Long Beasts Poems
Long Beasts Poems. Below are the most popular long Beasts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beasts poems by poem length and keyword.
If mortals were more than mortal
If we were not limited to Earth's portals
If the celestial could live and never die
If the first sound of babies was not a cry
If death's doors were locked and never opened
If words of mortals without love were never spoken
If there were no tears of grief, of pain, of horror
If every teardrop was ushered with no taste of sorrow
If there were no fears of darkness nor threat of men
If hopes and dreams could never be dashed or doomed
If lions and lambs, Larry and Sam, could live in peace
If jungled beasts did not kill each other for a feast
If birds of prey could spend more time in flight and play If only Adam and Eve had obeyed The Lord and never sinned
What's worse than a malicious master of manipulation?
Two who join together to play Pin the Tail on their prey
Continuously and clamorously... asses love to bray
Cruelty is not always physical
Some take joy in messing with the mind
Blowing in like a blustering wind
with wicked words bringing them fame
of being labeled 'Keyboard Bullies'
Isn't that a repugnant name?
There's nothing casual about the pain
their cryptic cruelty causes, nor the disdain
Odious is the stench of ogres in the game they play
Beasts who feast on innocent folks
With a guileful grin they wound with keystrokes
Shots fired from wolves in sheep's clothing
They're gnashing teeth bite with loathing
Poisoned seeds of malice they sow
cawing to anyone who listens when they crow
With a nit-picking beak or crooked finger pointing,
they appoint themselves kings and queens,
then squat on a throne by self-anointing
Pathetic fools dwelling in a state of pretense
whose level of narcissism and bullying is immense
Sharpened are their tongues and pens used as tools
Quick to throw a gauntlet upon the ground
at what they presume is weak quarry
but how speedily they bay like injured hounds
when a righteous eye looks in their direction
Intimidation is a hallmark of their imperfection
The white flag wavers are filled with ire
Waffles, covering themselves in sweet syrup talk
claiming they're the victim. What a crock!
Their feet should be held in the fire
No one should be a casualty of their cruelty
Disparaging others is a painful assault
The fault of aggressors who crave attention
Keyboard bullies causing conflict and dissension
Living in their dark world... the cyber dimension
Fowl woman collected feathered creatures of all kinds; they came to her
Approached her from all sides, followed her about her work, they adored her.
She was ostracized by the townspeople who did not understand.
This was nineteen twenty-seven, women were readying themselves for men.
Not feathered beasts of prey.
She did not have a name any more;
people had forgotten she could play a piano.
They did not remember that she once lived in a large comfortable home.
All they knew was that she was a caped figure
who lived differently than she should.
She lived outside their comfort zones, and that was more than enough.
The owl, ravens and turkey buzzards were her friends.
She approached other humans cautiously; with a kind of fear.
They had not been particularly kind after her parents died,
and the money was gone.
The creditors had taken the house,
she was left pretty much to fend for herself.
Her father’s lawyer said to tell him if there was anything he could do.
What could she do? She was seventeen and homeless.
She could marry Mr. McGill, he informed her.
McGill, who was in his sixties was willing, he had already inquired.
Her parents gone less than two weeks,
she had not realized she could feel any worse.
Social niceties said to thank him.
She could not get past the large wad in her throat to do it.
She walked to a park and sat down to think; she sat all night.
This is when the birds arrived.
The last thing she took from the house was the sheet on her bed.
She made it into a shroud of sorts, with a hood.
It makes her feel better for it has her mother’s hands on it.
She was there when they came to get the furniture.
She wanted to set fire and burn the house down.
She would have felt better if it had all been gone.
But it was not. It was still there with a few family inside.
While she wandered the park.
Fowl woman, befriended by feathered beasts of prey.
Body, Mind, And Spirit Triage Co-Opted
Viral microbes didst relish
meaty morsel feast
hyperbole (included greased
for dramatic effect) ceased
not, but linkedin
constituent facets increased
with right wing conspiracy
of mine physical health least
up to par today found me writhing,
asper like a wounded beast.
I feel as if giant size
(yes...with closed eyes try to see)
nasty bugaboos did invade me,
and shrunk down yours truly prithee,
(this from gorging on one not so heavy
corporeal doddering entity) si,
whose light humors opposite of glee,
thus envision this bard, granting himself
woolworth truevalue as a flea
to continue poetic tale
(agonizing sham “FAKE” rocked Leprechaun)
on microscopic scale
essentially, a myopic seek reacher
relative of Spongebob, the latter hale
ling from Bikini Bottom,
whose absence aye still bewail,
especially his misfortune sail
ling from toilet bowl
into water treatment plant
leaving sopping wet trail
of eyes rubbed red,
which sadness happens to this male,
when he experiences
invisible nine inch nail
piercing vital organs
with no energy to wail.
Mind boggling to this scribe
how itty bitty organisms can imbibe
every last drop of vitality, describe
epidemic, which if blithely ignored
more virulent parasites could
affect the entire human tribe
fallout nearly as complete
approximately bajillion years ago,
an unimaginable feat
asteroids crashed Earth
generating temperatures
greater than Miami heat
surface with scarring and beat
meteoric plowed shares into swords
whereby predominant species
huge lumbering beasts uttered holy sheet
or a similar facsimile thereof
similar to poet reduced to (of course)
NON GMO gluten free shredded wheat
resembling chopped liver
after trampled by Little Feet!
December 10, 2019
When we go to see all the beasts
we know that it is great.
Being right near the local zoo
you're sure to take the bait.
