Long Faked Poems
Long Faked Poems. Below are the most popular long Faked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Faked poems by poem length and keyword.
I am a Coward
They all came with a promise of smile and laughter..,
But soon all were gone, and I was left in the pool of tears..!!
Now I again was left alone..
With no friend I can call dear..!!
The lessons my life taught seems so harsh..
The dreams I had of flying high, ended with a sudden crash..!!
And the one who were my friends ...
Were the one who broke my life's thread..!!
Yes, I lied, cheated and faked my smile..
All to make sure that I have a friend,
Who at least would walk with me just an extra mile...!!
With them leaving ...the fighter in me also died..
And today I leave this world with nothing..;
But a missing smile..!!
Yes, call me coward ..or a looser ..
Call me whatever your heart desires..!!
I have given up on my life..;
As death seems more fair..!!
Today is the day I died..
I know world would laugh at me..
And on the reason why I died..!!
But no one knows the pain I felt..
And soon I would be lost in the pages of time..
As you know the time fly's by..!!
If I ever come back ..
Please my Lord kill me young...!!
I am not good enough for your beautiful and kind world..!!
Today is the day I died..
But no one knows the pain I felt..
And soon I would be lost in the pages of time..
As you know the time fly's by..!!
Form:
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
as quickly she descended to ground floor.
She’d pulled it off! Her briefcase held the proof.
How proud of her would be her paramour!
How carefully they’d planned the pefect heist.
He’d groomed her well in all she had to do.
She’d faked credentials and gained trust in them.
Then precious relics she had access to.
From here, the City Churches pierced the mist
where they would meet. Her man made no mistakes.
She’d take a case identical from him,
return to the museum with the fakes!
While making the exchange, she nervously
had dropped the case of relics! He was there
to quickly stuff them back in their briefcase.
He closed it, and now smiling, crossed the square.
The fakes in hand, back to her job she ran,
clueless that her man she’d not see again!
June 6, 2018
for Viv Wigley's One Nine And Sixteen Upgrade Version Poetry Contest
The sky had faked us out before,
Grown dark with hints of thunder,
But then the sun resumed control
And left us all to wonder…
Well, will it rain today or not?
The heat needs some relieving.
Yet once the clouds turned white again,
We gave up on believing.
Then all at once, the daylight dimmed
And thunder rumbled, booming.
The stormy weather we’d expected
Suddenly was looming.
The rain, at last, came crashing down -
Relentless, teeming, pounding.
Protected by my screened-in porch,
I felt its force resounding.
Ten minutes passed and with a snap,
The afternoon just brightened.
The show was over, leaving me
With all my senses heightened.
Dead end jobs,
We all got those,
The ones that hurt your feet
And the bottom of your souls,
Customers complain ***** and moan,
For items that have been long gone,
Get hot headed when their sizes are not in,
We have to stand and hold in our screams,
Keep our cool, when really we just want to say,
Hey why don't you walk in my shoes If it just for a day,
Just for a while maybe you'll see,
We got more problems then just your sizes,
Come on jump in my shoes, I be happy to do it for you,
To feel a day with no pain,
Maybe to smile truly stunning, then this faked smile,
So before you moan about all the silly stuff,
Take a look at the staff,
Some are hiding most pain,
In shed of moaning why don't you say,
Hey are you okay.
Written by Davina Browne
25 / 01 / 15
Written: February 07, 2024
___________________________________
It appears as if
the world has been
coated by a wave of
deceitful dictums,
where faked reality
appears to be popular,
an appeal of mimicry shines
even most brilliantly.
Anathema to blisters
induced by prickly nettle;
an artwork mustered
quivering feathers
that cascade over
the ivory cuticles
nestled in molten
mascarpone.
Pearlescent opal stone,
a glimpse of the
azure sky,
a shattered spirit,
hollering.
Deeper within her
skeletal corpulence
an artist grumbles
vehemently,
leaping into the air
while emitting a strained
sonorous tone,
primal image vanishes
and equestrian adulation
is insufficient,
an ersatz nest of swans
brimming with an
ethereal dawn.
Soprano with a
whimsical quality
slightly etched in
matte black tone
diploid remnants are
a flawless fleck of
fascinating fear,
Hollow echoes chant
hymns hail cherubs, and
croon carcass lullabies
Rakish Requiem for
an unreciprocated
magnificent opus
swiftly spanning
pinewood spots, on the
cusp of giving way.
As the impresario
sags on the ladder,
the opera curtains
are drawn closer,
a soothing melody
numbs her fingers
in the process.
Mozart pianissimo is
playing as Requiem strolls
across the stage,
yet, he pulls it off
and fulfills the
task precisely.
Etchings of sequence
on my flesh, conduct
an extraordinary
ballet of life,
raving smooth calm
with melodic verses
that breathe vitality.
1.)
