Long Attested Poems
Long Attested Poems. Below are the most popular long Attested by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attested poems by poem length and keyword.
She barged through the doors of the bank with her gun
And shot the security guard just for fun
She fired her gun and yelled “Down on the floor,
I’ve shot me one man, I could shoot a few more!”
One customer, Jenna, said, “Hold up, you cretin,
You half witted loser, it’s jail you’ll be gettin,
You charge in this bank with that soppy old pistol
I think I might kick your ass from here to Bristol.”
The robber, fired two bullets into the ceiling
And said, “I shall shoot anybody not kneeling.”
Jenna said, “I’m gonna laugh as you fry.”
The robber said, “You’d better reach for the sky.”
Armed police turned up; one lady arrested
Based on the ‘facts’ that another attested
The robber’s at home playing video games
And Jenna’s in jail for calling her names
And all the police wonder what to expect
Now that they’ve lost any public respect
At lunch break they wonder how low they could stoop
When they’re as inviting as watered down soup.
[What a coincidence; a poem about someone called Jenna enduring an injustice. Pure chance… honest, Guvnor!]
(Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the greatest of Victorian
poets, formed a very close relationship with
Arthur Hallam and frequently visited the Hallam
home in Wimpole Street. After Hallam's sudden
death, Tennyson frequently returned to the house,
and stood weeping in the street.)
Tears, Idle Tears
When two young men are close – are more than friends,
perhaps? – as Tennyson and Hallam were,
and with one’s sudden death, the friendship ends,
what may we (faced with morbid grief) infer?
That Arthur bore the promise of the age
is well attested. But was taken young.
Is sorrow something simply to assuage,
or are there deeper wellsprings? Alfred clung
unhealthily to his. The morning rain
would lash him as he stood there, hat in hand,
in front of sixty-seven, drenched in pain
he neither could discharge nor understand:
abandoned lover, feverish and thin,
with salty raindrops dripping from his chin.
Who am I today:
an open book to everybody
reflects the values instilled
in my heart by my first mentor...
the man my older brother is now:
conscientious, concerned, caring father
as testified by his family and those around him
exemplifies the commitment that reared his being...
the charisma my younger sibling exudes constantly:
cheering in his nursing and health-practitioner roles
radiantly exposing nurturing bliss with serenity-glow
bearing zealous compassion that attended to him, verily undeniable...
the virtuous wife and mother my sister is through the years:
gracious homemaker who feeds festively by her sumptuous meals
jubilantly affirmed by her dear husband and children
exposes approval-seal of the hands that molded her personality...
the best Dad whom we regard as the almost perfect leader in our sight:
human fortress, tenacious anchor midst travails and tribulations
leaving us precious legacy surpassing earthy wealth's heritage
he himself attested that his influence was a partnership-product with her...
The WOMAN* behind us all
helping us become what God wants us to be:
our MOTHER, so inspiring.
We thank and praise the Lord for her.
*Proverbs 31:30 ...A woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.
December 20, 2019
4th place, "N-A rerun 5" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton; judged on 2/27/2020.
