Long Dubbed Poems
Long Dubbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Dubbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dubbed poems by poem length and keyword.
Twelve days of Christmas
Girls and boys meet and blush
Origins of known and unknown class
Species and genus of mystical plush
Hopeful of existence in various regions
Joyful in resilience, remnants of temperate legions
Twelve days of mingling and bantering
Herbs and plants of healthy living
Each day of Christmas displayed and waving
Twelve days while smiling, sold for healing
Boys and girls named strangely
Titled or dubbed scientifically
Kale, Rosemary, Chives, Cloves, Chard, Cilantro
Basil, Sage, Thyme, Balm, Lettuce, Oregano
What other names have you known or met?
Write them down and stay connected whether you are dry or wet!
Haru and RItm often seemed
out of place and often with
a certain concern.
Yindiao told Jidiao Giam Jiezou
not to Jiving Biayan
he was cheap on the Xuaniu
and lacked concern with
his Cantar's. He put a symbol to indicate
that they had only stumbled upon
the sounds and songs.
Only due to an alteration were they
clashed about what style they
wished to represent. Coda: divided
them as people. Some
where jealous
of each other.
Some were repositioned
because of there standings and appeal.
Six of us are alluring and Amorous
while others only had an uncertain appeal.
They dubbed some as Perfect voice
and unappealing: while the others
were super appealing and lacked
vocal giftiering.
Fussed they appealed to different sectors.
Ritm stood above the rest as he was
Super appealing and had a strong proud bassey voice.
" A World should hear these men sing"
While there the instruments sound magical the background singers
sound soothingly perfect!"
The Music producer said he found one in a tobacco fild.And the other guy was a Machinist at a Nevada Lithium Mine. Bothe were Pianist and guitarist and one was a reknowed flutist.
Never Give Up
Miracle Man
11/20/2024
Each person is given
an allotted time from birth,
We use this time, dubbed life,
trying to prove our worth.
Many will become famous
accomplishing great things,
While the disadvantaged
dreams of living like kings.
Many face daily laboring
in the days scorching heat,
Grubbing out an existence
without shoes on their feet.
While the affluent thinks daily
of a menu’s choice of meat,
The impoverished is questioning
whether or not they will eat.
Each person does the things
of which they’ve been made able,
While one dines like a king
the other, crumbs from his table.
But each is held responsible
for the things in their cup,
Many can no longer persevere
and just simply give up.
When gazing Beta Persei,
a star with many ghoulish names,
be wary of a winking eye
with fluctuating flames,
evincing evil aims.
Ancient mariners would watch with dread
and chant their prayers out loud,
when that “Eye in Medusa’s Severed Head”
was held by Perseus, proud,
high o’er the heathen crowd.
Sailors' hairs would stand and straighten
when that shady eye would shimmer.
The Hebrews shouted “Rosh ha Satan!”
when “The Head of Satan” grew grimmer
as "The Demon's Eye" got dimmer.
Dubbed “Ras al Ghul” in Arabic,
or “Algol” in the West,
“The Ghoul's Eye” plays a demon's trick,
resulting in unrest,
and much astro-interest:
Riding high in Autumn skies,
guiding galleon ships,
then fading before fearful eyes
by mean of an eclipse
of stars in an ellipse.
Then three days hence this trick repeats
with pre-ordained precision --
dark demon light again depletes
when it winks with wild derision,
which begs a bad decision.
Oh Ras al-Ghul! Oh Ras al Ghul!
So near and yet so far --
do not take me for a fool
that fears "The Demon Star,"
“The Devil’s Demon Star.”
Yet many who think it mirth, or myth,
will double down with doubts,
when that wily eye would wink forthwith
they’ll watch their whereabouts.
Better watch your whereabouts!
For those Gorgon snakes give you the shakes,
and chill you to the bone.
And one wrong look is all it takes
to turn you into stone,
eternally alone.
Submitted June 27, 2020
A plethora of attention
focused on twentieth anniversary
regarding terrorist attacks
upon American soil nine eleven
two thousand and one,
thus Schwenksville poet
opted for his best métier write.
While riding atop a yak
both feet went wickety wack
trudging beast of burden a throwback
to the brainchild
of John Mauchly and J. Presper Eckert
devised Electronic Numerical
Integrator and Computer
otherwise dubbed ENIAC
cumbersome invention
programing machine no easy knack
also impossible mission or fit in pocket
book versus handy to tote
laptop perfect fit inside day pack.
As an aging long haired
pencil neck geek baby boomer
who reckons himself
as schleppy (snoop doggy dog) self groomer
cannot escape scornful passersby
sneering, snickering and snorting
at me, an utter embarrassment to humanity,
who also sports sophomoric humor.
Unfair for yours truly
to saddle anonymous readers
which travails of mine
analogous overburdening
an old decrepit ass,
hence lumpenproletariat
marxist (brother) fellow,
whose insensitivity
could be interpreted as crass
subsequently aiming figurative sights
upon fresh fields,
where leaves of grass
harvested by me one
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe
ofttimes dashes off to Lake Woebegone
to escape madding crowds who harass
him, cuz he accentuates whole foods
with plenty of fiber to avoid
experiencing lower gastrointestinal impasse
acquiring moniker windbag
courtesy humongous formed rectal mass
necessitating the expertise of Nass
(another name for Nishga -
a member of a branch
of Tsimshian people
of British Columbia inhabiting Nass
River basin and/or dialect of Tsimshian
spoken by Nishga)
homeopathic remedies outclass
those of 21st century medicine,
said indigenous people
interpret objection toward their
age old medicinal practice as sass
even consider disagreement violation,
a figurative criminal mind to trespass
and the subject in question
a veritable, (albeit harmless) wiseass.
