Long Cred Poems
Long Cred Poems. Below are the most popular long Cred by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cred poems by poem length and keyword.
I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (not always my own); a word-weaver.
I pull thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs,
cirrus, frayed dungarees, threadbare memories.
I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.
I hold kite strings. Oh and rainbows strings.
They connect my soles to realms of my soul.
At times, I lose sight of kites in the gale.
Was I irresponsible with responsibility for strings?
I think, “thoughts”, should get lost in wind and clouds
to find the eye-of-the-storm—where I rescue
kites and make a poetry page my stage
and arena. I twine strings into heavyweight rope.
Fasten it to four corners of a contest page. I enter,
incognito, with Apollo imagery and Dionysus metaphor;
a masked prize-fighter filled with creative angst.
I grin for wins in poesy masquerade parades.
When I fail, strings break off of my drama mask.
Revealed but unrecognized, am I a fractured rainbow?
My inner balcony critic reprimands:
“sunlight through raindrops must be flawless
to create flawless strings of prismatic color”! Alas,
lack of refraction leaves words white; non-prismatic.
I restring tragedy mask; ego sphere of a versateer.
I create poetry because I love to pluck things;
harp strings and heartstrings…
If I no longer make readers cry, will pen cred be lost?
Don’t think I won’t pluck nightshade petals, fly’s wings
and cello strings to make you feel my tormentia!
I’ll quiver lips of lost-in-love verse. Coax your soul
to sip pale ale of sorrow, as strawberry scent
scalds your skin. I’m not unhappy to gratify your senses.
I loop maverick string, whirl it and throw—
lasso a funhouse mirror; rein it in.
Imagination stilt-dances in looney-glass gaze.
I use muse strings to hang mirrors and ask;
who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet—
poet or reader?
A seismic surge is gathering pace, propelling a wave
Of multi faces many creeds, diverse street cred.
From public also of private ed' facets shimmer
Thoughts Intense myriad humankind immense.'
Mainstream channels pour out scorn, early morning
To midday lies take form, pushing into night time TV
And radio, dangerous anti-vaxers rabid foes..'
Yet when the millions gather wherever? One fact is so '
But You'll hear it from them never ! No all points bulletin
On the crazy folk that have escaped those penitentiary yokes
Or from their social workers..' I find it so scary.)
Cause this means the protesters (must be sane.')
If You'd consider if fairly.? And in the main !
I roll slow through these streets,
where the whores work for tips and the blood leaks.
Money, a sad joke, hard to keep,
I pay the rent, but sleep comes cheap.
Caddy cruisin’, windows down,
the smell of piss clings to this town.
Street cred?
What’s that worth?
When every man’s born to die, cursed since birth.
Gun in the glove box, hands on the wheel,
you blink once, you’re six feet deep, that’s the deal.
You feel tough, you act hard—
but death’s got your name, kid, on a cold steel card.
We all hustle, yeah, some win, most lose,
the booze, the fights, yeah we sing those blues.
Flashing lights in the rearview, close—
but I'm running too fast, death’s chasing close.
The girls?
They fake their smiles just to eat.
A dollar buys love that’s dead on the street.
You talk big, but you can’t buy time,
even the king in his castle won’t make that climb.
See, I’ve danced with death, been shot at and hit,
but somehow I keep living in this endless pit.
You can shine up that car, make it gleam bright,
but the reaper don’t care, he’ll take you tonight.
So raise a glass, we’re all gonna fall,
flesh, bone, blood on the wall.
Till then, I keep moving, don’t ask me why—
We all pay the rent, till the day that we die.
I've got 99 Dalmatians
99 problems
But a b###h ain't 1
Are simply Black or White
99 shade's of grey
Luckily I can't count to over a 100
Otherwise id have 101
Come from 8 miles away
Wrong side of the tracks
No street cred
Get stage fright
Battle getting it up
Can only spit while flipping burgers
Got 99 dog's but not a single G
calling me dog back
Tried 99 times but still no b###h
hollering back at me neither
Got no litter , got no glitter ,
got no bling , got not paper
Self proclaimed
Fresh Prince of Dead-Air
Cnr 99th street 101
And if 1 of you wants to buy a puppy
forward me your digits after the show
And I'll have 98 problems
But 99 ain't 1
Hangovers do fester as belly grumbles pester just before noon
Jesters off their head after night on the tiles painting toon red
Close to fainting need a feed must get some sustenance soon
Shirking the headache lurking adored blackboard’s been read
No takeovers.. leftovers get makeovers morning and afternoon
Grazing stable biker at formica table amazing fable we croon
Not naff no faff or fuss caffs for all us riff raffs got street cred
Within we maybe a Lord or Lady not just bumpkin or buffoon
Before you got stubble or into a lot trouble bubble were fed
No fraud smorgasbord for flawed horde who applaud swoon
In the clover.. a pig in poo.. a cat with nip skip over the moon
Working class gets a VIP pass for a scoff then it is off to bed
PVC chairs in maroon & bottomless milky sugary tea a boon
Irking folks saying that the culture to which we are wed‘s dead
Won’t let become another ruin don’t impugn like Sting in Dune
Will last as hewn from the past for cast of many a loon and goon
Whichever combo folks bacon & eggs begs for a bit of fried bread
Tireless toast stacking yokes cracking the wireless a backing tune
Raiding yesteryear clips & dips in fading memory lane trips instead
Proustian rushes sprinkle gush us luxuriating in a lush laden lagoon
Savour as kids blushes twinkle with elderly who wrinkle like a prune
The history is not really a mystery as clearly is salary and calorie led
No tycoon flush on capitalist balloon spewn from a cliched cartoon
Flavour is not as posh or plush as that tosh we see over in the Med
Not cheesy or sleazy don’t tease me lampoon our cultural cocoon
Saviour for brave knave where good behaviour does favour fortune
Are batty if thrills of a patty or natty fatty spread fills you with dread
Park your ar*e ignore Worldly farce & take it easy in a Greasy Spoon
The band was loud, but in the other room and the bar was jammed.
