Long Sprang Poems
Long Sprang Poems. Below are the most popular long Sprang by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sprang poems by poem length and keyword.
From out of the lacustrine,dense tract, green
Lining the silent mossy forlorn lake keen ,
Came out leaping and hopping,a fat frog ;
He landed and stopped on a reedy clog ,
As he saw the Chameleon on a stem frail ,
Gripping fast the rush with its prehensile tail ,
Croaking and flicking his tongue around,
To relish one and all the insects found ;
He made his own way on the rich moss,
And back and forth on the spread-over grass ;
His acrobatics envied and enraged the rival
Watching silently with rolling eyes since arrival .
The crestfallen had missed his chance thrice
And retracted to sit still like frozen ice -
Having lost to the place his colour and stance ;
Thrill and anxiety did the crux spell enchnce ;
A surly serpent suddenly sprang,as if to mock
Hissing , out of the crevice beneath a rock ;
It was a measured move -a prize catch ;
The victim was more a meal than a match ,
And went in neatly with a suppressed wail ;
The avenged lizard quirked and muttered his hail :
Pride goes pouncing and swooping before a fall ,
Thus to end up with a whimper, defeat and all.
Many musical giants sprang from small places in the region of my birth.
I heard some of them live as they played their guitar or harmonica.
Others I heard by way of radio from fancy faraway and distant places.
Their discovered talent had made them famous and taken them away.
They had lived where I live; we walked the same delta dusty roads.
Their stories like mine originated from the cotton fields of Mississippi.
Some of us drank away our misery and pain; others sang and played their pain.
The songs were called 'the blues'; that 's why I call that region Delta Blue.
It is said that fame is fleeting, and I believe it to be true in that sense.
But in another sense, it is also true, because it makes the famous flee.
Away they fled to places North, because they refused captivity by misery.
I knew them from afar, because they became bigger than their place of birth.
Humble abodes and inhumane experiences often made them sad and blue.
Experiences were internalized and recycled into great sounds of popular songs.
From Delta Blue I too did sprang, but I sing neither happy nor sad tunes.
When I hear those home grown sounds from Delta Blue, I understand them.
03112017 PS, Any Poem Written in March-Not for Contest, Laura Loo
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
A star shone bright in Eastern sky
two thousand years ago
as angels sang their hymns on high
to let the whole world know.
They sang their praise, their greeting bring
as bells in heaven start to ring
They sang their praise…
They sang their praise
to Jesus Christ the Savior King.
A star shone bright in Eastern sky
while shepherds in the fields
watched o’er their flock with mindful eye
as good news was revealed.
They heard the hymns the angels sang
down on their knees the shepherds sprang
They heard the hymns…
they heard the hymns
as bells in heaven softly rang.
A star shone bright in Eastern sky,
gave signal to the world
that Christ child lie in crib nearby;
the future was unfurled.
He came to earth amid the din
and mankind’s journey did begin
He came to earth…
He came to earth
to save us from our deadly sin.
December 5, 2018
Written: November 22, 2024 For Contest, Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
____________________________
Line of inquiry:
“on an as is where is basis we choose
descent of consciousness into the gross
then we rise again following heart’s muse
higher than where stood, bearing love’s cross”
____________________________
Through the daily cycles of life, we tread.
Nectar drips from branches wide and tall
An elixir for the heart, as darkness spread.
In specked light where mumbled tales are told.
We gulp the liquid sun between the trees.
Each drop depicts a swirl of the spin of time.
Each breath yields a pulse to rile the breeze.
We widen our limbs and chase the wild rhyme.
Stand up in awe, and let the chimes ring.
To ascend the peak where owls flight.
Several paths converge on a hazy swing.
Walk across fields where gloom turns to light.
In folds of golden dreams and greens, clean.
The ground and sky meet in a striking ballet.
Our spirit drawings sprang out of the scene.
Transmuting hardships into brighter days.
These stones indicate the path of the trip.
Love's sturdy hand pushed back a wall of fear.
Our inner strength improves with each wisp
Ascend together, emotions ready to appear.
The obstacles we confront ebb and flow.
But, in face of adversity, spirit starts to rise.
Each setback carries an insight veiled in a glow.
Binding affection across space and ritzy size.
Thus let us tackle our path with wide eyes.
For every challenge, find an audible prayer.
The ascent appeals to us from under the skies.
Where greater consciousness seeks our care.
As light and shade mingle in obedient dance.
Our existence, as a stream, turns and flows.
Relishing each moment and grabbing a chance.
Our lives come together through many shows.
