Long Tapped Poems
Long Tapped Poems. Below are the most popular long Tapped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tapped poems by poem length and keyword.
My brain is totally tapped
Something in me finally snapped
My blood pressures on the rise
Flames are shooting from my eyes
Getting feverish and hot
Tightness is about to start
In my hands as fists are closing
Signs of anger surely showing
Veins in my head fastly thumping
Stress is furiously pumping
Through every inch and every space
Redness on my cheeks and face
Tremors causing me to shake
Like a dangerous earthquake
That will do a lot of damage
I can not control or manage
These emotions so watch out
Smoke is coming from my "snout"
I'm a bull about to charge
Painful sharp horns big and large
So stay clear out of my path
At full force I will attack
Everyone who's been a jerk
In my life causing the hurt
Making me go this insane
Revenge is such a deadly game
i make time for the one i love
i have locks on all clocks, watches, and phones
i discover things above my love that i never ever knew
i become even more of a changed man out of the clear and present blue
i was once a looker in one direction
i was once a self made victim of the normality of the rusty routine
i then became older and started observing, listening, and getting it
i started with flowers and kisses and upgraded to a few poems and more expressions of appreciation
i then realized that decadence tapped me on the shoulder and gifted me reciprocity
i never knew notice until i Noticed Her
i create time for the one i love
i pray that she sees even more each day that i am indeed a better man
Zinnia Jazz called at the daybreak of Spring
The bees buzzed "how on earth does your garden grow?"
And the fresh season tapped in time with a zing
Bearing trowels and soil, the green fingered sing
With love and Godspeed where the sun is aglow
Zinnia Jazz called at the daybreak of Spring
Butterflies fluttered a tune with a soft swing
Circling to watch seedlings, raise their bows below
And the fresh season tapped in time with a zing
I ponder the music this blessing may bring
Nurturing my floral scores to sprout and grow
Zinnia Jazz called at the daybreak of Spring
To yield classic creations - I know one thing
It’s good to have a skilled gardener in tow
And the fresh season tapped in time with a zing
Summer opened the performance with a fling
Where arrays of rich colours and great heights flow
Zinnia Jazz called at the daybreak of Spring
And the fresh season tapped in time with a zing
In retro-wave glow, in twilight haze,
He rewinds the reel, lets static blaze.
Her voice returns like a phantom hymn,
Crooning of freedom, of shedding old skin.
Plaid jackets, cracked curbs, neon sighs—
They skated hard beneath pixel skies.
She was chaos, kohl-lined and cruel,
Spray-can dreams, a punked-out jewel.
Every scar a track, every slight a song,
She played it loud, dared the world to be wrong.
He watched her whirl like a comet unbound,
A canary in glass, too wild to be found.
And when she tapped his shoulder, said “Hello,”
The headphones split their worlds in stereo.
Her smile—an echo, her tape—divine,
Two rebels synced in magnetic time.
So let the boombox wail,
Let the vinyl crack and fail.
They’re dancing through the skips and hiss,
In every note, a stolen kiss.
No regrets, just sonic ghosts—
They haunt the chords they loved the most.
They dreamed of Saturn, of Parisian lagoons,
Of slaying monsters beneath twin moons.
She bled into ribbon, he into rhyme,
Together they bent the beat of time.
Now he’s grown, with plans and weight,
But presses play to recalibrate.
Does she linger in the hiss and hum?
A manifesto wrapped in drum?
Her voice still burns, her rhythm flies—
A spark beneath suburban skies.
So let the boombox wail,
Let the needle crack and flail.
They’re dancing through the skips and hiss,
In every note, a phantom kiss.
No regrets, just sonic ghosts—
They haunt the chords they loved the most.
She’s the flame in his cassette dream,
He’s the echo in her rebel scream.
Skateboards, static, cinnamon lips—
A love that lives in tape-deck skips.
So blast away the loneliness,
Let punk anthems cleanse the mess.
Like canaries in a coal mine song,
They warned the world, and still belong.
Intoxicated by the joy of peace,
His mood was lifted to the fragrant cloud.
Half running, he returned to the home street.
His burdened feet could barely touch the ground.
At last he stopped before a housing block.
Imbued with moss, it looked so aged and dim.
No light was seen – the time was two o’clock,
Yet he hoped, someone was expecting him.
A sense of joy was surging up inside
As soon he would rejoin his darling one,
Of whom he’d thought throughout the placid nights
And brutal days, amidst the choir of guns.
For many bloody and horrendous years,
He had been tortured in a ceaseless burn
Recalling when she’d said to him in tears:
“I promise I will wait for your return.”
And now his dream would soon become fulfilled -
A medal for his courage in attack,
For all the blood and sweat that had been spilled,
For someone who had come to hell and back.
His heartbeat was like thunder in the sky
As he approached and gently tapped the door.
He called her name but there was no reply
As if she hadn’t lived there anymore.
He felt like an eternity had passed
Before, eventually, there was a noise.
He could hear somebody was coming fast,
Awakened by his unexpected voice.
When she appeared, he felt a great delight
Surpassing all the earthly joys combined.
But such a dream come true was killed outright
When he perceived another man behind.
They stood there for a while without a word,
As if the story had revealed itself.
His heart was broken, and his eyes were blurred.
He turned around with burdened feet like hell.
So much for all the hopes he’d clung on to!
