Long Anachronism Poems
Long Anachronism Poems. Below are the most popular long Anachronism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anachronism poems by poem length and keyword.
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this toke kin “FAKE” hemp
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).
As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
specializing in cannabinoids
my favorite delta-9-tetra
hydrocannabinol (THC),
isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
while athwart the potty
i.e. measuring adequate perforated
square roto root er, sans
regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber pot
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
in drag at a joint where Billy Bong
banged on by the hands of
a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per southern cause during
the Civil War and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide available
instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield),
whose faith the any almighty power
could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
the analogy with a kumquat?
A hearty welcome to the feast.
I’m your host, the rhyming beast.
Great dishes I’ve prepared for you.
Please try each one on the menu.
Start out with the parodoxes
in these pizza looking boxes.
The more of them that you consume,
the more your stomach will have room
for all the other poets’ dishes.
Try Anachronism fishes.
Have some fun.
Taste a pun!
You might like a synonym.
Its flavor tastes like cinnamon.
Yes, similies I’ve plenty of,
and many of them taste like love!
The homonyms are often suite
and every metaphor’s a treat.
Taste tropical alliteration,
juxtaposed for a sensation.
For Onomatopoeia – Slurp!
Otherwise, it makes you burp.
Sip relaxing imagery
in a sweet green herbal tea.
Perhaps imbibe a nice red wine
while on a limerick you dine.
There are many plates to sample.
Sonnets and Rondeau are ample.
Try Haiku, Pantoum, Triolet,
and Villanelle for the gourmet!
Free verse, I’ll tell you by the way,
is likely not Soup of the Day.
Eat rhyme and let your taste buds burst.
Let flowing verses quench your thirst.
The feast is an extravaganza.
Bet you can’t eat just one stanza!
For Laura Loo's Best Rhyming Poem in March
March 21, 2018
Aren't many or any finer than Dan me ol mucker & china who now looks out for nightmare cooks or crooks making money off the books with rare meat on dirty hooks in filthy nooks but don't care want to give him a shiner for saying don't be hasty or cheat prepare pukka tasty tucker & succour...safe fayre to eat for every diner...
Owners booming hysteria at inspector criteria
Kitchens so unclean like a war scene in Liberia
Zooming in you find they're grooming Listeria
Rightly fuming that it is blooming like wisteria
Hardly stellar told fella to have old mortadella
Rank covered in dank mould stank in the cellar
Dan who's a fan of Paul Weller is a fortune teller
Scores on doors stop more spores of Salmonella
Suss some are no faff or fuss a them & us schism
Despairing whiners cuss not caring about criticism
Cleanliness next to Godliness just an anachronism
Foolish witticism as diners get ghoulish botulism
Out of date food they buy deny do things on the fly
Just comply no treason and here’s the reason why
If duff stuff you season on the sly to try and get by
The Council’s the fall guy as folks do die from Ecoli
Hunch lunch or brunch scare dodgy ware of tupper
Owners get shirty but it’s so dirty can’t serve supper
Ask my man Dan this is not a masterplan to scupper
A public sector inspector would rather have a cuppa
Escape the shade
Evade the thought police
Slip into the shadows
So cool
Oh so cool
Fenced in, fenced out
Got you trapped in doubt
Don't believe me?
Rip away the veil
See the scale of the whale
When you hear their voice
Know it drips with poison
Got you spinnin' with their last surprise
Honeyed words don't mean a damn thing
Your heart shines brightest
We're victims of the game
Got us convinced we're to blame
So we hide in shame
All so they can afford fame
All the same, all the same
I dropped rhyme like it's hot
I ripped my own verse in two
I married prose and slang
Slinging these poems on street corners
I might be a poeteer
My mind is a prism
Of manic masochism
So perverse my verse is like anachronism
With each line break a schism
For society like Darwinism
And they don't need armies to check us
They got FaceBook and Google to do that
Truth is we're sucked in by social media
Selling our identities for likes
With love from Russia
They'll take until there's nothing left
Only then will everything be right
And there's no opposition to corruption
Prisms and masochism
Sign me up for Gnosticism
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (cryptic blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
Marriage is not an anachronism
Marriage is a bond
Marriage is not a calypso
It is a marathon
Marriage is not a gentle breeze
Nor is it pristine
Marriage is a choppy sea
Above a listing submarine
Marriage is not a pretty toy
Nor is it a fancy poodle
Marriage is frozen TV dinners
Topped off with mystery noodles
Marriage is not just "I Love You"
Nor is it eternal romance
Marriage is a power outage
Sweaty T-shirt, crawling pants
Yet for all the unanticipated things that marriage isn't
And all the disappointing things it is
I wouldn't have it any other way
~ One towel Hers, the other His
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole
a doG meditation...
this is about what we call "pets"
about ownership..objectivity..
an anachronism now..?
the inner model of
consciousness-only
may provide a hint:
only consciousness Knows
not plants..not animals..not us..
that is a radical reversal
of our heretofore belief
that consciousness springs separately
from each compartment of life..
considering again:
only consciousness Knows
is aware..and is expressed in
every-thing..every-where..
this equality of Knowing
filters through our finiteness
our body and mind
and through our "pet" dog
and through the turtle at sea..
So.. we pause:
consciousness only..Knows
Everyday the bird ventured in the stormy night,
Swishing past demonic trees in rhythm,
Raced the leaves, riding the vile wind,
And returned to the cave, to Silence.
One day the sun fell down,
Navy mumbled through bald clouds,
She flew across the intricacy,
Woven with emotions on the grainy enormity...
The green and grey diaspora,
Like an anachronism in melody,
Lured her to the distant skyline,
Where she hit a wall of nothingness...
Her right wing was pierced into a lazy winter branch,
When she looked above to see stars...
"The storm never told stories of these", she thought,
Amazed in the dazzling mystery,
She forgot that Silence was waiting for her...
When the Goddess of Darkness,
Stretched herself across the world,
A warrior was born.
Plucked one of Her eyelashes resting in horizon,
And struck Her...
Twinkling patches appeared like a magnum of curiosity,
She found her Heaven...
Violet streaks broke her reverie.
She lifted her broken wing,
And laid there,
For she had found Silence like never before,
And Serenity too...