Long Transpired Poems
Long Transpired Poems. Below are the most popular long Transpired by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transpired poems by poem length and keyword.
He travelled his eyes
through
the depth of the
atmosphere
And saw you standing:
Posing or scotting-you
were standing.
He sprayed his glottis
Products:
'I love something about
you' he'd said.
Bewitched by his words
you succumbed:
IT'S A MISTAKE.
He came around your
abode,
In love foggeries you two
arode.
He bid a plot of land out of
the acres of love in you:
You gave in to him:
IT WAS A MISTAKE.
He asked you to visit his
home,
He prepared lamb steaks
and baccaroni laced with
sweet potatoes.
You went to his home:
IT WAS A MISTAKE.
You finished eating,he bade
you
To lay on his foams.
You are reluctant but gave
in:
IT WAS A MISTAKE.
He caressed your depth,
Got you drown-lips in lips.
Discharge his fury in your
court:
IT WAS A MISTAKE.
What transpired led to a
contour,
'I'm pregnant for you',you
told him.
He said he's not ready to be
a father.
He gave you some pills,
You took the pills and slept:
IT WAS A MISTAKE.
You woke up without
intestines,
Your stomach hummed and
cursed the act.
Your breath fled from you:
DEATH TOO,MIS-TAKE.
On Sunday the Eighth of October 1871 shortly after nine o'clock at night,
The Great Chicago Fire began causing panicked folks to flee in fright!
'Twas alleged that Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked a lantern to start the conflagration.
She and her hapless cow were "udderly" condemned by an outraged nation!
There was prejudice against the Irish and the O'Leary's were to blame,
For owning a cow, owning a barn and the lantern that ignited the flame!
But they were hardworking immigrants who'd saved $500 to buy the place,
To make a home for their family and the American dream embrace.
When the fire began a warning rang out from the courthouse bell,
But at 2:05 AM the massive bell crashed down as it tolled its final knell!
Since the entire town was constructed of wood, folks were asking for trouble,
And as a result old Chicago town was left in a smoldering heap o' rubble!
From the beginning of the fire everything that could go wrong went wrong!
Horses pulling fire engines ran helter-skelter scared by clanging bell and gong!
The fire left 100,000 citizens homeless and about 300 people perished,
Along with their cats and dogs and most everything else they cherished!
Well, it transpired that Mrs. O'Leary and her cow received a bum rap!
That dear little lady was in her bed when the fire began enjoying a nap!
Strangely, her barn and two cottages were spared in the Great Chicago Fire!
They were finally demolished in 1956 should anyone happen to inquire!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
T his the mid-seventies, California,
O akland Airport Hilton Inn, town aura,
M idst Oakland Stadium Complex, airport.
H ospitality Senior Special sort.
A t nineteen, I worked as a front desk staff,
N ear my location was the bell desk half,
K ept trim, per red suit, white shirt, a red tie,
S taff, gender-neutral, a naval suit, tie,
T he shirts meant an opt--mines stayed pink or white.
H e completed Skyline High, uphill site,
E nrolled some Hayward college, Chabot's there.
B ellhop often nights and days rather ne'er.
E vanescent guy while he graces us,
L ikable persona, a combined plus.
L ife of the party sort-of-guy on work,
H otel perceived for stars, plus times, some jerk.
O pie--Ron Howard, filmed roughly one month,
P roffered Hollywood, that bellhop, his front.
L ifetime scores, Splash plus, Apollo 13,
I n collaboration, Tom transpired keen.
F rom Cher on Sidney Portier, Jackson Five,
E verly, Righteous Brothers, Supremes, live!
Date: 08/17/2019
A burg in a vale,
Amassed stones and rocks as bulwark,
Assembled stones and rocks as a stack,
Stones and rocks stopping the waters from losing the track.
Waters thrusting behind the concrete rock,
Forcing the stones and rocks to slack.
A slit on a rock transpired,showing a way to break,
Waters dripping through the rock with a crack,
Droplets leaked out of the chink with a knack,
Turning the slit to rift and the rock to wreck,
Moving winds aided the waters to go out of the rack.
Slowly and steadily
Droplets leaped into Water streak,
And the Water streak into a creek with hack,
Waters flowed with fiery speed breaching the barriers with a hefty thwack ,
Stones and rocks were crushed with a great knock,
People shook out of fear when the waters spurted with whack,
And the burg in a vale was flooded and destroyed in vain without any speck,
Like the words in rage from the clefts of lips which are bicker and stark.
I need a vacation
from vacation unbreaks.
Bad Friday
falls seven days after spring break begins,
Which is a break for some kids
and teachers without kids,
but not for grandpa parent me,
and my sociopathic daughter,
who needs the structure of small
specialized classrooms
to get through her most resilient day.
It feels healing to step outside
into softer breezy voices
green with overly optimistic promise
that Everythin gonna be aright.
