Long Sped Poems
Long Sped Poems. Below are the most popular long Sped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sped poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m out to reel in the limelight
as I rhyme tight with sublime might,
filling each line each time without decline
as I climb to a blinding height,
a magical skill of a mastermind shining bright
with dynamite scaling up til miniscule and out of sight,
this is a mystical tale of frightless fight to feisty flight.
Before this I lived in the shadows,
born to be worn hopeless like a saddo,
wearing a beard in bed buried in a burrow,
each today, each yesterday and each tomorrow.
I was stuck in a bubble
contaminated by sorrow,
self destructive in trouble
encapsulated and narrow,
under impact I stumbled
collapsed and fell low,
fractured and crumbled
to be an isolated fellow.
I was falling at speeds that feed friction,
ingredients fire needs in ignition,
sparked into a fireball in free fall,
and out darted a need for survival,
these incidents the mind's designed for,
in a spiral my instincts went primal.
I went from deprived of a drive that life should provide,
to the arrival of survive with no thought to thrive.
Admittedly a little bit of me
could see I had an ability
that was missing ambition to mission
so it lived submissively
in submission.
I started to mine my mind and be mindful,
dug up strength deemed unfindable.
As I exposed my core a force sped forth,
a desire to war poured forward to dwarf
what rivals and install a sure feel of reward,
after I stop this soaring fall to the floor.
Apply my whole mind to try
and stop this nose dive
of a fireball in the sky,
if I couldn’t fly I’d glide
until control was verified
and my wings opened wide.
Dashing out the ashes the Phoenix Rise,
detached from what crashes into land from the skies,
I’m out of this world, The Phoenix Lights,
a marvellous presence with presents for eyes.
I’m Nick Trim they called me a thicky,
I seemed dim they took the mickey,
they made me look silly, it wasn’t tricky,
but I learnt tricks at risk conflict me.
Now I’m the trickster that’s off the Rictar,
flicking the switch to be the victor.
I'm Nicholas Trim and I'm stupendous,
the way I rhyme is just Trimendous.
What a fabulous way to end this,
read my poems and recommend us.
“How does it feel, studying for your first exam of the semester?” My sister Annick dug at me, via Facetime.
“Oh, I’m miserable and no one even knows!” I exclaimed excitedly.
I already miss summer’s sense of infinite time and space, and life on the lake, with its big, wet, melancholy summer rains. But most of all, I miss the travel and delicious, swirling, excesses that form the dark side of long holiday freedoms.
I’ve been called excessive, I accept that and I have to check that aspect of my nature, from time to time.
“Don’t you have any brakes?” My roommate Leong once asked me, like I was some runaway train.
I remember last summer, how we almost eased into fall. As summer had faded, things changed and slowed down, as the European students turned back to their serious, ordinary lives. The bars and streets became deserted, carousels stopped spinning, arcade games were turned off, yachts sailed away, the eager summer wait-staff vanished from the elegant hotels. Brightly lit, summer-gaudy Saint Tropez became just another faded seaside town, where the paint everywhere suddenly seemed chipped and cheap.
This year, we sped up, by spending the last couple of weeks in flashy, frantic, fluorescent Manhattan - oh, man.
Then BOOM, we were dropped, as if from a great height, back into university life, back to cafeteria lines, shuttle buses and the scholastic gridiron - which oddly enough, has a lot in common with the teenage world. It was going from a-hundred-mile-an-hour adult freedom, to dealing with all the old teenage issues, like homework, tests, studying, the endless clock-watch scheduling of to and from classes - you know, the physicality of academics.
It sounds rough, I know. We’ve been told that as seniors, we can expect an even more important and frenetic emphasis on social life. Yep, we’ll be stepping things up to a whole new level this year!
Woot!! Maybe I’ll even get to wear some makeup!
.
.
A song for this:
September by Earth Wind & Fire
There are times in life that make you think,
Then there are others that make you drink.
As a man I experienced both at an early age
Here's the tale, so I'll set the stage.
An Archeologist was what I wanted to be,
Only to have it turn into an embarassing moment for me.
The King Tut exhibit had come to town,
Some friends asked if I would like to go down.
Being single, I didn't want to be a "5th Wheel",
They said, "No problem...another girl would agree with the deal."
So we planned the Museum trip with great care,
Me most of all, as this new girl would soon be there.
I was anticipating having a great time,
With these friends and one they made sound so sublime.
