Long Feck Poems
Long Feck Poems. Below are the most popular long Feck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Feck poems by poem length and keyword.
The mighty dragons which came
roaring on that fateful night
took great pride in disintegrating
everything in their sight
Nothing was left that was not
scorched by their flame
although to the fire-breathing
dragons it was all but a game
No trees were left standing
and nay grasses retained green
it took three and a half years
for the streets to scrub clean
There was no building that
wasn't burnt to an absolute crisp
The laughing dragons noted down
another wondrous trip
All the churches did indeed receive
three hundred and thirty-three degrees
The poor clergymen were seen praying
whilst fallen down upon their knees
As the puissant dragons kept up their
ferocious attack, some pastors were heard
screaming for the good lord to come back
When the libraries burned down
it was such a terrible loss for the town
as the most intelligent of the peoples
were nowhere to be found
Then all the pubs and neon clubs were ravaged and wrecked
The fire-breathing dragons just said, "We don't give a feck."
Pain in my back
Pain in my knee
Pain in my neck
No respite for me
Some day’s worse than others
Impossible to tell
How my body will feel
Feck an headache as well
It starts with the alarm
Each morning in bed
I open my eyes
With a feeling of dread
Can I turn on my side
Without feeling a pain
Shoot through my body
Each day just the same
Find a position
Till the pain eases down
Swing my legs over the edge
Wearing a frown
Trying to stand
Wakes the pain in my knees
Struggling to straighten
Oh this life’s not a breeze
Finally upright
Or so it may seem
Now off to the bathroom
My hips start to scream
Slowly I’m getting there
The pains not so bad
Starting to dress
Nearly ready, I’m glad
Then I remember
The part I dread most
Putting my socks on
The moment draws close
Foot on a stool
Sock in two hands
Struggling to reach
Unable to bend
Pain in my back
Pain in my thighs
Sock on my toes
I give out a sigh
But the fun isn’t over
I stretch down behind
To pull the sock on my foot
I’m out of my mind
Finally I make it
The socks all in place
Now for the left foot
Anguish on my face
Eventually I’m ready
So I’ll finish this rhyme
In my car off to work
Where there’s more tales for another time
Hi how you doing
I’m doing fine, how about you
I’m okay, well I’m not really
Go on tell me about it, that’s what us ex’s are for.
It’s Joe.
Joe, that’ll be my replacement.
He doesn’t seem to want to do it.
When you say do it, do we mean sex.
Yes, strange isn’t it.
I don’t know, I don’t know Joe.
He’s a man, what is there to know.
Why is he not chasing you around the house.
I don’t know, what happened to us.
You dumped me.
I know, but why.
Let me see now, oh yeah, you said you wanted a ring, marriage, children, house, and a pony. I said I didn’t like ponies, you said that’s the last straw. I said, exactly, do you know how much straw costs. You said, shut up about the straw. I said, where would we put a pony. You said, shut the feck up about the pony, shut the feck up about the straw. Do you want to marry me or not? I sort of got lost for words, and by the time I got round to saying I would love to marry you, you were away with Joe.
You’re so full of crap, you ran a mile, actually, you and that pony have a lot in common, you’re both mule-headed.
You’re still with Joe, did he give you a pony.
No, he gave me something else.
Frustration
It’s not all about sex you know, he’s saving himself.
That’ll be the biggest coming this year then.
I don’t know why I phoned you, you do my head in.
You need to borrow me till Joe’s ready.
No, I don’t, celibacy is the in thing now.
Well, in that case, I just want to congratulate on your resolve.
Are you seeing anyone.
No, I’m going through a monking phase at the moment, new habit.
So we could meet as friends then.
I don’t see why not, a friend in need is a friend in need.
I think that’s a friend indeed.
Indeed it is friend.
Should I bring a bottle round.
That would be a friendly thing to do.
You won’t mention Ponies will you.
I won’t mention Ponies.
Okay, I’ll bring Joe with me.
What.
I need to send him back, the post office is on the way.
Ha ha, nice one.
When classes break
we’re on the clock
don’t jam up the hall
don’t stand there and talk
Get out of my way
I have places to go
why the fecking-feck
are people so slow?
I hop down escalators
I fairly run down halls
I get bored in the elevators
I bounce off the walls
I plan ahead
I plot my course
through crowds I thread
it’s almost a sport
Tik tock people
no, not the app
stop acting like sheeple
I need a coffee between classes.
Excuse me,
I don’t mean to whine
but if you’re not at the front of the line
you can run out of time.
