Long Dictator Poems
Long Dictator Poems. Below are the most popular long Dictator by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dictator poems by poem length and keyword.
Squinting towards the lens, pressed fingers poised
Patter of shutters point to ample publication
Greater than any citizens' optimised hopes
Helicopter swept, high stake hustling self opinion
Gratuitous frog mouth catches fools, sticky tongue lashings
Golf club strolling, silver spoon holding, crumbs for cleaners
Pussy grabber dresses in pro life garb for target demographic
Speaks the language of fanaticism, fist in scripture
Heavy repertoire laced in hate. Dire threat leant on as a pillar
Podium fronted pompous smoothes fear with one liners
Gambling with virus spits in the face of reckless ruler
Trillion dollar trade removed, blackjack tapped table bust
Mogul makes workers homeless amidst bankruptcy claims
Grotesque filing fails retains dozens of glinting casinos
Gall lets leader make meme of nuclear dictator
Having little remaining reign tenure, pocket profane folds
12th July 2020
There's this saying…
Get them while they're fresh.
Usually to describe baked goods
Or hot pizzas,
Or people.
At least that’s what her father thought
The first day he told her that what they were doing
Was normal.
When she asked why he had to
Touch her there.
When he told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
He may have been an idiot, but he was smart.
She was only a little girl
Who would believe a little girl?
Who would do that to a little girl?
She was just a little girl.
She was too young to smell the difference between
Whiskey and morning breath,
To understand why her mother woke up every morning
With fresh bruises.
He had her right where he wanted her,
When she could still call him Daddy,
Even though he was more of a dictator than a father.
She was raped before she could spell statutory,
Beaten before she could fight back,
And silenced before she could find her voice.
She only had her teddy bear and three goldfish,
Although one was almost always sleeping near the top,
She soon grew to wish she was in the place of Goldie,
Because death seemed a lot better than
spending every day cowering in the shadow of her father,
Drunken and angry,
beating her mother to ease the pain that burned inside him.
Every day.
Every day.
Every day.
She was victim.
Every day.
She was her father’s fantasy.
Every day.
She was her mother’s only reason to live.
Every day.
She spent hours scrubbing her body,
Hoping to wipe away her father’s sin.
To take away the feeling of his hands,
Everywhere.
All of the time.
Haunting her dreams.
Clouding her mind.
Every day.
She had made her first enemy before she could make her first friend.
But I guess that’s just what happens when you get them while they’re fresh.
Form:
The Tramp Persona
Who was this boy, a pauper born?
Existing in despair and continual forlorn
Scandalized, accused of communist sympathies
Encompassing both adulation, and social controversies
Charlie Chaplin how can I take you seriously?
Chucklesome slapstick injecting tragedy
Awkward, little mime tugging at the heartstrings
A cathodic empathy he brings
of all those around him, a famous clown
A wiggled walk, a cane, a grin, a frown
The Great Dictator, as plain as black and white
In the struggles against misfortune, the tramp persona typified
A virtuoso kid he found at a hall by chance
A four-year-old child, he saw him dance
A gift he gave to us, a sharing alliance
The Tramp who mastered the power of silence
I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness. —Charlie Chaplin, on his childhood
Marylin Monroe “She was a tramp.”
Without her contracts at 20th Century Fox and Columbia (which had both been dropped) who were hungry for denial and headlines. Instead, Marilyn said this:
“I was broke and needed the money.
Why deny it? Tom Kelly’s racy nudes of me
You can get one [a calendar] anyplace.
Besides, I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve done nothing wrong
I was a week behind on the rent and it’s here where I belong
I’d never have done it if I’d known things would happen so fast in Hollywood for me.”
Her candor and honesty charmed everybody
You have this sense of having met a wounded little canary not a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the wounds, vulnerability, and innocence, you find raw strength, and a big heart—I Am Anaya
Lady And The Tramp
A warm and loving story
For dog lovers, in the sense of humor
A carefully nurtured cocker spaniel, Lady
Born in New York City a Baby boomer
Natural beauty overwhelming, a pedigree no vamp
And a rakish, debonair, freedom-loving wanderer
of a dog who wares no man's collar, Tramp
April 29—The sense of an ending… End of Trump Reality TV Show?
While watching the Trump trials
I sense an ending
To the Trump Reality TV show.
As he is revealed to be
What he is
Nothing but a charlatan
A con man, a grifter.
And he is not the King
Not a dictator, and not a genius,
He seems to be just a tired old man
Finally being held accountable.
For decades of alleged misconduct
Fraudulent business and political
Crimes including inciting a riot.
Stealing national secrets
And so many over.
Yet the polls show
He could become our next President
Perhaps I am seeing the end
Of democracy playing out
On my TV screen?
Dear God I pray
Make it all go way
Retire Trump from the game
take him now with you.
Who and Why are we?
What is our purpose?
Did I agree
To join this animal circus,
I, me, us, all animals for sure
Why did we need to be here?
What was there before?
God is the creator
Of everything on Earth
He is also the dictator
From the time of birth.
What was the Holy Spirit's plan,
From the heavens above
Why did he need to breathe life into a man?
