Long Crashers Poems
Long Crashers Poems. Below are the most popular long Crashers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crashers poems by poem length and keyword.
~Honeymoon Capers~
The big day arrived and we couldn’t wait
We were old fashioned and there was no horse after the gate
The wedding went off with nary a hitch
A few gate crashers but we didn’t b i t c h . *
The honeymoon night, boy what a thrill
The emotions it caused are with us both still
While showering in a hotel bathroom suite
My new husband dare ask if he could now peek.
Into the shower he joined me all of a quiver
The sparks were shooting hither and thither
I was covered in shampoo from washing my hair
I tried to squeeze past him the water to share.
No thought was there yet of making love in the shower
We were getting to know more of each other hour by hour
My new husband’s passion was obviously aroused
As I stuck me head under the shower to be doused.
It was then that I did slip and fall backwards with a yell
Taking the shower the curtains and my husbands passion as well
All I remember as my head hit the loo
Was an agonised yell from my husband brand new.
As my legs lifted high not for love it would seem
But I kicked him in the place where he kept his lovers dreams.
I woke up on the floor my head splitting in two
My husband at the side of me groaning by the loo
Water was pouring from the shower wall
Neither could move nor dare make a call
He said he knew that in marriage there could be some hard knocks
But it was taking the cake to get kicked in the rocks.
The toilet was cracked just like my head
The bathroom was flooded we had to stay in bed
Our honeymoon night our first night together
Is one we will remember for ever and ever.
* Censor won't let me use it so I split it
©~GG~ 30/08/2012
In Gboko, where the dust motes dance and play,
A town, a city, a people, some would say.
What defines its spirit, a riddle, a quest,
With a gait too familiar, putting all to the test.
"Gboko!" he calls, by name, with a grin,
"Seems we're acquainted, where have you been?"
For here, familiar strangers, a curious clan,
Know each other better than any single man.
Party crashers abound, with a joyful shout,
Praise singers serenade, no shadow of doubt.
Fantastic storytelling, a vibrant, grand art,
Where habit and culture play a blurring part.
A bikeman, young, in a change-fueled fray,
Declares, "Woman dey here, food dey here, wetin I dey go find for your place?"
Such pride and contentment, a truth so stark,
In a town once welcoming, now bearing a wary mark.
In hay days of yore, a Tiv capital grand,
An industrial hub, with BCC at hand.
Ivo I msam – the tailed goat lap, a delight,
Ishu I bee nya ke tyo – fish, so perfectly white.
When women, with skill, seasoned chicken with grace,
Before the slaughter, a culinary embrace.
Families flocked in, from the hinterland's call,
For hope and new society, standing proud and tall.
Money flowed freely, like a river so wide,
Vanity and funfare, with nowhere to hide.
On paydays, men painted the whole town in red,
Trays of spiced chicken, till late, they were fed.
Imported lager flowed, in a frothy, grand spree,
And megalomaniacs, grandiloquently,
Would bluster and boast, with a haughty decree,
"Orvesen, m tse u ke kitchen ga!" – Sir, not in your kitchen, you see!
Courteous profanity, a delicate art,
Where titles and greetings played a respectable part.
Before venturing forth, with venom and ire,
To "dress down" their target, a verbal hot fire.
So Gboko gives chase, to the past and the present,
An intriguing weave, both funny and pleasant.
A place of contrasts, of laughter and grit,
Where the spirit of the people, forever is lit.
I always believed
at some point in time
due to some hidden
moral rhythm and rhyme...
a word triggered memory
would rob you
of that tranquility
that you've wrapped
around yourself
tightly
leaving no room
for truth to touch
and remind you
of the pain I still feel
the pain you won't heal
I always believed
you'd finally come around
with no fanfare
no whisper of sound
I'd feel your presence and know
some inner longing for amends
baptized by remembered virtue
had brought you to me
and the pain would turn to glee
when I'd hear your words:
"Let all be well.
Come out from that hell"
Well...
