Long Swarmed Poems
Long Swarmed Poems. Below are the most popular long Swarmed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swarmed poems by poem length and keyword.
We were on a side quest. I wanted some cool, fresh
cherries to savor as we strolled hot Saint Tropez.
So we were in a grocery store, in the township,
I was pushing a shopping cart along the frozen food aisle
when suddenly my feet flew out from under me and I
took a hard, embarrassing, backward spill.
Peter was shocked - “What?!” He exclaimed.
One second I was up and the next I was on my back.
It was like a lightning strike or a film edit, I was like WTF?
I was in flip-flops and there was a puddle of water.
I was fine, if scuffed up - thank god I wasn’t in a dress.
I got right up, I mean I’m not a 90-year-old lady.
And after a second we walked on, only to be swarmed,
a moment later, by the store manager and his minions
- “Are you ok?” He asked, scrubbing his hands.
“Yes, I’m fine - no, I don’t want to fill out a report”
My left big-toe was swollen and bleeding - so no running
along the beach this morning - now THAT seemed weird.
I guess it was more of a back-side quest.
.
.
A song for this:
Helter Skelter by the Beatles
Trouble Me by 10,000 Maniacs
The bees swarmed to dripping honey,
and love's illusion is not so funny
when the rabbit in the hutch
backs away from your very touch.
Today he is afraid
that you chose him for your maid
and the reproductive status hump
is lost in desperations malice lumps.
With no offspring to take his place
the embarrassment is on your face
and the honey bunny you had chased
became hassenfeffer sent to inner space.
Impatient Awaiting his return, the doe
displayed herself to all the farmyard beaus
and the buck was found out of luck
when all the kits were downy ducks.
Come out of there, you silly rabbit!
BUNNY JUMP and Caren Krutsinger 12/19/18
The wheels of time rolled on our lavish landscape,
many springs swarmed in, but soon disappeared.
Ardent zeal lined silver streaks on the satin clouds,
not for long, for the rainstorm surged them away.
My yearning glided beyond the eroded banks
of the subterranean stream within your eyes.
A lucky strike of lightning illuminated its course
I could never have been able to decipher.
As I wandered on the wings of coincidental reverie,
in a trance I saw you adorned by filigree of patina.
The flower of my yearning I felt embellished
with the glow of rekindled luminous passion.
I drifted in the domain of the fortuitous fantasy,
sparkled in the sapphire sky like a shooting star,
the sequins soaking the petals of your pristine rose
as dewdrops radiating my heart’s fervent hue.
In the ethereal grandeur of resurgence I sensed
the revived essence exuding the feeling of bliss,
while the lattice of ornate ecstasy embellished
my resurrected being with flamboyant fervor.
If witches would stay off their broomsticks,
not collecting black cats and kids,
not charring the sky with their tricks,
keep to their bottomless pit, deep off the grid…
If their cackles were buried in hell,
their pimples and warts swarmed with heat…
if they couldn’t, not one, recall a spell
and stayed off the world’s beat…
If witches would fall in their own cauldron
with all the eyes, ears, and feet they stole,
their curses ne’er heard again, end their doctrine,
face down in mire and defeat of their souls…
then the light of the sun and the moon
and the stars and candles would burn
with a glow of happiness and swoon -
to a glorious paradise mankind would return.
10/25/2022
The playground near the park
was always swarmed with kids
and moms after three o' clock...
there I took Crystal and Chris.
Each Monday and Tuesday afternoon
we went to Forest Park, and regardless
of nippy weather, nothing kept us away...
I was thirty and it felt I was only thirteen.
Somehow the hours passed, but not as quickly;
sunset and dusk came and we played 'till nine.
Sitting on the bench, I closely watched them
there were no children happier than them;
crickets sounded awkward, fireflies were nice...
glad it was Spring, no bugs threatened to bite.
In late Fall, I went back to the playground...
it was empty and solitary; the breeze chilled
my bones, the kids' image flashed and went.
Intense nostalgia made me remember them;
I must confess I started to cry: the strongest
emotion overcame me...I surely missed them.
Those city's snowfalls in January
come down to earth surprisingly...
to induce an ideal stillness,and make
with an impressive effect,
lovely sceneries to be instilled
inside the inquisitive and perceptive mind!
Fluffy and swirling snowflakes
give glitter and beauty
to lifeless and drooping trees
sheltering the holly's shrubs,
which are fearful of showing entirely
their frozen berries;
and who isn't happier than
a fumbling mockingbird...
vanquishing danger
and not being heard?
Hill tops are swarmed by teens
so confident and daring...
while sliding downhill
on snowboards delirously
and whenever they come to a stop:
they are shouts and cheers
so encouragingly;
imagine life without them:
neither joy or event
will be rembered by us,
who cherished the thrill
of those days when we laughed a lot!
The tallest pine trees,ever to grow,
attract birds needing shelter and more...
and to hear and see swift blue-jays humming
their harmonious and cheerful notes,
while fleeing brench to brench,
is so inspiring and heart-warming...
not ever lamenting winter's pinch,
rather celebrating life with gladness!
Those city's snowfalls in January
are unique,pretty and breatless
as we draw ourselves closer to Nature...
when tranquillity is there to conquer us;
and we lose ourselves into it with ardor...
to amend our neligence and feel serenity!
Gnomes in the bedroom, faeries in the hall.
Fey folks all over, none of them are too tall.
Night time magic giggles hilarious to me.
Of course mischief galore, everywhere you see.
Nefarious gnomes cannot be reasoned with.
Brownies join in. They give me a quick sniff.
My husband is hiding under a stack of junk.
He thought this make believe was bunk.
