Long Cobra Poems
Long Cobra Poems. Below are the most popular long Cobra by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cobra poems by poem length and keyword.
my makeup was fabulously light green, lips ruby red
I fit in well with the theme, witches, warlocks and the undead
the blue I had sprayed in my hair glittered like starlight
when we entered the party, a gang began a quick fight
my witch hat was pointed at an odd funny angle
could I get a dance? Just one maybe wrangle?
I looked at my husband whose nose gave a twitch.
I looked fabulous as a sexy, gorgeous young witch
my husband dressed as Dracula with cape and red tie
he watched me dance with another, we both wondered why
the rest of the night my man spun me around the floor
I had not danced in a while, my legs and heart said we wanted more.
My friend laughed at our exuberance yelled out “get a room!”
I gave her a gentle tap on the head with my yellow straw broom.
the food was delicious, the drinks were cold and refreshing.
my husband’s eyes were on me, I knew he was undressing.
funny to me, since we already had two babies at home.
the next thing I knew, I was picked up by a gnome.
The gnome ran off with me to the ladies room to gab.
she had a lot to tell me, and she wanted to blab.
this was a Halloween party provided by my school.
At our principal’s house, and he was now a fool.
Made silly by drinks, which went straight to his head.
His wife was so embarrassed, she sent him to bed.
teacher friends were dressed as goblins, super heroes, and a ghost.
We all discussed unabashedly the craziness of our elusive host.
He was a shy guy, and would be embarrassed to death about this.
A cobra slithered up to me and tried to speak with a hiss.
Nancy! I was delighted, she was my best pal at school.
She had a lot to confide about our nemesis, Mr. O’Toole.
O’Toole was walking around saying dumb things to everyone.
Speaking with Nancy about him was incredibly fun.
My husband was devouring everything off a huge silver tray.
Tidbits and appetizers in black, orange, yellow, and gray.
two jack-o-lanterns were giving me a clever candle wink.
I felt cute tonight, happy, totally energetic, and in the pink.
we had a sitter that night for the first time since our second baby.
Do you want to go home yet? I stared at my man. “No, yes, maybe.”
With two children at home under the age of two, this was a delight.
A marvelous Halloween party that made me feel happy and right.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
Oh immortal sorceress, daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, a deity
Darker than the Sargasso sea, her fury is
Unforgiving as the Titans came to
Recognize all because of their jealousy
Over her lineage and limitless validities
War was declared and with one wave
Of her hand mount Olympus went down
In flames she just laughed and laughed
Devouring their celestial transcendence
Future generations should have learned
From the fall of the Titans fall but them
Didn’t learn anything at all...
Cleopatra tried imprisoning her so she could
Discover the secrets of everlasting life to be
Queen of not only Egypt but the whole wide
World but the daughter of Lilith turned herself
Into the cobra that would be Cleopatra's
Demise, you thought it was Rome well
You were wrong; it was her all along…
Angelique from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty that even Venus would envy
Frozen rose suspended in time, high
Priestess calling out to you, messin’
With your mind, she’ll tell you she loves
Then she will rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
And her magic is like lightning you never
Know when it comes, her spells are forever
Binding and she feels no shame in her game
She’ll make you regret the day you were
Ever born, she may look like an angel but
She is the devil in disguise and she will have
You right where she wants you with just one
Look into her icy blue eyes 'cuz hell has
No fury like a woman scorned especially
When the woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique...
Oh immortal sorceress and daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, deity darker
Than the sea than lies below widow's hill
You may think she is just a legend but me
Assure you she is very real...
ANGELIQUE from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty even Venus would envy, frozen rose
Suspended in time, high priestess calling out
To you, messin’ with your mind, she’ll tell you
She loves you then rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
Her magic is like lightning you never know
When it comes, she’ll make you regret the day
You were ever born 'cuz hell have no fury
Like a woman scorned especially when that
Witchy woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique!