I'm still waiting
cause the hardest lesson
I've had to learn
is that people can maim and blame
do their utmost to shame
and....have no remorse
leaving one with no recourse
with no conscience to appease
they do as they please
while psychopaths are locked up
serial killers face their dues
but serial tongue lashers
serenity crashers
get to walk away scot-free
makes no sense to me
you see...
I always believed
one day...
you'd finally
feel the need
you'd want to be freed
from the memory of wrong
and you'd finally be strong
strong enough
to ask forgiveness
of
me
am I a fool to believe?
Eileen Manassian
Lenny the Lush and Stoner Steve,
Headed for a party on the Hill.
With a couple hours before it started,
They stopped at a local Bar and Grill.
Hours later, they were feeling fine;
After several drinks and a pizza pie.
Before they made it to the party,
Lenny was drunk and Steve was high.
Going down an old country road,
Lenny was driving way too fast.
With both men having bloodshot eyes,
They didn't see the Cop they passed.
When the cherries flashed and siren blew,
Lenny decided he wouldn't stop.
So leaning forward and pedal down,
The Lush prepared to outrun the Cop.
Doing Eighty with tail end swerving,
Dust and gravel hung in the air.
Braking too hard at the corner,
The Policeman rammed into the pair.
With broken glass and twisted metal,
Their cars crashed into the ditch.
Running towards them with pistol drawn,
They heard, "Don't you two even twitch!"
With cuts and bruises on their bodies,
Missed the party but could tell the tale.
Lenny the Lush and Stoner Steve,
Today reside in the County Jail.
Taxicab driver
Midnight rates apply;
Moonlight serenade
Tipsy bar crashers
Stepping out;
Cigarette break
Alcohol buffet
Free flow of beer;
Sorrows guzzled
Chit-chat combat
Happy hour banter;
Bartering progress
Too much stress
Nobody seems to know;
Things will be better
Complaints collide
Bar time gripes;
Bad bossy boss
Pain in the neck
Grumpy buffalo;
Home on the range
End of day
Work retreats;
Until tomorrow cheers
Profound exchange
Gin and tonic;
Alcoholic beverage
More and more
Of less and less;
Vodka and coke
Watering hole
Midnight Saturday;
Party till the last drop
Drop dead gorgeous
After six smoothies;
Tipsy compliance
Leon Enriquez
08 June 2014
Singapore
Mystery Seeds
Uninvited to my garden party -
Skepticism abounds
At faces hidden by woody capes
Maybe innocence masked in suspicion
Absent an invitation – party crashers
Of unknown origin
And unknown certification;
Weed or wildflower –
Herb or herbaceous horror –
Maybe alien blooms born on a meteor
No toasts of welcome in dewy nectar
By garden residents -
Only side winding glances
Born of dubious -
Unwelcomed arrivals
With no return address
Arouse qualms growing like rosebush suckers
No RSVP for surprise attendees
Asking admittance
When curiosity stands up waving
Told “Sit down!”
While walking to the trash.
I missed the Mystery Seeds contest by a couple of minutes! Just wanted to share the results from this fun contest theme.
Spending an entire weekend
with one of your best friends
is a treat onto itself,
but spending an extended weekend
with the same friend
is even better...
******************************************************
Drew had come over, with his parents,
to get a haircut and enjoy some conversation.
Before they had a chance to leave,
he was talked into staying the night.
We spent it lounged on basement couches
enjoying our viewing of Spartacus.
******************************************************
The next morning,
we reenacted historical skirmishes,
with a bit of artistic license,
until it was time to accompany my mom
to a friend's cookout.
We enjoyed the usual fare of burgers & hotdogs
as we quizzed one another on random movie trivia.
Although we weren't all too athletic,
Drew and I played a few games of pickup football
with a group of kids we'd never met before,
before retiring to my place for the night.
*****************************************************
Sunday was set aside for camping,
the original reason Drew and I were
supposed to hang out.
