Long Countryman Poems
Long Countryman Poems. Below are the most popular long Countryman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Countryman poems by poem length and keyword.
The ironing on hold,
she donned a teddy for a span,
gazed at her reflection in the mirror
through puffy eyes
tucked beneath a coonskin cap,
hand-sewn in some god-forsaken sweatshop,
then grabbed the keys,
hopped into the Countryman
with a profound sense of gratefulness
for the surge of power as she punched the gas,
vanishing into infinity,
letters from her doctor,
confirming that the stromal tumors had returned,
streaming out the open window,
escaping the indignity
of being pulled from the wreckage
of the truck around the bend…
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A silly exercise, really: used the Poetry Soup random word generator to generate 10 nouns, and then tried to put something together using them in the order given...
ironing teddy span coonskin sweatshop countryman gratefulness vanishing letters stroma
Dong..Dong.' no tinkling bell will do.' For
The obcenity of their depravity.' Is so deep
It is ( almost untrue! ) w e f heads are all scabious.' A shining sickness I call it all through.'
Its also in the big charitys and arms dealers crews
The rot stinks out beyond any known stench.' At the 'un' it is deeply entrenched
Most of world leaders, are steeped and
Drenched, its of such bad spiritual depth, that also
Covers their bodies.' To distance yourself
From their proximity
Surely cannot be any wrench.' In fact Distance
Is your defence.' Mentally as well..Leave
Such foul creatures, to the ministrations
Of hell..They have slaughtered humanity
They are wallowing in blood.' They are the
Haunt of their actions.' Under obcenitys
Flood.' Aquaintances of King C another monstrous creep and andrew and epstien
maxwell whose evil runs deep, like faucci
And kidman, and diddy others too.' liberace
Who hurt (Jamie Redfern.) Mate this whole lines for you.' Along with Fiona Barnet..I'll call out her name trafficked and abused then mocked defamed..Yet i your countryman..Place the
Blame.' On the beasts who are brothers to
To the ones mentioned first, I'll not
Bow ! rather i acknowledge upon them sits
Gods curse.)
How many Friends Have You Now?
How many friends have you now?
How many write you everyday
Say they are sorry and their nation will pay?
How many have apologised?
How many have realised?
How their relatives have taken part?
Shot your countryman in the heart?
Raped your women and tortured your men?
How many are distressed?
How many digress and never mention
The killing brought by their country’s intervention?
Called you a bandelaro to your face
Said that they want to extinguish your race?
How many have visited with flowers?
Cried with you for hours?
How many begged your forgiveness?
Showed their true friendship, through their stress?
How many have knocked your door?
None, as I can see
None smatree (Russian for see)
None held your hand
Begged they didn’t understand
Many apologised and relished victory in their eyes
Saw an easy win,
gloated through the Crimea sin.
Friends have borders too
These are no friends of you.
David Cox 11/06/23
Inspired by He Has a Name, by Suzette Richards (2021)
I. Ink and Ashes
Steeped
in the pain
of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the t u r m o i l
of real fears
laid bare —
exposed —
on the s.t.o.n.e - c.o.l.d
T A R M A C.
A poet dipped his I N K
in the spilled
T
E
A
R
S
Hero
or
Zero?
He had a name —
he had a name …
II. The Son Who Stood
A mother’s S O N
stood up
to be counted
in a time
when voices
were made
M U T E;
indoctrinated —
to the edge of
S T U P O R.
A poet watches.
Waits.
Remains
R E S O L U T E.
He had a name?
He had a name.
III. No Monument
NO statue
would be erected
in his name
because he wasn’t
the first man to be
s*l*a*i*n.
At the next
roll call of
C I V I L U N R E S T
this poet’s words
E A S E
some of
the N A K E D P A I N.
He has a name!
HE HAS A NAME!
The woman I loved most
did not love me right
with a gypsy blind knife
Shot a shot in my chest.
Newton took advantage of that
had a dream of an apple
made gravity law perfect ...
Since i was a boy i wanted
be the most complete artist
or be magic and flying horse
to fly in the sky without routes
Gagarin once flew to the moon
stacked in large red balloon
thought the moon was fruit ...
Schools do not teach well
neither to read nor to write
For me, I do it by myself
and I do well and all right
I learned physics in one day.