Animals in many sizes
in colors, shades, and hues.
But did you know they will listen
when people sing the blues?
How do I know about this fact
about the cutest beasts?
Because I spend most all my time,
my zoo card is well greased.
I will stay for hours at a time
and never want to leave.
I talk to them and they know what
I'm saying, I believe.
I have a special bond with them
for this I know is true
because animals look my way,
when leaving makes them blue.
So I will try and come each day
to treat them to my mind.
The peace and pure tranquility
help me too, I do find.
There was a shepherd who fell sound asleep
So there was no one to tend to his sheep
The sheep were delighted, freedom at last
Followed the leader and ran from the past.
Walking for miles over fields, hills and moor
The sheep were excited, as never before
Then came the sunset and the night grew dim
They began to feel that freedom was grim.
They became hungry, went searching for food
But couldn't find forage and became subdued
Unable to lie down, they couldn’t sleep
As they were pursued by some ghastly beasts.
Tired and weary the sheep so wished to be
Back in the flock and the hand of safety
They realised they need their shepherd's care
For love, food and shelter that's always there.
When the sheep had almost lost every hope
A familiar face came over the slopes
It was their shepherd and all ran with glee
To reunite with him, most thankfully.
They vowed they'd never run away again
Wasn't worth the havoc, sorrow or pain
Then the tired hungry sheep with baa-baa bleats
Thanked God for shepherds who watch o'er their fleece.
The flood never did subside,
each person became an ark.
Only now
the creatures have shrunk,
mixed up
until one species carries
the genetics of all the species.
Fantastical beasts have arisen,
in a thimble of water.
The great flood is a teacup ocean of tears,
but who’s tears?
God has long since dried Her eyes,
The lamb and the lion,
(Her onetime time
emotional support animals),
have become so intermingled
that their parts are unrecognizable.
The leaping waves toss we arks
over the moon and back again,
leaks spring leaks -
the drowning drink.
We are all looking
for a mountaintop somewhere,
so far, only a few have returned
with that long expected news.
The rest of us drift on
still looking for that place
to offload our cargo,
our menagerie of leftover souls.
The sun ascends with golden rays,
Blessing the earth on winter days.
Fields of green now turn gold,
Stories of harvest joy unfold.
Oxens plough the ancient field,
The seeds is what the farmers wield.
The pot is placed, the milk rises,
Bubbling under open skies.
''Pongalo, Pongal!'' the voices sing,
Gratitude flows for all it brings.
Let Kotravai bless us with golden crops,
Let Mariamma bless us with falling raindrops.
Oh, Bhogi flame, burn so high,
Carry our prayers to an open sky.
May your warmth in every heart stay,
Guiding us toward a brighter day.
For Bhogi is more than a festival's art,
It's the fire of renewal in every heart.
Surya, the giver of life and light,
We honour you on this sacred night.
With pots that brim with milk and grain,
We chant your name our hearts refrain.
Surya Pongal, a celebration divine
Of nature's bounty and gifts that shine.
From plowing the fields to guiding the cart,
These noble beasts play a sacred part.
Mattu Pongal, a time to say,
"Thank You" for the blessings every day.
On Mattu Pongal, Let our hearts unite,
In gratitude, pure and bright.
The sun above, the earth below,
Shine on us with love aglow.
Kaanum Pongal, a time to bless,
Our hearts, our homes and our success.
Together we stand, together we sing,
As the joy of Pongal continues to bring.
O Pongal, a festival of cheer,
A promise of bounty year by year.
With thanks we sow, with hope we reap.
In your warmth, out traditions we keep.
As rice hail down like snow in our palms,
Let the success be recognised by farms.
Written: January 18, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
**************
The skies seemed erratic with dull rage.
A freakish breeze is beginning to gage.
Their pompous struggle across the sea.
Evocative of some sort of antique age.
From distant swale, a solid hush withdrew
As recalcitrant clouds began to brew.
Their chatoyant bellies flashed gilded fire,
A strong omen no sailor could misconstrue.
Then came the foofaraw — a copious roar,
Waves irrupt as beasts against the shore.
A shellback cursed the tempest’s devil heart,
Calling it a gossip bent on settling a score.
The wind, verbose in its wilful might,
Rebuked the cliffs through the howling night.
Its fustian bellow is inspissated with rain
Turned every halcyon memory into fright.
Lightning carved a partita through the sky,
A wild, sequacious dance that dared not die.
Thunder replied with slippery weight,
Thick and rolling, an aficionado reply.
The sea spun an enigma of rising foam.
A xenogenesis of chaos away from home.
Even gulls, those fickle arbiters of storm.
Quite a false peace where shades roam.
Yet with the storm girlish force and might,
Through every sanguine hope taking flight,
A lone lantern glimmered in limpid defiance,
A spark of courage refusing the night.
And when dawn chose to liaise with the land,
Its brief gold brushed the waves as a hand
Coddling the wreckage, gentle and genteel,
As if forgiving the storm for all it had planned.
In the beginnings of this old world
I was there living among the woods
surviving in the wilds anyway I could
eating loads of fruit among other foods
But there was one big problem
Dinosaurs roamed about back then
eating up whatever they could find
anything would do even us men
So I had to wear camouflage
to deceive these creatures so
even feed them with some food
one step ahead you had to know
Had some narrow scary escapes
travelled so fast and very quick
they were agile and brutal beasts
even forced to throw the odd brick
Thankfully lived in underground bunker
with keeping watch through spy hole
this was way back in the early days
where survival was real life goal!