Long Droned Poems
Long Droned Poems. Below are the most popular long Droned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Droned poems by poem length and keyword.
Last call for alcohol, embargo
on the cargo headed for Fargo?
Bootlegging articles of?
"ConfederationNow",
Boot logger, droned Over all? Foggered... Froggers, sprawled. Farms attacked by competing vows. ++
Blood drained Cows.
Imagine, Gaia hype- our brainwashing, a
sacrifice to a Paul Bunyan Nephilim type, "Savior" moonshining wormwood tea in exchange for Sheep. Believing them to be. Stoned blind in Texas, right wing.
Liquid Media medicinals, points for eveyone West of, Diagonal the Allegheny, best of show, suggestion,
allegiant, allegory. (Oh...allegedly.)
As The King of the North fights zombies that believe the Game of Thrones just fantasy. Conspiracy_ Storytellers of propagandolf, minds of Sauron to keep
eyes Wide-Shut. By Aristocracy.
To "pass" on the proof of those stoned blind in Texas, shekeled, bought, brought a Rose, of Sharon,
from Ticked Karen's, in their own Eden.
Those non-Citizens,
"Christians of the un-Enlightened" l"unacy of Old',
thoughts? NoahmadicHeathens!
Of the tide turning; going South.
The dark side of the moon,
a journey scape of wet dreams in swoon.
To partake the half empty side of drink.
Salt of thirsts.
Cup of wrath of the Directional Winds.
A piracy bloodbath of Nationhood in martyred demarcation zones.
Cusp of swilling blood of the swill,
Apocalyptic feel, fills,
notes of the unveiling of the Whore who Rides the Beast on the Seven Seas. Leviathan is leavened,
rising, ready to eat.
Now, there is censorship on speech on the internet,
then is, when, is then en-Tyrely.
The Gatekeepers at Fallens keep,
keeping freedom, voices "Crying in the Wilderness"',
Peeps out of reach.
Accept for Government (entities) with algorithms, keyloggers, identity id thieves, imagers of the Beast.
Spell binders binding
their articles-of-New-World-Sourcery-Cheaping-Rumpelstiltskin-Seamstitchery-Tailoring-Truth- blinding-digital-mining-slaves for the Wolves,
Kings of the East, Trading Company.
Trading souls for an hour with the Beast.
I do not know
Whose excitement was the greater
My dad’s or mine
As we boarded the bus
To a long-lost dream
Of verdant fields
Rich with the fruit of native soil
Of crystal clear streams
Where laughing youth
Was spent in carefree
Abandonment.
My dad’s eyes gleamed
As they spoke of glowing hearths
Clustered around with pots and pans
With music of bubbling broth
And the sweet smell
Of meat
As the fat simmered and sizzled
Stirring the rumbles
Of those gathered around
Listening to great grandma tales.
Sweet were his words
As scenes of pastoral joy
Rolled off his tongue
With vividness imbued
With longing
For years gone past
These two score and ten.
Come, lad, he said
With wistful smile
And a soft ache in his heart
You’ll meet ole Gran
And Uncles and Aunts
And Cousins in droves.
The bus droned through the night
And at crack of dawn
We alighted
At a ramshackle stand
With nary a soul
But a lone
Wizened man
Who had seen better times.
With a quaver of despair
My dad fearfully asked
Of such-and-such
Great clans once there
Of streets and of temples
Of markets and yards
Of fields and their tillers
Only to be met with
Stony silent stare.
There was a rise in the wind
As dust-devils danced
The torpor was mounting
Till the man finally spake
The families you seek
Have moved on
To the beyond
Ten years or so
There was a quake and a storm
Now there only be ghosts.
Now we awaited
The bus
To take us back home
Saddened son
And a ghost of a dad.
~19 Jul 2016~
Semi-fictional
Contest: Long lost family
The memory, of old, returns again
and tiptoes in like summer rain.....
If I close my eyes, I can feel the night
that wraps me close, beneath the stars
There were sounds of laughter all around
And crowds were milling all about
A saxophone was softly speaking
and Sinatra's voice was crooning, ...pleasing
For with a midnight tolling near
One by one, they drifted home...
Just a few of us, to dance the floor
All sense of time had halted course...
With shoes kicked off, and jackets hung
We couldn't bear the evening's end
Cheek to cheek with you that night
The last sweet dance would soon begin
The music stopped, but we did not
We couldn't break our tight embrace
We couldn't tear ourselves apart
And while we danced in pale moonlight
Our eyes were closed, you kissed my face
This was our own, enchanted place
You held me close, we danced alone
The night was ours to keep....our own
Though not a sound at all we heard
The lonely saxophone droned a tune
The record of Old Blue Eyes crooned
The music had no end
Jimmy was our class clown in tenth grade.
He especially liked kidding our over-wrought, hand-wringing English teacher.
She droned on and on and on in such a dry, dull way, every 55 minute period.
It was especially exasperating to those of us who could read.
After about thirty-five minutes of it,
Jimmy would slide himself onto the super wide window sill
And disappear out the window, screaming all the way down,
as if he had been killed.
We would all laugh and some idiot would yell
“Jimmy fell out the window!” as if it was unusual.
The teacher nearly had a heart attack each time.
Of course I did not realize until later why it was a big deal.
Jimmy landed quite softly on a rather large Mulberry
bush under the window sill, never getting hurt.
We would all rush to the window and look out.
Laughing at our grinning Jimmy who had brought joy to class again.
