Long Bullet Poems
Long Bullet Poems. Below are the most popular long Bullet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bullet poems by poem length and keyword.
Due to a friend’s request
I entered a writing contest.
It was quite the quest
and I gave it one’s best.
Unfortunately it was a reject
And very hard to accept.
I hadn’t prepared to protect
my heart’s gold crest
from its bullet to the chest.
A bullet proof vest
had been needed from the vilest
which I now need to digest
and make sense of its infest
so it may not continue to manifest
and ruin my favorite zest
and my soul’s favorite guests.
My Pen and my Auto-Correct.
P.S.
Now that I’ve decompressed
I no longer feel under house arrest
I can now put my pen to rest,
and enjoy my day off treasure chest’s
fuzziest, happiest, coziest best.
Charlie Kirk
Breaks my heart
his death today
the bullet was not signed
as is the Zionist way
A Palestinian child denied her right
to sign the death sentence
with Gods best wishes
another terrorist fades into oblivion
Now women shut up
and make babies, your only job
that was his message
Feminist's laughing, this fool a knob
All the women already in heaven
dancing with angels of empathy
and compassion
look down and laugh this pious clown
you live by the second amendment
you die by the second amendment
Jesus will never have to see you again
finally in hells fire, you are with your own
There was no finer detective than Inspector Thaddeus Tweede of Scotland Yard!
He was most astute in solving crimes and could quickly detect a fake canard!
He joined the force as a 'bobby' working himself to the peak of his profession.
You daren't pull the wool over his eyes when he was seeking a confession!
Ah! He could have been cast in a movie since he was a detective's prototype,
In his tweed suit, tweed cape, tweed deerstalker's cap and ever-present pipe!
When investigating crime scenes he'd mull the facts with his chin in his hand,
Puffing his pipe making copious notes should he be called to the witness stand!
The highlight of his career was solving the case of Prime Minister Percival Hoar,
Who was found by his maid one dark and stormy night sprawled upon the floor!
There was no evidence of forceful entry or anyone breaking through the door,
Nor was there any sign of a struggle, bullet holes or oozing, bloody gore!
Who could have done this dastardly deed that brought the minister to his doom?
He took prints, photos and noted a strange odor as he moved about the room.
Thaddeus called on all his experience and training to solve this mysterious case,
Muttering to himself and doing a lot of 'hmming' as to and fro he did pace!
Eureka! He noted a bulge in the prime minister's jacket he hadn't noticed before!
Gingerly lifting a bottle from the pocket he deduced he needn't search anymore.
It wasn't a gun, the butler, jilted lover, political enemy or an envious friend
That did the terrible deed - 'twas demon rum that brought the minister to his end!
Wilderness
Moonlight stretches into the clearing,
intangible ...but offering comfort.
She is dying now, pining to be rescued,
her breathing jagged, her endurance spent;
the bullet had lanced her stomach
therefore prolonging agony.
Behind her lies a zick-zacked trail
of red, splattered death, her own.
She had been born a lone wolf
but now seeks release in moonlight's arms.
A terminal breath, a final flick of death
while her cubs, confused cries, wing the night .
Eventually moonlight drifts;
shadows lie down beside the lone wolf
as hunters scour the ground;
they, like wolves, seek life out of wilderness.
The Obiden Administration is the yeast infection of society.
The improv of impropriety.
The B squad strip club-bullet scarred-in line item
veto
of buffet line, Golden Corral of Megiddo of Communism in the sub zero Winter of our discontent manifest manifesto, with supply lines severed and trucking lines red line crossed white line fevered,
picking up hitch-hikers instead of towing the bill
of more spam, poltical theater,
this time at the border,
Jihad ampetheater.
Where's the oil drilling, refineries, manufacturing (besides lies)
where is the poor and middle class relief?
Where's the Beef!?
Our former lives.
Well its been burned in processing plant fires,
alot of them.
Got Milk?
Got your vaccine?
Get moving this line isn't for gasoline.
Its for booster shots, the other two for media education and guillotines.(I will add this here, so there isn't 1666 characters in the box) now, 1591,
...there, oops it went down again
~Anastastia O....
Unwavering hope, in the face a dead hole
All your thoughts are bullet points,
Shooting through our broken hearts;
And all our hearts are bullet proof,
When we are joined in a state of love, you can stay where you are.
You are stationless; we are unmoving and motionless,
In our ardent belief that you are becoming less and less.
Why can you not understand the evil that you are?
We are the innocent passer’s by, running in fear of your gun.
If all we are is soon to be gone and you our last red star,
Then I hope you have a peace of mind, a better life
And a way to cope before you are done and we are only found afar.
We are the innocence of youth, broken in two by people like you
And all you have is already ashes, broken pieces of war on classes.
War on man and woman kind;
War is all that is on your mind.
All we ask is please don't shoot;
Please don't let us end up like you,
With your braindead minds and lack of kind;
You have to hide, from your own cruel conscience.
