Long Zagging Poems
Long Zagging Poems. Below are the most popular long Zagging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Zagging poems by poem length and keyword.
I stroll through the small resort town
at the southern end of Lake George,
William Henry rises above,
the famous colonial fort.
From the French & Indian days,
the original stood right here,
it didn’t last half a decade,
this one has stood seventy years.
Makes me wonder which of the forts
we’d call the ‘real’ William Henry,
the one that’s stood the text of time?
Or the one lost to history?
Not far off is the Bloody Pond,
where they say the water ran read
during the Battle of Lake George,
when ambush left so many dead.
It seems to be just a marsh now,
the cattails waving in the wind,
my mind digs up a ghoulish thought,
did all the bodies fill it in?
Nearby is the town’s paved bike path,
once the old colonial road,
where troops and supplies once flowed through,
now joggers and kids come and go.
Across the way imported sand
arcs around in a massive beach,
do they know bateaux landed there
delivering guns for the siege?
That some of their hulls still remain
rotting in the lake-bottom muck?
I’m sure some like the past like me,
but I can’t imagine it’s much.
The girls in tight bikinis
don’t think of the hell that once reigned
on the spot where they drink up sun,
and excited young children play.
The shops where they buy souvenirs,
once trenches zig-zagging the earth,
dug under fire by Frenchmen
trying to get guns to the works.
The central road where they drove in,
where the massacre did go down…
Do we drive over a mass grave
every time we come into town?
It’s not only these grim events
I see when I’m walking about,
a grand hotel once stood right here,
the old kind that really stood out.
Built in the nineteenth century,
lavish Victorian style,
broad porches looking on the lake
where folks could relax a while.
Now a modern hotel stands there,
lifeless square block, concrete and steel,
the first one destroyed the fire,
the kind of loss a town still feels…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully
Soaring so high
fanning the fire
spontaneity angel
of infinite desire.
Sampling the grain
exposing the
straight jacket gang...
love spilling shade
spitting lye and blue rain.
Then they deem you insane.
What they can't control
what they can't contain
they shame into silence then cage
feather and flame
sweet feather and flame.
Feather and flame
golden heart splayed then flayed.
On silver sleeves of stained-glass dreams.
They wish to stain the tigress untamed
what they can't control
what they can't conceive
to blind to see
monolithic egos
of white-hot conceit.
Feather and flame
flying so high
cornucopia of love
Capricorn on fire.
A meteor shower
chandelier cutting the gray
robin egg sky
feather and flame.
Feather and flame
precious petal ordained.
zig-zagging soul
sparkling eye
torn and alone
just another name
on a forgotten stone.
HORRIFIC HIGHWAY
Driving at the speed allowed
On Highway N17, traffic ploughing,
Zig zagging, racing, and over taking
Accidents in the making,
Motor bikes screaming past,
Driving fanatically fast,
Showing off thinking it’s a blast,
A terrifying scene,
Spades, The queen
Of death on the road,
A taxi collides with a
Garbage truck,
Taxi overloaded, what
Incalculable bad luck, people just fly
As most the passengers die,
And garbage and muck,
Fall out of the truck.
Driver trapped underneath,
Fire men, paramedics
Try to pull him out from beneath,
Traffic police guiding cars, into
One lane,
For some, it will never be
The same,
As ambulances carry the
The injured away,
To perhaps see another day!
The dead covered with silver
Thermal blankets are waiting
For the mortuary van
Damn,
Don’t want to see any more,
Want to run,
But trapped in heavy
Traffic jam,
I want to scream and scram,
Suddenly the police open,
The road,
Other cars also broken,
But minor injuries
Thank God,
1st responders, I must
In awe, laud!
NON METERED TAXI’S IN SOUTH AFRICA ARE ALLOWED UP TO 15 PASSENGERS IN A MINI TAXI
AND UP TO 22 IN THE LARGER ONES – THIS WAS AN OVERLOADED MINI
TAXI – MORE OR LESS HALF THE PEOPLE SURVIVED. THIS OCCURRED JUST OUTSIDE
JOHANNESBURG
*I've been called a 'shrew,' told I am self centered, petty, and a few other rather insulting and invective names, so here is my rebuke.
Who plays the straight man for the one known as 'Schmoe?'
It's the Jester who juggles where ever Schmoe tells him to go.
Then there's Mr. DoGoody who seeks the spotlight of fame,
reproaching PS poets by pointing his finger at them in shame.
