Long Crooked Poems
Long Crooked Poems. Below are the most popular long Crooked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crooked poems by poem length and keyword.
The children gathered around
the crackling fireplace as
Rumple Stein opened his
heavy, leather- bound book.
His voice dropped to a low,
raspy whisper that made the
shadows on the wall seem to
stretch and dance.
"Deep within the Whispering
Woods," he began, "the old
witches brew potions made
of forgotten nightmares."
He leaned forward, his eyes
gleaming in the firelight as
the wind howled outside the
window.
"They command slimy green
goblins that creep into
bedrooms to steal the
laughter of sleeping boys
and girls."
A floorboard creaked in the
hallway, making the children
jump and clutch their
blankets tight.
"But the worst myth of all,"
Rumple Stein hissed, "is the
faceless monster that hides
right under your bed."
He pointed a long, crooked
finger at the youngest boy,
whose eyes were wide with
fright.
"It waits until the room goes
completely black, listening to
the sound of your heartbeat."
With a sudden, loud SLAM of
his book, he smiled and
whispered, "Now, blow out
the candle and go to sleep."
(From the way I see it).
Oh! Sweet and kindhearted divinity,
You created humanity
In your peaceful image and identity.
Yet such a pity that from posterity
To President generation, man
Is oblivious of divine reality.
Why is there no congeniality
With your heavenly personality?
I sit and think, sometimes without an eye blink,
Yet my think tank can't fathom
The reason situations stink and sink.
Folks would love you today and hate you tomorrow,
If you care to know, they'll give you an answer
Cheaper than their anger.
Man can't blame God, whatever they cost,
God has a modus that can keep you from being lost
Yet man constructed his mind's road
That leads him to the dust.
Dear Divinity, you created humanity in your love, and
Light so bright than the sun in it's height.
Still man is very wicked and his thoughts so crooked.
People underestimate people because they're rich,
Failing to be cognizance that wealth can't buy death.
Some are poor yet arrogant as tyrant,
They criminalize their lives just to be flamboyant.
Some are rich but never respect the poor,
Some regard them as bad odour,
Trample upon them like the floor
And walk out of them like the door.
Some are poor but never honour the rich,
They bleach their faces, see them
As a threat and never plan to such
Position and level reach.
Why is there no congeniality?
Please divinity, my questions are a reality
Someone walked into where worshippers are gathered
And got everyone slaughtered,
Political bloodshed and religious deceptions
Making the people falter
And much more lives suffer
The malevolence hearts
Killing the earth on daily basis.
Oh! Divinity! Why is there no congeniality
With your spotless personality?
CHARLESMELODY
( lightning Ink).
Today reading an article on moral rights
trying to justify an evil act preformed for the greater good
promoting it as a cure derived from murder these worldly writers
For me it was like reading a letter from Judas agreeing with barbarism
it accused those that do not wish to partake in this sacrifice
as disease spreaders judging within its contents incorrect
Unholy acts against the innocent pushing upside down narrative
The truth's not in error, its the falsehood that proclaims it to be so
many of those brainwashed claim to be whiter than snow
one thing for sure when your eyes and ears see and hear horror
nothing inside this world can change your mind when properly set
We all know right from wrong regardless of where we are at
you can justify about anything
if God's words are left out of the subject at hand
The greatest of all sins is breaking the commandments
quoting it as religious to think of other people
whilst turning a blind eye on genocide
mark my words there is many claiming to be filled with wisdom and the Holy Spirit
yet supporting the crooked path drenched in the blood of martyrs
The road is long when you have lost all direction to think straight
take a good long hard look in the mirror
we have only one chance to save our soul, death it comes to us all
by: Poet destroyer
I investigated many poems today
Friendly people on this (Love Boat)
Everybody different in their own way
The evidence I found is hidden in every poetry line
Mysteriously, one poet comes from (Fantasy Island)
I am filing charges on the lady
Who welcomes you to the soup
Leaves you a comment, without reading your identity
Today I read a report on the supernatural.
Billies demons vs' (Charlies Angels.)
Investigating a woman who poets you advise, gee's how nice
I will give her a ticket, for making me feel guilty as can be
How about the clown who does not wear a rubber nose.
He puts on a show with his pen and paper (THAT IS TALENT)
He is using his ego another way
He makes us laugh, with one whip of his Belt
I will not release the name on the depressing poem I read
For her, I will stop traffic, and move everyone out of her rain
Her words made my heart bleed
A warrant goes out to the girl who used too much imagination.
