Long Critics Poems

Long Critics Poems. Below are the most popular long Critics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Critics poems by poem length and keyword.


Just a Rhyme

When I listen to Eminem I purr at his work,
it perks me up. 
I'm then lured to write some words 
and create a new verse, 
that's rife without purpose. 
No clichés are surplus, 
and I've no nerves on the surface.

It's just an urge that occurs 
wanting me to nurse to life a rhyme 
as my digits tingle and fidget for playtime,
ready to mingle, in the meantime my brain feels no limit.

Set out in a stride that flows like the tide under bridges, 
with a strive to blow minds and entangle sublime rhymes, 
that I interwine between the lines leading in time 
to a chorus that I hope to be glorious.

Set with the wind in my sails
and a drive that supplies the hammer and nails, 
that wield together a motorised thought weapon, 
with a complex that threatens, 
to propel me like witchcraft 
as I spell to fast
with the sails at full mast, 
catching wind that's pushing this raft 
and blasting through my mind as I draft 
both good and daft rhymes. 
Which seem easy and slide through peasy, 
thanks to the greasy ease of a motion that doesn't freeze, 
but travels at crazy speeds that please me. 

It's not the work of a degree, 
it just gives critics and plaudits a read 
that they can witness 
with it's dense intense thickness. 

I don't care if it's rubbish 
it's not written to be published. 
I just like how my left hand smudges the ink, 
as there's no time for it to dry as I rapidly think.

I just let it flow 
and I know 
like the tip of my nose
or the nails on my toes,
that it's simplistic 
and explicit,
no need to be drastic
and complicate it. 

I just like to glide like a cable car ride 
because I'm able that's why.

I just like wordplay and syllables 
that prevent the event of me feeling miserable. 
It's just a cure that's what it's written for, 
just a rhyme to read once and not once more.
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Misery Accompanied Haltered Tethered Tattered Web

Misery accompanied, haltered, tethered... tattered web

This health conscious lx year
roam'n, hoodwinking hoodlum doth wear
two pair bullet proof underwear,
(which confession rarely trumpeted),
plus yours truly admits unclear
why tibia long in the tooth fellow,

prevaricates with tongue in cheek oh contraire
good n plenti humor absent clear
sense and sensibility so beware
me figuratively pulling poetic foot
mainly "white lie" fibula I air
discombobulated gobbledygook,

which corroboration ye might declare
choosing to cease reading
feeling in high dungeon as all hell... where,
twitching (bull leave me you) nostrils flare
analogous to spewing dragon
rare endangered species from Zaire

of corpse stewing in dungeon
hooping on wing and prayer
to attend Renaissance Faire,
thus word wizard conjured
aforementioned as metaphorical veneer
cuz, he really sought to pioneer

his breakout poetaster career,
thus far batch
prefabricated rejection letters
posits alternative to forswear
writing another feeble rhyme
relieving anonymous critics

providence beckons I course hear
doom and resignation refrain
repeatedly hammering and echoing
within chambers of each ear
mancave best provenance
divine providence especially if nuclear

war rents tentative moments to spare,
which doomsday looms clear,
perhaps half fortnight away
fatalistic mindset, I despair
money woes exacerbate pesky news
sense under_scoring dallying,

dithering, lollygagging... while linear
rise regarding global temperature
gives cold comfort the buccaneer
occupying oval office laissez faire
attitude, hence pennilessness moot
total mortal kombat global warming

further accentuates real Halloween scare,
no trick only ill treatment
unleashed courtesy mutineer
hand over fist handily did profiteer
minting daily another bajillionaire
government coffers bursting

mother earth biosphere square
within uber targeted crosshair
talking heads poles 
apart as global warming
melts Antarctic frigidaire
Santa Claus reindeer and elves

schvitz as north pole melts
in short shrift oblate sphere
formerly teeming with life
field day for hardy 
indomitable creatures thriving
within most scary nightmare.

Premium Member the - still - new year

This is a new year, remember? I’m unshakeable, 
I want to live harder but somehow sleep more.
I want to be successful and reinforce my self-image.
I’d like to rely less on my sharp edges and accentuate my softness.
I don’t want to dwell on America’s chaos - the crazy to crazier pipeline.
 
