Long Sort of Poems
Long Sort of Poems. Below are the most popular long Sort of by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sort of poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Yellow day dreams
are strong like day walkers.’
Manifested in the dark with closed eyes.But is that really where they flourish? Remembered with the smell of coffee it’s like a sign for a train with a new destination.Crossing a sort of imaginary line between illogical and possible you inhale again. Breathing in everything from your restless pillow. Now the blurry concept begins to flesh itself out into the tangible. Achievable. Reachable. The vision with the light on is much more clear. Around the corner wins are closer now than they may have appeared.
Gold Sun amplifies
a wish caught by stars at night;
Serotonin boost.
Mine dad in the 1940’s was an organ grinder huh!, in the high seas in the Navy. In the 1940’s
Lo, the clanging, bopping, banging of prepare containers foods. Large coppers pans and pots.
Put together meals by combining and heating the ingredients in various ways. Prepared bake fix knock up grub rustle up food meshing and mashing,
a preparing organ grinder hun!
See he tampered with seasonings and sauces interfere with manipulate forging, fiddling embossing be happening as to planned Navel foods.
Was an organ grinder
Most food was boiled in the and liquid was run out via taps sort of an Entertainer of meals
Clanging, clinging, metal spoons, forks, plates, pots and pans
Happen go on in the galley. Like he was a one who played a barrel organ in the streets. kinging and clanging pots and pans sounds.
An unimportant person who does what he is told to do would cook so the seamen could eat...
chef in the Navy
my dad was galley organ
grinder Navy Chef
Keeping the craft alive twas a Navy Chef Barrel organist.
Comes and gets it a handful of cooks wheel-turners are keeping the craft alive.
There was an open fire at the back for spit-roasting and seamen
So could apply to use it if they caught a fish three-legged pots were stood in the embers.
Navy dinner time be on sail onboard personnel three main meals per day
.Breakfast: *0600–0700 lunch: 1100– 1230; dinner: *1600–1800
Chef organ grinder played the galley
The galley food is cooked and prepared
It can also refer to a land-based kitchen on a naval base,
Point of view, gourmet to beef stew to a straight design of the kitchen layout.
(CS) with ranks
culinary Specialist
organ grinder chef
“Fair winds and following seas”, food prep and served seamen for those in the United States Navy. Where they have to say farewell to mommy’s and grands meals. In 1940’s World War 2 tolls. To those retiring or leaving for deployment to cut, munch, and eat now from the galley. Of the chefs in the Navy organ grinder manning. Said the galley a method of saluting rendering honors works in galleys the seaman Chef food prep.
My dad Galley organ grinder
11/01/23
The Last Organ Grinder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
The woman wearing the white hat makes a bit of an entrance.
She looks ordinary enough, but I sense she is full of intrigue.
She is as mysterious as the rest of this odd-looking group.
There is a surreal feeling about her, an aura that hints purple.
I obsess about her from afar, but do not approach.
Many begin making their way to her; as if they are drawn in.
I watch them interact. She is not opening to them, she is closed.
Not in a mean way, but in a self-preservation sort of way.
She looks up and smiles at me. I return her smile.
Both of our smiles are tiny, as if we both knows the same thing.
I am totally mesmerized by her. She is interesting in a weird way.
My husband asks if I am ready to go. He knows I have been bored.
Not yet, I tell him. I want to stay a bit longer. Go mingle.
He heads straight toward the woman in the white hat.
The cottage was no more than a shack,
But it kinda took me back,
To that place, I grew up and spent me days,
Livin and learnin, its all sort of a haze.
We was poor, but always had enough to eat.
Me dad was hard, and oh, me mum was sweet.
A good combination to raise a lad,
An I was mostly always happy with what I had.
Fishin and explorin just my ol dawg an me,
A good life, as it all come back to my memory.
For a kid not havin much, there's a thing to be said,
He appreciates what he's got, an makes do instead.
