Long Dish out Poems
Long Dish out Poems. Below are the most popular long Dish out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dish out poems by poem length and keyword.
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
the giant had been stomping through the town &
for years the townspeople would run to their meager dwellings
to escape his wrath,
for one never knew when he would strike them
or steal from them.
his moods being so unpredictable &
with no one to stop him,
he did as he pleased---
terrorizing the towns he’d make his way through,
keeping them in fear &
keeping them in check.
but one day a rock came flying from an area in the trees &
it struck the giant in the head---
though he didn’t fall,
he had been clocked pretty hard &
he turned quickly to dish out some choice violence
upon s/he who had thrown the rock.
however,
there was no one in the forest when he went charging through &
for him,
this was a great shock,
because it was the first time that he’d ever been hit by anyone,
much less an enemy who got away---
he had been deprived of retaliation.
though the bump on his noggin was large,
he did make it back to that down in time &
as he was stealing food from the house of a family that had fled in
horror,
he was hit again,
this time it happened to pelt him in the eye &
draw blood.
when his eye started to gush,
he turned, now disoriented &
not able to see clearly---
as he was wavering,
more rocks started to come from his left & right side,
hitting him all over his body---
while at first, it didn’t hurt that bad,
the onslaught began to draw blood all over him,
until finally he got on his knees to try & curl up in a ball---
the giant did roar &
it was louder than anything the inhabitants of the town had ever heard,
but the rocks did not stop coming.
soon, he had to lay down in a fetus position,
which as you might imagine was quite amusing to anyone watching,
for a giant in a fetus position is not something that one gets to see often---
still,
the rocks kept coming---
there were large ones,
small ones,
sharp ones &
rocks that split off in pieces when they hit his body---
they all came on like his own personal hurricane
developed just for him
to repay him for years of
stealing & fearmongering.
no matter how hard he tried to focus his one good eye,
he couldn’t make out where all the rocks were coming from---
all he knew was that they hurt more & more
as the attack continued.
eventually,
though he did his best to cover his head,
the rocks smashed his skull so hard that his brains oozed out like
pudding &
the giant was dead---
so
very
dead.
Sometimes she would laugh.
Sometimes she would cry.
her worries
she would never
complicate
into my life.
but
when worries complicated mine
she would always
be there with a hug
With a gentle voice
telling me
everything would be
all right
Sometimes
she would be
ringmaster to my sisters and my fights
Sometimes
she would be
judge...whose wrong
...Whose right
and punishment she would then
dish out
with a wooden spoon
or
a grounding
sometimes
she would be paymaster
handing out my pocket money
[usually on a Saturday mornings]
or lunch and bus money
[on the school days]
she would
pack me off to school
my uniforms clean
and neatly pressed
upon my return
ink stained
grass stained
creased and dirty
[but she would never once complain]
she would have eyes in the back of her head
always seeing
tongues poked out
or...a middle finger raised in the air
and always knew about
those cheeky cigarettes
then I aged
came a time to leave
schoolyards behind
and to work I set off
making her so proud
but also came
the late night weekends
a license
and a car
worried
she would lay awake at nights
till my return
usually the late night hour
[though she always denied in doing so]
now I`m living away from home
her mothering I need not so much
but her teachings
and her lessons
are still a part of my life
her words of
what is wrong
what is right
still lingers inside my mind
she probably still lays awake
some nights
worrying about my life
after all she loves me
and is proud for me
to call her mum
Fool’s Quest
By Mark Spencer
We all wish to be accepted
For what we say and do.
But if we overstep our bounds
We should receive our due.
For if we must invade the space,
Of someone’s comfort zone,
Should they respect the space of those
Who don’t respect their own?
But that’s what some people expect,
That none critique their deeds.
They tell us their behavior is
What modern culture needs.
They judge the souls their deeds offend,
And tell them they’re uptight.
They speak and act without concern,
And meet complaints with spite.
And all the while they still demand
No judgment from their peers.
