Long Thinking cap Poems
Long Thinking cap Poems. Below are the most popular long Thinking cap by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thinking cap poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, it's more than difficult, penning this poem.
It's your birthday,daughter, and with a bad cold, I am stuck at home!
Thank you for your fifty-two loving years of life!
Watching you grow from infant to today,a fantastic mother and wife.
Your are a true American patriot, too.
How proud I was when you were elected to public office!
And still honor God, and the Red, White and the Blue.
You are a true giver in every sense of that word.
When people need anything, you are their very sustenance bird.
You have read every poem I ever wrote.
Not all children do~ what's more, you wrote close to 1,200 appreciation
notes!
Hardly, a top Poet here, I tried so hard at first,but now re-thinking,
I don't belong here much longer,
There is something far bigger~ I thirst.
Life is full of highways and by-ways, I think you know that.
So I hope God lets me know what's next..with a little note at midnight
in my thinking cap.
Enjoy your sparkling candles and most delicious cake!
Because you know the magic of how to give, more than to take.
You are the epitome of walking love with a smile for everyone.
And your son, Eddie,just like you, shines as the noonday son.
Love eternally and gratefully~
Mom and Irene ^~^
March 10, 2020
7pm PST
James Gareth is what you call me Destroyer
No charge but released by a good lawyer
A technicality as my names Gareth James!
That’s Gareth first, now I’ve shot you down in flames!
Oh, and my H.C. Hammers, did you want them back?
They may need a wash as they’ve been half way up my crack.
I know they are your favourite undercover police clothes
The cap that came with it, you want that back I suppose?
That must be the cap you was on about?
You shot me! Zap, Zap zigidy Zap
Is that all you could come up with? Put on your thinking cap!
Back to the drawing board, you must go
Find some words, none of yours offend me so!
I called you hot, I remember, for that I know
I meant the humid heat coming from your big toe!
My words of yesterday may rot like you said
Mother nature and I, we share the same bed ;-)
I’m surprised you know what a Haiku is?
Maybe you should hang in your gloves, and try a kids quiz?
I think you need to chose a brand new name
Your reputation now, has been shot down in a flame
Destroyed my poetry, for you have not
Your name again, remind me, for I have forgot?
(I said it would take me a while PD!!! Good fun to write though!!)
For poets seeing this for the first time, it is fun autherised fun between the poets involved!
No new blogs needed!!!
Into Young Womanhood
this glorious role, sans
helping beget and nurture thine first born
three day shy of Christmas 1996,
fills thy being
with joie de vivre and doth add dorn
more resplendent than any horn
of plenty, and aye can only imagine
more precious than fine spun gold
ah...how this papa doth recall,
when he didst hold
and/or swaddle his edenic bundle of joy
and taking stock,
how she (christened
Eden Liat) didst mold
herself into an autonomous offspring,
rarely receiving a scold
cuz, she most times seemed well mannered
and infrequently told,
and thus said benevolent prized progeny
required no special programming nor app
even when a child, adolescent or,
latte (sipping) teen,
this genetic bounty evinced
laser like thinking
with a custom made thinking cap
although...yes, (there erupted a verbal flap
toward the missus or me,
(the latter and former
markedly differed asper child rearing,
which unseen rift
engendered a figurative gap
mollycoddling, holding, consoling,
et cetera distraught daughter on me lap
which cradling, fas incubating, rocking...,
which oft found
this biomedically cherished baby taking her nap
twas at such poignant bonding moments,
aye DID NOT decry the parent trap,
thus now, special "gifts"
with bittersweet motions bespeak
as tears (viz - ode to joy)
stream down each stubbled cheek
this middle aged grown man,
doth recollect with embarrassment
how as a teen thyself as classic "geek"
whereat mine demeanor extremely meek
AND let NO chanced avail
for one to take a peak
and now...unstoppable
grievousness awoke,
oh no...nothing un speak
or print able did occur only a human weak
ness, when thine voice
un-necessarily raised yet,
blink back moistened
slightly crowsfeet darkened eyes set
tills within this intelligent
well read and let
hard bloke accepts the "circle game of life"
...listening to thee
beautiful, charming, exemplary dulcet
an em ma nant treasured
valuable accouterment tummy life...
