Long Smith Poems
Long Smith Poems. Below are the most popular long Smith by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smith poems by poem length and keyword.
Anxiety about what I might think preceded me
As I sat on the stool in the middle of my living room
Ready to think about who knows what,
I relaxed for a moment and then closed my eyes.
Gratitude and peacefulness were my first feelings.
I smiled inside thinking about how literal Ingrid had taken me.
He remembered that I intended to write at 3:00 a.m.
As the clock ticked, Ingrid kept time for me…
Fear crossed my mind next, afraid of my own thoughts,
What they might be. Nightmares. Horrors.
Repressed experiences dreaded.
But thankfully, the ringing in my head saved me.
At least for that moment…
A few things slipped in. The Jeffery McDonald murders
That took place when I was stationed at Ft. Bragg, N.C.
The horror had anguished me on an off over the years.
Then, I heard the crickets again. Thankfully.
Next, a hit and run accident that was reported in the news years ago
Flashed through my mind…anxiety from Army days.
It had happened on a road we sometimes traveled.
Fear, reality check, and cricket sounds followed.
Yes, it is that cricket sound that I enjoy so much.
It took me to the natural world in all its beauty.
Little seeds germinating in my sunroom...
Crickets outside making their noise; I smiled again.
And the crickets in my head chirped.
I was thinking that this isn’t so bad after all.
I have learned to find happiness inside myself
Then, Ingrid said, “Time’s up.”
I felt relieved.
© March 1, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
My DARE: Dane, you picked Dare* I dare you to sit in the middle of your living room...
(on a chair if you have toooo!) Close your eyes, and feel for 5 minutes... (you will need a
stop watch that alert you when the 5 minutes are up. During them 5 minutes, you have
to feel everything, allow your strong emotions to feel. Even if you have little one's are
running or your cat is purring at your feet. Don't allow it to bother you. You have to
concentrate and find that one spot in the back of your mind. The part that digs real
deep into every feeling we forget is there. After the 5 minutes are up... Sit in the spot
where you write, and write for 10 minutes, Write about every thought that passed
through your mind in a poetic way, sad~happy~ mad, crazy.. and so on... Take us deep
into your mind... Thank you..pd
Confession…I wrote more than 10 minutes…time slipped up on me.
6 years ago, I wrote limericks about 5 PS poets. Today, I've posted
about another 5 and will continue to add more... before 6 years.
I tickled funny bones of five Souper men
So, I gave thought to trying it once again
In the order they replied
My sarcasm was applied
As I gently heckled them with ink and pen
First, Tom Cunningham, who "liked my collection"
To femme limericks he had no objection
But now it's his turn
Tom, forgive the burn
I heard you're headed for a house of correction
Jerry T Curtis said to "keep them coming"
But I think that lately he's been slumming
He's all aflutter
And starts to stutter
When his lady friend starts his heart strumming
Then there is the poet of romance, Tim Smith
His sweet words of seduction are not a myth
I know it to be truth
Don't ask me. It's uncouth
I don't kiss and tell so I'm pleading the fifth
John Gondolf said my limericks made him "chuckle"
His comments are always filled with honeysuckle
But if he wants a date
I'll have to castigate
I have a black belt in the use of my knuckles
"I needed smiles and giggles," said Greg Barden
His poems are flowers blooming in a garden
But some words are couture
Fertilized with manure
Now I guess I'll have to beg for Greg's pardon
The new additions...
Like a brother he comes to my defense
This man wears no guise and has no pretense
Mark Koplin, misunderstood
A modern-day Robin Hood
To me he shines with rays of effulgence
There's a man who took me under his wing
Says what he thinks. Doesn't hold back a thing
Danny Turner, my friend
A helping hand he'll lend
For offering kind words, he's a wellspring
David Kavanagh, true friend from the start
Encouraging advice, he does impart
Throws Monoku lines like spears
I raise a glass to him ~ cheers!
