Long Cretins Poems
Long Cretins Poems. Below are the most popular long Cretins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cretins poems by poem length and keyword.
When Philip wed his princess bride
He wed her nation too
And very soon as man and wife
They had a job to do
He the one who, proud and tall
An ever present castle wall
She the one who led the way
A hero’s lifelong duty call
But has she reigned o’er this, our land
Supported by his unseen hand
In her own words it has been so
But she’ll stand firm and let him go
And when she must she’ll find a smile
For he’ll be with her all the while.
Seven decades wore his ring
Time enough to call him King
But should the cretins win the day
And we do things the other way
And egotists with plastic wives
Race the race to rule our lives
Not duty, service, nor devotion
More a case of self promotion
No B-lister ever will
Fill the shoes of good ‘King’ Phil
Blunt deadly weapons of mass destruction
electrify, fracture, and
jeopardize *****Sapiens
species (and entire biosphere)
continuity rent asunder
doomsday declared (nuclear winter
gallows humor spelt
with eternal snow day)
dystopian authors outflanked
nuclear fallout wreaks worst
rocky horror picture
effected upon mankind
global (worldwide)
big screen radioactive
wee willy weber webbing
materiel severely seared
sepsis poisons deoxyribo
nucleic acid future generations
organic fiber cursed
simultaneous single simulcast
broadcast airs live after Royal Wedding
audience participation demanded
bumping ugly fleshless
formed fruitless fatal fumes
anomalies all – blinded
beastial begotten bemoan
brethren brood
brutal burnt offerings
crackling, snapping,
and popping surreal muck
shapeless liquified populace
sloshing helter skelter
quests slither towards
aimless destination
bone a fied skeleton crews cruise
crying cretins creep cavalierly
crepuscular cratered city
cruel mushroom clouds
cloaked croaking cellophane charred
cancerous clumps career,
clomp continuously
chaos charts choking climate
cold comfort commanded collusion
commander in chief concurred
crumpled coveted constitution credo
crass conceit communicated
cooly came clean concerning
consensual coital cavort
crazy cream craving characterized
condoned combined crunching
crotch crab free **** -
condom free crux
contractual commingling
cashiered coverup
chic chica chick
cigerette chewing
clutched cocked club
choked chicken concluded
das capitol business
before he returned
to regularly broadcast program
the sea son finale
last chapter of human race
no winners, nor survivors
bleak contaminated Earth gasping
heaving jackknifed lost in vape
nonpareil planet reduced to vapor!
Please, Mr. Civil Leader, rule my life
I don’t know how to take care of myself
Limit my offspring, choose my wife
Write me a pamphlet explaining my health
I can’t wait
to hear from
my benefactor
I’m not too capable -- a small IQ
No manners or etiquette, an unrefined taste
I’m searching for guidance and waiting for cues
All those bills from college were clearly a waste
I been so evil to my fellow man
From the fall from Paradise to Auschwitz-Birkenau
I rubbed his nose in it the best I can
I’m ready for rehab -- show me how
Show me the latest of your Utopias
Teach me, oh wise king, to think and feel
I sure hope there’s a place for cretins like us
Don’t make us angry or we’ll storm the Bastille!
I can’t wait
to hear from
our benefactors
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
I objestigate between arabesques and sleep,
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps.
I'm indifferent to the misanthropic mocking,
that welltering inflection that I call plockingism.
It's their cheeky syncopated schisms that I rebut,
and yet they slantathunt for the right to boff.
Well, blanderluse I refuse, so let them scoff!
I derogate their impultritude and arrogance.
Drapple their smirking repudiation of my dance
for they know nothing of the dark decoctions
spating rapidly through my vendacious veins,
nor of the mastacular alter assemblage
of the miscelany grey and white matter in my brain.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking, perhaps,
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
their hate. I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
Mayhap writing in this style is as tedious a method
of torture as it would be to dispropart a heart!
After reading this ranting of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I present my ischemic side as a dimwitted addlepate.
I'm a conflagration of animation or maybe I'm just lazy.
I'm not of the artificial intelligence variety,
but there's more than just one kind of crazy.
Vogonese is a language that few will applaud.
I see it as a form of whimsical words, without a reward.
If this is the third worst type of poetry in the world...
keep the first two ridiculous rooskits in sails unfurled!
