Long Fixture Poems
Long Fixture Poems. Below are the most popular long Fixture by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fixture poems by poem length and keyword.
Bath City football club is an embarrassment to Bath
Most people ain't heard of them the ones who have laugh
Their aim and ambition is to be what they are
And that's like dreaming you're a broken down car
The fixture list came and it says you take part
So you push that car around the track from the start
Their desire is to exist with no plan to go far
They don't have the fire they don't have the heart
We don't show support when it all looks a farce
Don't we deserve something better than this
In good old Bath City where only rugby exists
Football can rot because rugby's the wish
absolute bollocks it's bollocks it is
Lacking intelligence in this rugby territory
it's like they see football the ultimate enemy
Scared of its presence and what it might do
A city with one club yet big enough for two
Our Uni makes athletes Olympian Gold
Bath Rugby competes while the football's on hold
There is a demand, no there's not we get told
"Football's not our game it's just not our mould"
I know Sir James Dyson is a man made in Bath
we're all proud of that, those Hoovers are bad
I say that as slang, his old bosses are mad
They rejected his hoover, how dumb and how daft
Now with your mass fortune beyond simple maths
You can now do what nobody else ever has
Invest in Bath City and put them on the map
You'll be a hero and they won't be crap
Potential so blatant will finally grow
and with it our pride, a pride never known
fill up the stadium with a reason to go
and fans will keep coming if there is a show
The community will bond as it responds to events
when you create dreams the present prevents
those magical days when the cup brings giants
a promotion or two through your generous expense
there's so much potential, they so under achieve
it wouldn't take much for that club to succeed
giving thousands of locals dreams hope and belief
It's you Sir James Dyson can gift what we need
It'll take off like your Hoovers but the football won't suck
with your big fat fortune it won't cost you a buck
it's a bigger football club than we know but its stuck
and it's about our community, it's a gift of good luck
invest in Bath City and the best is to come,
you'll go down in history as the one champion
who did the one thing that nobody had done,
go on mate please it's a job that sounds fun
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
...Oliver had saved up the cash
to buy into his employer’s franchise,
bought his own store, aggressively courted
every rancher in the countryside.
Soon enough the cash flow was well in the black,
so Oliver and the bartender wed,
bought their own house and were soon expecting,
he cared nothing for what the people said.
Jack, still drinking, played the Hollywood scene,
was a fixture of the wild nightlife,
soon he was in the tabloids again
when he knocked up a girl he knew one night.
He managed to keep working in film,
supporting roles were the best he could get,
with alimony and child support
he found himself slipping into the red.
When he crashed his car into his front door
he was quickly shuffled off to rehab,
in what would be the first trip of many,
the addiction had a grip on him bad.
But still he managed to get some work,
and when folks saw his face on the air,
they’d look at Oliver, mumbling how,
“That brother never went anywhere.”
Now Hollywood is a hot-bed of rumors,
and a disturbing percentage are true,
soon tales spread of Jack’s early acting days,
and all the things a new actor has to do.
Rumors of giving favors to producers,
insinuations of oral sex,
some said that was why her drank so damn much,
and why relationships left him vexed.
Whatever the case, on the internet,
the rumors became an ongoing meme,
his reputation thrown in the toilet
by GIFs and infographics obscene.
Oliver, back in fair Nebraska,
really had no reason to complain,
he had three kids and sold big equipment
to half the ranchers on the Sand Hills range.
Nobody was making memes out of him,
no reporters were snooping through his trash,
tabloids were not undermining his marriage,
and he was making more than enough cash.
He had six stores and a seventh coming,
and a hundred acres tied to his home,
a life or both family and friends sincere,
the general public did leave him alone.
The only thing that could worry Oliver
was what would happen to his brother Jack?
How many stars had walked down that same road,
and how many of them had never come back?
Though Jack’s state would weight hard on his mind,
and hear feared to see him drowning in despair,
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at the folk
who thought it was he who was going nowhere.
Oh Spirit of Love; lost ... far, and apart; away from any abundant freedom,
genuinely aeolian, without-You, soiled, sick, dying-naked cold alone-lost, this is all
of me broken of-heart; everything I can-give, here I am, please, pick-me-up
embrace me carry me onward upon this awakening.
