Long Fiend Poems
Long Fiend Poems. Below are the most popular long Fiend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fiend poems by poem length and keyword.
Found the G.E.C.K and a genius super mutant named Fawkes
It's the lone wanderer, were their truly any doubts
On his way back, the enclave stun him cold
It's the lone wanderer, they must truly be bold
He wakes up to the face of the man that murdered his father and his dream
The lone wanders promises to severe the head from this fiend
They made a mistake and set him free
He lets off some steam and goes on a killing spree
Hoping to find the fiend, instead he finds a computer
It claimed to be president Eden, the leader of the future
The lone wanderer couldn't believe the stupidity
It gave him the F.E.V virus and claimed it was the best for humanity
The lone wanderer then remembers he found a self-destruct code
He told president Eden he was a whole
Laughing while he activates It's self-destruct mode
Running and gunning to his P.I.P boy radio
Listening to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' to fit the scenario
Turning Enclave soldiers into mashed potatoes
By the time he escaped the count down hit zero,
The lone wanderer stood in the background looking like a hero
Reunited with the genius super mutant Fawkes
They now have matching toys to take back to the house
Deciding to stick together for a noble cause,
They return to the Citadel after unloading a few hundred shots
The Brother Hood Of Steel commended them and gave them a round of applause
Time now to suit up and release a giant robot
'Now we take back the purifier!', Cried Sarah Lyons
'Take everything you can because only Enclave shall be dying'
The lone wanderer refuses their power armor and instead pulls out his Gatling gun
Him and Fawkes bump guns and are already for some fun
They rush through the gate behind the giant robot shooting a vertibird out of the sky
Running through the carnage seeing Talon mercs pass by
Barging through the front door of Jefferson's memorial
Spraying Enclave soldiers in a effortless tutorial
Beams from vengeance making clean incisions
Rapid is its fire with precise precision
Even if the lone wanderer had no vision
Fawkes and him could easily wipe out colonel Autumn's entire division
Now approaches colonel Autumn's final hour,
Without hesitation the lone wanderer draws his sword with power
Striking colonel Autumn dead and sour
Before his head rolls into the water,
The lone wanderer convinces Fawkes to play a little soccer
Beware young lad, tis the dawning of thy demise,
For the water witches screams, are carried on the
Winds breath, of the tidal waves hurricane.
Be-she, the banshie of the fathom’s abyss, treacherous
Mistress, beguiling temptress, enslavement's captive,
Whom belongs to the sailors devil himself,
Thus she announces her masters arrival,
Known is he, as Davy Jones.
Aquatic demon, the soul feast-er, appearing perched
Upon the four masted sailing vessel, a seething fiend,
With ivory white fangs, red piercing eyes flash against
The storms rage.
The predator to prey ratio, delights this beast, from hell's
Deepest pit, it's relishing laughter, does chill the mariner,
To their very bones within.
Atop his ghoulish head, arises bullish horns, to drive
The undead, beneath the seas watery realm.
Fly swiftly, all seafaring men aboard, for the dark wrack's
Shadow, mars thy voyage, for death's imitate sacrifice.
Crimson gloves, do hold a set of golden keys, to chains
Shackled locks, behold phantom wave stalkers.
Lost souls of the forgotten, servitude’s salves of the
Murky bottoms depths.
Treasures locker keeper, within the heart of the sea,
Does lie, a cold guardian stands watch, over it's
Precious contents, bound forever as persecution's
Divine punishment, from Poseidon, the great
Lord of the seven seas.
Answering their captain's hailing, the soulless crew,
Climbs aboard his ghostly craft, heading ever upwards,
To the unknown beyond.
Accursed windjammers, cutting against the rough surf,
Emerging as a seaweed covered derelict, it charges forth,
Riding upon the edge of the ultimate storm.
At fates spinning wheel, Davy Jones hands are set steadfast,
Awaiting the newly undead, to join his brackish crew.
The living pray for mercy grace, salvation's angels
Save us, pleading on knees bent low, Oh Lord Almighty,
Hear the sailors voices, crying out in sheer terror.
But the devil dues must be paid, for other
Mariner’s safe passage.
To night behold the tolls collection plate is passed,
And is served by evils blackest hand, nay it's filled
Not in gold, but instead ti's flesh to the living bone.
Served on a silver platter, to none other then
Davy Jones himself, listen to his echoing laughter,
Filling the chilled air's darkness,
Than plunging beneath the briny depth's below.
Nothing remains but a legend's myth or so
It is said.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Mince Meat Pie No Lie
Oh great! Found that some guy forgot to stipulate
How he knows people hate to wait or set a date
Important enough and already been accentuated
And, would you believe, destroyed, defecated and then defalcated.
