Long Crudely Poems

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


Premium Member Sales Pitch

Written: June 17, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico

Quote by Aaron Ross: "Companies should be selling ideas more than benefits. Sell Ideas. Not stuff."

                            ***********************

You tend to hesitate as your eyes decide,
You expect the truths; I don't intend to hide. 
This offer is scorching with bitter fire—
It tells your name, it rouses your desire. 
 
You long for a spark that seems foretold—
A door that slams clean, you can't hold.
I sell the primary light you disbanded,
A sunrise frozen in your hands.

I sell the careen you left behind,
A muffled memory, you can't unbind.
I trade the hope you gave, but broken—
A getaway so crudely forsaken.

Coins burn your appetite in the light,
Each wish item is scrutinized once right. 
Your hunger, a rogue’s hunt for hope—
As richness in the arches of your scope. 

Pick up your goods with steady hands,
Laced labels bestowed a subtle brand.
Price paid in fantasies you dare to dream, 
Softly slept, commitments made seam. 

Akin to dust on books you will never read again—
A destiny etched on the aged face of pain. 
The scale of what was lost started to show—
In every word, a sorrow seed sits to grow.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Happy Daze 2

Ready greets steady
With profound quirky


Query meets dreamy
In sure sobriety


Dizzy blooms drowsy
In some fantasy


Lovely loves comely
In sweet ecstasy


Blurry holds teary
In melancholy


Ugly knows freaky
In mad tragedy


Promptly lives dearly
Now naturally


Sadly knows plainly
Life's harsh comedy


Dearly and wisely
Read philosophy


Crudely and rudely
Hurl hurts profusely


Calmly and nicely
Discern tragedy


Plainly and clearly
Live life most simply


Beauty and beastly
Balance our story


Brightly and darkly
Complete the folly


Leon Enriquez
23 July 2014
Singapore
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Silk Wading

Silk wading thru wistfully warm sea waters,
my dreaming fingers have lingered to potter
with ocean surface, sun sparkled glitters.
My poetic pieces have gone full twitter
in charmed waters of crystal clear rarity
where I felt God's love soothe life's severity.

Slowly easing into ocean powered waves,
my playful moods have seriously caved
from forceful, salt stinging, brutal wave smacks.
My body has ached sea bruised, blue and black.
Rough seas crudely taught me joy may survive  
despite waves of fright that savagely arrive.

Now, reaching the end planks on my journey's pier
and viewing my twilight's approach so clear,
it's past sunshine glitters that most sustain
these concluding sea views for my earthly gain.
Yet, I know without crass waves that abused,
wading joys would not have peaked this enthused.
Form: Rhyme

Piecing Together Harris Kuritsky Tattered Family Tree

Piecing together Harris/ Kuritsky tattered family tree
(Betsy Ross would beam at unflagging effort)

Ah, here all along yours truly
thought himself an abductee,
and/or zoologically
linkedin with chimpanzee,
hence imagine my disappointment
flipping laminated pages ye

ja undertook undoubtedly
painstaking effort,
plus wireless subcommittee
stitched together plain to see
helpful input thank you Amelie,
plus unnamed, undaunted,

and informed cousins
contributing to digging
into archives to help free
some unanswered nagging questions
only to generate others re:
garding ahem little feet

legs skinny as spaghetti
this haint no phallus si¿
lodged within me
noggin, which effort crudely
analogous fitting
prosthetic to amputee,

who understandably loosing limb,
would find her/him
screaming like banshee,
which one with diminished hearing
might sound like
suite (sweet) firebird stung

explaining flight of bumblebee
nonetheless, the bundled, compiled,
and detailed genealogy 
courtesy eldest sister prithee
perhaps inspire "FAKE"
trumpeted voluminous tome twee

starring pooch donning
windblown heir spade fur -
or sporting canine toupee
with apt title regarding petsmart
bonafide muttering dog gone pedigree
hump backed es