Most don't crave more that what they've got.
Ya see, poor kids don't really find they need a lot,
A pole for fishin, a log on which to sit,
A stick to throw the dawg, a few friends close knit.
To keep fit, for fun an exercise a creek to swim in,
But things all change when he grows to notice women.
Then its time to move to the big smoke.
Women aint all that interested in a poor bloke.
They like to be romanced and as you probably know,
That requires a good job to earn a fair bit of dough.
It was time I said farewell, I was off to the city,
Got a job and tried my luck findin a lass very pretty.
Now with the misses an our four kids, life's good.
I try hard not to spoil em, even though I could.
I am a happy bloke, take everything in my stride,
But I kinda look back on that little shack, with pride.
Sponsor Brian Strand
Contest Name A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE NO 1200
March 2023
Natural
I shared with fellow soupers, of their poems, showed superbly higher levels of reads caused by Google's Trending searches, on top where their search box is propped for quick and easy viewing. Google readers queue them in is proof positive T.P.S. permits such activities, invites members--imagined--increase T.P.S. revenues and negative input--sort of--no clue to comment, grew. Those who become P.S. members, post as welcomed soupers.
Visual
7-I shared with fellow soupers,
8-of their poems, showed superbly
4-higher levels
5-of reads caused by Google's
Trending searches, on top
where their search box is propped
7-for quick and easy viewing.
5-Google readers queue
7-them in is proof positive
5-T.P.S. permits
7-such activities, invites
5-members--imagined--
8-increase T.P.S. revenues,
4-and negative
input--sort of--no clue
to comment, grew. Those who
become P.S. members,
post as welcomed soupers.
Knowing I cannot hold back I do not try
Flailing my arms and legs, in a prancing sort of way
I am a spinning unicorn, alive and enthusiastic.
Others might be looking, or not
I dance to my own melody; loudly and proudly.
Dance someone yells; some weird stranger.
I immediately stop dancing; their command is annoying.
Will I dance again? Yes, but not here, certainly.
I dance for no one but myself.
I run from this instigator, irritated.
Alone in my home I gyrate faster than a spastic top
Spinning and kicking like a Rockette of the fifties.
My cat and dog huddle in the corner, fearful.
They recognize this dancing maniac,
I am the tornado of me.
I’ve gone back in time.
But only in my head?
I’m strangely curious, and not panicked like a moment ago.
Ok, this time I’m going to figure this out.
My brain is trapped in some sort of loop.
Maybe I was chosen.
I need to think.
Chosen for what?
Something that has happened that I can’t remember?
Or maybe some event that I am able to predict?
That is what is unclear.
Whether I’m remembering my past.
Or seeing the future.
Or just dreaming the whole time.
Maybe right now…
I am in a dream that I dreamt before and forgot about, but now I’m dreaming it again so that I have a second chance to save the world, then I can go back in time for real…
Or maybe this moment right now is the beginning, and the past and future all begin from this point forward, and I have this chance to restart the universe from the beginning…
Give me some paper!
Someone, help!
I’m not going to get another chance like this!
Once I fall asleep, everything is going to restart, and I’m going to think this was all a dream, and I’m going to let everyone down…
Maybe I’ve already let everyone down.
So why was I chosen?
Sigh.
I’m just trying to be logical.
But it’s making me dizzy.
My parents are here.
Now I’m emotional again.
They say they love me.
Whatever.
I don’t have time to cry.
Ok, where was I?
I’ve gone back in time.
But only in my head…
FANCY A TAXI?
There was once a young man called Mark,
Who worked at a local bank
As a clerk.
He went to Spain for a holiday.
Got quite drunk one night,
And after a roll in the hay,
With a girl who he met in a bar,
Moved in with her, she told him
That she was some sort of star!
He married her.
When sober realized that things
Went way too fast,
For he knew nothing of his new
Brides past!
