Long End product Poems
Long End product Poems. Below are the most popular long End product by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long End product poems by poem length and keyword.
Greek mythological
drama flourishes,
nee thrives within
noggin of yours truly
gods and goddesses
sporting Hellenic origins
purportedly cavort
higgledy-piggledy
rampantly running ragged
ruminative raconteur
resultant rueful end product
wreckage of present day me
chafing amidst yesteryear's adversities
shadow boxing doppelganger nemesis
fetus in fetu maintaining stranglehold
choking ability to breathe
unsuccessful roundup eradication
resultant mailer daemons
ruling the roost
time and again professional
therapy exorcised futility
psyche plagued with said
crudely sketched hobgoblins
permanently lodged within
fifty plus shades gray matter
mein kampf analogous to siege
and/or civil war
abductor and hostage
terrorist versus negotiators
one and the same person
ideal fecund environment
irresistible nasty brutes
unwilling to forsake
golden opportunity
passive languishing helpless
antisocial bumbling creature
mandate decreed heir extinguished
sentenced eventually commuted
life without parole lifetime
metaphorically imprisoned harsh
punishment solitary confinement
crime synonymous equalled
chance happenstance ovulation
nsync with seminal linkedin
fertilization, impregnation, parturition
essentially random appalling dice throw
courtesy biological roulette
automatic defacto malefactor
abstractly describes lifelong
condemnation, humiliation, ostracization
hence if nothing else
no shortage writing material.
Rejection chain reaction
New Born Male Child
A babe suffering during while
A Mother who wanted her son to die
Heaven’s intervention rise
The new born experienced Asthma, Yellow Jaundice and Malnutrition
The birth weight way below normal circumstances
Life surrounding was uncertain
Doctors are given up hope
Assurance was no cope
Doctors calculated that the babe will only live to 7 in longevity
They told the family to prepare for a funeral and not become attached, but if I lived on it would be God’s will
The Doctors suggested that I put in a Foster Home, but my Grandparents stepped in
Foster Home ruled out
Fast forward through the years, the babe grew up to a teenager of 17 and beyond
The Male teenager spend many weekends with his mother who didn’t want him
The Mother often said she wanted a Girl
No fault on my part, I just became the end product what God wanted me to be
She would cuss and chastise the son for no apparent reason
It was always criticism and negativity that came from the mother to the son
There was definitely a wall of a barrier between the mother and son with love nowhere to be found
The son was blamed for his mother not marrying the internal father
How does a child who didn’t ask to be born being the problem?
The Yellow Jaundice had changed the pigmentation of skin to Caucasian, but that was only briefly when I was born
To this day, the son feels no love and doesn’t extend love to his mother
There used to be a lot of anger and bitterness, but since has been released
Carrying plenty of tension throughout the years
The son prayed to the Lord in honesty in stating he didn’t love his mother
The Lord’s response, “Just respect her”
There were times the son hated himself thinking it was a mistake in him being born
There was even a thought of suicide attempt
A Mother who is not even proud of what her son who is independent, Graduated from college and Self-Alliant has become
The son will always believe a mother wanted to kill her son while she was barring with all her smoking, and stated quote “I would of had an abortion done when abortions weren’t even heard of back then
Yet, a son who is ever proud and achieved greatness in life under the Lord’s eyes.
I mean was Darwin thinking when he wrote this theory
When I studied Psychology and read this I said O’ dear me
Only the strong shall survive was his point
I think on this subject his jaw was out of joint
Observing two similar birds with different beaks
Saying that’s evolution is evident as I speak
Well here I go again, a myth buster at his best
To show this dude Darwin didn’t put the theory to the test.
I have one example that blows holes in it
Even Darwin will raise his hands and say “Sid you got me beat”
Hear we go:
Once again :-)
Have you ever seen a female dog when she’s on heat
To the male dogs this is a treat
They line up be hind her according to strength
As they patiently wait to make love to this wench
But then a strange thing happens the strongest mut
Is faced with a challenge which is a make or bust
And while they size each other and start to brawl
The others run away leaving one that is scrawny and small
The small one approaches her and doesn’t even have the audacity to give her a sniff
He just climbs up and gives her the stiff
And after his finished and has done the deed
You expecting a through breed, the end product is a mongrel cross breed
So when you meet a skinny man with coke bottle glasses and a comb over
Just think “no such thing as natural selection and the best is scrawny Rover”
This is the best that you’ll ever get
And the love will be the best I bet
And as I tuck myself in and before I switch off the light
All I have to say ladies and gentleman is good night
Tossed deep in the ocean was your broken heart
Picking up the pieces, refining each part
Of yourself. Thrown, wacked, hurled and caught by the waves
Floating, passing by, not needing to be saved
Your mended heart polished through an ocean grave
Coming from man, perfected only by nature
You are my blessing, with nothing else greater
You thought meeting another was unlikely
And then we met as you surfaced politely
Resemblance of a rare gem shining brightly
Frosty appearance from love's weather before
Your edges smoothened, beautiful to the core
Your exciting presence was clearly defined
Your character beamed with love for me so kind
You are my oceanic gem, hard to find
You're the end product, our love is forever
Imperfectly perfect due to love's weather
Your unique presence in my life became rife.