Loyal, his word. A man with a good heart
Canadian, Vaso, we don't see oft
Art doesn't come across as being soft
But has a tender heart
For countries torn apart
His poetic words should never be scoffed
His funny thoughts overflow in a Flood
Terry writes humor that's never a dud
Risque, and sometimes not
His stories have a plot
Rumor has it that he's known as 'The Stud'
Gentlemen, I ask forgiveness for this spoof
My humorous parodies should be the proof
That I like all of you
And don't mind if ya do
Get even in your own limericks of reproof
Theme for collaboration suggested by Tim Smith
Two enormous old toads crossed the road
On Tom’s back lounged Thomasina toad
Both are ugly and warty
Thomasina’s so naughty
As her bowels on his back she’d download
06-16-17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
When Thomasina toad dumped on old Tom
He thought her poop explosion was a bomb
He hopped in the air
gave her a mean stare
shouting, "I'm not taking you home to Mom!"
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ribbit rubbit robbit 'n ro
this crazy toad has got to go
She's turning quite mean -
Fifty shades of green
No time to chat but still does crow
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
"Why don't we do it in the road?"
Said Thomas, the old horny toad
Thomasina hissed,
"Get a load of this!"
and a "blessing" on him bestowed
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Thomasina was on a road trip
Her taxi was Tom's back she'd grip
But she strained as she held
And her bottom expelled
So she said "I've just left you a tip"
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
Tom and Thomasina were the perfect pair
They were ancient toads without a care
He had a huge wart
She gives a mean fart
Anyone in her vicinity better beware!
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Now Tom was an over achiever
He wanted the lady, not leave her
He sprayed his back with Scotch-Guard
and rubbed down with lots of lard
the dumper was now the receiver
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Tom gave Thomasina the boot
Got sick from the smell of her poot
told her to get lost
right after he tossed
She gave him the one finger salute
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Thomas and Thomasina loved to hear
the waterboatmen rubbing their gear
Thomas tried and started to croak
causing Thomasina to choke
you two will never get it right I fear
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
When T'sina hopped on for a ride
Old Thomas reminded his bride,
"Though you're my sweet dish,
on the road we'll get squished",
"Just do it!" was her terse reply.
WRITTEN BY CRAIG CORNISH
Thomasina and Tom a heavy load
Lingered a little too long on the road
He could have kissed her all night
shocked at the oncoming lights
Croak and ribbit was heard; two flattened toads
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY SUBMISSIONS FOR THE COLLABORATION
06-16-17
Poetry Soup Hero's
Poets with golden ink and pens
You make us move forward with your inspiration
With kind an honest, encouragement and compliments
Small act of caring all which has the potential to turn a life around
Peter Duggan
Vera Duggan
Michael Tor
Demetrios Trifiatis
Broken Wings
Andrea Dietrich
Carrie Richards
nette onclaud
JAN ALLISON
boddie, eric
John Wulf
Sandra Haight
Casarah Nance
Emile Pinet
John lawless
Abdul Malik
Julia Ward
Kim Patrice Nunez
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
hunjeri, njeri
Anne Lise Andresen
Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Ian Guyler
Mystic Rose
Tim Ryerson
arthur vaso
Paul Callus
Frederic Parker
Keith Trestrail
Richard Lamoureux
SEREN ROBERTS
Joseph May
Robert Stoner Jr
Silent One
Laura Leiser
Faye Gibson
Viv Wigley
Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Lycia Harding
Bev Smith
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Poet Destroyer A
Janice Canerdy
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peter holmes
SKAT A
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Jerry T Curtis
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craig cornish
harry horsman
Ruben O.
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Mohamed Adel
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john beharry
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Lei Strauss
michael tor
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Borghei, Niki
Tripp, Criss
Reyes, Thomas
Rajaratnam, Gunadevi
Braxton, Shanda
Barry, Stephen
Prophet, James
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Leach, Michele
LeBlanc, Michelle
maximax, nicole
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Brown, Verna
Catie Lindsey
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Eve T.M.M.
Lin Lane
And so many more!
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Not For Contest
One December Night
(Continuation to the End)
All that year Santa had hoped and had tried to find a child's love that would strongly abide.