I actually got to see tongues to tongue vividly.
I will never ticket the poet queen
Murder she wrote and got away,
I do not know who is the John Doe I found today.
I will be reading his poetry file.
To make sure, he is not misleading this investigation.
I also confiscated an old antique or two
Unique skills found in their retired war shoes
I did my undercover work on a serial killer case on the soup.
That is one report I did not want to picture
I hope the writer will bargain for a life sentence
In a paradise so Green.
I will soon end my file, and turn in my report about Big Foot
After I arrest them ladies who write about butterflies
It is against the law to lead us on a goose chase
We are nowhere near (A highway to heaven)
I have to go join a (S.W.A.T.) team.
To raid the aliens who invade (The little house on the prairie)
I call this group the (A team)
You know A-liens team who you are.
Someone just posted bail
For the girl who blinded us all
She wore her neon converse a straight ticket to jail
I am on a manhunt locating a molester
Every time she is spotted in a pick out line
She comes back and deletes her trade
Erasing her only profile, just to edit all over again
This coming from a crooked cop, (Magnum)P D
Reporting live on the poetry soup
sad wallpaper and cigarette buts
a man smoking over a coffee cup
with an old stare at a new face
where all society loses their place
the photos hang crooked on the wall
with the waitress answering a telephone call
a seat for two waiting to be filled
and rain bouncing off the window sill
a haze rising from the man’s lips
while the other one looks away and sips
familiar people in a strange setting
with a few remembering but most forgetting
about the lives they lead each day
with a lot to do and little to say
I drink my coke and eat my food
but who am I to capture this mood
I want to hold onto the images I see
like the winking eye and crooked teeth
but I can only write it all down
as I saunter from town to town
They told her,
"Words are just air".
But air can bruise,
and silence can tear.
She learned to bleed in quiet tones,
Each syllable a crack in bones.
They carved her name in crooked lies,
They laughed when truth leaked from her eyes.
Words were chains that held her tight,
sweet on tongues, but edged with bite.
They dressed their hate in honeyed rhyme,
And jailed her voice in scripted time.
But one day,
she picked the pen.
and wrote not for "them"—
Each verse she wrote broke through the bars,
A language made of wounds and stars.
Now every word she dares to speak,
Is thunder rolling through the weak.
~hira~
Two skinny legs dangle from hand-me-down frocks.
Elastic bands holding up her socks.
Scuffed shoes on her feet so small they barley fit.
Water leaks through the crack where the sole had split.
Wheat coloured hair pulled away from her face.
Tied back in a pony tail with a crimson lace.
Blush Full lips hide a row of crooked teeth.
Always on show when she opens her mouth to speak.
Deep blue eyes and pale white skin.
Her frame is petite and she is painfully thin.
Her existence is humble but she is rich beyond compare.
For she lives in a home with love in it, a bond that they all share.
Many years have passed, a woman is she, respectful, beautiful and kind.
Now re living fond memories of the happy child hood she left behind.
looking at your pictures
you always knew to smile
with my silent moment
i'll think of you a while
and try not to let those memories
become a tearfull reunion
but savor the precious moments
and have a delightful communion
sometimes i think about
your fingers and your toes
and looking at your picture
i remember your pretty crooked nose
the way you did your hair
when you got dressed up
the scarfs, the ribbons, earrings
and other pretty stuff
i can see your picture
and i even have a recording
of your voice
but i'd rather have you
if i ever had the choice
looking at you picture
and remembering your voice
i'd much rather have you
if i ever had the choice
Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones)
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield
ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.
an atypical poet
an atypical poet
a little of this
a little of that
a dab of daring
a dash of do
super sensitively
hard as nails
the softened heart
of calloused pain
the gentleness
of granite’s grain
worn warrior
of windmill fame
lamplighter
of the darkened mind
the hide and seek
of look and find
the implication
of tongue in cheek
the “I dare you” of
“come take a peek”
follow twisted pen
down crooked lane
from serious
to quite inane
embed within
the common phrase
forever’s passion
still ablaze
torching lover’s
broken dreams
exposing liars
convoluted schemes
the black and white
of ancient crust
cold weathered face
of tarnished bust
writing poetry
in the dust
John G. Lawless
©7/7/2017