Long Disallow Poems
Long Disallow Poems. Below are the most popular long Disallow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disallow poems by poem length and keyword.
Coast to coast
I move always with an open heart
I carry love in my heart from coast to coast
I portray an aura of positivity each time I flow
I leave my sorrows behind
I lock my grievances in the cupboard
I love to relate with a pure feeling everywhere I vibe
So I always move with an open heart
I carry love in my heart from
Coast to coast
Coast to coast
I disallow toxic energy around my zone
I protect my circle with purity and happiness
Cos i know the essence of life never exclude peace and harmony
I tell you no lie my friends
So I move always with an open heart
I carry love in my heart from
Coast to coast
Coast to coast
I never get trapped with hatred in life
Cos I rise to live above limited freedom
My elbow portrays the life i chose
My dignity is what it is
I never cross no man’s path
I prefer respect
I always give peace a call to exist
Yes am a man of no nonsense
I need no negative drama
So I move with an open heart
I carry love in my heart from
Coast to coast
Social Security Electronic Deposit ruff lee = A Dog Send!
Node out if Trump
pad hiz way...
this scrivener would
batten down in skidrow
with the missus,
the latter who would veto
such misery, none
the less, she would
most likely experience
a sense of helplessness too,
which poetic title just came
to mum mind, cuz panic
stricken thoughts rue
asper what if that figurative
wellspring of government
small largesse
(electronically deposited
beginning of each month)
dried up sue
sink lee forcing me out
onto the brutally cold
bleak domain queue
wing up to the next
available steaming manhole
sink or mebbe best firm
me tug hoe to Peru
walking all the
way there (devoid
of money, would disallow
choice to drive or access
public transit), ooh
such hardship would
constitute an offal
spell, which more
likely, would find me
dead aah with new
more hardship,
(yea of corpse
this chap joking,
but gallows hue
more about cease
sing to exists),
but forced at the
mercy of teenage mew
ninja turtles, or
worse...stuck in rat
infested hole in wall
smelling like a loo
hmm...juiced perhaps
rapping on the door
of a Synagogue, could allow
admittance for this
enthusiastic, basic atheistic
Unitarian, though of Jew
whoosh heritage,
though aye knew
nary a whit aboot Semitic culture,
I maze well high tail north
in search for cold
storage in an igloo
calling out across the
miles of frozen tundra
"YOU HOO...LUCY?...DESI?...
...ANY BODY HOME?" when
of course irritable bowel
syndrome kicks in putting
cramp on me glue
tee us maximus. finding
yours truly to ejaculate a stronger
expletive than "FOO,"
which utterance does absolutely
nothing to remedy, thus...
imagine this poet stranded in
the middle of nowhere
with mush aboot doo doo
on my mind, and/or
same in his pants!
DONALD TRUMP – RE: DUCKS --
this portion dashed off
(while dry ving an open white hearse slay
so many months back before
slated him slotted the most coveted
Casino biggest win - before the political imbroglio
much more upsetting than today
- - - - - - - - - -
Axe the old don
A trump peter n piper of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
With the ha air brushed pompous ****
so the Macy jackal hound doth run
After public outcry yelps
for his hide and proletarian discord won!
- - - - - - - - - -
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination with bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed expletives
toward lass sees – especially
Fox Television news anchorwoman Megyn Kelly
inducing said personality to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults from incriminating verbal pass
so…ex post facto viz mine NO VOTE from me
thus this digital screed to disallow him
to accept the oath of office, cuz he will hurrahs
from such a snooty arrogant simian with sass!
- - - - - - - - - -
I van a try to describe while sitting on me rump
How he oh bomb in lee rages with gnashing teeth
while back a slump
Blasting Democratic nomination as a sham –
From special interest bro and sis turn pump
He, the epitomy of crass bloviation, a malignant lump
Whose rants sans presidential outcome a sham rocking red bull
in a China shop with his millions beds this,
- - - - - - - - - -
That and another woman to bareback jump
Disseminating gene pool –
Obama null lee birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
The mass media as some foolhardy charade
And caricature of a frazzled grump
This arboreal clothed ape
Erecting Taj Mahal phallic symbol where players dump
And gamble away hard earn cash
- - - - - - - - - -
For his hello kitty, as if that cachet to grind and bump
Lambasting with that maniacal leering pout
while hair rum runs rampant with red bulls
In a China shop atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed heady measly shaped
ulterior motive aimed his sights to become Pastor of Muppets
Dis eased cranial hologram
Of a cretaceous, facetious and insidious mump.
----------------------------------------------------------
By: Baron von Ivan Mal N. Ya.
Playing soccer as kids for their very first time,
he only five and she just turned six.
She simply looks his way,
and the ball is passed without any tricks.
The other lads look on in disbelief,
as the passes are abundant.
Not a word between them, just quick looks and fleeting smiles,
Nothing is redundant.
They attend different schools,
their acquaintance is brief.
His hazel green eyes remain in her memory,
without any relief.
Years later an opposing cheerleader looks familiar,
at a college football game.
When tackled on the visitor’s side,
his eyes look up, rekindling a flame.
He passes out, then graduates,
Taking a job in the city.
They almost meet again, on a blind date,
but the fates disallow, such the pity.
In a grand hotel, she stands beautifully in a wedding dress,
as a groom looks on lovingly, eyes burning.
She daydreams of another pair of eyes,
contemplating an old yearning.
She runs, preempting the ceremony,
leaving audience in shock and dismay.
No meeting of soulful hearts this time,
this day.
Years later still, a pleasant voice calls for help
while fishing a stream in the wild.
He responds with net at the ready,
only to find a familiar, great smile.