Oh, the thrill of the annual school ice-skating races!
Back in the days before recent warming trends
good old Lincoln School (K-5), affectionately dubbed
"Stinkin' Lncoln," held races for each class in the
dead of winter, on an unforgivingly frigid Sunday
in January---I don't know how they managed to
pick the coldest day of the year, but they did!
We kids, we contestants, so looked forward to that
special Sunday, where we got to compete for a blue,
for a red, or for a white ribbon; and for the adulation
sure to be heaped upon us by proud family members...
But those poor spectators, our parents and siblings
who froze their fingers and toes off, if not their bottoms
and tops, waiting out there in the howling cold 'forever'
for an event that might take, oh, a minute or two at most---
And did I mention that I fell down, right on my face
at the start of each race? For five years in a row? Until
my very last race (5th grade), when---I fell at the end,
just as I was about to cross the finish line first?...Yet it
remains my most cherished memory of good old Lincoln School
Entry for "My Youth" contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Happy Easter Souper’s
Miracle Man
3/31/2024
For many years now,
I’ve been a privileged part.
And I’ve enjoyed these poets,
from the very start.
They’re part of an amazing,
like minded group.
That makes up our family,
dubbed Poetry Soup.
While none I’ll ever meet,
your work is your face.
Though many, in my heart,
have carved out a place.
“Writing Poetry was not something I had
on my bucket List to do in life but in 1968
at age 26 I was diagnosed with cancer.
I gave my heart and life to Jesus and felt a calling
to do this as a witnessing tool for HIM. I vowed
to never stop until my end. I’m now 85.”
He Is Risen!
Tom
Ten thousand eyes will each day pass but not a single one will see,
for the folly of their hubris hides from harsh reality,
and when they pass by homeless people posted prone in poverty,
cold cloaked, they are invisible.
Ten thousand ears will each day pass but not a single one will hear
any proper prayers of the sullen souls that live their lives in fear.
And so they sing their psalms in silence praying angels will appear,
their sadness semi-visible.
Ten thousand nostrils will each day pass turned up and they’ll all detect
the foul fragrance from a stumbling bum with bubble bath neglect.
And yet their greatest fears are fostered by his foreign dialect.
So sobering, so risible.
Five thousand hearts will each day pass but not a single one will feel
for the burdens borne by a beggar with war wounds that will not heal.
Still they will paint themselves as patriots, American, genteel.
One Nation, indivisible.
Now forty-nine hundred ninety-nine, by bike, by car or by train,
still each day pass oblivious, while the one that they thought insane,
is a poet who rode to heaven on his high horse dubbed Disdain,
his verses inadmissible.
Submitted 3/5/2021
This is a substantive re-write of “Urban Commuter Scents and Sensibility,” posted in August 2020, with new content to create a new dramatic monologue poem for the “Biting Satire Poetry Contest,” sponsored by Edward Ibeh.
Written: February 19, 2025 For contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
as an entity in the dream, we conjured
we know not we are both the dreamer and dreamed
how then may we wake up when we are in trance
in bondage to illusions we ourselves streamed
*************************
Through the scenery of my reflected mind,
Where phantasm and sentience intertwined.
I clumber caught in an inanimate dream,
Where nothing is genuinely what it may seem.
We are creators and thralls in this dreamscape,
We foster a weaving of sycophancy and serape.
Many fallacies entwine with each strand of truth,
As skeptics, we lack a grasp on what is smooth.
Perhaps it's time to question what we hold as real,
To probe the depths of our collective, waking feel.
Only when we confront the truth we made,
Can we begin to shatter the illusions we parade?
Reflections shimmer on the spectrum glass,
Where restrictions of existence gingerly pass.
Subtly blending jointly, the dreamer and dream,
Where illusions' constraints begin to stream.
Am I profoundly watching or am I the watcher?
Without a grounding, afloat as a space monster.
The self breaks down within a specific design,
Where exterior limits and inner sublimity shine.
Through the blackness and the splitting light,
Coming out of the shadowy shapes of our plight.
We probe the bedrock character of our state,
Also, stimulates every dubbed conceptual gate.
And so we rise, as a phoenix from flames,
With eyes ajar, and hearts no longer tamed.
We grasp a raw world, with a vision clear and bright,
And as the sojourn is sturdy, we'll walk into the light.
They were dubbed as being the greatest than ever before
Expectations were high even though they hadn’t begun to score
Huge salaries and talent some say they would be the best
But they couldn’t play together as a team as they were put to the test
Injuries happened, sometimes when they got the call
There was no fire in their heart as they started to fluster and fall
A team is suppose to rise no matter what the challenge or ill weather
Instead they plummeted with the worst baseball meltdown ever
We look up to them as heros but with their failure some cried
Now that the season is over maybe they will search and find there Boston Red Sox pride
Who is to blame for all of this some think that it is very clear
Find your heart in the off season sox players and thank God there will be a next year