Long Dens Poems
Long Dens Poems. Below are the most popular long Dens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dens poems by poem length and keyword.
The Three Little Pigs
The three little pigs
Had lost their wigs
So now all the animals saw
Was three little bald wiggly pigs
They had pen and paper
Pigs writing poetry
They said oinking and inking was in their nature
We have to change the laws of the legislature
Pigs and poetry was made a crime
The horses sneered, well it was about time
They wrote dirty prose and broken verse
Why even Orwell felt this was totally perverse
The ducks just clucked
As ducks normally doo
They chuckled at pig poets going to the loo
They would soon fly away, or else they would be forced to sue
The three little pigs
For their poetry stew
Nuwas rode in on his donkey grey
Looked at the pigs and said oh no don’t you stay
When Abu yelled to the sheep over there
He said bring me a sheepskin and a little of him
Wine flowed as he spun his tales from jail
Of the young couple Mary and Joseph, he laughed and he wailed
Why he said of the three little pigs
Thought themselves Royals cause they wrote with pig-pens
At the wave of his glass, is said be off to your dens
I of antiquity, shall cheer and dance with my fellow turkmen
Seeking justice the pigs went to the owl
However the goats looked up and cried that’s a fowl
Now the farmer was away paying his taxes in town
When he came back to the farm
He found three little pigs had drowned
Notes: This was inspired by a combination of ideas concepts, the first being George Orwell’s Animal Farm, then the controversial proclivities of Abu Nuwas, and the common thread, other than the bizarre, is the freedom to question all things, the failure to do so, only slows down the advancement of science and new ideas.
A full-gorged moon opens its illumined glare.
Ghost lights flood the dens, burrows and nests
of all creatures,
a limpid dementia swirls blood-red clouds
in predatory eyes.
it enters bedrooms, cellars, attics
creeps beneath crawl-spaces.
It follows us into slumber
raises the bones of shipwrecked dreams,
dreams that none may speak of.
Magnetic glimmers pull together
all that stalk in shadow,
pale beams burgle darkened branches,
snare the unborn in unformed wombs,
seeds voices there before any egg is laid.
In the hearts of the desperate,
its creates an iridescence of last-hope poetry.
!t changes the stories that we told yesterday
into legends and tracks along moon paths,
then withdraws into the remoteness of
a reflected dust.
In daylight we commence to call out:
"Did you see that moon last night"?
while others reply:
"No, I must have missed it."
Canis Lupus, gray wolf of forest and brushlands,
Where denning sites throughout are plentiful and safe,
With gifts of strength, endurance and great stamina,
You travel on for hours before fatigue sets in.
As Alpha male, joined with your Alpha female mate,
You lead the pack which heeds and follows your commands.
You join in pairs, or go alone at times, to hunt,
Exhaust your prey on lengthy runs to wear it down.
Sometimes in gathered pack of ten or even more,
You hunt for prey to feed extended family—
A group that works together and shares equally—
After the Alpha pair, main hunters, had their fill.
You choose large prey of herbivores, but if they’re scarce,
Small animals like rabbits, squirrels, mice will do,
Along with all domestic prey on farms close by.
You mate for life, produce young pups, from four to six,
Most times in later Winter or in early Spring,
Within your dens, the young are whelped in two months plus—
Born helpless, blind, but are full grown within one year.
You indirectly helped to shape domestic dog—
Through common ancestors evolved the “man’s best friend,”
With many varied breeds that formed throughout the years,
The dog and man create relationships that bind.
Canis Lupus, gray wolf of forest and brushlands,
You stand with warrior command, head held up high,
With gifts of strength, endurance and great stamina,
You have endured and thrived eight-hundred thousand years.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~2nd Place~
Contest: Canis Lupus – The Wolf
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: 04/12/2015
Iambic Hexameter
.
Verse 1
You came as frost on sleep
deprived vein,
Rendered flight,delivered chains,
Flattered big time in voice of lies,
Stole the dawn from my very eyes
Chorus (of the victims of drugs)
Here lies your defeat,(cold) and still,
Drugs break the body,not the will
Your drug dens end where Truth takes seat-
Cocaine-here lies your defeat
Verse 2
You breathed lust in a saint's disguise,
Fed on the girl's Tears,the boy's Demise.
And the timid you tortured to weep,
Now they awake from your deceitful sleep
Chorus (of the victims of drugs)
Here lies your defeat (cold) and still,
Drugs break the body,not the will
Your drug dens end where Truth takes seat-
Cocaine-here lies your defeat
Bridge
Rise from ash,from bone,from blight,
I drink the stars,I own the night.
Your voice dissolves beneath my feet,
Your reign of hollow ends complete.
