Long Drumroll Poems
Long Drumroll Poems. Below are the most popular long Drumroll by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drumroll poems by poem length and keyword.
honestly,
idk what im doing
im not a poet
nor a genius...
SIKE
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Gotcha!!!!!!!!!
anyways
drumroll please.
...
...
hello?
y'know what?
forget the drumroll...
Fredrick Mitchell's brand new poem...
IDFK
i, don't know...
where to go.
i, forgot,
my way home.
i worked hard, and my brain is mush,
guess i'll black out and faint in a bush.
today was the last day 'til my quota.
my deadline is due,
to bring my poem to you!
i'm tired, and forgot
how to spell the word shew
the thing you put on your foot.
i found my way home,
using google maps
this stupid siri voice, is giving me the craps,
my day has been ruined,
and my day is soon end,
just listen to this voice
"turn down at the bend."
it thinks im driving,
im walking...
this deadpan poem
is getting boring.
and like an old man, im already snoring
i sleepily unlock my door...
and...
my key broke.
FOR FU-
...
ahem,
im too tired for this...
*beep, beep! beep, beep!*
"hey, Frank... can i go to your place. my key broke... again."
...
"yes, i know its the middle of the night."
...
"and i know your on a date."
...
"i've got a key to your house. bye!"
screw my life.
Form:
Inspired by Youth Day, a drive through Soweto combined with Phil Collins music.
Listen to their voices
(Youth Day)
By Michelle Morris
17/06/2024
Driving through Soweto
Seeing the makeshift stalls
People hustling to survive
Part of their daily grind
Phil Collins on the radio
Drums beating like Africa
Heartbeats and heartbreak
Today is Youth Day; Youth Day
So many roads and paths
So many people and choices
Whether South Africa or England
People want money and happiness
Listen to their voices
The youth want freedom
They want a good future
They want their blessings
Listen to their voices
The youth want meaning
They want to connect
They want good feelings
Yes, they want their freedom
When will their time come?
All the old men in politics
Taking the power away from them
Yes, they want good feelings
Yes, they want their blessings
When will they feel the vibes?
When will their blessings arrive?
Too many people and voices
Too many roads and paths
We each have a way to go
To make our dreams come alive
Listen to their voices
The youth want freedom
They want a good future
They want their blessings
Listen to their voices
The youth want meaning
They want to connect
They want good feelings
How do we navigate the truth?
How do we do good for all?
Someone always seems to lose
The youth need their voices heard
Time flies for everyone
Time does not promise justice
Time isn't fair in war and love
The youth learn lessons the hard way
Drive through Soweto
Ask them what they want
Drumroll for Africa's youth
It's their time to shine
Listen to their voices
The youth want freedom
They want a good future
They want their blessings
Listen to their voices
The youth want meaning
They want to connect
They want good feelings
Listen to their voices
The youth want freedom
They want a good future
They want their blessings
Listen to their voices
The youth want meaning
They want to connect
They want good feelings
It's your time to shine
Youth of Africa rise
It's your time to thrive
Youth of Africa rise
Youth of Africa rise
Youth Day vibes
Youth of Africa rise
Youth Day vibes
© Michelle Morris, 2024
i sat down,
and filled out an online questionnaire ,
that they didn't write,
they wanted me to lie,
pen tapping,
like a slow drumroll before the painful hanging.
have you ever felt hopeless?
who hasn’t?
do you ever think of dying?
don’t we all?
do you hear voices?
only the single one that keeps me company.
the questions were rigged,
like a loaded deck,
at the hard rock casino here in Tampa.
she wasn't even a shrink,
and now her words decide my fate,
words scribbled for a paycheck
stamped official by women in white coats
who don’t care if I make it out alive.
they called the sheriff,
had me cornered,
had me drowning in fear,
be honest, but not too honest,
or we’ll make the choice for you.
betrayed by health and psychiatry
betrayed my trust,
betrayed by a system they help fix,
that never wanted me well,
just wanted me quiet.
i am,
closer to seventy than to sixty,
why don't I have the right to have some control over what I put into my body?
the same control that they want over
their reproductive rights, wombs and -
A lonely wind tells me its secrets
Treats me to its scented memories
Apologizes for its inconsistencies
While hiding in a slow rising fog
She claims she is but a pawn
Held hostage by the sun and sea
Warm vapors stir the forming clouds
Icy waters chill the air below
The battle sweeps her into its path
Spins her in a tornadic dance
An unseen sun calls the devils tune
A drumroll as warming waters roil
And yet her sister lifts a falling leaf
Sets it gently on a chilling lawn
Riffles the marching rows of corn
Colors the cheeks of school bound children
Thus, she bids a hurried farewell
For stillness is the harbinger of fate
On leaving blows an icy kiss
As friends arrive in hoar frost coats
I want to ride a zebra
and race the rays of radiance
through heat-waves’ sailing gradients -
a folly wild - a mood untamed
elated hands in bristled mane
unbridled veins uncorked champagne...
yes! elevate sedate heart rate
I WANT to ride a zebra
stripes yin yang oasis sweet and
whimsy rules a drumroll beat as
gallop sways euphoric roughness
crossing plains of dreamy lushness -
steed’s exotic tender toughness
pacing thrills in state of luscious...
yes! animate to sate my wait
I want to RIDE a zebra
savanna grass a grand expanse
a lion’s roar - hyena's rant
amuse myself with peril’s speed
adventure sows romantic’s seed... so
gestate date with fancy’s fate
YES! I want to ride a Z E B R A !