Gentle lullaby of truth so divine my Sweet Phonation of Grace Faithful Father,
Keeper of all Your Words Holy; e'er, Regal, Valiant; Just ... . Brilliant Morning-
Sunshine excuse-Yourself as judge in view of my-irreverence complete; (blind) ...
uphold me in this hope; welcome me in Your warmth move me along further than-
ever-alone, could I.
Befriend me shower-Your-light, all the way-down, into the barren; valley ...
of-my-soul. Wash-me relieve me of my retched self, that I may begin ...
(for You only to live).
(Yes Lover, of my life (clothe-me)) cover me moreover in this certainty))),
find me well within Your mercy illuminated high, upon the beauty; of Your gape.
So ... that being-restored, entire, delivered (in all my joy secured there in
Peace through You for the remainder of my days, here ... and beyond);
I know it will be then; for me, when received, in true liberty ... Your
perfect comfort (my soul ... may eternally abide-with-You,
in rest).
and as I Ponder-
anything-acquired-monetarily,
is but momentary ... . ~
~ In surrendering everything of oneself
to The-Almighty, the-certain-peace-and-
joy; the-liberty attained thereafter;
is-a gift; everlasting ... ! ~
~ So when to ponder this life and my position,
and my importance and priority amid the essence of life,
the vision. A broader idea one in nature to picture and open and one righteous,
of the one ever prominent and freely given, permanent fixture? (I do now believe,)
to answer this one question of three. A question of three, and one more and better of a
proposition of the same kind must there be. So for when to ask myself? I know it depends,
on what foundation do I stand upon, and where does my treasure lie,
and in whom do I place these visions of all my hope? Before when to pass on,
I'm brought to lay my tired soul on down to rest in peace forever,
within the open arms, of God...? ~
I always knew she’d be gone one day soon…
Drunken nights with my heart in complete apprehension waiting for yet, one more tragic phone call. NIGHT ONE. Ring. Ring. Ring. You tried to slit your wrists, and who was there at your beckon call. No one else except…me. NIGHT TWO. Ring. Ring. Ring. The car accident where you flipped your car. Drunk driving became a nightly routine. To jail you went and I was left up all night wondering if you were okay without your medication. NIGHT THREE. The day that you made the promise. “I’ll never do that again. I promise, I don’t want to die anymore! I want to live and see Ella grow up and get married.” Exact words straight from your lips. So, I was left with a promise made with good faith. I knew deep down that it would be broken…
Fear of your weakness prevailing became a permanent fixture in my drowning life. You wished for more freedom after you left the hospital, so we decided you may be ready to spread your wings, but only a little bit at a time. “Goodbye. I love you. I’ll call you when I’m ready to come home.”
NIGHT ONE. No ring. I knew instantly that you were gone. It had finally happened. You had decided to take your life once and for all. No one believed me though. They all thought you ran away to be alone and drown yourself in alcohol with self-pity and guilt. NIGHT TWO. Still no ring. It became much clearer you were not coming home at all. NIGHT THREE. Not one single ring. I would pick up the phone and check to see if I could hear your voice. Nothing but a dial tone. I would check your voicemail just so I wouldn’t forget the way you talked, the way you sounded when saying “hello, this Karen. I am not here, please leave a message.” How true to life. You were not there, and never would be again.
That promise was made December 30, 2010 at exactly 10:17 pm at night. Less than twenty-four hours later, that promise was completed shattered into a million pieces. I guess God needed another angel up above. Now whenever the phone rings past 9:00 pm, I cringe in fear. I pray that everyone I love is safe and free from harm. GOD BLESS YOU KAREN. May you be in the comfort of the Lord’s loving arms.
Form P
For sponsor, Broken Wings
May 22, 2017
Beneath the River Somnium,
Abandoned Wishes hymn: quiet in the viaduct:
Reverse the Lodestone;
Reverse the First Sin;
Reverse the Autumn Hearse;
Reverse the Universe.
We are the murk men, intangible ends—inebriated together
With Beelzebub our friend. Absolvent now in burning skin, the Piper plays our rudder;
Garudas’ quietus ballroom-mance veils lioness earthbound shudders
Vindicating tincture.
Come speak as One or risk the Sun
Melting e’en your physical fixture.
Rainforests, peripheral phantoms
Meshing lanterns; coalescing unwound mummy-cloth sanctums.
Opium deserts,
Drear-dreaming desolates—we inhale brimstone, we imprison Nymph oxygen
Together Daedelus;
Einstein;
Victor Frankenstein.
