Long Fess Poems
Long Fess Poems. Below are the most popular long Fess by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fess poems by poem length and keyword.
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
A poem is a mirror.
A ?o??i?.
A yes-I-can with crayons the color of Tachyons,
rushing out of whirl’ds where past-meets-future,
reaching for-words…
yet going back-words for some more.
It makes reflections, like a ripple,
but you’re at zero-point too,
where the puddle tessellates to a past in the future you,
and you reflect it back-words and for-words
’til it reverberates…
right there.
Now.
Here.
Like an invertendo-innuendo that’s an in-your-face…
?o??i?.
And this mirror-Kah… it rackles with the spirit of the times.
This mirror… reciprocates.
And everything recorded is written everywhere for anyone to see—
a hit-list for the insurgents,
a collapse scenario for the empire,
as the top one-percent feed the roots of alien, alternative… cycles.
But listen.
‘I see you, you see me’
and maybe together we’re spied-upon in an irony
of what it’s like not to be truly free.
So we carry on.
In a more human innuendo,
a more momento-mori story,
mirroring each other… more merrily.
Another cycle of the Sun,
rollin’ ’round the earth ‘yer on,
then in cycles turned your way,
yes, another day…
where cycles in the Sun are glimmerings on the Sea,
making many reflections,
and sympathetic tessellations vibrate in our oceanic-brain,
where the orbits perigee,
where we learn the lessons of leaving behind
and faltering forward,
where we would-if-I-could be the king who would be a man,
riding these cycles of the Sun by the Sea,
going on this way…
over and over…
mirrorly.
So thank-you, Poets.
For the many reflections.
For the big-hearted yawp of freedom to be who you want to be.
Thank you for sharing your wrought-out ramblings
where my meaning-making takes a rest
and instead, with great exaltation, I surrender
to how you all ‘fess-up and down and around
and always… with a wry wit in it.
It’s bright.
It echoes the numinous in-us.
The euphoric-eunoia.
The bright language of connecting,
an authentic friending in a lightning look…
in intertextual-fugues,
invertendo-innuendos,
or mirrorly… by-the-book.
So is that it then?
This eunoia-euphoria…
this urge-to-merge?
Is that it?
Expressed in longing waves,
swelling in each other as sister and brother?
Is that it?
When you’ve engaged both sides of the brain…
the scholar and the minstrel…
is that the euphoria we’re after?
BIG HANDS DON
I s’pose I’ve been a cowboy since I was just a ‘teen
But I was herd’n bad guys, see I cowboy’d for the queen
I rode with lots of partners up and down the asphalt trail
Those that cut the corners and those that wouldn’t fail
Some were rough and ready and a few just down right tricky
One sticks in my memories, he’s Big Hands Don Molicki
Now Big Hands wore a smile that surely was no bluff
It didn’t seem to phase him when customers got rough
His presence was imposing, a draft horse in the stable
When muscle was required Big Hands was more than able
He was who ya wanted to back ya in the bar
Or wrestling ornery critters into a police car
But after all the action of solving crime and caper
We’d head back to the office and put it down on paper
Well this is where the smile just melted off his face
His hands were hardly suited for a secretary’s place
Fat fingers on the keyboard, the letters surely flew
But when he’d aim for W he’d hit E S and Q
One late night as he toiled to fix his shift report
The waste pail full beside him with pages he’d abort
His mighty fist then crashed down hard upon the keys
And he cursed so that we knew this wern’t no time to tease
The rest of us were busy putt’n guns and cuffs away
When one went over to him and entered in the frey
He thought his gun unloaded when he aimed at that machine
And said “I’ll solve your troubles” then pulled the trigger clean
We stood there in a dither when we heard that pistol bark
While the bullet pierced the heart of the exclamation mark
When eardrums quit their ringing and smoke commenced to clear
Our minds turned to excuses for the questions sure to hear
When mounties fire their side arms, reports they have to make
We figured this was one we’d probably have to fake
But every new rendition of the lie that we would give
Seemed just about a shaky and water in a sieve
It finally was decided in the middle of the night
We’d call the Sarge and fess-up, not a pretty sight
With courage fully mustered, the Sergeant home in bed
Was told the gruesome details, he asked “ya think it’s dead!!”
The month or so that followed slipped by without no gripin’
Big Hands did all our bull work, we did all his typin’
(America’s Mutant Megalomaniacs)
All Scientists know that our planet is warming,
No question remains too whose ox will get gored!
A contributing fact is earth's CO2's rising,
That surface of Venus melts lead not ignored.
The Venus disaster pre-destined to happen,
Though evidence says once had oceans like us,
And in millions of years we'll face similar future:
Should sun get much hotter? Run over by bus!
Though sun remains stable, and breathing space likely,
If warming continues, a problem for sure.
