Long Fans Poems
Long Fans Poems. Below are the most popular long Fans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fans poems by poem length and keyword.
Mother bartered me to an Englishman.
His tribe made televisions.
In those days
televisions were wooden vehicles
crafted out of electric fans
and the spare parts of flying saucers.
Later he became an overseer
of sparky factory hands.
Once while waiting outside for his shift to end,
I jumped from the cross-strut
of a tall billboard. When he found me,
my leg was broken.
'Look what your son has done now'!
"Superman made me do it."
My exiled Irish mother shrugged.
She had entirely forgotten herself
since her surrender.
I liked the Hospital;
African nurses coddled me with plump pink palms.
It was there that I first learned to play a sick piano;
ears pressed into drumming wood
while the blind piano tuner
(a wandering Jew), tapped its hollow bones.
For days I kept
an infirm Steinway under my pillow -
dreamed of fret-sawing crotchets and quavers.
When I returned home mother had found a priest,
and again her native religion began to spook her,
though she still spoke to me in a language
only Superman could hear.
Written 24, 2023, For Robert James Liguori Politics Contest
___________________________________
Politics is what triggers nations to collide.
A place where power and ambition coincide.
Oh, the acrimony of aspiring to be a politician.
To navigate the hazardous tides and mission
The first thing they master is to never say yes.
Since the thrill of politics is rife with impress.
You're required to dazzle, prevail, and flourish.
And convince the populace, inspire, and nourish.
A campaign—a search for fans, a quest to know
Promising alternatives, with a chance to show
What the population genuinely desires
That you may fulfill their wishes and inspire.
They express their imprint on the political stage.
A lively hug, a brittle society, a burning cage
Should no cotillion of stigmas, no excision of a few.
To avoid immoral speech and unsavory eschew.
Gone are the days when luring was hard.
Now, with the gift of persuasion, you can discard,
Human minds have evolved, times have changed,
But darkness and sin have also been arranged.
We operate in harmony, never to stigmatize.
We prize no demimondaine, no social pragmatize
In the history of our society, there are evil deeds.
We embrace the ideals of brotherhood and creed.
Red and blue are our only choices.
Divisions and conflicts, our society's voices,
Genocide, broken treaties, and illness
Insulting names, cultural destruction, and distress
We envy to induce people not to become illiterate.
We may spur elders and penurious, if considerate,
No sectarianism or partying; no debating whence.
Yet, in a culture where virtue is of high precedence
I can't walk in my niche, yet I'm apprehensive.
Politics and society as a whole are impressive.
Courteous decisions are diplomatic and wise.
For the commonweal betterment, we devise
In this smooth domain, where everyone is heard,
We build a society that stands undeterred.
integrated society, a beacon of hope,
Where harmony and justice in a melody cope.
I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves ****** so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following;
"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown ******."
We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated.
Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them."
Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, ******.
Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"
03~12~2014
dadickerector
Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go skyhigh,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone †
lest he gets cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and posthumous rock star status
martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose syrup prize
zing tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib she did apply.
Sweet corn has been harvested, garden picked clean
Breezy mornings now, ruffling the cat’s fur
Front porch stocked with pumpkins and gourds
School is starting, new clothes are being bought
Last year’s backpacks are thrown into a bonfire
Grandma is taking the grandchildren shopping for new
Football games have begun in earnest, fans frenzied
Cool September, you are as welcome as any month ever is
Family has to start practicing getting up early
Bus will be picking the children up at seven o’four
Mom and Dad explain high school to their freshman
Silly because fifteen-year-olds know everything
Dope boundary rope tropes…fans hopes..Ollie copes..thick skin…will find the strength within…ignores the din…as Pope unleashes that boyish grin..
Can hear Freddie and David…ddddd..Under Pressure…well..hard to measure the pleasure of the Pope’s treasure…papacy legacy pride..stops the slide..trumps the prodigy..got a ton to shun outgun..dumps the Bethell puns..rested and bested..still in at stumps.. after Stokes plumps for tried and tested..
Nasty ploys from the seedier media boys…that gambit or slight..of weedier..needier skittish rabbit in the floodlight habit..but such poise..delights despite the noise.. fights the red hot slingshot Jasprit highlights...that iconic.. chronic.. metronomic…never laconic..halcyon harbinger..joy bringer..humdinger swinger gunslinger....
Who’s got a clue what to do…where it will land…understand what the Bumrah brand’s got planned…should be banned…can’t watch it from the hand..love watching it from the stand..tames games…fanned flames…big names castles manned..but the sparkle of another debacle shames and blames…panned and canned..
