Long Fabrications Poems
Long Fabrications Poems. Below are the most popular long Fabrications by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fabrications poems by poem length and keyword.
t-rump simply never grew up
and so formed as.....
a spoiled child given $100 million by age 19
and advice on how to put his life together
his education was bought not earned so he assumes
and the 'now' is as his ball in a school yard game
he made his fortunes as a bankruptcy fall guy
and not as representative of success through constructive-ideas
he is as a flag waving craftsman leader of masochistic ego
and crafts only name calling bad feelings
also denial divisions
and evasive fabrications
blame others games
and vengence threats
t-rump is as a child in an old mans body
and that means his demented mind simply never had to grew up
stan sand
When someone lies to me, sometimes it's difficult not to turn and walk away. I think they do it because of one of two reasons. Either they need to feel important, or because they think I'm too stupid to know they're lying."
Nothing irks me more than jerks who are habitual liars
Fibbers whose evil forked tongues I'd extract with pliers
Those who look me square in the eye and keep defying
my skeptical look of askance when I think they're lying
If I could bag lies, fake alibis and bull crap I am fed
I would be spreading that fertilizer in my garden bed,
aware that manure helps flowers bloom all year long
But the stench of bull crap would be much too strong
Liars can't be believed, even when speaking the truth
I find it distasteful, malicious, abhorrent and uncouth
They insult my intelligence, and I find it very repulsive
but to those who tell lies, it's irrepressibly compulsive
They keep trying their damnable best to get me to believe
that a ruse is the truth, but with malcontent they deceive
It's a fault of mendacious fabulists and cunning scams
With falsehoods they'd shave the wool of innocent lambs
No pearls I cast before such swine, who wallow in muck
Caught in webs they've woven, in quicksand, they're stuck
Liars move deeper into darkness with each fallacy they spin
Their recurrent falsehoods are bull crap, and will do them in
Woe to liars when their deceitful fabrications are exposed
Until the truth they admit, my door to them will be closed
Deceptions are forgiven if they are repentant and confess
But I'm not naive enough to keep falling for their load of BS
December 24, 2021
King-Size Bull Crap Contest
Sponsored by Charlie Messina
A faerie tale, folk lore, imaginary thoughts
and rhymes to live beyond the ordinary days
of a life destined to become immortal.
Filled with true love from a prince among men,
loyal cohorts, trustworthy, kind and generous
with all their gifts and love;
still sharing the adventure to the end.
Feats of daring-do, fables,
foibles and defeats, dragons slayed,
evil witches left behind to bask
in the caldron they turned life into;
Wizards teaching subtle ways
to make it through the never-ending days
of dread pirates who build their fortunes
in such illusive ways.
Avoiding superstition on a path
to happily ever after,
where waltzing on the rainbows
casts a spell of magic
across the landscape of the past.
Patching together the fabrications
saved unto the end;
spinning a yarn that’s hard to imagine -
yet - happens now and then.
All my charmed days
now dreamlike on cloud nine
where the fanciful quest continues
and - I
become a legend in my own mind.
ODE TO A POEM
a made thing
this verbal construct
an event
in language
makers many
of fabrications
things of art
words&sounds
weighed
&valued
indifferent to reality
crafted
&woven
verbal artefacts
as a living entity
mysteriously conceived
delivered...
two moments
of a single pulse
twixt
voice&ear
one plane of reality
to another
a species of eloquence
figuring forth
to teach&delight
in the name of imagination
a spontaneous overflow
of moments
of solitude
visitations
speech framed
in thought&wonder
of subtle fire
&inward light
of revelation
in an imaginary garden
caressing nouns
with metaphor
saying one thing
meaning another
with
stored magic
from a room
full of marvels
a language in orbit
a remembrance
unearthed
a temporary ossession
intense
&undeniable
as a shiver
down the spine
Science and Religion
Some ask, “Why do you waste your time on religious matters?
When it’s obvious, science is the answer.”
After countless hours, I realize the theories
Are like sieves and will not hold water.
I do not blame the scientists, who attempt to explain
The universe logically or the evolution of life
With evidence gathered.
It is these so-called “intelligentsia” who distort the facts
With fabrications and then propagate the lies to replace the truth.
This suits their narrative, the fools!
Science is rational, armed with data to analyze existence,
Whereas religion quenches the souls of human beings.
I, too, want my name in a history book,
But not as an idiot.