Then you had arrived at the problem that could possibly be
While she really scarred the heck out of you as well as me
It happened to be Hillary wearing a wise old owl disguise
Found in boxes bond for Bombay much to my surprise.
She had a not only great idea but one which was ingenious
Like and old oscillating owl had a face being the meanest
And after be shown and while looking at it day by day
Someone started to toot and trump song saying stay away (Not no way Jose'.)
Next thing we found was owls only fly in a single formidable formation
Not knowing if it was done out of inspiration or desolate desperation
After having been found flying over Flint looking for water to be drinking
That is when this itty bitty troubled owl really started to thinking.
Water color seemed so cruddy and glass stood singular and all alone
On shelf while many makeshift people would moan and groan
Which is when Hillary had come up with another idea being so wild
What if we were to begin conducting an experiment of each child.
On their each table several glasses of water they would start to place
To see that when each one would drink who made strangest, oddest face
Then again oddly enough researchers data they did determine to decipher
Answers to questions and observations children had handed over to offer.
Now why would any maniac or moron ever try to seem and become so mean
Who had abused their own bodies and no longer were a health food fiend
Then with their own selves, education and experience became entranced
At abundance of cruddy urine color running down each poor baby's pants.
Franticly and finally many ill-advised answers they had come across
What was decided is that all of it and whole thing had created a lost cause
And after many words were thought of, brought together and they would mince
Those who have minds mixing with their water will meet with lower intelligence.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Like everything else of course there always has to be a catch
Prerequisite for reading this is imagination being able to stretch.
One winter eve I walked out with my dog,
The way was dark, unlit by moon and stars,
My flickering torchlight failing in the fog,
To pick out tree roots,crevices and rocks,
To cause a stumble, and a muffled curse.
Whatever else was lurking in the trees,
Silent and still, in my mind grew worse,
As an unfolding midnight dream turned sour.
I knew the the path. We trod it every day,
So filled with pleasure and delight 'til now.
My step quickened. I could not shrug away
A feeling of disquiet and unease,
Palpable amidst the encircling gloom.
Nocturnal creatures scarcely made a sound
But it was magnified, a crack of doom,
A falling twig, or rustling dried-up leaves,
Predators unseen, darkly eyeing prey,
Their evil presence almost within touch,
Waiting the chance to carry me away,
To drag me to some foul and putrid nest,
Never again to see the light of day.
With tensions high and senses all alert,
Out of the dark, a touch upon my leg.
Startled and fearing, a step back I lurched,
And then relief. It had been but a nudge
From Ross. Perhaps he sensed and shared
My fright, but then, from out the stillness of the night,
A fearsome roar. My feet turned into stone.
Blood curdling, heart stopping, the monstrous sound
Echoed around us. Frozen to the spot,
My breathing stopped. I could not turn around
To flee. And then again it came, so close, it seemed
To set the very trees a-quivering.
What beast was this, what wild and hellish fiend ?
More furious bellowing, on and on
And on, and still I could not see the source.
Turning to run, the path had disappeared.
Crashing through entangled briars, ditches,
Fallen trees, scratched and bleeding, soon I feared,
Mud-soaked and stumbling now, that i was lost.
Still I heard the creature, somewhere behind,
Roaring, bellowing, angry with the night.
I fell into a muddy ditch, half blind,
And scrambled through the slime, hoping I might
Emerge at the wood's edge, so close to home
But, helpless, I was sucked into the mire,
Down,down and deeper down, now filled with fear,
Breathing in mud, heart pounding, lungs on fire.
No hope, no light ahead, my end was near.
I reached the bottom. Now let truth be said.
What did I find? I'd fallen out of bed !
And that, dear reader, though I am not one to brag,
Was my encounter with the rutting Lyth Hill stag !
SMILING FACES
Intro: shalom, hi, hey and hello,
welcome to my poem called smiling faces, where all faces are not the SAME.
But some of them, are the face of FAME. And others, are the face of SHAME.
But nonetheless, not all faces here, value their good NAME. And you know? Because some of them are full of GAMES; also out for GAMES; and so, it doesn't matter if their good NAME gets DEFAME. And so, without further a due, here's my poem called SMILING FACES; and goes a little something like this:
Sometimes, some smiling faces, is the very FACE, that will take you PLACES.
And have you to MOVE, and get you on the GROOVE; have you to go more than a MILE.
And still, have you not to go WILD, be WILD; and also to act WILD.
And be straight foul.
But instead, some of them would PROFILE you, see your FILE; know your STYLE, while they have you to SMILE MILD like a little CHILD.
And sometimes, there are some of them, that would SKIN and GRIN with you and plus, at you, WHILE they give you ah glass of GIN to sip on; and hope that, you don't SIN, but lift up your CHIN, while they take you IN like a true FRIEND and FAN.