My parents took us to one of my favorite spots,
Kennerdell,
where we delighted in swimming in the creek,
hiking the trails,
and watching Return of the King.
*****************************************************
A copy of Wedding Crashers
kept us entertained on the drive back home.
After dropping Drew off at his house;
back to his temporarily estranged family,
it was time for me to finish,
and begin,
work on my D.A.R.E. project.
I finished pretty quickly
& spent the evening thinking about
how wonderful of a Memorial Day Weekend
it had been
in the company of one of my best friends.
There, parked in rows
like overused commas
or German prose
or mothballed bombers
lay ranks of rats
as if on drill,
but quite as dead
as vaudeville.
Someone had slit
each ventral hide
and pulled it back
to peek inside.
And there they lay,
flat on their backs,
guts on display,
paws pinned by tacks.
Ashamed, they were,
like party-crashers,
with gaping fur,
like little flashers.
Those organs, packed
so coral-fine,
would soon be hacked
by Class B-9.
Unseeing eyes
stared at the ceiling,
but woke in me
a fellow-feeling.
We’re all the same.
We want to live.
Why dish out blame?
Why bring a sieve,
sort sheep from goats,
grandly decide
who lives and dies?
To my distress,
those little guys
with upturned throats
and parted coats
were nothing less
than crucified.
Become my air,
pursuing my scent
in sweet fragrant fields,
where devouring tastes
of bohemian spirit,
delicately descend
in subsistent sighs.
Distracting the
tones of silence,
from subtle susurrus echoes,
like a tender
sakura breeze
kissing fresh
lavender blossoms.
Set adrift in
shades of yesterday,
dandelions bloom
in flourishing orchards,
prostrating to the
mercy of your grace.
But tread carefully
through
the hall of
dream crashers,
where strange streams
from nightmarish tears,
drizzle down,
composing
somber serenades,
choreographed
from an
enchanted symphony.
For l've seen the
invisible reality,
twinkling across streetlights
of sumptuous stars.
Distance is
an unspoken truth,
just a rainbow
away from roaming freely,
within an
evergreen paradise
above bougainvillea skies.
If this was the last poem,
before my last sigh,
today will be the day,
red of rose will
kill my bleeding ink,
so let lyrical acrolect
of poetry fill your thoughts,
look for 'you' and 'I
in the island of love,
where there's no
thunder without lightning,
nor “sea" without 'waves of us'
These distractions
of desolated dunes
are mere signs
of the wounded warrior
within me.
I'm waltzing through
vibrant valleys of white lilies,
in the hope of finding
lost gravity,
which overcomes trials and trepidation.
l'll always be your
lighthouse on lonely nights,
at the edge of
bioluminescent sand lines.
A haven where your
clusters of couplets,
will transcribe an
alchemist's poetic remedy.
Each verse will portray the
personal poem of my soul,
infused in a
profusion of soothing
cosmic hues.
As raindrops kiss
your face, they'll heal
those lamenting
leather lips-
for you are
the wind carrying clouds,
I am the ripples
crying to touch your sky.
One world in a trillion
Where everything clicked
In a Goldilocks zone
Where a switch had been flicked
Busted
Perfection soon rusted
When late party crashers
Were grab it and smashers
For eons they blended
Their world complemented
Till fresh out of college
With abundant knowledge
Busted
I’ve loved and I have lusted
I’ve taken and I’ve given
Not much to be forgiven
I never drilled for oil
But I used a small amount
So when the man says dust to dust
I hope that doesn’t count
Busted
Some plastic, some gas and inflammable stuff
So, no use in saying it wasn’t me, Guv
When I get my call from above
I’ve had my heating high
And I’ve had my water hot
I’ve left the faucet running
When I only washed a pot
Busted
That’s me done and dusted
I shall meet my creator
Through no incinerator
The mess we make as humans
Means every man’s on trust
For every year that we spend here
The more world we can bust
Busted
I’ll soon be soil encrusted
And I’d rather like to know
That the cost of me... was low