Delirium waterfalls brew spirits despite ballets
Heating gloam flintlock
In Nem-kissed cabernets
Cascading pyre dunes endlessly:
Nine inward tales lost in Ambrosia unbelonging,
Scorching any falsely fairer,
Side-thrusting ineffective suffocation
With undead rapiers. Who dares desire to replace You
Shall receive Bubonic nebulas, past arbalest
Exhibiting thrones’ cobalt fire under Babylon’s command,
silent yet laughing always waiting for zero
hands cannot wait they tremble
we dissemble they commend grown avatars
youthful Avatars: hawks circling together,
Smiling, sardonically tired of this world
Trapped within thunder,
As gorgeous black does spool this secret:
Those of us who have strayed from The Path
Disintegrate into cinnamon
For common use. Therein, use the fallen well,
Persephone's stair of the past—
only in dreams Hades’ Wint has passed
hinterland skies embracing crescents’ fast
below our lone, draped behemoth ‘cross cities’ paradox
in the midst of a nightly, playful wink.
We daemons tacit vacant love insane.
Alucard, Alistaire, Allwein: Remove your Glove—dispatch that Vein.
Your pact with us has just begun,
Though fear us not, O Clem, who’s won?:
Escape's been reared by us—reality fears Your perennial face;
Your marrow trills—now Murkland strafes:
Quem di diligunt, adolescens moritur;
To siphon Your Color——A New Corridor.
Pondering about my existence lying here staring at the ceiling the reality of my presence.
I am dead walking upon the living.
Everyone that has enter my life made promises to love me,
Each promise that was broken took a piece of life from me.
They say we live in the land of the free,
But in this world everything has a price and nothing is free.
People use and abuse you throw you away when they no longer have use for you.
Life has taken my happiness all that is left is sadness.
I walk with the living like nothing has happen, but the universe knows everyone that’s crooked.
The molesting priests the liars, the untrustworthy thieves, murders in solitary.
We all are dead, and they walk this earth right along with me.
To be alive but non-existing, to see the same faces everyday but not speaking.
Having to be touched with no emotion, I am emotionally exhausted shallow exhaling.
Suffocating in silence as I walk through the crowded streets,
No one sees the decay, but me.
Swallow up with misery dehydrates me, and thirsty for the living to notice me.
I walk upon the living sluggish as if I was a fixture of an unfinished piece of equipment.
Footsteps left of evidence that I was here.
No one will notice because no one cares.
I am in limbo death of an unbaptized infant a lifetime of darkness.
Cursed by evil parents’ leaves me damage, I am alive but no longer living.
Condemn to eternal punishment, as my heart at rest I confess I been walking dead.
I am an observer even a spectator feeling like a human gallbladder there but not needed.
A musical instrument with no sound vibrations: a guitar with broken strings playing a silent harmony.
One beautiful blank canvas I am Picasso with no paintings.
A negative that will never be seen I am a photograph without developing.
I am physically walking among the living, and I am not even breathing.
Until I lay in my grave everything will remain the same.
When I am called to those pearly gates I will finely find happiness,
And no longer be walking dead upon the living.
As I leave my footsteps behind me, death walks as a passenger besides me.
I shan’t forget the SKETCH of your silhouette
I outlined your curves with charcoal of black-
Come here my love, don’t you ever fret,
for your BRITTLE bones seem ready to crack,
but I shall get your fragile soul back on track.
BEREFT you were left in the cold depressed,
IMMUTABLE, your anguish a permanent fixture-
You used to be FORMIDABLE, your pain caressed,
but yet, your existence makes a beautiful picture.
I shall read you verses of Psalms from scripture.
Your frail and TENUOUS mind full of insecurity,
DEMURELY you grimly take my loyal hands-
Living a life of fear and obscurity,
God is the only Man who understands,
so, I’ll leave you His Word on the nightstand.
You deserve an INTERLUDE not days of solitude,
moments free from atonement and stress-
Please tell me darling, if I seem to intrude,
but my love for you I shall always confess,
oh my sweetheart... I’ll never love you less.
When dark days arrive may you survive
all the things to come without warning-
If only you were grateful to be alive,
maybe your nights wouldn’t be spent mourning.
I vow to show you my touch is heartwarming.
I knew not passion before you, my dear,
I only had a heartbroken crimson stain-
I can only pray God takes away your fear,
where only happy memories remain,
a life full of righteousness, free from disdain.
