to rid of.
This 'amphetamine'
to thoughts, adds a sheen-
me, Baileys, and Muse up above!
‘Twas the night before Christmas and I didn’t care;
I had dozens of latkes I had to prepare.
The menorah was ready, with candles to light,
Waiting there by the window, a wonderful sight.
The presents were wrapped and I lined up the dreidels;
The soup was a’bubble, with floating knaidels.
The applesauce waited to chill in the fridge
In a Chanukah bowl. (Yes, I tasted a smidge.)
The cookies were baked like my grandmother taught,
(So much better than any that anyone bought)
Shaped like candles and dreidels and six-sided stars;
There were plenty to fill cookie platters and jars.
When I suddenly sensed there was something the matter.
I raced to the kitchen – the oil was a’splatter!
For while I was fixing the festive display,
I should have been frying (not quite my forte).
The first batch of latkes was burnt to a crisp
And smoke filled the kitchen (much more than a wisp),
But tying my apron for take number two,
I ditched all the burnt ones and knew what to do.
I lowered the flame and reheated some oil,
Plopping spoonfuls of batter I wouldn’t let spoil.
Then I conjured my childhood and Chanukahs past,
When I had no idea years would fly by so fast.
And I pictured my nana and grandma, as well
As my parents, my grandfathers and Aunt Sydelle
And my brothers and sister and cousins galore
And my uncles and aunts I’ve not mentioned before.
While my latkes were frying, so crispy and gold,
I remembered how Chanukah used to unfold,
When we played with our dreidels and gathered our gelt,
In our family’s embrace and the love we all felt.
So I cooked the new latkes with patience and care,
Knowing that with my kids and my grandkids I’d share
All the pent-up emotions I’ve hidden inside
With a platter of latkes, now perfectly fried.
And to all who will celebrate Chanukah time,
I do hope there’s a lesson for you in this rhyme –
For the very-best feelings our childhoods instill,
Through traditions, our hearts and our bellies will fill.
December 7, 2022