Long Adder Poems
Long Adder Poems. Below are the most popular long Adder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adder poems by poem length and keyword.
Man’s intrinsic apathy's negligence-justified frown
Is the actual defining substance of a mortal clown;
Who with hollowed prejudgments fellow men slays,
And likens to hallowed duty his thoughtless decays.
He is evil's meekest martyr by doom's onus bound,
The cold-blooded outlaw donning dark's lucid veils;
His the bounden call to trim unwary lives that thrive,
His a sworn charge to hit to halt sea's merriest sails.
They're hell's happiest saints of true devoted cadre,
Obstinate desperados who without real reason hate;
Theirs rare glories for wanton vitriol by meanest fate
Met on innocent casualties of villainy's vicious adder.
What grand gratification fills world's cruelest hearts
That sting undeserving souls in most delicate parts?
Why do allegedly feeling minds grow numbest to cry,
Whilst their pleading victims in iron malevolence die?
How can life’s most cognitive kind find sweet preys,
In other creatures alike in mien and all visible ways?
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most
High,
who abides in the shadow of the All
Mighty,
will say to the Lord," My refuge and my
and my fortress;
my God in whom I trust."
For he will deliver you from the snare
of the fowler
and from deadly pestilence;
he will cover you with his pinions,
and under his wings you will find
refuge;
his faithfulness is a shield and a buckler.
You will not fear the terror of the night,
nor the arrow which flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
nor the destruction that wastes at
noonday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand;
but it will not come near you.
You will only look with your eyes
and see the recompense of the wicked.
Because you have made the Lord your
refuge,
the Most High your habitation,
no evil shall befall you,
no scourge near your tent.
For he will give his angels charge of you
to guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up,
least you dash your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and on the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will
trample under foot.
Because he cleaves to me in love, I will
deliver him;
I will protect him, because he knows
my name.
When he calls to me, I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will rescue him and honor him;
With long life I will satisfy him,
and show him my salvation.
In Christ's Love,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy 1954/October Country
August 20. 2022
This virus eats through our spirit clothes
has exposed our "leaders'" truest soul.
The ones we elected for the simple task
The ones that now refuse to work for the working man.
One side wants to exile us off to virus island.
Include Puff Adder seasoning into the panic recipe.
Shut down everything to tank the economy.
Make great strides politically speaking
Stroke the people's feathers and smile
Play their broken mind strings in the light
Then shank them on the sly...
The other side
wants us to go about our business
to save the green-backed bull
at the expense of a million lives.
The virus just rides the breeze-laughing
Chairman Xi is smiling
As he culls his oppressed and desperate herd.
That never had a voice.
Xi wishes to temper trump tariffs
prefers the donkey over the elephant.
He's "Biden" his time.
wants to trim 45 stars from our flag
and paint the rest yellow over red...
While terrorists are taking notice.
Thinking they have the perfect potion.
To turn our freedoms into chum
Turn our drinking water into blood
Cover our heads in wicked ideology.
They're wrong; America has great resolve
Will come out of this COVID cave even stronger,
We've done it countless times before.
These hate moths will never stop trying.
To cover up our light.
Eat the fabric of our souls.
Point their little pricks in our direction
Sprinkle misery dust onto our God.
God, help them, for they do not know.
Stolen
waters are
sweet as time
passes on it stays
stale and stinks stink to
Its abductor and revenge to
its owner her prize he thinks the
Temperament, he cannot keep and the
heart of the owner is weighty, its bereavement
causes stink
Stolen
waters are
sweet when he
steals her from its
first lover she is but
pleasurable, but over
time in the arms of her
new lover becomes wet
And swampy, her love begins to fade.
The
candle
in a man
the mirror of
fair Daisy the
weakness in a
man shadows of
the stranger
Alas!
the cause
of the owner
is in the room of
the thief her first love
has caught her mood she
but a snare in the hands of new lover.
Stolen
waters are
sweet It is death
to the soul of her new
lover It blurs the path of her
abductor squeezes her grape of
misery into her cup of insomnia to
end his life she prays Her secrecy to
her third lover she keeps
But
first it
must thirst
sweet then sour ,
flowing into the belly
of the abductor cold and
piercing an iceberg is born
Grinding up intestine constipation set in
sweet when love
is in rage it blinds its
lover tears him apart like
The queen bee its Drone
draining out it blood weakening
strength of it lover to ever live again.
Stole
waters
smooth
taste the
tongue acid
The belly
sweet
It choked its
victim with the
air of death Caught
In between the fangs
of pains
Like
an adder
would Its prey
and gently it goes
down into its gully pipe
Squeaking like a petrified mice
it got no salvation
with
sleeping
open eyes
mouth open
close gasping for breath
It
speaks
silently to
its pleasure.
This beauty but
A Plague as stolen
waters are sweet but to the
Taste of death and as his eyes
closes he looks Upon her beautiful
face once more
Not Anne, But Gabrielle
by Gabrielle Munslow
If you want me to take you to another time,
take my hand.
Don’t furrow your brow.
Slick with storylines,
my tongue twists
like an adder.
Poetry spills—
some good, some bad,
but always real.
I write of suffering.
I write of death.
I write of want.
No pretty, prophetic prose.
But I can still
slip a ditty off my toes.
I am Anne with an E.
No bird.
No net ensnares me.
Still, I rest,
and language thrills my bones.
Time stills—
or quickens.
Language isn’t luxury;
it’s necessity.
