Long El dorado Poems
Long El dorado Poems. Below are the most popular long El dorado by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long El dorado poems by poem length and keyword.
Masses forming classes boarding:
Corral Gates of slaughter, hauling, sorting- human beings-aborting
our innocent(sons and daughters)
Bishops Queens and Cannon Fodder-
their crop of sheep sacrifice to image of the Beast
es cargo for the Elite Machine; of
Underground in plain site, lined
in Streets of Gold of their El Dorado deep-sites.
Our lives for sell, sold.
Titanic-transport of souls clandestine sport of spoil
Moonlight witches pissing on fertile soil
Mid-night
Their platform of unsee able points of light inconceivable blight
A ship of fools run ary
By heretics
making waves rushing blood-*** noise Vampires sucking dry
Kendrick and Cyborg sex ploys
Buoys and curls pinging toys waving
Bye to your rights
While your eyes are sewn tight
As celebrity whores say "come get me boys"
and the message boards are alight
Why are you so dead inside?
River Styx is taking you for a ride?
You'd be at 666 Flags if Apathy was water, water on the brain slide
The Final Frontier
The Motive is clear
You've been contacted by Demons
By the "Art of the Deal"
In the guise of...Behind the sky's
glove...chemical lines drawn by mechanical sky d(r)oves, to obscure the happenings above;writers on the storm exhausting their lies and Political heroic acts of altruistic "Love" the "Dragonborn." The Kingdom of Mourn.
A Game of thrones a game of bones non_chalantly thrown.
Hung in the balance, drawn and quartered by AI Phalanx algorithm.
Clouding the mind.
Not seeing flashing signs-
"*** poison kind ...of malice-flashing in neon."
Hiding behind crown Masons-ring brotherhood blood and chalice.
Unplugged radar, telethon tears.
Honing your sites ip and your fears, cook and rinse till juices run clear.
Till you are stuck in the hole with Alice.
Why are you so dead inside?
River Styx is taking you for a ride?
You'd be at 666 Flags if Apathy was water, water on the brain slide
Hide behind your tools
Crafty handiwork to snoop
On the people for the people
Of who?
Of the Media, spoonfed search-the Wickedpedia
Omit what doesn't fit, the narrative
and feed- -retrofit the needia
Face condoms up when what you
are touching is as unclean, as Cardi D and the itinerary of the beast, riding another beast,
biometrics and vaccine
" She was born in 219 A.D.,
I met her in 235 when she was 16 years old.
I was working hard with her father as a mercenary
from a Belgium territory, trying to persuade a chieftan named Horaic
to attack the Roman garrison west of the river.
Tamitha had the energy of a robin & the curiosity of a pirate,
she loved hearing accounts of mesoamerican cultures;
I gave her a jade owl from the Andes
which she held onto like her heart depended on it.
One day a couple of bandits scared her off from the woods,
she fell from her horse,
broke a few ribs which puntured her lung
and she died nine days later in agony;
there is a balance to the Cosmos that I cannot interfere with.
1300 years later I found a girl that resembled Tamitha,
brought her to an artist named Michaelangelo
and arranged for him a Vatican Commission
if he would draw for me that picture
based on my recollection and this girl from Constantinople."
I asked, are you capable of having children,
Lucifer answered with a pensive dignity, " Yes,
actually I possess the libido of a rattle snake
but I dare not concieve,
any biological offspring of mine
may successfully challenge my supremacy."
So that Biblical story of you and Eve
is simply a myth like the lost city of El Dorado,
He replied, " Since you have broached the subject
I'll reveal something that is very precious information for me,
Jesus, whose original name was Mephistopheles,
was my first and only biological Son.
Mephistopheles was born so long ago
that the stars you see today
in the canopy of heaven were but afterthoughts to him
when his regicide was affected.
We coexisted for millenia,
sometimes happily, sometime scornfully,
our goals were more regional then,
not so much global, he lacked access to primordial wisdom
and consequently developed philosophy & strategy
diametric to fundamental nature."
J.A.B.
Men have searched throughout history
For a city made of gold
So much in fact it has become legendary
This city that has yet to unfold
Some have even died I am told.
The story says, a chief had an initiation
Covered in gold dust and jumping
A lake bottom became his situation
Now known as the golden king
Where is El Dorado they would sing?
Legends grew from a king to a city
Spaniards knew this gold had to be won
Expeditions to discover it were plenty
One such Conquistador even discovered the Amazon
Female warriors there had them on the run.