Oh immortal sorceress, daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, a deity
Darker than the Sargasso sea, her fury is
Unforgiving as the Titans came to
Recognize all because of their jealousy
Over her lineage and limitless validities
War was declared and with one wave
Of her hand mount Olympus went down
In flames she just laughed and laughed
Devouring their celestial transcendence
Future generations should have learned
From the fall of the Titans fall but them
Didn’t learn anything at all...
Cleopatra tried imprisoning her so she could
Discover the secrets of everlasting life to be
Queen of not only Egypt but the whole wide
World but the daughter of Lilith turned herself
Into the cobra that would be Cleopatra's
Demise, you thought it was Rome well
You were wrong; it was her all along…
Angelique from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty that even Venus would envy
Frozen rose suspended in time, high
Priestess calling out to you, messin’
With your mind, she’ll tell you she loves
Then she will rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
And her magic is like lightning you never
Know when it comes, her spells are forever
Binding and she feels no shame in her game
She’ll make you regret the day you were
Ever born, she may look like an angel but
She is the devil in disguise and she will have
You right where she wants you with just one
Look into her icy blue eyes 'cuz hell has
No fury like a woman scorned especially
When the woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique...
Oh immortal sorceress and daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, deity darker
Than the sea than lies below widow's hill
You may think she is just a legend but me
Assure you she is very real...
ANGELIQUE from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty even Venus would envy, frozen rose
Suspended in time, high priestess calling out
To you, messin’ with your mind, she’ll tell you
She loves you then rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
Her magic is like lightning you never know
When it comes, she’ll make you regret the day
You were ever born 'cuz hell have no fury
Like a woman scorned especially when that
Witchy woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique!
Clad in his double-breasted royal toga
Filled of nothing but pride and anger
His face as grim as a Pallbearer’s
His gaze dreadful and fearful like that of
A raging rattlesnake about to strike
His eyes crackling charcoal fire-red
His dancing tummy under his “Agbada”
Reminds me of a dancing Porcupine
He paces round his palace
A house built on a Rock in the Niger-Area
He fumes and puffs like a spitting Cobra . . .
“My eyes of pity had gone blinded
Only those of nakedness built on wickedness
Shone in my vibrating Golgotha
Let no man speak of hunger with anger
For I find people not scavenging on the garbage
Let no one talk of thirst in a haste
For our River Niger is like that of River Marah
It brings only taste of grouchiness and sullenness
Let men in the Niger-Area speak not of hoarding of food
For Farming is the only way to more days of famine
Speak not of hike in the Oil from our ground
For its very dear in the other neighbouring lands
Rejoice my people for the benevolence have shown you
I shall rule and rule forever till there are people to rule no more”
Our King is indeed insane for sanity left him long ago
A vivaciously looking Chimpanzee in the Niger-Area Forest
A chirpy Chimera of the Black Race, unto him I bow piously
I have impatiently listened to his drunken fits of eloquence
My king smells like a gouard of wine full of petulance
As I bore the sting of his unrivaled drunken ribaldry
I weep for a King who is as old as Methuselah
I wonder whether he had ever smell childhood
For he looks as if he had always been old from
The very scaring day he was let out of his Mother’s womb
His Majesty old and worn out like a dry hell
Let him run into the Market with nakedness on his head
Let our people beat and stone insanity out of him
Let the people in the Niger- Area Arise and thread
Like the Strong and the Mighty with history of Victory
And arrest our oppressors and other fanatical Kingpins
And let them be taken like urchin for their tyranny
And turpitude has attained untold heights
Alayande Stephen .T
5th December, 2005
12.45pm
Conceptualized after the furore of OBJ’s
Third term bid for continuity of hunger ,
Anger and excruciating Poverty for mass of the people.
Form:
A sure and certain shelter he is
overshadowing me in him I trust
delivering from every pestilence
this is my God my anchor from dust
My refuge and my fortress
fearing no terror of the night
even at noon day nothing can destroy
throughout the day arrows take flight
Standing tall as thousands fall
ten thousand don't come even near
for the Lord is my dwelling place
under his shadow, nothing to fear
All of this comes my way
for this God is my dwelling place
as he sends his angels forth
to protect and stay on my case
God's love for me is overwhelming
deliverance comes for he knows my name
salvation is mine in my saviour
for my soul, this Christ truly came
(Psalm 91
He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust.”
