Long Faking Poems
Long Faking Poems. Below are the most popular long Faking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Faking poems by poem length and keyword.
Oi Oi ..saveloy…caps do doff..bless Joffy boy…with injury woes and blows…
From the off some did scoff…Joff can no longer bowl for toffee…clearly not really…
Not being coy but some of those press hoi polloi said Ben had chose..
A risky ploy against our Indian foes…but seeing him let rip
For the fans unbridled joy..a trip to our favourite offy..
It must have been hard..his comeback marred..alright scarred
By what the keyboard warriors deposited…despite his trouncer
Bouncer calling card…was abused.. and accused of being coddled..
Even swaddled and cossetted..
While everyone in the stand thought it was grand…
Our corn row mane not dread lock..spearhead…
Gold chain warlock.. with the ball they all dread
After four sore years to once more..
Adore pure pace grace so raw..
Watch the speed gun soar…
A hardcore encore we saw for sure..
You can’t really match it…the Jofra creed…
Watching batters in tatters..can't relax..sow the seed..
The champ axe in our camp does ramp it up to the max…
Trying to face our flying ace hatchet who when he does need
Can just ratchet up his speed..
No faking…Joff did always say he would do his best..
In his quest to play another test…the ultimate contest..
Can’t be forsaken by those mistaken that he would just be taking..
The cash for some crap brash slap and dash bash..
Fleeting greetings from the future..where we will all being well ..
Will be meeting our speedster suitor…us.. amorous
About our glamorous Jofradamus..his blizzards will neuter..
Have willow wizards by the gizzards..our tearaway tutor..
So a quick nod to the bowling God…giving him another
Chance to prance and dance..sod each odd bod..
Getting sniffy or spiffy.. Joff somehow iffy..
Cos it was bloody lubbly jubbly..
To see you back having a crack on the track …
Like the scene of that 2019 tiff between him and piggy Smith…
Us again getting squiffy in a jiffy..with this new riff..
By our corker stalker.. wicket hawker…..the bliss
We did miss due to his injury abyss..
A new era ..finally coming…Joff still strumming …humming..
Nice one my son…so come on let’s open the bubbly…
TRULY SAD ABUSE OF POWER GATHER THEE UNDESIRABLE BEINGS ON THE SPECTRUM TO COMMIT THEE ULTIMATE BY BREAKING AND ENTERING TRESPASSING SEARCHING THROUGH VETERANS HOMES CRUSHING AMERICAN FLAGS FOR THEE OUTFIT OF SCUM ON EARTH MY PRAYERS ARE WITH THE CAPO CIRO GARGANO HIDING OUT FAKING HIS DEATH HIDING BEHIND UNDESIRABLE BEINGS ON THE SPECTRUM FUNNY RIGHT JEFFERSON ALABAMA BACH OFF ABUSE OF POWER STOP TERRORIZING DISABLED FAMILIES SEVERE ABUSE OF POWER BULLIES AN AUTISTIC YOUNG MAN TO TRESPASS WITH INTIMIDATION AND FEAR HIS UP COMING TRESPASSING ARREST OUT ON BOND HE ARRIVES SHAKING FORCED TO WORK FIR ABUSE OF POWER BELIEIVING HES GOING TO PRISON FOR A 300 DOLLAR BOND HE TRESPASSING EXPOSE DOCUMENTS TO CIRO GARGANO AND HIS ABUSE OF POWER STARTLING TAMPERING WITH DISABLED FAMILY AN ENTIRE FAMILY ALL ON THE SPECTRUM MANIPULATION INTIMATION BADGERING TERRORIZING FBI INFORMANTS DISABLED VETERANS DISABLED AMERICAN FAMILY
I do my best to go with the flow
Yet, I was never meant to be here
Drinking empty words like rancid beer
You sure enjoy putting on a show
Sincerity important to you
Faking it until it seems so true
Older and wiser, there are things I know
Still clinging to how I want things to be
In the end it is all up to me
It's hard to leave but it's time to go
Deep in my heart I know you're not a friend
Enough is enough I cannot pretend
I did my best to go with the flow
You sure enjoyed putting on a show
Older and wiser there are things I know
It was hard to leave but it was time to go
Inspired to write this poem after reading Connie Marcum Wong's Constanza.
Between spacetime ripples
lurk dark energy waves,
emanating from the void
strange forces hold me slave
I mean! What type of creature/
flies a kite in thunderstorms
One searching for answers
carrying Cain’s multiple forms?
Left to roam earth’s surface,
blind man at the controls,
Free will: a human delusion,
designed for plugging holes
Filling up wishing wells
that possess no walls or gold,
If angels once flew here,
torn scapulas failed to hold
Inconsequence yields potential
for those without aim,
Living in guilty dreamland,
faking the conscience game
Fate’s not predestined,
broken paths bifurcate the way;
Either side are minefields,
where decimal points blow astray
Catatonic medication
seeps into my mind
Light speed slows down
bringing stability of a kind
I stare at open ripples,
stretching ever far apart,
reflecting chronic heartbeats,
flatlining from the start
Can barely make an effort
to clear my cluttered desk;
paperweights grow heavy,
the inkwell more grotesque
Time — time is endless
when prepping a final letter.