Cobblestone Echoes
by Odin Roark
Ancient stone
keeper of darkness
of auras reaped from high seas
vast is your harvest
from earth rumblings beset by molten tears
to charred obsidian made hard
glass reflecting where primates once clamored upon
From paws a running
sniffed calloused drippings in peril
where sandal swathed footsteps
dodged blade and spear
as wash water dumped from high
added slippery footing for predators ever lustful
ever hungry
ever historic
Now the high noon of modern life
the wonder among your melodies
amidst recent fabrications emulating your path
you the wrinkled skin spirit of ancient masons
who served sun-baked feasts
from the past of pasts
Alas…
Genuine micro-canyons of irrigated seed and drift
send the spirits aloft from once grasses high
reminding us that while calendars may crumble
time’s enduring stone of old remains original
transcending the language of vowel and consonant
acknowledging the reach of sentient eye to eye
the whispered caress beneath a Nike sole
sharing the tongues of old
echoing the murmurs of weary travelers
the severed limbs of warriors
the rivers of plasma-red passion
polishing fossils within
within
within
Yet many choose faking Nature’s setting
even making ready counterfeit copies
to pacify the blind living without preference
massaging serpentine monsters of ignorance
whose Gucci laced feet now prance upon this facsimile
sold as make-believe
glittering’s bondage
hidden in fakery
having not a clue of the Carthaginians
or Mediterranean isles of blood and sweat
from whence it all came
For like Rodeo Drive’s cobblestone plazas
where modern celebrity prisons of today
masquerade as credible reality for borrowed tomorrows
knockoff décor identity everlasting
unaware their own history
reaches inevitable fade out
may never know the hidden messages
Perhaps…
The subtle cacophony of shadow and whisper
cobblestone’s enigmatic infernal
made orchestral for those who can hear
those who dare see through the darkness
those who can be moved and touched by
shadowed silence protected with truth
will experience the magic
How few seem to hear the deafening message
When entering negotiations with a criminal mastermind
Who just happens to be a dictator, cruel and unkind
of a country with a long record of opposing freedom
and crushing opponents to death by choosing to bleed 'em
It behooves one to be ready, prepared to the hilt
To counter the fabrications of truth that are built
into the warp and the woof of his opponent's distortions
by which he evades capture through myriad contortions
Would you venture a guess that I'm talking 'bout Putin
Against whom the whole civilized world is rootin'
for seizing Georgia, Crimea and parts of Ukraine
(along with a nice chunk of three U.S. Presidents' brains)
I'll bet the farm and the farmhouse that Mr. Trump sees no peril
~ That in Helsinki, Putin left him cuckolded and sterile
If I hear one more word about that turquoise monster I will turn blue.
Like the monster, Daddy? Asked his observant daughter, little Sue.
Her mother smiled, knowing who would win this battle round.
Monsters are not real, Daddy said. Sue replied “They live underground.”
They are fabrications, fakes, fantasies, faerie tales, Daddy said sternly.
Little Sue clamored up and sat on her Daddy’s favorite left knee.
But you can save me from them, because you’re my hero, right Dad?
Mommy knew this would be the best conversation they would ever have.
Daddy hemmed and hawed and finally asked “Where do they live?”
Downstairs in the storage room, with that ugly lock from Aunt Viv.
Okay, Daddy said to her. We will march down there and see.
I would rather stay here, Sue said. I like your favorite knee.
How we act, and what we say . . .
Define us largely as human beings.
And those actions and words, tend to be
Driven by, mostly our ways and means.
Does this lead to ongoing divides, between
Those of wealth and those without?
Where the poor don't get the resources,
While the privileged have all the clout?
We see daily where some are lost with truth,
Yet these fabrications still find ears to command.
So that those enamored by these false hopes,
Become fraudulent patriots, where they stand.
This ignorant deception is self-defeating,
Since there's no economy by its use.
Because power that is taken does not regenerate . . .
It only weakens by the constant abuse.
I’ve a rocket in my purple pen
Muse powered with flower grins
It brings forth life in exciting ways
Calms my nights brightens days
I don’t have to watch television
As write excites with white precision
Tickling mind with cherry creations
Exercise in time worthy fabrications
Where would we be minus creativity
Dark and artless desperately bleak
I prefer the peach puzzle of words
That sail your soul like flight of birds
My purple pen has me drunk like gin
And hangover is another level win
Ponder flavors of gold of soul my sins
Writing of Savior who knows my end
Yet lifts me up to heavens height
With spirit so free towards light
Free from pain and dark misery
Purple pen paints a heart so free