Long Die cast Poems
Long Die cast Poems. Below are the most popular long Die cast by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Die cast poems by poem length and keyword.
A New York born greenhorn, name of Talley,
Felt a free meal challenge up his alley.
Known as seventy-two-ounce steaks abode
Into the Big Texan he boldly strode,
As the patient Big Texan clock looked on.
“I am fair game to feast,” boasted the lad.
“To eat all the food waiting to be had.
I shall gobble the steak and trimmings too
Along with a yard of your finest brew.”
And the skeptical Texan clock looked on.
Rare steak, potato, salad, brew, and roll
To consume all in an hour was the goal.
His table was set with food looking grand.
Talley then sat down, knife and fork in hand.
The referee Texan clock started on.
Slashing and stabbing he attacked the steak,
Popping meat in his mouth, scarcely to chew,
Giving his stomach a challenge to brew.
A rare swig of beer was his only break
As the alert Texan clock counted on.
At fifteen minutes, Talley was on pace
To hold himself free of shame and disgrace.
He gorged large tomatoes with salad greens,
Wishing he had ordered a side of beans.
As the steady Texan clock counted on.
At half past the hour young Talley felt great,
Enjoying with relish all that he ate.
The loaded potato seemed so easy
Brew kept his stomach from feeling queasy
As the earnest Texan clock counted on.
Fully forty-five minutes had flashed past
Talley knew he that was having a blast.
Winning seemed sure, Talley felt the die cast,
As bite by bite, he downed his huge repast.
The relentless Texan clock counted on.
In minutes Talley wore a smiling face
Thinking victory he would soon embrace.
With seconds left he washed down his last bite,
Knowing that he ate a free meal that night.
The referee Texan clock ticked time gone.
For the watching diners who viewed him nuts,
A camera caught him spilling his guts
As the victorious youthful Talley
Spewed his steak dinner out in the alley
And the stoic Big Texan clock looked on.
What better place than here
to be
To stop drop anchor and rest aboard
my floating throne and dotted
upon by endless servants
feeding me grapes of wrath
And take in all of this ethereal world's
majesty I am seemingly deemed to own
And If only for a little while
Breathe in another most
auspicious rustic desert sunset
slowly fading behind the pyramids
chastening the horizon
Drifting pleasantly along the silent tepid
river Nile like a calm deflecting Oasis
Oh how I can only wish to imagine if
I were the Pharisee King of this domain
my own people and enslaved Israelites
as well
Placed in charge over all of this
fertile land and ever increasing empire
Adorned and drapped with such
bedazzled finery as die cast hand
crafted robes
Wearing a crown made out of
the purest yellow gold with every
kind of precious stone one can imagine
carefully set
So even when come sunset and daylight
is then eventually replaced by moonlight
He is still the only thing around able
still to be seen as his regal attire
reflects and shimmers the moonlight rays
afterglow luminescence back
And if you we're sceptical and never
did believe in his status as a living
God on earth before
After seeing him somehow be able
to glow and transcend even the
natural rule of law by turning
darkness into light
10 plagues alone your subjects
would gladly suffer through but
not suffice nor be enough
To start or begin a revolution
or revolt
Gather on mass and march we as
the common people finally standing
united under the banner
" Let Those People Go "
Because never mind them do it for
us after all we are the one's suffering
out lives now resemble hell
And what exactly is to be gained and
the reason behind this madness
And now you come to mention it
That has never actually ever been
explained
The Son of Three Fathers
In all the days since first I knew, I ventured to find… the me… that is true.
Surely amidst all human kind, there stands oh but one… who in me will define,
the who and the why, and the where of my soul,
the meaning of shadows, my place in the fold.
A man of great wisdom? A lass yet divine? A prophet of old?
I sought to long find.
But just as the wind in hand never grasped,
the me… that is true, yet eludes the die-cast.
Now penniless in spirit, no flesh to exact
for the prophets and lovers and wise men of fact.
So here in the silence, standing void of speech.
