Long Startled Poems
Long Startled Poems. Below are the most popular long Startled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Startled poems by poem length and keyword.
"Zoltar will give you a lot of wisdom
Age is simply a matter of mind
If you don't mind my friend, it doesn't matter
Be careful like a little baby"
AVAM Baltimore Zoltar Machine
[according to the article "Wisdom From Zoltar" Huffpost.com]
Dreams are bizarre
And yet they possess
Wisdom at times and
A deeper self awareness.
In a somewhat distorted
And shadowy place
A limelight beamed
On Zoltars face.
Out of nowhere
A mechanical voice boomed
Zoltars purpose
And to his face I zoomed...
He will "give you a lot of wisdom
Age is simply a matter of mind
If you don't mind it doesn't matter
Be careful like" baby kind.
The hand of stranger
Rested on my shoulder
I dared not turn to see them
Though I wished I had been bolder.
"Insert your coin,' he whispered
'Let's see what he has to say!"
I nervously slipped it in through the slot
And waited anxiously for his voice to play....
"Challenges lie ahead for you
But you need not fear.
You are stronger than you think.
Your reality will become more clear.
How you face your future
Rests within your might
Wether you think you can or
Think you can't, you are right.
The Tigers Eye is made for you
Wear it always and you'll find that you
Will have the courage, conviction and focus
To make your dreams come true."
Suddenly I was in the dark
The whisper said as it faded away
"The rest is up to you, my friend.
I've nothing more to say."
I awoke quite startled,
In a daze and much confused.
So as usual, I researched my dream.
Back to Google, as was used.
I hate it when
I see through the BS, but can’t speak my mind
Or see someone poked at, forgotten, behind
I hate being
Pressured, pushed, but mostly rushed
Invaded, startled, tickled or touched
Falsely accused and misunderstood
Taken all wrong, when intentions were good
Or when
Confusion is stout. I see no way out
Ashamed, overwhelmed, I’m full of self doubt
Small talk is pressing, chatter, guessing
Neither one cares, what the other’s confessing
Just robotic words, it’s for the birds
Just meaningless curd, that goes unheard
I hate
Being restricted, clipping my wings
Fearful of judgment, afraid to sing
Picking up vibes that aren’t my own
Walking on eggshells in another’s home
Being down on my knees, in hopes to please
But still, I’m scorned. Like no one sees
Falling short, task or sport
Despite efforts, could not contort
But mostly I hate
Being unhappy, when times are great
The passing of moments and words “too late”
Feeling regret, like a waste of space
Impulsively talking, in a steady pace
The lingering thoughts of what was said
The billion stories that must be read
The social encounters, I fret and dread
The nightmares that play, inside my head
I try to feel happy, but depressed, instead
I paint on a smile, but meant what I said
22. Soil Report: February 2nd. The soil broke free with my bare hands. Woke up grubs and startled roots. I can’t wait. They can, a little longer.
23. I can’t wait to hide behind giant sunflowers again!
24. If personality is like a vase, do we simply put pretty flowers in it or break it free into a thousand pieces merging with wild places.
25. Crow’s voice is hoarse from screaming at hawk. Hawk keeps flying higher and higher, laughing.
26. A cat went missing. Then two. Today, the flycatchers sang with a jubilant voice: “Thank you hawk!”
27. Another riddle: Who has a different voice walking on four and then two legs?
28. Soil Report: February 26th. Black soil yielding to my four sisters planting.
I went on-line to find a man- the man of my dreams,
but the pickin's were few and I was desperate,
so when this guy said, hey S E X Y girl want to meet,
I jumped to attention and we set up a date.
Oh, I made myself up so p r e t t y ,
the mirror never lies!
And at the appointed time, I was at the coffee shop.
A man walked in- HOLY MACARONI, hope that's not him!
YIKES! He is looking at me with a crooked smile.
I squint my eyes are those missing teeth?
He is coming closer and closer to my table,
SON OF A WITCH, does the guy have a neck or what,
its just a head placed on wide WIDE shoulders,
I want to sink into the floor!
