Long Technique Poems
Long Technique Poems. Below are the most popular long Technique by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Technique poems by poem length and keyword.
Such a fine future, his
for the taking,
as hers aligned,
also
in fine fitting will..
though Tehachapi waits..,
still.
There's no such thing
as a bright future,
without a silhouetted past..
climbing a mountain
or a single stair,
all the same..
without a foot,
moving forward..
keep up, please
for us,
for me..
So much to learn from young women'
stars..
young men too..
using Wim Hof's breathing
technique...
Then telstar
infinately wise
requsted more..
from a thousand uncharted
galaxies, for two that
implored open-eyed.
Please find it in you, streak the skies
in fashioned blaze's touch..
Tehachapi waits,
and so we,
so us.,
so I.
Interrupting a person in a rude way
Makes me irritable much of the day.
I do not yell and scream or even say.
But it makes my heart unhappy and gray.
I would rather be alone, sitting without a word
Than to be interrupted, which is totally absurd.
It shows a lack of manners, empathy or technique.
It’s something that only a boorish person would seek.
“Excuse me!” is ridiculous when they decide to interrupt.
It makes me angry. My bad feelings are ready to pop and erupt.
Pretending to be mannerly when you are in every way rude.
Makes me angry, positive proof that you have the wrong attitude.
A delicious crispy snack
Made of rice and maize
Packed in special airtight bags
It is such a craze.
Cheesy Twistees are attractive
They are tasty and unique
The result of rare technique.
They are healthy, baked not fried
Now a household name;
Many flavours to boast of
Rapid rise to fame.
Cheesy Twistees are attractive
They are tasty and unique
The result of rare technique.
Curly Twistees are so yummy
Nothing beats them, it is true;
Once you try them you’re addicted
You’ll get one for price of two!!
----------------------------------------------
Paul Callus ~ 31st May 2015
Contest: Sing Me a Jingle
Sponsor: Lyric Man
Placed 1st
I'm stealing a weekend with my friend,
I'm taking her to a nice resort;
I hope she doesn't mind my technique -
I'm not shy, but I don't like to court.
With my lady in my arms,
I go quietly into the night;
I know she'll have some fun
stealing away with me...out of sight!
I'll take what I can get,
but I"ll give back a lot more;
my lady will be singing
our weekend love by the shore.
Some call me a "Romeo,"
some call me a mastermind;
I just like to be called "lover"
by the girls I treat so kind.
I know that she'll thank me
when our weekend is done,
but now I must be going...
I've got love on the run!
For "Tell me about it" contest sponsored by Francine Roberts.
IME IMELA YOU DEFEND US NOW
Shed tears not for your loved one
Who has departed leaving -Ime sad
Leaving Ime bitter- Ime you passed
You declined the sacrifice MuKiama
Ime so young yet now you have to
Use the forbidden military technique
Those in the know call it ngungi...
Ime you wield it within you now....
Mighty lion you are
Crushing your enemy
Immortalized abilities
Ime rite is passage
Time illusion -..
Path eternal........
Abuja enters the Hilton hotel
A minor scuffle- Ime is outside
Birds of omen are gathering
Ime lightening and thunder
....Floods are coming.............
Innocent grace
the blameless
Ime kataa
Ime the covenant
A defender wields the Katana
only to the peoples defense
your feelings of loss should
never shadow your obligation
to duty Ime Imela - Ekurua
Ime Rite is passage... and
Wayhi is the name of your son
Ime it now your duty to defend
And defender i have to enter...
Kings counsel
Selah
Code 254
0557 hrs
lewis k nyaga
thoome wairegi
a tribute to IME
Young buja wrote
Charlie Norton has expanded
Ever since his work was seen
And favourably commended
By an Equerry to the Queen
He’s added Panto Dames instruction
With an optional modular course
For white faced clown technique
And lead end Panto Horse
This coupled with existing stuff
Has pushed his venture to the fore
And Charlie’s mind is working
On this and so much more
He’s been invited to the Palace
Where he had a spot of lunch
With Charlie Windsor and Camilla
And others of the royal bunch
The Prince’s trust approves
Of Charlie and his scheme
And opened him an off shoot
In deepest trendy Cheam
And it is rumoured seriously
That the Queen’s old man
Wants to learn to tap dance
In pumps and Coat of Astrakhan
Life is so exciting at Charlie’s
School of Armoured Acting Parts
And Charlie is considered
To be a man of many arts
It says By Appointment
Over the front door
Can any theatre school
Realty want for more
But not resting on his laurels
Charlie has a further plan
In providing correct training for
Portrayal of The Invisible Man
The Charlie Norton School;
Of Modern Theatrical Art
Can give your career
A high powered start
[ Form - Rap ]
( "Love's Survival" is a paucity. The proper dress is ice-skates and blind-folds. - © 1998 - R.W. )
what to do about Plato of late
the Greeks convinced
and about Pluto
lost planet status
he-haw atmospherics since
lost again when earth's bit brawl is done
say fie to sun and moon
who glaze your suspect skin
born of light
some bummed else
styles back up to air tumbles
traffic stumbles
write poetry
the kind
obscure agrees
always something sticks
as world goes why
unmasked
erasing blue
long after head-lamps cool
corners tangled fools
who think they may get rich
reform in morning phenomes
songs of lovely aches
all for your sake
maybe me too
The sorry state of stars
they dont know where they are
the mice of earth
haggle sparkle verse
the awful beauty breaks
to spell your name
music intimates
the crippled rain
or just wear a funny hat
identity looms
found exactly where
you thought she'd gather
how she longs
each winged gesture
plain or complete
to be anywhere
anyone else
assay
any New York street
a poem
or Heaven's Gate
of ladder games
___________________
Notes:
1. Symbolic Poetry: A regurgitated commons.
2. Intentional obscurities wont thrill nirvana and bus fares remain alleged.
( cutting-edge technique for placing tongue in cheek ).
( a tooth-full... wouldn't you say? )
Showing a whim, a fancy or grin
are typical expressions of children,
adults deviate from pragmatism
and pay more attention to realism...
while eagerness and enthusiasm
take us further than anything imagined,
or even something previously envisioned!
Transform your impossibility into something concrete,
nothing sounds more jovial than bubbling streams,
than the vivid colors of striking and serene sunsets;
only watercolorists make their scenes come alive on canvas
and explore stroke by stroke their persuasive imagism.
Anything that's bright-colored and vibrant dispels schism,
and on unexpected occasions, they improve their technique!
When portraits and landscapes appear to us too realistic,
it's only seen through the painters' eyes as intrinsic:
to all humans, they seem a showcase of indisputable talent,
not realizing that what they're expressing becomes their insight!
you set me free
a very hard thing to do
i guess you crave a challenge
i guess i crave your style
you set me free
a mighty project to embellish on
i guess you were game for it
i guess i was game for what you were wearing while gaming
you set me free
not the easiest blueprint to tackle
i guess you had me set on your sight
i guess i admired the fact that you welcomed me in your sight
you set me free
the type of dive with a very high degree of difficulty
i guess you were feeling athletic and sure of yourself
i guess i was privy to be your number one fan after viewing your technique
you set me free
something made only for the most open minded at heart
i guess your mind had a particular appreciation for the rare and the unique
i guess my mind needed a natural detour sign that would tag me directly in the head if i even hinted at going even slightly off the grid
you set me free
an action that can only be accomplished by pulling many a highly graded string
you never stopped with the cutting
i never stopped grabbing your cutting apparatus
we always ended up in a compromising position
we permanently concluded....by compromising....
i love you....thank you for setting me free....
The Psychedelic Nest
I had settled into that nest like a lonely bird-man on a branch,
I sat upon the wet straw trembling in the cold rain that soaked me,
the mother-bird went about her business flying here and there through the air,
the male ignored me striking with his sharp beak upon my bare nape.
Under the enormous wing of soft feathers I sheltered next to the hot eggs,
those crazy little ones laughed in their white and fragile shells toward the light,
I read Mister Nietzsche contemplating the round planet in the distance,
the food from my suitcase was beside my notes about the technique of non-action.
I used them as napkins my thoughts written on old worn papers,
from time to time the young lady passed by stepping over the tall green grasses,
with her shiny white boots cutting the thin delicate blades of grass,
I would rise on tiptoe reciting showing my slender poet's profile.
The mother-bird raised her beak toward the sky clattering in the clear limpid air,
the young lady made a vague undefined gesture then left toward her white house,
toward home across those grasses that grew tall on the green plains,
once the strange hunter came nodding his head staring straight at the nest.
He looked toward our hidden nest the mother-bird covered me with her wing,
under her dense wing in the eggs those little ones fell silent thrilled by his presence,
I was the bird-man who sat motionless in the nest above the ground,
with my suitcase full of written thoughts and napkins dirty with old philosophy.
I trembled damp in the cold rain under the wing of thick and warm feathers,
I contemplated the distant planet reading Nietzsche with the book in my trembling hand,
the young lady left coming always with white boots over the tall green grasses,
and the strange hunter nodded his head staring straight at our tree.
That nest was my temporary home the tree was my tall shelter up high,
those little ones laughed softly in their white and warm eggs toward the seen infinite,
I was the bird-man who sat motionless on the wet and cold straw,
with my suitcase full of the written technique of non-action that taught me stillness.