Long Spurring Poems
Long Spurring Poems. Below are the most popular long Spurring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spurring poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes an obituary
Adds some background fact
That brings laughter, not the way
You’d think a reader would react.
Tom Shipley’s obit clarified
That he was feeling fine,
Perhaps a bit too much, when we went
One toke past the line.
A friend gave him some weed to smoke
Backstage between two sets
And warned him more than just two hits
Might cause him some regrets.
He didn’t listen, spurring him
To state the way he felt,
Yet a song was born resulting from
The hand that he was dealt.
What cracked me up, though, was to learn
Some clean-cut duo sang
That song on Lawrence Welk’s show;
Unfamiliar with the slang
Of the drug world, Welk declared
“A modern spiritual” was heard
Because within the toke line, to
“Sweet Jesus” was referred.
I wonder now if Lawrence Welk,
So strait-laced way back then,
Ever learned what he endorsed
And why folks shouted out, “Amen!”
Sassy sobriquets schooled sissy spindleshanks...
studious sexagenarian skinny scruffy scribe
My utmost humblest apology
for inducing the following
cerebral calisthenics upon your cranium,
but the cost of friendship
with yours truly
(me – a foo fighting,
eagle eyed, beatle browed, beastie boy
christened Matthew Scott Harris)
doth newt come
like some hootie and the blowfish
super tramping
cheap trick linkedin to
wings at the reo speed wagon
spinning zz top soundcloud.
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sing,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning smartass,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
(my octogenarian
widower father, a transplanted urban
cowpoke father, and late outskirts
of poker flats mother) than
experienced livingsocial in the country,
cuz aforesaid domain didst span,
and encompass,
one hundred plus acre estate
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man
blueprints drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity
yet, impossible to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
who hammer away,
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
who maxim eyes
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
their limited choice sans, may
be there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
Amidst Swirling Eddies Of Fate...
Negligible power prevails
no matter one jock or nerd
feverishly hollars, fumes
decries, berates... absurd
fickle finger (middle phalange
doubling up as
flipping the bird),
unlikely the powers
that be heard
such lament, would not forfeit
issuing the last juicy,
meaty and tasty word
tis "FAKE" vanity
trumpeting to delude
those, who experience
a sourpuss mood,
when vile unfortunate
circumstances collude
(as if Putin on the Ritz),
whether you be dame or a dude,
no matter, the mindset
finds thee to brood
why without rhyme
or reason Saint Jude
or some other divine being
gleefully laughing out loud,
spurring an angrily strong
temptation to utter a crude
expletive taking by
surprise WASPY, snooty,
and noisily rude
listeners, who quickly exude
a gasp as if ye in pranced the nude
giving slight consolation punching
back at invisible joker
no matter he/she
could not be viewed
nonetheless yours truly
succeeded to read this
mashup, and get thee wooed.
Endlessly seeking what once was his,
he rides through the night searching pell-mell,
his destiny unknown and undefined.
His ebony horse speeds on two toes,
lathered, panting, fatigue’s sign tell-tale,
controlled by his hard master’s mind.
Grim tormentors in dogged pursuit,
their prophetic mission sent from Hell;
canines hungrily track as assigned.
Spurring his spirited steed forward,
night moaning with the presaging knell,
he cracks his whip made of human spine.
The massive serpentine sword aloft
he seeks to avenge himself – to quell –
severs his victim’s head from behind.
Alas, not his, his plight continues.
Infinite circle, a casted spell
He must break before bursting his confine.
Ceaseless searching to settle the score,
the Headless Horseman arises once more.
Because in the lonely bed the virgin trembles, spurring the wind to wake from her sleep before the gates of heaven close, before we fade to ashes — and there is nothing that we do not know the true meaning of - Silivester Kiik (2026).
***
The time has come
the sleepy stars
on the shoulders of the old hut
invite us—go
don't turn away.
Behind—the shadow of anger
tears our footsteps
filling the air with footsteps and dust.
The time has come
the stars never acknowledge
fidelity is theirs
because the flowers
in the bride's courtyard
— realize it
don't prophesy
let us go.
For on the lonely bed
— the virgin trembles
drives the wind
awakens from her sleep
before the gates of heaven close
before we fade to ashes
— and there is nothing
that we don't truly know the meaning of.
Atambua, March 11, 2024
***
Note:
I have turned this poem into a song. However, the song is in Indonesian. You can watch it on my YouTube channel Silivester Kiik.
plus Doctor Kaunda also says family names
in tandem should not determine,
who to associate with, any more than nap
pulled lying flat hair, but rather character of hearts,
viz each one of every Zambian availing their lap
necessarily if seat space in short supply.