And see you through, up until you can STAND and FIEND for yourself at the very END.
For sometimes, there are some of them, who would smile at you and plus, smile with you and even smile in your face; and still think that you are a WASTE, simply because, they cannot get into your good GRACE, SPACE, CASE; also, FACE. And so, therefore, they just want you to be out of the RACE. Because you have such ah beautiful smile, FACE, TASTE,; also PLACE. but anyway, deep down INSIDE, with all jokes ah SIDE in some of their MINDS; also heart, BEHIND their smiles, some of them are as WILD as a CRODOCILE running on TILES. And trust me, I am not in a DENIAL. For I have been THERE; also HERE, for AWHILE; definitely I know their PROFILE; also STYLES. For many of them are DEFILE and full of GUILE. and why is that? It is because, some of them, are always LIEING, and have something to HIDE. And so, for that reason, they are not as open and WIDE like the blue SKIES. For many of them goes under DESGUISE and doesn't want to be RECOGNIZE for their LIES; or for being SLY. And truly that cannot FLY in my EYES, for I find them to be pretty SLY and I cannot let it FLY, SLIDE; or RIDE and DIE without keeping a close EYE.
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
I was listening to various people talk about the Israel versus Palestine events and it saddened me that we are in 2023 and humans have not learned the lessons of the past. It's easy for anyone to give advice but so difficult for us to take it.
Peace does start with each of us but it can feel impossible to think or feel anything remotely peaceful when we're killing each other for whatever reason. Humans can always justify their behaviour with a chosen dogmatic logic. But ultimately, there are so many grieving families of loved ones lost.
It really isn't about "Us" and "Them". Because somewhere along the line, we will realise that "We are One". And when we harm another, we are harming ourselves. I am not here to speak to the politics of this situation except to say that if we can't reach peaceful resolutions and do eventually choose war, that war should be fought by soldiers and not civilians. War is not a video game. Real people die and real people are left mourning in the wake of these tragedies.
Us and Them
(We are One)
By Michelle Morris
10/10/2023
Today I heard someone cry
So much sorrow for the ones who've died
The politicians and ideologues
All point at each other in this fog
Of war and strife and hate and hurt
Where children die, lying in the dirt
And mothers cry and rage and scream
At our God above who sees all meaning
But here we in meaninglessness stir
Surrendering our humanity and mercy
Compassion and intellectual cognition
Rational thought, emotions and feelings
Us and Them becomes that stance
Despite only Darkness doing a victory dance
While blood and bone and faith and tears
Are smashed and burned and shot with fears
When soldiers aim at young and old
Instead of fighting with integrity and knowing
Acting like war is a video game
Instead of the reality of real people in pain
We are One is a cruel, slow lesson
For humanity turns power into obsession
But peace is the Truth that in all hearts dwell
We need only allow our Souls to tell
So, leave the war to those who choose
Follow integrity and good rules
Because Justice may be blind
But Karma is a fiend in time
And even if men refuse to learn
The history lessons shaped and spurned
Us and Them will continue to be
A line drawn by those in powerful seats
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Dragon of the Night, O'Winged One Lost in Flight,
Shattered dreams and scattered leaves blown in sight,
Whispers of smoke and fiery stroke lofted on midnight
air,
Tales of wonder and loneliness cast upon a creature so
rare.
Cast in cave for a crime it did not commit or foresee,
Hunted by humans, elves, and other beasts from foreign
land to sea,
Driven by hounds frothing and foaming at the mouth,
Dragon of the Night looks for refuge in the Valley of
Bones South.
This creature with scales of rubies and diamonds
crawls for safe haven,
While knights on horseback ride after him for the crow
doth craven,
Mysteries of the deep beckon this beast of the night,
Persecuted for his past deeds and tales of wondrous
delight.
"Why me?" cries the tormented fiend in full fledgling
flight,
Why am I alone, why am I so afraid, why do you drive
me from sight?"
"All I ask for is some food, some water, and a place
to ply my weary head,"
"But now I'm pursued and plundered until the watery
deeps turn red!"
The Dragon of the Night doth encounters a dead end at
the Valley of Bones,
Ghostly ghouls and demons compete for the loudest of
moans,
Knights have all gathered to surround the beast to cut
off all that is safe,
The Final Battle begins with not strident call but a
low crying Wraith.
The Wraith offers comfort to the Dragon of the Night
in midst of danger,
"Come stay with me for I am definitely no cast upon
stranger,"
"Be comforted in the knowledge that the end will come
quick,"
"So that you may dwell in my lovely Garden of the Dead
no trick."
