Long Dynamite Poems
Long Dynamite Poems. Below are the most popular long Dynamite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dynamite poems by poem length and keyword.
New Blue Chips come in flip top boxes
Sealed at the bottom for your protection
Manufactured as uneatable so don't eat them
Don't eat them because I said so
Teeth will break on contact
Make crashing sounds like asteroids on impact
Are harder than granite rocks
But softer than a diamonds soul
Are kept in stock for no particular reason
Sold because they have no shelf life
And must fly off the shelf right now
Use dynamite to remove them from the store
Use milk so only white remains
New Blue Chips are not crackers
But will comply with company rules
Purchase them today at markets
Don't be fooled by any other product
This is your destiny
This is your goal in life
I insist that you buy them
Buy them right now
From a small town in Georgia,
a place called Livonia,
came "Little Miss Dynamite".
A diminutive delight,
and a success overnight,
at only twelve years of age,
she was a musical rage.
She was Brenda Mae Tarpley.
Early popularity,
gaining notoriety
from the Ozark Jubilee,
she was found by Red Foley.
A young teenage prodigy,
her producer Owen Bradley
changed her name to Brenda Lee.
Before the age of twenty,
success came so easily.
"Sweet Nothin's" and "I'm Sorry",
with "Break It To Me Gently",
were big hits for Brenda Lee.
Big with both pop and country,
she won the hearts of many.
Author's Comments:
"I was able to obtain the valuable information in writing this poem from a small booklet included in Brenda Lee's CD collection "The Best of Brenda Lee-The Millenium Collection, available on MCA records."
Absorbed in Guernica’s promise Lucifer glanced at Montmatre
Settled his mind on virgins in heaven as Mona Lisa smiled on
One Last Supper tied to a suicide belt he set out to light the church
Of Our Lady and mounted Chagall’s Blue Horse towards The Scream
It was a Starry Night and he wondered how they painted in paradise
Oozing of promise he bandaged his lughole as a quiet reminder that
He had once been tied in desperate love to a Girl with a Pearl Ear Ring
Saw clearly the arc in his tearful eye which was one of glorious triumph
While he remembered Klimt’s Kiss The Birth of Venus fled the scene
On his way from the Louvre to book stalls at the banks of the Seine
He wondered whether a volume of so called degenerate art might be
A fitting companion on his irreversible passage to Death and the Maiden
Noble at heart in his mind he planted dynamite at the foot of Tour Eiffel
Well aware that triangulation was the strongest form of resilient bonds
By coincidence or synchronicity a Blue Dove flew onto his shoulder and
Reminded him of Goya’s dark paintings which suggested kindly to him that
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters and devastating devils of which
He was one if he followed fanaticism’s religious distortion on his way to hell
15th January 2020
The nurse said not to worry,
It was just a little prick.
Then proceeded to inject something,
that exploded like a dynamite stick.
I asked my husband last evening,
"Does my bum look big in this?"
He sighed then smiled and then denied
I looked anything but pure bliss.
The mechanic checked my engine.
Said it was running fine.
Although I did my best, it failed the test,
and is no longer mine.
The interview went well.
They said I got the job.
Then passed me over for someone else.
All I could do was sob.
I wish these fancy talkers
would learn to tell the truth.
At least, that way, no dismay.
Although at the time may seem uncouth.
The wind sweeps over my bikini
and combs through my hair
This canoe ride.. is like a glass of red wine
The Naked grape my favourite kind.
I feel at peace...............
For the first time, in a while
completely rid of my anxieties
The sun embraces my skin
My china doll ceramic is so accepting
My golden retriever fearlessly jumps off the dock
he flies
He seeks adventure and see's life for what it is
You see because life is two people throwing a frisbee.
Chasing the disc back and forth desperately in hopes of the one momentarty tasting his own
personal victories
Or those moments where you throw back your hair to the wind
Uncaring for the consequences
This is how he lives
My golden retriever is the essence of living,, unaware of how his actions may be percieved
as emberrassing.
Because he lives how he feels free, and when your free
your mind explodes like a dying star and is reborn into a forming galaxy
That is all he needs.
When is it in life that we as humans just accept life for the catch and release
The elegant flight of the greek discus
When we should be tossing away our laptops, and blackberries
I'm sick of fashion magazines
telling me what is the right skinny
Because I have two skin cascadian mountains erupting from my chest
I have hips like the sticks of dynamite
and nile river torso
and a bottom that is as flat as a pizza dough
You realize the quirks and aspects that make you as an individual
BEAUTIFUL
Live like the dog that is hidden in the back of your mind
find the little things that make you gratified
Love the people around you, and celebrate their arrivals like a carnival
Eat your bowls of food like they were your last meal
Lay out on the carpet as if you lay in a bed with sheets made from Egyptian Silks
This is the way to live your life I am telling you
It’s the Great British Bake Off
And I’ve got to week six
But I think it’s all over since
They’ve dissed my bread mix.
They said it was rubbish
When I baked my plum duff
And Mary said my cake
Was sandy, coarse and rough.
There’s a slinky little blonde
Who’s giving Paul the eye
And I think it must be working
Cos she’s more than getting by.
