Long Thickest Poems
Long Thickest Poems. Below are the most popular long Thickest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thickest poems by poem length and keyword.
Hush, Santa's sleeping,
After a long, arduous trip;
Warm and cozy in his bed,
Hugging a bottle of nip
Soaring through enemy air space,
To nations far and near;
A task we'd never sign up for,
Though he does it every year
Through the thickest of storms,
Through the darkest of night;
No rain, wind, or snow,
Will ever delay his flight
Winter's frigid bite,
A desert's blinding sand;
Santa's lowly mission,
Is joy throughout each land
Squeezing down tight chimneys,
Singed by burning logs;
Tripping over power cords,
Attacked by vicious dogs!
Your journey's accomplished,
Now go and sleep in peace;
Another year is waiting,
The madness all repeats!
A Franky and Spud Encounter
The coach, old and rusty, pulled up at the gate
The horses, portending the schoolchildren’s fate
Franky looked over and thought it was great
While Spud bore a look that said he was irate
But school children grow at a different rate
So different size horses stood calm and sedate
Spud’s not the quickest but must get the biggest
The chestnut he fancied was the tallest and thickest
If he could be first to that rust coloured horse
Then he’d lead the way on the pony trek course
He wasn’t a writer, he wasn’t a reader
But he would show everyone he was a leader
The coach door was open but he was far from it
So Spud shouted watch out, I’m going to vomit
The kids stood aside and that made a clear path
So Spud got off first with a victory laugh
Franky called out were supposed to be taught
Horse riding ain’t easy as you might have thought
But Spud found some steps and he mounted his steed
And screamed when his stallion set off at speed
Spud did his best to regain his composure
With tears in his eyes from wind speed exposure
But Franky yelled ‘Rusty Joy’ easy boy, Whoa!
He’d been here before, which Spud didn’t know
And Rusty Joy slowed and returned at a trot
And Spud acted nonchalant... which he was not
So as the kids stood by the horse they had got
Spud hammed it up... are we going or what
So gripping the reins in fear of his life
If I’m overtaken there’s gonna be strife
Franky called out, you should stay with the pack
Spud yelled, I’m the leader, you’d better stay back
To drive his point home, he dug in with his feet
And Rusty Joy went like a demon on heat
Spud just squealed whoa boy with futile insistence
But soon he was only a spec in the distance
Then Rusty Joy saw some lush grass, good for dining
Which proves every cloud comes with a silver lining
As, rapidly, Rusty Joy came to a stop
Spud landed face down in some festering plop
The kids soon caught up and Franky said Yuk
You’re gonna be rich ’cause there’s brass where there’s muck
You never said you were a horseman: that’s humble
What a good overhead, face first, tumble!
Spud sat himself up against Rusty Joy’s legs
I’m not gonna rest until each of you begs
If you don’t plead good, you’re gonna be dead
Then Rusty Joy’s bowels emptied over his head
"Raise the Shields"
(Dr. Spence Linking Pin Sonnet for Child Abuse Prevention Month)
Cries pierce the silence where trust should have grown,
Grown are the shadows where safety's unknown,
Unknown are the wounds that no eye can see,
See how the soul screams while lips whisper "free."
Free them from hands that betray every vow,
Vow to stand firm and protect them somehow,
Somehow light breaks through the thickest despair,
Despair shatters when bold hearts choose to care.
Care isn't passive — it shouts in the street,
Street after street, we march so harm meets defeat,
Defeat the silence, the shame, and the fear,
Fear not the battle — the children are near!
Near beats the heartbeat of futures at stake,
Stake down the shields — defend every child’s sake!
© USA Goodwill Ambassador, professor Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr. (Epulaeryu Master). All Rights Reserved (April 29, 2025).
His eyes of gold;
peer into my soul
with a milk mustache
he licks his fancy,
torn between two worlds
reality is magical,
says him so
needing to be free,
yet longing for a hand;
to scratch his silky locks
strike while you can
his finicky soul;
dances in the wind
dreaming of playing again
his sorcery is made of stone,
annoyed by your attention
yet never wanting to truly be alone
his meow is a roaring fire;
piercing through the thickest of skulls
biscuits he serves by the claw,
treasuring every chance he gets to fall;
Quit to land on all fours,
he sprints so fast;
you could say he's climbing up doors.
The sun shines in perfect darkness, twirling relentlessly ...
as do a trillion trillion other stars, daubed on the blackest black.
Still, life itself seeds and burgeons in the warmth of its precious light,
its particles, the core of an exquisite balance that brings each heart to thrum,
that breaches hard soil in spring, sings the haunting silence of the wilderness,
and bats lashes like butterflies in the wee hours of the dawning.