H e l l o , he says looking down on my lovely head,
you look just like your picture BEAUTIFUL.
I look up at him, aaaah, you don't
look like your picture Sir, no Sireee you don't
Well, I admit he said that picture is twenty years old,
oh GOSH and darn it and @@@%%%$$###
how do I get out of this mess.
So after some PAINFUL conversation,
I excuses me self for the little GIRLIE room,
and go straight through to the kitchen
desperate for departure I ask the startled dishwasher
for the E X I T-
and I ran all the way home, slammed the door,
got in my bed and pulled up the covers over my head.
HOLY SMOKES that was just c r a z y -
I am not that DESPERATE or Z A N Y to do that EVER again.
____________________________
November 27, 2016
Poetry/Burlesque/FALSE Advertising
Copyright Protected, ID 16-853-383-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Zany,
sponsor, Frank Herrara
Third Place
Unidentified spaceship spotted over Kansas field
One-eyed, antenna-crowned alien at the wheel
Cows stop their grazing to glance its way
ZAP! -- Nothing left in the field but bundles of hay
Wide-eyed farmers swallow the tobacco in their craws
As above crows circle madly, 'midst startled caws
The ship's underside glows orange, white and blue
The President's skin turn greens when it come into view
The pics now go viral, the USA's on high alert
While out in the field, farmers cower in the dirt
Then just as the aliens emerge from their ship
My plane lands-- I wake up: It's the end of my trip
I am dead and lifeless,
Cold and of the departed;
Two hundred years of wandering the world,
Forlorn and forsaken.
I lay in a crypt waiting for awakening,
And I feel her passing;
She walks close to my resting place this day,
And I feel my hands move and my heart beat.
I must have her sweet blood,
Oh, I can imagine it on my lips;
I stir within my coffin and open my eyes,
I breathe her dulcet scent.
My endless pain, existence a nightmare,
This eternal life lonely;
Full of agony, darkness and deep anguish,
Oh, I moan and push back the coffin lid.
Could this girl be the one,
My soul mate for eternity;
Standing there in the twilight I watch,
She carries red roses.
Stopping at a grave of many names,
And then I am there;
Startled she screams and turns to run,
But she is no match for a vampire man.
Her beauty is surreal to me,
I embrace her in my arms;
And as I pierce her neck I hear her sigh,
Oh sweet, the sweetness.
Her blood is like the richest of wines,
I carry her to my grave;
And place her gently in my own coffin,
This twisted nightmare I will not endure. . .
alone
_____________________________
May 17, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Alone
Copyright Protected, ID 05-674-914-17
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, 101 In A Row #2
sponsor, PD, Judged 2015
Sixth Place
I stole an hour from work
Drove a few blocks from our downtown office
To a cemetery
And there
In my preferred shady spot to park
Where I typically meditate
With all four windows wide open
Gulping the afternoon autumn wind
Shaving my face to young again
In the rearview mirror
Brian Doyle’s last book opened
But today? No
Another soul
A fellow survivor in their coffin car
I found praying there first
So I give her the space
Crawl on
Find another blotted out lace of umbra
Just as good
On a little inclined peppermint hill
The road so narrow
I wonder whether I’ve made a mistake
Accidentally driving up more of a walking path
Eye of the needle
I try to let it go
Unfold
My bible
Next to me
Little pale graves nub in the grass
Like breadcrumbs
Celtic dates from the mid-1800s
And beyond
Not just a deer
But a buck with a large antler rack
Looks back
To me
Undisturbed from his grazing
How could this be?
To grow so old and grand
Contained forever in this ancient park
Squared by the city?
With nowhere to go
No place to be free?
Or maybe he is very very free
A ghost satisfied with his grateful rest?
He’s had enough
We both are startled
Perhaps with the same thought?
Or was it that red car creaking on its springs
Inching past us
Departing
Young girl looks over
Book in hand
Gives a little wave
Smiles
Either to me or the buck
Who knows?