Not present at anything
Everything is just the same
Not many think about the portrait-less frame
I’ve had nothing
Feet buried in my ways
The man I’m becoming oughta be a phase
I can’t think straight
I’m sorting through your face
I’m fading away soon
Memories gone to waste
Afraid of the monsoon
Paint me with your abuse
I’m afraid of the sun too
Baked dry
My bed was home to a lagoon
I’m seeing my mum soon
Faked cries for help
She acted a pontoon
I’m needing my mum soon
2.)
I’m not sure of my age
A tar pit waits for me in my cage
I want more from what’s in this page
Mark it for when I’m feeling this strange
Life works out with minimal change
My face pale
My teeth bleeding
Life hurts our feelings all the same
Write down your pain
All you’re needing is to shift your blame
Nineteen nosey newts nudged nasty nautical nannies
Eighteen eager ermines excitedly edged everyone’s ego
Seventeen sacred slugs sat sideways searching seagulls
Sixteen slippery snails slid southwards sipping sangria
Fifteen flowery foxes fell forward fondling fuchsias
Fourteen frantic fleas froze fighting frightening fanatics
Twelve twiddling tigers told thirteen tasteless tales
Eleven elderly elephants embellished eighteen ebony earrings
Ten terrified tardy ticks tricked two thirsty Turkish tramps
Nine naughty nasal know-it-alls knew nothing nearing knowledge
Eight elastic earthworms echoed eighty edgy Egyptians
Seven solemn snakes slithered slowly sensing sunshine
Six sassy silk-moths sceptically squished spinach selfishly
Five funny fatties feared following fancy French fashion
Four fantastic faithful Finnish flies faked famous farcical facelifts
Three tenacious terriers thrilled twelve tipsy throbbing thespians
Two tireless Tanzanian tapirs tittle tattled tirelessly throughout Tuesday
One obedient oily octopus offered obnoxious orangutans oranges outrageously
He began recording for Sun Records until his contract was acquired by RCA.
He was the King of Rock and Roll and his life ended forty-five years ago today.
He died at the age of forty-two and Elvis Presley was his name.
Abusing prescription pills led to his death and it was a shame.
He recorded such hits as "Jail House Rock", "Hound Dog" and "Way Down".
Presley was born in 1935 and would be eighty-seven if he was still around.
Certain people couldn't accept the fact that he didn't survive.
Those people thought he faked his death and was still alive.
Since he died four and a half decades ago, Rock and Roll hasn't been the same.
He died at the age of forty-two and Elvis Presley was his name.
[Dedicated to Elvis Aaron Presley (1935-1977) who died 45 years ago today on August 16, 1977]
Between conjecture and classification there is
observation, experiment, data (collection and analysis),
statistics, calculus, and a good guess
about God's intentions - probabilities, fractals, chaos and complexity.
This is the thunderous city.
The form of the poem, the rhyme.
Form cannot be first if you want to reach high artistic levels, since
you are then bound by form, and that form is very often a
betrayal of reality.
Yet I find I am attracted all the time
to philosophies in short skirts, jewels and eyes lined with kohl.
I love where her legs lead, to her very soul.
Three women hike by under an umbrella in a winter rain. Two men side
by side run in rhythm.
An oil truck takes the hill in low steady gear.
My old Marine, 89, died last night without anxiety or fear.
May I overcome my pain enough to reach the place where the deer lay
down their bones
and, like them, die alone.
When making an axe handle, the pattern is not far off.
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world's innumerable
wonders.
The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn and Jim.
But soft,
what light through yonder window breaks?
It is a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second without which
nothing can be done or faked.
The temple bell stops, but the sound still comes out of the flowers.
Forests and the composite species will be nameless. Genetic prowess,
receiving the sacrament, performing Lohengrin from the Great American
Songbook,
the look of love in all the wrong places, facebook,
fakebooks, folios of old family photos on or in pianos.
When we took Pop-Pop off the ventilator,
we put him in a refrigerator.
He stopped eating, he stopped breathing. Circle with a dot.
He had his dream, he'd rowed his boat.
Organic computers using polymerase and qubits came later.
Colour of States Truth? By Abdul Haye Amin.
“As always nation act as blinds and deaf to spoil my days,
until where struggle in life and endless prosecutions and tears by,
all color of nationalities not to drive the States.
As I ever dreamed faked in this world of love,
day before Yesterday Those who regarded my enemy,
and neglected once for day of freedom of truth.
For not myself nor for this world but for,
my own cast and for my peoples,
the price of my pain ashes in my vain,
without surprise in Judgment in the Kingdom.
where impossible in nature colour of my vision of dream
as 'Nelson Mandela' at last revealed as,
'Bongo Bandhu' of Bangladesh in volume not in weight?
I therefore, nothing to be proud of myself today for,
my dear Lord on earth?”
By Bilingual's Author Abdul Haye Amin.