Long Fantasyme Poems

Long Fantasyme Poems. Below are the most popular long Fantasyme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fantasyme poems by poem length and keyword.


The Wooden Cask

I want to tell you a story that will not end with the glory,
Of a good friendship gone gory, come on drink the drink from my flask. 
You have backstabbed me through my worst, so come on now, do quench your thirst,
And to be buzzed, you will be  first; I know you’re love to have a blast. 
Thanks for helping me; you’re the only one who could help with this task.
				Come on, let us bury the past.

Do you remember my good friend, often times you try to pretend?
Saying in you, I should depend, masked people must take off their mask. 
Behind my back you were lying, in revenge now I’m applying,
Like in your lies you were trying, to avoid whatever I ask.
And now you will feel, what I was feeling, on the wrath that I cast,
				Go on; drink the drink from my flask. 

Do you feel inebriated, perhaps too intoxicated?
It seems your vision has faded, my, you have gotten drunk so fast. 
Come on help me mix this caustic, hurry now! Is it too toxic?  
It’s not harmful; you won’t get sick, be careful it could give a blast. 
I push him in, but he don’t fit, so now I had to use my rasp,
I vowed my revenge, so take in your breath; it is to be your last.
				And now in this drum you will bask.

You have done me this way too long; lying, stealing; the same old song,
And in life you do not belong, for it’s your lies that are too vast. 
I’m done with my contemplating and your death I am awaiting,
Should I go, I am debating, now you’re time in there has surpassed. 
I am not like you; I take it further, can you see the contrast?
                                For your help, it’s an A, you passed. 

Sips of liquor is what it took, to rid this liar, thief, and crook,
Now entombed in this little nook, I wipe the germs off of my flask.
And though he’s dead, I am upset, because my clothes and shoes are wet,
And for this day I won’t forget; my senses I begin to grasp. 
But for now all of my problems are floating, in acid and gas,
				There they’ll dwell, in the wooden cask.


_____________________________________
For Elaine George's 'Tell me a story' contest
The form is Trochaic Octameter
Iambic pentameter serves as the substitute.


Resurrection

One quick snap I'm 
cognizant, no 
standing in this 
place, in pitch black 
dark I lay can't see 
my hand before my 
face,

my wingspan's non 
existent, cushioned 
wood up by my 
head, the sayers 
nay have fine'lly 
gone and buried me 
for dead.

They should've 
checked my pulse 
before they shut the 
coffin top, attempts 
to leave me like 
they do these 
young'ns off the 
block,

but haters are so 
sloppy otherwise 
they'd know for 
sure, my heart is 
truly still before the 
final coup de jour.

I don't know how 
much time has 
passed since I was 
buried deep, the 
casket lid is weak, I 
feel the dirt and 
moisture seep,

through cracks 
unseen, it's 
blasphemy to think 
that I'd succumb, I'll 
resurrect my being 
cause I'm nume'ro 
dos to none.

I use my knees to 
break apart the lid 
atop my cage, the 
soft'ning soil 
drizzles down onto 
my suit clad frame,

I claw my way 
through earth 
ignoring parts that 
scream with pain, 
my right hand 
breaks the plain to 
feel the rush of 
streaming rain.

The nighttime air is 
filled with all the 
power of my core, 
they left me dead 
and buried so I'll 
give them all what 
for,

and resurrect 
myself to fit the 
image of the gods, 
a total 
metamorphasis in 
spirit, mind and bod.

My words will wrap 
around you 
anaconda, squeeze 
you tight, enough to 
make your ribcage 
splinter til you bleed 
inside,

don't hide behind 
requests for mercy, 
it was meant to be, 
which may 
convincingly convert 
my friends to 
enemies.

Committed sins I 
will atone to climb 
life's hill alone, with 
skills from off the 
dome I turn my foes 
to skinless bones,

a mind as warped 
as mine will kill em 
all and steal the 
throne, decapitate 
the king and have 
his cabbage sealed 
in stone.