in heat making whoopie
would become best selling fiction,
whereby Hollywood
might come calling
of course anonymous
actors/actresses,

or training one or another Arctic monkey,
where production costs
totally tubular less money
versus famous Homo
thespians portraying
long gone i.e. bissell mishuga

characterizing deceased exhumed
(figuratively) ghosts
might be (like...y'know...really) eerie
yet, a possible windfall
after signed contract
once all parties privy

to dramatize ancestors
unilaterally abide and agree
this unsolicited barkback feedback
countless many shindigs
witnessed predictable
yours truly absentee

soul (and sole) brother pulling
no shows claiming lame excuse
ah betcha I inherited emotional uncoupling
generations ago dirt poor peon,
perhaps unwitting creator
of peanut butter and jelly.

A Fairy Visitor In The Fog

I like to sit down and smoke sometimes late at night 
while listening to music online to reflect on my life 
and think

About why we as a species even go out of our way 
to bash and hate and shame all those who are very 
openly distinct

And why our society likes to shame my people into 
hating themselves and denying and hiding who they 
truly are

And why my people’s special attributes end up forsaken
and crudely positioned on the blankened faces 
of other stars

Eventually the skies replied to my inquiry with bold, 
intense storms of powerful lightning and 
strong thunder
 
A fae then arrived and told me that so many of the people 
around us are very disconnected from 
whimsy and wonder

Note: I'm aware it's mostly global warming but one can't help but wonder if perhaps a lot of what's going on now is spiritual. Honestly, I think it is. But I'd rather let the weather experts do most of the talking while I continue to play with my imagination. Don't take this poem literally.
© Seph Vi  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member Road Unknown

We've passed it by........so many times 
Along this twisted........ asphalt highway
A sign that's nailed,....... so crudely fashioned
       To peeling bark.......upon the yoke of gnarled, old cottonwood tree.
It marks a fork of the ....backwood road                                                                             
Where gravel branches....bends and sways                                                                         
  And meanders through......the glade                                                                >>.....???
                  Where lies a ...... dry creek bed                                                    >...
     And poison oak thrives ......and secrets hide                                            >...
   Home for an old battered mailbox.......lonely and bereft                        >...
            So many times,.......so many other days in passing by             >...
      Catching glimpse of........peeling painted evidence                     >...
     Of something which lies....... beyond our view                      >...
     Have I wondered.........  pondered, what lies beyond...         >... 
        What course if  .........we followed....                              >...  
      If just this once ........we turned and broke away          >....
                             .......... ......................................>.....>
                          .......... ...................................>......
Changed our course....... followed the unknown.
Where the creek ......... runs dry,
And banks are rife........
   With chokecherry....... and willow scrub
The leaves layered.......  with chalk white dust
                            ........
Will we ever know .............
                                 ......... What lies beyond the fork in the road?
                                   .........    Will we ever know?.....
Form: Shape

Indirect

You say that I only can see the bad parts. You can tell by the rhyme that I wrote. If food you call good, was all that it should, why'd it have to be shoved down my throat?

Suppose I should tote

a dead scroll or an apochraphyctic lamb skin. Apocalyptic man skins, get walked on like crudely made danskins, and ever presence ever yields to ancient peasantry in fields. Will we ever get a shield from that son?

Will standing laws, or laws of nature, sanitize a mind set to statutory rape her, when she comes to my Mom's house in shorts?

Sanctified codifications, waxed melodic like the Haitians, remove the curses I hurl watching sports.

But what of the blade, be it metal or not, that slices skin, and pierces the chest?

