Long Cannon Poems
Long Cannon Poems. Below are the most popular long Cannon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cannon poems by poem length and keyword.
In my hand the ink drips,
commotional emotions at large,
patches has failed.
Nails and swords, pierce the hearing ear,
fussed drops of lethal dose,
push me to the edge,
for adrenaline chokes my conscience,
lead tracks,
Perforation of daunted untrampled dark corners of my mind,
diffuse me from this dungeons,
Let the near and afar witness
and preserve my presence
for days have surpassed others unrecorded,
I'm poetic ink,
unleash and infiltrate the soul
for the present to inherit the marks,
Was just an ink, they said,
Lil to their knowledge,
This is a force to be reckoned with,
if today imparts none,
Tommorow might be in vain,
shallow and void,
the ink drips.
Feed the soul for the mind is unguided and clouded by rage, assert the uncertain, pull me closer for the desire is ravenous.
Hand me the cannon, mass distraction at need.
I blow the missiles my presence is not for the immediate
but the wild and beastly,
human essence at awe,
look and listen,
read and understand,
this ink echoes, wisdom
and intellectualism.
breed the inbred.
My crime would not go unpunished,
spilling the ink is my servitude,
don't wanna account for my silence,
for I'm delegated,
to empty this ink before my return,
dust to dust, ash to ashes,
none must pass here before bowing
and acknowledging the spillage,
for I am poetic ink.
#Poetic_Ink
Russian soldier, welcome.
You now stand to discard the rule of logic,
welcome to our home, our oblast.
You are welcome to register at the city hall;
fellow tourists with arms, ready to maim, shoot, and kill,
destroy everything, out-Nazi the Nazis.
We know you’re innocent, cannon fodders for your tsar;
we hold him responsible but not you,
for skinning the innocent.
You stand to learn we’re not enemies,
only neighbors who wish to live free;
we’ll name our streets after you if you
follow your human dignity, if you
refuse to fire, disobey and be free.
Russian soldier, justice is more powerful than the weapon,
truth more dear to God than power.
You’re welcome to explore our city and
check in for the night, just stay indoor in
curfew hours.
Welcome to our brave city, writing new
its future epigraph.
Your invasion plan is up in smoke;
it is now your turn to strike
a unilateral withdraw.
There are two of me out running loose
One that tries to do what's right
While the other acts the fool
It's been that way from the beginning
A smorgasbord of who is who
With the two of me out running loose
There are two of me with nothing new
One that says yes I can
With the other never sure what to do
While one is often called the winner
The other is bound to lose
With the two of me there's nothing new
There are two of me feel free to choose
The one that's made to play it straight
Or the other, cannon loose
You can clearly see the difference
There's no need for a clue
With the two of me feel free to choose
There are two of me and one of you...
What if Amadeus Mozart had a gameboy?
Would his concerto have come to mind?
What if Ludwig van Beethoven had a PS3?
Would his ears be okay and his eyes gone blind?
What if Vincent van Gogh had a digital camera?
Would he have been a great photographer?
What if Claude Monet had an PSP?
Would his vision have still start to blur?
What if Shakespeare had a computer?
Would he write more plays with Word?
What if Emily Dickinson had a Laptop?
Would more than 7 poems have been heard?
What if T. C. Cannon had Adobe Photoshop?
Would he still create native history?
What if I lived in their times?
Would I still write my poetry?
Tommy Cannon was the visionary artist:
curious, rebellious and reticent,
with every brush-stroke of colors too bold:
created an innovative painting of his real world...
Many thought he was incongruous
with a name that spelled defiance,
and shine he did to dazzle everyone with truth,
but this young life ended at thirty-two...
" Zero Hero " was painted with virtual whim
for a detestable and shameless Native American
anti-hero, and heroes aren't villains, but that grim
told much about his attitude and ego that brought scorn...
Tommy Cannon was the visionary artist:
congenially connecting past and present,
and his vibrant voice still seems to resonate
to our present day through his superb work...
Entered in Abe Lopez's Native American Ekphrasis
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The Man O'War HMS Arcturus dominated the billowin' main!
Foes were fearful of closin' battle with 'er should they ever deign!
What a magnificent and imposin' sight was she with 'er riggin' full o'sail,
As she raced to and fro with Union Jack a-snappin' leavin' havoc in 'er trail!
The Master, Captain Pettigrew, ran a taut ship but was beloved by his crew.