When I leave tonight I’ll turn on your nightlight,
so that you may read passages from the Lord-
May His sonnets and ballads bring you sight,
and may your life never be abhorred.
Only He understands your pain with full accord.
I pray for simple things not cars or fancy rings,
I have high hopes your faith will set sail-
Trust in God and as the white dove sings,
only mercy and grace shall prevail...
take a deep breath, say a prayer and exhale.
Eight Word Challenge
John Hamilton
October 23, 2017
Journey Journal Page
A.I. BEAUTY
By Leon Enriquez
A compelling form:
Art by new means comes
In a causal norm
As beauty now sums
Charm that thus informs
A candid road bump
Light pixels now tint
Allure and fine shades
Colours etch new mint
In charming new trade
As warm visual hints
Convey lot man-made
~~~~~~~~~
Visual media facts
A certain sure poise
Defines a bold tact
Mimics nature’s voice
Lovely light enacts
Volition by choice
What you now can see
Is awesome visage
A crisp certainty
In rites of passage
Fantastic beauty
In thrilling message
~~~~~~~~~
And yet the picture
Sparkles deficit
Incomplete fixture
In movement tacit
That vibrant texture
Flings soul debit
Too good to be true
A picture perfect
Finesse right on cue
Flawless on neglect
Beyond me and you
In stance and in slack
~~~~~~~~~
A.I. Beauty glows
To mock mortal flaws
To argue and show
Human nature raw
As time ever knows
Our corrupt sure thaw
Yes look now and see
The real from the fake
Brisk passing beauty
That nature re-makes
Recycle and be
Earth gives and then takes
~~~~~~~~~
So let change reveal
How time brings on fate
No need to conceal
Destiny and state
Appoint death’s goodwill
Beyond Use By Date
So take the high road
To live your fine spark
With soul and with load
To draft your own mark
Here as time thus goads
Sing you spirit lark
~~~~~~~~~
Let the truth guide you
As you take your place
Mortal fest on cue
With your changing face
Fashion in fond due
Your passion and space
Pixels and tints draw
Upon nature’s grace
In heat and in thaw
Know your time and place
New or old or raw
Here and Now dare face
~~~~~~~~~
Look to true beauty
What nature now shows
In pause or tarry
Where your life path flows
With change you ferry
To live life you know
In imperfect form
Lives undying soul
Astound the brisk norm
As you glimpse true whole
Concord despite storms
Describes pole to pole
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
07 January 2024
Singapore
From the time we spent in vain
There was alot I did not gain
From the breath of mornings kiss
To the taste of evenings bliss
Cast a shadow of formless waste
Hollow shell. A basket case
Numbing touch I've felt before
So familiar. Hard to ignore
The stinging blade of treachery
Has cut me deep and still I bleed
Left to die this form has past
The formless void is gone at last
To seek the truth of love's embrace
And gain respect a name to face
What's done is done it's clear as day
The naked truth is here to stay
It's nestled snug in a bed lies
Disguised as shame a guilt reprised
As the song of life goes verse chorus verse
We bridge the division of it's repeated curse
Play the rhythm strummed to the beat
Soliloquy played out for me (adverse timing 2 4 and a 1 3)
I might be giving too much thought
To something that was meant to be left not sought
If so I'm a loser and tempo is weak
But this song isn't over I still have my seat
I composed this tune as a reminder of me
So you'll sing to my song note for note synchronicity
Maybe I'm wrong and I don't have the right sheet
No it can't be Noone wrote this it's improvisation cant you see?
We did it together as a natural harmonic can, B
Sharp as the blade and flat I can C
Trivial the entendre, cavalier just maybe.
I wasn't trying to be simple or come off as a prick
Though it seems that I hurt you my ego screams "Why me?!?!!!"
The truth is I don't matter as hard to me as it seems
I'm just a fixture in the syntax that has lost its story.
Like a gleam in the blink of an eye shut for good.
I never imagined you would I misunderstood
I lost something held dear to me something that cannot be replaced
I saw it was gone when we met face to face
It was selfish of me to think I had your love it's erased
Never to be seen again on this Earth what a waste
Lost my meaning you up and leaving don't stop reading I'm still here breathing
Your love has rendered me hopeless to no avail....
Or maybe it's me but this poem's gone stale...