Long Blitzed Poems
Long Blitzed Poems. Below are the most popular long Blitzed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blitzed poems by poem length and keyword.
Clanging and bashing
The kitchen's in use
Daughters craving treats
Allowed on the loose.
Flour, sugar, butter
All over the floor
Dusting the ceiling
Spread thru the drawers.
Seeking seclusion
Mum heads to the mall
Dad's not so enthused
He’s taken the fall!
Vanilla smells waft
Blitzed cake mix atoll
Now one eggs rotten
Phew! Missed the whole bowl.
Mixing all finished
Into the oven
Fast rising ignited
By the witch coven.
Ginormous cupcakes
Rest plump on the bench
Waiting so silent
For icing frost drench.
Now bizarre colours
Created in leagues
Designs are invented
Intending intrigue.
Red nose drawn upon
Superfluous clowns
Green, orange, purple
Even some browns.
Goblins and gremlins
Haggard old fairies
Wombles and warlocks
Yellow canaries.
Dad for his patience
Gets the first taste
His fluttering eyes
Say he wasn’t quite braced!
Smiling so sweetly
He says they taste nice.
When truly he wants
Some hard drink on ice!
Cupcakes were vital
Baking so easy
Except for the clean
Now the kids feel quite queasy.
"FAKE" assertions unstoppably
bandied with beef,
(sans doughty deeds done dirt cheap)
courtesy of commander in chief
trumpeted as a way to backout,
embarrassment analogous to the thief
of Baghdad, when culpable faux pas
woe philly pops thought balloon of mine
reckons with transparent "good grief"
within mind of yours truly,
who finds himself dumbstruck
aghast, and shaking noggin with disbelief
how people can be so gullible
who would just as lief
eat a pin cushion to deliver strep throat relief.
First amendment teeter totters on brink
of dissolution mainly by the rat fink,
whose defamation against journalists
risking life and limb, yet not shrink
king enlightening liberal minded, who think
similar to myself, imposter
hood drums utter rubbish
while feeling teed off puttering
along Mar a Lago,
or another owned golf link
resorting to silence protesters
whisked off to the klink.
Distortions, (nee outright
blatant lies) saturate
social media platforms,
which followers didst rate
as their numero uno slate
supposedly reliable sources
harkening back to papa retaliate
Tory Bush prez administration,
regarding patrilineal shogunate
where Iraq summarily
targeted for crashing Kuwait
violating, jeopardizing, and
compromising vital oil, literate
folks suspected, that critical
lubricant mandatory to resonate
greasing western civilization
particularly self anointed great
super power USA, hence
alarmists didst exaggerate,
whose military intelligence
industrial leaders got irate
contracting complex projecting
global economy would vacillate
and, perhaps take Kamikaze nosedive
hence procrastination could not wait
demanding based on sketchy accusation
Saddam Hussein, and his ilk ultimate
harbored weapons of mass destruction
despite lack of distilled proof,
would severely truncate
nary a trace sniffed out,
nonetheless damn the torpedoes blitzed
in an effort to triangulate
miscreant running amuck
eventually met demise
with Bush Junior delivering
permanently placating tete a tete,
no matter dispensing top notch
fighting soldiers, whose strong
lifeless bloodied bodies remain prostate.
Harmonious is not a horrid homogenized concoction,
pulsed and blitzed in a blender mixer,
until the notes and flavors meld and gel set.
Instead it is a polyphonic pitch ensemble,
a juxtaposition of notes in counterpoint.
Chords, sounds, glissando's and voices
all intermingle as individuals,
balancing consonance and dissonance
in harmony.
When your world goes way out of tune,
discordant in cacophony,
clanging with noisy chaotic strife!
Get your harpsichord re-tuned afresh,
to sound notes of love, true blue, not bluesy bent.
Then your soul can be harmonious again
in rhythmic syncopating jam sessions,
adlibbing with your soul mates,
in a potpourri of flavors, savored
harmonious.
Changes in weather are mostly to cold.
So much harder to do as we grow old.
When done, we regret not doing it sooner.
Dillydallying, a renowned late-bloomer.
Change is oft forecast as a gentle breeze,
Refreshing our spirits, setting at ease,
Offering rewards of a brighter dawn,
With lives uplifted, with good hope reborn.
But change can be fierce, its tempest untamed,
Shattering the foundations, leaving hearts maimed,
For the quest for self, leaves others behind,
Well beyond what changes you had in mind.
What's forgotten is changes' daisy chain.
All the forget-me-not strung out to blame
You for the chain reaction that change brings
With its bunch of unintended bad things.
Remember that in the change are keepsakes,
That can get blitzed to pulp in quakes and shakes.
There is no heaven I know for sure,
met an alien who has been on tour,
he has blitzed himself from Corteez,
a planet around star Betelgeuse,
he has no body like you or me,
a hazy presence you can just see,
he can walk through any thick brick wall
he has somehow become my best pal,
he talks in thoughts he puts in my mind,
I learnt to reply to him in kind.
it is he who shared little secret,
that heaven is not as we see it,
that human kind have invented lies,
that man goes to heaven when he dies,
of kingdom of God up in the sky,
devil and hell and angels that fly,
wild stories baked from ancient times,
coloured pious and told in rhymes!