They picked me up that morning in their car,
The drive to this gal's house was not that far.
At the appointed time we pulled up front of her house,
I don't remember, but I must have been as jittery as a mouse.
Then out she came, this beautiful, freckled, red head,
At that moment my thoughts raced and heart sped.
It was a cool day so the windows were down,
When suddenly my joy of meeting her caused a frown.
When she saw me in the back of the car as she peered in,
She said one thing..."I'm not goin' ".
She turned on her heal with no reason for the spurn,
Ran back to her house and never even turned.
I was as crushed as I could be,
But it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
Because the gal that set up the date,
Eventually became my true soulmate.
One step closer to finishing the project,
The deadline is fast approaching,
and it has to be perfect.
Working hours after hours not to fall behind,
The family is eating dinner—another night without Mom, no need to remind.
Keeping an eye on the clock, eight o’clock is approaching;
The boss demands a tête-à-tête.
The pounding in your head makes you fret,
Another migraine and the aura of a halo.
Punching out won’t be before 11 p.m.—you just know.
You pull up a chair and place the folders on the table,
Your stomach grumbles, and your mind is on the stale bagel
In the fridge, in a brown paper bag.
Working for the almighty dollar is the price tag,
Leaving the house, leaving your family behind,
Desperately trying to keep your nose to the grind.
Full speed ahead, feeling like a hamster on the spinning wheel;
You should be at home bathing your babies, but instead, you feel like a heel.
Running as fast as you can,
Leaving your world behind as you go over the plan.
The boss lady reminds you that many have fallen behind,
No job is secure—it can be transferred and assigned
To the younger crowd climbing the ladder,
Not trying to make you feel sadder.
The clock of time falls behind each year,
Just be happy if you make it another year.
Full speed ahead or fall behind—
Just those two options, no peace of mind.
The years sped by, and the seasons come and go,
The family is all grown now, and your gait is slow.
So many regrets swirl through your head;
The deadlines of yesterday were not here to stay.
If I could snap my fingers, my life would have been full of delays.
I would have fallen behind while bathing my babies,
I would have fallen behind enjoying the daisies,
I would have fallen behind when I had a full house.
Now, the days are long as you gaze at your spouse;
The irony of what we think is important
No longer matters as you spread Ben Gay—it’s the most absorbent.
The aches and pains are a constant reminder
As you make your way to your favourite recliner.
In April of nineteen twelve, a ship set sail so grand,
A tale of wealth and power, a journey well-planned.
Warnings were ignored, the ship sped through the night,
Men on duty sleeping, Californian unaware of Titanic's plight.
Steel and iron rivets, a mix of strength and flaw,
A lie repeated often enough will often escape the law
A plan, some say, to silence the wealthy few,
Who opposed the central bank, a theory that grew.
The Titan's tale foretold, in fiction's eerie rhyme,
A ship destined, too grand, lost in a moment of time.
Could poems and prophecies have seen the fate so grim?
Or was it human error, a tale of pride and sin?
The wealthy men aboard, with power in their hands,
Opposed the Federal Reserve, in its in utero lands.
Illuminati whispers, secrets in the night,
A game of power, hidden in plain sight.
The Samson seen the rockets, but rum toddies dense the sense
And the cargo bay was full of seals and will illegally be fenced
Some men etched, unsinkable, defied the hand of God,
But met its fate in icy waters, a tale forever odd.
It's 41 degrees north and 49 degrees west
This is where Titanic is laid to rest
A century has passed, the theories still remain,
A story of the Titanic, in history's refrain.
Her heart was like a clock that I wanted to stop and rewind the dial back.
Remembering the beginning.
Following the curve of ticks as everything around disappeared.
The ticks and tonks that throb as pulse.
The blossom of smiles and times that reflected off glass.
To live in the darkness of closed eyes and reflect on genuine smiles.
The whirlwind of dials advancing into a darkness we both never knew.
A familiar scent becoming a door.
Her heart a clock filled with different size springs and dials.
A circular cubicle that sped fast.
A theory of time.
Her heart was a clock that I wanted to stop and wind back the dial to the beginning.
Across arms and lines that separated how much time has really passed
Callie had an obsession,
big time was her intention;
she was looking for a preppy,
slim guy in a town
full of chubbies
who drank lots of whiskey:
the best guy was tall Lanny!
