Long Don Poems
Long Don Poems. Below are the most popular long Don by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Don poems by poem length and keyword.
Written By: D. Collins 8/23/19
The same ego maniac who thought nothing would stick.
Had no clue of the conviction we are working with.
We are coming to get him. He had best believe that.
"The Chosen One" will have his face in Big Bubba's lap.
"The Second Coming of God" will hit a dead end street.
When he discovers the world is more than Israelis.
He'll see people of color, in many shades and hues.
A world of many religions besides Christians and Jews.
The Teflon Don feels that he cannot be touched.
Well, that ignorant MF hasn't met a crew like us.
We're the American People, and we don't take no sh _ _.
And, we don't even care if it is the President.
He will soon see us, and feel all of our might.
Then, we as a people, can set everything right.
The People are coming with vengeance on our mind.
And, that pound of flesh, will be yours, this time.
The Teflon Don will soon become Gorilla Glue.
Where every dirty little deed is going to stick to you.
The State of New York is actually stalking it's prey.
The People will get every bit of theirs on Election Day.
Night is pending.
Not even the most anxious
can avoid time.
Day after day I dread the
the death of nothing
that the night spawns.
The TV becomes my
best friend~
a window of light
in the abyss.
Old TV shows
are brighter than
the new.
Tonight I choose
The Andy Griffith Show.
I put my earphones in,
and turn the volume down
(on the off chance
sleep embraces me)
and I embrace my fate.
I watch.
It's strange.
I feel a peculiar force
tugging at the corners
of my mouth.
The opposite of gravity.
A sensation that pulls
upward.
I had forgotten the feeling.
I laugh inside,
but for a different reason
than my body is currently
reacting to.
It seems even the most
sleep-deprived,
fear stricken
low in life
sickos
can't keep themselves
from smiling at
the infamous
Don Knotts
sleeping (( COLLABORATION * Don Johnson ))
by~ DON JOHNSON
The Nullabor it does abhor
the desert in it standing
The broken heart
he keeps apart
where Eagles are a landing
kangaroo is prolific cos good seasons bring in millions
they shoot them for the last hundred years,
Hoppy is still there in millions
Almost a plague after rain
The cure the joy the madness ploy, just catch a little Shiela
but broken hearts tend to self destroy
The one true love, to feel her
so searching for the lock of eyes upon the Nullabor
kangaroo does abound, dead straight the road for sure
Ironic tale sour grapes inhale,
He sleeps upon the plain
his swag is near the old Ute, and the dog is ever watchful
his protector is a beaut
~civilization calls~
he has to go back to the city streets
And searching ever searching for the eyes of lady sweet.
***by~ POET D:
Searching and searching till weak eyes fall asleep.
~civilization calls~
Calls the plague of raining streets!
The sleeping kangaroo took me into the abyss of sour grapes.
A wildlife with wildfire turned over by wildflowers.
Seascapes; full of sand that no one dared to understand!
Drowning underwater in a universe that had no expand.
Where the passer-by's felt the expression of sadness in his sleeping face.
All it took was experiencing the world with one lonely look.
A grain of salt, in the night sky!
Where clouds ‘walk-sneak and / clouds-cry like a whirlpool’,
Tears from a near by fountain deep in a valley.
Where we can sing for roo's sleeping heart.
Death in a wild flower mourning asleep on the hour.
Seeing’ is believing when Shiela appeared.
Drying tears with her sweet eyes over the desert lands.
A Collaboration with *DON JOHNSON
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~
DON T BE JUST A MEMORY--
Your smile your touch;
Means so much;
Once here, now that your gone;
Been so long, so so long;
Ago
Oh1 no;
Don't be, don't be a memory
Don't be just a memory;
Cause I don't, I don't I won't wanna forget you;
Don't want to be blue;
This wouldn't be good for me;
Don't be(don't be just a memory;
So long to those smile and the touch;
I love so much;
Now that you're gone ;
How can I go on;
Don't want you be just a memory;
Your smile your touch;
Means so much;
Once here, now that your gone;
Been so long, so so long;
Ago
Oh1 no;
I've forgotten your voice;
Long, long ago you were my choice;
Now that your now gone;
I must move on;
But I've forgotten how it was...
Been so long, so so long;
Ago
Oh1 no;
Don't be, don't be a memory
Don't be just a memory;
Cause I don't, I don't I won't wanna forget you;
Don't want to be blue;
This wouldn't be good for me;
Don't be(don't be just a memory;
Don't be(don't be just a memory;
1/2/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019 ©
Wears a smile,
A weapon,
Sharp and cold,
Strings me along,
A story left untold.
Every word's a dance,
My heart’s out of tune,
When she laughs at me
Under the moon.
I give her my all,
She plays away time,
I’m a puppet on strings,
I know I’m losing my mind.
I drive through the night
Pain in my soul,
Finding solace in whiskey and gin
To drown out her toll.
She makes me pay.
Come the morning light
It’s hard to conceal,
When I wake up in a field
Don Williams on the radio.
I know my heart will never heal.
Sweet lies
Keep me chasing the sun,
Each heartbreak I sip
Feels like she’s won.
