Long Surveyed Poems
Long Surveyed Poems. Below are the most popular long Surveyed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surveyed poems by poem length and keyword.
Scaling the heights of 5 inch disco heels,
I stood upon my red plaid platform shoes.
I surveyed the room.
It was still a bit early, the fashionably late set
had not yet arrived.
They would be greeted by a brand new light show.
Timed to the undulating beat, paired with the
smoldering mist of dry ice,
the stage was set.
Pulses raced to the unrelenting hammer
of the tune du jour.
Tonight could be the night!
Cocktails and conquests collide.
Such was the scene in the seventies.
A favorite club, few responsibilities,
and unyielding desire, created a magical era.
Hand me a Singapore Sling and I’ll show you
a Love Hangover!
3/7/18
Line Gauthier
Where were you in the 70’s
Biting winds and swirling flakes of snow had finally abated
We surveyed the deep drifts, which lay on the fields
The silvery moon peeped through the clouds and lit our way
It was bitterly cold, but the pitiful sound of bleating spurred us on
Some friends and neighbours had joined us – we had no time to lose!
Grabbing our spades we worked tirelessly throughout the night
Digging out the sheep and tiny lambs one by one
Their fleeces were matted with tiny icicles
As dawn broke we had rescued all but one of our precious flock
Suddenly our trusty sheepdog Shep started barking
We trudged to where he was frantically pawing at the snow
Our hearts lifted as we pulled the final sheep out alive
At last it was time for us to return to the farmhouse
In the distance I could see gold and silver lights sparkling
and scintillating on the Douglas fir tree in church in the village.
I raised my eyes to heaven and gave thanks.
A Winter Poem
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Required words
silver, gold, sparkling, flakes, icicles, drifts and spades
12~02~16
This part of me is searching for you, I have knocked on every door and surveyed every shore but the other part of me was not there.
I have a glimpse of what you are like; the mysteries are bound up in a painful sacrifice that has been long forgotten but still lingers in the trees and come crashing down with the breeze, I searched on every limb and every branch for my sin but it was not there, it must have taken off in thin air.
This part of me is searching for you, to tell you that our dreams have come true, there is no more donkey braying, the goats are not neighing and the bulls are sleeping in the pasture, the roosters have stopped crowing the ducks are not quacking, the cats are not mewing, the dogs have stopped barking and a miracle has landed in the barn yard.
It is the first time that I have witnessed an outpouring of sentiments dripping from the heavens and soaking the earth’s crust and settling all the dust. I could feel the love pouring out of the square, the triangle, the hexagon, the pentagon, the oval, the circle, the rectangle and enriching the heart and somewhere near the diamond and the star we are holding each other’s hand.
This part of me is searching for, you to show you the distance that I am coming from, you keep jumping around the blooming town looking for the mulberry tree that is lying on the ground.
Everyone watches in awe as the entourage breeze through the town with a hundred cars behind it hound and somewhere around the bend, I had to jump over the fence, you were not there and you were nowhere in the air, I am glad that I find you here.
This part of me is searching for you; come with me to the hills and let us still, you hear the screaming over there, the stadium is in filled and party will soon begin. After a couple of hours, the show will start and my team will be in control by the minute and the hour.
The sole of your shoe is very strong and you have to use it to kick like a man, the net is high but you can raise it to the sky. You can use the tip, and the sides, your chest and your knees and the crowd will go wild when you put it inside.
This part of me is searching for you lets go and do the show.
We called the police
but no one came
We tried 9-1-1
it wasn't the same
We placed a request
for a social psychologist
Who showed up
a part-time mixologist
She surveyed the scene
Five shot, four dead
Mixed some bloody Marys
Then gagged and fled
Next morning we called City Hall
to report the night's crimes
The phone answered by a Ms. Regal
who told us now everything's legal
We drank our coffee, stunned and confused
walked down the street where bullies abused
Poor little kids who were walking to school
where kids pack heat and break all the rules
We finally decided, eough is enough
without the police, lifes's just too tough
The neighborhood crawls now with all kinds of smack
but we're stuck here forever, 'cos our car got hijacked
I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I, a butterfly dreaming
My wingspan was wider than all the other butterflies
Delighted I soared higher and faster
Swooping in and out of lush trees and white fences;
Until,
I found the perfect enchanted waterfall
It fell at least sixteen feet splashing on the satiny rocks below—
I sat fascinated
Balanced on the petals of a fragrant, purple Lilac
the cool mist sprayed my brilliant pink and yellow wings;
This was such an enraptured place
it reminded me of my far away Wales,
I was totally enthralled as I surveyed my surroundings
Pink and red roses; blue wisteria; white gardenias and jasmines
The aroma nearly overwhelmed me, deliciously intoxicating;
Why, I was so entranced that I nearly fell off the little blossom
That’s when I saw green frog sitting on one of the cool rocks by the stream
His eyes were closed but he was smiling with an occasional croak.
He was captivating to watch;
Perhaps, he was dreaming he was becoming a Prince
Could be as I recall dreaming I was a butterfly—
Oh! The wonder of it all!
E. Pearl Anderson
Daydreams and Dreams and Dreams
July 15, 2011
I had a seventh grader tell me, when I was in 5th grade, that things go downhill after 5th grade - that life doesn’t get better, it just gets more complicated. I’ve had years to mull that over and I have to say that in some ways his testimony was on beat.