Rain threatens
yet wide patches of sky blue
promise western horizon hope,
for now
Faith that tomorrow,
which feels unforgivingly far from Now,
yet stuck in Here,
I will wake to compassionate forgetfulness,
lack of memory
of nearly all black bleak Fridays
transpired,
de-valued by my owned
and negligently managed
lack of parental investment
in larger self/other care;
that old ego/eco-balancing
narrow-way game.
Tomorrow,
just another Saturday/Sunday weekend,
between BadFriday wounds
and rainy Monday
school day blues
and jazz dance in the garden
with a Great Turning shovel.
There once was a gnome named Jerome
Who made a herb garden his home.
One day as he frolicked,
He slipped and fell on some garlic
And was instantly killed when a clove cleft his dome.
The sad news of Jerome spread as far north as Nome,
And there was weeping and wailing from gnomes 'cross the foam.
When I learned what transpired,
Re the way he expired,
It inspired me to proffer this "po'm" for Jerome:
Here lies our dear comrade Jerome
'neath his garden's herbivorous loam.
If he'd played "farmer in the dill",
He'd be up here with us still
'stead of filling a 3 x 6 hole, his new home.
Entered in Jay Narain's Humorous Poems Contest
July 5, 2023
!2th Place
I once met a man with ears so large
That “Dumbo the Elephant” had less by far.
Protruding outward from his head to the sky
Way up to the clouds where the birds did fly
Landing upon his outstretched sails
Building their nests inside his furls.
And so he lived with birds too many
Hanging ‘round his ears a plenty
With people looking on chagrined
Wondering what on earth transpired with him
To make his sweet sound catchers grow
Larger than Jacks Bean Stock
Wouldn’t you know?
And so he lived his life with nests
Inside his lobes and gave his best
To all those birds and people too
Laughing and joking ‘til they turned blue.
No less than the air he often shared
With those who came to see
This man with the pair of unflappable flappers
Was no less than you and me.
I walk briskly on the pathway of truth
Searching desperately for my youth
I want to know how I got here
For some people act as if they don’t care
The light from the sun burns deeply in the
Ground and the distance truth that I see
is wrapped up in an age old mystery.
Something peculiar happened in the town
more than three decade before I came around
honey was sold into paradise and cornmeal
and flour were mixed up with rice
bulla cake was sold for a dime and a
family of five could survive off a pound of rice
the kitchen table was large and a family of three
could live abroad and survive off ten dollars a week.
But now the color of the sky is changing
the youths are aging and destiny is lingering
behind the door and the truth is not yet told
what happen to the little girl that was left behind
I want to know if she is still alive, is she in Canada
Or they bury her in the woods, and what have they
Done with the old woman and the old man? Have they
Gone off to Calvary or have they migrated into history, and who are these people around me are they my real family? From whence did they come? They look quite strange and out of place but I hope that when the truth is reveled my spirit will find some relief
I am traveling on the road of truth and I am getting
Ready to reclaim my youth, it was taken away from me to soon
And I find myself wandering around looking for that one evidence that will unravel the truth of what took place
At that vulnerable moment of my youth and the people
that knew me then will tell the tales of what transpired when
the old man booked his ticket to heaven and what became of the
dream that made history.
The story of my youth is the living truth
and the passage of time will lay the foundation
that is mine and the pain that we feel will be
no more when the truth is revealed; my youth
is traveling with me; it’s a part of history.
When I was a mere lad, my Dad always cut my hair,
But as I reached my teens and became much more debonair,
To the bald-headed barber I whizzed in my old hometown,
Seated myself in his chair and plopped my quarter down!
I had never been a paying client at a barber shop before,
So I asked about that red, white and blue pole spinning by the door.
Said he, "It was a sign for barbers doing surgery in the olden day!"
At that I gulped, almost choked and turned a sickly gray!
Done with my hair, he'd shave my neck and brush on lots of powder,
And liberally douse my scalp with Vitalis - I couldn't have been prouder!
His shop reeked of pungent oils and stale tobacco smoke,
It was all I could do to sit there, trying to stifle a choke!
The town barber shop was a place to gossip and hear inane babble,
And was the local hangout for ne'er-do-wells and other idle rabble.
The risque banter invading my naive and delicate ears,
Gave me an education far beyond my tender years!
The tales I heard were of the local women, booze and such.
Though I had some inkling, I didn't understand all that much!
Had my dear devout Mother known what transpired there,
I suspect she would've insisted that Dad continue to clip my hair!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
At this time of year I feel a little cold
Look outside still no snow
Thoughts wander on what will life bring on
Tomorrow an eve before the evening
Together with family in Sandy
Missing those that won't be there
Christmas is such a time of love
An inspirational holiday where time never matters
When I think back a lot has transpired this year
I have a baby girl on the way
I have a seven year old who makes me laugh everyday
I have a caring and strong wife that could have picked anyone else
To be able to say life is unpredictable is true
But the love at this time of year is what I hold dear.
Merry Christmas to yours and Blessings to all.