Long Bet Poems
Long Bet Poems. Below are the most popular long Bet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bet poems by poem length and keyword.
waterfall from skies compete with my thoughts
must be doing something else,
yet here I am,
Here. I am.
Again.
Why do I keep coming back here?!?
A mental shake,
as I chastise myself
I shouldn't be here, don't belong here anymore.
Most likely, I never did, just pushed myself in this place.
But I feel like a homing pigeon,
where this is the only place I know
that I can be and not be.
Where I can hide and expose myself at the same time.
With repercussions? Maybe.
I sit in my own corner and immerse myself
in the chatter, the laughter, and other matters
Nobody really notices me,
but that's ok.
I'm getting used to it.
I guess I keep coming back here
for that sense of familiarity, of a somewhat home,
for the memories.
Of myself in happier times,
of a chapter in my life that I have written
yet somehow botched up. Badly, so badly
that the words are all swimming in their own tears
Oozing ink, drowning.
But it shouldn't surprise me anymore?
This is me?
Of course I will always somehow manage to mess things up.
Some ways more than the others,
'my-esque' askewness
For some, that chapter in my life
is of course negligible. An erasable footnote perhaps?
It hurts, but we all have our own worlds,
where you may not be as important to others
as you thought, as you wanted to be.
There I went, pushing myself again,
only to be pushed away with a
thousand mile barrier of silence.
All along, being dust in that corner.
I gulp a bucket of tears,
because I will not deny it--
how much it hurts. Still.
But like what I say,
have to get used to it.
My hands are cold,
and I wipe snot from my nose,
a dainty trickle of snot, but snot nonetheless,
have had my snot-in-sheets phase,
so this is progress, that trickle.
1234, my clock says,
12345678910, I count to myself
collecting, breathing slowly
needles in my feet and shivering
Gosh, can I get any more pathetic?!
Yes, I have and I bet I will still be so.
No, this is not a pity-me thing,
more like a slap-myself thing
So I can look back, read this
and say to myself:
Others have it harder than you,
yet they stand,
I'm here sitting,
yet others stand.
...
the sky is still drumming the earth with water
and my eyes are threatening to do a duet. Again.
I chide myself, Enough now.
For my bags under my eyes are already so smooth, too deep
Too weathered and soaked for a year.
----> 'slap-myself thing', remember??
Remember.
The Halloween Party was in full swing
Witches, wizards and an alien thing
with tentacles and one huge eye
Flourishing a laser gun shouting "Die".
Alison and her friends Ada and Jo
Were all dressed as feline kittens "meow"
Carl and Simon had laced the fruit punch bowl
As the evening drew on it took it's tole.
Drunkenly a bet was stupidly placed
Who of them would last and not be outpaced
A nightly vigil at Haunted Creek
Where rode a phantom horseman, there to seek.
Everyone there all knew the awful tale
Making in unison a quick inhale
It was long ago in 1702
A mounted stallion there cast a shoe
The rider's name was Squire Abraham Knight
Was set upon and put up a good fight
He was then butchered for a gold doubloon
Was then thrown in the creek and found at noon
Unexplained sightings, that then disappear
have been recorded, it is very unclear
Warnings come from parents to their own child
No-one goes there, it is left to grow wild
With youthful bravado they all met there
Torches flashed around, as the trees stood bare
Alison and her friends huddled together
Shivering in the inclement weather
Bart and his brother camped down for the night
on a hillock, keeping the creek in sight
Joining them was the terror gang of four
Troublemakers, who all acted hardcore.
Two hours later it started to snow
Huge flakes falling and wind began to blow
"I've had enough of this" said Alison
"I'm all for going home. I'm all done!"
Eagerly agreeing, walked back in step
Suddenly Jo tripped up and in pain wept
"Can't go further, my ankle is wrecked"
Leaning on shoulders, onwards they all trekked.
"No, I can't, please, you must stop", poor Jo wailed
"It's agony! she gasped and then inhaled.
"Come on Jo, we can stop at Adam's place".
"We will make it there at a slower pace.
Adam's place was an old abandoned farm
"No, not there!" said Ada-May in alarm
"Afraid of ghosts and ghouls?" mocked Alison
"More like rats and spiders and not much fun!".
Giggling they arrived at old Adam's place
The moonlight showing fear on each girl's face
"We have to go in there, we have no choice"
Jo jumped. "Was that whinnying of a horse?"
On that retort they threw open the door
Stepping inside, they all dropped through the floor
Not one of them survived their dreadful doom
Trapped, without rescue, in the dark, dark room.............