Once you can order, there’s no time to play
“Un croque-monsieur et un grand crème, s'il vous plaît”
and it isn’t a moment before you’re on your way.
as I’m sipping my coffee
students full up the line
as I savor my sandwich
some will run out of time
This swarm of students
are supposed to be brilliant
but they’re too cool to hurry
I shrug - c'est la vie
.
.
Songs for this:
Le Breakfast Club de Paris by Gabrielle Chiararo
C'est Si Bon by In-Grid
.
.
breakfast order:
croque-monsieur = a grilled ham & cheese breakfast sandwich
grand creame = a large coffee with heavy cream
"Ode to Feck Off Friday"
(Folk | Melancholic | ABAB Rhyme Scheme)
(Inspired by a drizzly Dublin pub, a Drake-esque croon, Tila’s raw edge, and a longing for greasy grace)
The kettle hums a lonesome tune,
Click, the light goes on,
I burn the toast, I spill the spoon —
Another week is gone.
The screen glows gold with messages,
“Just one quick call,” they plead,
But my boots are laced for greener finesse,
And my soul’s in need of speed.
So feck off, Monday, with your grind,
And Tuesday, full of lies,
Wednesday, breakin’ heart and mind —
Thursday, you can choke on “tries.”
Oh, but Friday…
Friday’s the crack in the ceiling light,
A whisper through the rain,
When I trade my tie for cigarette smoke,
And kiss the 5:03 train.
I walk past the office, past the suits,
Past dreams I used to chase,
Down to the corner, where the neon fruits
Still glow with some old grace.
And there it is — Papadias’ sign,
A flickerin’ red and blue,
Like a siren song in olive oil and rye,
One slice meant for two…
(…but I eat it all, like I always do.)
A pint of black, half-spilt, half-sipped,
On a chipped Formica throne,
While the jukebox sings of love that slipped
And debts I’ve long outgrown.
The barman nods — he knows my name,
Not “sir,” not “manager,”
Just “You again?” — a gentle flame,
The only peace I earn.
So here’s to all the weeks I’ve lost,
To bosses, bills, and pride,
To promises I paid at cost —
And Friday, where I hide.
Oh, Feck Off Friday, my rebel saint,
You don’t fix a thing, it’s true,
But for one night, I can disbelieve the weight,
And dream the world ain’t cruel.
Just grease-stained fingers, streetlight glow,
A cold one by my side,
And the ghost of someone I used to know
Still waitin’… just outside.
So when the world says “Hustle! Rise!”
I whisper low and slow —
“Feck off,” beneath these Dublin skies,
“It’s Friday. Let me go.”
// End on a fading hum, like a distant train or a vinyl run-out groove. The last bite of pizza long gone. The pint, almost.
You may have a recurring dream
that you are not really the jerk
you believe yourself to me.
You may wake-up with a hangover
but can’t recall what caused it,
this is a sure sign.
Sitting on the side of the bed to meditate,
you may realize it’s far too late -
you gotta get going;
blinking you mumble “feck it.”
A voice in your head says: ”Go get em kid.”
You may plod barefoot
into the kitchen to brew coffee
only to stub your toe
on the edge of some hard reality
the sharp stab of pain
sets you off cussing again.
Meanwhile God has translocated
from His ineffable presence within the within;
to grab your mind and shove it up your butt.
You laugh but seriously have to visit the toilet.
What more signs do you need?
~~~~~~~~~
Title seen on a YouTube video.
But pah; I don't think she's the woman you think you married..
She called you a blaggard, she stood in sunday church and spoke
you as a scondrel and satan: mentioning your lack of concern for her.
She bragged about finding it funny that your horse went missing
durning the same time the Merchants son came around with Beef
for sale, He gave it to us for free as i fecked him several times in the
saball."Gobe" he spoke of mi husband and became offended
and fecked his brother in spite. After I became pregant I came back
to mi Hubby to trick him into a night of romping and a good feck..
I'll make mi decision on staying when the little one is born. She told
the on listeners to pray for her as she had fallen of the wagon and got knocked up
in spite of her Hubby. He is in the running for who the Father is"
"Pray for me Ya'll!"
Durning the service
she stood again anwsering what was the difference between a Dog and a Dug.
"She anwsered a Dog is a companion a Dug is a person working near or in a hole
that uses his assitance to convey his needs as he works in the hole or tunnel"
The poreacher asked her to use the words both in a sentence and she did.
Well she said, I was lonley so I patted the dog on the back and took him out on a leash for a walk.
And Dug: she said whill digging the outhouse hole I stood by my man in case he need help if the hole collapes. I was his dug and was proud of it!. That was Feol Chapail we had for dinner? Naw Pah it was horsemeat!