Long Totters Poems
Long Totters Poems. Below are the most popular long Totters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Totters poems by poem length and keyword.
Draped in the darkness of the night
In a weather so dull and blight
Sad thoughts like a deadly shooter
Come out to bombard her outright
Shaking off their fitful slumber
They rise from their inert stupor
From the reservoir deep, spill out
As through newly opened shutter
They come from an unknown hideout
As all trace of life to wipe out
Unable to block the current
She totters in a drunken bout
They spill forth in mighty torrent,
With a beastly force violent
Like an angry mob on long wait,
Infringing all rules, nonchalant
Caught in the vortex of that spate
Her body began to gyrate
She lost all her sense of balance
Her sad fate, no one could abate
May.13. 2022
~Placed First~
Rubaiyat Poetry Contest
8 syllables per line
Rhyme scheme- aaba-bbcb-ccdc-dded-eefe.
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
When I was a kid, the family reunion was the highlight of the year.
Aunts, uncles and dozens of cousins came from far and near,
To meet at Memorial Park to eat, brag and enjoy the fellowship.
I was admonished by Mom to behave and not voice any sassy lip!
The ladies vied with each other to provide jello, cakes and pies,
Pertater salad, baked beans, termaters and heaps of chicken thighs,
Ham, peas and carrots, cole slaw and gallons of lemonade,
And home-made ice cream, the speciality of Aunt Clara, the old maid!
The patriarch of the clan was usually asked to bless the food.
Stomachs growled, flies swarmed, the old geezer wouldn't conclude,
Until his spouse of many years poked him saying, "That's enough!"
Then, all took a seat and elbows flew as they began to stuff!
After the meal was over, old folks would reminisce and muse.
Others found a shady spot to curl up and take a snooze.
Ne'er-do-well Uncle Wilbur would sneak a forbidden nip of booze,
While snobbish Cousin Sarah boasted of her Caribbean cruise!
The kids frolicked on the teeter-totters, swings and slides.
The older ones grabbed bats and balls and chose up sides.
Now I'm the patriarch and am usually called upon to pray,
But I make it snappy so we can get on with fellowship and play!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Entry for Craig Cornish's "The Park" Contest
"FAKE" assertions unstoppably
bandied with beef,
(sans doughty deeds done dirt cheap)
courtesy of commander in chief
trumpeted as a way to backout,
embarrassment analogous to the thief
of Baghdad, when culpable faux pas
woe philly pops thought balloon of mine
reckons with transparent "good grief"
within mind of yours truly,
who finds himself dumbstruck
aghast, and shaking noggin with disbelief
how people can be so gullible
who would just as lief
eat a pin cushion to deliver strep throat relief.
First amendment teeter totters on brink
of dissolution mainly by the rat fink,
whose defamation against journalists
risking life and limb, yet not shrink
king enlightening liberal minded, who think
similar to myself, imposter
hood drums utter rubbish
while feeling teed off puttering
along Mar a Lago,
or another owned golf link
resorting to silence protesters
whisked off to the klink.
Distortions, (nee outright
blatant lies) saturate
social media platforms,
which followers didst rate
as their numero uno slate
supposedly reliable sources
harkening back to papa retaliate
Tory Bush prez administration,
regarding patrilineal shogunate
where Iraq summarily
targeted for crashing Kuwait
violating, jeopardizing, and
compromising vital oil, literate
folks suspected, that critical
lubricant mandatory to resonate
greasing western civilization
particularly self anointed great
super power USA, hence
alarmists didst exaggerate,
whose military intelligence
industrial leaders got irate
contracting complex projecting
global economy would vacillate
and, perhaps take Kamikaze nosedive
hence procrastination could not wait
demanding based on sketchy accusation
Saddam Hussein, and his ilk ultimate
harbored weapons of mass destruction
despite lack of distilled proof,
would severely truncate
nary a trace sniffed out,
nonetheless damn the torpedoes blitzed
in an effort to triangulate
miscreant running amuck
eventually met demise
with Bush Junior delivering
permanently placating tete a tete,
no matter dispensing top notch
fighting soldiers, whose strong
lifeless bloodied bodies remain prostate.
Everything's foretold; yet free will's given
We choose our futures; they do not choose us
The Greeks thought the world to be Fate-driven
Not so! Every man drives Destiny's bus
God gives us the tools with which to serve Him
Eyes to see... Ears to hear... A tongue to talk
We can choose to use them--- or abuse them
Whether or not in His Ways we will walk
The world of Nature holds no such choices
Tree limbs stretch skyward; flowers open wide
God gave humankind opinions, voices
Blank faces, where bitter resentments hide
Once, cast I my bread upon Life's waters
~ My ship has come in; the verdict totters
Picture # 3 - "Your Own Title"
'Choices' Poetry Contest'
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
May 15, 2019
What will this day bring - its gifts
of lingering sunshine & flower storms,
the thundering of xanthous hues,
bright beams of crimson and green…
What will this day bring - a knock
or a ring, my feet go, the wheel teeters
and totters, the pedals pressed
for nearly an hour. A welcomed guest
of my father. His tongue will not sputter,
but will speak of his thoughts, memories
and belong to me for a lick of time. I
lean into his smile, his voice, his melodious
sadness at times, lessened by the years.
Who can cry anymore, only resign to loss.
He always compliments on the scent
of the familial cooking even before
it reaches his nose - a habit I suppose.
I learn, only from subtleness of his likes,
for Dad is not given to complaints. He
will not hide his ills but neither does he spill
all his aches and pains out like a feeble man
for he is of strong stock, not given to the sport
that some old people tote. He climbs the stairs
each day - his computer, clarinet, and boxes
of stuff are there - my husband thinks his things
must catch air, be sorted, thrown out, before
they become our load to carry. My spouse thought
our kids stuff should have been taken when they left -
not realizing, life doesn’t work that way. There is
staying power in life and death, wheeling &
dealing in its time, not ours. Settle in, stay
on course, make the most of the Summer weather.