Surely He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler
And from the perilous pestilence.
He shall cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your shield and buckler.
You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,
Nor of the arrow that flies by day,
Nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness,
Nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
And ten thousand at your right hand;
But it shall not come near you.
Only with your eyes shall you look,
And see the reward of the wicked.
Because you have made the Lord, who is my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come near your dwell
For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.
In their hands, they shall bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.
You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.
“Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high because he has known My name.
He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honour him.
With long life, I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.)
Preacher E. Lye
He wears his white collar backwards
Piggy attenuated pagan wives’ tale
say the trigger Finger Man
has snake eyes in the back of his head
Got a gravelly-low, porcupine voice
that is cobra flatline prairie legendary
Using a lethal eighteen-wheel
hydraulic tongue roadkill,
he sermonizes with casket authority
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
The last person who asked
what happened to the missing retina,
got buried
in an unmarked, dry gulch ravine pocket
Preacher E. Lye low rides
with malevolent, maverick posse power
Mister Pus Papal Evil Eye
walks double cross with uno orbital pallbearer pride ...
Hanging eulogy twine ties
from the BP church steeple belfry tower
His barrel jaw revolving lies
keep his baron territory on a fear cower
Terrified bottomless pit cries
of the weak townspeople reign hope sour
Preacher E. Lye loves to spew verbal caustic speech:
Potassium hydroxide vows
fire hot lead, full of lung roulette chambers emptied
Mister Pulpit Evil Eye, on the sulfuric snide,
preach yellow-belly worms give-it-up or die:
Collection plate extortion on the cactus side
E. coli talks with snow collar pestilent pride
Black Plague canon cloaked in blue gunsmoke attire,
Chesterfield veiled threats
got the long gun branding irons set in brimstone fire
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Bottomless pit bull preacher,
bullet lung blasting pie-in-the-sky,
got his casino hands deep in pew pockets
Lupus leper lip E. Lye
tear sow scorpion alibis,
thru his planted posse of doppelganger sons
Wil E. coyote clan cries —
dirt devils on a slithering bandito desert run
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Preacher E. Lye blows a dust tide
with malevolent, cougar bloody paw grit
Red Barren hope
flows down a cemetery canyon
White flag mope
leaves nary grave task undone
Blue metal smoke
is Preacher E. Lye’s kill clarion
Preacher E. Lye stalks the widows
with his condor one eye
Devour their body-and-soul vittles,
then bury their dead cry
Coulda been
the Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t tell the truth so much
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man,
if I was kill willing
to have a shogun trigger touch
Coulda been
chief consigliore renown
for the don Corelone spiked crown
But I never wanted to know
where the blood money
was body bag buried underground
Coulda been dark knighted Haman Faustian
All I had to diablo do was unjust be Equus no-good;
give breaking bad Darth Vader viper counsel, wearing a cobra hood
Terminator words that would crush the skull bones
Coulda been the Vice Hand
standing behind the golden chalice image,
ruling drunkenly on the Babylonian Empire throne
Coulda been
the Spartan Hand of the Grecian warlord,
but I loved peace too much
Told the Jezebel whisperers of the royal court,
don’t try to finger me to be the next flesh merchant of death ...
I don’t tear traffick in such ~ City-state grunts suffer enough
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand hatchet man,
if I had promoted Herod cockatrice thoughts
to condor hatch crucifixion plans
If I had been parrot inclined
to whisper
some patriot mischief in Pharaoh’s ear ...
