Long Whip Poems
Long Whip Poems. Below are the most popular long Whip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whip poems by poem length and keyword.
Let's see now, I've got 20 minutes here
I'll just whip off a poem
or two. Who knows?
What should I write about? I need a topic
Animals? Nature? Romance? Technology?
Nah! Those have all been beaten to death
and then some
I know! Bowling! Yes, bowling! No one
I mean, NOBODY, ever writes about bowling
In fact, let's google it...Aha!...Oh, no! What's this?
There are all sorts of people who've written about it
I mean I even know some of them: Cay Cay Jennings and
Jack Ellison and Jim Yerman have written about it
Even Caren Krutsinger has alluded to 'God bowling' as have
others, and there are lots more poems about bowling too...
Well, there goes 10 minutes already, but uh, er, I have written about
Bowling, haven't I?...
So, how'd I do?!
Once upon a time, a bold knight started his quest
That led him to the fearsome beast's enclave,
Radiant in an armor of courage shining like gold
Where the Dragon roared from disturbed sleep,
As vile creature spewed blasts of heated flame,
Unsettling the master's gait down to the rocks.
But the hero regained fast with his shield, mighty
As lightning, and charged the dragon once, twice;
To where the barbed point struck a monster's chest...
Undaunted, this giant Draco retaliated in haste
Lashing out talons upon our hero's smaller form,
While the mad creature drew it most lethal blow
Now causing the noble knight to fall into a daze.
O, his loyal unicorn retrieved his master's sword
That angered the dragon, anew, reeling a fire...
With his steed alive through chroming on its head
In daring rush, brave knight punctured enemy's sides
Aiming at Draco's eyes, the poison found there;
Like a whip, the empire's villain met its death:
And gallant victor pulled the dragon's head
Which he offered to the king-- a prized endowment,
As for our warrior... dearest princess, his bride!
---------------
Eve Roper's Once Upon A Time Contest
2/6/2017
Shame on those who malign the green bean casserole!
It gustatory delightfulness I shall e'er extol!
With 'fork in cheek' I'll take nonbelievers to task,
And their foibles and biases will strive to unmask!
Folks who disdain this dish ain't tellin' the truth.
Their culinary tastes are so pitifully uncouth!
I'd like to meet the feller who began this unsavory fable,
To ask why he destined it for such an untimely label!
At the church potluck dinner on fellership night,
There's always a green bean casserole to my delight!
A holiday repast with bountiful board just ain't complete,
Unless there's the inevitable green bean casserole to eat!
'Tis such a scrumptious dish, yet so easy to prepare.
Even I could whip up a batch, I really do declare!
Mix some beans, some onion thingys and mushroom soup,
And there you have it folks, all in one fell swoop!
Ere I flee this realm I aim to found as one of my goals,
"The Society For The Propagation Of Green Bean Casseroles!"
Upon my stone you may etch when I end this life's pursuit:
"Many were the green bean casseroles consumed by this galoot!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Silhouette of memories, flowing like silk, as waves collides, body to body never sea sick, we medicate each other by staring in each other's eyes, with soft spoken vibes, that penetrates the inner core, to stabilize our chemical balance, achieving the ultimate climax fulfilling the void, without richness,but with simplicity of indigent affection.
Bumping each other's heartbeat,sycronized, like a old school mix tape, bouncing with echos and body rockin like a cali earthquake, If only I had a chance to change the hands of time, to feel, touch, and caress your hourglass of life, with celebration of whip cream, dripping wet, lost in the moment, drowning in your passion, no doubt, mouth to mouth my vitals begin to fluncuat, cause only you, give me life.
