Long Utter Poems
Long Utter Poems. Below are the most popular long Utter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Utter poems by poem length and keyword.
The Tortured Poets Department has a writer's division that has to approve every poem
And my mind is tired of being held hostage
A loose-leaf definition of writer's block was once defined by the utter of: I don't feel like writing
Is this even good enough, my hand only works for the remote today
Then she interrupts my train of thought to ask: why have you never wrote a poem about me
It's not that I haven't
There are hundreds getting as comfortable as you can be in the waste basket
The last poem I Kobe shot to the trash can started like this:
An eye lash is trying to make your cheek more than just a Sunday service sanctuary
It wants a home
I know you'd like me to remove it
But who am I to destroy a home
I can't help but think how beautiful you look with that eye lash
As it rests there like a pair of doves flirting on a branch not far away from me
What are you starring at, she exclaims
Oh, nothing I reply, today I'll let the eye lash remain
On
Your rosy cheeks, kissed by my dead rose petal lips
Reminding you of the time we went camping and you hated that you smelled the outside
And I kept teasing you but hiking, visualizing, and tenting next to nature is maybe the closest thing to
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your gorgeous
Ugh I can't never find the right words to describe a tenth of your gorgeous
And it makes me want to drop dead out of frustration
Because the writers need to feel exactly what I do when they read:
Holding her hand is to get a glimpse of forever before I die
Holding her makes my heart resemble the flight of a butterfly
Holding her hand is to crush all my battles in the palm of my hand
The writers consist of a various assortment of personality; often referred to as me, myself, and I
And as I get ready to seal this poem to you the writer’s block me every time
p.s. I haven't learned to love myself enough to love you...
If we didn't have hands we'd all be mute
Trying to express what we say
Sometimes words are just not enough
We surely need some other way
If we didn't have hands we'd all be mute
Couldn't show our utter disgust
About this and that about ying and yang
About which politician not to trust
If we didn't have hands we'd all be mute
Frustration would rear its head
Valium would surely be the drug of choice
So we use the bad finger instead
If we didn't have hands we'd all be mute
No words are clearer than this
Talk to the hand 'cause the face ain't listening
A sign you surely can't miss
If we didn't have hands we'd all be mute
Need to just take a very deep breath
There's nothing that's really that important
Sometimes lose it myself, must confess
© Jack Ellison 2013
See this girl in the painting, this skinny girl
working on a puzzle at the bottom of the stairs.
With big rimmed glasses and her plain brown hair,
she’s an ordinary girl, with nothing seeming special.
Now see this girl. . . really SEE this girl.
At age 12, she’s just been fitted with new glasses -
They are black horn-rimmed - an utter disappointment
in the life of a young girl.
Some guys now call her four-eyes, and they don’t even notice
the beauty of her light green eyes and
long lush lashes behind those big-framed glasses.
But still she likes to fantasize, and in her dreams
she’s idolized by every boy she likes.
Always having wanted to be part of the “in” crowd,
she was a girl that struggled for popularity.
However, she’s been learning of another way to be!
Seeking out girls more like her, she hardly has to try
to fit in with her new friends. And now she’s much less shy.
With fun new friends, she is witty. She makes them laugh.
She’s even feeling pretty, wearing lipstick frosty pink.
She’s discovered she is smart in all her classes.
This girl who now is wearing black rimmed glasses!
She gets into the Glee Club, even sings on PBS!
With her athleticism, she also has success.
She makes Top Twelve in tryouts for cheerleading.
And though the student body does not vote her through,
she’ll soon get over it. She’s blossoming!
The glasses she will change for contact lenses,
and she does not know it yet,
but soon enough - a number of boyfriends she will get!
Also years of dance lessons and being in recitals
has boosted her self confidence.
Both her body and her spirit are transforming!
See the girl in the painting; a puzzle she assembles.
She does not know that one day
her mind will be on puzzles of a very different kind:
She will be assembling many words inside her mind,
and she will be partaking in an art called poetry.
I know all this because
the girl inside that painting - that ordinary girl -
is the one I used to be.
Based on the painting "Assembling the Pieces"
from Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande
for the Contemporary Free Rhyme Contest of Cyndi MacMillan
I hope you will see the painting at this link. When I saw the girl, I was
struck by how much it looked like me as a young girl: http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
There is love
And then... there is LOVE
That overwhelming, “take over your every thought” love
That longing to “forever be in someone's arms” love
That “I can't function without you” love
Anyone who has truly known this love
Knows exactly what I'm writing of
It's overwhelming down to the core
It engulfs us
Nothing else is of any consequence
It's all consuming, life changing, it gives reason for life
Through the years, I thought I had experienced it
I was wrong
Nothing compares in the slightest
To the love I feel now
For the sweetest lady I have ever had the good fortune to know
I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth
I won't question why
I will just revel in it's warmth, in the sheer and utter ecstasy
Nothing well ever equal this rapturous feeling
This unequaled joy
After meeting and having the love of the sweetest person I have ever known
I have now lived life to the fullest
There is no longer anything greater
There is love
And then... there is LOVE
An overwhelming sensation that can't be described
I am engulfed
Can you feel the real deal hoodoo or juju hex
One sex tech conquest & manifest wrecks perplex
Flex your cerebral cortex protest against the new Rex
Hullabaloo of voodoo we must contest & vex
Vain inane randy Deejays handy on dandy sandy decks
A bane.. vloggers..joggers & bloggers texts & trend treks
Reign of hooray Henry’s forays with oversized unwise specs
Disdain from plain Jane “ex” glowering while devouring Tex Mex
Train..campaign for brawn not brain.. divulging bulging necks & pecs
The lot have got an absurd follow the word of the herd complex
Flecks of lies flutter & splutter in the utter nutter echo chamber gutter that is “X”
Never ending..mind bending curmudgeon bludgeon chorus of Tyrannosaurus Techs!