For our food comes from crops that depend on the weather
And fields must get moisture for us to endure.
Whatever our future, a crisis is brewing,
When millions get forced from sea towns in the main
Earth ten degrees hotter (keep fuel rate consumed now),
One hundred years needed to access this pain.
At four percent, (3) we make one-sixth all emissions,
At nineteen percent, (3) China's close to one third,
Which implies as a people we're far the worse villain,
One hundred years crime wave still gives world 'the Bird.'
Do immigrants flock here to share in our freedoms,
Or sneak 'cross our borders to share what we stole?
Is it time to 'fess up' while we still have some options,
Examine our purpose, not prostitute goal?
Brian Johnston
April 28, 2018
Poet’s Notes:
(1) The leadership of current Republican Party, Alt-Right, and Tea Party.
(2) Naïve liberals who still think there are people worth saving? To
quote 'Pogo' in the famous cartoon strip by Walt Kelly, "We have met the enemy, and he is us!" All humans are culpable!
(3) The US is 4% of the world population with 16% of the pollution,
China is close to 19% with about 28% of the pollutants, but if we had
the same number of people, our contribution to earth’s greenhouse gases
would be over 50% of the total problem.
In the midst of the raging waves,
they watched her gulp the callous cunning darts.
Her crumbly heart cruelly impaled; the fate that enslaves.
So fondly she’d mask the marks.
Her soul would ache and bleed from life’s glaives.
She cried an ocean for redemption from a life perpetually stark.
In desperation, the rope ends it.
With stigma the chums looked in utter scorn,
and nattered her solitary life she so drowned in.
As a jest they’d laugh it off and know not the pain borne.
Options to content would be the faster poison to kick in.
The jeer and tough love, be strong. Would suicide suborn?
Yet blithely a random word alienates, even with the kin.
The loop finally tightens round the neck.
With croc tears the mates flock to condole.
“If this message would reach Mary in heaven;
life lost so young—” all will strive to console.
For what? She writhed in pain and longed for a haven,
but scornfully, her soul you shunned like a rotten pole.
Her tombstone, now a patch-spot for a raven.
World’s cold shoulders soaked in her silent tears.
Be chaste, fair-weather friend, lest you atone.
Religion and priests you’ve scorned,
while the vain fanes of pretense you adorn.
In exalted hallow worship, you plead with Him
to remold the hearts of clay to vessels of honor.
Yet in your hearts of tin you curse and vilify—
you thought it was an act and left her marooned.
For remaining Mary, my soul cries to you.
Blinded by constant flopped success.
For the media, it’d hurt not to leave a cue.
Live the sacred life, gifted as a princess.
And flout their nonsensical bleats of an ewe.
I’ll wait on the podium for a fess.
It’s never the end—you’ll ever chew the bitter pill.
Hey there, I am known as fear
I'm pleased to see ya here
I'ma bout to switch the gear
It's game on mode from now, I fear
There's no escape,so stay near
get used to smell of fear all year
No need to hide in there my dear
Don't crawl under your bed in fear
bear with me while I get the air
in here clear
In this sphere drear and cheer
tend to enjoy the stage they share
Here, come in and lend me your ear,
if it bodes well with you we'll cohere
bend a knee and lean in, I'll steer
I hear, your lover ditched you for a beer
with a peer who admired his spear, then threw your way a drunken leer
oh my what a farce, heard you even shed a tear
When panic reared its ugly head with a sneer
Got you sizzling, hot enough to sear
Your poise chose to hide away at the rear
Face it, for now you're stuck with me fear
In an unlikely pairing we both failed to avoid
an airing of our fears will most likely follow to fill the void
We're both dread this feat we have to attempt
tempting as it may be to be devoid of all joy
I feel your heart we'll somehow fill with fearsome fun
Plenty awesome stuff we'll do together as one
But first of all entice your fears to fess up
Allow them space to evolve and rise up
Don't feed into the need to allow your fear to fester
With a firm stance assert your place at the helm
As one who thrives on challenge, you'll rule your realm unfazed
A bold creator and master of your own fate, you'll raise the sceptre
Then I, fear your faithful ally will step up
to set up a tasteful plate, pleasing to the palate
It will be ours to enjoy and share
Hearts full of cheer
At last, free from fear
Form:
No more breaking down,
I'm not gonna give up.
I know it in my heart
Someday you'll come around.
I know I screwed up,
Months ago on that day.
You don't have to repeat it,
I hear the words you say.
I'll try to stay strong,
Even though I'm weak.
Confusing me delights you,
Everytime we speak.
Ever since that day,
You claim I turned you down,
You've tried to get back at me,
It worked and made me frown.
But now I know,
So its alright.
Lets stop this crazy madness,
And get along tonight.
No more breaking down,
I'm not giving up.
I know it in my heart someday,
You will come around.
