Long Winger Poems
Long Winger Poems. Below are the most popular long Winger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Winger poems by poem length and keyword.
The compact disc now adds full sound.
Our mothers preach from all around.
Explicit lyrics and songs of sin.
We sneak in vodka, some rum and gin.
KISS, The Crue and Guns N Roses.
They play the gym, big hair now poses.
I see my sweet across the stage.
J Geils we dance, rage in the cage.
The smell of hairspray and old spice linger.
We dance real close, ballad of Winger.
The high school dance I sure do miss.
My first real buzz, my first real kiss.
Our parties raged on past the dawn.
The after party still parties on.
Our hidden drinks from all of the teachers.
Come dance with me, under the bleachers.
3-18-20 : "Kim Rodrigues' DWM Contest"
Changing of Seasons
David J Walker
It wasn’t that I wanted my world
To be frozen
It’s just that the season chosen
Naturally will not be like today
Not the sweltering hot heat
That turns the asphalt street into a
Fakers pit of bubbling fire that tourists
Admire and pay to see the bottoms of
His feet and swoon
At least
That’s how I remember the
Hottest days of June
Perhaps as I grow older and remember
Winter winds much colder breaching the
Zipper of my heavy coat
I can sit and gloat by the fire pit
to the young imaginations of
My grandchildren about how this storm
Is not a bit like what I went through just
To walk to school every day
Up-hill all the way
At least
That’s how I remember the
Coldest days of December
Dream peep of early gold rim halo
August riser gleeful in exalted chant
Yield to dulcet chirp from ornate winger
Sunburst orange red splash of heaven
Taunt and tease ocean blue mist eyes
Amber warm rays dazzle pearl clad beach
Revere the hue-rich magic spectra veil
Designed by glow world spirit apt
Aligning deft nirvana enigmatic
You’ll embrace a stunning touchstone
Strewn amid solid crystal bounty
Traipsing vivid emerald paths ahead
Amazed by wondrous vista woven
Redolent of chalk mark visual rife
Dabble in the morn’s first usher
Archway to vibrant wakener within
Yen for ample stimulus astride
Sensory luxuriance devoid of match
Tangled web surfeit found epic
Aching surge of tinted aspect
Rhythmic ripples on beaded brow
Is my notepad a blank space,
canvass or image-ridden spot,
thoughts of aqua bead elation,
mesmerise beyond the fence,
they jump gaudy traffic lights,
but runaway relish cuts wild shape,
when fantasy and environment,
a seamless transit might appear,
notions spiral in frothy oceans,
as time a spring time winger,
unfolds, unveils, unfurls,
its unique ruby nugget chain,
a doorway widens wondrous wares,
I am wide awake to treasures,
set on blaze by rapid prompt,
pencils, crayons, brushes lie down,
to attention writer’s tools,
and a dab of paint on rim,
I’m this usher pulsing conduit,
verily at the cusp of opus,
that has a charging current,
to be found heartily exuded,
must this inbred dalliance,
count for that mint broadside,
as I dwell behind an urban hedge,
the water of wafer thin wetness,
I peer at whilst straying lazily,
to pick up the city rumble,
to avoid that red blush tumble,
into pop up pool endowed,
with variegated plant life enshroud,
frangipani, star jasmine, golden cane palm,
exotic edge encircled feast,
schools of fish in wagtail swarm,
aquarium exhibit for marine throng,
fascinated by the plethora of genus,
and mindful of early dawn tread,,
figment is that candle to nourish,
in saliva swirl anticipation ahead,
that bright mark one might conjure,
as the verse weaver weighing contour,
synonym, wordplay, idiom equivalent,
sudden splash of ink,
indignant worst hand scribble,
gathering, assembling, unifying,
morning hours a speedy sequence,
noonday intermission, afternoon stretch,
evening getting close,
one on a journey might amass,
inspired phrases for posterity,
I wonder has my time come or gone
Who are you
on your best WiseElder day,
in your healthiest culture reinvesting place
and time?
I am an ecological theology writer
with my pen,
a fighter
with my punishing,
shaming and blaming words,
a delighter
without swords
for unnecessary self-defense.
Who are you?
I am a parent
and a gay white son
married to a proud black man
of parents who taught nature as not spirit,
and spirit as not nature,
logos as not mythos,
Yang as not Yin,
rather than the other co-arising facing
nondualistic Way.