As if telling us to relax
She won’t tell.
I Let Out a Scream This Morning
I am practically never startled.
I have three children, a husband, a zoo full of pets and ten grandchildren.
But this morning I jumped and screamed when I came out to the porch.
Because a huge head with a puppy attached was sleeping on the couch.
The one I lugged up there for me.
I screamed, but no one came.
Not my dog.
Not my husband.
Not my ghosts.
The puppy looked curious but did not bark
Which I thought was curious.
I tiptoed down the step and remembered my phone.
So, I had to pass this giant one more time.
He looked happy to see me, tongue out.
Big eyes, a husky mix, maybe a year old.
I called my husband as I was backing out.
There is a puppy on the porch I said.
I saw my husband looking as I left the driveway.
He called me soon after.
It’s a boy dog, he said.
He was hungry. I fed him dog food and steak.
Oh, yes, he is going somewhere any time soon.
“He is NOT coming in the house,” my husband said sternly.
“Yet,” I said.
A girl around 13, sitting at a kitchen table of the home where she baby sits,
is waiting for the woman of the house to finish getting ready to leave.
She is startled by two brazen hands coming surreptitiously from behind her,
fingers and thumbs beginning to gently squeeze her prepubescent breasts.
Frightened and aghast, the young girl stays transfixed and says nothing.
The man’s wife calls out to her husband, and the fondling abruptly ceases.
The girl knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t want to give up the babysitting.
She enjoys the children and likes earning money on her own.
All she can do is fervently and silently hope the incident will not reoccur
as she continues, on and off, to watch the children of that disgusting man.
The girl’s mind and body mature; by age 17, she is coming into her own.
She has been reading, watching, experiencing, and . . . . learning.
Once again, in those later years, she has the occasion to watch the children
of that man whose invading hands had long ago so repulsed her!
As he drives her home late at night, he reaches out for breasts now much larger.
The girl is waiting for it. Shaking inside, she summons up her small bit of courage.
Pushing his hands away, she calmly but assertively declares:
“Leave me alone. You can never do that to me again.” She now realizes
there are not always others that can help you. No longer a scared little girl,
she's a woman who can take care of herself. I know because that girl was me.
For the TRUE Meaning of Being Adult Poetry Contest of F J Thomas
Off the forest trails, where bushwhackers stray,
Restless Mary ducked branches, left her screen that day.
She was startled when a Horned owl flew
A dragonfly landed on her sleeve; its color was blue.
Braided ivy above made darkness at noon
She tripped over a log, saw a glowing mushroom,
It lit up her face, its color was blue,
In that quiet place, her wonder grew
She knelt down low, with eyes open wide,
It looked other-worldly by the mossy rock side.
Lit up with an ethereal light,
Not like her tablet, more like elvish night.
She told her dad it was magic; he looked it up on his phone
Then he took on a pedagogical tone
"Just a chemical reaction, many mushrooms glow"
But Mary preferred magic, didn't want to know.
"It's OK" said her dad, "science is magic too:
"But mushrooms glow green, they never glow blue
"There must be a reason, maybe slanted light by a tree"
Mary said, "I'm ten years old, and I trust what I see."
"I'll go with you" said her dad, "let's explore:
"We'll search your path on the forest floor."
Mary said "not sure I can retrace
"I don't know what I did, how I got to that place."
They walked anyway, it was a beautiful day
They trod pine needle carpets, pushed ivy away
They got to a clearing with shade all around
Sat on a log, Mary felt content, Dad unwound.
He felt a lift to his attitude
His troubles let go, his spirit renewed.
He brushed a leaf and a drooping fern frond.
Parent and child felt a stronger bond.
Was it real? who can be sure?
But the little girl knows both moments felt pure
She'll always remember brown soil among pine
And that glowing blue mushroom, a light almost divine.
Maybe somewhere a new species caused by random mutation
Was added to the variety of all creation.
Science seemed magic, and nature was art
Its moments like this that engrave in our heart.