He set his drink down a little too hard and it over-sloshed a bit.
“Run away with me,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “I’m done with school!”
“Well.. you graduated - that’s why you’re done,” she said, somewhat confused.
“We share a gravity, you and I - we’re.. we’re like aligned suns,” he romanticized.
“You should’ve majored in sales.” she said, sipping her own beer.
“Our love is so real, so raw - it's pure and yet - so street.”
“We have ‘love cred’?” She asked doubtfully.
“Wherever we go, we'll navigate that urban maze, hand in hand, we’ll OWN those concrete streets, we’ll paint our own graffiti!
“Have you snorted something?’
“No matter what life throws at us, we’ll face those challenges head-on and we'll stay united.”
“Have you been practicing this?” She asked
“We’ll swagger,” he said, “our love will be timeless..”
“And rhymeless,” she interjected hopefully.
“Together, we’ll be urban legends..” he continued.
“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” she asked, making a yuck face.
“We’ll be living art,” he said dreamily.
“Sounds dope.” She admitted.
“Then you’ll DO it?” He asked.
“Until Monday,” she said, nodding in assent, “classes start on Monday,” she shrugged.
“It was worth a shot.” he said stoically, after a moment.
“It was a good pitch’” she said, taking his hand in hers.
“I didn’t oversell - I wasn’t too pushy?”
“No, you were right there,” she assured him.
“Maybe next time,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe next time”
They kissed.
I have no idea what you just said.
I read it all, then I read what I read;
I played it several times in my head.
I thought I followed, but I lost the thread.
Not always the sharpest tool in the shed,
sometimes I feel like my brain’s a bit dead,
a brain-borne illness that’s starting to spread.
A minute ago… but now there’s no shred.
It seemed like a place to cautiously tread.
Maybe an accident? Seems like you bled?
That person you wrote about: are you still wed?
No, that was a poem written by Fred.
Consuming Soup’s part of my daily bread;
creative juices flow when you are fed,
but after reading, I’m empty instead.
Saying the wrong thing just fills me with dread.
Thoughtful, deep comments might give me street cred,
or some pithy maxim, but wisdom just fled.
See, I ain't got nothing; ignorance pled.
I have no idea what you just said.
Signed, a spondee respondent, “Awesome!” ahead.
All this chaos you created, like a contagion you conveyed.
You cherish cunning and deceit, as you claimed.
Like a disease you spread your misfortunes and unsureness of the world that you lived in.
As a child I wished you were gone, as you beat me and belittled me until I bled.
This in your mind earned you your street cred, as you punished the people around you until you fled.
From the burdens and blunders that you dread, but dare declare an empty reply with that.'' Your sorry''.
All this worry and woe, tiptoeing around you- oh, how I must have misjudged you when you muttered,'' your sorry.''
Oh the worries cultivated a collection of complications, that piled up, needing a lorry to carry them around.
No, I won't shed a single tear from fear or pity, as I wish you were gone.
But it's okay for you to utter your hollow, 'Your sorry.''
be-ing...........some-thing beau-ti-ful
is the song.............the ser-en-ade
Herald-ing........................our
unique-ness
origin-ality
singular-ity
alone-ness
Be-ing
a-live to
ex-press
what serves
us from all
other life
be-ing...................to-gether
in our at-trac-tion.....ex-plor-ing gra-vity
common mean-ing.......the good and cred-ible
uni-versal elements..........emanat-ing pur-pose
be-ing...the posi-tion.....scheme....rhyme...reason
be-ing..............the............grati-tude........of that
be-ing.....................the........................ARIA
reach-ing........out........note.....by......note
so...beau-ti-ful......we.......sing
January 12, 2020
Aria
Ah at last camaraderie restored within the Oval Office!
Whew... now with president er... Chief
tenderloin hoof and mouth
knick knack paddywhack shah row'n nah
diseased Trumpen proletariat -
ever so..., (think huck Cain Abel) -
phloem with his tree men diss
anti semitic, biased,
cutthroat dagger type bull leaf
eager, ready and willing
to give Democrats endless good grief,
(a substantial Casanova chock full
of McDonald's fast food beef),
that wily rotten thief
(machiavellian hedonistic commander
with playboy special penchant
to lend wind blow dried hair courtesy queef),
his princely (Jared jarhead) reign no end,
(I reckon at least bajillion years) in sight,
yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief
the meritocratically jaded, general electorate,
who try bringing good things to life - reef
fur to moost recent impeachment acquittal
asthma tongue in cheek persiflage leitmotif.
All Joe king ass hide, I really dread
locked worst case forty sixth oaf with
absolute zero governmental effective cred,
which scariest horror story scenario...
unfathomable, incomprehensible, amenable
to coon sitter seriously joining grateful dead
volunteering bon voyage euthanasia led
by tried and true straight
and narrow grim reaper
me more than willing
to enlist underground
grassroots movement instead
populated courtesy dark shadows
lovely numbskulls and crossbones
think Zombies patrolling
devoid of talking head,
nonetheless not frightening compared
to heir apparent of Fred,
whose real estate Mogul prodigal son
on warpath to shred
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
no matter *****sapiens
turning planet Earth,
wind and fire more'n politically blood red!