As we start the second half of sophomore fall semester, I think I’ve reached stability and I’m accustomed to this year’s schedule and workload. I haven’t surveyed whether I’m faster or slower in this (see below), but now I know all the tricks - where to eat, which paths to take and what to carry. I have a firm rhythm that’s consistent and insistent.
“I’m finally on my schedule.” I commented to Sunny yesterday morning as we collided in our dash to get our shoes on.
She looked at me in confusion “You know we’re on week 8 out of 15, Ya?”
I was shocked, “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I admitted as we stepped out.
It’s midnight and we’re going (Peter, Lisa, Sophie and I) to “My Butt” tonight (the dorm basement snack-bar). I took two seconds to splash my face with water and twist-back my hair. “How do I look?” I asked Peter.
“You’re attractive.. enough,” he said, “..I mean you fall within a bell curve.”
“You're almost 40,” I say, in the face of his non-complement.
“I’m 26,” Peter said, “You know it, and I have proof. You DO have some good points though,” he granted, while trying to drape his great, hairy, gorilla-like arm on me, “there’s your sparkling conversation and nice underwear.”
“I donated those to goodwill,” I lied, while giving him a half-gentle stiff-arm.
“You remind me of my parents,” Sophie says.
The tea (the best tea is scandalous). Lisa’s friend Baker dashed back to her room between classes Yesterday. She’d forgotten the big paper she had to turn-in. It was a mad dash and passing a roommate’s open door, she realized that the girl was lowkey masturbating. Lisa, delighted to be an interlocutor in the matter, due to Baker’s overplus embarrassment, is trying to suggest next steps in a post-shock protocol.
.
.
Interlocutor: “someone who takes part in a dialogue, or situation”
Asclepius, one cannot build from sand,
Such light and shifting grains as mortals be.
The wind and tide shall warp what e’er is planned,
Foundations fade before the pounding sea.
And yet, when grains of sand flow through my hand,
I smile at warmth and richness I know not.
Through falling columns have the sea I scanned,
As through a fog, and this the vision brought.
Once, weary, weary, weary on the sea,
One weary, wandering sailor, long away.
‘Tis torpor, tempest, tedium, weary he,
When wind-whipped waves whisk words on salty spray.
“Rain-hardened sailor, welcome now,
The ocean storms here mend their ways.
No lonesome mists embrace the prow,
Here glegful otters tend their bays.
This oaken isle, this Avalon,
O’er the futile, beating sea;
This dream-cast realm, this jewel at dawn,
Where thought is regal, talent free.
And here beyond the reach of might,
Where ancient tribal flaws decay,
With cobbled streets and spires alight,
New thought, new form, new love, hold sway.”
When whence these words surveyed had he,
Before his eyes a visage be.
‘Twas older than eternity,
That face that sank beneath the sea.
The British traded with Major Murfree,
a galling fire the redcoats did see,
while Wayne waded through the deep swampland,
at the front a corps of axemen did walk,
to cut down abbatis that might still block,
the slogging pace of Wayne’s fine, picked men.
Crossed the marshes, ‘cross the strand,
to where the recoats awaited,
then charged up behind their first line,
it was not anticipated,
British guns were quickly raided,
they stormed up Stony Point.
In the fight a ball hit General Wayne,
skimmed his skull, but did not reach his brains,
he fell down, unconscious on that great night.
But his men pushed on and proved their worth,
soon joined by Butler’s men from the north,
redcoats were forced to give up the fight.
British troops then trapped of all side,
Major Johnston, their commander
ordered them to lay down their arms,
to the patriots surrender,
a defeat they’d long remember,
they had lost Stony Point.
Washington arrived after two days,
on Stony Point, surveyed the terrain,
amazed that on such ground his troops has won.
Clinton’s plan was unraveled and dashed,
no great fight would happen at long last,
his plans in the north were not quite done.
Anthony Wayne was know to say
in his report on the frenzy,
that his men had fought on like those
‘who are determined to be free.’
in darkness they made their foes bleed,
when they took Stony Point.
The monk looked down at his tattered sandals.
He wondered if he could climb the high woody hill.
He shrugged and began the arduous climb.
From up high he surveyed the landscape,
And the sea beyond. Above was the vast sky.
No clouds to hamper his upward vision.
The universe was eternally infinite.
Who created it? God? The big bang? Who knows?
There should be a reality as to its creation.
God’s power would have been complex:
Both immanent and beyond it, transcendent.
What proof had he? Creation could be anything.
He got up and began his descendant.
His mind a fog of truism and fallacies.
After all, he was a monk with no god.
Having surveyed the land, having staked out the lot,
I looked down on the site from a hill high above it.
They’ll be many frustrations, as likely as not,
But I’ll give it my best ‘cause I want you to love it.
It’s a steady progression with hammer and saw.
There’ll be times to finesse it and times I must shove it
Though it ebbs and it flows with the freeze and the thaw,
Through the dust of construction I want you to love it.
It was never in doubt. Gonna do what I must,
For the architect’s vision gives evidence of it.
When I frame the thing out, a foundation of trust
Will support every beam ‘cause I want you to love it.