I call him ‘he’ as matter of course,
no gender though in their universe,
appears ionic in atmosphere,
but stays solid in his worldly sphere!
has been to universe every where,
but heaven he is sure is not there,
I am sharing what I think is truth,
from Corteez pal, like horses mouth!
So let’s all go and do what we must,
from dust we are and return to dust,
we can make it heaven where we are,
with good deeds heaven is not far,
Corteez pal has invited me home,
but like his ionic self I can’t roam,
He has for now gone back to Corteez,
just thought, with you I would share all these.....
3rd placement
24/12/2020
Fantasy with fictional beings poetry contest
Caren Krutsinger sponsored
word count 248
rhyme aabb.....
Ocher and quince wads
pack gaps in particleboard walls.
Yellow newspapers underlay linoleum.
The apartment is smeared by nicotine
When it rains, a paper-Mache atlas of a blotched sky
can be read on the ceiling.
The window-sill slants, he dares not lean out.
He listens to street fights; imagines gore
seeping into inky basement wells.
Saturday nights bleed into Sunday. Sometime
amid the gray hours he decides to leave,
to wander vomit blitzed alleys
to search a doorstep and steal a Sunday paper,
then he returns to the grimy room
to read of better places
where better crimes get clean away.
He has a girlfriend, one he sees only once a week,
they sit on the narrow bed reading the news.
She tells him that her apartment has thin walls,
that at night strangers scratch upon them
as if writing to her.
Finally He lands a job in a hotel as a night porter.
His allotted room is pure white and sterile,
more a cell than a living space.
If he puts the light on, all that white hurts his eyes,
in time he gets used to it. His mind slowly
sheds layers of brick-dust and smudged print.
Santa Claus was bellowing, things were wacked,
the giant red sleigh was packed,
the reindeer weren't harnessed up,
he stomped in the snow, broke his cocoa cup.
Suddenly, there in the far end of the barn,
what he saw caused alarm,
Rudolph was playing poker,
he was blitzed, being a joker.
Santa's face was beet red,
"Rudolph, get harnessed for the sled!"
Well, Rudolph was lit up in the wrong way,
and slurred his words to disrespectfully say.
"Hey Santa, I'm not freezing my jingle bells,
in the sky tonight, I'm in a drunken spell,"
Morty, the klutzy moose was at the barn door,
"Santa, my fellow moose and I will get you off the floor!"
And, by golly, they took the sleigh into the night,
a team of moose led by Morty's benevolent might,
Christmas Eve was saved,
and Rudolph and his team were in shame.
Santa forgave them in a few days,
because they began to go to AA,
and, in the following New Year,
they were once again Santa's favorite reindeer!
12/7/22
All over the map
Can't stay on track
Still inside a shack
Drinking yak
While it's pitch black
Listening for the sound of a songbird
Not living long term
Still taking a wrong turn
Giving into strong urge
Honestly I'm barely mad
I'm just very sad
Truth be told, I am an extraordinary man
Meanwhile most are off in fairyland
Out of context
A continual process
And contest
Of nonsense
Rarely done in good conscience
Jiminy
I smoke like a chimney
Round the clock consistently
I drink like a fish
Blackout when blitzed
Then wake up unable to reminisce
I do it all again shift after shift
Hit after hit
Sip after sip
This cycle continues to loop on
As I move along
Through the fog
With a few dogs
While inside a gulag
It's been too long
Now I grew strong
Talk is cheap
It's beyond belief
Just sought relief
Yet the cost is steep
At another junction
No longer able to function
From overconsumption
Behind the scenes or in public
They always judge quick
Then jump in
Always trying to pull some trick
I handle these munchkins
With a front kick
Easily they're done with
What was once hid
Left them perplexed by what I just did
Unlike all these hypocrites
Went through the thick of it
This is an iceberg and that's just the tip of it
Dearest Brother
We've been through both heaven and hell together.
From the deathbed of our precious mother.
Into the embrace of our golden-souled father.
To the heart of Grandma Kay, the gentle flower.
Many times, you pulled me from folly's fire.
We chased the girls and a million pop flies.
We blitzed the monkey trail on 5 speed bikes.
Until the quiet call of those damned streetlights.
You were the quiet one, steady as a forest pond.
Which now reflects in your children's love.
You've breached life's breakers and now belong.
To the eternal nest of heaven's warmth.
Dearest Brother
Pelosi stumbles drunk, out in the night
She sees the Donald and picks a fight
Blitzed and hammered oh bless her heart
She reaches back to catch a fart
Unannounced and a surprise to all
Here comes sleepy Joe for a booty call
Trump is saved by a Biden sniff
Joe hits the ground with just one whiff
A true advantage the Don now takes
He fakes a grab and Nancy shakes
A blow delivered by orange hair and swass
Our dubious Speaker falls on her a$$
Joe wakes up from the gaseous sleep
He sniffs once more and begins to weep
Nancy jumps up on her wobbly knees
She drops the Trump with one more squeeze
Round one is over, now who will win?
We should know more when round two begins.