Long 500 Poems
Long 500 Poems. Below are the most popular long 500 by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 500 poems by poem length and keyword.
New Fiats can be seen on the roads of our nation
since they took the reins of the Chrysler Corporation.
One hundred and eight horsepower does not seem like a lot.
However, that's all we need. The engine gives all it's got.
This Italian machine is quite a diminutive dynamo.
Being very light, it can really get up and go.
Fiat departed North America about three decades ago.
Thankfully, these Italian automobiles have returned.
They are once again displaying the reputation they have earned.
These cars display power with great fuel economy.
If one is good enough for the Pope, it's good enough for me.
Elon Musk did not rise from rags,
He was born into a house of gold,
Wealth carved from shadows,
A family cradled by the crimes of Western capitalism.
This system—polished devil of our time—
Feeds on the sweat of workers,
Drinks from rivers it poisons,
And calls inequality “progress.”
Healthcare chained, education sold,
Housing turned into prisons of debt.
While the poor drown in hunger,
The rich soar on blood-stained rockets.
They crown him “genius,” “visionary,”
Yet he is no more than a tool—
A mask for governments in shadows,
A puppet dancing on stolen taxes.
Yes, Babylon once laughed in pride,
Its rulers blind to the cracks beneath their feet.
So too shall this empire of steel and screens crumble,
For the sorrow of the poor is never buried—
It rises, like fire, to devour the thrones of liars.
Elon Musk is not the miracle,
He is the mirror—
Reflecting the wicked face of a system
Worth nothing but shame.
Umbilical umbrellica of umbral phantanes
"Anjelsmoth Banjitreel Naievae"
These are the spasmodic words you cause in me,
dare to ascertain in my exotic condition
of your cusping contain
My darkroom carotodomy gastronomy
of infrareds and lightwinds, rushing in,
scouts of wrath seeking the four ends
As you pet pet pet care snap twang, mend
"your pretty thing"
KarmaSupra-Natural endear- in me how spooning
feeds bends at my thrashing and gnashing of teeth
where your purring thickens in my auditorium,
arouses condition,
echoes in sonar picture perfect verbatim,
ruins in salvatore partition
Your light-wound
Is it a seizure, a leash
Tourettes syndrome, speaking in tongues?
What is it called, may I know-
I need a name, give me your true name-
and what aim, what precision archery,
what kind of game are you hunting?
Bondfires burning in the Valley of the Kings
Stuck Pig, squealing and turned by your spiteful
rotisserie of baneful spit you leave to dangle
as an apple on your lips?
Mountain Ram, braving the rocks and the heights carelessly of crash-ward depths?
Did I lock horns a moments long locked
on a linger and caught in a snare
of your primal mating ritual of Astuan?
Challenge your beckoning finger
talons of Vulcan Eagle to soar me to the heavens,
how did we get here?
Why must I be your icarus of daring -
savage amusement, knowing
I cannot outstare the burning sun
The melting in your wax museum,
peepshow coliseum, of the lost, you are the acost
of my 'verted musement again and again and again
Libra is scaling taxation, purgatory perdeum owed-
to the shades of Shangri la,
I'd say we, you and me are more than even,
Nefertiri
Will our clashes ever die?
Our gashes ever sustain or lusts
or take the darts from our eyes?
We a gleaming the cube and porpoising the rift
on the lips of
evermore, Eigypsed in the swollen rains
with chariots on fire
At the steppes of our estranged world,
of the law, of desire
...You can feel them on the wind...
As the ethereal guitar mesmerises
My soul responds
As if I dipped into a melodic bath
Of perfectly curated
Lovingly tempered
Heart massaging
Candle flickering
Water
A fragrant tune invades
My nostrils
Flaring as the warm
Moistened air tumbles by
The world merges into
Perfection
Harmony
Stirring
The resonance
Of childhood memory
Percolating through the mist
As sliding strings
Caress my ears
My mind drifting
Towards that past
Safer place
Yet this mesmerising medication
This tuneful tumult quelling
Perfect prescription
Is deeply welcome
Somewhere in my gut
My true being
Soothed as we surrender
To this soulful sabbath
May you never grow old
At the joyful table
Where your soul dines
Hear the whispers
Of the small pleasures
Taste the fermented flavours
Of the ordinary delights
Using all your available senses
When the music plays
To transport you
Run to catch the moment
Soak in the vapour
Embibe the elixir
Breathe it all in deeply
Holding in gratitude
Each heavenly moment
They are on the final stage
Of being in their Nascar cage
Soon they will leave the Daytona sun
And under the lights this car racing contest will be done
After putting up with the rain
It is time to deal with the pit crew game
Check the gas and the glass
Along with the discount tires needed to go fast
Since right on the heels is the Pennzoil shell
Who is trying to make all this gel
Pushing a little harder on the pedal made things go
And Shell Oil was a leader during this east coast happy hour show
As many laps and miles went by
Everybody seemed to be enjoying this sunshine state ride
Kroger might have had a spin and those chocolate candy nuts still wanted to win
It was on lap 184 that discount tires found themselves headed for the exit door
There four wheels lost control in this event
Sending many to the emergency tent.