At the end of myself, it’s within…. that I reach.
To a place unfamiliar, yet eerily known
Full of forgotten, reminders of home.
Those thoughts of my Papa, and his gentle way.
His smile and his laughter and blue eyes of grey.
Of Grandpa and Daddy, and their struggle to speak,
kind words that would heal them… of the fear to be weak.
To witness this drama, played out in my life,
Its strength, and its weakness, its triumph and strife.
Like carving a canyon in rivers forced flow,
So has it etched, the walls of my soul.
From rage to a trickle as seasons prescribe,
This river of struggle has shaped me inside.
Now searching for courage, to see that long sought.
The portrait of struggle, this river has wrought.
In silence now standing, stripped naked and bare,
Eyes now wide open, of self… now aware.
What be the verdict? Oh what shall I see? The measure of men?
Or a portrait of me?
I again stand in silence, no utterance of need
No bribes from the sculptors, no halter or lead.
Only the portrait, the me, that is true.
The son of three fathers, behold…..I’m anew.
Randall
These days the kids don’t learn
of what’s happened in turn,
they can’t tell you of World War II,
or when the White House burned.
Their classes all are lies,
since power hates the wise,
keep them dumb and it’s easy to
pull wool over their eyes.
Kids think they’re something ‘new,’
a shuttered point-of-view,
never told that it’s all been tried
by smarter men than you.
The lessons learned before
are hidden more and more,
demonize it so you can’t see
what evil they’ve in store.
I’ve a mind to search the sage,
find the truth that comes with age,
turn my face back to the sun
for what’s gone, but not forgotten.
Let the sunlight burn my eyes,
but I know I have to try,
see that truth not be undone
with what’s gone, but not forgotten.
Power must hate the light
that opens up our sight,
they’d rather dumb folks in a pen
than those who know to fight.
They want your kids to fail,
to strive to no avail,
they’ve tried before to rule free men
and they have always failed.
They know from the long past
tyranny doesn’t last,
thinking if they hide this from you
they’ll escape the die cast.
But history is clear,
truths of five thousand years,
learn what we are and you learn how
to make them disappear.
It’s a time to search the sage,
known the truth that comes from age,
turn your face back to the Son
for what’s gone, but not forgotten.
Let the sunlight cleanse your eyes
from the nonsense and the lies,
learn the wisdom so hard won
from what’s gone, but not forgotten.
Gone, but never forgotten.
Humans are not like us
They are very hard to teach
We show them what we can
If it's within our reach
Some are quite cruel to us
They haven't yet evolved
If they could communicate
The problem would be solved
They seem a trifle dimwitted
Their language is complex
We learn what we can from them
But they don't pass the test
They don't seem to see it
Our language is not that hard
Instead, they enslave us
and put us in the yard
We care too deeply for them
I don't know to what end
Destroying our environment
They never seem to bend
They chain, beat, and torture us
and some are left to starve
They keep us locked in cages
Our home is a backyard
We once were free to roam the earth
The past where we once thrived
But now they maim and neuter us
Our offspring euthanized
When we meet our maker
of creatures far and wide
Our part ensured in heaven
Their downfall is their pride
Our lot was given the die-cast
and we must persevere
The humans remain clueless
That is our biggest fear
Their future's still in question
with their ears that do not hear
If they can't learn to listen
to the bond we hold so dear
As the music played, eyes strayed,
She moved; she grooved...On fire!
Her hands explored, own flesh adored,
She read then fed my desire.
Together we danced, eyes romanced,
Lust slipped its script to her.
My body baked, hunger ached,
Lips brushed, blood rushed, a blur.
We left the hub, the seething club,
Outside my stride was strong.
Her pad was near, intentions clear,
Clothes ripped, she stripped to a thong.
Fingers dived, on fervor arrived,
Keen hands took command of me.
Fell to her knees, desperate to please,
Die cast, hard and fast her plea.
My hands found hair, torrid affair,
My mind was blind from bliss.
