Long Contestants Poems
Long Contestants Poems. Below are the most popular long Contestants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contestants poems by poem length and keyword.
FIFA WORLD CUP
What’s up! FIFA world cup! Most exciting game,
always claiming international fame.
Top players wining legendary name.
Kick the ball, kick- kick: Snaps taken click-click.
Some trying to play trick, some on hatrick.
Cheerful spectators on fun and frolic.
Expert players playing terrible tough.
Extreme tension, temperament rough.
Can’t assess whether effort is less or enough.
Players and spectators both in worry.
What to come up at the end of story?
Playing in world cup demands glory.
Red or yellow card: Penalty, Foul or Corner.
Despair of opponent or rejoice of supporter.
Victory or defeat does not really matter.
Nothing to lose, hence not to get upset.
Participants in World Cup are grand great.
Winner will be decided by chance or fate.
World- wide enthusiasm, each player in merit.
Coordination on team work is the right credit.
Above all, aspirant zeal is the sporting spirit.
2018 World cup! Final contestants: Croatia and France.
Eagle eyes of world-wide viewers watching performance.
With wonderful world cup which lucky team will dance?
Grand Finale! Game over! Field front all quiet clear.
Series of matches: Splendid Superb Spectacular.
Song of victory sung in symphony in French vernacular.
07/15/18
HM
'STRAND PICK G' Contest by Brian Strand
Well, the morons are in the race
A little behind but their keeping pace
Running at a close last
I see its the idiots they finally passed
don’t pull your bets: its not over yet
I see the imbeciles sneaking up on the left
Well the out comes unsure of a race finally won
But of the five judges only three have their thumbs
We look to the other judges in the show
Both of them quibbling so I don’t think they know
Now to the contestants to get their thoughts
Who really won and what was the cost?
The moron explains that the sweat their eyes
Prevented them from seeing, but know the judges don’t lie
While the idiot is sprawled-out on the ground
Their number 1 finger never went down
The imbeciles' eyes were lit by his grin
Their only comment was “so I really did win”
Post Comments
Especially one courteously wrapped ably
anonymously gifted to
an aspiring gourmet Chef Boyardee
i.e. not surprisingly... revealing mystery
person none other than...
yepper namely me.
Moost anyone can show
off culinary karate chop
suey, whether schooled among
fishy creatures either
from black lagoon,
or privately tutored,
(this haint no canibal)
courtesy mythological Cyclop,
somewhat riotously,
quirkily and precariously,
when blindsided flop
which slapdash loco motion often
misconstrued for latest dance moves
characterizing boogie woogie
(touting Louis Armstrong talents
as token bugle boy), and/or hip hop.
Audible sigh of relief exhaled by
none other than Chaim Yankel,
whose tail feathers ruffled
linkedin to setback, which former
(malfunctioning microwave) did rankle.
No longer must
hungry tummies all told
eat food frozen and/or cold
leftovers formed into Rorschach,
neigh Horseshack habitat mold
more suitable as clay pigeons,
where strong arms
analogous to accordion fold
readied to take aim and fire
young trumpeting Olympian trained
contestants, albeit aghast at
proliferating firearms when polled
wantonly, indiscriminately, and blithely
taking precious innocent lives
worth more than fine spun gold.
Eve vent chilly this monseigneur
and his madam
(Church Lady) conceding faithful
to follow and acquiesce
and countenance flimflam
toward yours truly,
no matter a fake Imam
who offered up feast
Earth friendly biologically/
genetically modified, prepared
artificial intelligent algorithmically
programmed manufactured in Vietnam,
who cooked delectable
Soylent green eggs and ham.
Best not prepare
former entree in microwave
lest they explode instantly
killing home of the brave
necessitating, none other
than one lame rhymester at large
to end poem quickly senseless verse
in order for his hide to save.
Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet...
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 21:08
two thousand twenty
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry antennae thin contestants,
hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
whereby said marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
competitors crouched tigerlike
ironically melting starter blocks
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mist tree (oak kay)
man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat.
Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,
I supplicated, necessitated,
implored, and decried divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically prostrating self
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design
nearly defying might
of super Matt nein
bird brainer heron,
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces got knotted
freaking me out clearly
out this world,
wide webbed formerly
Gordian tangled skein.
When visiting my older aunt,
We sit and watch TV.
When she’s alone she does this,
But it’s not the same for me.
So I was not familiar with
Shows like “Let’s Make a Deal”
Or “Wheel of Fortune,” which to many
Really do appeal.
It seems that the contestants must
Be smiley, showy, loud
And enthusiastic to a point
Of which I’d not be proud.