So much for all the vows that had been said!
He didn’t know if this was false or true.
His sanity was absolutely dead.
He staggered aimlessly along the street
And sometimes uttered a hysterical scream.
From then on, he had nowhere to retreat.
There was no longer any hope or dream.
So this was what the time of peace would be!
His vessel had to take another course.
The glorious, brilliant rays of victory
Had paid him with an even greater loss.
Moments are always twosome aisle
A pearl of tear and a curl of smile
He rode on the former
She tapped the latter
The two became a river for a while
And set out many a wonderful mile
Moments are mostly very fragile
Testifies the ancient Blue Nile
Warmth at the pillow
Breaks up in a billow
What remains is reduced to guile
Books sans stories in growing pile
Moments are vibrant mostly awhile
When we stay not filled with bile
There in a dancing spree
Under the white oak tree
Surrounded by streams you and I
Writing moon in a pitch-dark sky
You are beautiful in the duality moments
Thorns and flowers in various quotients
_____________________________________
The blonde went down
with not must resistance
shunning off a stressful afternoon
the scene played of society, high
as I peered at all the pretense
and pretend of an I want to be
better than you and me
old men with young jewelry
cradling arms and new cufflinks
with crosses that will never be blessed
but undressed with tightly shut eyes
Cubans smoked, killing air
drifting from an aging beat
chords crafted with ease
toes tapped on the edge of my seat
the moon peeks and says goodnight
the chair nods off unaccompanied
the grifters scrounge for a dollar
I stand up, it's time to go eat
#You_need_not!
Sometimes you need not to shout to be heard
let the work of your hands make all the right noises,
sometimes you need not to master a bible to be a peace maker but to just have a good heart
You need not to own a gun to be muderer
but just to be at a wrong place at a wrong time,
with wrong emotions,
sometimes you need not eyes to see but your conscious to direct you,
you need not wealth to make all the differences but just your time and a listening ear
You need not a 2nd person to make you happy but just to acknowledge the person you are,
you need not to be tapped in the back to know that you are the best
but just be appreciative of your capabilities
You need not
#Poetic_Ink
Rumple Stein tapped his long,
sharp fingernails against the
bedroom wardrobe, making a
sound like dry bones clicking.
The children shivered as he
began his next ghoulish tale.
"Deep inside the dark closet,
a dusty, ancient mummy is
waking from its deep sleep,"
Rumple Stein hissed,
chuckling darkly.
"Its body is wrapped tightly in
yellowed, decaying bandages
that smell like ancient tombs.
Its face is hidden behind
grey, moldy cloths, leaving
only two hollow eyes glowing
in the dark.
When the house goes
completely quiet, its stiff, dry
fingers begin to twitch and
scratch.
It pushes the heavy wardrobe
door open with a slow,
agonizing creak.
The mummy stumbles across
your bedroom rug, dragging
its heavy, shuffling feet.
It is looking for the warm
bedrooms of children who
are still whispering and awake.
It leaves the trails of old,
crumbling dust and bits of
rotten cloth upon your
floorboards.
If you listen closely, you can
hear its dry wraps scraping
right now, a soft, sliding hiss.
It breathes with a hollow,
rattling gasp that sounds like
dry sand shifting in a box.
"Give me your warmth," the
mummy mumbles through its
ancient, crumbling mask.
If you do not close your noisy
eyes, it will reach into your cozy
bed.
It hands are freezing cold,
hardened by thousands of
years spent under the heavy
stone dirt.
It will unravel a long, dusty
strip of its rotten bandages to
tie around your ankles.
Then, it will drag you slowly
backward into the dark,
pitch- black wardrobe.
It will wrap you from head to
tor until you are a silent,
frozen mummy.
You will be trapped the
dark closet forever, unable to
move or make a single sound.
The dark shadows will
swallow you up, and you will
become part of the dusty
tomb.
So blow out your flickering
candle and bury your head
deep beneath the heavy
pillows.
Sleep now, little pharaohs,
before the mummy drags
you into the dark.
just moments ago, i went online and tapped Google
if some miraculous spell
could be drawn out of thin air
cause (this house husband
feels a bit embarrassed to divulge),
but at present,
the will to live aye cannot bear
cuz after an ample lather of soap and shampoo,
ah pronounced heady effect became immediately clear
where times gone by
(even as late as early January
tooth how sand and eighteen),
the strands clumped, glommed, and matted together
as sieve ma noggin got sat upon by a deer
no matter after shaking head banging fashion
(imagine rock stars of yore
whipping their wild locks) from ear to e'er
butta noah such dizzy inducing antics
resulted in absolutely no fluffiness,
hence my worse fear
(irrational?) yes, an obsession i.e.
thy hirsute outgrowth fixation dated back
tummy boyhood when cranky gear
and defective cogs somehow impacted
preoccupation concerning
every singular follicle fostering hair
strand, but during prepubescence,
this now grown man took a fancy
to this, that, or the other lad,
who sported a style envied yours truly,
hie wished said thatch tubby upon mine
ma lil oblate spheroid,
and pleaded (weathered and in vane)
with fate to make magically ap pear
this, tis minuscule wiggle room
to muster support from rear
guard, hook offer me wiggle room
asthma body electric goes on a manic tear
precious seconds ticking closer
to the final count down where
this mwm might remain bed ridden
for an entire year.