Despite cosmetic surgery to stave
inevitable demise cheating grim reaper
indefatigable measures undertaken
buzzfeeding mortal legacy bajillion
dollar industry remaining eternally
youthful cold comfort knowing eventual
degradation conquers biological aging,
yet open casket bestows approving
nods upon aesthetic corpse denouncing
any telltale evidence rigor mortis stole
once hearty life source attested by
tranquil poise, albeit deathly stillness
former body electric forever quiet
among the mourning crowded house
impossible mission to still flowing tears
emotionally poignant moment onlookers
suddenly ever acutely aware their
demise guaranteed, an inalienable pact
linkedin with birthright, this scribe ponders
figuratively digging unearthing morbid
fascination with afterlife, yet neither
hastening mine demise, neither fearing,
protesting, nor ululating unproductive futile
entreaty against transient fleeting
consciousness, asper one carbon based
entity, who wonders if other creatures
great and small revile, (or perchance
question) authority, vis a vis temporarily
bequeathing forces procreative and
subsequently terminal, maybe other
species less insightful meditating being
gifted with sense and sensibility without
pride nor prejudice to speculate, deliberate,
articulate...regenerative processes that
eventually co opt breathing, functioning,
longing versus pensive postulating post
mortem phenomena, pinging noggin within
noggin of one weatherbeaten, haggard,
cadaverous *****sapien in truth...he
admits being petrified, what...whereat
lapsing millenniums found yours truly
cursed by Gorgons remaining forever
stone cold harboring no recollection
about livingsocial enjoying good n plenti
"FAKE" experiences trumpeting conspiracy
theories – fools like me (rush'n), where
angels fear to tread including collusion
explaining my ill fate.
Creator God, a babe in manger born
He came to bring relief from hopeless fate
Rejoicing was the world that Christmas morn
Immanuel had come to banish hate
Serene were hearts as baby Jesus smiled
Triumphant was the blessed angels’ song
Majestic One in earthly form, a child
Attested truth that right would triumph wrong
Succumb and let the magic touch your soul
Messiah’s love accept and let him reign
A life of broken dreams can be made whole
Gone from your aching heart will be your pain
I ask of you to bask in Christmas cheer
C ome worship him and feel his love draw near
For Andrea Dietrich's Christmas Contest
December, 19, 2015
Telling "White Lies"
My mother got born November
thirteenth, nineteen hundred thirty five
within poverty stricken household
of Canarsie, Brooklyn, the youngest
(most mollycoddled) of four siblings,
experienced grinding poverty, no
matter maternal grandfather (Moishe
Kuritsky), a tailor he lacked drive
to support his family two parents +
remainder offspring, he helped sire
lacked positive role models, none the
less gumption taught her to strive
at tender age livid with rage to escape
caricature living poor, thus sought
employment when/wherever sheik hood
if necessary fibbed to survive
plus rash of healthy nurturing, and
absolute zero constraints, perhaps five
or thereabout years old attested
much later, suspected her papa did jive
with unspeakable improper behavior
(nobody dare discuss taboo issues),
yet intuition awoke within immoral
conclusion Harriet Kuritsky did arrive,
and perhaps resorted to stretching
the truth (fibbing a "white lie") the only
recourse available plied sweet innocence
knowing little or nothing about birds
feathering their nest, nor little about
buzzfeeding activity in beehive
naivete flirtatious coyness advantage worked,
I bet young thang did connive
and probably never did contemplate,
deliberate, generate and wrongdoing,
where mother of necessity spurred
angelic demureness strategy to contrive
securing bare necessities, hence fast
forward, when unsolicited advice given
to this sole son, or either sibling, (an older
& younger sister) tactics upbringing did deprive
ma mum of positive role models, hence
only blueprint to acquire essential needs
serendipitous series of unfortunate events
before Lemony Snicket did derive
school of hard knocks, (I do believe
formerly called Abraham Lincoln High)
rather than impugn, judge, revile, et cetera
kernels/nuggets of wisdom memory did revive
within my mind for rhyme, nor reason
blunt honesty, not always best policy
despite ten commandments
to husbands with many a wive.
'Tis disquieting thought that forever will be
a secret injustice to be buried with me.
This tale of a great golfer you never heard of,
his sad spirit speaks of his "lost win" from above.
Long Jim Barnes did win the very first PGA Championship,
for years, the PGA refused to recognize it.
Golf's ruling bodies hold integrity in high praise
this championship error will set fair minds ablaze!
In 1916, there were two inaugural tournaments;
strangely enough, Long Jim Barnes won both these events.
One question is why the first one was rejected -
the record of "majors" forever effected.
Am I really the last one to whom this truth is known,
that Barnes' hidden win will never rightly be shown?
