Long Bunch Poems
Long Bunch Poems. Below are the most popular long Bunch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bunch poems by poem length and keyword.
They all put so much stress on
getting a college degree,
and if it’s math or science,
I think that I would agree.
But in the humanities
another trend now appears,
kids are taught to hate themselves,
and this is reason for fear.
Instead of the great questions,
they’re taught to obsess on race,
and disparage great thinkers
who have the ‘wrong’-colored face.
Instead of human nature
they’re taught to harp on gender,
to the point they no longer think
there is a ‘him’ or a ‘her.’
Instead of economics
they’re force-fed socialism,
and thus doomed to see the world
through a misshapen prism.
Instead of building a life
these students are taught to see
themselves as passive subjects
to assigned ‘identities.’
Instead of questions of faith,
they’ll be taught religion is dead,
just to have leftist belief
pounded hard into their heads.
What comes back won’t be something
worthy of pride or respect,
their morals gone, their reason cowed,
their soul an absolute wreck.
You will not get a person
quipped to take on the world,
you’ll get an angry NPC
out rioting like a churl.
You will not find them ready
to become women and men,
just fragile people who think
the name ‘Blackjack’ does offend.
You will not find strong actors
now ready to get to work,
just entitled people that
rant and scream like spoiled jerks,
and worse still these useless souls
have a hundred grand in debt!
I got to think a trade school
would’ve been a better bet.
Then at least they’d be useful
to society at large,
help to maintain all we’ve built,
and not be the culture’s charge.
Plus if they really want to
give the great thinkers a look,
they can go do that for free
with a bunch of library books,
Or look to the internet,
most of the greats are there for free,
your own thoughts will be as good
as what comes from academies.
Unless it’s math or science,
college doesn’t make much sense,
don’t sent your kids to college,
you’ll just be ruining them.
3 strikes…you’re out!
I’ve given you way too many chances…
Do you expect more?
You left me empty-handed… your insufficiency advances…
3 strikes…you’ve ran out of chances
But I’m kind enough to buy you some more
Or maybe I have some in store
You’ve pushed it to the limits
I’M TELLIN’ YOU TO QUIT IT
When you throw your tantrums… your foolish fits
I’m tellin’ you to lay off of me…
You treated me like dirt and grime
You have only one last chance…
Will you stop acting irrationally?
Don’t screw it up this time…
3 strikes…GET out of my sight
Get out of my life – there’s the front door
You’re killin’ me with your insanity
3 strikes… don’t pout!
Could you JUST leave me alone tonight?
I’ve given you a bunch of options,
But you were heedless of my vanity…
You’ve tortured me with your profanity
You’ve punctured me with your
lies and your brutality
You’ve defeated me with your
nightmarish reality
Why do you hunger for my agony?
3 strikes…there’s no way out
Of your devious trap…
You’re blaming me for your downfalls
3 strikes…good riddance…get out!
You’ve never answered my calls,
So just desert me…
Let me escort you to the front door
Leave me alone…I don’t love you anymore
You’ve really tried my patience
I’m tellin’ you to leave me be…
You still don’t listen to me – I want you to flee
I want you to be set free
Get out of heart…
Get out of my house…
Get out of my head…
Get out of my life!
You’re the magnet of strife
You’ve invited corruption in my life
It strangles me like a thick rope around my neck
It stabbed me like a butchering knife…
You’re so heartless and pathetic…you’re a wreck
I’m tellin’ you to bother someone else, you lunatic
You have lost your only chance,
You repulsive prick
3 strikes…you’ve got no luck
I’ve given you escape routes and you weren’t grateful –
You don’t even say, “Thank you” for all of the things I do for you
3 strikes…
YOU SNOOZE. . . YOU LOSE. . .
Are you still a ruthless soul?
You’re hanging by a thread – and you haven’t got a clue
Go ahead!
Leave my presence,
YOU nuisance!
You're trying my patience...
I would leave if I were you...
I loathe your ignorance...
But, you just stand there like a fool!
You're taking advantage of me...
Throwing me out in the dumpster like a futile tool
--(Screw)-- you... Please leave me...
You have added to my anxiety
You have done enough
damage as it is...
In the deep recess of night,
while the stars were twinkling bright,
Then the sons of light did pray,
bring to bear their might 'to play.
Burning sons of JEHOVAH,
eyes like eagles seeing far,
Prayer power blazing hot,
against hordes of hell they fought.
Unrelenting voices cry,
petitioning GOD on high.
Pray they did and travail'd much,
a victorious conquering bunch.
Men will rise and men will fall,
pray-ers will be standing tall,
Cos this kind goeth not out,
but by pray'r and fasting rout.