Never let it be said that you are only subconscious,
Because here you stand in front of me now,
And all I ask is why and how?
Why take a life so easily?
And how are you so different from me?
For all I am is humane and helpless;
All you are is death and worthless.
Who decided to let you go?
What was the price of your worthless soul?
What is it that makes you think you are right?
You have no right to take a life.
So find a place of peace and leave it be.
Just leave; just leave and let us live in peace.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
His life came to a ruinous end
Plummeted into insanity
The red-bearded painter
With his self-hatred, despair and desperation for understanding
He drank yellow paint thinking it would make him happy
Locked up in a mental asylum that would shatter any person’s self-belief
Deceived Vincent cut his earlobe in an unforeseen calamity
But he channelled the awful torment into beauty
Immaculate and sublime
To find ecstasy in the ordinary
And in transforming the banal into a magical masterpiece
The Starry Night, Sunflowers, Self-Portrait, The Potato Eaters, Wheatfield with Crows, Irises, The Bedroom in Arles
Each a genius’s masterstroke into Eternity
A jumble of love, sorrow and rage
Painting the canvas in bold strokes as his heart and mind burst into flames
The King of colour, a whisper into the future unheard in his times
He died in a rut with voices all over his mind.
So, he picked up the gun
And the bullet went straight into his golden heart
Wonder how many colours lost their lives on that day?
Thralldom etched in *****sapiens (mine) DNA
Though your true blue stated civilian
never enlisted nor impressed,
nonetheless I own an opinion
originally embarked on poetic quest
to express purposelessness,
when soldiers rest
at peace i.e. eternally,
many attired courtesy
smart uniform strong with zest.
Psyche steeped, macerated, brewed
as token scapegoat, cue
trumpets Don to toot
courtesy more'n one
nasty shortish brute
weasley chastened me
round mulberry bush
said monkeys chased scaredy
cat me... point moot
regarding... rung me
ragged standing astute
adjacent Thomas Jonathan
"Stonewall" Jackson
(Confederate general during
American Civil War),
his own troops accidentally
fired on him during
Battle of Chancellorsville
in Virginia doth not compute
"friendly fire" unleashed during
one among many hot pursuit
part and parcel of wars,
since time immemorial
gung ho practiced soldier and/or
scared cat neophyte unwittingly shoot
pellets traveling speed of
sound bullet out - gunmetal chute
ordinarily pardoned distinct mistake
versus homicide statute
nonetheless...about
thee (rhetorical question), wherefore
art thou purpose to war,
those slain now paid tribute
since major hostilities of
World War I formally
ended at 11th hour of 11th
day of 11th month of 1918
yet... I question military conflicts
battle hymns constitute
legacy e'er since Homo
sapiens stood erect,
many soldiers of misfortune,
sons of destitute
versus wealthy heirs accepted perception
that war was "a rich man's war
and a poor man's fight"
countless generations ago
deserters fate would mean execute
"the bastard," even second decade
into twenty first century
once sworn in at basic training,
getting discharged (vodka luck), but absolute
zero tolerance quitting before
duty commitment desertion flagrant violation,
no easy task leaving service minus
tribunal meeting severe to prosecute,
thus joining military unlike
accepting any other job
punishment greater than Das boot,
yet patriotism, née jingoism
not ideal, viz conflict resolution,
verstehen, or did this wordsmith convolute?
To see one is rare but to buy one is obscene.
A tall snob. She casts frowns from under her gables.
He, the new owner, is in the cellar to clean
Dusting and throwing out boxes without labels.
Can a house resent an owner from the new school?
Can its wood sigh with grief from the change to a room?
Can it scream from lapse to architectural rule?
This old Victorian's doors were opened to doom!
The previous owner, whom everyone called Fred,
Had a grudge against dogs that walked on his lawn.
He'd shoot his rifle peppering the dogs' butts red.
But Fred is dead. The Daisy was sold and is gone.
However, cheap Fred would keep the bullet casement.
Although empty, he'd refill it with black powder.
Today the black powder is down in the basement
Awaiting its end by the determined router.
And the furnace glowing with a deep thermal heat,
And with metal grate open to welcome the scrap,
The old Victorian felt her heart skip a beat,
As gunpowder box was thrown in quick as a snap.
Both door and man were blasted outside in a heap
Onto a well-kept lawn that was always kept green.
Be warned that those old houses have secrets to keep.
I know Fred's not gone 'cause that was his curse I'd seen.
Iam looking for two pieces of silver! Willing to go downtown for that blue paper! Iam talking a doughle bag filled with dead presidents rest in peace to the leaders , Teachers not dealers!
Dodge a bullet!
Dance in the rain!
Smile with the sun, you are David conquer the giant within that wants to destroy.
Hug the trees for comfort! Blow tress for a steady thought , strengthen your heart these are cold nights have sight!
Tick tock the alarm ringing,
What is your wrist telling you to do?
One life , one heartbeat , two hands oh yes you blessed! Keep fighting , dive to greatness be the shark for life can be a bastard!