No sense quoting scriptures;
makes the flood outside seem wetter
To hell cast this world,
gamble away life’s coffers
Nothing left but truth
that only entropy offers
Chip the tip off a bullet,
Russian roulette my head
Peep inside the hole dum-dum,
you can always bank on red
Question marks hang over Cain;
mine has proven true
Decimal point erred again,
later resurfaced askew
Left to bear its blunder,
I send my kite into a storm tonight,
To hear the heavens rage,
“That decimal point was always right”
By
David Kavanagh
Light is fading
It’s cold, abrasive
Facing longer nights
Green leaves mellow
Brown and yellow
Autumn has arrived
Misty mornings
Clock alarming
Body sense awry
Feel so jaded
Last night’s raving
Flashing through your mind
Drink hot coffee
Rush to catch the
Seven thirty-five
On the treadmill
Routine, thankful
Work keeps hope alive
Simply crazy when, every now and then
You want to bash your head against the wall
No longer feeling worth it all
Like you always thought you would
You live the life you choose
Or are you being used?
Now faking it, doesn’t raise a hit
You forfeit all or run with it
Lucky to be paid
And maybe later, dream of getting laid
Light is fading
It’s cold, abrasive
Facing longer nights
Green leaves mellow
Brown and yellow
Autumn has arrived
we learned to live on breadcrumbing
to orbit without return
haunting for love
a kittenfisher smiled
through borrowed summers
a catfisher built an entire moon
we endured benching
cushioning
roster dating—
hearts lined as spare chairs
after the guests had gone
I practiced love bombing
you future faking
the skilled preferred negging
one small faultline opening under load
and a place to live inside it
we drifted through situationships
through talking stages
through the annual migration
of ghosting, zombieing and hoovering
a hard launch
a soft launch
then pocketing
banksying taught us
how to leave without leaving
ghostlighting taught us
how to return without arriving
meanwhile the wildflowerers
flowered
the slow daters
kept their own time
every exclusive
promise
stalled at a DTR
frozen at the lip
of the relationship escalator
watching the steel teeth
flatten and disappear
red flags
snapped in the wind
green flags
semaphored
beige flags overgrown
in the yard
one night the throngers
argued hot takes beneath the stars
I felt the ick
you went delulu
someone else shrekking at last
laughed with their whole strange face
and for a moment
nobody was performing
just two people
standing outside the slang
while every
label we had worn
blew past—
confetti and bleached receipts
a failure to launch
breaking open in beach grass
What you see is a hollow shell,
Inside I stand alone in my private hell.
My pain is something I try to hide,
It is kept locked deep inside.
No one to talk to about my morbid thought,
Nor anyone to care nor anyone that can be sought.
On my face you will see a smile,
But inside I have been hurting all the while.
I have sisters who I love dearly,
But lines between us have been drawn clearly.
I have friends, a very a select few,
But they have their own problems they are going through.
I hate to be an obligation.
What I would give not to have that sensation.
I want to be asked about in genuine concern,
Not because you see me as problem to discern.
I know these issues are mine and mine alone,
However it would be nice for someone to just phone.
To ask how I am really feeling,
And not take the crap that I have been speeling!
I want someone just once to say
That they thought of me today.
That they want to know what way went by,
That caused me to lose the twinkle in my eye.
I ask about everyone because I truly care,
But feel like I am not really all there.
Is it too much to ask
For someone to forget about the past?
I know that most of this is my own making,
But it is still real, there is no faking.
One day I hope to have that sparkle back.
But 'til then I remain still at the end of the pack.
Still a hollow shell,
Still alone in my own private hell.
Of late, I seem unable
To write a song or fable.
Perhaps it’s too much caffeine;
I seem to be unstable.
Now recently, I’m shaking;
My muscles have been aching.
I may be lacking protein,
Or maybe I’m just faking.
A certain strange malodor;
Those germs are all freeloaders.
Perhaps it is my hygiene,
My wife complained, I showed her.
Perhaps it’s too much caffeine,
I may be lacking protein.
Of late, I seem unable;
Perhaps it is my hygiene.
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Another of the 4 stanza poems where the 4th is constructed from the non-rhyming lines from first 3 and the first line from the first.
This one is 7 syllables throughout, so depending on the definition of a jueju, it fits that category, as described in "Dawn song".
It's also fairly stupid, just trying to get the hang of this 4th stanza as
a summary of the first 3...
Darkness corrupted my soul
But light only burned my flesh
A steady stairway to heaven
Transmogrified into the highway to hell
I'm not even sure I'm okay
I'm still north of Hell
But deep south from Heaven
My words squirm like mice
Confronting a King Cobra
Starting to dance like a jester
Maybe I always was a clown
For believing in life, liberty,
And the pursuit of happiness
Like, I still strive to be whimsical
Caked in the batter of despair
Just put me in the oven
But there's humor in the sadness
There's laughter in the tears
There's anger in the joy
And rage in the peace
Shatter the mirror to pieces
Reflecting my face on each shard
It's impossible to find the real me
But perhaps they're all real
And I'm faking their fictionality
So in the end I'm still just a phony
Selling the words I say
Instead of the words I mean
But sometimes the heart feels
That which words cannot articulate
So I might drown in the darkness
But I'll only fry in the light
So I'll take a mallet and bash the walls
Just to watch them all fall
And I'll forge my own path
Somewhere between light and dark
That is where the meaning of man
Will surely be found
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..