Doff your hat…scoff..from the off…Test cricket doesn’t get harder than that…time we beckoned..back when Goochie opined…Essex accent whined..reckoned like facing the World’s test best one end.. and tother Ilford second eleven..
It was a story of small standing tall demanding another dance at the Bumrah ball as the diddy men zen of Ollie and Ben gave us a chance and dodged.. not bodged by the Jasprit lance
Even the boom boom cherry riff couldn’t biff the Pontiff of who we are so fond…no what if..made merry with his tintin strawberry blonde quiff in this tiff did respond..
Golly gosh the another level devil..tabloid tosh of him getting Bethell bish bash boshed…losing the race.. will never forget Ollie’s jolly face…gleaming…day dreaming yet screaming to those scheming and memeing…fury at the jury…beaming…the adored Pope ruled..his grace.. Dueled with the ultimate pace ace…an up yours…century scores…our faith restores ..Ollie.. rightly put out…brightly glowed..showed us what he’s all about..loud..proud shout to the crowd who know nowt…want him out…made it clear..peers cheers he holds dear..my best at your behest ..so sincere.. I deserve my Test place and rest my case..! Hear Hear..
Standing in front
Of the place
He felt
A faint breeze
Skimming
The streets
Ankle high
Swirling dust
Reaching up
Stinging his face
Reminding him
This was not
Wind blown sand from
The ocean.
He came from a
Place like that
"...seashells by the seashore..."
Tired
He packed up
Headed out
Straight down the highway
Took the high span view
Over the George Washington Bridge
And saw the misty outline
Of Manhattan ’s
Gray turrets
Piercing the clouds
Brightly colored banners
Everywhere
And soldiers in armor
Beckoning
Him
To come with
His dreams.
Stepping back
He looked
Up and down
The streets
Nothing moving
Nothing to see
The dream
Within
Still
Burned
White
Self taught
He spent
Long nights
Searching
For the right words
And solitary days
Practicing
Until his fingers cramped
And bled.
At the clubs
He met some ladies
Had some fans
When agents stopped
Calling
He stayed
When the others
Slipped away
Leaving behind
Empty backpacks
And borrowed shoes.
The place fills up
Lights dim
A stray cough
Punctuates the silence
Alone on stage
He eases into the mike
His voice carries the song
The audience leans
To hear
Words meant only for them
He connects
With them
And they with him
The Devil is in the room
The club is transformed
After all those years
His chance is now.
From Ebbett’s Field, they had to move away.
This team sought greener pastures in LA.
What they needed was a little change of scene.
The team moved into a park at Chavez Ravine.
Back in Brooklyn, the boys had a good home.
Their fans didn’t want the team to roam.
A reason to move was the advent of jet travel.
Coast to coast flights were made practical.
The appeal in Southern California didn’t seem to stick.
The boys in blue were getting a little homesick.
To their old Brooklyn fans, they felt regrets.
New Yorkers became less than satisfied with the Mets.
Here’s a little news that may astound:
The Los Angeles Dodgers are now Brooklyn-bound!
Modern sonnet
December 22, 2012
He was a great actor but sadly, he's not alive anymore.
He died thirty-seven years ago today on April 18, 1984.
He starred in "Moby Dick" and "The Man Who Could Cheat Death".
Thirty-seven years ago, he went to Heaven after he took his final breath.
He starred in "Ten Minute Alibi" and an episode of "Doctor Who".
He was a gifted British actor and all of his fans know this is true.
He starred in "From Russia With Love", "Triple Cross" and "The Liquidator".
Francis died in 1984 and his talent is still appreciated thirty-seven years later.
[Dedicated to Francis De Wolff (1913-1984) who died on April 18, 1984]
~~*~~
I so like books and books,
and go each day for looks;
in odd book shops and such,
old books I love to touch.
On a page that is aged,
are those words that once raged;
words that once a pen bled,
from a pen- long, long dead.
The dye faint- poor the stain,
on this day of dark rain;
there is dirt on my hands,
in this shop of whirl fans.
With just the books and me,
dim light- so hard to see;
I love this place of dust,
and go there as I must.
My words will soon be lost,
in a box my words tossed;
Will a girl come for looks,
at old books, books and books?
__________________________
February 8, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/An Old Book Shop, I Love
Copyright Protected, ID 18-991-734-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 120 Words
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
_________________
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 21 - Books
Brian Strand
Podium Place 2