YOU BET!
Next week I am college bound
An education is what I seek
Further knowledge to be found
In my quest I will not be meek.
School days for me has long since passed
For out of school I became a mother
On my list education became last
For me the choice was none other.
These are not the days of yesteryear
No having fun and going to school dances
For failure is what I fear
So no time for silly romances.
Time to study hard and long
College professors will take no excuse
For homework being late or how an answer is wrong
It will still be my neck in the noose.
This time around there is no marching band practice
All my spare time devoted to study
I may seem prickly like a cactus
But no time for me to be a buddy.
Time to buckle down and move ahead
No longer with my high school sweetheart
No more dragging feet full of lead
Time to give my life a brand new start.
No more jobs...I desire a career
My heart beats double time
But please do not jeer
School at my age is not a crime.
Bring on English and Math
Sorry my dear dear friends
I am following a new path
Time lost with them... will later make amends.
Time for the thinking cap
No worries of being a fool
Even though there is a huge time gap
Since the days of high school.
Knowledge is power
Education is key
No need to be dour
Law is the field for me.
For John Loving III Education game...Nara Shevanna you are next dear
Unsolicited, revered, and praised
potential literary fete,
(yes a bit hyperbolic),
sans mine posted poems that perambulate
such feedback, whither donning trumped
("FAKE") facade, Oriel sincere
twittering, nonetheless tis great
for an ego striving to maintain
hum bull modesty, yet I hate
to be misperceived as
arrogant, boastful, pretentious,...wait
et cetera, cuz honestly,
these conglomerations create,
themselves, via some inexplicable
literary process which generate
prestidigitation soon after
affixing wired thinking cap,
whereby positioned electrodes exfoliate
on scalp yup thence, off miniature oblate
spheroid (suddenly barren) of golden locks
most soup Priam wantonly depilate
(envision candidate
undergoing biofeedback,
or...captured as bait)
by...yea (of course) alien invaders curious
to experiment, and subject a random pate
with out of this world tests that agitate
most precious anatomical accouterment
'bout size of average poe tate
toe (actually...almost same consistency)
okay...sorry, this chap doth relate
such comparison to
his own cerebral aggregate,
where he starkly realizes
neurological concentrate
takes a permanent vacation
to distant Palatinate
essentially leaving a void, ah...just
perfect for cosmic outliers to allocate
(no...no...no noninvasive, i.e.)
their laser like gizmos scrutinize how
(albeit unwittingly) to ameliorate
writer's block, thus
glad tubby ("Guinea Pig"),
and let abductors amputate
my killed expense trumped ("FAKE")
noggin pulp struggling to articulate,
(hence quite a relief,
you cannot imagine), dear mate
when fiber optic threads of light
essentially painlessly
(rather ticklishly aspirate)
clump of useless gray matter,
yours truly does implicate
as complicit to cause unnecessary
difficulty to associate
with *****sapiens, an extremely
strenuous task, thence joyful to dedicate
(without being headstrong),
an organ minimally missed at any rate
long last free to babble poppycock
oblivious as ambitious readers berate!
Good evening, sir, my name is Alice.
A man of peculiar predilections,
Lewis Carroll, made me, not from malice.
Rather, more so, from his affections.
A pen name for a man, pedagogic,
Charles Dodgson was the given name
of this Oxford professor of sound logic.
To me, he's Lewis Carroll, just the same.
If my creator made another choice,
and threw me tumbling down another hole,
and hearing not a rabbit's nervous voice,
you'd see a wormhole swallow me whole.
To a wormhole of logical conundrums,
let us take a wild, but confusing trip.
Well, are you ready, hear the roll of drums?
Put your thinking cap on. I'll let 'er rip!
Poets are illogical and write of Luna.
Nobody who eats tuna also plays whist.
Illogical people also eat tuna.
My gist? Do poets who play whist, exist?
While you are considering that my friend,
I'll go to my place in that charming book,
where Mister Carroll ensured my life won't end.
If you want to see me, come take a look.
