Long Emil Poems
Long Emil Poems. Below are the most popular long Emil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emil poems by poem length and keyword.
Happy we pals of battalions from villages born of love
And sweet tender mercies, unlike here entrenched
With the foe. Grey mists on the horizon, silhouetted hove
Of sallow composition; subdued and drenched.
Between us, in 'no man's land' a barren waste
Of limbs stacked high, orchestrating the way
Of death, foreshadowing yet even still the taste
To come, and soon; at the break of day.
Our friends, fathers, uncles and brothers
In arms; cleaving the ground of crimson red
Left on the battle scarred plains, with their mother's
Voices ringing out, as bells that toll the dead.
Then slowly faint whispers are heard amidst the grave
Of brown and grey. "Is that you John!Bill! Fred?"
"Is that you Hans!Jurgen!Emil!"? You the brave
Who fell, still living amongst the dead.
The shroud of death that covers distempered cries
Now lifting as both find their heroes of cause.
And naked transgression remains; signature of lies
And deceit; like whores showing no remorse.
Coprolalia
Dr Emil at the cottage hospital had a problem
he was not aware of; he had worked in bigger hospitals
but fired for being rude to patients.
Dr Emil was a good doctor and a kind man the staff
The hospital accepted his quirks. as did the patients
and in the small town regarded as lovable eccentric.
Doing his morning round, he said to an old patient
“Does he never die, the ing old fart?”
“What is the old over there doing in my ward.”
Chuckles from beds
Dr Emil continued like nothing had happened unaware
of what was coming out of his mouth?
One day the inspector of hospitals came around the staff
did their best to keep Emil away from her, he met her
In the hall; the greetings were pleasant until he said
she was “an out- ed old whore.”
The offended lady was not willing to forget
Dr Emil was fired; the town lost a good man.
Our Emil got a job in Mongolia no one speaks English
It doesn’t matter what he says.
Was a giant terrific Mom
Had talents and habits galore
A natural mom to her core
The head of the family kingdom
Who took wise care of those she bore
Best of those who had gone before
Did not waste any time, my Mom
A simple soul, who knew life’s score
So many came to her front door
Did not believe in atom bomb
She wanted no one killed or sore
A peacemaker forevermore
Was a giant terrific Mom
The head of the family kingdom
Did not waste any time, my Mom
Did not believe in atom bomb
Peacemaker forevermore
Written on July 13, 2018
Entered into Emil Pinet’s Contest
New Constanza Poetry
These weak attempts at verse could not be droller.
Your stuff is less inviting than ebola
(but not as catchy). Wordier than Emil Zola,
you haven’t got the steam to be a roller.
I’ve seen more cutting-edge in Pepsi-Cola.
You clearly honed your style in Fuengirola.
About as challenging as last year’s “¡Hola!”
(I’m sure you’re highly thought of in Angola.)
But that aside, I need a favour, mate.
The flood of would-be Shakespeares is in spate.
I’d like you to review – that is, donate
your time and talent (at the going-rate,
which happens to be zero.) Desecrate
the pricks who prattle, and the prigs who prate.
Denounce, detract. Indulge that gelding hate
that wells in all of us. The cut-off date
is looming, so get hacking. Don’t be late!
One day while fishing on the bridge,
I hooked a gorgeous speckled trout,
Reeled it in and pulled it out,
Carried home, stored in my fridge.
The trout it was prepared next day,
Two large filets cooked and eaten,
Flavor intense could not be beaten
By any chef, no how, no way.
With spinach green, tomatoes red,
Sautéed perfection in olive oil,
Potatoes piping from the boil,
A perfect meal left us well fed.
A glass of wine, a Pinot Gris,
Washed down the food with complement,
The nose? Fresh flowers, a lovely scent,
Pure vintage, two thousand and three.
Relaxed, forgetting all our sorrow,
After such a sumptuous dish,
I long to catch another fish,
To the bridge again, perhaps tomorrow.
2/3/2019 - Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest - Emil Pinet
These vain attempts at verse could not be droller.
Your stuff is less inviting than ebola
(and not as catchy). Wordier than Emil Zola,
you haven’t got the steam to be a roller.
I’ve seen more cutting-edge in Pepsi-Cola.
You clearly honed your style in Fuengirola.
About as challenging as last year’s “¡Hola!”
(I’m sure you’re highly thought of in Angola.)
But that aside, I need a favour, mate.
The flood of would-be Spensers is in spate.
I’d like you to review – that is, donate
your time and talent (at the going-rate,
which happens to be zero.) Desecrate
the pricks who prattle, and the prigs who prate.
Denounce, detract. Indulge that gelding hate
that wells in all of us. The cut-off date
is looming, so get hacking. Don’t be late!
Merry Christmas to all my Poetry soup friends
Thanks for all the kind support that never ends
Your contests are a jump start to my sleepy muse
Haiku, rhyme, free verse, it’s fun to choose
Dear heart writes magnificent poems of melancholy blues
Lin writes masterpieces expressed with beautiful colorful hues
Jan’s limericks are fun, hilarious and sometimes very bawdy
Victor’s beautiful touching poems should be read by everybody
Chris writes heart felt poems full of romance and love
Greg B writes volumes, talent expressed way above
Charlie can write poems that are fun and serious too
Andrea writes great poems, her talent shines through
Emil, Alexis, Eve, Heidi, and WW keep adding talented gems
Richard’s poems help us see the world through a different lens
Ed writes spirited poems and his contests are creative
Anne-Lise writes poems that are sometimes innovative
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you
Thanks for the all the support and encouragement too
I will keep writing and adding my poems to the soup
I enjoy all your poems from such a talented group