Long Typing Poems
Long Typing Poems. Below are the most popular long Typing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Typing poems by poem length and keyword.
Senectitude is Re Wreck Ta Tude
My teeth are failing, my gums blowing darts
My hands are spotted,
Grandma hands, and she has been gone fifty-five years.
Yet I look down and there they are
Surprising they are not crocheting
Or knitting or soothing a crying child.
They are perpetually typing.
My eyes are going; they have lost their lilt.
They no longer sing or play or skip or dance.
They do not light up a room the way they once did.
I am invisible now.
Not sure when that started,
But I am sure now.
People walk by my cellophane self,
Not seeing me in any human way.
My teeth hurt and my soul is raging mad.
My grandma hands are spotted, but no longer laughing.
Senectitude is Re Wreck Ta Tude
I am a cellophane woman
The twelve year old girl I see in the mirror
No one else has seen for a long time.
Floaties crowd up between me and interstate signs.
I am breaking the mirrors, slapping them down on the highway,
Angry that my teeth are failing
Did I tell you my gums are blowing darts
I hope they stop soon.
My mind is not dancing
any more.
And my soul
is crying.
He was a stiff one,
There was a yardstick up his back
His mouth was a paperclip
No gray or red in his world
Black and white, pure office.
No touch of flowers or a picture
For he still lived at home with Mommy
He had to call her if he would be late for dinner
He was twenty-eight
Twenty-two women bookkeepers called him Pen Clip King
They all worked in a giant room in a Super Foods Warehouse
In Des Moines, so they had a lot of the same ideas.
Those who did not, did not last long...
These bookkeepers were happy,
typing and laughing,
chatting while they made innumerable mistakes
on store owner's accounts
Writing checks the wrong way
because this was in the 70's before a bunch of glaring computers
Pen Clip King (PCK) was wimpy, fishy, but he was easy too.
He rarely came out of his glass office at the front.
Never to speak harshly for he did not do that
When he did come out, the hens gave him a look and laughed.
His face was perpetually red about it.
One day a male bookkeeper came to work at Super Foods
He was young and darling.
The older ones tried to entice him with photos of their daughters
The middle-aged tried to flirt with him which was exceedingly stupid
They nicknamed him Handsome, and kept him like a pet
He laughed with them and rolled his eyes at their jokes
He was engaging and fun.
They were all semi-in-love with him
Never realizing that he and Pen Clip King were lovers
Lying down while the music uplifts my soul
Holding up my interminable silence with a fist in the air of despair
I kiss your cheeks and it brings back reminiscences
Of me, myself and I, swinging back and forth on the swings
(chorus): Rock me out! Rock me out! Rock me OUT!
I try to make out your…
Sundrenched lullabies that ring true to me without a doubt…
Change is a challenging chore…
Here’s 7 things I like about you:
Your body
Your face
Your eyes
Your teeth
Your hands
Your lips
Your hips
You’re my everything!!!
I shake my booty from the floor to the roof...dancing and all!
I act like a Michael Jackson on the dance floor...I'm such a goofball!
The therapeutic music is dying out and I hear the typing
Bold to the core, hoping to see you – the one I truly adore
I love you more and more and I want no one else, but you
I don’t see my reflection anymore, but I’m alright in the long run
My heart will soar on cloud 7…
Cloud 7…
Cloud 7…
With you…
Without you,
I feel numb and insecure…
You are my one and only cure…
(chorus)
I fell in love with a stranger…
I fell in love with a passerby…
My anger will put me in danger soon,
But you distracted me from acting like a crazy baboon
The moon is shining bright
The sun is dimming tonight
Under the moonlight, I see you sway
I hear you say…I hear you say:
“You are my number 7…
You complete me.”
(chorus)
I let you go suddenly
Whisper your lullaby, dear
Oh darling, be 7 with me
I see your halo appear
Holding up my interminable silence with a fist in the air of bliss that you and I share…I glance at you as you flare…I daydream and stare into your universe eyes…turn up the music that’s so therapeutic just a hair
I kiss your cheeks and it brings back reminiscences
Of you and I, swinging back and forth on the swings…
I am inside her body, but I am invisible; she can’t put a name to me.
I dwell between her chest and the core of her body.
She does not know what I am, and it’s driving her crazy.
She is not consciously worried by anything, yet I embody the “feel” of worry.
Am I anxiety? If so, why do I go away
the minute she comes here to the keyboard and starts typing?
Even now, I am dissipating. Just a whisper of me remains.
I have kept her awake tonight despite her high dose of a sedative
along with Sleepy-time tea! She even upped the ante with Excedrin PM,
yet I just stayed in her body - surging -the invisible entity that I am.
I sat there (or did I lie there?) for at least two hours or more.
Finally something kicked in, and she was able to let go of me.
However, I know I was probably there all along as she lay dreaming.