But month after month he was given the boot. It didn't matter whether he showed magic or
gave them some loot. Many children were selfish. Not one gave a hoot.
Until one cold blizzard night, in a stormy plight, the frog rang the doorbell and walked
right on in. In the warmth of the house, after ousting the mouse, four children accepted the
frog for his good. It was a happy sight for the frog there that night. Yes, they showed him
great kindness and genuine love, the
spirit of Christmas shown down from above. The purest of love without expectations turned
the frog into Santa who promptly gave each one hugs. “I'll be back with my sleigh to leave
gifts on Christmas night. Thank you dear children for your gifts of love tonight. Leave me
some cookies. I shall eat no more bugs! He laughed as he juggled three gifts in the air.
Then, soon disappeared out of sight by the moonlight.
The children, still laughing and squealing with joy, had broken a spell put on Santa
last spring. And the mean old witch that had made him a frog, sat sadly outside all alone on
the log. She had made him a frog with a croak, out of tune. She wanted his voice instead of
her own. Christmas carols she had heard bring so much joy. She could not carry a tune for
one single song. She had hoped she could sing if she stole Santa's voice. But the love from
the children left her no choice. The spell had been broken by love's sweetest choice.
But while they were happily playing about, they noticed the wand from the brown bag lay
out. So they went to the witch and gave her a voice. And taught her that goodness over bad
is a choice. So together they played with the now happy witch. Who gave up her evil and to
goodness did switch. The gift of pure love and light in the world is a gift to all who give
heaven a whirl. For even the wickedest of wicked have some goodness in them. So,
encourage the right and to evil say, “Take a flight!” (And let God be the judge…)
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009
Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes!
Sponsored by: Constance La France (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)
I'm a firm believer
In limerick fever
(This isn't news)
"It'll cure the blues!"
Says Jan (who is no deceiver)
Written by Jan Allison:
Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
But show me someone
Whose not dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’d depart!
Written by Lim'rik Flats:
Does art mimic life or life mimic art?
Don't ask me, I'm not too smart.
It seems the soup
Has the same poop
As watching the news (or a fart).
Drama and trauma, factions and foes,
Smiting and fighting, (hard on the nose),
Saves me the trouble
Of viewing double
Saves time, and less grief I suppose.
Written by Ray Gridley:
Raise a toast to this collaboration
Whatever your race or your nation
Just write on a whim
Lim'rick Flat's bound to grin
They are all going to be a sensation!
Written by Daniel Turner:
I know a guy called Lim'rick Flats
Writes limericks at the drop of a hat
Jan is his pal
She's quite a gal
They met in a laundry mat
Jan makes jokes about poop
he puts them in alphabet soop
drinks from the bowl
with no self control
which makes him a nincompoop
Also written by Daniel Turner:
Write all the limericks you want
but don't fart in a restaurant
people will laugh
call you riffraff
even if you're a debutante
Written by John Lawless:
oh the limerick it ain’t quite a sonnet
and the learned, they look down upon it
for they cannot grasp
its head or its ass
nor the cleansing effect of its tonic
Written by Terry Reeves:
Late for work she flew out the door
Took an express elevator to the 29th floor
Let some discreet killer farts
Nearly stopped all their hearts
Left them gagging; she'd evened the score
Written by Tim Smith:
Nonsense is here found out in the alley
Five funny lines we'll add to the tally
a smile or two
we laught till we're blue
so put out your best and join in our rally
Written by Alexis Y:
Hey what's going on in the soup?
Lim'rik Flats I want the scoop
What do you have to say?
You got poem of the day
Congrats, I shouldn't have flown the coop
Written by Jean Murray:
John is always fun.
His poems and their puns.
If you need a lift.
He has the gift.
Lim'rik Flats is number one.
psst. How could I not add this to the string? ~ john
FOR GOD’S SAKE
When living "...of the world" despair unfurled.
I lost sight of heaven’s glorious pearl.
Truths shouted out from the depths of my mind.
God’s loving whispers to me stayed entwined.
Higher education became my goal.
Scientific teachings soon took its toll.
My mind strung out on various theories.
My soul, in doubt, became very weary.