A free gift not eas'ly bought,
Praying men not eas'ly caught,
When afraid, unsure, just pray,
And The LORD will light thy way.
"Roll on tonight my mates are coming round
For a few cold beers and some rocking sounds
Time is drawing near, as I hear a knock at the door
Blimey! at this time of the night, a vacuum salesmen stands before"
"Hey pal make it quick, I have a party to host
Tell me your pitch, now disappear your a ghost
The best place for them is in the lunar craters
Sucking on Listerine soaked tissues, singing, "see you later alligator"
"Another knock on the door, and I'm pleasantly surprised
All my intended buddies on my doorstep, the parties arrived
For a night of drifting, ending with earache and pain
Entering wormholes of insomnia, no pain no gain"
"Our party is going to be like a cool Rock 'n' Roll gig
Beers flowing a plenty, this ain't no highland jig
We start with Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention
Best friends and myself, our schooldays convention"
"This is no wine and dine as Dire Straits play
The "Sultans of Swing" sounds excellent any day
Next we play Deep Purple, listening to Jon Lord's Hammond sounds
Music is our medicine in six speaker surround"
"In between sounds to the kitchen we head
Tid-bits and more beers to keep our gig well fed
We sample some Grunge Metal listening to Nuclear Waste
But once again Classic Rocks rules, as Grunge is not our taste"
"For the next couple of ours it's like The Monsters of Rock
AC/DC and UFO, the Rock never stops
We air guitar to "Whole Lotta Rosie"
Wearing spandex boxer shorts, one of us drumming like Cozy"
"We all awake in the morning, some with sore heads
But it was never a night that we were ever going to dread
It was a bunch of guys who met whilst at school
Who released their friendly energy, like fools but really cool"
"Tom, I never knew you, but I thank Catie for this
Writing this poem, just fills me with bliss
I know you will be busy, but if you happen to look down
Give our convention a shout, join our Rock n Roll clowns"
My tribute to Mr Tom Bell, so many people spoke about him.
Reading what they said, I only wish I knew him.
I ham quill tee for gobbledygook...
and ruffling tail feathers!
An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion den cha hoard servant,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
hoof faux whatever reason iz explore
ring bing foo fighting beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more
accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
*****sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore
admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore
such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
puss regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)
boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...
sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized bosom
squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story of this poor
cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar
ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore
pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.
Few years back I use to make Paintings
Mostly of landscapes
And sometimes, abstracts or portraits
The oil paintings which I use to make were such,
That anyone would have
Found them to possess and love
It was a season of Christmas and I was
Strolling, when I saw two beautiful poetry books
One on the season of Autumn and other on Christmas
It had a bunch of adorable world of poetry
So beautiful and so lovely
Printed with beautiful photos and scenes
The photo of Jesus was so enchanting
With His loving eyes spreading
The message of peace, love and humanity
One day when I was trying to draw a sketch
My brush started making on its own
A beautiful picture of Jesus
One evening, when that portrait of Jesus
Was almost complete
A Christian friend of mine saw that picture fine
He was overwhelmed with joy and love
And hugged me as if I was someone very fine
He asked me? If I can gift that portrait to a Church divine
I had felt a joy in making that beautiful portrait
But giving it for a place of shrine
Was the most wonderful feeling, one can cherish in his life time
He asked me to come with that portrait of Jesus Christ
And give that gift to his Church on Christmas Day
In the Church, where he was going to prey
I can never forget that Christmas day
While seeing that lovely portrait of Jesus
The priest blessed me with love, while tears in his eyes
I am not a Christian, but still I love Jesus
For all the kindness and love he gave to humanity
And pain and sufferings He faced for us
I still keep those two most beautiful poetry books
Like a precious treasure
And can never forget those lovely moments of sketching Jesus Christ.
Ravindra
Kanpur 29th Nov. 2009
Entered for Raul Moreno’s contest "The Deposition"
Note 1: This poem is based on my own true happenings. I am still
Keeping those poetry books published and printed in US around
1960’s and purchased by me second hand from a Magazine shop
Around 1965 as my most valuable treasure. But since a long
I am have not made any Paintings.
Note 2: Incidentally I have traced that Portrait now shining in the
care of my senior friend Mr. J F Patteson & brilliantly
preserved by him till now.
Your words have sealed a bond over my
heart,
That not even time can change.
It's not just a bunch of meaningless words,
Written out in a long outdated book, the bible.
But the very heartbeat and breath of the
Father.
That begins to take shape in the lives of his
children.
To equip us to be ready for all this world has
to offer.
Life can and will shape you to try and fit in,
Only God can truly shape you to stand out.
So don't allow negative emotions to shape
you.
Never hold on to angry words, because they
can form strongholds in our minds.