In this way, love leads us to come clean
Here on this looping road, we are home
We ascend as one, and no one is obscene.
On our trips, we are often itching to roam.
"Balls!" said the umpires
"Strike!" yelled the pins
"Take that!" cried the little girl
who kicked both my shins
And when the green penguin
started dancing a jig
I realized it was high time
to buy a new wig
So I hopped on my pogo stick
and headed to town
Took me two weeks to get there
bouncing up and down
But the town was abandoned
Oh no, not again!
And that's when I spotted
a large rabid hen
It was foaming at the beak
when it then spotted me
so I bounded and hopped
up the side of a tree
Then the tree said "gesundheit"
though no one had sneezed
and the squirrel with his nuts
seemed mightily pleased
Saw a midget run by
looking like Ben Gazzara
and over his shoulder
was Maureen O'Hara
Then I sprang from the tree
and pogo'd back home
where I wasn't quite sure
how to wrap up this poem
So I stole a line here
and borrowed a line there
nobody will read it
'cause nobody cares
And that ends the story
you can sigh in relief
Every bit of it's true
if you suspend disbelief
© Mike Wise
7-5-24
Is this chair free?"
"Sadly, not. Finest oak, sprinkled with fairy dust
hence extremely and extensively expensive!" she teased;
their eyes touched then bumped away.
He was French and a little confused; she just wanted to be!
A smile sprang off the top springboard of her mouth,
performing a perfect somersault
pirouetting onto his bottom lip
to linger with warm intrigue.
Simultaneously they laughed
and for a few seconds
their mirth seemed to tentatively hold hands.
Days later... that relationship
had threaded a gossamer cobweb of attraction.
Weeks later... nuances dallied,
private thoughts revealed, intimacy heightened.
Months later...they reached the stage
and page of mentioning age;
they just nittered and nattered
that it mattered... not!
He was twice her age;
she, half his size.
He was French, she was English.
The perfect fit!
And so, the relationship jitterbugged forward
expressed with a language of love.
The narrative over the years
dictated by humorous commas, tender semicolons,
occasional crusted exclamation marks
until time's clock ran out and, sadly, the final full stop laid.
She sits now, turning the pages of warming memories in her mind;
pulling back those first few words he had offered her.
"Is this chair free?"
She mimicked the smile that had first enticed him
and painfully whispered, "C'est maintentant, mon cheri!"
The monastery was easy to subdue, the Norse warriors left nothing useful and those who attempted to escape were cut down. A few terrified prisoners, mostly young men and women, were spared. This was the start of the Irish invasion that gave rise eventually to a Celtic nation.
Over the next two decades, the Vikings ventured further inland, and small settlements sprang up along their path. Thora was now middle-aged an old woman by the standards of the day.
It could be said that Thora had grown complacent with her surroundings. The local inhabitants always had a healthy respect for the wetlands, she did not. One stormy day while out hunting fowl she found herself trapped in the bog. Relentlessly the peat closed around her. Thora died without a sword in hand; her death was not noble or worthy. With dying breath she cursed the old gods. Thora's burial ground is unmarked and was never found or perhaps it is better to say it has not been found yet.
Windswept peat fields are always reluctant to give up their secrets however, when the time is right they will relinquish their prisoners.
The story continues: Invasion Part-Three
It's cold over here
Where hearts pump icicles,
Decelerated from normal time wrinkles.
I sit here
Trying to unthaw my mind.
In order to wonder if I exist in time
I never succeed.
I am suspended.
A pig flew over,
And the fat lady sang.
I managed to press "Unpause"
On this game.
The superball sprang
An animated bounce
An energetic ocean
From a simply lifeless ounce.
But time must continue.
The speed must decrease.
And all the lil' sparks here have ceased.
The sloths here get tickets
And man are they slow.
I'd gladly leave
If I had somewhere to go.
When all else has ended,
I remain,
Suspended.
Form:
How like the pumpkin you seem to me;
arriving full-blown from the seed planted
in my womb.
You grew wild and free
among the tamer fruits of life.
I can still hear an echo of your laughter.
Vines and tendrils wound about you
in infancy long past.
We were pulled apart by my growth and yours.
I long for the blossoming days
of infancy and childhood,
for the wee small one
who never failed to make me smile,
for the adult who sprang Jack-o-lantern whole
into a world of normalcy
refusing to accept the mundane.
Can you not see me? Did you not know me?
Was I never the gardener to you?
The garden now lies,
overrun by last years Halloween's delights,
allowed to run their course,
and in doing so trampling the ripe tomatoes,
and green bell peppers
as you do, my heart, by forgetting.