My deep easy sleep is a thing of the past now.
They are singing, and one is beginning to growl.
Crazy laughter is traveling all over the house.
I am excited. Hubby is beginning to grouse.
Are they tipsy or what my unhappy husband has groaned.
They are not drinkers, I told him from my place on the throne.
They are merely coming to pay respects to me.
For I am the one who opened the magic oak tree.
How long will they stay he asked with concern.
I knew I did not know, and might never learn.
The fey folks do not share their time tables or their way.
For all I knew they were staying six months and a day.
Fix some peanut butter sandwiches, I urged him.
They do not like the smell. This was a sudden whim.
They swarmed out the door as soon as he popped the lid.
Back tomorrow! One yelled. Through the door she promptly slid.
Why can’t you paint canvases of ordinary stuff?
My husband accused me. His face was a puff.
I like faeries, gnomes and elves I said, really quite pleased.
Knowing they would return on the next holiday breeze.
Dark shadows akin to edge of night
affected by massive infestation of
Drosophila melanogaster light
(scientific name as
same itty bitty
winged flitting nuisance ignite
mentioned in title) besieged,
inundated, and thickly swarmed
dost primp and pretty
fie themselves (to
attract a witty
mate) during their
40 to 50 days city,
or suburban life
cycle long enough
to qualify for this
quickly written ditty
seemingly overnight
a bajillion biz zee
buzzing adults (each
about 1/8 inch long see
their world wide web,
thru at least one
unusual red eye,
which compound eye
of the fruit fly
contains 760 unit
eyes or ommatidia,
well nigh
hapt tubby one of the most
advanced among insects,
where Google search
for home remedies aye
didst find to exterminate
these teeny weeny pests,
plus informational pursuit my
instantaneous curiosity yielded
above mentioned
esoteric tidbits,
sans accidentally disc
covered helpful good riddance
material of household ingredients
restraining me to breathe sigh
of dollop, and hope to try
one or more solutions,
which informed
this amateur entomologist -
listed forthright as:
1.Create a trap by mixing
apple cider vinegar
with a few drops of dish soap.
2. Another home-made trap is to
pour leftover red wine into a jar.
3. Mash up banana slices in a jar, and
cover top with a plastic wrap.
4. Pour bleach solution
into bathroom sink.
A thousand bees never settling down,
buzzed within his head.
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drumbeats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
limbs receiving discordant commands,
He suddenly hurtled into the streets,
stepping out from regimented norms
and breaking loose the tether of reason,
never walking, never running
but scuttling from side to side
like a piece of driftwood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
suddenly, he into a prophet grew.
stood with arms outstretched,
waiting for the crumb of bread
to be dropped
in the manner Elijah was fed
by the raven in his lonesome cave.
Seeing the audience swelling bigger
he was enthused, greatly cheered.
The riff- raff and the scraps
swarmed around to see the show.
Mounting the steps to the pulpit,
in unfaltering voice
and with fire in his words,
to the congregation,
surveying him with fun and sneer,
he thundered………
“The Doom’s Day is near”
With finality in his tone, he said-
“Repent and flee from the wrath to come.
The tree that doesn’t bring forth,
good fruits shall be hewn down,
and cast into eternal fire.”
The transition was quite easy.
He scurried from Elijah to John the Baptist
and from John the Baptist to Elijah
oscillating between
sense and non-sense.
__________________________
March. 28.2023
~ Placed Second~
Writing Challenge, ‘P’ Words
Sponsor – Constance La France
In my school days, I used to see him very often in junctions and bus stops. He was unshaven and ragged in appearance, but in his eyes, there was a kind of fire and he paced about restless east to west and west to east as if he had an urgent mission to accomplish. His words still ring in my ears. My heart goes out to those whom we call lunatics!
Reporters swarmed, the rabid jackals,
around my house they made a big crowd,
even harassed my poor old mother
to the point she could barely go out.
I growled loud at more than a few,
got one locked up for trespassing,
thankfully they found other nonsense
and the frenzy wasn’t long-lasting.
But the damage had truly been done,
the internet will never forget,
I was practically a murderer,
commenters publicly wished me dead.
My love life soon faded to nothing,
barely went on two dates in three years,
more than one time, I'm ashamed to say,
I wondered why I remained here?
With people just judging by the group,
and my ‘group’ was my family ties,
condemned for things that I never did,
forever doomed to be despised.
Until one spring day this Christian girl
saw my profile and then swiped right.
I didn’t have high expectations,
but decided to go out that night.
Her name was Ester, when I saw her
I decided then on a new play,
told her about me, all right upfront,
then waited for what she would say.
She just smiled back, a knowing grin,
said,”I knew who you were from the start.
Had worries at first, then I recalled
the memories that plague my own heart.
“You see my father is a bad man,
used his fists and caused me to despair,
beat up my mother so very bad
she is forever bound to a chair.
“He is in jail now, for forty years,
but I am not to blame for his sins.
So who was I to disparage you?
I have no idea what lies within.
“No one should ever be held to blame
for something that's beyond their control.
I’m not my dad, and you’re no tyrant,
what you are I’d like to get to know.”
For the first time in so many months
I felt new hope spring up in my mind.
I’m Ester’s husband, seven years on,
no finer woman can you find.
We have two kids, a suburban house,
a big one with a three-car garage,
when media comes, I let her loose,
they go scurrying from the barrage.
I no longer worry all that much
about what other people say,
I am no killer, just a father,
so let the useless talking heads bray.
They all just see my evil grandpa,
and never truly will understand,
maybe I was born son of tyrants,
but I myself am a good man.
…and they will not take that from me.