Tonight I am in the bottle,
I’ll forget who I am—
Lost another dream
Wrapped in her plan.
Don Williams is playing
My song once again,
I'm drowning my sorrows
In a bottle of English gin.
I drive through the night
Pain in my soul,
Finding solace in gin and whiskey
Drowning out the toll
She takes on my soul.
It’s hard to conceal,
When I wake
Listening to Don Williams.
On my radio lost in a field.
Stars fade away
reality bites;
Confusion and hurt
linger deep into nights.
She toys with my affection
To her it’s just a game;
But to this heart
She laughs while it breaks
While I call out her name.
I drive through the night
A damned pain in my soul,
Finding solace in gin and whiskey
To drown out her toll.
Come morning light
It’s hard to conceal,
When I wake up in a field
Don Williams on the radio.
Every dawn finds me
My dreams slip away;
Searching for answers
No one will ever say.
A heart full of scars
An old country feel—
I wish Don Williams
Would tell me
what I should do
and would reveal...
since there is a saying
“noble man walks on the thoroughfare”
Don Quixote abandoned the shortcut-side-road,
steering Rosinante, dashing into the highway
while he was riding on the highway
something suddenly came into his mind
a proverb “the middle way is the golden mean”
he reined the horse into the middle lane looking at the horizon
where the road meets the sky
as he steers the horse it begins loping
the knights overtake Rosinante with their fleet steeds
they swear and finger at Don Quixote with dirty looks
“you scumbags!” Don Quixote yelled to the rude riders
“since the swallows don’t understand the will of wild geese,
why not quickly go back to your hangouts and chant Vedas”*
brandishing lance and at the same time, unknowingly, spurring
the horse
to mitigate his angers he prodded Rosinante to a full gallop
at that moment, a dragon flickering its red and blue eyes
from above came on the cloud and attacked him
as Don Quixote raised his lance
the dragon belched fire from his mouth
and the fire swallowed him
he collapsed on the spot
became a lump of charcoal
*Note: In Chinese character, sound of Sanskrit word “Vedas” (??) spells as bark on first letter, which is the compound letter/word of “mouth and dog.” The phrase “Chant Vedas” metaphorically implying “bark”
The young must know that they are loved
For there is goodness in every young person
Give me souls--the souls of young people
These boys are not bad, these boys, they need me
In their midst I feel completely at home
I learned the hardships of an orphans life
In this new town where I had to support myself
Laboring in everything from being a blacksmith
And as a tailor, waiting as a waiter and shoemaker
All that to ease my mother's burden
Every Sunday I'd meet the boys in a different place
It didn't matter that it was a city church,
a cemetery chapel, or an empty lot
And during the week i'd tour the city shops,
Making sure my boys hadn't forgotten my instructions
I bought an empty lot and a dilapidated shed
Next door was a saloon, across ,a hotel of shady reputation
but what did it matter to me the oratory ground was sacred,
for it later came to me in a dream
That it was the burial ground of the Martyrs of Turin.
It is enough that you are young
And for you I give my life
bound by one rule, dedicated
to the double task of self-sanctification & care of youth
But first tell the devil to rest, and then I'll rest too
Do all the good you can
Thats why while I have time, I must work
My dear sir I tell you you are a good friend of mine,
but God comes first, first of all Don Bosco is a priest
So give me the souls, take away the rest
My mother would say when I become a priest
If ever became rich, she shall never enter my house!"
Thats why I am poor, penniless Don Bosco, a shepherd boy of the hills.
I have lived poor and shall die poor
I have only one wish, to see you happy and in the next
"I have been an instrument in the hands of Mary. She has done everything. Had I been a worthier instrument, I would have accomplished a great deal more."
The PO£T
Jailed for the will to be jailed
Kids shouldn’t play with fire
But they do, and of course they fail
In full conscious of mad desire
What now, will you write a sequel
To Servantes’s Don Quixote
Lots of tyres around every mill
A borsch with pampushka you’ve got
There’ll be Ursula of Brussels
The lady you wish to know better
There’ll be most malign old fossils
You must kill them, then go to get her
Or maybe you’ll call it a day
And give it all up, my brave kid
You’ve said what you needed to say
No one wanted, but you did
Like a moth to the flame you flew
To explain the obvious – why?
Suicidal truth suits a rare few
For the rest the price is too high.
My son-in-law’s and daughter’s dynamic duo dogs:
THAT DOG DON’T HUNT
Fond of saying, that dog don’t hunt,
yet his Springer flies through the air
with the greatest of ease, not a trace
of his size. Like Clifford, the renowned
big-red-dog, he has no idea his scope,
lacks grace — compares himself to
Little Bit. As if
there’s hawks in the house, you must
watch when sitting on the couch.
Tripp is eyeing you, his vantage point,
ready to take off, at your slightest weakness.
If he’s shutoff downstairs, he’s at the tippy-top
raising Cain; or outside, his nose’s pressed
to the sliding door. He melts your heart,
Aw, let him in… he’s the kingpin,
the checkmate, yet Little Bit
bares his teeth, old pepperpot
encourages his own rub —
quite the doggy stew. we love…
1/11/2022
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End