Long Amount Poems
Long Amount Poems. Below are the most popular long Amount by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Amount poems by poem length and keyword.
Bumble bees
Come inside
And do not demise
But transform to our surprise
It’s all in the knack of
Nothing rather go on willing
But there they stood
Before us two huge
Humans with black and yellow
Markings on his mostly black armor
He spoke then
The bravest of tunes
And we could hardly hear
At first then we understood
Take me to the
The stream of fairy’s
He said and I knew
By the yellow dots and dashes
He outranked the other
By a significant amount
I also knew where he wanted to go
So we hopped in the prius
And they hardly fit but we drove
To the cottage and told him this
To save a fairy takes a kiss
Do not deny and do not miss
Days went by but the fairies
Never showed but the
Bumble bee soldiers
Stood vigilant in the wood
The years passed and I became old
Not so cunning and not so bold
So as I lay me down to die
I had just one thought
Next thing I knew
I was flying on the roads
Toward Naples, ME
But I never made it
Injection to let you fly through the air,
Nobody to look at you or downwards stare.
Bottle, a liquid to change hair colour to a permanent shade,
Just the right amount for your own liking, not to fade.
And a tablet for skin colour, again any colour,
Most teenagers go for purple so as to tower.
Laser zap with ease eradicates your cancer flare,
Completely curable now, without radiation’s glare.
No MND, MD or dwarfism abound,
With genetic editing there’s a muscular sound.
Only problem is kids want to design on their iPads,
Their future kids, but the law says that the natural adds.
We’re working on building the robotic-man assistant,
For the home where parents are not ambivalent.
Cecil the lion of Zimbabwe, famous and beloved,
Shot by a bow hunter after being lured from his home;
It took Cecil forty hours to die, how he must have suffered,
They tracked him down and shot, skinned and beheaded him.
It was senseless, cowardly, cruel and barbaric,
Oh I weep for Cecil the lion with the rest of the world;
And all animals victims of trophy hunters who kill for the fun,
Our voices must be united and be strong, we must end poaching.
We must demand justice for Cecil and all animals,
The hunting for sport must be stopped as it is murder;
No amount of money makes it right, no more heads on walls,
No more animals killed by cowards with big egos and money to do it.
Sign a petition, make your voice heard loudly,
Laws need to change so that animals no longer die;
This particular killer will be tracked down just like he did,
But we will be more humane, we won't shot, skin and behead him.
This coward in hiding must face justice in Zimbabwe.
__________________________
August 26, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Justice For Cecil The Lion
Copyright Protected, ID 15-703-723-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest , What Is Your Form Of Justice,
sponsor, Tammy Reams
First Place
It’s been 10 years since you last saw me.
I’m softer. Matured. Unrecognizable. And yet
the feeling of your roaming eyes still darkens my skin,
the phantom sensations making me retch.
Your vile intentions occupy a corner of my brain
with no sign of conceding territory.
I can’t go to the doctor
lest that hotel room comes rushing back
and renders me unable to bear sight of my skin for a week.
I swear colorfully,
as often as I did refusing you.
Would you like that?
Would you take pleasure being reminded of the resistance you so toyed with?
Or would you prefer me docile and doe-eyed?
God, I can’t think of a version of me that wouldn’t bring that greed to your mind.
I can only hope my age would shatter your desire
or turn it to ash on your tongue.
You’re a faceless monster,
carefully calculating and breaking down your victims’ walls
without revealing a hint of yourself in return.
I showed you everything.
(I want to gag at the thought.)
I know nothing of you.
You make up too much of me.
I used to find joy in who I was.
Believed my difference to be wholly my own,
an escape from you and the shaming eyes of God.
Turns out you were the cause all along.
You wrecked me, didn’t you?
Is what was once a source of pride truly a stain of ruin?
I am disfigured and discolored,
and no amount of bleach will ever remove your mark.
To add insult to injury, this was never bad enough anyway.
My ache is unwarranted; I’ve suffered so little in comparison.
I was 10.
I was smart enough to log off,
to say no,
to realize no dream was important enough to surrender myself over.
I’m not a true victim.
Your hands never grazed my skin
or caused deeper harm; you scarred me with eyes alone.
Our paths crossed for maybe an hour or two,
not nearly enough to last a lifetime.
So why have you staked your claim on my psyche?
I want to burn you clean from me.
You forced me into a prop for your pleasure,
faceless and inhuman.
There’s no telling if you sold what was never meant to be seen
and then how many times I’ve been used.
I want you to suffer.
I want you to ache.
Maybe that’s immature,
but that turns you on, right?
We lay here together under the shadow of our favorite oak tree. Wooden arms spread high and wide above us in a seemingly protective stance, similar to that of a mother protecting her children.
We gaze into the infinite expanse of the clear blue sky that can only be described as majestic, until or attention is caught by the stalking movements of a lone Cardinal sifting through the fallen leaves, searching for a quick meal on the outer perimeter of the canopy’s drip edge.
High in the branches of our protective mother we catch sight of the brightly colored wings of a butterfly lazily fluttering in and out of the branches and are suddenly aware of the abundant amount of insect life mindlessly buzzing around us. I turn to look at her, to catch the expression on her beautifully tanned face as she takes in all this wonder that surrounds us.
I notice a sliver of her silken hair has fallen across her slender dark bough and lay across her delicate soft cheek. At that moment I am transfixed and suddenly aware that the total expanse of gods’ glorious creations cannot even compare to the beauty I have beside me.
I take a deep breath and lean over to brush the hair away from her eye and kiss her softly on her lips. The soft wetness of her mouth and the taste of her breath immediately fill my senses and my pulse begins to race. Trying to control my desires and being aware of our public surroundings.
I dare to caress the small of her back with my left hand and trace various lines up and down the full length of her torso, while gently holding her soft cheek with the other as we tenderly press our bodies close. Our lips are locked in an intimate but playful kiss, taking only but a brief moment to look into each other’s eyes, to glimpse the joy and passion that is surely emanating like fine beams of light reflecting off a perfectly cut diamond.
Our precious time ticks by mercifully slow as we savor each minute that passes and do not dare waste a single second of this day together, knowing days will pass until our souls will reunite for another glorious day in the protective arms of our mother, as we hold each other tight sitting on a blanket enjoying a day in the park…….
the rich, the poor and the middle class
an invisible subliminal system of caste
we are suppose to be a nation of freedom and opportunity
a democratic society based upon equality
but in all actuality
it's about the economy
to be wealthy and have anything you can afford
to be the CEO or the chairman of the board
to be rich and have enough money to pass
just a few steps above the upper middle class
those who have to go to work most everyday
yet they still receive a substantial pay
and the poor, what they call the working stiffs
barely getting by, hoping their finances will shift
it's about the economy
and how much you are worth
it's about the amount of money you have
in your wallet or your purse
don't be naive and think money does not matter
it's about the economy and the rich whose pockets get fatter
if you're wealthy your name is on the building
if you're rich it's on the door
the middle class' names are on their desk
but if your name's on your shirt then you're poor
Though he is quiet and meek,
The spotlight he shall not seek.
His light glows softly, inviting,
So many hearts he is igniting.
With poetry that lives on and on,
To his poems my heart is drawn.
His work will never fade away.
It leaves my heart content to pray…
He is a blessing to those who read,
Feel the kindness and it tis’ agreed,
I’ll always be charmed by his light,
It reflects God’s love, be it day or night.
I’ll never hesitate to read his words.
They’re more graceful than the birds.
While I may never meet him face to face,
I hope I meet him in God’s heavenly place.
When I read his tender tales and verses,
The worst there is, it simply reverses,
Reminding me that Jim Yerman stirs hope
Teaching that, whatever comes, we can cope.
Jim is like a modern day Mark Twain,
Forever showing souls who know such pain…
The way to quiet the ache, the despair,
With assurance that love can repair…
Give a second chance, a new meaning –
A promise that God’s grace is intervening!
With this ode meant to praise my fellow writer,
Who is guided by an marvelous muse, and sometimes despite her –
Writes more and more – the heart an open door,
From where his poems will pour, so we may all explore…
This exciting addition to our soup, the spice who seasons
With just the perfect amount of zest – and I’m sure he has his reasons
For sharing his heart and soul,
With tidbits of light to console!
He’s one stunning writer I follow
Because he’s never been hollow!
Expectations
No rest
No time to breathe
A weight on your chest
Nothing less than excellence
Even that's not enough
A world that tells black people
That even if you follow the rules
You are still not good enough
Because as long as your black
They will always have the last laugh
In a world that preaches equality
It sure is a hypocrite
From young we are taught that life is a test
That no matter how hard we work
We will always be seen as less
Even with perfect scores we still come last
A crooked system used to keep us at the bottom
A crooked system used to make sure our life is a struggle
A box with no key deprived of freedom
Locked in with chains so we can't outshine them
Doing everything in their power
To watch us sink
In an ocean that steals our breath
Drowning in a watery abyss
A constant fight to stay afloat
Whilst they just stare at us
A fight that isn't fair
The water keeps us suppressed
So everytime we open our mouth
The water sinks our words
Just like everytime we try to speak
We are labelled dramatic
All this happening whilst the weight of their hate
Slowly drowns us to death
In a world that claims progression
The education system sets us back
Policing black children
Whilst holding us back
So all the white kids can succeed
Then tell us we will never amount to anything
That all we are good for is a prison sentence
Drilling inferiority straight into our chest
To make sure discrimination is the only education we will get
The only lesson received is how racism will never end
The syllabus being slurs and all the different ways we are hated
Buy something they seem to forget
Is we have legacies of strength
We are stronger than the hate that you threat
You push us down and yet we continously get up
We are made of tungsten the strongest element
You think you can break us
Your hate will break instead
You try to steal our breath
But our oxygen tank is unlimited
We are here for the long run
You'll just have to get used to it
We are here to stay
And we will never let you forget
I find writing words exciting,
since a child my reality;
onto paper my poems spilling.
My muse invading dreaming thoughts,
but never a writer carefree;
for my heart and soul is in knots.
My bleeding pouring in fury,
with nature poems filigree;
narratives of a life story.
I have the experience- skill,
a vast amount of life's debris;
and so I must pick up my quill.
And I doubt I will ever halt,
writing is my happiness key;
oh, I have thousands in my vault.
________________________
October 7, 2020
Poetry/Tercet/Rhyme/Poetry Writing
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1293-238-07
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
5 words randomly chosen -exciting, thoughts, fury, experience, halt
Written for the contest, Mystery Word Find
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
First Place
Let's see... how do I feel today
Pretty much the same as yesterday except one day older
Guess that's the least anyone can expect
Wonder if an enormous amount of money just plopped in my lap
Would that make any kind of a significant difference
Sure would like to give that a shot
Perhaps I'll buy a ticket for the next ten million dollar lotto
To know how it feels when they call up and say
“You are our grand prize winner!
After the government grabs it's share
We will be sending you a cheque for $136.50!
As part of the rules of the contest
You'll be required to make a televised statement
Excitably explaining how this win has changed your life!”
WOWSERS! I'm overwhelmed
Been wearing these same old holey beat up jeans
For nigh onto ten years now
You won't believe how much this means to me...
Don't know how I'll ever begin to thank you!
I apologize if this sounds a bit cynical
But where did the other $9,999,863.50 go
This reply came back...
“Sorry, this question does not compute!”
(I'm exaggerating a wee bit, of course!)
© Jack Ellison 2014