When she tries to put a name to me, she searches for me on the internet.
Night dread comes up, but I don’t exactly fit the description.
I used to come only in the morning. She wants to know
why I am coming to her at her bedtime now as well!
She is afraid of me because she fears not getting sleep. Am I fear?
She can’t explain me or properly define me. I can't define myself either!
At this moment, I am pretty much gone, but maybe I'll return to her soon.
Sept. 19, 2018
For Brenda Chiri's Write Me An Emotion-Act Poetry Contest
Everything you see is fashion
From just simple tattered dress
A carpenter hammering a nail
A boy riding a bicycle
A lady poses for a selfie
Throng of people walking the street
A taho vendor in the sidewalk
An office lady typing on her computer
A simple bartender mixing wine
A cook cooking in a simple kitchenette
A construction worker hauling debris
Those passengers lining waiting for a bus
A painter painting sunset at the bay
A mother breastfeeding a baby
A cow eating grass in the field
A bee hopping in every flower sipping for nectar
The busy street like Binondo during Sunday
The passing of the Comulus clouds
The scattered leaves on the backyard
The birds plucking dried grass for a nest
The ads on tv commercial and billboards
Those ramp model ramping on a stage
A newscaster casting the news on tv
Two person playing chess religiously
People in political rallying on the streets
People praying inside the church
A family eating their lunch on a buffet resto
Two people walking hand in hand
Everything that is not moving and moving
It's all fashion for me.
Ever Free, Never Bound
Typing in the dark
Heart bleeding for our freedoms
Murdered by stupid leaders
Rise yes do not bend
Lamentable citizens
Be mask-less again
No fear of touching
No more onus on the old
That's so cold my lady
Remember hugging
The state is not religion
God made you to love
May 5, 2020
4am PST
English Haikus
Love In A Digital World
Where is a lonely man’s true love?
Is she in a bar sitting alone in the corner?
Drinking a jack and Coke
Smiling at anyone who walks by her
Is she chatting online?
Typing words into a digital messenger
With just a picture to say who she is
Is she a personal on a distant dating site?
Posted with a single hope
Looked at by millions who admire her smile
Does she write poetry?
Words that reflect the feelings in her heart
Opening her soul to the world
Shared in a space with a thousand other
Hoping that her’s sticks out
Waiting for her true love to read them
And he will know her for who she who she truly is
Could she simply be the girl next door?
Someone he has known for years
Someone he sees everyday but has never spoken to
Or does she even exist at all?
I was frustrated at work about seven years ago.
A painter, cartoonist, and scrabble player, where next would I go?
I needed something new to do.
Not sure where to start.
Suddenly feeling bored with my own art.
We were required to stay until seven that night.
Parent Teacher Conferences, but I stayed out of sight.
Being the counselor, seeing me makes them blue.
That is something I did not want to do.
Suddenly the word poetry came into my head.
I used to write short stories, now they lay dead.
I had not written anything since I was twenty-nine.
I found a poetry site and began typing poems online.
One poem, two poem, three poems, four.
I liked doing this, but I wanted to know a lot more.
I zoomed around the site and found types of poems and tips.
I have no more story; this is simply it….
Happy birthday josette my sweet girl
Enjoy the day I hope you will
Stay in bed, relax as best you can
For today the works done by your man
Bacon butties or full English is at waking
As the kids and i are in to making
A nice cup of tea to wash it down
Big cuddles and kisses and no frown
Once that's completed the days begun
All four of us can have some fun
Make you a homemade cake of couse
Chocolate cream and strawberry sauce
Then a little trip somewhere nice
Irrelevant of the price
Because Jobird your worth it so
Get your glad rags on and let's go
A trip to the seaside or a nice peaceful park
Listen to chirps of the joyful lark
The Robin redbreast pops and says hello
From all of us happy birthday jo
We all love you and what you do
This is our birthday poem just for you
It's a little short but very quirky
My touch typing is very jerky
So mummy, birdy, best friend, confidant
Have a great day, get what you want
Happy birthday my sweet birdy bear
Now back home fall in the chair
A bath is run with smellies a plenty
Hope you like veggies aldente
Dinner will be served at six
The kids and i have some magic tricks
Surprise beautiful hope your days be great
From your lover, fiance and best mate
Of thee virtual netherland...
courtesy one spellbound wordsmith
within apartment b44
nestled within a manor
(and manner of writing)
atop nondescript Schwenksville highland.
All gibbets zing aside
I got noose for you,
yours truly enjoys harmless chide
ding even kibitizing about,
when cessation of consciousness occurs
leaving terrestrial plane
frequently incorporates divine spirit as guide
absolute zero escape
regarding death to override.
Oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession,
deadline could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand)
do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable
mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread,
cuz tis better late
than never, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...foreign ha Kate
the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate
a de coup age d'etat,
but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate,
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances
twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.