Long Fishy Poems
Long Fishy Poems. Below are the most popular long Fishy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fishy poems by poem length and keyword.
HE SPOKE OF HER AS A GODESS
THEY MARVELED AT HER WAYS OF
KEEPING HIM AT BAY: IT'S SAID SHE
ONCE TOUCHED THE WATERS OF
A CREEK IN CRETE AND THE
WATER FROZE AT HER COMAND !
HE STOOD IN THE WATERS OF HETRA
AND THE WOMAN OF CRETE, WERE
ENSLAVED TO HIM.
THE STORY SPEAKS OF WORDS
SPOKEN TO SEPERATE A PERSON
WHO WISHED FROM BEGGER, TO LOVER
SHE STOOD IN THE WATERS OF CRETE
AND CURSED HIM, AND THAN
SHE CURSED THE WATER GODS OF CRETE
AND LL WHO HEARD HER
BECAME LOVERS OF HIM.
THE WATERS FROZE BENEATH HIM.
" THESE SALTED FISHY WATERS
FROZE BENEATH ME!"
IT'S SAID THEY ATE THIS VERY MEAL !
PASTRY SHEETS
BUTTER
1/2 CUP OF OLIVE OIL
2 MEDIUM ONIONS
1 POUND OF SPINACH (BLANCED, DRINED AND CHOPPED)
4 CLOVES OF CRUSHED GARLIC
1/2 CUP OF SHREDDED CARROTS
3 t CONACGE
1/2 CUP ITALIAN COUSCOUS
1 LBS. GROUND BEEF
1 3/4 PLAIN YOGURT
1 T MACE
CAYEENE PEPPER
IN A SKILLET
1 TEASPOON OF PAPRIKA
2 CUPS OF SLICED MUSHROOM
IN A SKILLET, HEAT OIL, SPINACH, MUSHROOMS,GARLIC, ADD ONIONS AND CARROTS, SAUTE, UNTIL ONIONS ARE TRANSLUCENT., REMOVE FROM THE SKILLET.
ADD GROUND BEEF, COOK UNTIL BROWN, ADD SPICES AND SAUTEED VEGGIES, ADD COGNAC AND YOGURT, ALLOW TO COOL AND TASTE, ADD SALT AND PEPER IF NEEDED.
PREHEAT THE OVEN, ROOL OUT PASTRY SHEETS, LAYERING THEM AND COATING EACH LAYER WITH BUTTER. (FIVE LAYERS) IN THE CENTER OF A COOKIE SHEET, LAYER THE SHEET OF FILLO DOUGH, ADD MEAT AND CREATE A BEAUTIFUL WRAPPING FOR THE MIXTURE. BAKE UNTIL DONE.
THE WOMAN IN THE STORY IS SAID TO CURSED THE EDGES OF THE FOREST, WHILE GATHERING WOOD WITH HER SERVANT, SHE SPOKE TO HIM IN A FOREIGN LAUGAGE, AND BECAME PREGANT, AND DARED HER HUSBAND TO LEAVE HER. HER HUSBAND , STAYED, AND TWO YEARS LATER MADE HER SISTER POREGANT WITH TRIPLETTES, TWO BOYS AND A GIRL, AT THE AGE OF TEN ONE OF THE BOYS, TOOK A STONED EDGED MALLET AND BEAT A FULL GROWN BULL, HE ORDERED THE SEVANTS TO COOK THE BULL BEFORE HIS PARENTS CAME HOME FROM ROME. THEY DID AND NEVER TOLD, BUT THEY TOOK THE HIDE OF THE BULL AND MADE A RODE FOR THE MYTHIC GOD NATAL, AND CASTED A SPELL ON THE BOY. AT THE AGE OF TWENTY HE BECAME A SOCEROR IN THE PALCAE OF CASEAR, HE, HIS BROTHER AND HIS TRIPLETTE SISTER, SUDUCES CASEARS SOLDIERS AND MAIDS MAKING PREGANT AND HAVING TWENTY THREE CHILDREN. ONE IS SAID TO HAVE BEEN A cASEAR OF rOME!
Perceptions of a ragged space,
all that was left by the human race,
there's not a lot left to see at all,
as their carelessness was seldom small.