The words echo, walls have ears
Echoes around the centuries not absurd.
My Pisces ways have me believing
From childhood to where I am today.
Days when food was in short supply
Mother became a magician preparing meals.
The kitchen table was quieter than normal
I was often banned to my bedroom
Appreciate what you have, met with quiet disapproval.
My bedroom was my kingdom, full of imaginary friends.
Noise of conversation, brought my parents to the scene
Fathers head appeared through a half open door
Looked, and left me to my own World.
Mother checked, giving me the look
She held out her arms inviting comfort,
Be careful of words and how they are spoken
These walls are listening.
My invisible friends all nodded in agreement,
My punishment room was full of treasure
Friends came and went, the door frequently opened.
Now later in life I ponder these times
I feel I have deserted them these friends of mine.
On occasions when waking from dreams
Laughter is slowly fading, but I can hear
I utter some words, then hear a closing door.
The trip was a riot of color,
It brings a myriad of queries,
Fantastic tales of utter darkness,
Views' visible roots were explored.
Mainsail surges,
pungent froth carried wave tips while,
blast swings moaning openly.
superb mountains,
Convey streams into streaming rivers,
Down slants shrouded in woods.
And the majesty of the stars,
Is confronted every morning,
Under soft white clouds,
is with each foot I set down.
I relish the quiet of the sound,
how each slant embraces,
the still raw bay.
Home to unglaciated cervids,
Gnawing animals and polar bears,
Willow grouse, deer,
Also, the renowned Chinook Salmon.
More genuine than the Arctic flow,
Afar-off state refuted,
In both word and deed,
Anyhow of these ever tender wishes.
Atop mottled strands,
I let my emotions air dry,
Orange tulips were selected,
I regained faith; I can fly.
5Th Place Contest Winner
Written: June 18, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
An empty look of sadness
That never bears a smile,
A malnourished mind
Aching to utter its voice,
A baby’s cry missing
The sweet tune of lullaby.
A dark moonless night
Reminiscing of shining stars,
A pensive gloomy dawn
Rising on sunless sky
Yearning lift of marigold arc
Sprinkled in magenta.
A spring lacking flowers,
Autumn bereft of fall colors,
A winter wishing for snow,
A river that does not flow;
A barren desert longing for
Glimpse of a cactus flower.
A concert deprived of music,
Dissonance of broken guitar strings,
Ballet dance lacking pizzazz,
A song of disheartened lyrics.
A world without poetry--
A curtain closed on art,
Vacant, parched existence
Staring blank pages,
Thirsty for life’s meaning.
January 22, 2020
Placed 1st: If there was no poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Placed 1st: Strand choice 7 contest by Brian Strand
Placed 2nd: Your Best Poem 2020 Contest by John Hamilton
Your silence is deafening,
As are the expressions you have yet to utter.
Ideas you mutter
Have fallen onto attentive ears,
One who hears
Conceptualizations you have yet to speak of
And notions you have only since dreamed of.
A supposition of love,
Perhaps not the state of being in love,
Leading to holding her above
The pedestal. For in this moment,
Her feet are too sterling
To be sullied by the dust
Left so carelessly on the plinth
That has yet been handled
Since the assumed maiden
Devastated your heart and abandoned it.
She left it vacant,
Allowing the new artisan to place gracefully
In her hand, the brush of crimson paint,
Renewing the color
That the crone thieved of you.
A warning is passed onto,
Sent so loudly
That your ears can't seem to
Indulge on the phrases.
Spells of dejection to offer many a protection,
Shouting to hold your deafening silences
And allow her to run mad.
For she can hear all that is unspoken,
Her understanding, unbroken,
But speaking it aloud
Leaves all emotions open.
Levi Strauss suggested
That we wash our jeans too much.
Machines waste so much water
And we use them as a crutch.
The company wants us to know
That cleaning them’s a breeze.
You don’t need suds or washers,
You just pop them in to freeze!
That’s right – the freezer, which will help
To take away the smell.
I really wonder if that tact
Would work out very well.
It’s hard to picture, nestled
Next to ice cream, bread and ice,
My unwashed jeans and all because
Of corporate advice.
I’ll take my chances that the earth
Will not run out of water;
And I’ll keep washing by machine
Just like I think I oughter.
‘Cause sometimes good intentions,
Though some people they’ll appease,
Will have most of us just cluck our tongues
And utter loudly – “Please!”