Long Drawl Poems
Long Drawl Poems. Below are the most popular long Drawl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drawl poems by poem length and keyword.
The Gunfighter
By: Tom Wright
1997
I knoweth not
From whence he came.
He just appeared
He gave us no name.
He had close-set eyes
That gave but a glance.
Immediately I knew
I had no chance.
The tied off holsters
He wore on his hips.
Held two forty-fives
With faux pearl grips.
His hat-shaded brow
Held beaded sweat.
His trip into Dodge
Was to settle a bet.
With a drawl he then said
I've come to see.
If It’s like I've heard
That you're as fast as me.
Then at twenty paces
Both solemn faced.
We each knew soon
One would be erased.
We both drew and fired
At the count of three.
Then I felt a sharp sting
As his bullet struck me.
While I searched for blood
With his drawl he spoke.
Pick yourself up old man
It was only a joke.
From the ground I arose
Having but little to say.
For this strangers gun
Was quickest today.
False Friend.
Your bull smeared on crystal glass
Comes out of your mouth, out of your ass
Your high society, hold your pinky high
You found the gutter, reaching for the sky
Condescending, patronising, business failure
Buy a jacket from a top-hole tailor.
You can’t buy class it’s all pretence.
Doing things that are complete nonsense.
Making plans, planned never to keep.
Used to control, the peasant sheep.
Paying bills gives the illusion of power
Explaining a clock in an ivory tower.
Imposing your will, expanding control
Speaking words, using a sociopathic drawl
You don’t fool me, I shake my head.
I never listened to a word that you said.
The perfect pair, how clever you are?
And yet you still bought an electric car?
Building a house staying off the grid
Justifying the cost who’re you trying to kid?
David Cox 23/03/24
It was noon when I got the call
Jewelry store robbed at the mall
It was a young man, very tall
Spoke with a drawl Spoke with a drawl
In the store, I'd been permitted
Where a theft had been committed
Some suspects would be acquitted
My sleuth pitted My sleuth pitted
Pitted against finding the thief
Who is causing my client grief
I'll find the thug. It's my belief
But must be brief But must be brief
I searched around, looking for clues
Then with the clerk I had a schmooze
She told me he wore Nike shoes
He had tattoos He had tattoos
He'd dropped a poem written in rhyme
And now the clock begins to chime
I'm quickly running out of time
To solve this crime To solve this crime
Were there clues in the poem he left?
Why would this guy commit a theft?
A diamond ring he chose to heft
Was he bereft? Was he bereft?
The poem spoke of the moon above
He called someone his turtle dove
The clues all fit just like a glove
It was for love It was for love
In a flower shop I found him
A tall young man who was quite slim
He saw me staring and looked grim
His name was Jim His name was Jim
His face was pale. He looked aghast
He asked how I'd found him so fast
I said he was the same typecast
From cases past From cases past
To a girl he wished to be wed
Without a ring his hopes were dead
So, he stole a gem, the bonehead
And then he fled And then he fled
Didn't take long to crack the case
Solved the clues at a rapid pace
And gave that thief a merry chase
To his disgrace To his disgrace
He did five years locked up in jail
Received a letter in the mail
His turtle dove wed his friend, Dale
Jim's tragic tale Jim's tragic tale
Start Sleuthing Contest
August 20, 2022
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
Form: Monotetra
Nothing warms the cockles of the heart like a cheery, "Hello!"
'Twill put a spring in your step and set your face aglow!
'Tis nice to hear a southern lass say, "Hi, shuga, how y'all!"
Or be greeted with a lusty, "Howdy" by a Texan's drawl!
A sunny greeting is welcome no matter what the language.
It brightens your neighbor's day and kinship it will assuage.
In Japan from the south in Okinawa to the north in Misawa,
Folks bow low and say to one another, "Konnichiwa!"
In France, noted for its exquisite cuisine and chic haute couture,
Gentlemen doff their chapeaux and wish a cordial, "Bon jour!"
Jewish brethern acknowledge others with a calming, "Shalom!"
While Muslim folks will greet you with the traditional, "Salaam!"
The Aussies have a delightful way their greeting to convey.
They lighten everyone's day by simply saying to you, "G'day!"
Spanish folks say, "Bueno dias!" to folks they happen to greet.
Germans hail others with, "Guten Tag!" strolling along the street!
Alas, the babble of languages may not be quite understood,
But just one small gesture might help to foster brotherhood!
If we'd take time to greet each other and flash a friendly smile,
'Twould surely make someone's day and life seem more worthwhile!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Observe as we sing our muscles seem to grow
The dazzle in the glow
One ripple with a chest span
Musclemen are and will always be
One flex to many
Training to build
Fitness that was fulfilled
Pose after pose
Suppose
Time to impress
At times, preparation for a contest
Muscles respond
Dedication to a body craft
Molding through physical creation
We are the singing Musclemen because we are proud
What we accomplished and established
Musclemen shout
This is what training is all about
We are happy
Don’t want to be shabby
Muscle tone
Full blown
Singing being our introduction
We are musclemen showing our presentation
One flex again and again
Genuine
We are the singing duo
We have one request, please don’t drawl
An unedifying wodge of a f@ggot’s unlit f@g,
Sat upon the unbitten flesh of his lower lip.
A moonlit spotlight skittered through the skylight,
Drawn down to a randy bastard’s come congealing upon her clit.