He would soon learn the truth,
Which, would leave him aghast!
One day his Boss said
He could take the day off, and had
Promised his wife to buy
A new bedspread,
He came out of the office into
A blazing hot day,
And waved down a taxi that
Was going his way.
He gave the taxi-driver his address,
And the taxi driver looked at him,
Thoroughly perplexed!
You want to also go here, you are
The second passenger I have picked
Up in the last hour,
The last gentleman was holding a flower!
Mark became suspicious,
Paid the driver his fee,
And climbed the stairs to his flat,
He, had a key so didn’t knock,
And what he saw gave him
A jolt and a shock!
A flower was in a vase by the bed,
And a gentleman was entwined
In the sheets with the woman
He had wed!
No need to say,
He called it a day
Decided to continue his travels,
Gave in his resignation, and went
To Japan,
He knew a girl who lived there,
Her name was Anne,
This one he would not marry, or
Dare to get drunk,
He was no monk,
But would hate the idea,
that again he would flunk!
Just a short twist to this tale!
The taxi driver picks up another passenger,
This one was also on vacation,
And also a male,
Who gives the taxi driver another,
Destination to drive to,
This can’t be true thought the driver,
But drives to the address and
The passenger descends,
And ascends,
To a flat, it is the taxi driver’s wife,
He was visiting,
The driver could never think
That his wife was a cheat,
He was just lucky today, he was
On this beat!
He caught them in the act,
The taxi driver divorces his cheat,
And goes for a holiday to Japan,
He also knows Anne!
How complicated can life be,
That two men travel to Japan,
And both know Anne!
We all need some sort of loving…
Give me all you got
Give me your best shot
Dance to the rhythm of my heart
I can’t pretend this loneliness doesn’t exist
It don’t matter anymore
Weep no more, beloved…I loved you from the beginning of time
Weep no more, sad fountains…I adore you more than life itself
Weep no more and instead, repair my broken dreams and let’s spend time with
each other – that, to me, is sublime
Weep no more, peace-abiding angel! You’re beautiful from every angle – don’t hurt
yourself…
*chorus*
Don’t start another World War with your silent wars…
Our friendship bond is getting weaker…I must find a cure
To this heartache and help me, for heaven’s sake!
I’m breaking by the seams
Repair my broken dreams
Repair my broken dreams
Repair my shattered dreams
Repair my shattered dreams
We’re on each other’s team
Do you still have low self-esteem?
Don’t you feel like giving up sometimes?
Love is pure beauty
You have a hard heart…a cold, cold heart
What are you living for?
What are you fighting for?
Some say I’ll never meet my lover at first sight
I’ve been dreaming of you forever…
You were my endeavor…
I dreamt of you every night I fell asleep
My dream of reality is the golden wheat I gaily reap
I’m not walking through the Weeping Meadows – I run away from the tragedies in
life…I keep running oh so fast
Nor am I looking back my reflections…my shadows of the past – I cast away the
ghosts of my wicked past and pray my happiness will never last
When I’m bitter, alone, feeling upset and annoyed,
Annoyed about what happened that day.
I write a short verse about things going on in my life,
A sort of a short mental play.
And the times when I’m struck with happy and fortune,
The pen glides a million miles per hour.
All the words on the page are a flowing gentle reminder,
Of how life can bloom like a flower.
Poetry provides a mental liberation,
Somewhere for the thoughts in my head.
I don’t need to talk to people I know,
Don’t need to say what’s up in my head.
I write poetry every day to clear out my mind, open all doors,
To allow me to be able to think.
It’s like my daily therapy session with a pen in my hand,
So much cheaper than seeing a shrink.
For the What does poetry mean for you.... soz about the 16 lines, but I enjoyed writing this and liked the ideas, could have written a few pages on this topic. Think of it as 6 extra special bonus lines maybe.
Awarded 1st place
TWhat Does Poetry Mean To You Alexis Y. 11/21/2016