If you have not guessed this legend yet
It is El Dorado or City of Cibola
That all were searching to get
Nicholas Cage tried finding it in the cinema
A fake explorer made the most pesetas.
A desire sets off
towards a place far inland whose spires
lift like raised pikes on the horizon.
There is always a "somewhere" hanging
in the sky above your head,
an El Dorado, a glistening pot,
a floodlit dream plastered like a billboard
on a roadside hoarding promising
a better life on Paradise Island Estate.
But you never get there,
petering out on the side of a highway,
running low on fuel or finding
that you really don't want to go
to that place where you
first set out to go. A lifetime on
you should have known
the answer has always been waiting
back here, sitting at the far end
of a U turn, after the long haul home.
She told me she loved me
She told me I was her world
She told me the earth was flat
She told me our future was paved with gold
She told me our love shone like diamonds in the sky
She told me all about El dorado
She told me our love would burn for ever
She told me it was an ever burning flame
She told me she had seen a phoenix fly
She told me I was her shining light
She told me I was her knight in armour
She told me all about Camelot
She told me she would sing for me
She told me the words would mean a lot
She turned out to be a mermaid and left me on the rocks
I told her I loved her, Mine was real but hers was not.
In the spring of 1880 young Clifford Griffin immigrated from England to Colorado.
The death of his fiancee left him bereft and he was searchin' for his El Dorado.
He settled in Silver Plume where he and his brother bought the Seven Thirty Mine.
Clifford and his brother Heneage became very rich from ore that assayed very fine!
With all his riches, Clifford chose to live in his lonely cabin above the town.
His only companion was his treasured violin which he played with some renown!
His melancholy melodies wafted down from his mountain aerie 'most every night,
To be heard by the whiskey-guzzlin' hard-scrabble miners to their delight!
Clifford always dressed in black, enjoyed fine cigars and was quite the dashin' bloke!
He seemed content with his solitary life and in business was as solid as an oak!
Alas, death cast its gloomy pall high above Silver Plume one moonlit night.
Instead of sweet violin music, a single shot was heard that left the town affright!
Next morn his mortal remains were found in a grave he'd dug for himself alone.
His heart-broken brother found the pistol with which his brains he had blown.
A grand monument was erected atop the mountain just above Silver Plume,
At the very spot where Clifford lay midst the ponderosa and Columbine bloom!
Mysterious events now occur on that lonely mountainside accordin' to local lore!
'Tis said on moonlit nights sad violin music is heard below on the valley floor!
Folks have seen a black-clad phantom smokin' a cigar and drawin' a bow,
Playin' melancholy music and a wraith in Clifford's likeness a-swayin' to and fro!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for Carol Eastman's "Story Poem" Contest
While looking for Elvis
Met Nessie in Loch Ness
Hoarding a leprechauns pot of gold
While getting ready to depart
I tripped over the Lost Ark
In the baggage of a hitchhiking Pharaoh
Thought I had got lost in flight
Stumble into Camelot at night
King Arthur shooting Robin Hood's arrows
Little green men from Mars
Battling a dragon with bumper cars
Jumping on my unicorn I rode
Diving into the Ocean
The mermaids gave me notions
My search for Elvis was getting cold
Swam down to Atlantis in the Atlantic
Dine at Poseidon's banquet
He had a big Roman nose
Cruising the Devil's Triangle
Being careful for any angle
I try to assassinate Castro
No money for the Florida toll booth
I wander into the Flountain of Youth
I look much younger so I'm told
On my way to Colorado
I kiss the Indian Princess of El Dorado
They can keep their entire treasure load
I saw Jimmy Hoffa eating a hot dog
While sitting with Big Foot on a redwood log
They were both getting pretty old
Went over to Memphis
Back through Las Vegas
My search for Elvis was about to fold
Than an angel named Gabriel
Told me about the new guy down at the stable
So I flew off to Shangri-la with pilot Joe
Our wings iced without warning
Damn this damn Global warming
Flying over Santa and a Chinese Viking Eskimo
We crashed landed in Xanadu
Met a few people we both knew
But Elvis left so I was told
With my new friend Yeti
We shared a big bowl of spaghetti
Amelia Earhart cooked and sold
Round the Garden of Eden
I traded an apple for freedom
From the lost tribes of Isreal though
On Mount Olympus I heard singing
The voice of Elvis reigning
I found the King of Rock and Roll
We ate a fried banana peanut butter sandwich
Elvis offer me the last bite of his sandwich
I politely refused I couldn't be so bold
Before I could ask Elvis as such
He rose and said "Thank you very much"
The answers I needed were put on hold
"Beam me up Scottie" he quipped
Than in a flash he was on the Mother Ship
And I turn and saw my friend little Moe
Area 51 is where that saucer came from
In Noah's Ark we drank wine and hard rum
Finding Elvis I am no hero
Looking for Elvis is half the fun
Its the trip that ends where it begun
Down in Dallas on a grassy knoll
Prospector Pete had roamed the hills fer years searchin' fer some gold.