Was it to share his eternal love?
Nature is impressive all started from seed,
Did God have plans to supply,
Everything to suit a human being's needs?
Before he gave birth,
To all that now live and breathe,
On this wondrous, God-given Earth.
Until we walk our last steps alone
The mystery of life will remain unknown
Who am I, and why are we
We will understand,
When we're set free.
Death appears in many relationships
Ugly Words were the cause as one
Companion will give applause for the breakup!
Love drenched in solitude
Many will shove each other away with our ugly words!
Time spent in getting even is better used
In trying to get ahead
Nothing is opened by mistake more than the mouth
Things will be said that shouldn’t have been said
Before you know it, it is too late!
This reality is sad
So many breakups are really bad
Becoming mad needs to be controlled because
Words are powerful and are used in the wrong way
Soon you will get the full picture that
One in the relationship will try to be the dictator
Soon after that, the other one will be a spectator
But the conclusion is real
It’s clear that there were times to seal the mouth
Because many will realize that nothing is opened by mistake
More that the mouth
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
In another universe I was a dominant spouse
Like a dictator I relentlessly ruled my house
Wedded a dainty damsel from another city
My first flame of desire, she was wonderfully witty
My need for control exceeded the limits of the sky
Never paused to introspect on the reasons why
I demanded treatment of a king and nothing less
I believed my life was perfect, pouring with success
She was a silent servant doing all the dirty dishes
Never helped her with cooking, nor satisfied her wishes.
She mopped every filthy floor all alone
I forbade her to bring her friends and family home
Her father said "Do not treat her like a slave!"
But who was he to dictate how I should behave?
My father said "You're the man. Control your wife!"
I never knew her patient presence would soon exit my life
My hand spoke a language mirrored by the mark on her face
With a packed suitcase, she hurried home in haste
Solitude was all I had to reluctantly embrace
My future self had realized my conduct was a disgrace
Her unforgettable frown never fades in my mind
How could my younger self have been so unkind?
The earie echo of embarrassment weighs me down
For all that haunts my mind is her frail frown
Forgive me! I never had friends nor a social life
Nor learned to take care of the heart of my wife
God's lesson I've learned. The message I spread...
Make your wife your queen from the day you wed!
In another universe I was a tyrannical spouse
Until God took her away from my prison house
And gave her to another man who was versatile
He regarded her with high respect and made her smile
Two years later, appeared my new beautiful bride
After a lesson well learned, I let go of my pitiful pride
I still have more to learn on treating her with respect
Thank you, God, for pushing me to self-reflect.
I pray my better side radiates in my future
For I promise my new love I will nurture
My future self will portray intentions of my heart...
For us to unite with strength and never grow apart
Written for the poetry contest sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
NB: Written from the point of view of the male in the poem. The speaker of the poem is not the writer of the poem.
Don is the ultimate user
His deals seal you as a loser
When Trump holds the cards
The lives now in shards
Bear witness he’s an abuser
The Don has a trick to reveal
He’ll dick you and cancel your deal
Like hands on your neck
Trump voids your paycheck
And feels ecstasy when you squeal
If acts are life’s indicator
Don’s a classic woman hater
Though cratered with flab
Trump will pussies grab
As rapist and a dictator
What will show how Don’s dick-brain thinks?
Trump’s thrusts come with lies and high jinks!
Amid this disgust
Some high and non-plussed
Have heads up his rump with what stinks!
Living with a four-year-old dictator
I had forgotten how it feels
For my own youngest is forty; but now I remember.
He will not let me trim a bush
That hits him in the face as he comes off a slide.
“I like it, grandma!” he protests.
He stops singing when I mention how cute it sounds.
All of the outside chairs have been moved and stacked,
Under the sand pile, their legs sticking out in various angles.
The mulch I put out an hour before he came
Has now been dug up and transplanted.
And not by a groundhog.
“I am not your best friend!” he cries out
Whenever I give him any kind of redirection
As he knows it is non-negotiable
I just got it again
After refusing to retrieve the ball he kicked
Into the back forty for the hundred and twelfth time.
In another thirty-six years I will probably
Be happily watching this natural athlete’s
Son or daughter kick a ball into the back forty
If I know me, I will also be retrieving it.
Nature's, raw fury can no man withstand,
nor deeds of malcontent brothers understand
Natural calamities from: wind, water, divine command;
Man-made disasters by: leader, follower, brigand
Nature's untamed, mystical hand;
Man's marauding, sentient brand
Unseen forces generating chaos in each, hurricane
band ;
Contrasted with marksman's contrived, murderous stand
Without warning, listless gales shiver each, balmy strand;
Foreordained. work strikes with targeted violence planned
Mysterious, random tornadoes o'er storm trough spanned;
Calculating armies o'er demarcated lines fanned
Perilous, isolated earthquakes no instrument had scanned;
Callous looters colluding when supply does not meet demand
Spontaneous, volcanic emissions scar the land;
Gangs marked by sign; through attrition sculpting an urban island
Unforeseen floods lawful lives, endeavors do remand
Dictator coffers overflow; with taxes, kickbacks panned