I sit now on my 
grave with fractured 
personalities, which 
comes from me 
ascending through 
the world of R.I.P.,

I then begin to 
scream out to the 
thunderstorm I see, 
like Al Pacino on 
the steps, the end, 
GodFather 3,

and though I love to 
joke, wait til they 
get a load of me!
me
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Finishing the Dream

As I tried to pull her along with me and our eyes started adjusting to the darkness, 
we realized that she was not suffering from some sort of paralysis.  Instead, a pair 
of large harry hands protruded through the sidewalk and were each wrapped 
around one of her ankles.

I am not sure why, but I unzipped my pants and started to urinate on the hands.

“What are you doing”, cried my girlfriend, full of fear.

“Our urine is like acid on their skins”, I answered, not really sure how I knew this.

She stared at me with a quizzical look on her face as if she, too, was afraid to ask 
how I knew that – fearful of what my answer might be.

As the skin burned off the large hands, my girlfriend was able to step free and we 
started running down the darkened city street.

Off in the distance was a barely perceivable blinking red light marking the 
destination I was heading for.  Even though it felt like we were running in place and 
in slow motion, the red light grew larger and larger with each lethargic step.

Finally, we reached our destination.  It looked like a domed baseball stadium 
hovering five feet off the ground.  I approached a door-like structure and 
yelled, “Permission to enter the ship” – only the sounds that came out of my mouth 
were strange bleeps and blips. 

“No humans allowed”, boomed from the spaceship in the same bleeping language 
that I had just used.

“It’s okay – she’s with me”, I responded.  My girlfriend took a step back, stared at 
me with terror in her eyes – eyes that then rolled back as she started to fall in a 
faint.

Just in time, I stepped toward her and grabbed her before she crashed onto the 
ground.  Her weight and momentum took me down with her in a soft landing with 
me cushioning her fall.

It was then that I awoke to find my girlfriend on top of me having somehow aroused 
me enough to be pleasuring her in my sleep.

"Oh, you feel so good", she moaned ...only, it came out in bleeps and blips.
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative

It Could Be Smarter To Barter By Phreepoetree

THIS IS A TYPE OF POETRY I CAME UP WITH 
                      AND METHINKS IT’S A VIABLE FORM
                        THIS  IS “PHREE’S HYBRID POETRY”
                            (I sincerely hope you see why)

         IT COULD BE SMARTER TO BARTER

The barter system is a fallacy entangled in a lie
And I’ll tell you all exactly why
There ain’t no way to live in this world and not spend a penny
At least I don’t know of any

Hey Mister, listen, I’ll clean the windows in your store
And you give me some food and drink in return
So the dude looks as if I’ve gone completely crazy
He implies that it takes green but I infer he could give it to me for free
If only he’d listen to the likes of me
Hey lady, listen, you look all hot and sweaty anyone can see
So let me mow your grass instead of you
And then you let me sleep in a spare bedroom tonight
First of all she’s too leery 
and secondly she doesn’t want me anywhere near her house
Hey old man, you look laden and ready to pass out
So why don’t I carry those groceries for you
And you can give me a bottle of rum or two 
You don’t think the old bastard drinks liquor, do you?
And even if he had there ain’t no way he was letting me cross his threshold
Hey Mr. Butcher, you look like you’ve had a hard day so why don’t I sweep up for you
I’ll sweep, I’ll dust, I’ll spit shine the floor if I must
And you can feed me anything I need not cook
For I own no bedroom, no roof, and certainly not a stove
All he fed me was some bologna about having no bologna
And that’s the only meat, if he had any, the butcher would spare
Because like everyone I’ve mentioned, he simply doesn’t care

You can call me crazy, insane and a jerk
But I know the barter system could never work
So if you think by bartering our troubles will ever be solved
Ain’t nobody doing nothing for nobody unless there’s currency involved
                 © 2011.…Phreepoetree
Form: Quatrain

Banberry Wine

One day ‘cross the meadow by Diggory Spring
I saw an amazing and curious thing
A wee little fellow no bigger than that
Was puffing a pipe blowing smoke through his hat

He had a small bottle of something to drink 
And he took a big gulp with a sly little wink
He said “It is late and I really must go”
“If you like, follow me where the banberries grow”

“When midnight rolls ‘round at the end of the day”  
“It’s then that the wee folk will come out to play”
So I followed him down to a wee wooded dell
And sat down beside a small sparkling well