He and his faithful burro, Fred, were both growin' weary and old.
He'd looked fer color in many a mountain and stream in Colorado,
Lookin' fer that mother lode, that elusive vein, his own El Dorado.
Oh, he'd found a few nuggets here and there, but didn't 'mount to much.
Those he did find he'd blown on gamblin', women, whiskey and such.
Pete would save a bag of dust or two from his many wanton toots,
To grubstake himself to re-supply his jeans, shovels and boots.
He staked claims 'long ripplin' streams and left many holes 'long the way.
The mountains and valleys are pocked with his diggin's to this very day!
He'd come up dry, nothin' there and move on to more appealin' pickin's,
Burrowin' and pannin' with elbows flyin' workin' like the dickens!
Pete would winter in his cabin 'til spring then he'd begin his annual quest,
Packin' his tools on long-sufferin' Fred and head fer the hills to the west.
If he didn't find that elusive bonanza this year he swore that he'd retire,
To his cabin at the foot of Mount Pisgah and enjoy the blazin' fire.
Time passed and Pete wasn't seen 'round town much anymore.
On a wintry day his pals found him froze to death upon his cabin floor!
They dug Pete's grave and buried him just outside his cabin door.
Eureka! Six feet down was that vein of gold that he'd been a-lookin' for!
We had stopped believing
Because our purple lords were deceiving
Labouring each day in the scorching sun
Our hearts were burning
Our desires started waning
At times we wish that our existence was done
What purpose is there in life were suffering swallows up joy
And we wallow in misery
Like a tin man toy
So we gathered all our little treasures and embarked on that hazardous journey
With the hope that we will find work that would make us money
With the hope that we will find peace as sweet as honey
With hope that our rainy day will someday become sunny
We do not know what the future will bring
But we placed our hopes in the Lord so we sing
A merry, merry song
Even though we are most likely wrong
To risk it all for a the good life
On ill fated boats we sail
Trafficked by green smugglers
Over the high seas
In the turbulent waves
To the magical islands
We saw gigantic caves
We were almost there
But we were met by despair
Hundreds fell into the monstrous jaw of Nepturn
They were washed away
And drowned at sea
So that I may see the fair face at Lampedusa
Looking at me
I would risk it all
Risk it all for my earthly Elysium
And some day return for my children and wife
I am like a sheep at the abattoir gazing at the butcher’s knife
Why not create your paradise in the middle of hell?
And raise your flags high and ring the cathedral bell
You need not seek El Dorado
You can always find it here
Believe in yourself and don’t be discouraged
And do not be like Esau who sold his birth right for a plate of porridge
Have faith in the Lord
And he will see you through
For fate lies in the hands of the Creator
No matter what you do
He has created you for a purpose
And you are of a divine design
Why not discover it rather than leave everything behind
Old Caleb Trotter had great plans for his town in Colorado.
For years he'd roamed the Rockies, finally finding his El Dorado!
He discovered glittering gold that would surely make him flush!
He founded Trotter's Gulch and soon there was a frenzied rush!
Cabins were built on plots that prospective miners selected.
Why, there was even a school and three churches were erected!
'Twas a bawdy place with the usual brawls and seedy saloons.
Soiled doves and gamblers invaded the town by platoons!
Time moved on and Caleb established a general store,
Figuring that the mining game wasn't for him anymore.
He made his fortune catering shovels, overalls and boots,
To hard-rock prospectors and other such galoots!
The population reached ten thousand and showed great potential.
It boasted a railroad station and other services essential.
It included three undertakers, five blacksmiths and ten preachers,
Four doctors, two newspapers and twelve well-respected teachers!
Alas, the pay dirt around Trotter's Gulch soon petered out.
The future of the town was left very much in doubt.
'Twas soon abandoned and another ghost town was born.
'Tis no longer on the map - it now lies desolate and forlorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)