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
Did Shakespeare ever fall in love?
A rose by any other name would
stink as sweet!
What would Y'eshua say if indeed
Magdalene was his favorite disciple?
What miracles would he impress her
with
So as to savor her forbidden apple?
O woman!
Is that why god made you last of all
nature's enviable beauty?
If before he said let there be light
You were the first thing his devine
eyes saw
I bet creation would have been a
different theory altogether.
If love at first sight was a figure of
speech
Then I swear I love you like a
metaphor
And your smile is a typo
They meant to say a simile
I will kiss your face like a blank page
And my lips will be the tip of my
pencil
Drawing drooling hieroglyphs like
the hand of god
Inscribing Ten Commandments of
Love
On the tablets of your breasts
Because my name is Moses
A stammerer on a voyage to save a
lonely soul
From the shackles of cynicism
On love affairs.
I would love to laugh while making
rough love to you
On the dark floor of my solitude cell
Where torn pages of amatuerish
poems lay as a carpet
Because you are my words:
Maybe your face is the sky
And your eyes are the stars
Maybe your laughter is a symphony
Of a million harps from a million
virgin angels
I have written about love a million
times
And still you remain elusive
A mystery
Are you an acrostic;
So each letter tells your tale?
Maybe a couplet or limerick?
Are you a sonnet? Or a ballad? Or a
metre without a rhyme?
Maybe you are a mere syllable I
mumble at every sudden ******.
Your body is a symmetry of regular
ryhthm
Consumate from five to seven
And back to five
Haiku:
Japanese poets should build a
pedestal for you
And all lustful lads
Should come and slink the slank at
your feet
Indeed lady,
Your gait and pride and smell of
shaven armpits and eyeballs might
make a eunuch have an ********
And that to me
Is amorous injustice!
Tell me,
What can a scribe do?
When all I write about is human
weakness
And wickedness?
When writing to me is an escape
from adjectives I can't utter over a
cup of coffee?
To me,
The strand of your hair alone
Deserves atleast umpteenth stanzas
of praise
A prerequisite.
If I say I love you
Will you giggle at my palpability?
Why bore you with parables
When all you yearn for is a touch
And forever?
I will say no more.
...He walked up and kissed her head so softly,
then said, “Good news, I’m off for the next few weeks.”
She said, “Mmm…and I’m betting that you’re are
thinking of all that you will do to me.”
He smirked, and said,”Well it has crossed my mind.”
She said, “I must work, but we will make the time…”
And they did enjoy that time together,
they went to dinner, took walks, and made love,
Cormack so enjoyed these little reprieves
from his chosen life, so brutal and rough.
Some days he thought it very hard to beat
lazing on the couch and rubbing her feet.
But good times are good because they can’t last,
eventually a new call did come in,
he told Christie he had to go away
for a sales trip, he shared no details grim.
She said, “It’s fine, I must travel as well,
to visit my brother, who’s going through hell.”
They said their goodbyes, Cormack went to work,
the patriarch’s gave him a new target,
a serial killer near Topeka,
“We’re not sure, but we think he’s a good bet.”
They told him as they slipped him a file,
he frowned, thinking this might take a while.
The drive took two days, but Cormack got there,
in a rented house he set up his gear,
see Nephilim left some strange energy
at any location where they appeared.
An electric charge from their angel kin,
unique to their kind, so Cormack did begin.
This was the boring part of the hunting,
walking the streets with a heavy backpack,
inside a device reading the energy,
hoping to pick up residual tracks.
He started near the sites of the fell crimes,
traces of a Nephilim he soon did find.
For days he looked for patterns in the readings,
using the data to triangulate,
narrowed it down to a three block circle,
armed himself and went to investigate.
The device went wild as he drew near,
he wondered if two Nephilim were here.
He heard a commotion from a warehouse,
not uncommon in a bad part of town,
he heard an angel voice and painful moan,
and knew something awful was going down.
He slipped inside and heard a voice proclaim,
“When the hunter shows up, you’ll get the blame!”
Cormack stepped out and lifted his pistol,
he said, “Or I’ll just kill you both here and now.”
The bigger man jolted as he appeared,
then his eyes glowed, and he bellowed out loud.
He then then himself into a mad charge,
but Cormack’s gun spoke before he got far...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
“It's not that we cant see the solution; it's that we cant see the problem” - G.K. Chesterton
It's all so crazy
The perception of our society
Are we blind; are we ignorant?