She pulled away, a game to play,
She crawled then called for a kiss.
Clothes were gone, two became one,
Inside my pride did swell.
Hard and deep, heat's tempo we'd keep,
We'd fight for the right to excel.
A war was waged, a battle raged,
Our cries the prize we shared.
I felt it build, almost fulfilled,
Not yet, her threat, eyes glared.
I did respond and went beyond,
I tried, we cried and won.
Together we came, eyes aflame,
Enraptured we'd captured the sun.
Zet-Zime time compressed communication tool:
To: The people of Earth
Date: 2000 -2009
From: The Grand Sovereign of Earth
Date: 2776
Title: Grave worms manifesto
Copy: 11231
No flowers grow in this parcel of time
We have long ago drunk all their waters.
Water it was once but now more it's slime,
Sacrifice flowers for sons and daughters.
This Zet-zime I send through time and place
As our consequence dire and pending.
Our die cast from your greediness waste
Predestined the plight of our human race.
This path you cursed being its ending.
Your primitive thoughts and narrow visions
War schemes ventured to dominate others
Decisions, revisions and constant incisions
Has scared this Earth and killed our mother.
Your technical beam that now burns bright
Will soon be centered by a select few
Whose conscience ream the masses' plight
Leaving only energy for death's firelight.
And garrote your sky to a repulsive hue
We pray this zime reaches back in time
Before all communication is severed
A warning to common, elite and prime
Grave worms inherit all you endeavored.
Planet Earth stands still.
Africa reckons as Ghana beckons.
A bloodless war in Africa.
Brothers at home and in Diaspora,
Uniting to defend their fatherland.
On the verge of repeating and re-writing history.
The bell is tolled and the die cast.
Fans roll out drums with funfare.
Rivals green with envy,grudges and jealousy.
Many contract nationalism and patriotism epidemics.
I peep into my crystal ball,
To know whom claims the trophy.
My predictions seem obscure.
Because no one has monopoly of skills,
And no one is completely bereft of wills.
All galaxies parade their dazzling stars.
But not all that glitters are gold.
Soccer beauty is skin deep.
Because the hood does not make the monk.
The mighty may fall due to over confidence.
And the under dogs may rise due to over efforts.
Only time will crack this nutshell.
To unveil the folks with the greatest strokes.
Winners will smile home in victory.
And loosers likewise in jittery.
Fundraiser
Best Christmas idea fundraiser
Send donation request letters
A festival of trees to raffle
You’ll get more then a tree of raddles
Companies open to donating
Giving them free advertising
Can even decorate their own tree
A Lego Christmas top it can be
Some trees are chains with hanging tools
John Deere knows how to dress one too
Pots and pans ideal for cooking
Hair salons make one appealing
Banks decorate with gift cards
Some are filled with die cast cars
Musical trees make a great gift
Dolls clothes and bikes are a hit
Movie galore, popcorn and more
A chainsaw makes a gift with chores
A pirates tree with chest of games
To a beach tree the whole family gains
School supplies make a festive tree
One for animals with doggy treats
Check them all out theres so much to see
At my youtube channel made by me
By Doris Anne Beaulieu
Rumbling earth offers it's own baseline
Bones of the underworld crackle thunderously
Concussive forces driving Gaia's ecstasy.
The man watches as her eyes crackle menacingly
Mortal flirtations lusting for battle
Stone and Crystal, immense and fragile.
Booming, resonating, radiating, alive,
Conjured rumblings otherworldly
Each threaten alternately
To burst his chest
Or to implode it.
With each pulse, each soul-searing challenge of her gaze,
Every aching breath
Yet he remains, agonizingly still
And there is nought but to wait for her to move first.
It is a reaper's die cast in darkness
Uncalculated gamble of unwitting fortune
So he must wait.
Her almar might yet give a wary soul rest
Hiraeth, and hope.
Or unmercifully rend him hapless.
So lingers his being, languishing in exquisite agony
Hoping desperately, and rumbling as eldritch runes 'neath horrors unknown.