Long Trims Poems
Long Trims Poems. Below are the most popular long Trims by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trims poems by poem length and keyword.
If you are alive and on earth my brother
You better take every risk to succeed,
Even if you do not court any hazard
Existence is the biggest risk you must heed.
Some things about this life are just not fine.
You may gather remarkable wealth over time,
Skipping meals and working instead of sleeping
Until you end up with such abundance of dime;
But then your Jeep loses one of its speeding wheels
And you end up on the ice-cold slab of the morgue.
Some other lazy folks take over your hard-earned estate,
As other licentious rascals comfort your wife with a sinful song.
The biggest risk my uncultured brother
Is the fact that you live here on earth;
Here heavens give you the grace to make the world better,
And soon after the labor demise trims your mirth.
Something about our earthly existence is simply not alright.
You start the maturing of some expensive whisky, forty years in all;
If you are fifty, be sure other never-do-wells will sell your whisky,
Don’t think Azrael will watch you outlive the ninetieth fall.
So those impatient chaps will imbibe your distillation without gratitude,
Not even mentioning the name of the deceased fellow who brewed the thing,
And cursing the ‘idiot’ who made such a crisp thing to be by others imbued;
Not even humbled by the fact that the whisky is far much older than they!
Living is the greatest peril, man.
And if you dare attempt some funny suicide
To do away with the unbearable menace,
What do you think the final Judgment Council will decide?
That a brazen murderer you should burn forever.
You might be irreligious – but it’s a possibility still!
I am getting myself a retail therapy cat said my aunt.
I met one once, and I am telling you that you simply can’t!
She had made up her mind and brought home Mrs. T.
A well-dressed cat that was persnickety, stuck-up and snooty.
She won’t speak to me and she puts on airs, said my Aunt Lee.
I told you not to bring one home I said, laughing a bit with know-it-all-glee.
Mrs. T was outfitted in round dark shades with white rims.
Her leopard cape was elegant without any kind of extra flair or trims.
She was carrying a black patent leather purse when out popped a mouse.
The creature was wearing a mink pillbox hat that outclassed our house.
A mouse too! Said my aunt. What on earth was I thinking?
The mouse ran up into a wall and died there, so now things are stinking.
A Solar trims the Earth's waistline,
while Polars bare all the segments,
Springing up those northern steppes leans sublime,
the Vernal Equinox presents,
then, on March 20th, it will shine.
The southern Pole leans the same way,
as the September Equinox appears,
on September, the 22nd day,
though terms mirror a different side as it leers,
it's Summer there, and it's their time to play.
The Winter Solstice 2025 blinks,
the northern Pole hails a Holy day is on,
December 21st freezes the winks,
as the holidays, year-end dawn,
gifts, fireworks, food, and some drinks.
At the southern Pole, they bare it all daily,
as the Summer Solstice, the sun takes sides,
the people are out and about dillydally,
swimming and surfing the tides,
on July 21st, the Cape Town and Rio rally.
The sidereal year is when the planet rounds its Sun star,
and the tropical year, they all straighten out,
though quartered as the calendrical stretched far,
they separate as seasons all about,
named Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, they are.
Astronomically, Equinoxes and Solstices,
Metrologically, they are seasonal sources,
Astro spatial heavenly body's positioned advices,
Metro is a simplistic seasonal of choices,
pros and novices sufficiently entices.
The sea, precociously sails, toward shore.
A curious imp of a child is he.
The waves, like whirligigs, with laughter roar.
There’s no other place i’d rather to be —
where sequin splashes, touch the wind then flee.
With precious charm, his true blue eyes foresee.
With strong limbs, wrestles monstrous whales, and knocks
over huge sandcastles, built with small hands.
He blows on boats and slides under their docks.
Don’t turn your back on him! He’ll wave his wand!
Still kind, he stops, befriends the suntanned sand.
Resolved to do his part, he trims the land.
But role of dad — the king releases calm.
The impish sailor shamed, dropped in time out.
This pampered teenage child, hears preach from mom:
“Draw out wild waves, from deep, to crest and mount!”
Her misty eyes know what this life’s about.
“Reign well, my son! Swells held up high, froth clout!”
With thirst, I turned away to grab a coke,
then crash, swept off my feet —the wave it spoke.
1/26/2018
Laura Loo’s Urban Sonnet Contest
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG?
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
See these tiny things
Filled with thought profound;
Cute miniatures spring
From creative grounds.
In a format small,
Craft miniature books;
Haiku moments call:
Browse and take a look.
One and a half inch,
The book height is short;
Words squeezed just to lynch
Warm poetry is wrought.
A sure design feeds
Steady hand-skill mints;
This collage craft seeds
Finesse that now tints.
A paper stock craft
Comes forth from ideas;
Design a rough draft,
Mental image steers.
Visuals now take shape,
With thought focus here;
Measure out or drape
What impulse sparks clear.
A tiny book page
Via plain prototype;
Step by step each stage
Styles wonder not hype.
Imagine the route
From a plain blank sheet:
Until success shouts
With product you meet.