Those peers are living in the past,
We’re on to new frontiers!
Their adversaries need to keep
Opinions to themselves.
Throw their bibles on the bonfire,
And hide their faith on shelves!
As judgment after judgment rains
Upon opposing views,
They act as though they are the ones
Who wear the victim’s shoes.
Our comedies should be raunchy,
Our music should as well.
We should vilify God’s angels,
As if they came from hell.
We’ll make champions of monsters,
They’ll sparkle in the sun!
With the undead as our heroes,
Our movies will be fun!
And don’t you ever dare complain!
Your judgment has no weight!
We’ve already convicted you,
And charted out your fate!
We have erased you from our sight,
We will ignore your rules.
Your icons are removed from view,
Your God, expelled from schools.
Yet if you questions their beliefs,
The hypocrites will howl!
Should you return what they dish out,
These children holler foul!
It is a game that will be played
To help win the debate!
When arguments can’t overcome,
The crafty compensate.
Instead of building up their case,
They’ll try to silence yours.
They keep opponents off the stage,
By closing all the doors.
For that is how to win debates,
When neither side is right.
And when the truth cannot be proved,
It turns into a fight.
But upper hands don’t last for long,
Each side will have it’s day.
In defeat the strong get stronger,
Success drains strength away.
So silence me as you see fit,
Yours is a quest for fools.
You’ll understand when your beliefs,
Are not allowed in schools.
Folks think I'm a
nice guy, to a fault I
guess I am, if those
folks only knew
deep down I'm tellin
them to scram,
I'm tryin to keep my
language clean like
crispy Franklin
notes, I am The
Cunning Linguist
spittin nifty
antidotes,
that cross you up
the Hardaway and
leave ya ankles
broke, hot feces
exits out my mouth,
I got a stanky throat,
that exhales dragon
fire but believe this
aint a roast, there's
too much jumpin off
and I'm afraid it aint
a joke.
Like women
nowadays, I often
wonder if it's me,
that sees how
some are free to
divvy up the wizard
sleeve,
then they don't
know just how they
came to get the
HIVV disease, deny
and keep it sweet
to give it up to Pete
and Steve.
I get up on my
soapbox when I
have to drop a
jewel, the niceness
gets mistaken like I
still won't drop a
fool,
for comin outta
pocket, I aint talkin
poppin tools, I let
go of the knowledge
cause this dude
can drop it smooth.
I'm Harry Belafonte
but don't call me
Mr. Tibbs, this
poetry just flows in
me and what a gift
it is,
you may not think
my skill's correct
but I insist it is, I'm
so unlike the
others, verbis not
ipissimis.
Confused on what
that means? Well I
advise you look it
up, vernacular's like
stir-fry in a wok; I
cook it up,
and dish out
healthy servings, I
won't let your brain
cells starve, in
executing verbal
warfare, yes I am
well armed.
My aim will blow ya
head off like Bin
Laden, picture that,
the YouTube vids
and image will
confirm this vicious
fact,
don't need Marines
and choppers flying
into distant lands,
I'll do you like Waist
Deep but they won't
find the missing
hand.
My adjectives are
ravenous but that's
just certain ones,
my scarface
resonates of how I
kill these words for
fun,
to crush the
competition and I
do it big like Pun,
then ride off in a
Matrix, Cunning
Linguist, I'm The
One.
Rather than contact tech savvy Macbook Pro technician
Computer technology a dog send
boot also a source of woe,
cuz prohibitive costs charged by technicians
to troubleshoot Macbook Pro
just recently sought out
self teaching methodology
perhaps oddly enough
even tapping into pantomime lessons
(mastering "art of silence"
such as the estimable Marcel Marceau)
found yours truly accessing youtube videos
replaying tutorial(s) until I experience
cognitive understanding like ya know
geared for the common
government issued Jane or Joe,
whereby I would not need
to dish out plate fulls of dough
to help improve functionality of said laptop
subsequently kudos to crow
perhaps acquiring understanding
to acquire knowledge
and subsequently purchase a bungalow.
