Long Unhook Poems
Long Unhook Poems. Below are the most popular long Unhook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unhook poems by poem length and keyword.
If you asked, I would speak to you of God
pray tell – would you really listen
or would your mind be turning pages in reply
my inquiry rebuffed by righteous sigh.
Or would a probing thought from out the gate
cause you to summon those who keep the book
lest I test your faith with inquiries unknown
and the cover of your piety unhook.
And yet a fear resides within my soul
an aching to be freed of doubts parole
to grasp the essence of the truths I’ve known
to walk upon a path not found – but shown.
Call me what you will – but not a fraud
for if you asked - I would speak to you of God.
John G. Lawless
©1/2/2022
Eyes compete to compensate beauty,
Beyond pleasure of reasonable duty.
Money competes to compensate value,
Before time sets another price anew...
Pen competes to compensate book...
Above muse running minds unhook.
Eraser competes to compensate error,
Against stake of consequence's terror.
Mind competes to compensate brain,
Holding unto wisdom for huge gain.
Thinking competes to compensate judgement,
Having checked through for proper assessment.
Voice competes to compensate ears,
To be calm of sweet words foaming cheers!
Tongue competes to compensate understanding,
Towards convincing points so outstanding.
Seat competes to compensate buttocks,
Cum comfort not necessarily quite deluxe.
Bed competes to compensate spinal cord,
Care sets free unlike one in the hospital's ward.
Women compete to compensate survival,
Vigilant enough of approaching rival.
Men compete to compensate growth,
Virtually for both also marriage's oath.
Competition drives value-
To compensate focus guide
And fight forces turning tide,
Against what desires pursue...
When you want to get me in the mood
You strip down to just your boxer shorts
Tell me that I look so hot tonight
Then strike poses of various sorts.
Sometimes I could almost laugh out loud
We have been married for thirty years
You'd think you would know to drop my pants
You need to entirely switch your gears!
Do the dishes for only one night
You will be my most studly old man.
Run the vacuum, dust, or cook a meal,
I will gladly do you in our van!!!
I find it funny that you can hear
My bra unhook from way down the street
But you can't hear a child crying
When right underneath your own two feet!!!
You want me to wear some lingerie
And act like a dancer at a club?
But all I think is that’s one more piece
Of dirty laundry in the wash tub!!
So here it is, my sweet other half
So efforts are no longer thwarted:
Get off your rear end, take out the trash
That's sexy, and will be rewarded!!!
Revised November 17, 2018
THANK YOU MISS MADDY
Maddy baked some cookies,
She shared a few with us.
When we took a little taste
We got a full flavor rush.
For hidden in those cookies
Buried away down deep
We found some flavor chips
A great big giant heap.
There were many different kinds
A virtual rainbow of rich flavors.
Each one seemed a favorite
My sweet tooth often savors.
But have I mentioned the size
Of these tasty, giant hub caps.
You can’t eat a whole one
Or they’ll begin to play taps.
We found it best to break it up
Sharing each one with a friend
Or you might simple burst
Before you reach its end.
So here’s a “Hats off”
To our new family cook.
If she keeps this up,
I’ll need my belt to unhook.
Thank you Miss Maddy
For sharing them with us.
As you practice techniques.
You’ll make extra, we trust. :o)
Grumpy & grandmaKarren
Written by oldbuck, Nov9,2015
After one of his granddaughters
Shared her first batch of cookies.
Star-pod, Ashanti, all aboard ya'll!
We're penetrating space-time's inpenatratable wall
Floating & flying through space-time atmosphere
Where the unknown is crystal-clear
So all aboard, ya'll, it's the 2nd call to see
The mysteriously darkened space-time!