The principal would soon bring a grinning Jimmy by the ear back to class.
If our English Teacher had ever looked up from her book or stopped her droning she might have seen Jimmy sliding onto that cement windowsill.
I marveled that she never changed her routine in any way.
They suddenly barged in their tanks and trucks
Covered in various armaments of war.
Their vehicles droned, piercing the silence,
Cutting deep wounds in that fertile land,
And desecrating the once sacred ground.
Rockets flew like meteors across the skies;
Bullets sprayed from the barrels of the guns.
Some found their mark, but some strayed from their path,
Leveling all that within their reach stood
While fire, smoke, and dust turned day into night.
The cries of the wounded were all but drowned
By mortars and missiles that hissed above,
Spitting out deadly incendiaries,
Causing grand monuments to come tumbling down
And the once fruitful fields to vomit ash.
Scarcely had the blood of the slain been dried,
More bodies fell to fertilize the soil;
Some were washed, dressed, and decently buried,
But some were left to rot in shallow graves--
Unknown, unclaimed, and, oh, unmourned.
Innocent souls were expelled from their homes--
Only sanctuaries they had ever known.
Clutching the remnants of their former lives,
Forced to be crammed in dingy undergrounds,
They lived each day in constant fear of death.
Oh, how ghastly the scene that war had wrought!
How heartless must be he who does not weep
To witness such bloodshed and suffering
Of a people who just want to make a stand
And live safe and free in their borderland*!
*The name “Ukraine” likely comes from an old Slavic term for “borderland.”
March 23, 2023
COLLEGE STUDENTS SHAPING MY WINGS
"She did this" and "She tore my paper, I’m red mad!"
"Miss, tell her to quit copying my lines!"
Every nail of rampage was tolerable,
as bright awakenings made semesters less tough.
They joined clubs and played a sneaky gang war
all the crammed jigs my college students fulfilled
only to grin, "Did our exams fly high ?"
"Please, can we have a make-up work, right now?"
The weeks of campus sermons droned along,
Graduation came, in a flash, they were gone!
I remember how the bonfire days used to flame
our summer nights warmed... unbidden and long.
I watched them grow and warmly discovered,
the different shades of patience in my nine lives.
The boyfriends came and then they disappeared,
oh now what? Some became instant brides.
Another set arrived for academe's rites,
while new batches of rogues began to stir.
Again, party hopping rolled with dreams on flight
that's when my wonder sparked a renewed glow.
With folios of ideas marked,"Let's start".
Each one carrying gifts of awe so dear,
I tossed them all with glitters from my heart…
but, these groups flexed my wings to stretch wider
as a more untamed troop outsmarted the last!
For Silent One's Contest
A Poem That Time Forgot
*
It happened in a moment, during my 7th grade English class *
As we studied classic literature; “Evangeline”, the poem
A substitute teacher, wearing shoes of polished coal *
His soft style, hair neatly combed, engrossed in reading poetry…
Pubescence slumped around me, nodding off, slowly being lulled...
Young minds. filled with clutter, gathering dust, from ancient stories
With glittering eyes, he read each verse * *
The soft, eager voice, that stroked each word…
He would wait, on occasion, to look around the room *
With wistful hope, I would suppose, to reach one heart, one soul
At the start of the class, I had been watching the clock
But, as I sat more enraptured, time just seemed to stop…
I turned the pages, one by one …and slowly fell in love
The beauty of old words, drifted through the stuffy air
Like the gathering of dust motes, glittered, hanging in suspension
Filtered in the angled light, of the afternoon’s warm detention
Sun filtered through window glass,…while voice of bliss droned on….
My heartbeat sped, with growing passion
I restrained my hands from reaching,… grabbing *
To catch each word, and keep them captive…
Dust motes, and words, were spinning around *
I was head over heels…for my substitute teacher…
I was head over heels for an old man named Longfellow….
Thirteen years old, I loved two older men….
Fell in love with the classics,....on a mid-day afternoon
While gathering dust, and the magic of words
……………………………………….
For the Contest: "Gathering Dust"
Sponsored by John Lawless
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I looked past the priest and saw auntie and grandma.
They were cuddled, holding each other up.
Grandma being Catholic was wearing her purple scarf.
Even though Daddy’s funeral was outside, a priest was here.
Auntie Maria was holding her red umbrella.
It was sprinkling, of course.
It always sprinkles during a D’agosto funeral.
Ask any D’agosto and they will admit this.
Behind my relatives I saw a younger lady bent over flowers.
She was touching them in a delicate, respectful, lovely way.
Marigolds and carnations. I thought I might see her face, but didn’t.
The priest droned on. He was trying to save us.
Everyone seemed to wear flowers today, lots of calicos and cottons.
I was wearing a plain black dowdy dress chosen by my mother.
I saw Daddy behind the flower lady. He waved before he disappeared.
I was only six but I have always remembered that last moment with him.
Teeth chattering like monkeys
She went on and on
Clicking and clacking in ears that had
Turned sorrowful and disappeared into
No man’s land
Teeth chattering like monkeys
The words spewed forth
Snapping and barking in the air where
many dreams died a natural death
The promise land never promising this
Teeth chattering like monkeys
The monologue droned in triplicate
Underneath the backs of others
the students began texting with
bright happy cell phones
Teeth chattering like monkeys
The professor’s tirade kept on the track
With a click and a clack
as the rails fell into the bowels of .....
and still she had no clue