Oh the gifts a day brings - knocks & rings,
a traffic storm, pasta shopping, saucy &
cheesy bubbling, dusting and vacuuming. I
live for such productive lingerings - blessings.
6/27/2023
Loaded with Loathing
The row was canine inspired.
He had a dog he treasured; enriched by its love.
She felt cold jealousy; starved of misplaced affection.
She wanted it gone; he wouldn’t hear of it.
One evening he returned home,
his beloved Henri had mysteriously died.
He blamed her; she faulted him
saying his heart wagged like the dog’s tail!
He could never forgive;
she would never show understanding!!
They now station their days, opposite each other.
He, in his old leathered, tethered seat;
she, in a rather mundane, cane chair.
He often appears to be sleeping
but the occasional crocodile slit
in his eyelids belies this;
she knits, he knows nothing escapes her,
not even the tightest, slightest twitch!
42 years together, a nettlesome relationship turned to hate,
42 years together, neither is willing to let the other win.
So they sit there hiding in plain sight.
He, lounging as if possibly dead
but probably breathing through his shoes;
she sits there imitating a ventriloquist’s dummy
minus voice and…. inserted hand.
He occasionally serves up a small, sliced smirk
which he sneeringly warms himself on;
she washes it all down with a cold contempt.
Her eyes are guns loaded with………
loathing and disdain.
In contrast…………
two love struck pigeons
now perch on the couple’s window sill.
The streamlined female pigeon
dreams of her latest Dove purchase;
the male is formulating his latest hai-coo poem.
They both have a bird’s eye view of the situation
and conclude that the couple's relationship
has more than lost its....smile;
melancholy is both master and mistress!
He occasionally stutters across the room,
slamming the door like an exclamation mark!
Eventually he totters and teeters back,
apparently opening the door like a question mark?
He has gone out to comb his hair or whatever,
a quick change of disguise, anything to annoy!
They are both, presently, in the final straight;
a race where the winner will only come ... second.
They are settled in, conditioned, waiting to see
just which one of them will falter….and flatline first!
Ian Souter
Matthew 6:22
22The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. 23But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!
if therefore your third eye be open your whole body is light
pure energy gathered from the cosmos is an inherited human right
but because of the cosmic battle we were disconnected from the father
and the balance of humanity is on a scale that teeters totters
if the bread of life is the word of God then show me how to eat
and if bread is all we have then how can we enjoy the meat?
i know this sounds so fascinating and so very hard to accept
but our imaginations and our thoughts are often left to neglect
if men would only love he would see creation at its best
but the mind is swayed to imprison love in the cavity of his chest
guilt and fear is the venom concocted by other beings
transferred to the psyche by mans collective feelings
if we can listen carefully we can hear our inner cries
the cataclysmic events that induced the turning of the tides
Lumeria and Atlantis was where human thought was key
as the balance between their forces brought the world to its knees
both civilizations were doomed from the beginning to meet their fates
as the portals of each dimension became a closing gate
each gate was locked for a reason, specifically we do not know
but only in our collective consciousness can a picture start to show
if thoughts are really physical as scientist do suggest
then how can we not believe if we never put our thoughts to the test?
we live in a multidimensional universe that we have little access to
but the key to unlocking true potential starts with loving you
I’m tired of the teeter-totter polemics
that pass for profundity.
I’m tired of the see-saw tug of war,
the streaming regurgitation on every channel.
Yes, I’m weary of the predictable posturing,
the vapid, barren landscapes of the oligarchy.
I am groggy in the dull fog of capitalist pretense,
the plutocratic hubris sold by carnival barkers.
I am worn down by the endless banal chatter,
the mindless daily clutter flooding all our
electronic screens, all our senses.
Scientists in a million years will
try to decipher our primitive etchings.
Our digital scribble will remain.
Will they recognize our AI ventriloquism?
Will they distinguish us from chimpanzees?
I don’t have answers in my advancing years.
I’ll find cozy books and trees instead,
while we still have them.
I
The depth of steep, hellish ascent
darkness abides, the peak obscene.
cliffhanger of sweat, the creature bent
attempting to climb, make a dent.
No wind brushes away the hair in her eyes.
She recalls nothing of birdsong or sunrise.
A hunchback of time, minutes pass slowly.
Diamonds glitter, the sun beats boldly.
Like a desert walk the road is parched.
With a sting of bumblebees she marched.
II
Delightful descent of diamondiferous slide.
Easy-peasy pleasant, air-conditioned ride.
Beautiful petals of friends, flutter of wings,
a moon full of stars, the universe sings.
Bare feet, toes polished bright pinks and reds.
Canopied four-posters, wide open beds.
Trees with jade and ruby candies, sweet
to the tongue, as she tells of her wild treat
life, retreat with angel feathers, falling
for her many handsome men, wailing
on her silken sheets as she says so long
to the coddlesome place she knows she belongs.
III
Suddenly the slide falls out, the flames shoot up.
She drinks the potent blood from her chalice cup.
As her fear and anger explode, the fire grows hotter.
The ground like a hurricane ship, teeter-totters. Sinks.
IV
Her twin stands tall, as a snowy white sail;
blue skies, the eyes of God, she hails.
All torment wiped from her brow, she’s strong
She climbed upwards by the narrow way.
V
Don’t take the easy ride. It’s a bottomless pit.
Fly to heights of eagles wings - the depth of eternal lift.
3/13/2021
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!