There’s a load of dust and sweat pulling my ole tired mussels
down
These two old warn out feet get a little draggy, the way I get around
I’m just a bunch of tired bones tripping over burdens and stress
Yet, there are times when I find that cottonwood tree and get my
evening’s rest
From the cool restful shadows that hide the setting sun
I can hear the sad ole Whip-poor-will as he starts his evening run
I get a little sleepy and my hat droops over my eyes
I hardly even notice, the troubles of a pesky fly
My old hound dog lies asleep, his eyes casting a downward pose
And there’s smells trotting from the kitchen stove, to tease his
twitching nose
Then there’s a coffee pot percolating, I can hear its happy song
And the wife calls the family in, for supper in our country home
But, as night time wins its daily fight, causing the sun to flee
Shadows dancing with the moon, to the tune of a cottonwood melody
I find my mind has recovered as I hear the cricket’s call
It’s then, I see that proud little banjo propped stately against the wall
The folks gather around me, in the glow of the lamp’s little light
I strike a note in the cord, of G, and it seems to sound all right
Little sister’s voice is soft and pure as I pluck the banjo strings
And the music from our country choir, makes the windows ring
Mom and Dad and all the others, kids everywhere from small to big
Even old Gray Hair Granny’s toes are tapping out the banjo jig
Old Luke limps from under the house and settles in his favorite spot
and that banjo rings all over the house and down the wide dog-trot
All to gather, we lift our voices in tune with my little banjo
Its the best country pleasure this little home will ever know
That banjo’s lively notes, lifts our voices in a roaring tone
A banjo music serenade “An ode to our country home.”
Stands up when He whispers in your ear
Falling down year after tear
Waiting in line till it's your turn
Being shown the door and the shade burns
He rides you and the whip flails
The widow waits each month for the check in the mail
The whisper remembers as the tree sheds each Fall
Will he see his shadow, will he see what he saw
Stands alone does the spring crocus
She waits for the Sun
And Mother spins and spins
She waits as the Robin for the peck of her egg
Dying as the bullet shreds his memory of the flag
Stands for the widow as his breath sags
The politician wears full armor as he speaks at the mic
Stand up ,vote and the reward helps to see the light
And the years go by and the body starts to lean
The wrinkles round the bend and pick up steam
To stand tall when all say you're wrong
The last bar closes with the last song
The rose is killed as she stands
Trash strewn and the wind
The Sun goes dark and a single tear
And He whispers goodnight
O fall, let this lore of love be the last.
Let the amber rot of the season claim everything
I ever thought I owed to human breath.
Let the leaves of your soul -
weightless, luminous,
ready to unbind from the branch, -
speak directly to the scars carved into your flesh.
I am stepping out of the skin that belonged to them all.
No more bracing for the quiet violence of human eyes
whose enamored love was laced with blight.
Give me the vast, unwritten ache of the open earth.
Give me the sharp, electric bite of frost on bare ankles
as I break into a run across an endless expanse -
fields unmarred by fence lines,
surrendering fully to the absolute air.
I want to feel the raw, unfiltered press of the wind
filling my lungs like a newly discovered ocean.
A suffocation so absolute
it bears no wish to destroy me,
only declare that I am alive entirely on my own terms.
Let the tall, golden grasses whip against my legs,
leaving clean, glowing streaks that belong only to the wild.
Let the sky press its infinite blue against my shoulders,
anchoring me until my breath is claimed by no one but myself.
Let the wild creatures run beside me.
In their eyes, there is only the untamed, uncomplicated present.
They move by instinct and grace,
pure,
blameless,
and whole.
To run among beings who exist simply to exist
is to remember the original rhythm of my own heart.
I want to rest my hand against the rough fur of a roaming hound,
to feel the steady, triumphant thump of a heart that asks nothing of me,
that sees no flesh to carve,
only a fellow creature breathing under the same cold sun.
I am weaving myself back together now
with delicate threads pulled from my own fragile shell.
I will court my own joy.
I will master the sublime art of loving myself
until the light begins in my own center
and illuminates every step I take across this new expanse.
I am my own land, my own wilderness, my own salvation.