Let's dig around
in that frazzled ground,
for that's where there's bound to be,
some signs of dodgy chemistry
or maybe just a little radiation,
the sort that killed another nation,
though they said it wasn't bad at all,
any effects would be so very small,
just as asbestos would never embroil
us in disease, nor would a little spilt oil.
But profit ruled the minds of men,
the bosses say do this thing and then,
you'll have enough to pay the rent,
but wouldn't as it was always spent
on a merry night out with the boys,
long before those electric toys
just sinking pints to rinse the dust,
before staggering home all filled with lust,
Then some had coal with a price too pay,
only if they 'bought it', down the pit one day,
other times they might just cough it out,
smuggled home in their lungs no doubt,
or maybe they were lost out in the wild sea
aiming to catch that fishy for the rich folks tea,
others were mangled up in the cotton mill wheels,
where safety guards didn't hide belts and reels..
And ever as man moved to make it safer than before,
some new peril would be found to drop men onto the floor
be it from a toxic gas or perhaps a mercury leak,
what did it matter while some profit they'd seek,
the waste might well taint the rivers and poison all
the fish they ate and so keep their children small,
small and weedy with some horrendous rash
while the air was grey with muck and ash.
I could go on for many a verse,
but I've no wish to be perverse,
for by now the penny will have dropped
for those whose brains have not been shot,
by additives to make processed food have taste
or keep it 'fresh' longer so as not to waste,
any scraps of reclaimed muck and gristle,
oh dear, now I've gone and blown the whistle.
And thats before I even mention the Taiji men
who slaughter dolphins by the thousands and then
sell their flesh with labels as if another meat,
what is it that Japan now consumes for a treat,
I wonder do they ever know for sure,
what it is they bring in through their doors
and so the follies still go on and on
do you wonder why I feel so strong?
©Rhumour
August 28th 2010
1. A satellite on me is so superfluous
b’cos even without it, you’ll see my flaws
my new adulthood on your eyes is a sty
as my every late night makes you pray and cry
anytime my rebellion faces your bash
my dearly connection with you seems to crash
please dad, don’t feel like my missing baluster
because of the flaunted young and new mister
every man I meet, a potential eyrie
falling for opportunists, yet not sorry.
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
2. Your restrictions make my inexperience belch
exploits from friends and media I want to fetch
my lovely journey, you want to ride and steer
my resistance means not, you are not a dear
this close adventure is said to be squishy
stay clear but tell me of anything fishy
I’m in that phase where my confidence straggles
stay with me dad but allow me to struggle
so let me out of your strong moral’s billet
or else I will turn out to be the bullet.
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
3. Boys, boys, boys, all that matter for me to quake
scary and deep but clear and warm is this lake
in the harsh weather, I have a moving fan
so that on previous happiness, please unban
you were once in this youthfulness currency
why the hypocrisy in expectancy?
I am passing through life to stay as Age’s toy
so please stop your investigative envoy
every bad mistake, your senses document
but to my heartbreaks, please be there to unguent.
Bridge
Big pa is coming, coming, coming in red
Oh lord I’m running, running, running in black
[Repeat bridge]
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
Published on the 5th of March. 2017
The odor I get The more pungent I get, in a sense incensed but not fowl Not like a fishy can of sardonic or the stink emanating from the open sarcasm, more like, when in aroma Do as the Romans do Dude pulling rank, so do not be, so fusty Flatulent you know, just blowing wind You say, that discharge was a flagrant offense I say, facetious I did it for giggles I think it funny, while you thought it was absurd an obnoxious art You thought it stunk, while I thought it fragrant and pungent
LOVE LYRICS
by Don Wendorf, Psy.D.; LMFT
Oh, your love would place me welded to your waist, in some syrupy symbiosis.
You say your blood runs high, ‘cause I’m your “Sweetie-pie” in your sugary psychosis.
Oh, you offer to, box a kangaroo,
Give the stars and moon, croon a lover’s tune,
Walk into a fire, to prove your heart’s desire,
Give me all your money, if I’ll be your “Honey,”
Yeah, you say you’ll climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest ocean.
But, Baby, that ain’t love to me, that’s just emotion.
Well, you said to trust, that it was love, not lust, at the beach down by the sea.
You tried to turn my head, get me in your bed, you beseeched me tenderly.
Yeah, you found me cute, in my bathing suit,
Looking buff and tanned, cooking on the sand,
But your love looked fishy, kinda’ washy-wishy,
I began to doubt, as the tide creeped out.