But, oh, geez, it must be Monday..
Trump accused Ukraine of starting the war, but my alarm was going off and I missed it.
Trump threatened US allies for opposing his takeover of Greenland, while I brushed my teeth.
He said, “the US shouldn't have 2026 midterm elections,” while I was in the shower.
He said since he didn’t win a Nobel Prize, he wouldn’t prioritize peace, while I had croissants.
He swore ‘reckoning and retribution’ after ICE agents shot a woman, while I was on the metro.
After an unplanned CAT scan, Trump said he was ‘sharper than ever’- while I was walking to school. 
He called Democrats a ‘criminal organization’, for pointing to his Epstein ties;  but I was having coffee.
He said the Reiners were murdered because they didn’t like him, but I was in anatomy class.
Trump claimed the U.S. would "run" Venezuela, while I was in an auditorium lecture.
Trump cited his Trump Golf Club wins as proof of his health, while I was in analyses-lab
He accused his own bureau of "rigging" job data to undermine him, while I was in practical-lab.
Trump linked Tylenol use to autism and revived false vaccine-autism ties - while I had pizza.
In a singular moment of clarity, Trump told his critics to "rot in hell," I missed it, I was studying.
He labeled reports of rising costs, and job losses a “Democratic hoax," but I was still studying.
A Ford employee shouted an Epstein question, Trump replied “ you” and flipped him off.
The employee was fired, of course, a citizen can’t go ruffling Trump like that, with free speech - I missed it, I was back on the metro.
 
I don’t miss constant exposure to the Trump circus - he’s just wearing you people down. 
After three more dumpster-fire years of Trump - what’ll be left over there?
Good luck America, I love you.
.
.
A song for this:
Excuse Me Mister by Gale Garnett
Red rubber ball by The Cyrkle

Fun, Old (edited for time) TikTok fail - showing "Why I don't do TikToks"  =]
using a GoPro with a 'follow me' pin - the video jiggles, wildly loses focus and I'm not centered! 
daweb.us/bg/silly.dance.mp4

That Final Thing

Beyond genius
  the spirit flies
Beyond genius
  the mood decries
Beyond genius
  no courses rowed
Beyond genius
  all time disowned
Beyond genius
  the map refolds
Beyond genius
   a world untold
Beyond genius
  the critics gasp
Beyond genius
   no serpent asp
Beyond genius
  the telling stops
Beyond genius
  no on—then off
Beyond genius
  all sight and sound
Beyond genius
  the square is round 
Beyond genius
  no lies are told
Beyond genius
  what’s new is old
Beyond genius
  the heavens sing 
Beyond genius
  —that final thing

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Td-The Donald

Ivanka and Melania walking the 5th Avenue Street 
Red Wolves stalking their beat 
Being ever so sweet 
Looking at the window dressing 
Critical topics they are addressing 
Knowing Daddy Donald will get them a treat 
If they make Democrats feel the heat 
Riding the hood 
Having an image that is goodie good 
Long way from the run way 
Always having an audience to what they say 
Loving her step Mom 
In one’s handbag code to the gossip bomb 
Staying very calm 
Both having fashionable ware 
Taking a share 
From booking and signing an art deal 
Then dining on gourmet meals 
It is fourth and goal to go 
In the game called ‘who do you know’ 
Defending the Delaware man from stealing the Oval Office show 
Should there be a pass or run 
Decision when done 
Will energize critics if executed and not won 
With the two state General in command 
Beachside resorts ready to make a stand 
Calling the bluff 
To those who claim to have the right stuff 
Or showing a hand 
Stating “Maybe better to be just a fan” 
Stay cool 
Little red wolves 
Be reminded at the pool 
There many of you
Getting their skin red 
Staying away from debt 
Granted they can get sun burn 
Which they would learn 
Under the moon light 
Romantic in sight 
Enjoy the sun and times 
Sipping the proper wine 
But when the final gun is heard 
Bringing calmness to the grid iron stir 
Something may occur 
High hopes to the mind 
Of those making a dime 
Riding the All American Acela commuter train 
Debating weather it’s going to rain
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member White Jackets and Candy Dishes

They offer no rope nor traction.
Following a prolonged icy tongue-blast.
A slow slide into the greasy crevasse.
Where lie soul-stiffening white jackets.

There seem to be infinite oceans of infinite critics.
Vast deserts without an oasis of empathy.
Powers that be will steal the last of the cherries.
Leaving mountains of bluish pits and pluming death.

Drunk clowns are juggling our happiness.
Squirting flowers filled with ink and lye.
To cloak the last bastions of gilded sanity,
To poison any goodness in our lives.