Dressed up as Barbie Doll
she roamed shaking her butt,
a cop yelled, " Stop, pussycat:
your shirt makes guys drool! "
Callie laughed at him,
he reacted with a grim,
" A ticket for indecency,
don't ask for clemency! "
She quickly tucked the ticket
in her bra and sped away
tripping on the sidewalk crack;
a drunken fool, a drunken paid
for her summons, a hot body
for sale needed another bail!
Callie looked for a boyfriend,
but she was carried away
by lust and became the next prey;
her life ended: what a tragic end!
Strolling the beach one day, a magnificent shell I happened to see.
I picked it up and held it to my ear - just out of curiosity -
To see if the old wives tale was true that it could speak to me!
Behold! 'Tis true! What fantastic tales it spewed forth from the sea!
I heard waves lapping gently against a sailboat as through the sea it tore,
And the mighty roar of breakers crashing upon a distant shore!
I eavesdropped on a pod of gossiping whales cruising at their leisure,
And I could swear I heard phantom pirates arguing o'er lost treasure!
I heard the battles' roar of mighty armadas in their quest for victory,
And the screams of heroic men slipping 'neath the waves to spend eternity!
I heard the groan of majestic ships breaking apart plunging to the deep.
I even heard the final SOS of the Titanic before it took its tragic leap!
I heard the chanting of old sea dogs as they plied the bounding main,
And their pleas for God's mercy as they sailed his treacherous domain!
I heard the wind shrieking through the rigging of the dashing Cutty Sark,
As she sped through the Roaring Forties, those straits so very startk!
I was startled to hear sergeant major fish count cadence as if on parade,
And the amorous beckoning coo of a charming, yet illusive mermaid!
Could it be that these mysterious things I heard were just an aberration?
Perhaps, but what a change from my boring cell phone communication!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The game was on, the ball preparing itself;
Meditation would help it to handle the force
Of the bat when it smacked.
Ball loved to fly, fast and furious, so a few bruises and minor pain, meant nothing to him.
Ball steeled himself as the pitch was thrown; what would the old bat do?
Ball flew as fast as he could…crack!
Bat hit his mark and ball sped on even faster
till he landed with a thud in a cushy leather bed but,
he wasn’t through yet.
Once again he was thrown;
time for revenge, he flew angrily on and
landed with an almost sickening thud.
Whompf! The crowd roared as he hit his target;
basking in the glory of cheers and applause.
He could hardly wait to fly again.
Near small Rapid City,
a man came up to me,
said,”Hey, I’ll show you a good time.”
I thought that meant girls,
turns out, as things unfurled,
the man had something else in mind.
We went to a garage,
a rusty, grease-stained blotch,
type of place you’d see a drug deal,
not sure I could trust him,
but then as we stepped in,
I saw a crowd, excitement real.
Just judging by the sight,
it looked like a cockfight,
roosters with spurs, green money flew,
people from everywhere
were all jammed into there,
jostling for a better view.
But then when I got close,
no chickens, don’t you know,
just a small man inside the ring,
not even three-feet tall,
the smallest of them all,
just perched in there, calmly waiting.
I scratched my head and stared,
what was he doing there?
Why did this whole thing feel so strange?
What had I stumbled in?
Fighting midgets seems wrong?
It struck me as a bit deranged.
Then came the weirdest bit,
rooster thrown in the pit,
the midget pulled a handkerchief,
It was paisley and red,
at him the chicken sped,
lashing out with two claw-spurred feet.
That midget spun around,
the rooster did go down,
and all the crowd cried out,”Ole!”
This little man was fast,
poor poultry couldn’t last,
he spun around it like at play.
Then a man at my side
told me there’d been a time,
when the midget had wanted bulls.
Size had precluded him,
his fate would’ve been grim,
but without it he’d not feel full.
He’d found another path,
and I was watching that,
matadoring the fighting cocks,
Then that rooster he faced,
sought out a resting place,
and the whole warehouse soon did rock.
Never thought I would see
such a strange victory,
they raised a cheer and paid out bets.
Matador got his share,
and I got out of there,
some fresh air I needed to get.
Guess my timing was good,
’cause right then guess who should
choose that fine moment to arrive?
Cops dressed in riot gear,
dressed to inspire fear,
they smashed the door and rushed inside.
So what else can I say,
I quickly slipped away,
and to the city I did go.
That was my strangest ‘fun,’
until I rode a bison
right through a small town rodeo…