If I was just desired ‘cause your hormones fired, smearing on my suntan lotion,
Then, Baby, that ain’t love to me, that’s just emotion.
Now when you’re sad or mad ‘cause I’ve acted bad, been mean or idiotic,
Will your love stay true, stick through and through, or just be episodic?
Will you show respect or try to wring my neck,
Still be kind and caring, giving, sharing,
Will you talk things out, or just cuss and shout,
Will you hear my side, or wallow in your pride?
When you’re hurt or scared and your temper’s flared, will you drop your old devotion?
‘Cause Baby, that ain’t love to me, that’s just emotion.
Will your love grow cold, as we both grow old, no longer strong and mighty?
Will you feel all icky, if I’m weak or sicky, if I’m gray and cellulitey?
Will you still turn on, though our youth has gone,
Love my wrinkly fat, or turn tail and scat,
Let your love light pale, ‘cause my body’s frail,
Or take care of me, treat me tenderly?
“Grow old with me, the best is yet to be,” as we still drink love’s sweet potion,
‘Cause Baby, that’s real love to me, not just emotion,
Yeah, Baby, that’s real love to me, not just emotion.
Rancid lemon rope squeeze
around a rotten tomato neck tie,
crooked odor bow hanging out of place
Acid reflux raisin tax bleed;
dripping spoiled, milquetoast lies
out a sour-twisted, prune puckered face
Tart tongue
sulfur speak disorderly,
dirty saliva fingers in the propaganda pie
Such a bowel movement disgrace
Bottom rung
bung opening vault key
Onion groans ... chittering fermented cry
Boot-licking patent leather taste
Smells like government to me,
corrupt as can be
Dung pile of voter promises,
sits atop a pungent idol landfill heap,
swarming with stinking lip flies
Smells just like reeking government gluttony —
O beast behavior ...
swine odor, foul as can be
Swindle spit vapors perfidiously wafting,
kindle the vomit pit
Sewage waste material ash labors fanning,
can you stand the stench of it?
Smells like dead paper figurehead
government to me
Bait-and-switch fishy business ...
close your eyes,
what does your nose see?
Tainted meat polltry speech,
pluck the purse feathers
off the cable perched pigeon bodies
Smells like government
is about to make a putrid, baked-in story
Made up facts ... maggot video feed
Stale, bureaucratic policy hard rolls
warmed over twice
Buttered late with expired date lies
Served with a cloying cup
of steaming sound-byte coffee:
Substitute truth ... false sugary
Toilet swirl coffin cake,
gutter floss the oral cavity
Bad breath vows made,
garbage hope nobody needs
Government smells
like a morgue dog in heat
Very omit cadaver, obit disgusting
Smells like
a pot of burning bones
on a boil
Bottom lip scum
rising to the top
On a truthful breath: Let me tell you,
it stinks an awful lot
Smells like scurvy government to me,
corrupt as base bribery can be
The lobbyist rats are scarfing down
the moldy green government cheese,
so silver spoon tongue greedily
Nothing like some regurgitated split-pea pleas
to hit the decaying belly ballot gastric spot
Can you make a federal case
of this rank-and-foul flatulent republic rot?
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Tim had all the necessary ingredients right next to his ancient burner
Shark teeth dangling from a sunken necklace at the cutting edge but
The amulet had turned into chains and shackles grinding the chef’s mind
A lost recipe for happiness but and he had no appetite for nourishment
Attrition boiled over when nutrition resembled a poisonous chalice
Too tired to take stock he dwelled on his primordial soup turning back
Primitive and involuntary he turned on the gas and smelled his demise
Rotten onions had depleted his tears thinly sliced and disguised
Fetid leeks leaked misery a trickle or two at full stagnant pace
Spoilt thyme oozed malodorous rosaries into beads of corrosion
Squashed tomatoes splashed foul decomposition into his eyes
Fennel funneled his vision into a bubbling hell of indigestion
Olive oil splashed straight into his heart with no glimmer of peace
Cantankerous garlic would not fend off his festering demons
While a bay leaf could not keep mortally morose sadness at bay
Great white oblivion but slowly Tim made friends with predation
Resolved he was allergic to fishy feelings and toxic distaste
He did not remember at first how to simmer emotions and passion
But onions started to sprinkle tears of joy and the shark pointed the way
Soon leeks from a Welsh legend delineated friend from mal-aligned foes
Thyme soothed his splattering cough and he found his true inner voice
Tomatoes seeded bright red orange chakras from base to the top while
Fennel fought of bloating depression and conquered agony’s cramps
Previously oblivious oils from virginal growth re-birthed him into life
He licked his wounds and wild garlic from an ocean of wonderment
And chose the berries from a long forgotten and noble laurel tree
Tim had barked up the wrong perspective and had muted the roar
Eventually he conjoined ingredients recipe and fortunate blessings
Left the sharks out of the chowder and slurped smooth soup into his shell
Teacher tried to teach his class that Christmas isn’t boring
Half the kids weren’t listening and one or two were snoring
He picked out little Lucy, she seemed the one most liable
He made her prove she’d listened to his lesson from the bible
Her little eyes were glistening, she’d only been half listening
But she had not been sleeping... and so she started speaking...