Some say, a laugh is just a laugh is just a laugh, thus ... and on,
yet, like Great Sol it can plunge any void, dive the deepest sorrows,
wound the twilight, mortal, and pierce the trembling rib of nightmares.
The shimmering joy it dances upon, is the true essence of ALL ...
nothing else so fills a heart or wakens a soul from mourning,
as crucial as breath and sustenance and affection.
Yes, a laugh is a simple thing, a seemingly trivial and mundane expression,
but it is an arrow sent forth from the bow of joyous reality,
a dart of delight, with the capacity to rend the thickest of shadowy veils.
Yet, like the sun again, it is dependent upon its alter-ego -
It is the shadows and dark realms and agonies and regrets
that make joy so exceptionally precious, and so amazingly sweet ...
you can NOT find one without the other, that is unmitigated, absolute.
Feel your pain - your sorrow, embrace the darkness with all you are,
but do so in the mind that until you HAVE, you won't know true JOY ...
or how splendid, cathartic and giggly wonderful ... it can be.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "The Smile At The Foot Of The Ladder" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
I keep my verse in a chest of drawers
each one so very different
Some words for summer, some for winter
and some then most intemperate
I keep the best one’s locked away
for those times when you’re around
To dress each phrase in sunlit fire
with silks and linens found
I fold each poem nice and neat
stacked end to end they lay
To sit and wait, my breath exhaled
until their chosen day
There’s one drawer open every night
in case my dreams conspire
The thickest warmest woolen clads
to wrap the image dire
One day I’ll will this chest of drawers
to my first born oldest son
And hope he wears each line as his
and lets the meanings run
And then to his son, he’ll pass on
when fate calls out his name
The drawers more full than when I left
—this chest without a name
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
We went to the darkest places to explore our fear, the alleys and the cemeteries where the trees were thickest and the light dwindled to nothing. We did not go alone walking on the cusp of bravery but led each other dare upon dare to breech each chasm. We knew the day and the places that lay in the periphery of our courage. But the night brought us fright served on trays of vulnerability, teasing us with magnifications of sound and dimness of vision, feeding and freeing the spark of imagination into flames of fear. Children have within themselves the greater fires of the dragons mouth and seeds of whispered voices with words of darker deeds. What lies within much worse than what is real. For all the evils ever wrought are children born from the same potential mother. The spark of imagination that creates both Gods and Devils. The place where we are awakened to answer the call of our own memorized voices. With borrowed courage we become the green of newer grasses, grown around empty bronze helmets long fallen to the ground.
My father,
who tolerated no fat,
predicted I would do nothing right
or good,
much less healthy,
in my lifetime.
My mother,
absorbing nothing too mean or lean,
felt I could do nothing wrong
now,
so probably later as wellness
swell.
Neither my father,
mother,
nor I
seemed particularly surprised
when I rose and fell
somewhere in-between
these two extremes,
as do we all,
I suppose.
And yet I wonder
about my father's hierarchical value structure,
placing perfection on Earth's highest
biggest
thickest wellness state.
And remain silently awed
by my mother's reverse-hierarchical terms
endearing depths of greatest compassion
for who is deeper
and thereby more robust
with whom.
I suppose this means something
about where sexuality conjoins
sensuality,
About triangular cognitive structures
amid diamond infolding co-relationships,
about 1's
intersecting 0-Zones,
about light
foreshadowing dualdark reminders
of perfection,
about fullness of time
within timeless absence,
eternally co-arising.
Although,
neither Yang's ominous
hierarchical value predictions
nor Yin's generously interdependent
deep learning hopes,
sexual and sensual,
were all that helpful
for adolescent me,
struggling with spectral hungering we.
LEAVE the note upon the limb
of the oldest tree & cry for me
A sense of urgency
& if you sense fire my Love
Oxygen removed from the
hungriest brains are so biblical
Spreading my arms wide
apart to separate the water
from the lands so you can
walk toward me. Desolation
of thoughts mostly by
the lonely and victory held
as history for the thickest
hearts and i'm still here
until the End. Until the End.
Where every point intersects
all points of our Universe.
Matrix mathematics is
clearly closest to our Souls.
And three cheers for tyranny
while the rest of the world
marks their future moment.
:: 12-31-2016 ::
Walls protect you as you move,
I’ve built them too high to scour.
Leading with survival instinct
demands the thickest of skin.
Flattened ears always on guard
lowering my gaze won’t happen.
Open range feels like freedom
without risking vulnerable parts.
Envious of those built to shield
rare are those called sheepdogs.
Wild doesn’t mean being obvious,
a quiet strategy is what it takes.
Labeled by image not by action
lacerates straight through reality.
Feral flourishes inside of silence
leaving chaos to bloom and grow.
On the run when I’m standing still,
what else did you expect from me?
Energy must eventually be expelled,
rather than remain inside to fester.