Final Chorus (The Outro)
Here lies your defeat (grim ) and still
Drugs brake the body, not the will
Your drugs dens end where Truth takes seat-
Cocaine-here lies your defeat
I started toddling at seven months,
Walking the roads as from twelve
Shaping my feet from sands and mud upon bumps
Frequenting the paths to hell and into which I delve
From the spittle of the seas to the flayed clay of aging silt
It’s the same old story frequently told in tears
Moaning and mourning are kinsmen in the compound of guilt
Where ancestral rocks and whetstones gather moss in pairs
I have journeyed on, night and day, stumbling
And falling, rising and schlepping determinedly ahead,
A bag of sorrows on my back, encountering no nibling
It’s a one-man tiring journey accompanied by dread
When the road is bifurcated, I gamble on my choice of route,
Searching stars at nights to guide me on paths of clearer lineage
I borrow the gimlet eyes of crickets to seek out wedges to uproot,
Knowing well what I desire in my pilgrimage
So far, it’s been one Hell of a road
So frighteningly long and sinuous —tumultuous
Harbouring wildernesses, dens and gold,
Yet those who tread on it are serious and sensuous
It plies mountains, rugged and brutal, with sweltering breeze blown
On flat land and deserts, it hurts and fries the naked feet
On rainy, starless nights, you’re on your own.
Above restless crests of sea waves, it’s like a wet, riotous street.
Trust me, it’s one road upon which I’d hesitate to tread again,
Even if the lights of the sun and the moon promise to accompany me
Oh, no, I’d prefer to board the wings of a tern, even in rain,
And keep warm with the feathers above the knee.
I love to tease and tear around your yard,
while happily chattering and chirping away.
I enjoy searching for acorns and other nuts,
and stuffing my cheeks full while I run and play.
I sometimes find a rare delicacy in your yard,
yummy tulip bulbs and fresh ornamental flowers.
I recently ate your huge orange hibiscus bloom,
and hope you add more, as your garden has room.
I have several shared living dens in your backyard,
and my family loves the perennial garden the best.
We love to hide among the decorative gnomes,
while chirping and teasing your huge dog on guard.
I love to tease the neighbor’s cat, chirping when he appears,
and laughing at him, as I safely scurry back under your fence.
I continue keeping busy visiting your feeders to steal seeds,
feasting and storing while preparing for my winter needs.
The college kids were gathered around
Listening to the latest stereophonic sounds
Speakers booming their tunes and melodies
Beatles, Stones, Hendrix, Doors and Bee Gees
Sweet scent of cheap hemp filled the air
It was Friday night, nobody cared
'bout quizzes, tests, exams or papers
The night was young: time for drug-fueled capers
Where to go? What to do? Gotta move! Gotta be--
Where the action is! Where it's happenin,' man!
On the prowl for a quickie, for a one-night stand
At anonymous bars, dens of debauchery
They moved in packs of conformist thought
Jocks or thespians, wimps or nerds
Frat-boys or hippies -- bearded, hirsute, absurd --
Stoned or drunk, immorality they sought
When in walked a man who silenced that den
Five stripes on his sleeve, a steel slab for a chin
He stared hard at them; they shrank from him
A general's general, on loan from Vietnam
He smelled the cheap hemp and the two-bit beer
Muttered an imprecation: "I'm out of here."
Then he pointed at those trembling college pickins:
"You're as weak as kittens, as yellow as chickens ...
If you want to grow up; if real men you'd like to be
~ Come fight for your country in the jungles of 'Nam with me."
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Summer has almost passed
in the Southwest -- slight
edge taken off, optimistic
with the shorter days --
shorter, darker days
has nothing to do with
spiritual content, in the
desert -- God blesses those
who survive as well as the
blistered dead. Fall, we
start leaving our dens,
our human bear connection.
Dare we venture back into
the sunny days? Looking
forward to garments, and
cold water from the cold water
tap -- colored leaves and crispy,
crunching while walking is
evident to the mountain dwellers --
but in the valley deserts, Fall is
recognized more by the thawing,
so to speak -- our season of cooler
drippy celebration! A chance for
splashing in puddles, and doing
happy Rain-dances! Monsoon
for Desert Rat Bloom! Maybe
I will even shave before taking
my first Winter Airing.
Whores of Babylon, I breathe amongst you everyday
On city streets, in country lanes, along lone alleyways
Selling illegal merchandise, cheap, tainted, unrefined
Tempting this incognito angel, back into my own kind
Dens of iniquity, hedonistic programs, carnal pleasure
Take me to your pimp, I’ve got a wallet full of treasure
Bring good gear, Snow White, not crude crystal meth
Tonight I’m getting wasted, to within one inch of death
Seedy massage parlors, proffering rubdowns, with oils
This upstanding citizen, on tables of unembellished soil
Licking toads back, my penchant, as I pray to the gods
Yapping like a puppy, choke chained, spanked with rods
Cesspools of assignation, motel rooms, knocking shops
Gonna keep banging up, til my veins collapse from shock
Tomorrow chase the dragon, before addressing a church
Sermons of fire and brimstone, damning you, is my purge.
By
David Kavanagh