Speaking at a vision
ambassadors promoting peace
campaign fundraising dinner,
Doctor Kaunda says increase
in toto with discrimination,
suspicion, hatred, betrayal, malice, fleece
sing (the golden calf)
re: greed, selfishness, grease
sing palms, and other
negative behavior release
zing threatening opposition
to zeitgeist, and core values crease
and crimp unity if left unchecked.
He has recalled that during
struggle for independence,
people from various
backgrounds humming and purring
worked hand in glove together,
realizing that they were, spurring
above everything else,
brothers and sisters of
one nation hungry stirring
potential for harmony whirring.
Dr. Kaunda says the “One Zambia One Nation” slogan
coined many decades ago still holds
true and continues starring Hulk Hogan
to unite Zambian’s together as one motley crue
clinging as one to solid state craft toboggan.
He says Zambia remains
a beacon of peace in Africa,
that dare not smother
snapchat, nor shutterfly - oh brother
scuttling important all Zambian citizens
should pay obeisance with mother
land maintaining grew ving
peace and loving one another.
Me and Alex were walkin' on State Street one early Saturday morning
in the bright sun reflecting off deep snow. I saw long-haired ghosts of '67
drift by on the nearly deserted sidewalk....Alex didn't see them, but they looked
my way, held my gaze, and shuffled on.
....I heard bullhorns blasting truth, and
students rushing by, clutching busted heads,
early in the mornin'
.....30yrs. ago,
walkin' on State Street.
now,
silent anthems sleep,
while ages sow keepers
who lift hearts
like the sunrise,
spurring miracles from
helpless seeds,
amid the yearning, frozen will, and
gun-clenched enemies of peace,
....30yrs. ago,
walkin' on State Street
....dedicated to the courageous students at the University of Wisconsin, Madison who, in 1967
staged a peaceful sit-in on campus to protest 'Dow Chemical' (manufacturers of napalm)
recruiting at the University,
Madison Police were called in to clear the building, (at the request of the school's Dean)
brutality erupted, sending chills to College campuses nationwide, sparking students at
Universities across the nation to protest the 'Vietnam War' the rest is history...
Sure as spring-ebullient cedes to summer’s escapades
In vagaries of time a budding flower parches and fades
And the sweet sound of hatchlings abandons its nest
And autumn’s gilded leaves perish in throes of decay
And dethroned from its apex, sun-glorious as well sets.
Much alike nature, as life unleashes unsettling events
For some, its turbulence triggers hysterical blindness
And esteem that waxed to full-moon begins to wane
Akin to a sunny day that darkens and suddenly rains
Or flame of desires extinguishes in lovelorn marriage.
Purpose and meaning no longer wield a special clout
As soul of vigor confused harbors despondent doubt
And sense of self deteriorates into endless distraught
Till a beloved hand of compassion lovingly reaches out
Reconsolidating its ego, letting spent passions sprout;
Spurring momentous days, seizing thrilled moments,
Un-remembering yesterday, rejoicing bliss of present
Knowing tomorrow’s fate isn’t as assured as today’s,
Cognizant of transience and impermanence of being,
For now is real as can be, for tomorrow may be elusive.
October 6, 2021
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 7 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Hysterical Blindness
PERENNIAL FLOWERS JUST FOR ME
far below the canopy, the speckled hawk soars —
whoa! he’s hardly in my space but so close.
my toes jam up in my gray Bob’s as I descend
the cracking driveway, and my eyes ascend
toward the clouds, hard to see through the oaks.
my eyes roller-coast back to the pavement
or I jeopardize my life, firsthand knowledge gained
when shoes roll over pebbles and stick debris
quite humbly spurring me to a knee. i reach
my destination. i look at my well dressed yard,
the ground worked hard. the red mulch compliments
our home and the reticent retaining wall
keeps are summertime willow felicitous. — what
i came out to see, the perennial flowers just for me,
a husband’s love. the purple coneflowers and
delicate daisies a simple offering, a favor asked
before his job took him overseas and i visited
the grands. here his little bit of leaven forms
a lump in my grateful heart. my thighs pump
as i climb our renowned hill, ready to give praise,
and enjoying the clumps of hay protecting hibiscus buds,
when the buzz of an invisible bee chases me
the rest of the way. not a fan, i shun the stranger,
slam the door, readily make a beeline to my honey.
“I love the flowers. Nice job!”
The bee he says, gave me a bit of exercise.
Now why’d he have to go and say that.
Men and children have a habit of speaking from the heart,
not always what you want to hear,
but the sweet flowers in my eyes dance for a while
and i love that man.
8/3/2019