So, what are the children of silence to do?
Sit in their blackness and lick a sticky candy dish.
Surrender the ghost of a million to appease a few.
Or come out swinging in the light-with fiery fists.
Form: Rhyme

Apocalypse Art




Sterile ceramic gallery
White room
Every surface seen
White

A lady wearing a suit of grey angles
Stands behind a desk 
Of polished glass

A rubber smile stretches her money moulded face
As people walk through the gallery door
It snaps back into arrogant indifference as they pass

Red lips
A door to teeth contrived
Pretentious
Petulant
Visually pretty
A prophecy

Nausea coaxing words mechanically repeated
Explaining pictures on gallery walls

Grey critics nod their approval
Their herd moves
Feedback buzzing
Hidden speakers prepare another plastic synopsis of art

In a corner of the gallery
Shadowed
Hangs one blank canvas

The critical masses gather
The speakers have nothing more to vomit
Machines sputter confused
Yet there it hangs
Blank

The crowd was forced to think

Then there was blood

Minds no longer realise reaction’s consequence
So long  with orders
Subconscious flashing screen’s slaves

Blood

The woman’s red lips can no longer be seen
Walls no longer white
Pristine glass desk dripping  red
Perfect raindrops of vein release

From the gallery door
One white
Blank
Canvas

Disvirgined Truth

DISVIRGINED TRUTH

We don’t have enough time left to check time
Many left as too much couldn’t get enough
Stranded in the middle of no where with no dime
The lord will provide; yet, journey still too tough
This is a historical case we all presumed
Based on facts fore-known; this is presumptive
Reasonably not the worst we all assumed
Mission not accomplished became abortive.

On air, same plane, different pilots
On a coming together, different cohorts
Our problems too enormous, might capsize us
Engulfed in cloudy flames, critics criticize us
Sin is fun, fun is sin; poison tasting so sweet
Let the apostles wash their heads, Jesus will wash their feet
Time to leave the multitude and reach the altitude
Time to ignore our oppositions and maintain our positions.

Many prophets, same quest, different prophesies
Ambition is priceless, same quest, different emphases 
We are here for destiny sake, one mission
Starting to keep moving, confused vision
Time to focus and get it
Our ‘F’ is for forget it 
Kiss it and stuck your tongue
Even we are wrong.





...LORDVIP...
Form: Lyric

Premium Member A Poetic B Movie Roll

Evermore Evermore they must settle a score, 
They were shown the door and never knew the reason for
Jilted like an unwanted lover 
True the audience thinks they have enough money to cover. 
But still they wanted to be the silver screen siren not an average mother. 

So here we watch the films they were in 
Where their big scene with a scream is followed by the next of kin 
Their characters were never in the book since they are casted just for their good looks. 
Critics state they are trying to act 
And for the most point that is an honest fact 
After the day’s work, they go back wondering why they were kicked out of their sport. 

It is the truth they are there to be cute 
Since what really sells isn’t watching someone go through hell. 
No, I must state I will pay money to see someone who I would date. 
Even know in the end they end up eaten by a gigantic rat named Ben. 
So here on a Sunday Morning after watching something on a Saturday Night when you did not heed that warning.  
Last night’s rendezvous which was cool 
When you ventured into that prohibited swimming pool. 
Yes, I must say we do enjoy the feeling we get 
Watching you get stabbed when you are totally wet 
In lieu of flowers when you leave that shower, we just want to say we do care 
When you are vulnerable and scared 
Let it be known when you do not answer the phone 
We are there watching over you when you are alone. 
When the character enters to spell your demise 
We will always know they are all telling lies 
As the DVD light shines during the late hour 
We know our B movie friends do still have the power 
They are the reason we spend the time 
Watching their film as it unwinds. 
When realities social is not there due to all the things that are not fair 
This modern-day relationship can due for those who are not being played as a fool. 
It causes no problems for anyone and to be honest it can be kind of fun 
Enjoy the images as they unspool enjoying the pictures that are more healthy stimulations then lamb stew. 
Thanks for being our moving photographs of beauty 
And to be honest yes, we do appreciate the nudity.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member HERE'S TO YOU, PUMPKIN PIE

HERE’S TO YOU, PUMPKIN PIE! 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the morning sun rises high and bright
     pumpkin pie for breakfast—oh, what a delight!

the crust is flaky, the filling so sweet,
     cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger—what a treat!.

I take a bite, and oh, such heavenly bliss,
     the flavors meld, a culinary kiss.

the pumpkin puree, its spices swirl 
     flow with whipped cream, a dream for this ol’ girl. 

so let the critics say, "Pie for breakfast? No way!"
     I'll take a slice, come what may.

so here's to you, dear pumpkin pie.
     I don’t care if you go straight to my thighs.
Form: Rhyme

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