I've chased windmills without reservation
old quotes and newsclips as documentation.
Chained by pettifoggers, I've been flailing
to reach the true hearts of golf powers prevailing.
Convincing them that Barnes' first win wasn't bogus,
showing evidence that the trophy needed more focus.
Barnes shot 276 total to set a low scoring mark
at the venue of play, Van Cortlandt Park.
His records aren't accepted in halls of fame,
like a gentleman, he never placed any blame.
Attested by Hagen, Mackie, Maiden and more -
reports Grantland Rice in print with others galore!
If only the PGA could make this factual remark -
that its accurate birthplace was Van Cortlandt Park.
She had a shark in her shoe
The doubts they just crash and tolled of pain a cry, I’m insane
Bodies broken just left to lie on the fields of inventing a new past
Relenting misrepresenting align to everything we once were
Wait but don’t stop, fall but don’t drop, someone’s cigarette smoke in your face
It puffs out to hold you its hostage, I can’t match your power, I attested in disdain acquitted remitted of appearance, a life of bold and honest to their purpose
I can’t see the bad, I can feel it, but all I see is good, but I can’t feel it
You are karma the act of the past the mission of the gods who laugh and interlope being a business of bland
My thoughts are with me to no longer search to be captive and to feel no bounds and loose my chains
But it’s a game, to see an age and see what matches is found by courage, with no pill, no wine
Now washed up on the shore, from somewhere foreign a tropical paradise, off with the shoes, home sweet home
Feeling good out for a swim surrounded by sharks
PART I-HELL
The most dreadful place
which terrified me was Hell;
who made up this horrible word?
Not the Renaissance poet Dante, of course;
most probably the Catholic Church.
My human flesh never burned,
it felt the eternal torment of flames
and the despicable faces of demons
made me scream while they laughed.
I cursed them as they fed more coal
to a fire that was hotter than Saturn's rings.
I writhed as a wounded snake,
trying to bite them with my poisoned tongue,
" Ah! The sly sinner wants to get away from us!"
One demon shouted with a mocking voice.
" He was sent to us, now he must be tormented! "
And saying so he poked me with his fork...
I didn't bleed, there wasn't a drop of blood left!
PART II-HEAVEN
The sublimest,
The sublimest place I had ever imagined
couldn't have been none other than Heaven...
there I felt at peace without the guilt of sin;
the strong smell of roses and jasmines was pure delight,
and wearing a long, white gown I approached His throne.
I was ready to face and withstand His luminous face;
no, I felt no heartbeat or pulse in my wrist...
flesh couldn't enter this Holy place, only spirit.
As I climbed the thousands stairs flanked by angels,
His bright face began to dimmer, taking away my fear.
" Son, you were brought here on the account of your good deeds,
you are not as spotless as saints who have obeyed my commandments. "
The Almighty attested with austerity and fairness.
" Return and be completely pure as they are, and I will accept you as them. "
And this vision of ponderous thought, made me realize
that no one with a spot on his soul can partake of Heaven's glory;
imperfection and impurity are not allowed,
and while living among the sinners, I must resist and overcome temptations.
Royalty can be no match
Sometimes, for a plan to hatch
From the minds of angry men
When they have an angry yen
To overthrow what they don’t like
and make a move to shoot and strike
Rather then make their appeal
They would rather maim and steal
But
In this saga to retell
As his rage he could not quell
It is true as it was seen
’Twas a pickle saved the queen
Had she not reached for that Dill
Her assassin’s plot to kill
Might have gotten very far
Had she not reached for that jar
Thank God for that pick, pick, pickle
Saved her life, it’s just that simple
Sometimes, she is just so fickle
Thank God, she reached for that pickle
Now forever in this land
There will be a PICKLE Stand
With a sign for all to see
Saved the queen, HEY, look at me
That assassin’s been arrested
And his punishment attested
He will labor many years
Canning pickles, chips and spears!