When returned the laps were showing only ten
Oscar Meyer still was on top to defend
Ketchup and mustard were not needed
Only some grueling time of something called competing
Down the wire the seventy-seven set off such a fire
But nevertheless
It was the fed express
Who got there working overtime
Making sure they were first over the checkered line
But the show was not over since there was one last out of control car schtick
Performed as a Nascar trick.
After finishing the race Oscar Meyer made its case
Let’s flip the bun
To see if there is any ketchup left when the stunt is done.
Up in the air they went
Coming down feeling really spent.
At this hour it is in God’s hands and he is in charge
Of this Nascar star.
But all in all, the Daytona meet stayed with in the law
Sending the circus to Las Vegas where they are here to gamble money
Not the stock car who is there true honey.
Simon says: Thirteen’s my lucky number.
Thirteen years ago, I took dad’s money
and bargained with Time to make my name known.
Fate nudged its elbow into my circuit.
Penske luck and talent helped carry me.
I have had the best mentors in the world
who helped me master the intricacies
of maneuvering oval victories.
Last Sunday, no one wanted that wreath more,
the milk had my name on it from the start.
My best chance to kiss the bricks in Indy,
gotta get in rhythm, driving success.
Thirteen laps to go; green lights on again,
Alex and I changed the lead five more times.
Two tenths of a second, first 'cross the line;
Simon Pagenaud wins the Five Hundred.
If thirteen more (or less) inches had been on the track?
Would that have doubled my win time (half-a-second) or
would Alexander Rossi have taken the title?
No, Fate and Time got it right - drivers of victory.
May 28, 2019
Julia Ward's contest: Driver of Victory
Simon Pagenaud (Padj' en no)
CIPROFLOXACIN HCL 500 MG remedied urinary tract infection
No aversion nor embarrassment
admitting, divulging, and jumpstarting
poetic endeavor regarding yours truly
afflicted, blighted, and contracted
with urinary tract infection,
(though condition finds me
feeling pissed off),
whereby urination fraught with
painful burning, gouging,
and stinging sensation.
Aside from the aforementioned ailment
practically, nearly, nay already cured,
after taking bad medicine, I feel great,
but recognize necessity
to take full course
of poetically issued, incorporated,
and identified antibiotic
despite feeling more drowsy than usual.
Impossible mission scrambling,
rummaging, and traversing
complex edifice housing
nooks and crannies pinpointing
how I, albeit married (libido
long since took kamikaze nosedive -
most likely adverse side effect
courtesy countless medications
prescribed to alleviate the bane
of social anxiety, obsessive
compulsive disorder, palmar hyperhidrosis,
et alia) though celibate
became subjected to micturate
experienced problematic discharge
to take a wizz with difficulty and discomfort.
The miracle of modern medicine
(actually corroboration of many
intelligent people such as biochemists,
biomedical engineer, pharmaceutical scientists,
et cetera) nips in figurative bud
ailments of body, mind and spirit
without which yours truly
among untold other individuals
would be unable to function
close to their optimal level as possible.
Though long since averse
to the crass commercialization
of most holidays in general,
and Christmas in particular;
eons ago boyhood found me
unbounded, unrestrained, untethered,
et cetera with bounteous excitement
when December twenty fifth
approached then finally arrived
whereat I knew full well
bearer of various and sundry gifts
linkedin with mother reminding father
in quasi cryptic words scotch tape
and newspaper in such and such place.
At ripe old age
of three score plus three
orbitz around the nearest star
considerably less enthusiasm gushes forth
at clamoring to purchase
and/or receive presents,
but rather anonymous
zoological primate here
within apartment b44
simply wanted a hippopotamus
to appease the hidebound grinch.
It is the Indianapolis 500, I am in the lead of course.
My car has the power of more than a buggy and horse.
Wait! Did that car just pass me? Racing for me is not a whim!
I am irritated and peeved, so I catch up and overtake him.
I hurry to not only catch up, but leave him in my dust.
His old jalopy is not pretty, and has a back fender of rust.
Hey wait! Cars pass on the left, they pass on the right.
They pass down the middle, it’s fight team, fight fight.
This is a challenge and I am more than ready to win.
I streak down the interstate highway with vigor and vim!
You can’t catch me! I yell as I pass everything on the road.
The cops are chasing me now, maybe winning is going to get old.
The term driver of victory
came to me unbidden, unexplored
I tossed it around in my dendrite chambers
My muse caught it and ran with it
She is amusing, but she has great ideas too
She decided Victory was a race car,
We daringly painted her in our favorite colors.
Hot pink, canary yellow, and outrageous orange.
Victory was beautiful, gloriously bright.
She showed up all of the other race cars
They were dull in their silly primary colors
With wraps from well-known sponsors
We stood beside Victory in our silky race car jackets
painted in hot pink, canary yellow and outrageous orange.
The other cars cried, they were so intimidated.
Let the race begin!
Written 6-04-2019
Contest: Driver of Victory Verse
Sponsor: Julia Ward