Who are you?
I am a seeker
of transparency
in multicultural love
for work as play
as fun
as joy.
Who are you?
I am a Tao-parent
of and for polypathic deep learning synergy
of racing LeftBrain Yangish health
with way less wealth
of guns
and Might
makes LeftBrain authoritarian
Right.
Who are you?
I am active Hope
sometimes graceful,
going out of my listening way
to avoid prideful,
needful,
lack of speech soulful,
without gratitude
for positive energy attitude.
I am for democracy of cooperative nutritional health trends
and grand green and blue wealthy river bends;
I am Hope for golden ends
and means
and ways
and ratios
and elixirs,
medicines
and meditations
and ultra violet bilateral therapies
of full-spectral colors and resonance,
sound and resilience.
Who are you?
I am a matcher
of ego
with Earth's economic justice.
I am a hatcher
of Left with RightWing Holy Synergistics.
I am a snatcher
restoring just pro-life rightness
nondual EarthEast
with Western PostMillennial
EcoLogistics.
I am a WinWin pearl nabber
regenerating DNA
with RNA,
healthing cultural PolyPhonetics.
Who are you?
I am a singer
and a dancer,
a double-bound winger
and a love prancer.
Who are you?
I am notnot you
as we co-arise cooperative identities together.
I am notnot self-uniting
as we co-gravitate to sacred gather.
Who are you?
A veteran winger of the American women’s soccer team,
Megan Rapinoe is much maligned now,
for she unexpectantly missed a penalty in the shootout
in the crucial match against Sweden that caused
the USA, the defending champion, to crash out
of the FIFA Women’s World Cup 2023.
Amidst controversy, Megan was included in the team
at the last moment for her 4th World Cup appearance,
in recognition of her talent as a crafty player,
known internationally for her astute style of play,
scoring 63 international goals,
2 directly from corner shots, a great feat.
She is the recipient of the Golden Boot
and the Golden Ball awards for the best tournament player
at the FIFA Women’s World Cup 2019 in France.
She is recognized as the Time magazine’s
one of the most influential people of 2020,
and received in 2022 the Presidential Medal of Freedom,
nation’s highest civilian honor.
Her autobiography (One Life) detailing her early life,
career highlights and setbacks,
activism for racial and gender equality,
and personal relationships,
became New York Time’s best seller.
Though she failed the USA soccer team,
and crushed its hope to win the 2023 World Cup,
and even if she disappears
from the women’s international soccer scene,
Megan Rapinoe will be remembered as a legend.
It’s disturbing to see
The rise in unhinged left-wing violence.
A Leftist cause-celeb dies of overdose
With a policeman’s knee on his neck
And the nation erupts in chaos, riots, killings
And cities all aflame.
A Right-winger is martyred by a trans loving kid
And prayer and candlelight vigils and waves of peace
Spread out like a tsunami of healing.
Could the contrast be any greater?
Every day another unhinged shooter
Takes more lives, in some vain attempt at relevance,
And nine out of ten times it’s a Leftist.
When did the lie of Leftist peace begin?
Maybe when they were just dreaming
Because from the very beginning
It has been the side of revolution
And revolutions always justify the means
To achieve their ends.
But revolutionaries always get a pass
Because they dream big and try to change the world
But no one ever asks to and from what?
The time for death and destruction
Revolution and change for the sake of change
Is past.
Now is the time for the revelation
Of something new
Which has been here all along.
Something grounded in the best we have to offer
Not the most we can take.
What do you have to offer that makes you
On the whole a giver not a taker?
Because that is the turning point
Between being a child and adult,
A turning point we each need to face
And discover for ourselves.
Hinged or unhinged is not a matter of chance
It is a choice, our choice,
And when we feel unhinged
In the face of some terrifying void
We need to remember, true change
Only comes from within
But then opens out into a renewed world.
And those doors
Open best when their hinges
Are firmly in place.
And if we find ourselves too shaky to stand
And can’t see a way forward
Maybe it is as simple as recognizing
We are still like a child
In need of something to eat, a good rest
And simply a warm loving hug.
Being unhinged is not by chance
It is by choice
To destroy in the name of change.
Destroy because our fear
Has replaced that love.
(9/25/25)