Thanks my husband for complementing my life
You are my sea glass. I am your gleeful wife
(I was too late for the poetry contest but enjoyed writing this poem)
There was a time when despite regular bun fights,
Sexist attitudes,
Unrealistic demands by key players,
Money problems,
Drunkenness,
And petty squabbles,
The end product,
That flashed across Cinema and TV screens
Lifted our spirits,
Made us cry,
Made us believe,
Gave us hope,
Challenged us in ways like never-before,
Offering up large doses of empathy,
And understanding.
It enriched a vast number of lives ,
And made the world seem less dull,
Perhaps even less threatening,
More comforting.
We could relate to the message,
The imagination,
Passion and will power of those who gave us,
Something larger-than-life,
And made us care,
For the better I think.
Now has come our winter of discontent,
With no melting snows in sight,
And new types of production teams,
At the forefront,
With no fire in their belly,
Or a burning desire,
To stay true to the art form,
And certainly no concept of,
How many of those who live alone,
And don't get out much,
Are overdosing on reality TV shows,
Like sewer squad,
Hoarders,
And the real housewives,
(Not yet extinct apparently).
And for those who do go out but shouldn't,
There are the reality cop car chases,
Or real murders in all their gory details.
But one has to believe,
As the signs are there,
At places that are big enough to squeeze in an extra person or two,
The Larger than life shows are making a come back,
(Thanks god they kept copies of some of them).
Even for the modern production teams,
Lacking in imagination,
It surely won't be long before,
Reality hits home,
And we can only hope,
That when it does,
There will be enough money left,
For someone prepared for a bun fight,
To produce an epic or two.
POEM: I GROW WHERE I'M PLANTED.
BY SIMEON A.D. PANGU
Though I write rhyme
But I can't sing,
It not a limitation neither a crime,
I do it with pleasure for the joy it bring,
I can't paint neither draw,
Yet the beauty of it I always adore,
I love water yet I can't swim,
At the beach I try to capture every emotional scene.
I have multiple of talent that the fact,
But I will always grow where I am plant,
Being Jack of multiple trade, master of none,
Never would I, for in it I found no fun.
Not because I am afraid of sudden failure just by trying,
But one day you will come to realize,
Without birth, their is no need for dying,
So my priority I will always prioritize,
My major I'll major, minor I'll minor
Never would I minor in my major, or major in my minor.
Life if not a game of chance,
For you'll never stay in the same romance
Opportunity come but once, people say,
Opportunity keeps on reoccurring, if on a career you chose to stay.
All my eggs on one basket I will put,
Just well I prepare the basket for my eggs to put.
If you can't dance neither act,
Teaching is another version of art.
Talent no one is born without,
Ours We don't get to know, for void we tend to scout.
I dont do because I found it comfortable,
But let the end product to others be pleasurable.
Use your talent, on others to create positive impact,
For NOAH is always remembered for just building an ark, which is a single act.
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+23288241244
Creative writers societies.
Within my own axis,
It did not slant
It did not drizzle.
The void shunned the grey clouds.
Lightning was rare.
Thunder turned mute.
Leaf-tops shook with the sleepiness of
Shameless drunks, casting ghoulish shades,
Causing affrays among wild species.
Rivulets rippled in hunger and in thirst,
Circling firths with methodical anger and protests.
The grass blades lost their verdancy and cringed.
Within this place,
The air was proud and still, unfeeling —
Thus blocking the nostrils of weaverbirds, so that
Their breath choked with the intensity of seasonal hate.
Our soils were burnt and frazzled.
Hoe-teeth were dull-edged, producing clangs of
Stony noise while only reflecting the rays of the
Killing sun.
Woe was upon us and upon the anus of the earth.
The corrugated roofs rattled loudly at noon,
Protesting the agony of torture, and like the air,
Sent down particles of aging thirst at night.
On the grounds of this zone
Came the trace of waste and powdered perdition.
Vultures constantly were late for repasts,
For the sandy ground was greedier.
Earth, pall of misery, exhumed Death
Among the dead, and exuded worms in the
Warmth of lost sempervirence.
Apoplexy on living matters reigned.
Consider the lives of old calabashes
Laid waste in the core of the desert;
The exhumed bones interred in prelapsarian order.
Imagine the still existence of the blacksmith’s forge,
The ground of the phoenix in her laboratory of rebirth —the
End product of its old life . . .
That was for us the twelfthmonth of horror.