Boron fusion, specifically proton-boron-11 (p-B11) fusion, the path to clean and sustainable energy> Advantages is that fusion is safer because it produces no neutrons, only alpha particles, and uses abundant, non-radioactive fuel.
The same Sub-atomic reactions that power the sun and sssssstars.Monitering dust accumulation, using techniques called glow discharge cleaning.
The natural of the beast
in it's creation
one looks toward
its significance
to understand it's value
looking to the future
one would wish to
hasten and rushing
through the frivolous ends
to get to the
main event
the day they
we have achieved
our goals
and maintains then
is the only
obstacle
we are facing
represent the concept of fusion energy
synthesizers, strings (like violins and cellos), and percussion (especially gongs and timpani, a drumroll in introduction.
Goddamn smartass squirrel goes through a window and starts slapping a plush toy.
Turning it over and over.
"You got jacked, !"
Up on its attention antennae, sealed in clover.
Up for all comers, winters and summers,
Springing into Fall cover.
Wiggle haunch, loose and clean, limber and mean. Mouse on his motorcycle meets mean Joe Greene.
Who's next?
Better get me some treats, sweetums!
Chew for my cheeks to expand a winning smile from.
Or I will have to open up my cute box for some
serious mind control, or nutsack, sodium snack (while you sleep.)
Through your window, balls deep, spread-eagle attack, sa la vie!
Maybe I'm a joker launched by the dealer of air.
Dealing a poker face behind, treeline stairs.
Aces high, rattatatat, fooey.
Watching your reactions the whole time.
Time you lose track of where I'm at in your mind.
(Birds ain't feeling just-safe next to us at the park!
They're picking up tips to get their nut, while playing a part.)
And how you get your nut really is an art.
A breed apart, like cats that squat at look innocent
in the outback at PetSmart.
Yeah, birds of a feather, Woodpeckers
are watching as they drumroll together.
The next sideby of your mind's eye.
By and by
Fluffy tales of banditry and diversion, ensues.
Maybe next time you will slow down on that dirt road, cruise.
You've been nutted by the best my friend.
Peace.
Of mind.
Picnics and youth.
Sideshows of the divine.Send.
Runners of the gathering, enroute,
to where your eyes keep and time spends,
your focus, to mesmerificalcarnivaltrifical-ends,
shaping truth.
My prison is a place known all to well.
It brings joy to some and holds terror for most.
The air becomes heavy as I am forced to listen,
and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was declared treason.
the opportunities keep on getting cooler,
but the techniques that are used have always been quite peculiar.
I begin to ponder if it’s indirect torture,
taking its course gradually over time.
I wish that I could resurrect my euphoria,
even so, I have to return annually and I have no choice but to keep this
nostalgia.
All I can think about upon entering those gates is my downfall.
In spite of that, all I want to hear at the end of the year is a drumroll.
I’m well aware that it’s true and good for me,
however, it doesn’t hold a good tune,
Oh how I wish it could have been a better melody.
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours- waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
Nature's repeats, and the world turns.
What disappears, one day, returns.
So, why am I melancholy and sad?
I should be feeling glad.
Leaves that decay will fertilize
the seeds produced when a plant dies.
What will Spring's new life recall?
That which perished in Fall.
Even stars will one day explode
leaving darkness where they once glowed.
Do they make heavy elements? That true?
They make up me and you.
A recycled star warms the earth
to bring on Spring's joyful rebirth.
Can I have a drumroll from the drummer?
Peak growth comes in summer.
A cycle of growth and decay
is Mother Nature's graceful way,
but will I fear her poised clock hand, steady?
I hope I'll be ready.
Figuratively tack one hundred
and eighty degrees away...
where joie de vivre underscores
poetic theme, no matter every day
brings gut wrenching tearful tragedy,
thee attention for heart warming
(powdered milk biscuits
of human kindness)
doth shyly beg to gussy
esprit de corps with elan
evoking a reddit ting, snapchatting,
or twittering blue jay
mood, cuz most everybody
(including your truly)
dislikes constant emphasis on may
hem, sans mindless
violent murderous sprees,
nor natural disasters Earth quake
king, viz flooding,
out of fires burning, et cetera
thus, a concerted effort
(minus con vol fluted
schmaltzy arpeggio piano play,
drumroll, or trumpet blaring),
where pomp and circumstances
(composed by Edward
Elgar) try to stay
bull eyes euphoria kvetching,
and uttering oye vey
spin upside down
with a yippee yawping yay
plus countenancing
only gloom and doom
will conclude myself tubby
a cynical secular nihilist
making the ghost
of Missus Muir, Friedrich
Nietzsche, and David Hume
come to life (at least
in my imaginary presence),
and render a meta
physical/ philosophical loom
by expostulating their
respective profound Kant
mind bending room
min nations, even prophesying
after a body becomes deceased
(whoops a slight
non lethal faux pas)
cremated or buried
(with victuals for the after life)
encrypted within a tomb.