Long Fist Poems
Long Fist Poems. Below are the most popular long Fist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fist poems by poem length and keyword.
It surely must be a cinch...
To scratch that type of itch,
Good luck getting rich,
When your niche keeps you poor
Then you come back for more,
Like a whore who gets bored
When someone evens the score
Take the window or door,
Swim all the way to the shore
Cause these ships going down
There are many who would drown
At the sound of a pounding
When working on grounding
The grit out of some wit
That just wants to get fit
To be able to sit
Avoiding the tit that bounced the writ
That was served as deserved
In a blur that was totally just the rust
That only fell but smelled funny
Like it was the good
Before we all got sick
You ing dick
You get the gist
When I miss the list
That I would kiss
Before making a fist
At all of this
It is far for bliss to drift amidst
What isn't but is
More than a Lyft
But a gift
To be not in a tiff
Yet some gif
Would uplift the next out of line hiss
As a new reality stick
To the target you hit
Still feel the need for a fix
Are NOT with whatever it is
It is totally not funny and not any of my biz
Just deal with it
That is my simple wish
Then add on doing the dishes
There is a list
BTW I brought home some fish
I caught
NOT
I pissed
In the pond
Everything went oh way so wrong
So, I started smoking a bong
To get along with the throng
Of those along for the twist
At the end
Where we all eat fried gull
That would risk
Dropping the ball
As it lifts
One more time just to fly
Instead of getting that bite
That just might start the addiction again
With more friction for the fiction
That a lot of us are forced to listen
When the whipping
Gets flipping so metaphorical
Then we find we have grit
And the rest does NOT have to be written
Forbidden
Yet to be forgiven
Still not hidden
From the ridden
Perplexed by riddles
Accompanied by giggles
It's so tasted the rainbow sort of gay
Eat your skittles enjoy the day
This is cray
Speak
Myself and Allah had gone for a walk ,
‘We then sat down and began to talk ,
‘the wind blew hard and began to freeze us,
then low and behold there stood Jesus’
“Hey bud”
I’d began to say ,
have you met Allah and what ya doing today ?
“ Of course I know him J.C said ‘
not sure on the other question as I’ve been in
Bed ,
Well That comment dulled the conversation more than I coulda but luckily a loud whistle came in ,
it was our mate the Buddha ,
Whassup y’all the round priest called out ,
actually it was more of a mantra chant than a karmic shout .
Allah threw up a peace sign to the Buddha’s delight
“peace be upon you brother your outa sight,
Jesus laying out a rhythm like a beat box pro ,
Allah threw it down next and let his wild side show .
The Buddha gave the bass line and waved his arms in the air
‘as I shouted to the crew
“like ya just don’t care “.
Jesus sounded the scratching that was perfect and just enough, as the Buddha closed his eyes and funkily shook his stuff .
As this collective reached their limit and our piece had started to end I thought this was the best of days and hoped it would be again .
Once that improv jam was over and us friends had wished each other well ,
Jesus looked at his Rolex ‘his time was up I could tell .
“Peace upon you Allah” as The Christ then nodded his head ,
“I’ll see you around no doubt Buddha”
as their fist bump sounded in my head .
And there I was with the others now gone,
I took the slow walk home ,
although I could no longer see them ,
I knew I wasn’t alone .
An empty auditorium, echoing with the voices of those long past
Life’s stage, we the characters, parsing the script in a caricature of truth
Phantoms of a thousand different productions, acts, scenes leave the frissons of their presence
We strive, strain, stretch for the higher, brighter, better, betraying verity for vanity
Etchings in dust, the drive to impact the path we’ve trodden
Power like water within the grasp of a clenched fist
Clasping, gripping, seizing, you find nothing but droplets left in your open palm
Ignominy strikes the weakest souls, stretched threads of consciousness reaching vainly
We long to fly, seek to ascend to the forbidden, transforming into what we were never made to be
Transcendent, elusive, suffusing our epic odyssey of alienation
Logic is a casualty of success, empathy a victim of independence
Careening along a runway, the test flight, hoping for the rudiments of wings
2/21/22
"The Rudiments of Wings"
for "This or That, Vol 10" sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Lying down while the music uplifts my soul
Holding up my interminable silence with a fist in the air of despair
I kiss your cheeks and it brings back reminiscences
Of me, myself and I, swinging back and forth on the swings
(chorus): Rock me out! Rock me out! Rock me OUT!
I try to make out your…
Sundrenched lullabies that ring true to me without a doubt…
Change is a challenging chore…
Here’s 7 things I like about you:
Your body
Your face
Your eyes
Your teeth
Your hands
Your lips
Your hips
You’re my everything!!!
I shake my booty from the floor to the roof...dancing and all!
I act like a Michael Jackson on the dance floor...I'm such a goofball!
The therapeutic music is dying out and I hear the typing
Bold to the core, hoping to see you – the one I truly adore
I love you more and more and I want no one else, but you
I don’t see my reflection anymore, but I’m alright in the long run
My heart will soar on cloud 7…
Cloud 7…
Cloud 7…
With you…
Without you,
I feel numb and insecure…
You are my one and only cure…
(chorus)
I fell in love with a stranger…
I fell in love with a passerby…
My anger will put me in danger soon,
But you distracted me from acting like a crazy baboon
The moon is shining bright
The sun is dimming tonight
Under the moonlight, I see you sway
I hear you say…I hear you say:
“You are my number 7…
You complete me.”