I coulda been
sitting next to the pirate power,
making the brown-nose boot lickers fear
Coulda been
the Iron Hand of the President,
if I truly had a crafty guile mind to
take a sticky dip ...
deep in them pockets of citizen you
Coulda been
the sixth finger of king Midas’ hand
But, breaking the golden rule,
just wasn’t the ambitious rear end
I was willing to career bend
If I was more Balaam money bag motivated —
Fee willing to put a Judas hand under the table;
and with an Iscariot silver patch-eye gaze,
look the other way as freedom get disabled
I coulda been
Pharaoh’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who doused the torch
in Lady Liberty’s hand
I coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who lit the Pilate
in Nero’s hand
Coulda been
the right Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t roar the Judah truth so much
But I was born
a left hand of the Zion King,
who gave a righteous Resurrection roar,
echoing throughout eternity
A lap dancing molecule is dressed in a monocle. Such dainty prowess but naked no dress. No suit could taste an acrylic sheet as sheer fabric is often moving unseen across oceans,beams, and many window ledges. Who would then argue that a tempered sword could beckon in this era as most people have taken off wool and now the flock stands bare. A show of a shower. An increased discolouration of tyranny and a mounting view of hue. Mist not a moat. And take no orphaned lonely goat to a show. An AK47 is looking at a tent. And although rusted is trusted and thrown around in the air with great gusts of emblematic soul thrusts. Dupe not a diamond headed cobra. For ancestral wisdoms flourish if harm is perceived. Placing of the cloth should be attempted only when the stream is full. And the stench from a rhododendron printed garden is abominable yet can it be abolished? "yes" cried the 893 serpents, 500 belligerent buffalo, an earwig, and a giant sea turtle. Carve that then. Ha ha. It is to be the dutiful honour of the maiden of the eleventh ocean to place chorographical lines on necklaces. It is neither a weave nor a wand. And placing ones hands behind ones back is a sign not of cohesion it is detrimental to a bloodline. Once sold. A soldier fed is a soldier dead. And a field of archaically driven radio beams is a quagmire of hidden ancestry. Gone. But not gone. It is not the place for a nine foot leopard print jacket to state wisdoms at a ball or a garden party. It is the place of the feet. The dust. The trust. The formation of the ground. The true leaders denied but not denied. And all chaotically clam style ship faces and all Jacobean worshipping masonry brick heads placed the many many peas in a boiling pan then laughed. Sold manuscripts for money. Then drank blood in oceanic temples. Worldy wholly wantons. And a sack of germinating potatoes pollinated. Discuss not a wonder. Pulling pleasing playing partying patties pastries pasteurised. Slip slap slop then. Great. Fantastic isn't it? Feel not akin to a tired dilapidated drinks fountain? Xxxxx passing Paddington people xxxxx adjudicator adhere. Xxxxx vaporisations p y q Zr
Form:
You sit there year after year looking at me as if you don’t care, you sit there picking your nose and smelling your polished toes, time is on your hand and you have got to leave that man, the whole relationship was a scam and you already got what you want.
The sun is grinding in your face and the cicadas are running all over the place, listen! They are all around and are sitting on your kitchen table.
You sit there as if you don’t care, unconcerned of what is transpiring around you, see them crawling on the garage wall moving in a straight line, and are getting ready to start a brawl. The whole place is infested with them and they are scattered in your bed, they are everywhere, why you don’t try to get rid of them.
My heart is burden down with care and you are spying on me over here, my lips are dry and there is no color in the sky, it is time to make a move before the crickets start to sing, the cicadas and the crickets have nothing in common but you have to embrace that strange rhythm when it begins.
Look deep between the lines and you see what is mine; use a pointed tool and clean out the rust and blow away the dust and you will see the inscription with your eyes and you will learn how the magpie died.
It happened more than a century ago when mankind lost touch with the heart of human dignity and prey upon the human flesh and suffocate the young infant to death; thousand of them were lost in the storm when the boat sank in the Mediterranean and the relics float on top of the sea and the sun burns mankind’s dignity.
Summer is climbing up the trees with strong arms pitching their tents in the air as destiny draws near; a stagnant smell is coming from the pit and the birds are rolling in it and the breeze is spreading the scent abroad.
Why don’t you ever leave the house, it’s time to get up and go out, you have planted yourself in that place and you have caused confusion all over the place.
Look at the snake in the ceiling and the line that sits on the vine, your vineyard is loaded with grapes and the Egyptian cobra is crawling all over the place.
Move!