Down rabbit holes I go,
deep and twisted.
I braid my breath into roots.
I speak to the dirt,
and it answers.
Once a girl.
Now a woman,
retelling her youth.
I
am not Anne with an E.
I am Gabrielle—
with poems for sale.
?
© 2025 Gabrielle Munslow. All rights reserved.
This poem may not be reproduced, distributed, or performed without the author’s permission.
How about one day,
You sleepand you wake:
And your web is no longer existing,
And your phone is no longer active,
And your laptop wouldn't work.
And you lover wouldn't wake.
And your legs wouldn't walk.
And your pet is no where to be found.
And you tv set goes blank-
Even like the always crying cloud.
And your wife is not in her place,
And your kids are not with you to play.
And you strived to get to the window,
You crawled like an adder choked by its prey,
Struggling to peep through the window.
And you see everywhere devastated:
The white house retains no longer her dignity,
Trump is equaled with the beggars at the street-
Both caught in the claws of indecision.
How about that God you never believe
in seem to exist.
And the hell you called an abstract idea
Prove its existence.
And the Heaven you tagged
'Allusion' appeared as the new moon.
What if you're weighed and found wanting?
And that you've been just fooling and whirling away your eternal freedom
you once called false ideas.
What will you do?
Form:
HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT
Some said it was coming, even imminent
But it’s actually here now, and for real
A New World Order no longer a theory
Such that of TV news we should be leery
What we think we know, or what we feel
Could it all be to our ultimate detriment
No need for violent protests or anti-vax
Smiles, as protest movements seem insane
Shadows have control behind the scenes
It will be finally sorted by counting beans
And won’t be long till we’re all young again
Fake news will include just enough facts
With the trend of an ageing population
The balance of misery can subtly shift
Those who earn will pay even more tax
As top decision makers cover their tracks
And genuine questions given short shrift
Democratic views become an aberration
Unlike Lord Flashheart in Black Adder
With that exuberant ignorant attitude
The puppeteers hold very long strings
Politicians dance doing stupid things
Few now will believe any platitude
At least that doesn’t make us sadder
But there’s never a good day to die
Unlike a budget film, poorly directed
Comedy is flushed away in a torrent
What was once accepted, now abhorrent
By modern rules all are now affected
With new standards we must comply
It was a mystery
The death of her twin sister
Helen became jittery
On the manner death had kissed her.
These few words sister could only say
“It was the speckled band”
Before her last breath drifted away
The context Helen couldn’t understand.
To solve her sister’s death mystery
And fearing it could now be her turn
She told the scary story
To Sherlock Holmes with great concern.
The sleuth was confused by the word band
Was the criminal the gypsy roaming around
Committing the crime as planned
Or someone else out of bound?
Holmes searched for the physical clue
Saw the ventilator of stepfather Roylott’s room
Sister’s room it opened to
Through which danger could loom.
In sister’s room Holmes heard hissing sound
Coming from Roylott’s room on one night
He then rushed there and found
Swamp adder snake slithering in dim light.
Holmes attacked the snake with dexterity skilled
Onto Roylott’s head it was thrown
The mastermind behind the crime was killed
By the murder weapon of his own.
______________
August 23, 2022
Contest : Start Sleuthing
Sponsored by : Natasha L Scragg
EXHAUSTED = Ted's all worn out
EMBARRASSES = Them bare asses
CRESCENDO = Toothpaste in your endo
HAPPINESS = Happy with your private male part
PISTOL = Charge for going pee
FOOTAGE = How old is your foot
EDUCATION = Studying while on vacation
FORTUNATE = Ate four tunas
ALTERATIONS = Change rations
INFORMATION = All lined up in a row
REGISTRATE = Reginald is heterosexual
PHOTOGRAPH = Picture of a chart
DICTIONARY = Never shun your private part
CAREER = Back end of a car
EXPOSURE = Formerly poop for sure
WINDOWPANE = Ow that wind is painful
POLITICIANS = A parrot who shuns the limelight
BLOCKBUSTERS = People who get in the way of a bus
ANNIVERSARY = Backside on backwards
CANADIAN = Ian is a good adder
OPPORTUNITY = Oh a poor choice of a nitty gritty tune
PERPETUAL = Average price of pets in the deep south
CENTIPEDES = Price per foot of a cheap pair of shoes
MISCELLANEOUS = A missile aimed at our back end
© Jack Ellison 2014
You have come mightily upon my brows,
Yet blessing my folly when I had cried nude and
Watery,
My vagitus loud with the frenetic timbre of wartime
You have swept through the corridors of
Silhouetted stalks, fanning lean, vertical leaves that shield
The nakedness of the African seasons —perched
And soggy,
And at waking time, when November bares its
Thunder-whetted fangs with the ruthlessness of a Puff adder.
It is cold and skin-whitening.
Streaks of flaking, dancing rods descend on femurs un-pumiced.
Dehydrated throats accompany ancestral hymns on the
Humming bees’ melody, stifling the courage of the Tchagra.
Drab, and cracking the serrated softness of heels and
Stale, moss-ridden kernels, the waves of the storm,
Blinding, besiege our common sempervirence,
Long lost among the blurred firmamental gaze
And straw-gold material upon this prostituted earth.
Snuggly warmth comes by the power of woodsmoke
When dawn, shy from the raillery of the rising sun,
Hastens to the coronation of sacred rain beyond
Our limits —a pomp of relegated and flustered seasons.