Come aboard, Ashanti, come see the best prime
Don't stray too far from your pods
'Cause if you do, your lines will snap
And it will unhook from ISS's rods
Casting ya'll to your scariest doom
Your bodies will stay flying dead forever
Floating & decomposing for all of eternity
All this information - for certainly
If you float & stray far, you can simply die
If you don't wanna die - I suggest you comply
Or your 700 million dollar pod will be auctioned
That is, if you unhook, get lost, & possibly die
At any rate, if you cease to exist - consider this
A fair warning I sang
A riddlized riddle
A rusted fiddle
Come now & don't dwiddle
And with that as the door slams
& mechanically locks
You're all of a sudden in zero-gravity
Flying in Ashanti's trapeze
5, 4, 3, 2, 1
Space-time is where I'll be
You are the author of this book
The words, sentences, paragraphs, and chapters
Write well, and fear and procrastination do unhook
So this book, your book, can dwell hereafter
Write with intent and purpose
Make sure to use a good pen and paper
Remember to hone the body with an excursus
Make certain your print is emboldened with no taper
A masterpiece that is colorful, loving, bold, and clever
A true page flipper, a reader's delight
Like Hemingway, but your way, a New York Times bestseller
Write your book with veracity and with all your might
So write, and write very well, my lad
Tell your tale like Canterbury, as did Chaucer
Let your ink indelibly imprint the world pad
Go ahead and cast your best words because, in this book, you are the author
clean out
the closet
and unhook your woes
from all hangers.
all are much too soiled
to be worn
by your disillusioned heart.
sweep up the debris
and clear out
the heaping pile
of suppressed pain
and untrustworthiness
taking up
all the space
in your broken heart
to create enough room
to let people in
once again,
for love's light
to shine through.
Second Chance For Your N-A Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written: 06/19/2022
It is no small act that follows
no leaps nor bounds
as we are bound
the square, white-washed walls
crumbling, no doors, no sound
but who are we
are we not what one perceives
stuck to our one room box
we break down walls
chains
colour splashes from our minds
deep duck pond greens
clouded and clumsy periwinkle blues
rich like yellow satins
seducing our sky
dawning light down upon our eye
the back, the forth
smoke filled haze
tapping on the shoulder
a tapestry of the trumpets
tip tapping away
we sway
outside the room
pressures pierce the skull
they look inside
they see mirrors
a reflection of their kind
their closed mind
set in their ways and their worries
the world has ended for them
as the books and the doors shut
clenching rosaries and a plethora of pills
to beat the heart or dull the thrills
we're no dolls, nor drills, not make believe
we burn, we live, we breathe
our colours crimson
our lips bitten
our cheeks singed from the sun
blood stains our sanctuary
we don't whine, we will
yes we will
Rise
rise up from the duldroms
the blase acrimony
walk upon the broken glass
bleed
unhook harnesses holding you back
show off your bosoms
your tiger, your grit
stop bending over looking at your rear
trying to replicate yesteryear
storms are fast approaching
thunder fills the halls
be that lightning
a tempest igniting
One, uniquely one,
and all
The nascent sun warmth appears to emanate
The spiritual worlds charm of confidence state.
A breath whisper thrives a frail blossom;
Reclaim its exhalation colour delight-some.
A small, huff, whirlwind uplifts, swirling,
Pinwheel of fallen autumn leaves, ebbing,
Passionate rant ease, then lay unhook
Settling a pepper to a rustic idyllic look.
Existent amorous illusion scene of welcoming aweless
Sheath dress in continuance timeless solace.
Spellbound by silence sweet embracing scent
Eminently natural or synthetic trace descent.
Sunny laughter where squirrel scurry everywhere.
Charm and seductive song of mockingbird compare.
In an aura and its heavenly quintessence kept abreast;
Butterflies flit, bumblebees Emerging from nestled rest.
7/21/2024
The Conscious mind
When does human consciousness begin?
I have been going back, to what I remember of my childhood, to the point of baby doom.
The earliest memories are floating as they lack the frame of place and time.
The smell of flowers or plants makes me long for a mythical past, which makes sense because we lived
in a hut.
But is the sense of past memories may not be regarded as being awake as knowing what we are
if we ever asked that question in childhood, taking for granted we belonged.
The question “Who am I”? comes with teenage
angst.
I was aware when, two years old, we lived in a small cabin, and my mother had gone outside for a smoke (everybody smoked back then)
A latch had fallen, and she could not get back in,
She slowly told me to bring the chair to the door climb up and unhook the door.
She retold the story, and I basked in glory.
What I come up with when I try to remember anything from whence a physically helpless baby, I must have seen my surroundings and strange faces
what I think is remembered, if not clearly, so sounds, shadows, and plenty of colors
an ohm and a sense that beyond the beyond, there is no whisper, only cosmic dust of the timeless