Long Washout Poems
Long Washout Poems. Below are the most popular long Washout by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Washout poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon Discovering A Wishbone...
(to late for Hanukkah)
I attach very
little value, nee doubt
to farfetched linkedin
phenomena brought about
when breaking off
the larger section
of a wishbone,
sans effortless knockout,
my dominant hand
did hold out,
while yours truly pretended
to freak out
with a playful
twist and shout,
no matter aye attribute
"FAKE" good luck,
thus resumed crafting
this poem scout
ting for expressing
rhyme to work out
for no reason only to rollout
a silly ditty re:
guarding Bobe myseh -
I did not tout
(Old wives tale,
an untrue belief), -
on par with trout,
that could scale Mount Fisher
anticipating literary washout
nonetheless silently did ruminate,
(preposterous yen for
lower teeth to sprout),
after filling more
lines against whiteout
quickly some minutes
passed, or thereabout
aye, forgot about
the matter altogether
thus imagine my utter stirabout,
when my tongue felt
faint ridge to stickout
no, though gifted
with vivid imagination...,
an immediate welled up,
(then quickly squelched) to runabout
mine person tends tubby
low key, but...now phaseout,
could take place
for lower dentures
with greater choice of foods,
(this pork guy) could pigout
humph...naturally methought
third set of teeth,
not exceptionally outrageous,
nor exceptionally noticeable
unless...lower lip made
into a miniature rainspout.
A holiday weekend
With nothing but rain
Gives so many a solid
Excuse to complain.
All those outdoor events
At a park or a beach
Will, because of the weather,
Be way out of reach.
Those who rented a cottage
Or booked a hotel
Might be bummed that their plans
Won’t be going so well.
Yes, the roads may be flooded
And temps much too cool
To show off your new bathing suit
Down by the pool
Yet, there’s tennis to watch
Or there’s reading a book
And, aside from the grill,
There are more ways to cook.
Still, it is disappointing
When plans that you’ve made
Have to change because Nature
Rained on your parade.
The wind,
a poetry brushing
my skin.
Ferns painting
ankles
in cool dew
on a hiker’s trek.
The stars,
arranged or
understood as
arranged...
a song not
yet forgot.
An arrangement of
notes, of diacriticals,
of arpeggios,
awaiting the blushing
washout.
My arms, open to
the lovely dark,
the smokily smudged
pre-dawn...
Tea vapours’ tendrily
hand caresses tenderly
my nostril, my
hungry Palace of
Intent.
She sleeps,
Somewhere.
Or rises.
Somewhere, that
accursèd ‘not here.’
She starts a shower,
she starts her coffee,
she starts her car.
She starts her day.
These arms are never
so Empty, so Open
as in these epoch
hours before the Light.
Thunderstorm
a midnight lightning
My monsoon, I could not awaken
thunder, I could not forsaken
Thundery tintinnabulation tinkling
A sudden, sonic boom
The thundery thunderhead thundering
And the thunderstorms never stewing
I was thundering
Meteoroid's that is wandering
a cloudburst and yes it hums
And that moment my soul grew noisy
Suddenly, I heard some sleeting
there be more purely fleeting?
Rain deafening washout
Thunder
I have dreamed of the torrents
I saw the rains
Only this and a aftershock
I saw the thunderbolts
Suddenly, I heard hollering
But in the fact that it was growling
the laughing, lumbering lightening
And the winds never whistling
Of the light's that is brightening
What there be more pure lightning?
I heard a windward, scintillating pounding
the howling beating
A rumble torn
Thunderstorm
8/20/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©