Long Trim Poems
Long Trim Poems. Below are the most popular long Trim by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trim poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s take this outside
Your turn to be objectified
Necktied offside and brutified
Come step outside
Where you can no longer hide
Now you and me can collide
You’re worse than godzilla’s bride
Torpefied and vilified
Uglified, mean and evil-eyed
Always snide and undignified
Ringside, in your false pride
the eyes of Hitler recognized
Executing his genocide
Feeling justified nationwide
Lately I’ve been preoccupied
With thoughts of homicide
Accident by countryside
broadside you flip side
See you land in the fireside
For all the misery aside
you put me through - testified
Is your meanness really classified
I’m no longer taking it - qualified
I‘m no longer hiding it - quantified
No more excuses - are you satisfied?
Germicide and pesticide
Have you ever tried
To drink a ton of formaldehyde
To soften up your cowhide
Now we can go back inside
Your reign of terror on override
You’re toast and you’re fried
You’re been hogtied and humanified
Stupefied and rectified
Just as prophesized
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 16, 2018 for contest 8-MILE STYLE POETRY CONTEST sponsored by NICK TRIM - RANKED 4TH
The candle loses nothing,
by sharing its flame,
yet there are nights
when I wonder
whether I've lost
the spark itself.
A broad reach begins innocently—
a hand extended
a question asked
a stranger welcomed
inside the circle.
Its beckoning horizon is vast.
The ripples sent out,
the echoes returned
stir a sea of answers,
and a storm
of unanswered questions.
To see through another's eyes
is to discover
how fragile certainty really is
how curiosity builds bridges
where judgment built walls.
It teaches respect,
yet can erode one's own resolve.
The tree with the deepest roots
casts the widest shade,
yet must divide its strength
between the earth and sky.
The river finds the ocean,
by winding in meandering curves,
never doubting gravity's call
to its destination.
But the further my gaze extends
across the broad reach,
the harder it becomes
to find a place to stand—
committed, resolved,
and so sure.
Seeing every side.
accepting too many arguments.
forgiving too many failures.
overlooking too many mistakes.
Brings conviction itself
to its knees,
and purpose begins to falter.
And so I drift upon the tide,
rich in perspective
inclusive and welcoming,
yet poor in direction
forgetting to trim the sails.
Easing the mainsheet,
going on a broad reach,
is comfortable and forgiving,
yet slower
when off course.
Time to sheet
the mainsail in tighter,
grip the helm
lean out to fight
the heel,
to trade comfort
for conviction,
to head directly
on the compass bearing
to a true point
on the horizon.
Trekking every which way
mentally mapping at pace
to escape this place
captured for an age
with its rotten decay
compacted waste
attacking my taste
lack hunger stray
overwhelm left spaced
all sense misplaced
isolated and crazed
now a familiar place
thinking clear not spaced
for years thoughts raced
cause fear left crazed
salt tears I taste
but repressed memories
have shown me those years
before depressed mentality
when thinking clear
overwhelmed and isolated
made me a victim
overpowered and hated
I wasn't Nick Trim
became different through
pain inflicted by ambush
change moulded me new
insane and not to push
outnumbered by hunters
whom failed at stealth
stumped by their blunders
I prevailed what dealt
making failure felt
their hopes rise they fell
working in that hotel
alone I faired well
as managers managed
to mismanage damage
handled in a manner
alike mental spanners
with restricted brain span
I predicted their plan
the pyramid scam
those dickheads ran
like scum
so dumb
all done
undone
2 against 1
I won
shouldn't have done
but shun
made managers mad
neutralized powers they had
evaded their grab
can't get me like that
obsessed and desperate
living to kick me out
their stress elevates
wanting to bring me down
failing as their daily ideas
reveal flaws as I steer
in circles behind I'm over here
trying to get me never near
so they turn to slander
slowly destroy my character
the manager and the manager
at the top where Hell sits under
you're disgraceful human beings
pathetic without honour grace or likeable traits
a life so empty it bitters your beings
you're shallow you're hollow you have no mates
I'm what you aren't and it caused you to hate
new found gracious
I know where my place is
far from two faces
raging outrageous
you're disgraces weak and feeble
if we could choose who we are as people
you're the last left alike P.E at school
not selected just the leftover fool!
I'd rather be me than someone undesirable
The new season did just start at last
slowly crept shedding its past outer
winter integument. Displaying
proudly attracting meticulous
attention with its graceful stylish
semblance. Scent of delicious greener
with elegant chromaticity,
art gallery of nature's sailcloth.
A wheelbarrow, pruning shears, shovel
and hoe parked in the backyard near a
blooming fuchsia bougainvillea
needing a trim. It frames a bedroom
window drawing attention as it
stalks up the red concrete brick tangled
with a lolled white sweet-scented jasmine
vine as it scans the highest rooftop.
A flicker of movement behind the
spiky thorns and fuchsia blooms a green
lizard scampered up the wall and vanished.