This crafty craft fits
The collage art flow;
Poise flavours sure wit
To let tact now show.
Print the outline page,
Trim, cut and align;
Patience works each stage,
Keep eyes on design.
Arrange each page right,
Guide the lines of fold;
Set rule to guide sight,
Keep pulp sculpture bold.
Fold each page well,
Now back-to-back;
Frame by frame tells,
Allow some slack.
Press the stack stage,
Glide steel rule straight;
Sharp blade trims edge,
Both sides look great.
Fit hard cover,
Like a sandwich;
Forge maneuvers,
Paste each to each.
Surely and truly,
The book sculpture grows;
Practice works surely
When rough edges show.
And then, finally:
A tiny book sums
The effort nicely
With a fine outcome.
Mini book that forms
A miniature whole;
A focus sets norm
In dealing with soul.
So crafty craft shows
In body mass cute;
Feel a certain glow
In silence that mutes.
Little treasures here
In miniature books;
To spread ease and cheer
In satisfied looks.
Start again now
To make one more;
Watch skills endow
A fine rapport.
Leon Enriquez
12 December 2014
Singapore
A candle burning low still sparks a flame
While trees bend to say goodbye to the breeze.
A river running slow still sings it's name.
A candle burning low still sparks a flame.
When snow blows in the canyon I remain
And oft deny my constant hope to please.
A candle burning low still sparks a flame
While trees bend to say goodbye to the breeze.
A river running slow still sings it's name.
A candle burning low still sparks a flame.
When snow blows in the canyon I remain
And oft deny my constant hope to please,
While trees bend to say goodbye to the breeze.
The lace-like frost trims memories of these.
Contest Title: WRITE A "TRIONET" FOR ME
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Created & submitted: June 10, 2021
Results: Premier contest - First place trophy
The comic chases laughter; bright applause beneath bright lights.
Each joke returns with cheers, sparkling with flared highlights.
The poet casts quiet braided fly-lines into uncertain free air,
Not knowing where they'll settle, trusting someone to find them there.
Laughter often arrives on cue before another punchline starts.
The comic plays the audience, outwitting the many clever upstarts.
The poet leans into the silence, hoping words reach waiting hearts.
They both treasure every thud and thump from well-flung verbal darts.
The comic trims each story into punchlines, sharp and strong.
The poet weaves in small clues and prompts, inviting readers along.
One, harvests roaring raucous applause, that fills every room.
The other, sows small seeds, expecting next spring flowers, will bloom.
The comic reaps the harvest well before the last laughter dies.
A joke can miss completely, falling flat in befuddled ears and eyes.
A poet keeps on casting many more lines, despite the lows and highs.
Awakening lost memories, with hushed oohs, ahhs, and silent sighs.
Of course there's slam, where poets chase applause with a spoken or sung flame.
Their verses leap from silent sullen pages, eager to stake their claim.
The crowd joins in with cheers and snaps, each heartbeat keeping time.
Half stand-up act, half-hand crafted verse — both reaching for the sublime.
Thoughts allude me
As I enter this sacred place
I dare not misstep
The presence of grace
...into conditions
The previous light, forgotten
Back on the necessary track
I'm in the same tunnel
But with LOVE on my back
...guiding
I'm not heavy or weighted
With unknown fears
Hope trims my garment
As LOVE leads me, through heres,
...now
No past to hamper movement
Or future to pull me with force
All energy contained and full
Flowing me along the course
...of eternal joy
When the baby is birthed
I will not fight to hold and keep
She will be accepted by Daddy God
And into the natural, be fully released
...into Kingdom
Written by Trudy Schrader on 9/29/2019
Note: If the Natural World is a womb, and everything in it is growing and changing, when the baby (new world) is born, is the womb destroyed? No! It is made ready for seed to be planted again, and the "rebirth" of another....again and again. Truly, Children of LOVE, there is nothing to fear.
You call me difficult—I won't pretend,
I call it knowing what I'm truly worth.
I dug myself out time and time again,
No more fake smiles for a shallow earth.
You praise the man who bites his tongue,
Who trims his truth to earn applause.
I've seen too many men come undone,
Just to satisfy somebody else's cause.
They say my words cut far too deep,
But silence lets the poison live.
A painful wound ignored won't stay asleep,
No matter how much grace you give.
I've buried masks I used to wear—
A brother, a friend, a love on cue.
Each death exposed a truth laid bare:
Some departures are really long overdue.
I left the classroom, but kept my mind,
Life taught me lessons books can't hold.
Pain carved knowledge in me, raw and refined,
And scars spoke truths no book has ever told.
Now I don't bargain for my peace,
Or lease my soul to feel empowered.
The man I built through war and grief
Ain't yours to bend, shape, or devour.
So keep your praise that comes with ties,
Keep seats where truth must be counterfeit.
I'd rather sit with honest eyes,
than play a role that doesn't fit.
This is the face my trials designed,
This is the voice my failures grew.
Damn, if love demands I leave behind
The man I became to make it through.
The world can keep demanding less—
I finally became someone I won't betray.
Take me exactly as I stand...
Or watch me proudly walk away.