Two thousand years or so ago, to my recollection
Some bird called Mary suffered an inaccurate perception
She dreamt that God had had his way and now she eats for two
Her fella whined, no kid of mine is there inside of you
He said we can’t stay around here, we’ll have to travel far
We’ll bugger off to Beth Le hem ’cause she’s a little star
Well if they had a car, I guess it had no gas
For Joseph walked but Mary simply sat there on her a.s.s.
Anyway, they got there and the man who heaps the ink
Said this hotel has got no rooms, so Joe kicked up a stink
The ink heaper said settle down , I’ll do the best I’m able
I think you’ll find the manager, back there in the stable
Mary had contraptions, so her child came out a boy
She put him on the manager, which gave him peace and joy
Someone shouted ‘Who’s the daddy?’ (Quite an indiscretion)
Joseph frowned and looked around, Well, isn’t that the question?
Mary called in Jesus... three white men came instead
One had come with Frankenstein and two were off their head
’cause no-one knows what myrrh is and kids can’t play with gold
I guess I’d better fill you in before you get too old
You see the king of Harrods was killing little boys
I think his parents should perhaps have bought him far more toys
But Harrods is alive and well, that’s fishy and suspicious
’Cause when you live two thousand years, that’s the mackerel of Christmas
And when Jesus was older, folk had no food to chew
He fed them with some bread and fish, and that’s a mackerel too
So Lucy said to teacher, in a voice quite firm and scary
And that, Sir, is the story of the season to be Mary
Addends, minuend, subtrahends... all Greek
to poor student long haired pencil necked freak.
Damned (internal) revenue stream
plus plugged egress
equals flood of woe
torturous suffocation
of biosphere quite slow
particularly concerning one
Norwegian bachelor farmer from Oslo
amidst the bajillions of people,
one common Joe
(cur) just biden his time
pleading to acquire
much needed dough,
attorney General assistant Lynne Costello
sought out to help yours truly
(to no avail)
hoof hound himself cloven
and rent asunder courtesy
ofttimes mentioned cyber outlaws
preying upon (long in the tooth) fellow
suddenly his entire body electric
being deceived synonymous
with the plot of Iago
in my version starring
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
as none other than Othello
punch drunk as Judy
falling down laughing,
roistering, yammering hysterically
and rolling with a stoned Rockafellow,
whose role as a convincing fall guy
convincingly contradicted himself
as an above board underfellow.
Yours truly voluntarily recruited himself,
cuz he haint been rather astute
therefore welcomes
a swift kick in the derrière
courtesy squared off steel tipped boot
knocking the living daylights
predicated on lovely bonehead moment
linkedin to poppycock that did compute
as sense and sensibility
even suspicious to a deaf-mute
leary toward one extortionist
pièce de résistance, he did execute
and pulled wool over my eyes
analogous to snake charmer
playing magic (Johnson) flute
transfixing yours truly
a dunderhead lunkhead punked galoot
who in hindset could not add up
fishy (worm I going)
oh yeah... virtually nabbed
courtesy cyber bandits,
who gane nary a hoot
prying skewed logistics I impute
to wanna hang myself
courtesy suitable length of jute
tied with Gordian knute
gofundme page welcomes pledging loot
to help me (if you can)
with desired great expectation moot,
hence these lovely bones
when cremated will be transformed
into fine powder
more inert than a newt.