There in the dell was a beautiful flower
Which opened as night reached the twelve o’clock hour
Inside several fairies stepped out and took flight
They sparkled and glowed in the darkness of night

Then other bright blossoms soon opened up wide
And the sky was soon filled from the fairies inside
They danced and they sang underneath the bright moon
While a small elfin band played a magical tune

The wee little fellow that I’d followed there
Was cooking up something, its smell filled the air
He said “Come here friend, taste the fruit of the vine”
Then he gave me a glass full of banberry wine

Then being quite thirsty I took a big quaff
My head started spinning as he started to laugh
Then I became weary and sleep filled my eyes 
I finally woke up to a glowing sunrise

I looked all around to see what was about
But nothing was there as I gave a loud shout
It must have been just an illusion it seemed
The wee folk had only been something I dreamed

But as I continued on looking around
I saw in the grass something there on the ground
A small empty bottle with a sweet fruity smell
Was lying right next to me there in the dell

So friends if you’re ever by Diggory Spring
And spot a wee fellow then don’t say a thing
Just hurry away and heed these words of mine
If he offers, don’t drink of his banberry wine
Form: Rhyme


This Turtle's Lament

I am so screaming bloody MURDERrrrr!!!!!!!!
catch that Poet Destroyer!! (grr, grr, grrrrrr)

She took my turtle sweetie
then said he tasted salty

Well what did she expect?
She is now my prime suspect!

Gone now is my turtle lovey-poo...
and I'm left crying boo-hoo-hoo

I'm plotting now my sweet revenge
for my love's death I will avenge

Watch out, pd I'm watching you
oh! the pain--your turn to stew!!

Did you know sea turtles shed tears?
Were you not moved when they appeared?

What did you do to the shell?
Did you sell it, do pray tell...

my heart is really breaking, b-r-e-a-k-i-n-g
were you the one who did the chopping??

Did his bones go crunch, crunch, crunch?
who else did the munch, munch, munch?

Thanks to you I shall never see him smile,
never see him again swim in style.

                 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Huh? Who is this crawling towards me??
none other than my turtle honey!?!

What? You mean turtle news got it wrong?
You mean, they messed up all along?

pd wasn't cooking you at all? and not Soup?
So you're telling me I've been duped??

But I know they said she was eating turtles!!
Devouring them in between chortles!!

popping them in her mouth like candy
then chasing them down with shandy! 

Oh. OH. OHhhhhhhh.


well why didn't anybody tell me earlier?
now I have to say sorry to p. destroyer??

Ok, ok, I'll be the bigger turtle and apologize.
Sorry so sorry pd, I didn't realize...

You were eating Chocolate turtles, the pecan kind
*blush* *blush* teeheehee, spare me some, if you don't mind??




August 3, 2010 written for pd's turtle soup contest
ahaha a bit long-winded sorry I didn't know 
where this would take me, had fun though,,,,
+ Linda-Marie I hope you don't mind, I just had to 
take from your honey poo & use "poo" as well
 for my own turtle-poo ;) lol too cute
Form: Couplet

It Was All a Dream

laying there out in the plain,
out in the plain alone, 
watching the clouds one by one,
watch shapes in the sky go by,
i fantasizing of fairy tales
the ones my mother would share,
a red hooded girl skips on through,
as seven dworves whistle with bears,
several princesses hurry along,
as for one looses a shoe,
followed by a big bad wolf,
as well as three piggys too,
standing up i lurk behind, watching carefully from afar,
to see a queen stand from her chair cheerfully welcoming them all,
every character of all tales told applaud while screaming hurray,
a white rabbit scurries down the middle,
panicly saying im late, IM LATE!
a blonde little girl hurries after her friend,
with everyone followed behind,
soon they will see a castle for me,
for me a castle, i would never have thought,
making my way through the crowed,
i step up on the stage,
everyone cheered, i say is all here?
hearing everyone but whinnie the pooh,
we left on a search, looking high and low,
everyone was stumped,
then we heard, thump thump,
to only see the silly ol' bear,
they all gather round, 
greeting their friend,
before i go to say my hello, 
I stop,
i realize this is all a dream,
the best dream of them all,
one that should never come to an end,
everyone looks to see me stand still, 
they wave goodbye as they all disappear,
i didnt want to leave, but i knew i should,
i awake from my slumber,
as a big clash of thunder,
sound being followed by rain,
i gather my things and head for the house,
running up stairs i jump up upon my bead,
thinking of my friends,
my friends from the dream,
a dream that never came true,
falling asleep i dream of my friends,
of me the queen, celebrating with a royal ball, 
ending with a hapilly ever after,
That is my story,
the story that changed my life,
seeing things differently,
opening my mind,
seeing things for more than what they seem.
© Amy Mccabe  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