Perhaps what will be, will be
It's not that we can’t see the solution
It seems so obvious - so clear
But when you look beneath the surface
The reality - I think that's what we really fear
We think that food is a problem
With obesity at an all time high
The truth - obesity Is a symptom
Yet, we continually close our eyes
Over half of America
Is over weight or obese
It's the leading cause of preventable deaths
However; it's not what we eat
It's what's eating us
During our days and our nights
Its the voice in our head
That tells us things aren't quite right
Food doesn't kill people
It's similar to gun control
30,000 violent deaths per year
I bet here's a fact you don't know
Of the 30,000 violent deaths
18,000 are suicides
You're right - guns do kill people
But we never ask people why they want to die
The solutions may seem clear
But stress, anxiety, and fear still remains
It's not food or the guns
That elicit the majority of life's pain
So let's have a drink
That will help us to relax and unwind
Here, have another
It's a sophisticated red wine
According to a National Survey
86 percent reportedly drink
26 percent binge
That's a lot don't you think?
An estimated 88,000 people
Die from alcohol-related causes per year
It's the third leading preventable cause of death in the United States
The solution? - address, don't try to drink away what you fear
So what's the real problem?
Here, I'll take the sacrificial dive
I'll use logic and reason
A method we use in other areas of our lives
It's not eating or drinking
That’s causing our pain
In modernity
It's the mental health of our brain
It's what we value
It's who we choose to idolize
It's the trivially matters
The distorted sense of self we despise
When we learn to face facts
Prioritize what we do
When we value virtue
Compassion manifest - love will carry us through
We’ll choose take smaller bites
Have one drink to unwind
We’ll have a gun for protection
Moderation - the Golden rule still applies
It's not that we can’t see the problem
It’s that we won't look at the disease
The solution?
Address mental health - please
“I am somebody’s child, and I need attention, I am somebody’s child and I need affection, I am somebody’s child and I need love and devotion”, she murmured as she walked through the door. She wasn’t sure where she was going when she left the house; she wasn’t sure about the next encounter, but she walked for five hours until she reaches the border.
The speed, at which she moved, left everyone confused but she was determined to make a point just to stay alive. She did not plan a journey she just wanted to live, and hang out with the daffodils but the trap was already set before they made the bet. She could sense it from within and so she had to learn to swim; with strength in her arms and strides in her feet, she made it through the dark before the break of dawn.
They searched everywhere for her, but they could not find her, the public became aware of it and they start to build a myth. Officer Jones devised a plan to begin the search mission he knew what he had up his sleeve, because he was so hard to please. He had laid the ground work to start digging up dirt, to catch the big fish and throw them back into the ditch, the climate was right and the alibi was riding high in the sky.
The search went on for days with no sight of her abducted in the bush or held captive by the brook; it was just one of those situations where you have to keep on top of things before the universe done you in.
The cheese, and the pie, the crown and the dye were just too reveling so they had to search for another meaning, and the sky was their only hope to keep sailing on the boat and so the narrative changed to give her all the blame.
Was it a crime torn area or someone lost their way and bumped into a criminal flattering in the sky that is a one-hundred-dollar question from a village miner who could not fit the pieces together for the director or the operator.
And so, the question remains, whose back was she trying to cover? My mind wander and wander and it didn’t look like a deal that turned sour, neither was it a set up by gate to discover something before it was too late. Everything seems to be in perfect harmony with the guitar, the piano, the band and the musical director.
The great Gatsby would have won the case if Tom Buchanan had not shot him in the pool over the death of Myrtle Wilson his darling wife. "I am somebody’s child," she screamed.
When I was only ten years old, I yelled at my TV
For I could not believe the filth they played to kids like me
Right there upon my TV screen, a frog with skin of green
Was lusted after by a pig whose plans were quite obscene
That frog would always act like he was playing hard to get
But that there pig would have her way… it was a certain bet
Well, some years on I met that frog and frankly I saw red
I glared right at that dirty frog and this is what I said…
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
Amphibians ain’t meant to speak, but he’d been on TV
He stood there with an attitude and tried to make me see
I glared at him and said there’s nothing here to be discussed
A frog that sleeps with piggies is a frog I’ll never trust
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
See, I’d just seen my dentist and he told me you’d been in
He said he had to throw you out or land one on your chin
He wouldn’t see you then, nor would he polish up the gnashers
Of any frog whose teeth and breath smelled much like bacon rashers
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
That frog has really messed me up. My nightmares feature girls
They all have snouts, four trotters and a little tail that curls
My given name is Herman so my friends all call me Hermie
But in my nightmare all those pigs squeal, “Come to Mumma, Kermie!”