Rather than succumb
to frustration or angst and allay
premature ejaculations of anxiety
(telling myself Rome
didn't get burned in a day),
I must constantly stave off dismay
allowing, enabling, and providing
yours truly (me) to learn
and not drive analogous
to crash test dummy
(potential dire straits mindset
of foo fighting beastie boy
incompatible with central
processing unit of mine
in tandem with heat sink)
need be synchronized
regarding adjusting learning curve
aligned with pinpointing apropos
online lesson plan
amidst plethora of youtube videos
constituting information super freeway
so as not to career
into zone of discouragement
pacing mastering concepts
without feeling rushed
to make headway
lest rage against the machine
or worse yet inveigh
against accursed limited aptitude
heredity decreed, though still smarting
courtesy poor academic track record
I decry still struggling
and most likely will forever hold contempt
toward Matthew Scott Harris
experiencing horrible education
within Lower Providence school district
such maddening sentiments maintained
until mein kampf finds unnamed mortal
on his deathbed, where head doth lay.
Folks think I'm a nice guy, to a fault I guess I am, if
those folks only knew deep down I just don't give a
d@mn,
I'm tryin to keep my language clean like crispy
Franklin notes, I am that cunning linguist spittin nifty
antidotes,
that cross you up the Hardaway and leave ya ankles
broke, hot feces exits out my mouth, I got a stanky
throat,
that exhales dragon fire but believe this aint a roast,
there's too much jumpin off and I'm afraid it aint a
joke.
Like women nowadays, I often wonder if it's me, that
sees how some are free to divvy up the wizard
sleeve,
then they don't know just how they came to get the
hivv disease, deny and keep it sweet to give it up to
Nick and Steve.
I get up on my soapbox when I have to drop a jewel,
the niceness gets mistaken like I still won't drop a
fool,
for comin outta pocket, I aint talkin poppin tools, I let
go of the knowledge cause this dude can drop it
smooth.
I'm Harry Belafonte but don't call me Mr. Tibbs, this
poetry just flows in me and what a gift it is,
you may not think my skill's correct but I insist it is,
I'm so unlike the others, verbis not ipissimis.
Confused on what that means? Well I advise you
look it up, vernacular's like stir-fry in a wok; I cook it
up,
and dish out healthy servings, I won't let your brain
cells starve, in executing verbal warfare, yes I am
well armed.
My aim will blow ya head off like Bin Laden, picture
that, the YouTube vids and image will confirm this
vicious fact,
don't need Marines and choppers flying into distant
lands, I'll do you like Waist Deep but they won't find
the missing hand.
My adjectives are ravenous but that's just certain
ones, my scarface resonates of how I kill these
words for fun,
to crush the competition and I do it big like Pun, then
ride off in a Matrix, cunning linguist, I'm The One.
The heel grabber
from birth, until deception called out.
Jacob loved to dish out
soup, thick with red gravy.
His twin jealous for
that heavy satisfying sup
but fate would betray him
as would his belly ach(ing).
Esau, translated
would be “Harry,” changed
from hairy and was he red
or the living end…do I digress…
Jacob held on for dear life,
as he like many second born,
wanted to be first. And his dear mama,
bless her heart, heard from God -
Rebecca wondered what the wrestling
in her womb was all about.
She thought, ‘must be boys.’
She thanks God for the dynamic duo
but knows that God has chosen
numero two. She favors Jacob
as her husband clings to his firstborn,
Esau, that macho hunter.
Jacob is a mama’s boy
but would have to flee
after deceitfully gaining
his brother’s birthright.
Of course Esau sold it
precariously for a bowl
of stew and their blind dad
would be tricked too.
Jacob ran from his land
as his brother wanted to Cain him,
in other words murder was on his mind.
Uncle Laban took him in.