Demon In a Shadow

Silent and swift
In the shadows you rest
Plotting your course of action
Your victims are what's next

You strike when least expected
The light causes you pain
Your method of attacking is cowardly
But of that you feel no shame

In the shadows you delve
In sin you find your peace
I think I see you coming
No it's just the movement of the trees

Muscles clench 
I know you are near
Remain calm
Of you I have no fear

Though you are a demon 
and indulge in profanity
I must be lax
I will not resort to insanity

My pathways are lonely
But only to some extent
You seem to be in proximity
With me your life is spent

Following me cautiously
Wishing to do me harm
I know I will conquer
That is why your presence is of no alarm

You laugh with much malice
And I return the favor
You come very close
But your threats have lost their flavor

I come to you now
When the odds have switched sides
Your are now my victim
And my victims will die

My prey I have made you
At my approach you retreat
I knock you to the ground
And shout "Get on your feet!"

Mostly empty bluffs and promises of danger
I have been through this before
We are familiars, far from actual strangers

Return to the shadows 
from which you came
I strike with all might 
and cast you to the flame

A vile creature
Your deserve no mercy
You tried to cause me pain
But your lies do not hurt me

I wake up to realize 
This was all just a dream
But it felt so real
I could have sworn I heard you scream

A nightmare of a demon
Who whispers my name
You appear so real
But you are only in my brain


No matter, I dare you
To try and strike me once more
I am the champion
And your corpse I will leave to the floor

I await your return
Your remarks are very shallow
I grow bored of this
I come for you demon in the shadow
me
Form:

The Canto of Begging - 1 To 4

the canto of begging

1.
when the morning sets in
with the sun rising in the east 
i put on the dress of a beggar 
extended up to the horizon
and the canto of my begging starts 

i beg 
beside the big-bazar 
beside the fly-over 
beside the college-campus 
beside the cow-market 

you then put your elbow 
on the body of the day 
giving a perfect and unbiased pose 
to attached to the album of life 

people of the working-class 
spread hither and thither
to write some more decimal fraction 
on the notebook of life

2.
in the dusts and soil of rural-bengal  
in the testament written by the grass
i am a son of the immortal 

my begging-bowl is the most 
favourite go-ahead of a alone man

then speaking around are 
the chop singara aluposta 

and the love-story of a hyacinth  
blooming in the pond 
blind by mud 

also in the overflowed dustbin of the city 
waiting rightly with an erected head  
the excitement of your absence 

3. 
coming to this canto of begging
do you know 
i  enjoy both 
your intensity and your sharpness

your secret current flows me to the pore of the skin 
of the body of the puller of a hand-barrow
your cold attracts me 
towards the syllabus of waning moonlight  

i do realise now that the stale afternoons 
saved in my pocket
stitched so many new muscles 
with my vocal chord

and i’m howling in joy…
 
4.
what’s an enjoyment… hahaha…day after day
spending too much chaos 
and living to so little extent
tell me is it the least 

within the left-over on the leaf-plates
after eating by the baboos 
i can discover more and more
love 

the mango tree the grass-hopper my begging-bowl
and from the tune of the laxmi-panchali
coming from the middle-class houses
listen, how flourishing is my mother-tongue

Yellow Rider

Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads,
They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds;
It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun…
You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone.

It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true,
You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too,
And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones,
And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.

Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Too late for you to pray.

And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room,
You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume,
But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim,
Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.

For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France…
And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance.

Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the rain,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Till they echo in your brain.

Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know…
Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show.

And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors,
The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores,
And the villages will make believe he never came at all…
But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call…

Yellow Rider going,
And he’s taking someone new,
Someone we’re both knowing,
Is it me or you?
Is it me or you?
© Steve Eng  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Lyric

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