Insanity is bred in flompous fields of clantigendice clover.
Moreover, before I drop my plasmergent pen on the floor
I find myself crossing the threshold of depravities' door.
*Don't ask for an interpretation. I have no clue.
Its 9'30 monday morning U K time the skies around London are the
Grey of grime.' Its like in the evening', a somber scene i
Think its taken from 'middle earths book' the fellowship of
The ring.? As by mechanical means the sky is sown.' To
Drown us in gloom, these clouds are grown.' To deny real
Life..To cause the farmers strife.' I consider only sad beings, could envisage and plan such an innings' closing
Churches and pubs.' Which don.'t need the pre-fix of hubs.'
Yet there is great capicity in humanity..' innate intelligence
That will counter insanity.' Dr evil and the devil bankers real Sickos.' Can only be the answer.' May the evil curse of
Pathogens enter into them and cover them, may no rest be given
Ever.' to these cretins of wicked endeavours.' May they be
Soundly mocked and forsaken. May their very presence of mind
Be taken.' May every sickness be their portion.' May they
Be a lesson of morality and cause repair.' So to the Bible
Many will hearken to avoid their own souls being darkened.'
(After Charles Baudelaire)
Many a time, to amuse themselves, the sailors
would trap an albatross, make it a slave.
(These ruffians manned those old-time deep-sea whalers,
resenting, but indented to, the waves).
The moment that an albatross touched deck,
the proud, ungainly prince of lonely skies
had nowhere for his wings. This living wreck,
so recently so regal, was despised.
The deck hands found him funny. Some threw tack
(as missiles, not as food). One held his beak
and, bent astride the noble creature's back,
forced him to smoke a pipe. The bird, too weak
to struggle, took whatever insults came.
His wings, his greatest glory when up there,
now, down among the cretins, were his shame.
He looked down at his burden in despair.
In a small town of 800 the lonely town where children never sleep
Hardly can anyone imagine them ever being sweet
Some are bullies, some rob, steal, some brake windows
Others are found juvenile delinquents breaking into condos
Adults and political authorities
Sanctions rules and laws just for the youth minorities
These hard nosed children keep breaking them curfews
Rebellious youth with incurred huge transverse views
The disorderly town children fight and riot
No wonder these rebellious cretins are sleep and so tried
Small town of 800 this lonely town where children never obey civil laws
These Town Children Delinquents breaking juveniles
9/14/19
Sponsored by:Julia Ward
A group of ASTRAL entrepreneurs formed a PERNICIOUS ENTERPRISE.
The group would TRAVERSE the universe in search of worlds comprised
of mealy-mouthed, self-serving, indecisive cretins.
They believed the cretins, foul as they were, would be easily controlled.
They also wanted to steal the VISAGE of the more attractive cretins, believing that they would be able to use this visage on one of their own to act as a SENTRY in each of the worlds that they wanted to include in their conglomerate. They believed the sentry would spy from within and DAMPEN the defenses of their adversaries during negotiations.
They were thwarted, however, whereupon coming to Earth they
discovered that their planted sentry had become a double agent
and had warned the Earthlings of their plans. The Earthlings easily
defeated the entrepreneurs’ and placed a BLEMISH on their list of
targeted acquisitions, sealing Earth’s autonomy.
Behold the Pied Piper has tossed his pipe belatedly in the trash
Having led folks down some garden paths he trousered wads of cash
Dollars, pounds, euros, rolls of wallpaper - the currency didn’t matter
He gathered countless cretins, enchanted by piffle and patter
From sound suburban Ruislip to Henley-on-the-Thames
This piper sprinkled magic dust and never made amends,
His tunes were quite eccentric but they made the voters dance
Cycling round the capital his prospects to advance
Now the pipes have fallen silent (I wish this event came sooner)
Though he tried many instruments, he never bought a tuner
Cast-off from the orchestra, a wayward minstrel now unseated
His lies have all been rumbled, and on radio repeated
Considering his record, he enjoyed a lengthy stint,
While friendly foreign editors found his comments fit-to-print
The piper told his followers, “Pack your bags and let us roll
It might be a path of brambles but we’ll be taking back control.”
At last his pipes are broken, there are pieces in the bin,
We count excuses and denials that with hindsight look so thin,
People run-for-cover as they see their hero beaten
Coping with defeat is not a subject taught at Eton.