Her bagels were quite dodgy
Her bottom soggy and wet
Yet he said they were delicious
Definitely teacher’s pet
They’re going to push me out
Deep down this I know
But I’ll take the b’s with me
If and when I go
I’ve planned my revenge
With my Kamikaze pudding dish
With TNT and dynamite
And petrol, just a splish.
I’ve made my own shrapnel
With glass and tacks and nails
To ensure there’s a back up
If my pudding mixture fails,
So, when they tell me that
It’s time that I went
I’ll push the detonator
And blow up the bloody tent.
There’ll be weeping and wailing
And lots and lots of tears
But that’s one Bake off episode
They’ll not forget for years.
I’m the Kamikaze chef
Divine Wind of the Aga Range
Apres Moi le deluge
After me things will change
Holes Within The Holes
(nautical in nature)
A hole in the dark
The ship sank apparently
Unseen or something paused
Passed briefly through a lightning strike
Perhaps there was no ocean
Or hole in the ocean worth noting
Being it was dark
No witnesses, no survivors
No evidence between the flashes
So what is there between the light
Was there a floating box of dynamite
A cannon sitting intransigent at sea
Where a sun drenched sky was not
Above, so clear the missing sky arrives
Hangs out wireless above the awkward
Over water, a soup made of smoke is fog
Less tangible to the touch when landing soft
Drowning becomes a mystery
A blanket of saltwater, sprinkled with people
Alive or not about a floating box perhaps
Was this just a juxtaposition to the mist
What can be said about a ship
Drifting in and out of memory
Underlying the surface stands a sandless beach
Holding the ocean with a shore line incomplete
In contemplation, in contempt of land and masses
Cast out, stretched on a string to pull it all together
Perhaps an evaporated puddle formed at first
Or invisibility came to call before the birth of oceans
Between the space that serves serenity or both
A hole within a hole within a circle
In the dark where circles form
Where mushrooms have no names or rooms to call their own
Because there are no places left to grow amazement on
Worlds with no corners rotate through space
They form smooth edges with opinions razor sharp
Sink in the middle of the oceans agitation
If only they were strong enough to lift the fog
Into boxes safe and sound much larger than themselves
Sandless beaches make good company
For ships lost below the surface shallows
Wondering how they got there in the first place
Holes inside the holes inside the circles
Sunk to the bottom fall about
Deep in thought about tomorrow's questions
Of holes inside the circles hollowed out
It is slowly juxtaposition,
an oldies reith for an acoustic-ness-
and we make a mock,
drain the corner stores mox....
Engravings in luck and harmonious-
they take a tail for a toc,
malevolence out of the box,
on the streets-
in levy and over the acropolis,
like crumbly even and corny thermopolis-
how the havens in heaven must shine inside...
How many travels say they coincide?
Even in a sailing away against all storm's periphery,
dynamite at the dreamy renditions are trickery-
a pleasure of the presence is no outer measure of some other type of compression!
~ It doesn't matter how many steps you walk
- as long as you don't stop ~ quote by poet
The attention of the steps,
stop counting the kilos
the present panic around weight
and waistline
Women can debate
body and appearance for hours,
men avoid the topic completely
The fitness body
requires extreme discipline
Don't escape into a novel
where roses and chocolate
has the absolute role
We don't need body pressure
no speculative look
All you need is inspiration,
exercise and healthy diet
Life often takes turns,
valleys and mountain peaks
Together we manage everything
believe in your abilities
breathe fresh air and move on
- together we're dynamite
Your personality
means more than a bouncy butt
Like ‘Nevermore’ sketched into water by Salvador Dali
Quickly running a message up a high mast in Mali
Or Michaelangelo his genius wild, cutting a lady less forlorn
With a savior already finished with work and free from scorn
Oddyseus’ raft might have hurried home
Had it not been for the Sirens’ mercurial foam
Everyman distracted, with each passing year
And epoch of pain pouring tear upon tear
Without discerning the rhyme or the reason
Or gaining knowable time season upon season
Always the lure of fruitless eternity insipid
The body and mind empty: blood, bone and lipid
When fools or king’s would rush in where others feared
Bombs fired all round and their people were seared
In jest, a plague of doubt, a feast for Decameron’s clowns
In love, the firing flesh of sin falling down
In war, the rage of the people aimed at shadows’ night
In peace, moments too few to count, the treasure slight
Wherefore the incessant loss and vainglory
From what source the endless folly
With each generation aimless proceeding
And substantial hope forever receding
How this vague sense of emptiness and sorrow
And no real horizon to fill one’s soul tomorrow
Each city above ground falling in on itself
A cascading destruction from the continental shelf [river]
All built upon empty dreams, from false stories past
Or emptied like a dream, when the brain wakes fast
Awake to the shuddering quake of earth below
Or perhaps Earth itself, blowing up in a glow
Just like Rome to fall away at the end of time
to pass the cup, to self-destruct on the vine
From Aeneas came the Trojan horde
Yet he ate his tables instead of fall on his sword
While some chanced Paris instead
Without casting runes or checking their head
To hence or from where it could not matter
On the fat of the lamb each gentile growing fatter
Over the centuries, the meaning of things or remorse
Grew dim and stolid, owning a garden or grooming a horse
With all of the sparkling treasure and treats so kind
None could fathom true nature’s curse, or pay it any mind