But faith persevered and earned the prize.
My trust in God was more realized.
Despite what seemed to be a worldly life,
The soul of me soon felt less strife.
A professor asked my Evolution class,
How can creationism truly be? Alas.
Scriptures say God created…in seven days.
Right? Who shall rule in this duel of ways?
The Bible contradicts itself, He said.
His words from there, down doubts highway sped.
Evolutionary theory is certainly logical.
Creationism seems to be mythological.
Then came the clincher, clarity disparity.
The Bible says God created in seven days.
After the seven days, confusion starts to blaze.
First it says it’s finished; then, it starts to haze.
During that lecture, I was compelled to know.
Believing God created; what did the Bible show?
I prayed to grasp truths as man’s theories grew.
I did not choose to tell faith in God adieu.
At that moment, nothing else mattered.
I refused to let my faith be shattered.
That professor, on that day, changed my life.
My golden goal grew to be God’s true light.
Creation pondering absorbed my essence.
A lifetime flew without great wealth’s presence.
I was blessed with children; around them joy revolved.
But there was no rest until those questions were solved.
Strongly stayed upon life’s different path.
Even, when disrespect judged me with wrath.
I loved my children and bore the wait.
Seeking, the answers congealed…my fate.
My life was spent pondering this topic.
When finished, at last, truth embraced God…logic.
Then, my soul found rest from its weary state.
Thus, in the world…not of the world, I wait.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
March 10, 2010
Poetic form: Free Verse
The results of the pondering are posted on Redbubble.com =>
http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3355478-genesis-decoded
For complete discussions, go to =>
http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3479742-bridging-the-gap-between-
science-and-religion-the-hypothesis
Visions of you
I see a knight in armour – one of King Arthur’s – ready to do battle
at the drop of a word – for Queen, country, god and ego.
I see Babe Ruth, knocking balls out of the game,
in order to be the winning team – for god country and soul.
I see Amelia Earhart, taking on the air, the skies, the world
– for ego, spirit, soul, heart and the abused child / woman in her.
I see Muhammad Ali, putting on the gloves in order to knock out
all wood be challengers to her position, control, power, rightness.
I see a chess pro, taking out the pawns, the knights, the bishops,
rooks, the queen – check mating the king – putting him in his place,
- under her thumb, under her queen - winning the game.
I see a friend chocking up in the crunch – makes the wrong choices –
ends up missing, sinking the eight ball that she is now behind.
Never winning the game she so desperately wants to play well.
I see a friend who needs so much more than she is,
who needs so much more than she ever gets,
who needs to be a lover and loved,
who needs to be loved as a lover.
B. J. “A” 2
July 29th, 2003
Visions of you
Part Two
De ja vu - I see a sergeant, major, barking out orders, to all,
as if this world were her own private army.
I see a little Hitler, – mustache and all – trying to rule
her tiny, little universe – make it fit her ideal dream.
I see a Johnnie Cochran, and his dream team ( your demons ),
O J Simpson, the defendant, convincing herself and the world
she is truth, she is right, she is might, and as Jonnie Cochran,
the lawyer, the mouth piece shooting down - all reason, all logic,
all attempts – by denying, by lying, by deception, by trying
to baffle brains with bull ****, by throwing every irrelevant
- verbal diarrhoeaed – thought and word into the fray,
in order to distract, avoid the issues, the truths, to be right.
I see a Jim Jones, a Joseph Smith, preaching her gospel,
a gospel according to her - designed to have the sheep,
the blind, the week, the lost souls of this planet
to follow her path without question, and in the end,
sacrifice “ ALL ” for the sake of her fragile soul,
her floundering, lost spirit, her ill ego.
I see a friend, with a heart of gold, if truth be told.
More of a friend to those who have done her wrong.
then to those who truly care, about her welfare.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th, 2003
It was sunny the day our hearts broke away.
A decade has passed—but some wounds ignore clocks.
The news bloomed like bruises on a nation’s chest.
Shoreham stood still.
Time forgot how to move.
Eleven men.
Men of mornings and small routines.