So as the Dragon of the Night rested with no care to
his dismay,
Unfolded his wings and rested his weary limbs on that
momentous day,
Spears and arrows may have once torn the cries from
his flamed throat,
Finally, the Dragon of the Night had found the
Peaceful Moat.
Dragon of the Night tho you died while surrounded by
the Enemy of Fright,
Your spirit will live in the hearts of children by
tender candlelight.
© Copyright 2006 starryknight1999@yahoo.com (UN:
wolfie1968 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
starryknight1999@yahoo.com has granted Writing.Com,
its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to
display this work
Always Walk The Path of Light,
Christopher:)
An Echo Poem by Lora Colon and Brian Johnston
Pieces Of Yesterday
I found pieces of yesterday
I kept hidden in a special place,
Little things I wanted to remember,
But things I now find hard to face
Memories of a special love.....
Just one man who filled my life with awe,
Withered flowers, in full bloom yesterday,
A bouquet from which I still draw
Just the two of us sharing dreams,
He promised me a new tomorrow,
He bears no blame for what was delivered.....
A new day filled with old sorrow
Missing pieces of yesterday,
Leaving the story so incomplete,
A man and a woman, looking for love,
Interrupted by fate's deceit
Damn the fate that tore us apart,
Cursed fiend, deserving retribution,
In the complexities of my fury
I thought I found a solution....
I sent my memories back to fate,
It took all else.... why leave misery?
But late last night, the lot returned, unclaimed....
It read 'Refused Delivery'
Lora Colon
------------------------------------------------
The Best-Laid Schemes O' Mice And Men...
Those pieces of yesterday covered with slime
Are part of the future too, love that's sublime,
For those withered flowers on which you still draw,
Are seeds for tomorrow, not stones in Death's maw.
All dreams are potential, not cast in cement,
Christ's Death not the victor though God's veil was rent,
The tomb that was empty, the thorns of Christ's crown,
No wise man could fathom, or God's wisdom drown.
Despair of man's promises but if you're wise,
Still look to the future with hope in your eyes,
The story that you've judged is not worth the tell
Might still have denouement that fate cannot quell!
The future you salvage by cursing your fate
Is your plan, not God's, which you might contemplate,
Christ's pain on the cross though defeat in your mind
Ensuring your future, a Love more than kind!
The stone which man's wisdom rejected becomes,
The bearer of our life's most favored outcomes,
And pain which most men still consider untoward,
In retrospect key to our final reward.
Brian Johnston
Poet's Notes:
This poem was written in response to a poem written by my poet friend Lora Colon. Please check out her site on PoemHunter.com for many more outstanding poems.
* This has become a fave genre for me, as I’ve always been fascinated by metamorphosis and introspection of a shadowy nature … I hope you enjoy it. *
~
ruin of me …
what was once
a bloom of promise
has become a wilderness of horrors
all for the sake
of your pearly light, strewn
that cornflower eye
that you open wide but once a month …
in my wistful youth,
I dreamt of your enchantments -
what dark-edged demon
were you looking for
that needed the bright of your full gaze?
you, a black-skinned cyclops
searching this orb
for the spell might set it free …
was that it, I mused?
each full face of the moon -
were you hoping for your liberty
and occasion to dance with the stars?
how could I have known in
my callow curiosity?
how could I have envisaged such
a diabolical truth?
it was ME you were searching for -
the chance to turn my blood
to molten metal
my teeth to daggers
and my body to a fiend of the moors -
twisted, powerful as an oak
and thirsting for flesh …
you, Luna
are the pearl of night -
the maiden of mysteries and magic, dark
the recreant lover of lycanthropy -
bane of my breath
and sweet salt of my doom
ages-times-ages ago
the vernal lad I was
wandered the high fells, lost -
dropped sleeping under a copse of cedars
and awakened to the gentle bite
of a broad, beautied canid
(your maidservant)
sable, with eyes of fire opal
the blue sheen of your vaulted gaze
daubing her fur like dew …
she had no intent of devouring me
no sense of animus at all
just PURPOSE -
purpose beyond my grasp
but the wait to discover just that,
was not long …
now -
now you stare like a harlot
these rare nights
just to see my monstrosity -
to behold the wonder of your accursed creation -
the genesis of genocide and guilt
that pierced the heart of a
wee boy of chastity
rife with hope and promise
then charred his dreamy aspirations
with veins of fire
and a conflagration of his marrow …
I … am the damned …
in your sight -
your blue-eyed midnight -
is where the man of me ends
and the beast begins
you, passion’s pain
who stirred my stripling soul
robbed me of my god
and flames my
coursings …
even now.
For the “1258 New Poem Only Poetry Contest”, Brian Strand Judge/Sponsor.