(chorus)
I let you go suddenly
Whisper your lullaby, dear
Oh darling, be 7 with me
I see your halo appear
Holding up my interminable silence with a fist in the air of bliss that you and I share…I glance at you as you flare…I daydream and stare into your universe eyes…turn up the music that’s so therapeutic just a hair
I kiss your cheeks and it brings back reminiscences
Of you and I, swinging back and forth on the swings…
Coming home from church one day
McGee was spotted on his way
The neighbor asked him, when he spied
That poor McGee had two black eyes
McGee then paused, and made a sigh
Then pointed to his left black eye
"Well, There's a woman at my church
Who needed help with her wrinkled skirt
It was caught up in her crack you see
Uncomfortable it looked to me
So I reached and pulled the fabric out
That's when she turned and gave a shout
And before I could ask her why
She put her fist right in me eye"
The neighbor said, "but you have two
what other kindness did you do"
McGee replied, the neighbor grinned
"I thought she'd like it tucked back in"
This motion is remembered with feelings of pain, strife and anguish,
But why don’t we recall the beauty in which we now relish.
The movement of ‘Black lives matter’ is as tantamount as the rising of the
sun in the morning,
Both are essential, yet they both be overlooked.
The beauty in our diversity is derived from our tenacity,
Unique our color be, yet subtle our strength be perceived,
The alluring aspect is not who we are, but who we have become.
Silenced our voice be alone, even so, they do not want to mess with our
simultaneous tone.
Quiet we be no more, for there is true beauty in we the overlooked.
We have come to be the voices that are now heard, as charming as the
sea unperturbed.
Undisturbed we have Finally come to be, however brethren, ask yourselves
who we truly are.
I BELEVE WE ARE LOST PIECES OF THE SAME PUZZEL,
ALONE WE GO UNNOTICED,
BUT TOGETHER WE BE AS THREATENING AS A CLOSED FIST.
I speak
without considering people's feelings--
BITE TONGUE!
I wink
foolishly in attempt to do a wicked plan--
NO LUCK!
I smack
my lips teasingly and annoyingly--
SOW LIPS!
I think
before I prank on my siblings--
DON'T EVEN!
I joke
around until I receive a laugh--
HA-HA...
I cry
out to get attention--
SHUT UP!
I chew
on my food loudly to irritate others--
CLOSE MOUTH!
I snap
my fingers in silliness--
QUIT IT!
I sneak
into my sister's room with a wake-up call--
GET OUT!
I write
in gibberish verses--
ERASE!
I type
my gibberish verses on Poetrysoup--
DELETE!!!!!!
I laugh
because I already posted my poem--
YOU FOOL!
I got
what I deserved--
A WACK!!!
I slam
my fist-shaped hands in sudden anger--
TRY ME!
I glare
at my bossy sister in disapproval--
WHAT BRO?
I close
my mouth so I won't say another word--
GOOD BOY!
Inspired by and loosely based on the song UNATTRACTIVE by Sofia Isella and the pure feminine rage she pumps into all of her songs <3
my hands shake in the dark
I want to hold yours in the fire
watch your skin curl and scream
in my mouth, the taste of venom
I want to spit it in your face
make you flinch at my reflection
my chest twists like a fist
I want to break it open
let the shattered pieces fly across the floor
I want to be ugly
violent
repulsive
a warning carved in bone and smoke
every glance you throw
is a strike, a spark, a storm
I want to match it
with teeth, claws, and fire
I want to claw my eyes out
just to see if the world will finally see what I feel
I want to pull my face apart
and laugh when you shiver, flinch and squirm
I want to be the thing
you can’t touch
can’t own
can't manipulate
can’t grasp
I want to bleed power
and let it stain the air
so even your shadow
knows my fury
I want to be every storm
you ignored
every fire
you tried to smother
I am spit
acid
teeth
nails
I am the mirror you flinch from
the shadow in the corner of every room
I want revenge ten times over
twisting inside
shards
flying across the floor
screaming my name
I want to scream myself into grotesque perfection
rip myself open so the world can see the chaos I carry
I am teeth
I am claws
I am the ash in your lungs
I am the rage
I am the ruin
I am everything you feared
and everything you tried to break
I am not your monster
I am the one you will remember
when the walls burn
when smoke chokes out the sky
when nothing else remains
Young harlot is the most honest of all
a fist of coins for a dollop of flesh
more honest than the soil and rain
that turn opera into palettes of cackle
blood blossoms sprouting from grayness.
Some Johns offer flowers or budget cigarettes.
A bouquet of mirrors and cancer-she thinks.
While she nibbles the stems off their souls.
The tongue - her pungent weapon of brevity.
Old harlot is the least honest of all.
Masking a puffy face with budget smiles.
Holding flesh together with time's disintegration.
Flecks of waning stardust minced by gravity.
A ball of yellowing yarn-beneath whirling paws.
Sic semper tyrannis thus always to tyrants. Rebel rebel rebel ! Storms of rebellion topple his brutal regime capture the capital, Damascus liberation celebration. His brutal regime…millions fled for their lives while squashed beneath his iron fist thousands flee who stood by him as his subject's writhe and perish ‘neath chemicals unleashed. Luxury, an extensive car collection rarest of Ferrari’s, Lamborghini Diablo and Rolls-Royce there in his obscenely opulent palace while nine out of ten live in destitute fleet discovered models of his choice. His brutal regime new-found freedom explores an opulent residence torture chambers crumble, captive return to your loved ones as rebels seize the nation’s reigns asylum granted to an ousted leader. Bashar al-Assad in Moscow Assad has fled his country
see how it settles
upheaval with no clear path~
‘tis heaven or hell?