Lunchboxes. Laughter. Motorbikes.
Some had children. Others were children—still.
And one…
one kept wildflowers on his phone.
Too shy to say, “This made me think of you.”
There’s no symmetry to this grief.
It leans sideways and doesn’t apologise.
It smells like engine oil and funeral flowers.
It hums in the throat of widows and mothers,
grows moss in the cracks of pub tables,
clings to the wings of the plane that didn’t stop.
Somewhere, a bottle of red remains uncorked.
Somewhere, a bike rests against a wall no one will move.
Somewhere, wildflowers still bloom—
and someone remembers
the man who loved flight,
but stayed grounded
for everyone but himself.
Still.
Author’s Note:
For the eleven lives lost on 22 August 2015 at Shoreham:
Dylan Archer, Richard Smith, James Mallinson, Mark Trussler,
Matt Jones, Matthew Grimstone, Jacob Schilt, Daniele Polito,
Tony Brightwell, Mark Reeves, Maurice Abrahams.
You are remembered.
Dear Editor,
I won’t let you stand on my throat—
Stifle my compassion,
Weigh down my shoulders
With a chip — not sweet like chocolate,
But sharp like ice.
Not from the old block,
But cracked from the freeze
You placed in my bones.
You guillotine my fire
And return me only grief.
Dear Editor,
I know your job is important—
But is it louder than the truth
That begs to be heard?
Just because a stanza doesn’t touch you,
Or it ends without rhyme or convention,
Does that make it any less real?
Dear Editor,
Please see the substance beneath the design.
We poets are crucified
For daring to call out—
For letting our voices
Tremble, burn, and bleed.
Dear Editor,
I once wrote about loss
So heavy, it cracked the sky.
A plane fell — and a friend was gone.
And I wrote it raw.
And I sent it whole.
And it came back with silence.
Maybe the timing was wrong,
But the pain was right.
Dear Editor,
I beseech you:
Look into your heart,
And look at the piece.
Admire the craft,
But let truth ring through.
Then maybe more of the unheard,
The undervalued,
And the unpolished
Will shine, too.
[me]
When the music starts it possess my mind my heart my actions
i get more ****** up then the jackson 5
i feel alive I breathe in and out to live to to die
when the demons inside it makes me levitate i love to fly
i gotta fight temptations the devil sweet talks to saying we could be side bye side
[devil]
making music dont you wanna ride riely? dont you dream of the pride?
just slide this pen down the contract and sign
twitcheh twicht whats with your hadn riely? dont think about it im not lieng
this hole world wiLL reside inside the palm of your hand and abide
bye your very word but once you sign your tied to service
you can never quit see? here is the verdict its so you its perfect
dont worry ill alwase love you our relationship? id never hurt it
your a word smith heres your hammer now word it
You love battle rap see that line Reverse it
See? its perfect for you and me to be one in another
For all of eternity ill be your lover
You can perform for just me ill keep you alone ill forskae all others
yea fame has a price but its easy to pay well be closer than you and your mother
[me]
You silver tounged **** get away from me i gotta stay sane
but everyone just wants so much from mae i cant say
what i want to without stumbling and mumbaling my mouth betreys
me You can fix that? you can make me better than anyone else hey?
Well so can i i just gotta try, You will be with me forever?
and never give me up our relationship you would never sever?
but your evil you hate me you already forsake me how can you take me?
[devil]
No its not like that thats what he wants you to think
You have the opportunity now dont shrink
Show some courage here the contract i know you have the ink
Lets Bond and fuse to eachother like a chain link
[me]
Why do you want me? WHY
[devil]
Becouse your mind is buetifull i love the way you are
resisting me only gets harder just saccumb and ill make you feel numb
ill hummble you no more will it trouble you trust me i know you
[me]
NO no one know the true me even god he Gave me a lock i and i have the key
[devil]
Well im right here Hes not so who you gunna believe
be the tough guy just roll up those sleeves
[me]
So tragic i guess this is the only way i can have it
im sorry i once had a chance but i didnt grab it
and now i believe im to old to be salvaged
Form: