Long Ante Poems
Long Ante Poems. Below are the most popular long Ante by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ante poems by poem length and keyword.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
I was working cattle with a crew a little south of Muleshoe,
When I watched a horse work with perfection and grace.
I said "pardon me gent, no offense is meant,
But your horse is the smartest thing on this place."
He broke out in a grin and scratched at his chin,
“Name is Bob, I'll tell you the story if you've the time."
I looked at the crew and said "We're about through,
You can tell me over tequila and lime."
"My grandpappy , Jason , was from the Permian Basin
And cowboy'd where it was dusty and hot.
And I'll tell you son when it's all said and done,
That bunch from Odessa was a hard gamblin’ lot
"Now three fingered Willy owned a stud and a filly
And played poker whenever he could.
One day Willy met Jason, from the Permian Basin,
And they locked in a game of seven card stud.
"Things had gone badly and Willy looked sadly
At the money he had left on the table.
He could ante it all, but couldn't raise or call,
So he offered the stud from his stable.
"Now the stud's name was Gyp, smart as a whip,
And he was standing just outside the door.
Willy treated him like dirt and hit him with a quirt,
So the thought of a new owner pleased Gyp for shore.
"And so there was Jason, from the Permian Basin,
Holding two Aces, two jacks, a Queen and a Four.
Willy wasn't saying which cards he was playing,
But Gyp could see three Kings through the door.
"He had to act fast if he was ever to get past
Being treated like an old worn out shoe.
He burst through the door, knocked the lamp on the foor
And nuzzled Jason as past him he flew.
"After Gyp was gone and the lights came back on,
Jason looked at the cards he was holdin'.
Gyp had given him a third Ace and he settled it in place,
And knew Willy would certainly be foldin'.
"So Gyp teamed with Jason from the Permian Basin,
And he sired many a colt in his time.
The one I am ridin', there just ain't no hidin,
Is as smart as Gyp was in his prime.
“How did Gyp get that Ace that he put into place?
I get asked that question wherever I go.
I think you'll agree that Gyp was smarter than me
So I always answer "How the hell should I know?' "
Well, I listened to the story in all of its glory
And drank my tequila with lime.
I live in Texas, it's true, and I think like you do,
Now I guess I've heard it all in my time!
August 26, 2016
For Contest Unhinged
In May of seventeen seventy-nine
Henry Clinton was having a hard time,
so tired of the rebels still fighting,
had to somehow get Gorge Washington
out of the looming Hudson Highlands,
and then force the war to a final ending.
He marched his army to the north
meaning to shut down King’s Ferry,
threaten West Point and draw them out,
determined to up the ante,
no nonsense was he to bandy,
his men took Stony Point.
With the King’s Ferry now block and closed,
across the Hudson supplies couldn’t go,
Washington found himself in a hard place,
with a foothold beneath the Hudson Peaks
the British now could his main camps seek,
he could not let himself be displaced.
From atop a nearby mountain
he saw the British were building
abbatis and gun emplacements,
with scarlet the point was filling,
he knew that there’d soon be killing,
he would retake Stony Point.
But then the British made a mistake,
trying to set bait Washington would take,
sent Tyron to raid towards New Haven,
but Washington was not a damned fool,
he saw what they were trying to do,
and in the Hudson Highlands he remained.
Drew up a new plan of attack,
then Mad Anthony Wayne he called,
a general of temper and great skill,
they would see the British fort fall,
the garrison their troops would maul,
they would take Stony Point.
See when the British had fortified,
they had forgotten the river had tides,
and that a beach would soon be exposed.
It was a long shot, but one they would take,
if they could get behind the lines would break,
so only the best troops were picked to go.
No bullets would be in their guns,
stealth and steel would be their choice,
the only way they could be sure,
detection they had to avoid,
there really was no other choice
to penetrate Stony Point.
Wayne then split his forces into three
to face Britain’s seven hundred fifty
and sent Murfree to face the center,
his job was to raise hell and distract,
while to the north Butler’s troops would track,
from the south Wayne’s main force would enter.
At midnight they would all attack,
Under cover of the deep night,
white papers were stuck in their hats,
so they could see who not to fight,
bayonets set to stab and bite,
they marched for Stony Point...
CONCLUDES IN PART II
Aspirations are a self revealing Impress,
peeping in gem facet placeholder-
of ruby glimpses
of
Fairy tale covers,
covertly-airbrushed by the atmosphere,
over genuine zirconium expectations.
In inner light magistrate cache cow-
in the crystal stereo
of the now and here,
flashes impetus clear like a streaker revealing
to illustrate, the daring, self inspiration of its baud rate
of liberation-ad-here.
Geniing the busy body of it's own needful premise
of seedful impetuous implication, promised on premises.
A banner at happy hour suggesting intoxicating ingestion.
Drunk with in-advertising
getting premonition of-promotion, imbibing
the "jasmine in your mind."
Relation-ships moon causes the roiling sea
to gem carats of her sparkling sirens.
Alluring rocks to dash you to pieces
in drawn compliance..
Unsown light can give you the creatures of her disease,
calling bluff to serve her touring manifestations.
With marked cards to lay down in flush that had lay dormant but surfaced up from the sleeve
and from the seep of pasts saved ante ups.
They are a whiskey shot at a saloon.
Liquid courage that causes you to bark at the moon.
Tide a naked ride tied to the back of a train,
of bad ideas, after tion, ction and igeon
blows your cover, like sudden electrical storm
over the rainbow over landover and hot air,-
balloons like a mushroom
clouded idead ideal that transports you into the stratosphere of her thundering strutopeels.
Her bubble puts you in her hair brained funny papers, periodically.
To keep you sober, from occupying
a van down by the river. (Which sounds good to me) incidentally, but that's neither here nor there,
immaterial, witness,
these thought bubbles-seductively
siring, serial 'vamped vapor round firing
like a ghost mistress who puts you in a stupor
on the grounds of desiring, her consecrated things.
Thank you, Lemmy, I am just listening now
Listening now to your fantastic album
“Expanded”, it’s amazing. It’s give me blood and life
Life and Blood in my brain are expanded
"Just 'Cos You Got the Power"
This is an amazing track, living life
Nevertheless, I am an almost dead single-life
Living life, here are five ante meridiem
Alcohol has slowly gone from my veins and blood
Hmm, it’s my life. But life. …Of a feeble man's life
But coming now the daytime, the daily hours and times
And everything will be changed,
Coming the good Christian’s life
Then evening, then night, and…
Oh! Letter be light! Then…
Coming to my Satanistic life
Satanistic? No, I am not that. He is my only best friend
I am a good man, a bible reader, a bible study person, a man
But nighttime inside, inside in my heart and my mind changed…
All the desires
Satan taught me and gave me new thoughts and desires
He is my master, prophet, philosopher, theologian, counselor, mentor
He always teaches me telepathically
He night to night always builds my life
He and I created together created my websites
My life has expanded from dark to light
And from the light to the dark
This life is the whole life
Dark and light?
The Dark and the Light!
Black and white?
No, my life isn’t a monochrome vision
My life is colorful, only mine
It’s a rainbow, including all the colors
And a flesh, death is realized
My soul just now arriving into a new life
There waiting me the death
Laughing and saying to me, Welcome! Step in!
Throne room
Pomp
Magnificence impressions
Satan smiling on the throne
Says to me Welcome! Welcome!
And he continues: I saved your laptop and camera, here you go
Continue your work and never stop
Your life includes new emotions, thoughts, and desires!
I woke up
I am an enlightenment
Clicking my camera
BAN BACKWARDS NORTH CAROLINA (PSA)
deep in the belly of the empire
where “fights between cats and dogs are prohibited,”
“women must be covered in AT LEAST 16 yards of
cloth at all times,”
“bingo games cannot last over 5 hours unless they take place at a
fair,”
“it is against the law to sing off key” &
“the mere possession of a lottery ticket results in a $2,000 fine,”
SAME-SEX MARRIAGE & CIVIL UNIONS HAVE BEEN BANNED
yes
that’s
right
campers, NC!---that backwards, knuckle-dragging, thumbless part of the empire, has now joined the other 29 states that have passed constitutional amendments banning same-sex marriage…that’s
30 STATES FULL OF
BACKWARDS
KNUCKLE-DRAGGING
THUMBLESS &
STONE AGE
judeo-christians
(clinging onto their little
book of ****ing fairytales,
still trying with all their
might to beat us over the
head with it & deprive the
brothers & sisters who live
right next door to them in
this so-called FREE LAND
in this so-called WESTERN-
CIVILIZATION of the rights
that they have, because they
think that their “god” said so).
OH BUT WAIT!
NC WANTS TO UP THE ANTE!
they have also banned domestic partnerships between gay or STRAIGHT couples.
soooooooooo…
don’t go to NC if you want to get oral sex (“it’s a crime against nature” in NC),
OR IF YOU WANT THE SAME RIGHTS AS STRAIGHT SELF-RIGHTEOUS JUDEO-CHRISTIANS LIVING TOGETHER IN “holy matrimony”
don’t go to NC if you want to have sex in any other position besides the missionary
(“while having sex you must stay in the missionary position AND HAVE THE SHADES PULLED”),
OR IF YOU WANT THE SAME RIGHTS AS STRAIGHT SELF-RIGHTEOUS JUDEO-CHRISTIANS LIVING TOGETHER IN “holy matrimony”
&
PLEASE
oh
PLEASE
don’t go to NC if you want to stay in a hotel with your lover in the same bed
(“all couples staying overnight in a hotel must have a room with double beds that are at least two feet apart”),
OR
IF YOU WANT THE SAME RIGHTS AS STRAIGHT SELF-RIGHTEOUS
JUDEO-CHRISTIANS LIVING TOGETHER IN “holy matrimony”---
because it just ain’t gonna happen. all them people in NC have made up their mind.
COMMENCE THE
EXODUS
all sane & rational occupants
(= those believing in equal rights for ALL people)
of NC!
&
join the rest of the
21st century.
A Winner in 2017 OHANA Woman Div 1
There I was, on a rollercoaster of anxiety with many an anxious moment...
Each time my player dropped a set against each of her squash opponents...
In the Qfinals she suffered a 3rdset hiccup to a player junior in her years....
Dashing the high hopes that player could wrap up the game in 3 quick sets....
This rival is a fast improving hard hitting junior player, tricky as they all come...
With a superior fitness and combative attitude, she was a constant danger until the game was done...
Next in the semis was another junior, another fast and furious player...
Who won the 1st set easily to set the pace, upped the ante to pressure my squash player....
Somehow my favored one prevailed to counter her opponent's energetic play...
Refusing to be drawn into a chessplay with muscle and brawn and power play...
So she made it to the final, there awaits top seeded player, a former international...
Last year she easily outfoxed and outplayed my player 3-0 in that final...
But for this repeat final, my player started off well and lead by 2sets initially....
Before a 3rd set loss, it was obvious the top seed was exerting control gradually....
My player hopeful was flustered, faulting someone for advising her to vary her game..
I was busy recording, wise enough to let the cookies crumble as it may....
Just managed to warn her that her rival was picking up the pace....
And that a real winner of any squash player should play a thinking varied game...
Luckily she played decisively for a quick lead in the 4th game, raced to 4-0.....
There were some anxious moments as she easily lost a couple of points....
Anxiety was all mine even as my player managed to lead comfortably on points...
She had to do some desperate retrieving and gave away some stroke points...
But long story short, it was one big joyous relief when the game was finally over...
The 4th set was won over, the mission accomplished, what a great feeling all over....
When favored player emerged triumphantly as the winner when all was over...
http://www.tournamentsoftware.com/sport/tournament.aspx?id=5E4ABBEB-3744-4BAB-940C-598E71343CB6
I think I’ll make a portrait
With inky words of my soul
But false starts get in the way
I’m hungry the body says
Feed the body, not the soul
The soul will pester my body
Make a mark, hear the critic
Draw a line and see the soul flee
So it begins with a portrait sketch
Every picture reminds me of me
False starts stutter and stumble like me
The three of us are in disagreement
My soul is amorphous like a poet
My critic plotting like Lucifer
And me completing my trinity
So say we all, say we all
When we are in tune
The ink will flow
Good starts start with a stumble
Start again like a toddler
Newborns do not make mistakes
Not like I do in this worn poem
Feed the soul, not the body
Watch the body wither in ecstasy
My soul is not my possession
Neither is this canvas of words
The body is mortgaged to the man
Only the ink is truly mine
Only when the nib hits the canvas
Then like a wasted body, compost
Many false starts are behind me
Even these words mirror my face
Feed this poem honest nouns
Let it sip my veritable verbs
A clean line is never neat
Like drilling for dirty oil on a gamble
We’ve ante our soul for a glimpse
I’ll feed you boiled eggs as a reward
I’ll fill you with Chilean wine
Just stop with all the false starts
Please stay steady for this portraiture
Make my reflection easy to gaze
I’ve shattered so many mirrors
These false starts never end
Just to capture a perfect portrait
No matter how I age I still look like me
My words still act like me
Maybe false starts are all that I am
False starts follow me to the end of the line
The soul waiting endlessly to take flight
I fill up the final stanza with all my faces
With false starts behind me this time
Like a photo from the past put away
Painting a portrait of me again and again
I think I’ll make a portrait with my soul
I’ll dip the body and soul in my ilk
I’ll make words better than my face
False starts will be my emblem
My portrait will become faceless
Then maybe true starts will begin
Impeccant,
of non-textual matters
one’s covered flesh,
and hidden embrasure’
as diffusate primer
slips life’s veil, and
in agitated pontlevis,
cleaves the universe’ reason…
“Egads! What sorcery is this?”
Holy heart failure, Batman!
“Beavis and Butthead”,
on Soteriology!
or merely, this word wizard’
celebrity; slap my knee,
and pass the shinola please
would you then consider the following:
palliate your lesser selves, or else
where silence seethes, your spirit will
bleed asunderp; and in the depths of space
and time you will forget your moment’ cill
so divaricating your soul, until
that whisper of your assibilate voice
remains in memory’s forever
as that sound of death’s last hissing
And now to secularize
your quarters out per se,
a knotted rope and stallions four
two palms, a cup and nothing
more than, one’s perceived illation
with rigorous and self-righteousness’
precipitancy, my will so locates your
remaining sang-froid serendipitously
and in humaneness casts, this lifeline
out to thee for free for you to grasp,
of each person placed above all things
as nature sings concretism’ simplistic rhythmic
wringing “stream of consciousness”,
a-flowing upon thought’s eternal thaw while
Descartes’ “Substance Dualism” does so
battle, against Plato’ “universalia ante res”
supernal then, is an ideal’s whim, or Ids whine
within one’s thought’s stokehold, as axis bold
or love’s bestow, fires the flesh to render
that pondering patch of thinking’s wrath
awaiting that awakening moment’s bewhisker
in essence, life’s xenium given in kind
as is the universe’s night skies splendor
passing that lending thought, behind a silent chador
visualize the context and intent within
a compelling and perplexing write to win
an idea’s kneel before that “mercy seat”
this particular and incomplete entelechy bleeds
of questions asked and left unanswered continuously
of generations after generations in weeping
conscience wistfully fawning in defeat
and admitting, to a lowly ponderings musings.