He had led them through battle and stormy gale - they were tried and true.
Captain Pettigrew held to tradition and was generous with the cup o'rum.
His crew would follow him anywhere, though at times spent and numb!
Durin' the din of battle when lethal shell flew and the cannon roared,
And though the deck was awash with blood upon its oaken board,
Midst the billowin' smoke they saw their gallant captain a-standin' tall,
A source of strength and courage, exhortin' victory from one and all!
Though many a battle and ragin' storm upon 'er had taken their toll,
And 'er wooden hull groaned and creaked with every sea-tossed roll,
She was the pride of the British Fleet and there was nary another like 'er!
Just ask any of the crew who served on 'er and they would concur!
She made 'er final cruise in 1837 leavin' port sailin' o'er the horizon,
In 'er usual majestic style, fully rigged displayin' flyin' jib and mizzen!
Alas, she disappeared and 'er plight was never really known for true.
Only He Who rules the seas knows the fate of HMS Arcturus and her crew.
There was a conspiracy from within
The mutiny would begin
As emotions fought to take over the mother ship
Captain Brain was overruled
Being considered the greater fool
They set sail for a new companionship
They changed the ship’s old course
Started mounting a new horse
With the Captain being held captive down below
Sailing full speed ahead
Jumping into the lass’s bed
Even though the Captain’s orders were to take it real slow
The cannon did its part
Then the wench broke the vessel’s heart
With sailors lined up in every port
Mutineer Lust having been deceased
The Captain was then released
Emotions were found guilty by the Judges in the court
Once again they would slowly sail
Resisting temptations of a lover’s hell
Having ruined the best thing that they had ever had
They were now doomed to sail alone
Over the seas and its white foam
Punishment for treating a good wife really bad
'Twas just him and his thoughts in that cold and lonely hole,
Awaiting the sergeant's dreaded muster to begin the night's patrol.
For days the weary soldier had been on the line in bitter battle,
'Midst the deafening roar of cannon and the musket's steady rattle!
'Twas Christmas Eve and he was far from home in Afghanistan.
He was barely eighteen years old but had quickly become a man.
In the fading light he read from Luke the story of that Glorious Night,
That gave him hope and warmed his soul despite his precarious plight.
He turned the pages of his Bible to the soothing Twenty-third Psalm,
To read again that beautiful passage - that reassuring message of calm.
A bright star shone over his lonely post reminding him of Bethlehem,
And the star that topped the tree at his home in far away Birmingham.
His thoughts turned to home and better times with his Mom and Dad.
He mused upon Christmases past and the good times that they'd had;
The good food his Mom prepared and presents beneath the tree.
Alas, Christmas dinner this year would be cold coffee and an MRE.
During the lull in battle he saw from afar a winding camel train,
And shepherds herding their bleating flocks across that desolate plain.
Such a peaceful yet poignant scene, he mused, 'midst the gore of war,
Reminding him once again of that first joyous Christmas Eve of yore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Ebony skies a backdrop for salty,
sweet staccato ecstasy
a tune of elation.
Ivory limbs play out crescendos
upon seabed gems, crystalline towers,
aquamarine dreams and tortoise shell agates;
pink anemone and corals
wave-dance amid swaying
amber Carolina sands.
Octopii link arms
in a mesmerizing reel,
as scorpion tails tip-tap out rhythm
on on the cannon of a skeletal ship.
Stroboscopic eels keep the beat;
using their bodies to form lyrics.
Upon his chariot-throne of Lapis-Lazuli and Gold,
escorted by dolphins, rides the king
and festivities have begun.
It’s all good at
Neptune’s annual Briny Ball;
come dive down for some fun!
poems this mine here else often lists
economical text much inferred
few words fewer articles prepositions conjunctions sometimes needed
rhymes or not
short but slowing fast world trick make think
visual poems stolen cummings
is new question un marked re able
s pa
ce s
runonswhereeveryfit together
i don't know how you know
it's yours now
maybe makes much sense war
98% genocide
rev wright was right
possible not since rexulti
kill bear with ukraine cannon fodder
so iran can't stop merrikkael turning gaza
gehenna turning resort luxury hotels casinos
offshore oil rigs election want blame drumpf
but have zero credibility ever after praising president credit cards and truancy warden
go ahead watch strait hormuz raise inflation
like when merrika blew nordstream blame other monster