Slice an apple open, and shove a hard candy in it. The harvest is over, and new winter soldiers shall propagate indirect witness.
Form: Limerick

Marooned On An Island of Nihilism

After a lifetime
(pronounced like millennium),
where tenacity futilely braced
psyche deeply purpled,
hellishly, and lethally
traced resulting scars -
jackknifed, emasculated
cruelly chaste

sexuality expired, lapsed,
and petered out testosterone
begone to waste,
and how this abased
bereft of eroded optimism,
nee faith no more - erased,
solitary carbon based animal
coalesced into countless

foreborn generations
(glommed *****sapiens
salient survival skills)
mortified, putrefied, and
stagnated toxic brew
quaffing poisonous 
score peon - composite gin,
barley distilled, exiled,

and fragmented
human encased
faculties doggedly
catapulted, with haste
squandered genetic inheritance
kamikaze potential
apathetically plundered, akin
how Hindenburg plummeted

like led zeppelin,
(scare way to craven)
his foghorn emitting distinctive
Semitic bulbous 
shofar shaped schnozzle traced
analogous to decrepit son -
dialed helpline to late
promising lad once vaunted

lauded, and 
deemed hereditarily, -
he busted great expectations
quintessentially, psycho
socially, and opportunistically
lineage noble storied
standing déclassé debased
forced to take stock at aging

non-thrilled man
in the mirror
haggard heavily creased
doughy paste poker face
(born that way)
blankly stare ring back, spaced
out, no longer boyish,
but gray bearly grizzled, 

flecked, and etched stubble,
scraggly unkempt whiskers
discombobulated
straggly matted hair
limply drape stupefied noggin
utterly disc graced
countenance eye spy
crows feet laced

blotchy complexion re: placed
once smooth skin
donned dawning senescence 
amplification trumped
"NON FAKE" crudely
aping scrim age lost 
fight of his life.

Premium Member What a Insert Expletive

Blame hardly ever helps unless it is used to express anger

it does not achieve any more than venting raging frustration

levels the playing field to a point apportioning recrimination

without actually achieving anything but turning on the tap

of seemingly futile emotions seeking for a functional cause


My lover and I were set to move on from Spain back to home

a new abode on the British Isles to work and retire for good

Sitting in a house in Valencia with boxes packed with books

memorabilia trinkets and carpets rolled up for easy transport

we simply waited for one final certificate from the authorities

Nothing fancy just a signature on paper and promised long ago

but nothing had prepared us for the legendary mañana mañana

with months of inaction inaptitude and not a thought for reason

We are working on it they said but no one seemed to care about

how much depended on the form and a long chain of consequences


Now the buyers pulled out and who can blame them as they 

patiently waited such a long time and eventually merely gave up

on their dream and by proxy on our venture and own aspirations

Unpacking the moving goods will keep us busy for a short while

to make our house presentable once more and waiting to ensue


Injustice grinds its teeth at feelings and reason that do not conform

fail to find the wise mind to align their disarray and stark confusion

and so we are lost in transition that keeps on lingering for an eternity

while our souls bleed remonstrate on what ifs and other conjunctives

Lashing out at floorboards and ceilings does not deal with the grief


My grandma used to say it is what it is and advised with great caution

that one never knows what it may be good for and advised acceptance

and her problems were bigger than ours with a war raging in Europe

bombs on her head ruins devastation existential fear and an unknown

and we have each other a roof over our heads and food on our table


And yet it is difficult to be grateful when a vision for imminent future

has been shattered so crudely in its unfairness of unnecessary delay

On the bright side candles and scent sticks are unpacked as we pray

17th March 2021

Premium Member For Oscar On His 11th Birthday

Remember always Invictus and God
  when you stand alone before pharisees -
thus follow the path King and saint have trod
  and, son, trust in your own humanities.
Prove incorruptible and heed this wise,
  the rule of men are not mighty to save -
their inward ravenings crudely devise
  and their only one saving is the grave.
Loved is the divine child young in his days
  whose cross to carry is your crown to wear,
whose stamp of nature a quiet strength raise -
  cleave to it lest your heart fail you for fear.
Live and love, and rewarded you will be,
else all that becomes you is vanity.


            Written: March 2011
Form: Sonnet

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