The autumn leaves fall, and as they reach the soil,
I leap above their golden drift,
and I run.
Unchained. Unbounded. Finally, gloriously free.
Written: January 06, 2025, for contest. Sponsored by: Regina Mcintosh
Quote: "During winter, cuddle up with a mug of hot cocoa and some fluffy white snowflakes—they're like a kiss from the sky." By Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The world is quiet on a winter's night
The stars gleam as faint hopes in a crisp sky
Down silent snow, souls whisper deep insight
Shadows move across numb lakes as stars vie
Each flake is feat faith in face of life's plight
Peacefulness of night mirrors our core sigh
The Pungeant winds whip the gravel with force
And the winter clinch has been harshly coarse
Twigs bend under winter's weight yet stay strong
A calm praise to the deep spine stance we hold
Their charm shows the grace of a set soul's song
While mild breeze lullaby draws views of scold
But its tune carries the pledge of vast gong
Amid turmoil, we find peace in life mold
When it turns cold, fire from Hell grows in speed
Its often pale glow brings a sense of deed
Soft sheets of grace goad, lack a mayhem nest
Hope floats like blessed hues on frost-flecked fields
In this calm setting, our souls taste sweet rest
While winter whispers sullen wind meets shields
Scoop reveals paths that were once wrapped in zest
Nature's nurturing boosts healing and wields
And a maiden, enthralled by love, now warm
Casting aside a grudge coupled with storms
Once you sailed upon the dawn
to grace the eaves of Pomona's verdant lawn,
but now in splendor you have drooped;
no longer shall you unleash torrents from your tongue.
Oh, white-hot zephyr of the morning,
How I wish your fall had come with warning!
Now your incandescent train is gloom;
no more will you water the thirsty orchards and summer-famished corn.
When you trawled the horizon with golden voice,
and with your sickle sliced the noise,
I never thought your time might be curtailed,
cut down by blade sharper than the one you hoisted.
Pluck Apollo's lyre: scatter drops of pearlescent dew,
Once your music winged over tangles of elm and yew,
yet never shall the harmonies of eternity be dampened:
or so I thought before the sapphire goblet was drained to the lees.
Words are immortal beings: spinning, flailing, sinning, wailing:
We cannot taste fluttering rose-buds but we can send language tailing,
to hoop, bedeck with gilt the firmament
and shoot rays of opalescent ecstasy to blind rogues into submission.
Yet far more and far higher is life than words can tell:
What more can be said? Strike the ages-worn bell.
Let it shoot its brawny waves over the seas,
and whip its well-worn message to the stars.
Church bells are ringing and today ain't sunday,what day will you say bye bye..o' lord why? I wonder if my youngest brother Dave gonna cry..I used to whip his butt.everyday,hmmmn,well at least I made it into heaven cause over there i see a seven eleven.oh my God there's Nina Simone long gone still singing her favorite songs..to be young gifted and black that's where it's at,oh no not reverend rich,I used to swear no way in hell. that woman chaser will make it into heaven,huh oh.where am I let's see if I can fly ain't grown no wings yet oh lord why, I always wondered what it was like to be up here in heaven,not that I was in a hurry,I want to know if I get tired of flying around all day,can I say Shazam and I will be right back down on earth in life checking things out for a minute or will I have to fly up here through eternity, daily eat caviar ,have Minnie Riperton serenade my dinner table every evening with something melodic and pleasing..look at them they can't wait for this wake to end so they can drink a lot of gin lick some fried chicken and laugh a lot why I lay frozen stiff in this box over in plot c wit. 6 feet of dirt piled on top of me tomorrow I will hop into my spanking new convertible Mustang and push the pedal to the medal..I won't die I can fly.anyways back to the church and what's this stuff oozing through my veins,I requested to be cremated my brother thaddeus was so faded..tomorrow I'm gonna fly straight over to seven eleven and get me a gallon of cold-cold Gatorade in case it starts to get hot up in here.