As he nets the fish, their eyes lock,
and she says thanks for the assist.
His heart thumps loudly within his chest,
It’s nothing really, it’s a trophy not to be missed.
She hesitates, have we met ?
I have the strongest feeling of déjà vu.
Regaining composure he says, maybe, but ..
I think I’d remember you.
Minutes later they sit chatting away,
like kids who’ve just met.
Their souls seem older though,
and linked in a way neither will soon forget.
Oh, how our world has changed!
Our days are rearranged-
this quarantine exchanged
for freedom- so deranged.
How long- we do not know;
the peak will come to show
a curve- and then plateau-
at that, our hope may grow.
Oh, beautiful, spring days-
we're missing your bright blaze;
forsythia's gold sprays
and daffodil displays!
Our children rule us now-
to leave home, disallow.
They bring sundries and chow-
six feet apart allow.
If this could be a dream
a nightmare's ghoulish scheme,
we'd sure wake up agleam-
with joy, we'd dance and scream.
But, no- this nightmare's true;
together, we'll pull through.
But- many perished too!
We, quarantined, make do.
April 6, 2020
Premiere Contest: One On The Chin
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Hello Palestine,
have you seen the headlines today:
400 US federal workers tendered their resignation over the war, seeking ceasefire. And a Vietnam war veteran donated his pension to Palestine relief fund. Also at Brandeis the president was sacked for violating US Constitution, and was seen packing back to a Kibbutz near Gaza. Send them back, I say, to disallow infecting American democracy such. Palestine will never be free when those scoundrels have the upper hands.
And this just came in, sky over Gaza is clearing, the mist is gone and plenty of sunshine for the foreseeable future, enough to bring the birds out again, singing to the tune of Glorious Palestine, from river to the sea, this holy land shall always be free from the smug of racists and supremacists, clinging to their dystopia of land without Palestinians. Their days are numbered and nightmare is over, hello freedom, hello justice's return after the snub of cold shoulder for a generation.
Gaza cafes are now open again, markets filled with fresh fruit, and children playing with new toys donated from good will citizens of Tel Aviv and East Jerusalem. It is good to live free again.
Jingle bells
and reindeer smells --
note to Mrs. Clause:
before Eve-trip, to reduce
scent and slip, no beer
and sardines for Rudolph!
That damn Guiding Red-nose
needs to find other fuel for
his radiant beam-glows! (takes a lot
to piss-off Santa)
It was a foul dilemma:
Every time Dancer, Donner and Blitzen
rose, Santa was forced to awkwardly stretch and
pinch each tortured, dutiful nose; poor deer, eyes
stinging and runny (not the least bit funny)
(Rudolph laughing like a ridiculous fool) (Santa
thinking, next year, to take his place, perhaps a
levitating green-schnoz mule)
fumes causing the team to terribly
blink -- every inch higher, a half inch
lower the sled would breathlessly sink --
Note to Mrs. Clause: especially disallow,
one last huge, gulp for the long cold road -- that
parting toast proved particularly disastrous to Santa's
precious gift load,
when the old saint paused to
light his pipe: Rudolf let loose with
one extraordinarily ripe -- when the match was
struck, ignited the night, flaming presents needing
no additional lift to literally take brilliant flight --
A Christmas to remember
when Rudolf went on a Sardine, Beer
Bender.
If I were your love and you, mine,
I would ask Earth to steady your way
and provide smooth race to the last line
with a paved path so you won’t stray.
If I were your love and you, mine,
I would ask Wind to sing a song
of love and ardor so sweet and fine,
you would agree that we belong.
If I were your love and you, mine,
I would ask Fire to spur you on
encouraging your passions to align,
and lay your fervor to bear upon.
If I were your love and you, mine,
I would ask Water to cool your brow
with soothing sounds In rhythmic time
and troublesome worries to disallow.
If I were your love and you, mine,
I could dream a life of grandeur sublime.
Preface:
Earlier today May 28th, 2021,
the 12-member jury unanimously
found Cristhian Bahena Rivera guilty
of first-degree murder in brutal stabbing death
sentenced to life in prison
without the possibility of parole
of Mollie Tibbetts remembered as then friendly
20-year-old who was studying
to become a child psychologist.
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the body found July 18, 2018,
an exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts.
Impossible mission to deduce
senseless killing of innocent babe
wild speculation perchance
spurned, snubbed,or scorned
love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack.
Grievous punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bullying utter disbelief.
Family/friends question
the supposed almighty
at devastating loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl.
Third anniversary regarding
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
aforementioned deceased
affected sodden wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
a foregone lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit said slain lass
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence),
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
Ever wondered in how many ways I might have killed you?
The beads of beautiful eyes and string of satin wrapped around slender legs
Thought they beguiled you for centuries?
Hah! It is the unexpected and disenchanted
That will rob you of your knowingness
My love... It is an artist's disease
To trap and be trapped
For the moon, the sun, the vast sky
And thousands of yous
Are playgrounds of my mind's children
With fences not strong enough
To disallow my phantom within.
Go play with your earthly beasts
Kill them and embrace the triumph
Start feeling wise and unconquerable
For this is all that immortality can ever gift you!
A sparkle of joy in the blood of trust
Sprinkled with vapours of guilt
Soon lost amidst new vanquishes,
You are the flesh of confounded reasons
Dwindling alongside the vagaries of time.
Ever wondered in how many ways I have killed you?
I am like a sweet whispering ghost
Who has giggled at your foolish desires
Yet reassured your sanity
I am like an innocent imp
Who has ruffled your feelings
But had never haunted you
I am like a smiling reaper
Who has plucked memories from your soul
And you shall never undo them.