Three fatuous figures who lie in wait for Poetry Soup blogs
Croaking like three pompous bullfrogs in criticizing dialogues
Verbal abusers, slanderer of a nation, and he who prances
hoping to give Schmoe, his bro, the stage... the lackey dances.
It's a tragic case of fools rushing in where wiser men never go
A disease suffered by the egos of DoGoody, Jester, and Schmoe
A threesome pretending they're Red Barons in control of awacs
but they're just three old wacky muggins, Poetry Soup Quacks.
Ask a question and see what nonsense they will spew at you
Swearing their intent is righteous, and their cause is true blue,
but the more they protest, the deeper the holes they are digging.
A misguided clique always zagging when they should be zigging.
So if you bother to read what they write, just consider this...
the underlying meaning to their dribble shows what's amiss.
It's a game they play...one where they often make mistakes
Nuts have to be added to the batter while making a fruitcake
Now if you're thinking I'm just as guilty for some name calling,
I'm ready to be under attack with their whining and squalling.
I've already been accused by DoGoody of talking behind his back...
So here I am, you're all unblocked if you want to talk more smack.
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
Nine small words have leaped right through the decades.
Jumping through my brain
Thumping through my memory
like a drum that still complains.
Dedicating dancing sounds
on keyboards of old Remingtons
and Underwoods, that understood
young fingers tapping, zigging- zagging
rhythms beating , small bells ringing
to and fro, a carriage swinging
to orchestrated yesterdays
While papers flew, and fingers numbed
with sly old fox tricks, lazy dogs, mixed
with mindless sounds of drumming bits of
gibberish verses, hands rehearsing
the fox, a hound, a cadance clicking
tick-tick-tocking back to classrooms
clocking words now locked in time
Sitting straight, with neck erect
a sticky "J" key...a whiz kid sat
next chair over, such a brat,
she'd try to race me, set the pace
that I could never match, no trace of
satisfaction on her face, and
I would lose my concentration
my head would wander into clouds
where foxes should be chased by hounds
instead I type the same old rounds
of foxes jumping over dogs,
that clogged my mind with silly sounds
which hummed inside my inner child
Old clacking sounds, are still around
they pound today, inside my head
and still I ponder all the while
how that old fox could leap a dog
unless that dog was dead!
..............................................................
Inspired by Craig's Contest: Typewriter
4/20/13
Unsolicited advice
against its storm I brace
Showing no fear or shame
as they get up in my face
In other words ...
They tell me to zig
when I'm zagging
"Hurry up man!"
when I'm lagging
"That's not the way
I'd do it!" they opine
"Better listen to me,
get to it!" every time
Hmm, if that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
More precisely ...
When I do what you say
in my own peculiar way
You stand
beaming with pride
taking credit
If I dare to complain
you declare me insane
then expose me to
ridicule on Reddit
(You don't regret it—
there, I've said it!)
Now I had my say
what will you do?
Hopefully MYOB
not misconstrue
"We just told you
the best way to go
You must listen to us
don’t you know?”
Thanks! If that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
As odd as that sounds
it must be true
I'll be doing sooo much better
when I am you!
astronomical anatomical atoms
buying brilliant blubbery bimbo blobs
collecting claustrophobic colorized clandescently clams
depicting deplorable dependable depraved dendrites
enticing and enlisting energetic enthusiastic enigmas
finally fueling fussy frisky flatulence, forming fleece finders
giving gluttonous glorious gargoyles grinning grace
holding heavy-handed hospital heathens
Ignoring impassible imaginative ideas of interlopers
justifying jiggly jealous jaundiced jugglers jumping jury joyrides
killing kinesthetic kingly Kansas killjoys
leaving lighthearted Larry lollygagging lower than legumes
memorizing momentous miracles of magic meaning moroseness
nudging nebulous narcissistic nightly northern narwhals
occupying octagonal orbital ostrich-like ocelots
pursuing persnickety picky perverted pencils
quizzing questionable quails and quacks
redeeming respectable rustic ricocheting roadrunners
scalloping scuzzy scared scarred skeletons
teasing torrential test tube tarantulas
undermining understated underwater umbrellas
validating villainous vagrants verifying vigor and vim
worrying wiggly worm-like women wasps
‘xasperating ‘xpensive ‘xpansive ‘xtraordinary ‘xtraterrestrials
yielding yellowish youngish yippy youngbloods
zooming zealous zebras zigging and zagging in Zimbabwe