Back in that time
cousins would marry
and Jacob fell head over heels
for the beautiful Rachel.
In the dark, they made love
to consummate their marriage
after working seven years
for her dear old dad…
except Laban slipped his firstborn
under those covers,
and the heel grabber
would have to work seven more
so he could have the object
of his affection. (Slighted Leah
was given many more children
as God saw her plight.)
After all those deceitful years,
returning to his rightful place,
he wrestled an angel of God.
He wouldn’t let go until God blessed him —
that heel grabber had tightened his grip,
until he was blessed and unhinged his hip.
As the angel touched Jacob’s socket
and changed his name to Israel.
3/15/2022
Genesis 25:19 - 32:32
Folks think I'm a nice guy, to a fault I guess I am,
if those folks only knew deep down I just don't give a damn,
I'm tryin to keep my language clean like crispy Franklin notes,
I am The Cunning Linguist spittin nifty antidotes,
that cross you up the Hardaway and leave ya ankles broke,
hot feces exits out my mouth, I got a stanky throat,
that exhales dragon fire but believe this aint a roast,
there's too much jumpin off and I'm afraid it aint a joke.
Like women nowadays, I often wonder if it's me,
that sees how some are free to divvy up the wizard sleeve,
then they don't know just how they came to get the hivv disease,
deny and keep it sweet to give it up to Nick and Steve.
I get up on my soapbox when I have to drop a jewel,
the niceness gets mistaken like I still won't drop a fool,
for comin outta pocket, I aint talkin poppin tools,
I let go of the knowledge cause this dude can drop it smooth.
I'm Harry Belafonte but don't call me Mr. Tibbs,
this poetry just flows in me and what a gift it is,
you may not think my skill's correct but I insist it is,
I'm so unlike the others, verbis not ipissimis.
Confused on what that means? Well I advise you look it up,
vernacular's like stir-fry in a wok; I cook it up,
and dish out healthy servings, I won't let your brain cells starve,
in executing verbal warfare, yes I am well armed.
My aim will blow ya head off like Bin Laden, picture that,
the YouTube vids and image will confirm this vicious fact,
don't need Marines and choppers flying into distant lands,
I'll do you like Waist Deep but they won't find the missing hand.
My adjectives are ravenous but that's just certain ones,
my scarface resonates of how I kill these words for fun,
to crush the competition and I do it big like Pun,
then ride off in a Matrix, Cunning Linguist, I'm The One.
©2010
No ones ever even been in an empty room
And now's as good a time as any to tell you this:
I don’t feel regret if it was right for me at the time
We spend so much of our lives with regret
It might as well be our husbands and wives
And no ones ever even been in an empty room
So next time you’re sitting alone,
Remember that your guilt and suppression
Will keep you anything but cold
When is the time to throw caution to the wind?
It wasn’t getting you towards justice anyways
Throw your pennies into streams and caution to the wind
It wasn’t getting you that respect you crave anyways, now was it?
If I had a dollar for every business mogul that disappointed the world
I could retire and live at a resort at 19
Like uncultured moths to a poisoned chalice flame,
Too many corporate pitches with more sham than champagne
Everything’s a scam and it’s better to face this now
Druggies might be liars, but so are lawyers
there isn't much difference
And we all know you get back what you dish out
Don’t be throwing stones at the working class from a glass house
Like semi-blossomed moths to a counter-culture flame,
Now’s as good a time as any to tell you:
Our number one issue is not eccentric change
I’m throwing caution to the wind and verbalizing my hot takes
Every life lost without repercussion is a loss of faith in my eyes
Rules can be broken and bent
But mirrors don't break, they multiply
And soon, all you’re gonna see is heartbreak in my eyes
With more political pyromania than Lord of the Flies;
Like gullible moths to a discreetly anarchical flame
I don’t feel regret if it was right for me at the time
We spend so much of our lives with regret
It might as well be our husbands and wives
And you can see and feel emptiness
But heartbreaks lives in all of our eyes