The audience is into it -
They clap and whoop and cheer,
As grinning hosts might wonder
How they made this their career.
Yet all these shows are popular,
Which doesn’t shock me much,
But makes me see how with this country
I am out of touch.
I went and appeared on a
t.v reality show
And instead of changing my life
and making me a star
It ruined my life and made it
worse instead
It never made me and i didn't
become famous afterwards
like they said it would
And now they won't even take
my calls
Because they are way to busy
auditioning new contestants
for this year's show
And i am yesterday's news
And the same fate awaits this
year's fresh meat they just don't
know it yet
Famous so long as the camera's
are rolling
And once the series finally comes
to it's inevitable end so do the
privileges and lifestyle with it
Kicked back to the day job
only this time with a soured
taste of the good life
Blindfolded and out of my reach,
My kissing with her
Had been put with a cease.
Our mouths explored,
I desired her tastes
Her lips were of a shaded red
You stained my soul, for this I said.
She was my desire that I had gazed,
Our vows of unity have amazed
Desires of us we did explore
I grabbed your hair as you wanted more.
Deep I did go inside,
To your soul, I did abide
Our passions flowed it was with bliss
You were my wife, you still exist.
With our pleasures did we enjoy,
We were not wrong, having been our ploy
My love for you I refuse to let go
For if I do, I will implode.
It's now I say God needed you,
I will admit, I wanted that to
I had done this out of selflessness
I could not bear you were suffering.
Don't get me wrong for God understands,
It was my duty, He so commands
Never should I see you suffering
I had to let you slide into a buffering.
My love is still just as strong for you,
Though you're not here, I had to let go
You were my wife then,
You still will be tomorrow.
Our story of a love between,
Husband & wife, working as a team
We had to make it work
Your love for me, you were my perk.
But then you disappeared,
As I had seen
You faded into the lights
Of the moons-beam.
I love you still, Shannon!
Entered into Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest
at Winning Writer's website on September 17, 2020
April 15, 2021 contest ends Contestants called.
Two people of equal weight
Strong muscles straining
Both suddenly subdued with spiteful hate
Hand and buzzer the winner ordaining
In truth the real sport
Is the judging of the referee
Here the fighters are in his court
And he moves like a boat across the sea
The fact is that he moves across the ring
Slithering and crawling
All waiting for the finial ding
Or the contestants still and sprawling
Striped shirt with logos on either sleeve
Sponsorship like the fighters in the match
Except his own body does he heave
And both rule breakers and winners does he catch
Sometimes moving on head and toes
So he can spot the smallest changes
All to see the joys and woes
And anger’s varied verbal ranges
So, put simply, this is his domain
With the expert eye of a professional chef
He goes through the most entertaining strain
Enjoy watching the ref
In the Ardross Castle in the Scottish Highlands
The host of "The Traitors" greet with open hands.
For the US, Alan Cumming with his cunning brown eyes
And flamboyant outfits that dazzle and surprise.
For the UK, Claudia Winkleman with her smile and famous fringe
Supporting her contestants through their moments of cringe.
They gauge up personalities until they find
The Traitors they are searching for with mischief in mind.
In the deathly shadows they hand over the cloak
Which the new Traitors adorn once they have sworn the oath.
These hosts give hints and comments as chaos ensues
And talk to us, the audience, to hold interest and amuse.
They keep a dastardly dark secret at the round table.
In no way do they expose the truth of liars stable.
Every murder mystery and money building task
Gradually reveal the truth with no questions asked.
Daily the Faithfuls are cherry picked one by one
While Traitors s up their sleeves knowing what's gone on!
We show two sides of ourselves in the process of this game.
Our sense of justice insists that we wouldn't do the same.
Yet on the flip side, if there are Traitors at the end
A part of us wants them to win. A slight moral descend.
An affair of many twists and turns with risks, but all the same,
Could we find it in ourselves to play "The Traitors" game?
EGG-SPOON RACE
Egg-spoon race going on: Three Contestants.
Little Man, Tall Tiger and Fatty Pig.
Joyful jubilant, all participants.
Each attentive, though Contest not so Big.
Little Man, Tall Tiger and Fatty Pig
balancing egg in cheerful jolly mood.
Not only they are friends, also colleagues.
At end of rest eggs to be served as food.
Balancing egg in cheerful, jolly mood,
Joyful jubilant all participants.
At end of race, eggs to be served as food.
Egg-spoon race going on: Three Contestants.
Pic. No. 4
07/29/21
Pantoum Rhyme 1 ' Contest by Eve Roper.