Up yours, Bacon-Balls, there’s no ifs and no buts
I’d bet ten bucks you let that pig have access to your nuts
So up yours, Bacon-Balls, your love life is a crime
A frog that sleeps with pigs should be a frog that’s doing time
I only hope that, one day, on him, law enforcement calls
And at the gallows they will hang him by his bacon balls
Be sure that I shall be right there to watch him as he falls
And as they pull the lever, I’ll cry, “Up yours, Bacon Balls!”
>Are the best things in life free?
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad Author
& Poetry Soup Honourably Mentioned
One of my cousin’s on Facebook one day.
Said the best things in life are free.
Then she wrote a list you see.
Well not you, as it was seen by me.
I had of course, to reply.
Well my writing bug did, I sigh!
1. Hugs! To have a hug that close honey.
I need deodorant and that costs money.
2. Raise a smile! For that I must clean my teeth.
Toothbrush and paste, they are not cheap.
3. Family! That’s not free.
Just think of the mortgage fee.
4. Sleep! Really need a bed for that.
They are not cheap. That’s a fact.
5. Kisses! Flowers, chocolates and all that.
Leaves my wallet looking flat.
7. Friends! No doubt my turn to treat.
Every blinking time at pub we meet.
8. Memories! Now that is the one.
Don’t need cash to remember one.
That was before all those things I did do.
You said were, ‘free,’ you did it’s true.
Sadly they were not for me.
The seven things you said were free.
So that’s all now, you’ll get from me.
And all of this, ‘was,’ blinking free.
ooo0ooo
Some of my Angels are on loan.
I say I have four caring for me.
Two in the day and night you see.
As my cousin was ill, you know.
I ordered two, too her go.
My cousin later informed me she was okay.
her operation done she did say.
So my two angels she thanked that day.
And bless sent them back yesterday.
I sent the following message on Facebook 9-8-15
I have trolled, you have been told.
And I don't know what to say.
Those angels I did send you know,
Are still not back today.
Did you tell them to travell by train?
I know their wings don't like rain.
I checked the air at Felixstowe.
Just in case there they did go.
Sadly there was no sign of them, you know.
You know I am a patient man.
Bet they are talking as angels can.
Expect they'll turn up, and when they do.
I'll tell you when to cover your ears too.
As the air here might be blue.
Bit like the sky, i'm telling you.
Oh yes! Hope you are well soon too.
Having released those angels two.
I'll clip their wings that's what I'll do.
And next time, send my men angels to you.
(TMA)
As we are both recovering the Angels are on stand by. Well you never really know when, or where they will be needed do you?
Whenever you feel lost
Or when you feel to reset
To look back and feel refreshed
Click the “Home” key
It’ll open the door to inner prosperity
A heart filled with joy
For there’s no place like home
When you feel like something is missing
Or you are missing something
You look through the woods and see a forest
You finally decide to run away, don’t!
Click the “insert” key
It’ll make space for a missing heart
A missing soul
Or a missing leter
Then the letter makes a word whole
No need to panic, insert!
Each time you feel you wronged someone
Or there’s something making you look or feel terrible
There’s a key called “backspace”
You can hit it way back to fix all the wrongs
All the mistakes that find you mistaken
Forgiveness is such a key, no, backspace
A sure way to fix things
Anytime you foresee danger
Trouble lingering ahead, impatiently waiting for you
You know you’ll lose it
You’ll lose her, him, them
Click on “delete”
It’s there to save you from the bad
It’s not gonna happen
It’s never gonna happen
Then you know you are safe
When you feel squashed and need to make way...
When things are compressed and you need to breathe
Take a walk and visit “space”
Bet you’ll need this guy as often
Might become great friends
Don’t be afraid, you need air
And space is there to give it to you
Sometimes, in order to go forward
One needs to reflect
See what you have, or have had
Some highlights or flashbacks
Can go a long way
You need “PrtSc”, print screen in full
To observe for you what you cannot
Through the naked eye of ignorance
Reflect, it’s a good part of moving on
One wouldn’t argue that
Now and again you could use a “tab”
From one place to another
Hop forward, this is a slow train
Why not adjust and keep the format most suitable for you
This is your life, take a tab!
Whatever life throws at you
You know you are the only one
Who is in possession of this special key
It’s a key to happiness
It’ll transport you to any place you ever want to go
It’ll give you anything you need, and want
This key has a name, like no other
“Ctrl” is the only key you can ever use whenever you want to
It’s never far from you
It’s on both your right and your left hand side
Always reachable, always available
You should try it sometimes
Life can be computerized
But what if a computer is personalized?