Detective Stone was on a new quest,
Answers to clues he didn't have yet.
With searching high, then searching low,
This is his task he would undergo.
Down one road, then down another,
"Back to the drawing board" he did mutter.
Was it there?, alas, that's a no,
Back tracking footsteps, moving forward was slow.
Going through drawers, looking under door mat
"Why was the cat, staring at me like that?"
He asked some questions that went unanswered,
"If I can't solve this, today's meeting will be cancelled".
He couldn't read his jotted down notes
"Not solving this, I won't get that promote".
Standing there with his thinking cap on,
Trying to find where he's going wrong.
"This is not good, this is beating me,
Time to have a quick cup of tea.
Recharge myself and rethink again
Find that missing link, is how I will gain".
Turning around, something caught his eye
"What was that? what did I just spy?"
Walking back to look in the mirror
There it was, it couldn't of been clearer.
Stone declared; "I've solved this case,
It's been staring you right in the face.
All this time, on top of your head
Your glasses, you used, when you last had read".
"Q" Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Written 28.09.21
Foreclosure and Woods
she stumbles on her roots and cannot see the tree for the forest
a wall of internalized obstacles and overgrown socialized seeds
obstructs her vision as she licks her sorrowed wounds after the fall
Pink Floyd in her mind ‘don't need no education or thought control’
her life has been an assault course and she reaches all those partitions
dividing preventing and not seeing the bigger picture in her underbrush
she remembers the jungle gym when she was too clumsy as a child
the mocking of the fit youngsters decrying her weight and physique
always a detail person she never saw the bigger picture and fell into
her own thick undergrowth and hid from life whenever she could
now she was in the woods of contempt and wolves and her grandma
wished her red riding hood was a thinking cap made out of dreams
‘when I grow up I should swim with dolphins instead maybe there is
a lake must be hidden behind wooden canopies for the path is muddy’
who planted those trees and why are they insurmountably hiding my
own aspirations under the cover of indoctrination and parental control
she weeps and decides she must marry her pain to a kind tree surgeon
'at least I am firmly grounded and dizzying heights are out of my reach'
07th October 2020
Let's all play a guessing game
With some clues but I wont name
The object I am describing
Within the poem I will be hiding
If you listen to these rules
You wont have to be a fool
Take my advice and you will see
This object is figuratively
What everyone really needs
Immersing their brains to feed
On information that will lead
For helping you to succeed
In figuring out what is hid
A thinking cap upon your lid
Is gonna help you figure out
What my poem is all about
First things first let me explain
You might get driven insane
With each line and hint that's written
I don't want anyone quittin'
Before they have a chance to guess
Take your time and do your best
Use the knowledge in your head
Be patient and never dread
That the answer is not right
Finding inner strength you might
Hear the wheels start to turn
Listen to them and you'll learn
Not to answer too quickly
Read this again and you'll see
What I'm describing might be tough
To figure out--you'll need good luck
It can start with I or R
Figure it out-- you'll be a star
I wrote what I thought was a 'poem' some years ago,
but it lacked rhythm, rhyme, and had no smooth flow.
Its imagery was blurry, and it filled my heart with grief
to read the overdose of alliteration, so far beyond belief.
To be quite blunt, it was a freakin, fricken, flippen flop.
I was distraught reading what I'd written and had to stop.
"W T F W T?" I shouted at myself in complete disgust!
Had I just said that aloud? Was I so irked that I'd cussed?
The vibrato pulsing in my voice shook the high bookshelf,
and on the floor fell the pimp... the spying Christmas elf!
"Stay there you lil bugger!" I yelled down at him. "You suck!!"
I could've sworn he made a mental note for Santa. W T F?
Threw him in the trash. With greasy, yucky stuff he went.
I sat at my keyboard, deciding time would be better spent
in writing poetry that would supersede that piece of crap.
I wanted to clear myself of fault and put on my thinking cap.
The first line read, "My muse is older, and I should scold her..."
But I heard a loud gasp and felt a hard punch on my shoulder.
Atop my head she beat me with a broom!, Yes, I was struck
from behind. I saw blind fury in her eyes and yelled, "W T F?"