Everyone messes up.
It's still okay.
I want you in my life,
Whatever the price to pay.
It was so long ago,
The days go by,
Everybody still knows.
We act like kids,
Pretending this is a game.
When does it end,
What really is there to gain.
oh!
As we get older
Time really does fly by,
I see you in the hall
And always wonder why,
We acted immature,
Kept going on with this game.
Its time to grow up,
No more playing these games.
Fess up, be honest,
Before the truth goes awayyyyy.
No more breaking down,
I still haven't gave up.
But I won't wait a year,
If you're not coming around.
I'll dry my tears,
And open my eyes.
I'm done with playing the games,
I'm tired of trying to hide.
I'll tell you the truth,
Because whatever you say,
I'm done with telling lies,
No more trying to hide,
I'll just let go and cry.
Even if it means,
Even if it meanns..
Even if it means, goodbye today.
Form:
thy macbook pro
contracted a ungrateful deadly virus
disallowing communication
between you Pink Floyd, and us
Tom MacDonald (the head
hombre honcho) didst tuss
sup hiz hands in utter futility,
and exhausting every suss
stain nibble dollop pa Rob Zombie courtesy
sans himself and Russ
tea (a lifelong four footed
canine companion)
large as a small medium at large
bow wow wing over seer christened Marge
a Jeff Bezos Amazon woman
demanding tubby address as "Sarge"
long days journey into night
without access
to the Pink world wide web,
newt hiz a bless
akin to experience
foreboding check mate playing chess
after one fateful opening gambit,
asper this poe whit doth express
he haint no "Garry Kasparov,
Anatoly Karpov, Bobby Fischer...
or other prominent masters
nee virtual kings
aye coon fess
cuz y'all would
be on target to guess
this chipper chap
(now he iz back in busy 'n Hesse)
hive felt extreme dot com tremens
without recourse the cyber space
e'en though misgivings prevail bing
linkedin within the human race
and nah ver since birth,
hike hood never find my place
until...while very late in my puberty,
which lasted til age fifty and nine
orbitz 'round el sol, twas juiced recently
attained personal
accomplishments sans mine
kempf posse sub billy due to pertinent
Capricorn requisite plan nets
formed a heterosexual
instagram joyus chorus line
Fess up! You demonic influx of tolerance on the balcony of desire!
A pang is felt in a faint smile of an orphan that awakens senses.
I speak the prescriptions of the heart, provoking and extravagant,
While deprecating the intensity of defiance, bearing upon the shoulders,
And longing for another great spring, through the window of my pince-nez
That offers clarity, and virtue, in an undying sense of revival,
And, I bear a heavy punishment, and endure a fair dose of anguish,
Where no benedictions would bring a salvation to an evasive soul.
The soul where hundreds of sins have been buried, as if it were a grave
Of total randomness, being carried down the river of no return,
In a scow of the long lost master of solitude, in his quest
Of self-destructive adventure.
O, voices, o, wishes! Bring me the immediacy and manifestations of illusions,
Grant me every supple and forbidden fruit of my unchained perversion.
Pimp me out richly to the androgenic disciples of anarchy,
Or any other reality that does not belong to this Universe.
My personal agon is the battle of invocation, when I call upon
The gospels of insanity of wonders, and, when I employ the words
Of my desires to sing about the pinnacle of delight, not shared
Nor given, not offered nor forgiven, not to be gotten nor forgotten,
In this spell or any gospel that a diviner, a seer, can’t foretell nor foresee.
Singular Sound of Out
nationaldaycalendar.com
It’s November 30th, and I am
heartened that today, is
National Personal Space Day.
But, further weave into the wicked web
knits up duplicity; unravels, in fact,
other sobriquets for the same date like
National Mousse Day,
National Mason Jar Day, and
Stay Home Because You’re Well Day
Might as well be National
Ponzi Scheme Day or
World Polygamy Day, or
Hold the Oral Thermometer
Against the Hot Lamp So It Looks
Like You Have a Fever and
Won’t Have to Go to School Day,
(Which I did once, before I celebrated
National Fess Up to Your Mother
Before the Ambulance Comes Day),
Of course, none of this will be
Reported, but I won’t permit my
personal space to be stuffed
into a jelly vessel, or rubbed
upon someone’s flaky pate just to
spike up their limp doo.
It’s all faux festival, and at the end
of National Meth Awareness Day,
also pegged at Eleven Thirty,
It’s the butt end of a sham ham
invented to dope us into more
greeting cards and bobbles
Because believing is the one thing
we all seem prepared to do, given our
preferred Evening Nosebag feeds.
So, cheers to the International Day
For Tolerance which was
celebrated on November 16th
I missed it; and so, maybe, did you,
but I could hear the Nihilists
and Zealots screeching madly for the high
windows in the singular Sound of Out.