Russian English and Theology
even words of love i say
Good friendship is good
It's good for the lungs.
good whiskey is single malt
"cachaça" and lemon juice
when Jesus had thirst
he sat down in a seat
drank Jordan river twice
Countryman is a strong
without tasting caviar
umbú juice he drinks
eats cavia aperea (preá)
Mike Tyson when was weak
got fat eating hamburger
from all the snake bars
ps umbú is a fruit from backwoods of Brazil.
As I approached the political poll,
a fellow countryman spoke a word
of wisdom to my soul. He told me that
I should consider 'voting' as a task that never
grows old. He related this short story to me:
"For 55 years, I have exercised this right to have my say.
Sometimes in tears, I have cast my ballot on very cloudy days
in many of those years. There were times when I could not clearly
see my way. Every step seemed to unveil the colors of grey.
There were times that I did not know who to vote for and just like you,
I didn't know what to do. But I learned early on that 'doing nothing'
was not an option.
As I look back over time
and space, I notice a pattern imprinted in the sands of time on the
human race. I see people of many opinions and persuasions coming
and going, but what appears most clearly and revealing is not 'great
people' but rather 'great and eternal principles."
After he departed, I was left with such a pleasing reality staring at me.
I was determined to be embraced with a mindset that casts a ballot
so much bigger than one enameled with a personality, but rather
with one rooted with great and enduring principles.
Life happens and never asks for our permission.
There are situations that are relentless in their mission
to test and try us, often to the breaking point. They
test our will, our resolve, our faith, and our love.
When you pledge allegiance to the USA flag, and your
fellow countryman legally burns it right before
your tearing eyes, do you LOVE HER STILL?
When your fellow American changes the meanings of life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, making laws
that point in every which way but right;
Do you LOVE HER STILL?
When you see vast numbers of your fellow citizens,
your amazing America, longing to remake and reinvent
itself, seriously trying to fix what is, although
not perfect, still works far better than most;
when you see your blessed country crumbling from
the inside, will you still defend her, fight for her,
forgive her wrongs, and pray fervently for her?
Will you LOVE HER STILL?
With gushing tears rushing down your saddened face
as you are forced to swallow America's bitter pills,
again, I ask, will you LOVE HER STILL?
070323ps
Ivan Talbot in W A, has some lineage; online today
Claims Rollo and Miliesius, and Hezikiah are all his
Forebears such 'could be dire' I know this line of the
Irish King, for he's my blood too (my kith and kin) I
Find it strange, for I never knew.' Of Ivan ever twixt me
And you.' yet (Here he is a countryman) with his births
And proofs this Aussie man.' Through the lips of an
Alien ( returned to among his own ) off the lips of
Such came much of the 'tome' or Bible if you preffer to
describe.? Its where the will of God resides
Its prophets came, and come today.' In line with Him
His will to say, yet back to Ivan who values who seeks
Redress and the prophets and much.' In breif
The weal of the
Realm (that seems just and true? ) yet he needs the
People I'm telling you.! so Ivan who I have never met.!
May they try your claim, let the lords debate let
The laywers vet..' And if you
Are as you claim and say, I'll meet and greet you as
My blood; and true compadre.!
When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Suzette Richards
Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the turmoil of real fears
which lay exposed on the stone-cold tarmac,
a poet dipped his ink in the spilled tears.
He had a name … He had a name …
A mother’s son had stood up to be counted
during a time when voices were made mute,
indoctrinated to a point of stupor.
A poet observes and remains resolute.
He had a name? He had a name.
No statue would be erected in his name
as he was not the first man to be slain.
At the next roll call of the civil unrest,
this poet’s words ease some of the naked pain.
He has a name. He has a name!
The Alchemist sat on his chair
Fingering the gold dust
Black curls were his hair
And golden chain on his bust
Churchman, countryman, cityman
Alll around him sat
The lady holding dainty fan
Was on the conermost mat
Greed and lust they had in them
Begging services of this immortal
From corners of the world they had come
Seeking the way thru the portal
The Alchemist's aura of festivity
His talk of astronomy
False piety,humility and simplicity
Made the mortal look pretty mighty
Strange curses with mineral physics
Turning base metals into riches
He seemed an awesome psychic
Tightening his clutches
Poor mortals blinded by want
In him saw divine perfection
With powerful exilir he would taunt
To keep their souls from breeding affections.
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