God's spirit living in us and His words,
Are the tools used to help shape us
to chisel away all the stuff we don't need.
The decision to allow God's word to shape you,
Creates a bond that only time can erase.
I took it all for granted. The sky, the stars, the wind,
the flowers, the grass, the trees.
I expected to see my friends every day,
it was boring, dull, humdrum, if you please.
In my mediocre mind-set, I was walking to a friends’ house,
not enjoying a breeze.
Not paying any attention to the sky, the wind,
the flowers, the grass or the trees.
When I am grabbed from behind, very hard and fast, a murderer’s plan.
I am wrenched off my feet, and thrown into a hard, cold, uncaring van.
Chloroform is placed on my face, and I think I am going to the promise land.
I am out like a light, at the mercy of a non-writing rock and roll band.
I awaken on a firm mattress in the corner of a dark and dank cage.
Hey! Long-hair yells, she is awake. Let’s make her write us a poem or a page.
I sit up and glare at the four identically dressed men whose plan in unhinged.
If they think I am writing anything for them, they should try and think again.
You are our prisoner, one tells me, in a really snotty, uppity way.
Yes, you can have food and stuff, but you are going to definitely stay
Until you write some songs for us, and they better be a hooray
Or we can get rid of you, for we are musicians, and we do not play.
They kept me for six years, when I never saw a park, dog or the sun.
Caged in a day care center with a bunch of two’s
would have been quite a bit more fun.
Wrote many songs, about a clever woman who tricked her captor
into letting her run,
But she got caught up in their drama,
this intelligent slippery songwriter of one.
For years I did not see flowers, trees, or anything I used to not see.
Beauty I used to take for granted, and not care about,
obtuse, I could be.
I did not see the stars, the sun, the snow, the moon,
or my maniacal mean cousin Lee.
Prisoner until I had written songs for them,
magic number six hundred eighty-three
Written 3-23-2019
Contest: Freedom to nothing is something
Sponsor: Deliah Ventura
It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open
Don't try it, you might blow a gasket
There's a bunch of other stuff you should know
Before they put you in a casket
Greece's anthem has over a hundred verses
The seventh inning must take forever
The eye of an ostrich is bigger than its brain
They've got nice personalities however
A goldfish memory is only three seconds
Damn it, can't remember the next line
There's over than 300 dimples on a golf ball
I'm going to start counting mine
If they didn't add colouring to Coca-Cola
It'd be a ghastly shade of green
Cockroaches live nine days without their head
But they don't have a mouth to scream
A starfish apparently doesn't have brains
Called one of my buddies a “Starfish”
He really thinks I'm paying him a compliment
Some days he can be quite thickish
If you bang your head against a brick wall
You use up 150 calories an hour
Milk that's been sitting in the sun for days
Is most likely the sourest of sour
© Jack Ellison 2013
On a silent and mellow snowy evening,
When stillness embraced the world,
The sky appeared ethereal and endearing,
When Winter’s last flakes of snow swirled.
The last piece of ember remained red,
Yet warm and cozy around the hearth,
Reminding me of the spring days ahead,
That brings fragrance and color to the earth.
Looking outside the fancy window-pane,
Where the ground faded under a snowy quilt,
There stood a fluffy single achene,
Surviving the Winter’s last snow without any wilt.
Swaying with the breeze and dancing a little,
The achene still held tight to the puff,
Singing a melody while unveiling its giggle,
Narrating its journey amidst the tough.
Waiting for frosty winter to fade away soon,
It longed for a warm and bright spring day,
With renewed enthusiasm coming in tune,
Hoping for a new journey of life on its way.
When the achene, blown by the breeze,
Envisions seeing the hills and greens,
Amidst the bright flowers and trees,
Etching an elegant image in its life’s dreams.
Yearning to be nestled in a lively milieu,
After its tenacious and delightful flight,
It dreams to bloom into a rosette anew,
Enriched by the soft and radiant light.
The rosette of leaves would spring up a bud,
That hides luminous yellow petals inside,
When the sun shines brighter upon the mud,
The blossom unfurls its petals with pride.
The vibrant yellow blossom sparking some delight,
Swinging along with the movement of the sun,
More cheerful and lively moments in the light,
Opening and closing, while enjoying the fun.
On a pleasant and sunny spring morning,
The blossom yearns to open again,
This time with a soft hairy bunch dawning,
Reborn as a fully fresh cluster of achene.
The new white dandelion ready to be blown,
Desires to find a new place once more,
For all the might and strength, it has shown,
To continue its journey to another shore.
Now the sky, more blue and clear,
Marking the end of frosty winter,
The achene cherishes its dreams all dear,
Waiting to be blown for a new adventure.