3/26/2019
Poetry Contest: Bougainvillea
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
The first two lines from - I am Me Set me Free - by Maria Williams
Use my oil and mill my seed
My healing powers are all you need
I grow on trees as old as time
I will keep you in your prime
I can help you with abraded skin
Keep you fit and keep you trim
Poured on bread your taste buds flutter
Better health than greasy butter
I grow on trees from ancient time
Best in soil with added lime
Pick me green before I'm ripe
Take no notice of the hype
Consume me black is just as good
Add me to your favorite food
I am the olive and well known
All across the world I'm grown
Australian fields you'll find me there
Where the land used to be bare
The natives from the Continent
Planted seeds it was their bent
So healing cooking keeping fit
To the grape I add a bit
The two of us protect you well
Ends the tale I have to tell
Across the Sprawl of wistful Fall
Through capricious Skies of broken Lies
Naive sweets leave tongues of the young
As the last leaf of summer dies
To Escape the Scrape of leather feathers
And Trim the Rim from fallow snows
Tomorrow's Flowers count the Hours
In the Bleak Mystique of departing crows
Where the cold unfolds Tracks of wolf Packs
The remains of rain Returns the Ferns
Despite the Spite of cynic's delight
The wheel of days tenaciously turns
When a green dream Soars through golden Doors
Each Sunset will Reset a pristine dawn
As Tender as April's fragile Splendor
Hope Stands as Grand as a fresh-eyed fawn.
11/15/20
In Rhymes Sublime contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
If you listen, you will hear Him
Calling faithfully out to you
Like a nightingale in the dark
Or a choir of crickets chirping;
As the wind within the willows,
His very stones cry out for you
If you listen, you will hear Him,
A Father calling urgently
For all His children who are lost.
Hear His passion and His sorrow
For loved ones who will not listen
Who won't believe that Someone cares.
Listen through the pens of prophets
To the words of our wise Master,
Asking us down the ages to choose
Eternal joy we cannot lose.
With faith’s oil let us trim our lamps
And follow the light of the Lamb.
Date:09/08/2019
Contest: Write a Psalm
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Hoard healthy highs
End etch enough
Add apt apply
Roam rivers rough
Trendy true tries
Hope hurls healing
Etch earns ending
Art aims asking
Reap real risking
Trust truth tasking
Help hurting hires
Embrace empty
Apt art aspires
Relieve rowdy
Toilsome touch tires
Hoist heavy hounds
End each explore
Art airs astound
Risk ripe restore
Trip tipsy town
Harsh hurting heat
Endow entreat
Applause appliqué
Reach rich repeats
Toss tasty treats
Hoist heavy heart
Empty e-mail
Amaze apart
Rouse ransoms rail
Taste tension tart
Hide harsh humour
Ends empower
Art aims armour
Rude rhymes rumour
Trim trash tumour
Leon Enriquez
02 May 2014
Singapore
It stands propped
against a wall in my memory,
that green two wheeler bike,
my first, bought second hand
from a neighbor.
A deep, gravel graze I got
from learning to ride it, I swear,
still pains a phantom nerve
in my now arthritic knee
after all these years.
How I loved that bike,
its dented frame wearing
layers of paint pitted by history,
its last coat was a thick glaze
of leftover house paint
the same green color used
as trim on window frames
and fences fashionable
back then.
To me it was a gem.
I rode it to the boundaries
of my world carried on the
smooth ride and hum
of its tyres, sank its rims
deep into the muddy riverbank
and raced around a track
that skirted the football
ground. That bike
was pure freedom for me.
One day someone took it
and left it hooked on a tree
in the local park. The top bar
of its frame had been
snapped clean through.
Beneath the layers of paint,
rust had eaten away
its metal core.
In tears I wheeled it home
and put it in the shed and closed
the door. It was like closing
a book on part of my life.
Nonagenarian father afflicted,
his body electric awry
with congenital heart failure,
before long twill bid existence bye
whose physical well being -
corporeal essence inevitably will die
unavoidable manifest destiny...
accompanied into afterlife courtesy death
envision caricature immortal grim reaper
moost ofttimes (normally leering)
brandishing trademark scythe,
impossible mission to skirt dark shadow
creeping closer along edge of night, not shy,
eclipsing former robust native son Brooklyn
once upon time aforementioned sturdy strong guy
metamorphosed gallantly,
gangly, and gawky youth
courtesy blood, sweat and tears
conditioned into muscular trim physique
with equal fervor did apply
figurative nose to grindstone, and well nigh
academically succeeded (think flying colors)
attending City College (back then free - no lie)
deservedly acquiring mechanical engineering degree
furthering advanced studies at Columbia University
General Electric career employee
opting early retirement at age sixty
subsequently clocking thirty plus orbits around sun,
a widower past fifteen plus years, he
steadfastly remained married approximately
half century, and twas... understandably
grievously, honestly, and inconsolably sad
when terminal illness stole key
once dirt poor wife i.e. bride (never bartered)
who bore him three offspring - me
including an older and younger sister
acutely aware I (nsync with siblings)
may learn (ex post facto), our father
though art(fully) adept with smarts already told
tragically could succumb (think demise - see
above) regarding pandemic
indiscriminately claiming thee
storied Zayda as linkedin with progeny
thyself begat (deux) from yours truly,
and biological kith brought forth
their precious kin, whose limp body
born aloft without survivors
without filial piety
bequeathed as Boyce Brandon Harris'
soul into realm of dead souls eternity.