The liquid surface of her sherry glass eyes glistened,
Alike a bloodily blotched blade, alight with a crimson sheen.
The blunted blade receding, whence her legs enclosed within,
Like an un-burly butterfly, closing its withered wings.
Frilly flames licked at the lanky tip of a bored bastard’ titular tab,
Somersaulting rivets of smoke swivelled in a dainty plume of perforated performance.
Vivid branches of blotchy blues sat askew upon her ashen flesh,
Against the glossy maroon that marred his wrinkled chest,
The uneven wash of eager flush dawned upon the flesh of his wettened neck.
Vascular roots twined with the pale pink of a rose,
Arose to unfurl from the hollow of his clavicle, up his white throat
Her palms were damp, veins unveiled beneath rancid rot,
Outpoured from her open pores.
Alight with the lilac-blue of ignited night skies,
Mightily reigned by the mid of night.
She had become a mackerel within his make believe,
Nipping at the sea front’s air struggling to breathe.
Gooseflesh rippled across her hollow breast,
Whence he advanced with the gait of his senior state,
Outreaching tobacco stained fingers, to encroach the small of their stiffened peaks, so
The hollow of her breast staggered and sought the stagnant skies.
And where in the repeating retreat of associated countenance
Her eyes crept beneath the bedded covers, in their dissociated acceptance
Perhaps to haps the coarse comfort of the eventide,
Or to suckle the succulent rays of blistering sunlight.
And whence his drawl lulled into the languid pull of slumber,
His lame limbs sought the crease between her breasts.
And whence the moon dimmed, the night-lilac of the sky,
Swallowed the ‘bundant bruising beneath her eyes.
Part 1 -complete-
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The sun rose soon, that day, for an unmatched deal.
I went to a park to muse paternity.
That day, I felt proud and scared. The path ordeal.
Thrive in the way of wild soul modernity.
A concept follows a thriving mood of hope.
People who swell their worth flaunt perversity.
The baby's eyes are soft since they lack a scope.
I'm in awe of our son's sense of compassion.
He proved faith beyond the zenith and the slope.
I praised my youngster's unrivaled dispassion.
I kissed his forehead and cheek as he faced me.
At first glance, our kid has a sublime passion.
You swap as you grasp that God's bliss is the key.
Of bright life gifts, no matter how wide or tall,
Having you as a son, a prime gift to see.
I recall telling you our truths in a drawl,
Playing cards and watching movies was grand fun,
Include eat-outs, pleasure, and watching football.
Or play video games together and run,
They were fun, eating and chatting about school,
I'll never skip those moments when the wheel spun.
I'd crave to ween of you in the swimming pool.
I wish to grasp how our nation was too cool.
Written: October 02, 2022
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - ''T'' Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Checked by "howmanysyllables.com"
and "rhytmezone.com"
Each line has 11 syllables
Word bank:
*ween: think
*cope: handle
*tope: to drink hard or frequently
*drawl: slow speak
*flaunt: exhibit, display
*swap: change
i see you again waiting for the man
dirty dollar bills crumpled in shaky hands
your veins would collapse if they weren't running sand
high risk life, low life demands
unaware with a vacant stare
of your surroundings, like you even care
there's only one reason as to why you're here
and it's not to admire yourself in cars passing mirrors
with the man running late the time ticks lunatic fringe
not knowing he's laying dead in some junkies den
the life style he lived finally did him in
and you with no idea will soon be following him
because the life of a junkie is no life at all
one step from the ledge with the needles drawl
milk blood to make sure you get it all
one last time before last call...
From cracks above, lightning explodes
A deranged sea rattling the mast;
Hanging on between life and doom
My fate near water’s rim, harassed
When darkness hides the palest star.
Just then, a silhouette appears
Long the tresses, eyes deeply creamed
Ready to meet the tempest’s dare…
In one bolt, a ship wreck redeemed
Calming the dread upon my face.
Against a current's dauntless reel,
The buoyant glide of milder waves
Recedes through siren’s drawl that lures,
That an angry gust now behaves
As she steers me ashore, then leaves.
I wake to feel a heady scent
Recalling tastes of Galene’s night,
Until dream-catcher’s web unfolds
To snap me back from fancy’s flight…
Yet in my head, her mystique heaves.
...........
Rob Carmack's Dream Contest
4/23/2015
Galene—Greek goddess of calm seas
Colors swirling in my head,
purple, blue, green and read;
their sounds are so sweet,
such precious meat for my spirits’
famished cravings.
The hum of blue tranquility,
sounds of lights’ infinity;
trembling, vibrate endlessly
around my sparking grey cells;
appease my hungers’ raging.
Burning light-rays tendril fingers,
grasp my mind, their tightening lingers
as they fire harmonic sparks into grey matter;
my soul, my heart.
Harmonic colors sacred sounds warm my chilled spirit.
Sounds of green, its vibrant scenes electrify,
play within my minds’ eye,
plant solemn purple notes within the black night
of my brain; build corridors of light
with yellow-orange, sun sounds.
Orange light vibrates bright,
the speed makes colors bleed into sounds that I must heed;
for angry red crescendos loud and in my head I feel it howl
like the sounds of the west winds drawl.
The sounds of color swirl and fall
into infinity, like shooting balls;
such ecstasy echoing through my body’s’ halls;
my soul…crescendos bright.